24 May 2006
19 May 2006
Which Bolt of Fabric is Heaviest and How Fast Can I Hit Her and Run Out the Door?
Today Tommy and I were a little bored, so we took a trip to the local craft store. Despite the fact that I am a stay at home mom, I don't visit these stores with much frequency. "Crafty" these days seems to mean cutting heart-shaped sandwiches of PB&J for my niece and nephew. There were days* when I clung to a more expanded definition, and maybe someday, they will return.**
At any rate, Tommy and I found ourselves under immediate assault in the heavy-duty fabric aisle. Just as I was about to ponder which fabrics could potentially complement our chocolate brown couches, a petite grandmotherly woman came running and gushing in our direction. "Oh, he is seeeeeeew cute!" she drawled, carrying an armload of obnoxiously bright patterns. "And he is seeeeew smart! I can tell! I'm an early childhood educator! His eyes are so bright and his attention span is great and gush, gush, gush, gush, gush!"
As a mother of an insanely charming son, these encounters are not infrequent for me, but this particular lady was not actually a Baby Gusher: rather, she was a Personal Boaster using Baby Gushing as a tactic to capture her audience.
Throughout the 15 minutes we spent in the fabric section, I learned of:
- the ivy league schools this woman had paid for her children to attend
- the best memento possible to create with baby shoes
- her personal favorite craft for her grandkids (pillowcases)
- her twin sister
- her 1st grade class of 9 women who still get together annually and will be doing so very shortly
- the brightly colored pillowcases she is making for each of her 1st grade classmates
- her 3rd place finish in a marathon of 17,000 runners and
- her daughter's 1st place finish in a marathon of 10,000 runners in Atlanta
Whew. That was intense. And honestly, she told me much more.
The moral of the story? I'm all for small talking and hey, sometimes I'm even an initiator. But if you see a woman with a small baby in a craft store, she doesn't have time to listen to your life story. And please, don't be so bold as to assume that grandmotherly bragging rights apply to every aspect of your personal life. And also, know that those fabrics may blind pillowcase recipients instead of put them to sleep.
*when I was well-rested or procrastinating in college
**when I am well-rested again
At any rate, Tommy and I found ourselves under immediate assault in the heavy-duty fabric aisle. Just as I was about to ponder which fabrics could potentially complement our chocolate brown couches, a petite grandmotherly woman came running and gushing in our direction. "Oh, he is seeeeeeew cute!" she drawled, carrying an armload of obnoxiously bright patterns. "And he is seeeeew smart! I can tell! I'm an early childhood educator! His eyes are so bright and his attention span is great and gush, gush, gush, gush, gush!"
As a mother of an insanely charming son, these encounters are not infrequent for me, but this particular lady was not actually a Baby Gusher: rather, she was a Personal Boaster using Baby Gushing as a tactic to capture her audience.
Throughout the 15 minutes we spent in the fabric section, I learned of:
- the ivy league schools this woman had paid for her children to attend
- the best memento possible to create with baby shoes
- her personal favorite craft for her grandkids (pillowcases)
- her twin sister
- her 1st grade class of 9 women who still get together annually and will be doing so very shortly
- the brightly colored pillowcases she is making for each of her 1st grade classmates
- her 3rd place finish in a marathon of 17,000 runners and
- her daughter's 1st place finish in a marathon of 10,000 runners in Atlanta
Whew. That was intense. And honestly, she told me much more.
The moral of the story? I'm all for small talking and hey, sometimes I'm even an initiator. But if you see a woman with a small baby in a craft store, she doesn't have time to listen to your life story. And please, don't be so bold as to assume that grandmotherly bragging rights apply to every aspect of your personal life. And also, know that those fabrics may blind pillowcase recipients instead of put them to sleep.
*when I was well-rested or procrastinating in college
**when I am well-rested again
17 May 2006
One Year Less One Month
Dear Tommy,
I just can't believe it. 11 months old. The next letter I write to you will be on your first birthday! How did the time slip through our fingers? You're pointing, you're babbling, and you're cruising around.
My letter this month is a little delayed, as we've been staying with your cousins for a week so Aunt Sarah and Uncle Brian could go to Mexico. You've loved waking up to Will and Claudia, but truthfully, Tommy, I need my own Mexican vacation to recover from you three kids. You wore me out! Your cousins are so busy, and it seems I was cleaning, folding laundry, or scolding every second. Well, not every second. Dad did joke, though, that it seemed he'd hardly seen his wife all week---we'd both just turned into disciplinarians!
Now that it's nice outside, you love to discover new things around you. You point to the sky when airplanes zoom overhead, you squeal with delight at dogs who bark. You know where your hair is and where your ears are, but you can't seem to put your finger on the nose. Maybe next month, Tommy.
Normally, you sleep through the night now, but about a week ago, Daddy woke up to you crying around 3AM. "Mamamamama!" You screamed in your usual fashion. But as soon as Daddy came to the crib to pick you up, you switched your tune to, "Dadadada!!" Dad was so contented to hear you, for the first time, definitively call his name. It's those experiences that warm our hearts and make us want to snuggle you with a thousand snuggles.
I love you, my baby-in-a-towel.
Happy 11 Months!
Love, Mama
I just can't believe it. 11 months old. The next letter I write to you will be on your first birthday! How did the time slip through our fingers? You're pointing, you're babbling, and you're cruising around.
My letter this month is a little delayed, as we've been staying with your cousins for a week so Aunt Sarah and Uncle Brian could go to Mexico. You've loved waking up to Will and Claudia, but truthfully, Tommy, I need my own Mexican vacation to recover from you three kids. You wore me out! Your cousins are so busy, and it seems I was cleaning, folding laundry, or scolding every second. Well, not every second. Dad did joke, though, that it seemed he'd hardly seen his wife all week---we'd both just turned into disciplinarians!
Now that it's nice outside, you love to discover new things around you. You point to the sky when airplanes zoom overhead, you squeal with delight at dogs who bark. You know where your hair is and where your ears are, but you can't seem to put your finger on the nose. Maybe next month, Tommy.
Normally, you sleep through the night now, but about a week ago, Daddy woke up to you crying around 3AM. "Mamamamama!" You screamed in your usual fashion. But as soon as Daddy came to the crib to pick you up, you switched your tune to, "Dadadada!!" Dad was so contented to hear you, for the first time, definitively call his name. It's those experiences that warm our hearts and make us want to snuggle you with a thousand snuggles.
I love you, my baby-in-a-towel.
Happy 11 Months!
Love, Mama
04 May 2006
This One's For You
[Emerging from our bathroom...] When people talk about life's simple pleasures, they should really include among them having a good 'poo. There's nothing quite like it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
