24 August 2006
23 August 2006
Ode to Shel Silverstein
Family for sale,
Family for sale,
One certified, drama-ful family for sale.
You can't be too choosy,
You can't be too booze-y
to handle my lunatic family for sale!
Family for sale,
One certified, drama-ful family for sale.
You can't be too choosy,
You can't be too booze-y
to handle my lunatic family for sale!
16 August 2006
Honey, I'm Home
We're finally in our new place.
It feels a little empty here in country suburbia. We have beautiful sunsets and lovely farmland and a bonified old-school downtown.
We have new paint and light fixtures, squishy carpet, and a dining room table I'm afraid to eat on.
We need some pictures on the walls, though. And maybe just that sense of "home" that takes time to build in a place. How many dinners or walks to the park? Or maybe we just need Eunice's window treatments.
It feels a little empty here in country suburbia. We have beautiful sunsets and lovely farmland and a bonified old-school downtown.
We have new paint and light fixtures, squishy carpet, and a dining room table I'm afraid to eat on.
We need some pictures on the walls, though. And maybe just that sense of "home" that takes time to build in a place. How many dinners or walks to the park? Or maybe we just need Eunice's window treatments.
07 August 2006
03 August 2006
Grown Up
I have been watching more than my share of daytime talk shows this week. What else are you supposed to do between constant eating, sleeping, and puking? Anyway, the Opera show today actually had a one-liner worth thinking about:
You're grown-up when you love someone else more than you love yourself.
How many people can really love others more than themselves? Can you only love one person that much, or can you be so mature that you even love your enemies that much?*
I know I wouldn't be so foolish as to believe I'd attained this maturity in any sort of high regard. Truly, I love my husband and son and parents and siblings that much, but how far the love goes...I don't know. Would I be or am I really there for others around me when they need comfort? Am I more worried about others' welfare than my own?
I don't know a lot of grown-up people my age, using this definition. There are a few, but there are a lot more who seem to be concerned about their own success, their own time, their own agendas. Sometimes I wish I could be more like that... It would be easier, less painful, I think.
*And if, like me, you wish more people understood that kind of love in relation to YOU...are you the opposite of mature? Or do you just need love?
You're grown-up when you love someone else more than you love yourself.
How many people can really love others more than themselves? Can you only love one person that much, or can you be so mature that you even love your enemies that much?*
I know I wouldn't be so foolish as to believe I'd attained this maturity in any sort of high regard. Truly, I love my husband and son and parents and siblings that much, but how far the love goes...I don't know. Would I be or am I really there for others around me when they need comfort? Am I more worried about others' welfare than my own?
I don't know a lot of grown-up people my age, using this definition. There are a few, but there are a lot more who seem to be concerned about their own success, their own time, their own agendas. Sometimes I wish I could be more like that... It would be easier, less painful, I think.
*And if, like me, you wish more people understood that kind of love in relation to YOU...are you the opposite of mature? Or do you just need love?
01 August 2006
Bonkers
Everyone is bonkers at this house. Me, being driven crazy. Mom, being driven crazy by me. Tommy, bonking his own head repeatedly into any hard object he can find.
Yes, you read that correctly.
My son chose this week, the week I want to show him off to a bunch of friends and also present him to John's coworkers and clients, to start Head Bonking Syndrome. If he is mad at me or just frustrated in general, he whacks his forehead fairly ceaselessly into the ground.
Incidentally, head bonking is not that rare amongst kids his age. Wouldn't you know that boys are 3-4 times as likely to do it than girls? We would never want to distort our complexion more than nature already has.
I guess I'm supposed to trust that Tommy won't hurt himself too badly, and I'm supposed to ignore his behavior as attention will be his desired result.
Good times. Maybe I should find some baby-scented cover-up for his gigantic bruise.
Yes, you read that correctly.
My son chose this week, the week I want to show him off to a bunch of friends and also present him to John's coworkers and clients, to start Head Bonking Syndrome. If he is mad at me or just frustrated in general, he whacks his forehead fairly ceaselessly into the ground.
Incidentally, head bonking is not that rare amongst kids his age. Wouldn't you know that boys are 3-4 times as likely to do it than girls? We would never want to distort our complexion more than nature already has.
I guess I'm supposed to trust that Tommy won't hurt himself too badly, and I'm supposed to ignore his behavior as attention will be his desired result.
Good times. Maybe I should find some baby-scented cover-up for his gigantic bruise.
23 July 2006
Bliss
It was a long day. Every day is that way when you're pregnant. I was so tired I stumbled to wash my face and pull my flannel pajamas onto my worn-out body.
There was just enough room in the moment for one perfect sentence.
Even in the dark, I can see you're beautiful.
How does he get it right?
There was just enough room in the moment for one perfect sentence.
Even in the dark, I can see you're beautiful.
How does he get it right?
The Great Jade Caper
Grandpa always is the kind of person who solves his own problems. Too little space in this house? Knock out a wall! Too few bathrooms? Install a hallway sink! Missing phone calls while you're on the porch swing? Answer a telephone-on-a-pole as you while the hours away. This is the mentality which still kept ahold Grandpa when, several years ago, the Great Jade disappeared.
It was a large plant, the kind it would take two or three or four men to carry. It was expensive, too: a jade that had multiplied and flourished through years of care by an expert gardener. It sat there on the busy street of buzzing traffic, protected by fencing but apparently not unseen by jealous neighbors.
And then it was gone. Grandpa awoke one morning to note that the jade had mystically disappeared. Who could carry that mammoth pot away in the dark of the night? As Grandpa stood on his front stoop marvelling the strength of the thieves, he noticed the jade had left a clue: a trickling path of dirt and leaves heading off the property!
That's all it took for the caper to unfold.
Grandpa must've had a quickened step in his leather loafers that morning, chuckling to himself at the idiocy of whomever made away with his Great Jade. The trail of plant life led a block or two away to a few apartment units of questionable status. And when Grandpa looked up one, two, three floors, it was there. The Great Jade stood, a trophy upon a third floor balcony.
Grandpa shook his head and walked amusedly home.
"Well, let's just march up there and get the plant!" A neighbor said.
"Are you a fool?" Grandpa replied, "Whoever took that plant is stronger than you and me and we aren't gonna face him. I already called the police. That jade will be mine again."
And so it was. And so it was.
It was a large plant, the kind it would take two or three or four men to carry. It was expensive, too: a jade that had multiplied and flourished through years of care by an expert gardener. It sat there on the busy street of buzzing traffic, protected by fencing but apparently not unseen by jealous neighbors.
And then it was gone. Grandpa awoke one morning to note that the jade had mystically disappeared. Who could carry that mammoth pot away in the dark of the night? As Grandpa stood on his front stoop marvelling the strength of the thieves, he noticed the jade had left a clue: a trickling path of dirt and leaves heading off the property!
That's all it took for the caper to unfold.
Grandpa must've had a quickened step in his leather loafers that morning, chuckling to himself at the idiocy of whomever made away with his Great Jade. The trail of plant life led a block or two away to a few apartment units of questionable status. And when Grandpa looked up one, two, three floors, it was there. The Great Jade stood, a trophy upon a third floor balcony.
Grandpa shook his head and walked amusedly home.
"Well, let's just march up there and get the plant!" A neighbor said.
"Are you a fool?" Grandpa replied, "Whoever took that plant is stronger than you and me and we aren't gonna face him. I already called the police. That jade will be mine again."
And so it was. And so it was.
13 June 2006
03 June 2006
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.
27 April 2006
From the Mouth of a Potty-Trained Babe
She's scratching her tummy, so I ask, "Whacha up to, Claudia?"
"I'm buttoning myself," she replies, tapping her belly button as if to show I should have surmised this much.
"I'm buttoning myself," she replies, tapping her belly button as if to show I should have surmised this much.
Seen & Heard
My husband and I recently served on a panel for an Engaged Retreat. We sat and offered expertise on marriage based on our accumulated 19 months.
One of the anonymously submitted questions:
"Why is it wrong to watch porn together if you are both OK with it?"
We didn't have time to answer all the questions, and this one somehow slipped through the cracks. Any answers?
One of the anonymously submitted questions:
"Why is it wrong to watch porn together if you are both OK with it?"
We didn't have time to answer all the questions, and this one somehow slipped through the cracks. Any answers?
21 April 2006
Hypo-optimac
(Noun) Grandma who breaks her glasses in an effort to gain attention from the optical staff
19 April 2006
True Story
And we're running through the department store as she yells, "I'm pooping! I'm pooping!" and I yell, "Don't poop! Don't poop!" and then finally we're there in the bathroom and there's no accident and we're both so proud.
Talk about job satisfaction!
Talk about job satisfaction!
18 April 2006
10 Months Old
Dear Tommy,
You're 10 months + 5 days old today, and to celebrate, I'm looking back at a picture of you from near-birth. You're snuggling up with Miss Kate, undoubtedly looking for a bit of nursing from the wrong Ma. This is a habit you've embraced throughout your infancy, although now you're a bit more overt----instead of just snuggling, you ferociously bite whomever holds you. It's a little alarming, my love.
Despite your sharp snappers, you're growing into such an loveable, alert, brilliant, and humorous young man. Each morning, you rise at 5:30 AM and I groan in exhaustion. Can't I just sleep in until 6, Tommy? I can't be mad, though: you climb into bed with me and lounge around until you decide it's time for your first daily ritual---climbing over our mound of pillows towards the blinds in the bedroom. The blinds give you such great joy, Tommy. You pull them forward and they SNAP back at the windowpane with a tremendous noise. You laugh and laugh and laugh. Sometimes I think this activity could last for hours, but it's time for breakfast.
Speaking of breakfast, you've really moved onto the Big Kid stuff lately. You usually either eat oatmeal or Cheerios with milk and bananas. Some of your other eating habits are not quite as mature: at dinner last night, you decided you didn't want to eat the tortilla we'd ripped up for you, so you steathily took the pieces and snuck your hand into your lap. We saw you dropping those pieces onto the floor, Tommy. We're onto you. You Love Milk. Anything dairy, actually. Lately, you are consumed by such great thirst that just seeing anyone POUR liquid into a glass transforms you into an insatiable roaring lion. Your curl your tiny fingers into fists and literally growl until a cup is brought to your lips. It's endearing.
Your attention span is growing such that a toy now occupies you for about 2 minutes at max. (Prior to this month, it was maybe 20 seconds.) You like to investigate the manufacturer tags on items.
You like to investigate everything.
You are mobile in a way I couldn't have believe until I saw it unfold. We construct impediments all over the house so you can't get into dangerous things, and you pull, push, or wiggle your way through any obstruction. In Grandma M's living room, we've used large tupperware bins to block off dangerous outlets and corners in the seating area. If I leave you in there for 60 seconds, you've discovered one TINY crevice big enough to scuttle 1/2 your body through. You wriggle yourself in there and are promptly stuck between couches til I return.
I can see that your mobility is about to explode into a new level even beyond this, though, as you have recently stood---first with my help, and now on your own. You smile that big, dimpled grin and your eyes just light up with pride.
It seems like the list could go on and on this month, my kiddo. In the springtime sunshine, we're constantly exploring new terrain. It's as if a new world has opened up for you this month....what is grass? What are leaves? Do they taste good? Can I eat your shoe? I know these are the burning questions in your mind.
Among your many talents, you're now clapping and waving and kissing and...well, now I'm just turning into a bragging mom. I love you, Tommy. I can't believe my love as a mom is growing faster than even you are.
Yours to the moon and back,
Mom
You're 10 months + 5 days old today, and to celebrate, I'm looking back at a picture of you from near-birth. You're snuggling up with Miss Kate, undoubtedly looking for a bit of nursing from the wrong Ma. This is a habit you've embraced throughout your infancy, although now you're a bit more overt----instead of just snuggling, you ferociously bite whomever holds you. It's a little alarming, my love.
Despite your sharp snappers, you're growing into such an loveable, alert, brilliant, and humorous young man. Each morning, you rise at 5:30 AM and I groan in exhaustion. Can't I just sleep in until 6, Tommy? I can't be mad, though: you climb into bed with me and lounge around until you decide it's time for your first daily ritual---climbing over our mound of pillows towards the blinds in the bedroom. The blinds give you such great joy, Tommy. You pull them forward and they SNAP back at the windowpane with a tremendous noise. You laugh and laugh and laugh. Sometimes I think this activity could last for hours, but it's time for breakfast.
Speaking of breakfast, you've really moved onto the Big Kid stuff lately. You usually either eat oatmeal or Cheerios with milk and bananas. Some of your other eating habits are not quite as mature: at dinner last night, you decided you didn't want to eat the tortilla we'd ripped up for you, so you steathily took the pieces and snuck your hand into your lap. We saw you dropping those pieces onto the floor, Tommy. We're onto you. You Love Milk. Anything dairy, actually. Lately, you are consumed by such great thirst that just seeing anyone POUR liquid into a glass transforms you into an insatiable roaring lion. Your curl your tiny fingers into fists and literally growl until a cup is brought to your lips. It's endearing.
Your attention span is growing such that a toy now occupies you for about 2 minutes at max. (Prior to this month, it was maybe 20 seconds.) You like to investigate the manufacturer tags on items.
You like to investigate everything.
You are mobile in a way I couldn't have believe until I saw it unfold. We construct impediments all over the house so you can't get into dangerous things, and you pull, push, or wiggle your way through any obstruction. In Grandma M's living room, we've used large tupperware bins to block off dangerous outlets and corners in the seating area. If I leave you in there for 60 seconds, you've discovered one TINY crevice big enough to scuttle 1/2 your body through. You wriggle yourself in there and are promptly stuck between couches til I return.
I can see that your mobility is about to explode into a new level even beyond this, though, as you have recently stood---first with my help, and now on your own. You smile that big, dimpled grin and your eyes just light up with pride.
It seems like the list could go on and on this month, my kiddo. In the springtime sunshine, we're constantly exploring new terrain. It's as if a new world has opened up for you this month....what is grass? What are leaves? Do they taste good? Can I eat your shoe? I know these are the burning questions in your mind.
Among your many talents, you're now clapping and waving and kissing and...well, now I'm just turning into a bragging mom. I love you, Tommy. I can't believe my love as a mom is growing faster than even you are.
Yours to the moon and back,
Mom
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