don't you ever ask them why
if they told you would die
so just look at them and sigh
and know they love you
-Crosby, Stills, and Nash; "Teach Your Children Well"
The boys have gone fishing, and I've had the pleasure of spending a day in the life of Brynn -without her big brother. There have been no meltdowns, no screaming, no aggression. It has been a beautiful day. Her love really does shine through like white light when given the opportunity.
But daddy and T.J. can't stay away forever. I'll just have to wrap these few days up in a little corner of my mind, keeping them tucked away for when the road gets rough. Just to have them there for safekeeping. To pull out and remember I need to have a little faith in the girl. I know the love is there and I know she loves me - even though her actions and words often say quite the opposite.
Sweetie, I will hold you up, forever and always. I love you my little "bean."
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Greatest Inventions Ever
- The Refrigerator - what would our lives be like without it?
- Indoor Plumbing - need I say more?
- The Television - only like the greatest babysitter ever! oh...I'm kidding ;) (I think)
- The Washing Machine and Dryer - does anyone else have a child that changes clothes five times a day? What? No, you say? Well, can I send her to live at your house for a while so that I can have a break until my long-awaited Laundry Fairy shows up? Do any of you internets have her cell phone number?
- Crayola Color Wonder Markers - seriously...invisible writing utensils that don't leave a colorful, permanent mark on the furniture, walls, or body? And keeps the kids busy for more than 2 minutes? Amen to that!
- The Internet - could care less about how it works as long as I got me some high-speed!
- Trader Joe's - hey, this is my list. If I want to call a commercial enterprise that supplies at least half of my household's groceries at a reasonable cost an invention, then I will!
- Air Conditioning - in the home: fabulous; in the car: a precious commodity; absolutely necessary when it is 108 degrees outside; absolutely a tragic loss if it stops working at the end of July when it is a 108 degrees outside. I don't roll so well with all four windows down in the middle of summer - honestly, how did they do it pre-1960's? Oh, yeah. They didn't live in Arizona.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The One In Which He Attempts To Capture His Prey With A Rope, A Slingshot, A Booby-Trapped Ladder, and A Pile of Rocks
"Mama, did you know that Roadrunners catch and eat Rattlesnakes?"
They do? (No, really, I did not know that).
"Yea, they're so fast that they just run around in circles and the Rattlesnake keeps trying to strike at the Roadrunner and then the snake gets tired and then the Roadrunner pecks him with his sharp beak until he's dead."
Really? I would have guessed that Roadrunners just eat a pile of "free" birdseed that just happens to be sitting in the middle of a deserted highway somewhere in the barren American southwest desert. The delicious pile of seed would be conveniently located at the base of a ginormous cliff while a 1 ton anvil hangs precariously above him. The Roadrunners will devour the seed, oblivious to the peril above, and then just dart away at the last second, while the Coyote is foiled yet again.
Isn't that how all Roadrunners survive? That's what I learned growing up (and I live in the American southwest desert). Either that, or I just assumed all Roadrunners just get together and order a bunch of crap from the Acme supply company to capture their prey. Just like Wile E. Coyote. Who knew there was an actual biologically sound method of Roadrunners securing their food source.
I do find it amusing when my five-year-old knows more than I do about certain subjects. Kudos to Ms. Pam - that teacher is a gift straight from heaven. In just one year of preschool, he learned about the forest, ocean, and desert - the flora, the fauna, the ins and outs, and everything in between. They learned about the human body - how nerve cells talk to each other, how the blood flows, how our bones move. They learned about our solar system and took a flight through the solar system in a rocket ship manufactured from a refrigerator box, complete with space suits and ground control.
The Y-ego Master continues to inform me at least once a week that the sun is something like 93 million miles away from earth and names all the planets (including the planet formerly known as Pluto) in order. (yea, I can do it now, but couldn't a year ago without Googling it). Thanks, son. And thank you, Ms. Pam. Not only are you teaching the beautiful spongy minds of four- and five-year olds, but their parents, too.
And isn't it funny how a short lesson on Roadrunner trickery from my son makes me realize how much I now remember forgetting over the years.
They do? (No, really, I did not know that).
"Yea, they're so fast that they just run around in circles and the Rattlesnake keeps trying to strike at the Roadrunner and then the snake gets tired and then the Roadrunner pecks him with his sharp beak until he's dead."
Really? I would have guessed that Roadrunners just eat a pile of "free" birdseed that just happens to be sitting in the middle of a deserted highway somewhere in the barren American southwest desert. The delicious pile of seed would be conveniently located at the base of a ginormous cliff while a 1 ton anvil hangs precariously above him. The Roadrunners will devour the seed, oblivious to the peril above, and then just dart away at the last second, while the Coyote is foiled yet again.
Isn't that how all Roadrunners survive? That's what I learned growing up (and I live in the American southwest desert). Either that, or I just assumed all Roadrunners just get together and order a bunch of crap from the Acme supply company to capture their prey. Just like Wile E. Coyote. Who knew there was an actual biologically sound method of Roadrunners securing their food source.
I do find it amusing when my five-year-old knows more than I do about certain subjects. Kudos to Ms. Pam - that teacher is a gift straight from heaven. In just one year of preschool, he learned about the forest, ocean, and desert - the flora, the fauna, the ins and outs, and everything in between. They learned about the human body - how nerve cells talk to each other, how the blood flows, how our bones move. They learned about our solar system and took a flight through the solar system in a rocket ship manufactured from a refrigerator box, complete with space suits and ground control.
The Y-ego Master continues to inform me at least once a week that the sun is something like 93 million miles away from earth and names all the planets (including the planet formerly known as Pluto) in order. (yea, I can do it now, but couldn't a year ago without Googling it). Thanks, son. And thank you, Ms. Pam. Not only are you teaching the beautiful spongy minds of four- and five-year olds, but their parents, too.
And isn't it funny how a short lesson on Roadrunner trickery from my son makes me realize how much I now remember forgetting over the years.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Sister Scuba
Through my daughter's eyes, I am reminded that it is not what you look at, but what you see (Thoreau). Do any of us still have that wonder that is a child's imagination?
Being able to turn a pair of smashing, funky, diva sunglasses and a pastel pink kitchen spatula into a scuba mask and snorkel, and then proceed to execute a frontward roll entry off the side of the couch into the depths of the laminate wood ocean to rescue "Lil' Brown Puppy" from her awful demise is a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Things We Lost In The Chair
Important discovery last night: nothing irritates a slumbering husband more than being nudged awake at 12:52 am to perform emergency surgery on a large piece of furniture that may have... kind of...accidently...and inadvertantly swallowed the wife's cell phone.
Not that I didn't try to rescue it on my own. For like an hour. Because there is nothing I hate more than committing an obviously careless act and then having to enlist the man of the house to help. And then on top of it, having to endure a mini-lecture at 1:00 in the morning on the proper way to take care of a cell phone. Detailing why men are more responsible with important things. Like keys. And rings. And cell phones. They always have them physically on them or in an exact location on the kitchen counter that never changes. Blah, blah, blah.
Even when a sometimes random, slightly neurotic wife goes on one of her cleaning sprees - keys and cell phone stay where they are. Because "we must have order!" Order, I tell you.
I'm not so good with order. I like to change things up every now and then. Just for fun. Actually, it's because I have this thing with repetition and routine. Case in point - the movie Groundhog Day. It drives me crazy. Especially the beginning of each scene that keeps repeating the day with the alarm clock turning to 6:00 am and Sonny & Cher's "I've Got You Babe" playing...ughhh it's driving me crazy just thinking about it! And there I go digressing, again.
So, back to the cell phone being eaten by the chair. I tried all the basic cell phone rescuing techniques taught by the American Red Cross. Shoving my hand into the dark, scary crevice of the living room chair that is filled with crumbs and hair and dirt and a juice box plastic straw wrapper and goldfish crackers. That lasted about 1/2 a second as I just could not stand the thought of all that nasty touching me and getting underneath my fingernails. I then moved onto the turning-the-chair-upside-down technique. I realized later that this is probably what caused my little black cell phone to end up wedged in what can only be described as the Bermuda Triangle of the La-Z-Boy.
So, if the turning it upside down technique didn't work, then the next rational technique would be rotating the chair through various positions - on the side, on its back, on its side again. That would surely do the trick, right? Not so much. After about an hour of such effort, a little bit of cell phone clunking sounds, and at least 30 calls to myself to try and pinpoint the exact location of the phone in the chair, I realized it was time to call in the big guns.
The big guns that were sawing logs like a bear in hibernation. The big guns that would not really understand the importance of getting a cell phone out of a chair in the middle of the night. The big guns that would rescue a damsel in distress. I hate being the damsel in distress, but my phone is a part of me. Like my arm. Or my legs. Or my sight. Or my hearing. Absolutely necessary. Even at midnight.
Long story short, after 20 minutes of intricate surgerical procedures, Dr. Laz E. Boy (and he sometimes is) extracted my beloved cell phone from that mean, hungry chair. Really. We needed a scalpel and suction. Okay, okay...really just kitchen scissors and a vacuum, but let's just say that I performed some extaordinary surgical nurse techniques. Like making sure the chair didn't fall on top of the doc. And sterilizing the O.R. by sweeping up all the debris. And continuing to repeatedly call the cell phone so we could tell if it had moved. Primitive techniques, people. No x-ray or ultrasound machines needed here.
And there's a bonus (or two, or three) to this random, middle-of-the-night event - we are now $0.41 richer, found the fluorescent orange Polly Pocket shoe that has been missing for like months, and since I didn't make it to the grocery store the past few days, now have some goldfish crackers for snacktime!
Score! Now I have some "Mommy Points" to offset the "Dumb Blonde Points" that I sometimes accrue through little things like leaving my cell phone sitting next to me while I watch TV and then having it accidently be eaten by the chair. Or something like that.
Not that I didn't try to rescue it on my own. For like an hour. Because there is nothing I hate more than committing an obviously careless act and then having to enlist the man of the house to help. And then on top of it, having to endure a mini-lecture at 1:00 in the morning on the proper way to take care of a cell phone. Detailing why men are more responsible with important things. Like keys. And rings. And cell phones. They always have them physically on them or in an exact location on the kitchen counter that never changes. Blah, blah, blah.
Even when a sometimes random, slightly neurotic wife goes on one of her cleaning sprees - keys and cell phone stay where they are. Because "we must have order!" Order, I tell you.
I'm not so good with order. I like to change things up every now and then. Just for fun. Actually, it's because I have this thing with repetition and routine. Case in point - the movie Groundhog Day. It drives me crazy. Especially the beginning of each scene that keeps repeating the day with the alarm clock turning to 6:00 am and Sonny & Cher's "I've Got You Babe" playing...ughhh it's driving me crazy just thinking about it! And there I go digressing, again.
So, back to the cell phone being eaten by the chair. I tried all the basic cell phone rescuing techniques taught by the American Red Cross. Shoving my hand into the dark, scary crevice of the living room chair that is filled with crumbs and hair and dirt and a juice box plastic straw wrapper and goldfish crackers. That lasted about 1/2 a second as I just could not stand the thought of all that nasty touching me and getting underneath my fingernails. I then moved onto the turning-the-chair-upside-down technique. I realized later that this is probably what caused my little black cell phone to end up wedged in what can only be described as the Bermuda Triangle of the La-Z-Boy.
So, if the turning it upside down technique didn't work, then the next rational technique would be rotating the chair through various positions - on the side, on its back, on its side again. That would surely do the trick, right? Not so much. After about an hour of such effort, a little bit of cell phone clunking sounds, and at least 30 calls to myself to try and pinpoint the exact location of the phone in the chair, I realized it was time to call in the big guns.
The big guns that were sawing logs like a bear in hibernation. The big guns that would not really understand the importance of getting a cell phone out of a chair in the middle of the night. The big guns that would rescue a damsel in distress. I hate being the damsel in distress, but my phone is a part of me. Like my arm. Or my legs. Or my sight. Or my hearing. Absolutely necessary. Even at midnight.
Long story short, after 20 minutes of intricate surgerical procedures, Dr. Laz E. Boy (and he sometimes is) extracted my beloved cell phone from that mean, hungry chair. Really. We needed a scalpel and suction. Okay, okay...really just kitchen scissors and a vacuum, but let's just say that I performed some extaordinary surgical nurse techniques. Like making sure the chair didn't fall on top of the doc. And sterilizing the O.R. by sweeping up all the debris. And continuing to repeatedly call the cell phone so we could tell if it had moved. Primitive techniques, people. No x-ray or ultrasound machines needed here.
And there's a bonus (or two, or three) to this random, middle-of-the-night event - we are now $0.41 richer, found the fluorescent orange Polly Pocket shoe that has been missing for like months, and since I didn't make it to the grocery store the past few days, now have some goldfish crackers for snacktime!
Score! Now I have some "Mommy Points" to offset the "Dumb Blonde Points" that I sometimes accrue through little things like leaving my cell phone sitting next to me while I watch TV and then having it accidently be eaten by the chair. Or something like that.
Friday, July 4, 2008
A Snow Shovel and a 50 Gallon Bucket are Absolutely Necessary
Me: "What was your favorite part of the Circus last night?"
Him: "The mertercyles in the cage."
Me: "That was pretty cool, wasn't it? What was the funniest part?
Him: "The elephant poop."
Me: "I'm glad you enjoyed the poo - that's why we came."
Him: "The mertercyles in the cage."
Me: "That was pretty cool, wasn't it? What was the funniest part?
Him: "The elephant poop."
Me: "I'm glad you enjoyed the poo - that's why we came."
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I Have Always Believed that My Children are Destined for Greatness
Honestly, what in tarnations is going on here? Any of you who know me (or my husband) can't possibly believe that these children are truly in possession of our genes.
I would rather take two tired, hungry, and ill-behaved children to Costco on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer than pose for such pictures. Oh, wait - that Costco thing? I already torture myself with that on a regular basis. So, I guess I would rather lie on a bed of nails or something, than pose for such pictures. Really. Even as a kid. Wouldn't do it.
Odds of my husband committing such an act: 1 in 6,230,000,000,000,000.
Peace out!
Odds of my husband committing such an act: 1 in 6,230,000,000,000,000.
Peace out!
PS - do you notice the translucent quality of my children's skin...weird, huh? We actually don't need nightlights in our house. We all glow in the dark. No, really. If we were all standing out in the middle of the woods without flashlights or lanterns, moths would start flying around us all confused and like "hey, these guys aren't porchlights or lanterns, what's going on here?" And I would be like "hey, sorry Mr. Moth, but the Celtic genes hit us full force. Now, go away because I really hate flying insects actually touching me, let alone talking to me. Seriously. Shoo."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
