Much sneezing. Then, after a few days, noticing the purple and yellow Weed Bouquet the kids had picked for me, blooming in its glass of water. (I waited until they went to bed and sloshed the whole thing down the disposal.) No more sneezing. Also? I need to weed.
Seth-2yr and Caden-4yr sat in their car seats while I ran into the house to grab a water bottle. When I got back, the radio (dangerously left on the 80s station) was just beginning to play Funky Cold Medina, a la the totally un-kid friendly and unacceptable Tone Loc. Yelling, “NoooOOOOooo!” I dove across the front seat to punch a button that would make him STOP already. That song would start some conversations that really just don’t need to be had. Then, just two hours later I turned the tv on and there was a cartoon video on a kids’ channel by the now somewhat kid friendly Tone Loc. I saw the words “Tone Loc” in the corner of my tv screen and hit a button on the remote, though, a little trigger happy after my recent dive across the frontseat.
Anyway. The three boys are outside with new sidewalk chalk and popsicles. So glad for spring.
This morning at Target, Seth-2yr did NOT want to get out of his car seat and into the waiting shopping basket. I tried everything, but he had his arms crossed and I was hoping to avoid prying them open and freeing him from his seatbelt by force. Our success at Target would be far more likely if I could just ’talk’ him out of that seat. I tried it all. Then, just as I was readying for a full on physical Remove The Child scenario, a mother pulled up nearby and placed a compliant little blond girl in a shopping basket. “Ooh. Seth-2yr. If we hurry, you’ll be able to catch up to that sweet little girl and wave hello.” Seth-2yr, Ethan-7yr, and Caden-4yr LOVE girls. I don’t usually exploit this for my own shopping purposes. Today was special like that, though. Seth-2yr practically put himself into that shopping basket and patted my hand to hurry me up. When we got close, he started calling out “Hi! Hi, GIRL!” And then he held up 2 fingers and called – across the Target parking lot – “I am TWO!” She didn’t seem to notice his existence, but he didn’t notice. Score one for Mom. Target was a breeze after that.
Whatever happened to Connie the Cow? I loved her. So artistic for a cow.
After the Most Successful Trip to Target, Thanks to a Cute Blond, I ran into someone I thought I knew. That’s a hard scenario for me, because I don’t recognize people very well. I tend to think strangers are people I know and hug them and talk to them, and then completely not understand why people i THINK are strangers are talking to me like they’ve known me all their lives. Anyway. Man in Target parking lot seems familiar. He says hello and seems to think he knows me, too. This happens here a lot. It’s West Texas. Friendly folk abound. So he asks about my sons. Plural. I only have the one with me. Hmm. Clearly another person I should be recognizing and am not. I hate that feeling. I small talk with him (oooh, i HATE to small talk) until I BRILLIANTLY notice that he is standing in front of a repair vehicle bearing a very familiar name. It’s the same repair company that came out more than 8 times in the last 12 months to repair my Frigidaire Lemon Refrigerator. No wonder he knew me. We were like family, he and I. I spent more hours with him than I did with certain friends and family members. Eventually his company gave up on our refrigerator – which had turned into a side by side, stainless steel Freezer/Freezer. Frigidaire finally paid up on the warranty and we replaced it with another brand. The Frigidaire side be side, stainless steel Lemon Freezer/Freezer is in the garage, dependably freezing solid everything we put in it.
I caught up with the repairman I hope to never have to call again.
(He’s fine, by the way.)
the tulips outside bloom in pink and white.
yesterday a ladybug crawled her way across the windshield, when i stopped at an intersection. she was the first I’ve seen this year, and I told her so.
birds are tweeting outside. yes. tweeting. they’re happy about the dog food in Duke’s bowl and the birdseed in the feeder and the 85 degree weather.
little boys are wearing shorts in last year’s size, showing off how much their little legs have grown.
and i am experiencing a renewed interest in colorful sandals, and the purchase thereof. (preferably, in bulk)
I’m wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, still in workout wear from kickboxing and watching the tivo-ed American Idol. Which brings about just one question. Is anyone else concerned about Kimberley Locke’s ‘girls?’ Whoah.
Put. them. away. please.
“Girls” is really hard to use in this context. I tried. It comes so easily to lots of you, but it’s just not feeling right. I think Jeana calls it “extra boobage.” LaLa uses the phrase “busty substance.” Either of those work.
In any case, the entire nation could have done her BSE for her.
Yea for Stacey at Purling Dervish! (LOVE that name)
Honorable mention to Seasonal Learner who did her very first BSE and lived to comment about it. YEA! (of COURSE there can be Honorable Mentions. Making this up as we go along, y’all.)
And while I’m clarifying, let it be known that of course you can win over and over again. The whole point is that you do these BSE’s and keep doing them, so repeated wins work for me.
The following will make sense in a minute. Really.
LaLa and I were the only kids in our family. Everyone in our family called us simply, “The Girls.” Our names, it seemed to us, were often not uttered for long periods of time. “The Girls” sufficed. Well, for everyone else’s purposes – for our part, it drove us completely nuts. We were individuals, and everyone lumping us together like that just ignored that fact. Or so it seemed to us. One time I remember LaLa protesting this oversight and someone (sorry J-Mom, but I think it was you) saying, “Well, what SHOULD we call you?” In her LaLa way, she probably said, “WHAT DO YOU THINK WE ARE, THE NORMAN LUBOFF CHOIR?“ Or more likely, “OUR NAMES!”
In any case. I have a personal lifelong aversion to the phrase “The Girls” which apparently, none of you share. For ages I’ve been somewhat surprised at just how many of you affectionately refer to your breasts as “The Girls.” Perhaps I’m not big on personification in general. Also, I have no problem admitting I do not have pet names or occasional endearments for any of my body parts. The only exception to this is during times of pregnancy when the baby bump deserved names. (But that’s hardly the same because it was a baaaaaby.)
I am ALL for whatever works for you guys, but it certainly has made me laugh. Forever. Since every single comment section of each Club 17 post has this theme, and it’s apparently a code you ALL speak which I gladly forego. And Shalee even calls hers “Irish Lassies” on St. Patrick’s! WOW.
Y’all are funny.
So. Don’t get me wrong. You call them whatever you want, as long as you BSE each month. It won’t bother me at all. It’ll completely crack me up, and just make me feel all the more justified that LaLa and I protested ever being referred to as The Girls.
(If you’re wondering, of COURSE I call my 3 boys The Boys. All the time. None of them seems to mind, or take it as an offense against his individuality.)
Okay, team! Quickly go do this month’s BSE (breast self exam) which you OF COURSE do every single month. Then come right back here and leave a comment saying “i did it!” or something like that. Then you might win something really cute. This month it’s a sweet little red leather and silver Brighton keychain.
Last month my Real Life Friend Karla won. Yea Karla! She took pictures of her February Club 17 prize, and wrote about it here.
( All questions are most likely addressed here. )
I’ve been away from this blog, and yours too, if you have one. Writing, thinking, and blogs pretty much only happen when the kids are asleep. Lately, the kids have slept less, and writing has been winning my few and far between minutes. THe result is not so great for blogging, but I’m thrilled with how the writing is going. YEA!
The other night we took the boys to a high school baseball game. The son of some long time friends is a great pitcher, but we hadn’t ever been to a game. It started at 7 pm – meaning the kids would be up past their bedtimes – and it was cold. To my completely ignorant eye, and to those less ignorant around me, he pitched great. (I include that detail for you men, and for my cousin, in case she’s reading. She’d care.)
On the way home, the boys were exhausted and frozen. Ethan-7yr’s huge brown eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. He really is quite comfortable with adhering to a bedtime, and it shows up in his big brown unblinking eyes whenever he’s up too late. If he is up for any reason more than 20 or 30 minutes later than usual, he FEELS it. He complains. He asks if he can go to bed. He hints that we are doing him a parental disservice by not respecting his bedtime. It’s just one of his little personality quirks, and we almost always accommodate it, because hello? That’s fantastic. If he could pass it on to his little brothers, we’d be thrilled.
Mike and I were talking about vision correction surgery in the front seat, and the frozen, staring boys weren’t discussing anything. I turned to Ethan-7yr and said, “Hey, didn’t you tell me that you friend’s dad is an eye doctor?” (I specified the friend’s name.)
“No.” No blinking still.
“I’m really sure you did. His mom is an orthodontist, and I thought you said his dad was an eye doctor.”
I’m turned around in my seat at the very front of a seriously large vehicle, and he’s still not blinking in the very back of the seriously large vehicle. I’m getting concerned about the dry state of his eyeballs by now.
“Oh. Huh.” I turn back around for a minute, and then try one last time. “Well, what does his dad do?”
“He’s an eye doctor.”
Mike and I look at each other, trying to make sense of that. Maybe more than his eyeballs have dried out.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Yes.” He’s in his seat, still staring, barely moving his mouth when he speaks due to exhaustion. When Ethan-7yr is tired, he is TIRED.
“Then whaaaa? Why didn’t you say that?”
He gives his head a little shake, blinks, and sighs. I can tell he’s annoyed at the extra effort this response will take from him. “Mom. You didn’t ask if he was an eye doctor. You asked if I told you he was an eye doctor. I didn’t tell you that.”
Isn’t that so strange?
“Of course you did! How else would I know that?”
At this point, Ethan-7yr just scoots over, so I can’t see him anymore. He’s had it. He wants out of this insane conversation with me.
My assertion that I wouldn’t know it any other way is true. I don’t stand around talking to other moms and making small talk about what the parents of classmates do for a living. Or stand around talking about anything with anyone. It’s not the standing around I object to. It’s the talking that wigs me out. Gah.
Incidentally, Ethan-7yr recently went on a field trip to this same friend’s mother’s orthodontic office. At our house, we call that The Day That Changed Ethan-7yr’s Life. All things orthodontia and dental have taken over since that day, and this particular mom is a bit of a SuperHero We Actually Know. (I’ll get to writing that post later.)
Right now I have a character with a career crisis and I haven’t figured out how to write her out of it. Fun!
Today Mike and I went to Ethan-7yr’s parent/teacher conference. It was GREAT.
Ethan-7yr’s teacher said that he really understands writing. He’s a first grader, so writing stories is a brand new endeavor for his class. She said that he really gets the concepts of characters, and setting, and how to make a story interesting. He gets into synonyms and interesting adjectives and likes to pull those elements together.
It alarmed her, I think.
Mike made some sort of excuse or explanation for me. It seemed oddly familiar, and then I realized YES. Of course. At the parent/teacher meeting in the fall we had a similar experience. Well. I’m consistent at least.
Later I had another, impromptu parent/teacher type meeting over the phone. A very nice woman called and updated me on Kim-13yr’s status. A few days ago, Mike moved her from her school outside Albuquerque to a wilderness style adventure camp. (Adventure meaning, “Seriously Roughing It.”)
She’s doing well. I’m nervous for her, and the extreme conditions she’s in.
I don’t know what the weather was like where you were this weekend, but in Albuquerque it was GORGEOUS. And today i’m back home and the snow swirls at the window. But it’s pretty.
I should have said it wasn’t a vacation. It was a Visit With Kim-13yr Trip, and that’s never a vacation. Sometimes it goes well, and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s always stressful on every one of us. The good news is we can take a veiled death threat like no other family I know. We’ve had more practice than most, but still. We make it look easy.
(Yes, of COURSE I realize that’s not a good thing. We’re working on it. Really.)
Anyway. How nice to come home after a trip like that – to a Box of Happiness! Yea! So nice! I’ve never met Seasonal Learner, but she spent a little time in my archives and then filled the box with things that were SOO me. Hershey’s kisses, dark chocolate m&ms, pens, a sweet little notepad for writing notes on the go, a book, a camera and stickers for the boys. Thank you!!! (And your timing couldn’t have been better.)