Other than an uneventful trip to the periodontist today (Yay - I get to keep my teeth for another 35 years!), I have nothing too newsworthy to report. Unless sitting in the parking lot of Wendy's people-watching while pecking away at a taco salad and noticing how everyone looks a little bit crazy talking to themselves (Bluetooth Nation) and what this means for the new generation's ability or inability to communicate effectively with one another is your kind of interesting. More on that later...
Instead, here's a list of updates on some loose ends I have posted recently:
On Crafts:
I have not been forgetting to post pictures of all the beautiful creations I have sewn with my mother's sewing machine. There aren't any pictures. There aren't any creations. The machine is no longer making late night SOS phonecalls to my mom, begging for her to come pick it up and end its lonely sentence of solitary confinement in the dark and probably haunted guest bedroom. Mom now has full custody. It was an amicable separation in the end. I don't know what the hell I was thinking but I can promise you, it won't happen again.
* I did manage to sew together a "headband" that would look stunning on a chihuahua. I designed it for myself. This is the perfect example of what happens when you fail math in high school. Actually, come to think of it...this entire blog is the perfect example of what happens when you fail math in high school. REALLY, my entire LIFE is what happens....yeah, yeah.
Moving on.
On Grayson Sleeping in his Own Room:
Since we Took Back the Night, Grayson has slept in his room more often than not. This is to include a slight Spiderman room makeover, a million nefarious superhero stick-ons all over his walls, and one big ass plastic Navy rescue boat. I guess a kid can finally have peace of mind when there isn't any more threat of otherworldly evil and/or east coast tsunamis taking shape in his bedroom at exactly his bedtime.
On My Pledge to Just Run and Keep Running:
Let's just say I'd like to apply for an extension on my promise to you. Damn excuses keep hiding my running shoes. And they eat Apple Jacks like rapid fire if I'm not careful.
On Being SuperMom:
I had to willingly relinquish the crown when Abigail barely escaped being clipped by a car in a parking lot because I thought she was with me when, in serious heart attack inducing fact, she was instead sprinting toward said car. I've never screamed her name so loudly in my life. Apparently, her running shoes work very well. Maybe we should swap.
Hope that about wraps up any loose ends that may have been waving about on the internet like little unending ellipses dotting themselves into oblivion.
Ah. That was cathartic. Did I miss anything?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Dirty Dog
She may be 56 in dog years but Miss Sadie can still make time for being naughty.
Then avoid eye contact to maintain her innocence.
While her accomplice slinks by in the background to warn the others.
Monday, March 29, 2010
SuperMom for a Day
A couple of years ago I can remember having a SuperMom sighting. You know the type. The mom who is out and about with two or more children doing normal things and being completely normal while her well behaved children listen to her normal voice give them normal directions. Not those poor shell shocked sleep deprived newbie moms who have caves where their eyes once were and spill the contents of their entire purse all over themselves just because their nervous system will not allow more than one daily life function at a time. Those newbies will get there eventually. Millions of smashed Goldfish crackers and spilled sippy cups later and they'll get their cape for sure.
The SuperMoms are always veteran moms. They have figured out the system and are making it look easy. They always look as if they had time to not only shower but also actually use a straightener, product and hairspray! The SuperMoms always sport nice form fitting jeans with a flattering solid colored top. Not workout pants with a nursing bra peeking out from their husband's fraternity T-shirt.
When Grayson was just a baby, I had my first SuperMom sighting. I'll never forget her. She was a dark haired lady with a very cute diaper bag (back when I noticed those types of things). She had her toddler with one hand while simultaneously pushing the cart overflowing with groceries and her brand new baby with her other hand. It was amazing. Walking out with Grayson hitched high on my hip, I felt compelled to tell her how courageous I thought she was for venturing out to the supermarket with her children. Both of them.
I'll never forget her response. "What am I gonna do? Hole up in my house forevah?" Her expression was even less kind (and much more Philly).
Hmph. Last time I try to be nice to any SuperMom. Sheesh.
Fast forward to today.
Today I was SuperMom.
I showered, used a straightener, hairspray and make-up. Threw on my one pair of decent jeans along with a solid colored top. I have figured out the system!
Today I got be SuperMom because my children came with me to take Sadie to the veterinarian's office. They sat quietly with me in the crowded waiting room. When Abby toddled off to visit a new patient with very sharp teeth, she actually listened as I gently reminded her to respect the "woof woof's space" and come back to sit with us. She did!
Let me tell you, people were staring. At first I thought maybe I stepped in poo. After a quick shoe check and a few minutes of more strangers' stares someone finally spoke up.
"You are so brave." One lady in fuzzy boots said to me.
"Your kids aren't bouncing off the walls." The receptionist buzzed.
"I couldn't take my 2 year old out in public when I was a new mom." Fuzzy boots added.
"You even have your dog with you!" A man with one missing tooth mused. Even the doctor patted my shoulder and said, "You have your hands full. Great job, Mom!" I felt like Kate. Back when people liked her.
"Thank you. They are great kids, I am lucky. That and I gave them all Benadryl before we left the house."
All kidding aside. Today I got to feel like one of those SuperMoms I once looked up to just a couple of years ago. I'm sure by 4pm, my shirt will be applesauced and my feet will be soft as clay again but for this minute, I am smiling proudly about my well earned veteran status and soak in these days that bring a sense of pride and honor in being a regular person with a SuperMom cape.
The SuperMoms are always veteran moms. They have figured out the system and are making it look easy. They always look as if they had time to not only shower but also actually use a straightener, product and hairspray! The SuperMoms always sport nice form fitting jeans with a flattering solid colored top. Not workout pants with a nursing bra peeking out from their husband's fraternity T-shirt.
When Grayson was just a baby, I had my first SuperMom sighting. I'll never forget her. She was a dark haired lady with a very cute diaper bag (back when I noticed those types of things). She had her toddler with one hand while simultaneously pushing the cart overflowing with groceries and her brand new baby with her other hand. It was amazing. Walking out with Grayson hitched high on my hip, I felt compelled to tell her how courageous I thought she was for venturing out to the supermarket with her children. Both of them.
I'll never forget her response. "What am I gonna do? Hole up in my house forevah?" Her expression was even less kind (and much more Philly).
Hmph. Last time I try to be nice to any SuperMom. Sheesh.
Fast forward to today.
Today I was SuperMom.
I showered, used a straightener, hairspray and make-up. Threw on my one pair of decent jeans along with a solid colored top. I have figured out the system!
Today I got be SuperMom because my children came with me to take Sadie to the veterinarian's office. They sat quietly with me in the crowded waiting room. When Abby toddled off to visit a new patient with very sharp teeth, she actually listened as I gently reminded her to respect the "woof woof's space" and come back to sit with us. She did!
Let me tell you, people were staring. At first I thought maybe I stepped in poo. After a quick shoe check and a few minutes of more strangers' stares someone finally spoke up.
"You are so brave." One lady in fuzzy boots said to me.
"Your kids aren't bouncing off the walls." The receptionist buzzed.
"I couldn't take my 2 year old out in public when I was a new mom." Fuzzy boots added.
"You even have your dog with you!" A man with one missing tooth mused. Even the doctor patted my shoulder and said, "You have your hands full. Great job, Mom!" I felt like Kate. Back when people liked her.
"Thank you. They are great kids, I am lucky. That and I gave them all Benadryl before we left the house."
All kidding aside. Today I got to feel like one of those SuperMoms I once looked up to just a couple of years ago. I'm sure by 4pm, my shirt will be applesauced and my feet will be soft as clay again but for this minute, I am smiling proudly about my well earned veteran status and soak in these days that bring a sense of pride and honor in being a regular person with a SuperMom cape.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Parachute
Aside from the sweet juxtaposition of little girl in Daddy's lap, what really gets me is Abby's hands. Calm submission.
Daddy is her parachute.
** after blowing up these pictures, I found 2nd-runner-up-favorite-thing: those are Abby's sunglasses tucked neatly on Daddy's hat. **
Daddy is her parachute.
** after blowing up these pictures, I found 2nd-runner-up-favorite-thing: those are Abby's sunglasses tucked neatly on Daddy's hat. **
(I just can't understand why neither child would ride with me.)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Rough Screen Play (AKA: This just happened last night
Scene: Our house - Master Bedroom
2:00am - Baby monitor goes to red.
15 month old wailing.
Mother who no longer has Pavlovian reaction to this particular (and chronically colicky) baby crying slumbers like nothing is up. Father who is without same immunities grumbles obscenities for 30 minutes, plus.
Wailing ebbs and flows.
Callous Mother rides those waves like a buoy in the night.
Father eventually caves. He throws sheets aside, grumbles colorful four letters and marches
- full on- down hall toward now half insane 15 month old.
3:00am - Father returns to master bedroom.
Falls into bed like downed tree.
3:22am - Toddler voice pierces through airwaves.
"I have pee-pee in my shirt and in my pants."
Father swears like a stay-at-home mom
Mother immediately levitates from bed to execute lightning quick toddler clean-up.
**5 minutes later everyone is finally asleep and dreaming.**
4:00am
Uncontrollable laughter springs from chamber of sleeping Mother.
Father makes conscious effort to refrain from manslaughter.
He willfully decides to instead visit hunting camp early this year. And never return.
Mother continues to giggle, harumph, and guffaw hysterically in her sleep.
Father gives hard and unapologetic elbow to Mother's ribcage while demanding,
"What is so G*D* funny!?!?!"
Mother awakens to find visible steam emanating from nostrils of exhausted Father.
Once conscious of her reprehensible timing, she squeaks,
"You probably wouldn't get it."
End Scene.
2:00am - Baby monitor goes to red.
15 month old wailing.
Mother who no longer has Pavlovian reaction to this particular (and chronically colicky) baby crying slumbers like nothing is up. Father who is without same immunities grumbles obscenities for 30 minutes, plus.
Wailing ebbs and flows.
Callous Mother rides those waves like a buoy in the night.
Father eventually caves. He throws sheets aside, grumbles colorful four letters and marches
- full on- down hall toward now half insane 15 month old.
3:00am - Father returns to master bedroom.
Falls into bed like downed tree.
3:22am - Toddler voice pierces through airwaves.
"I have pee-pee in my shirt and in my pants."
Father swears like a stay-at-home mom
Mother immediately levitates from bed to execute lightning quick toddler clean-up.
**5 minutes later everyone is finally asleep and dreaming.**
4:00am
Uncontrollable laughter springs from chamber of sleeping Mother.
Father makes conscious effort to refrain from manslaughter.
He willfully decides to instead visit hunting camp early this year. And never return.
Mother continues to giggle, harumph, and guffaw hysterically in her sleep.
Father gives hard and unapologetic elbow to Mother's ribcage while demanding,
"What is so G*D* funny!?!?!"
Mother awakens to find visible steam emanating from nostrils of exhausted Father.
Once conscious of her reprehensible timing, she squeaks,
"You probably wouldn't get it."
End Scene.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Take a Number
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
March 23
March 23 is a day I will never forget. It's just one of those days that will always be special to me. It's my mom's birthday. I almost never remember my closest friends', my brothers' (I know, shame!), my fathers' (plural the guilt) birthdays but I'll never ever forget my mom's. I guess this means I love her most. She wins. She gets the big purple stuffed bear with scary plastic eyes. Lucky woman.
I think the biggest compliment you can get as a mother is to know that your children feel loved. That they walk around, big or small, knowing and emanating that knowledge that no matter what happens in their life, their mom loves them. From that grows confidence, courage, and the ability to believe in yourself. Well, I can tell you that my mom should consider herself complimented. I certainly feel loved by her and know that no matter what happens, she's in my corner. Unless Kate Gosselin happens to be there with me. Mom's not a Kate fan.
So, without further ado, here's a really sappy yet cheeky love poem for my mom.
Mom
You love us
and we love you
You know every word to
Winnie-the-Pooh
You sing so pretty
You dance so fine
You dislike bridges
and 495
You love chocolate
Hate Lipitor
Love to swim
and quick jaunts to the store
Not grocery though,
(That is a bore)
(That is a bore)
Target's a win,
(since we're keeping score)
Macy's okay
but Tuesday Morning is better
We'll go there next week
and buy crap with feathers.
You work very hard
Every day, every hour
Lots of grunt work
You have staying power
Your husband is fired
from your laundry room
Mine is as well,
it's passed from the womb.
You are a great cook
But seldom eat much
'cept chocolate ice cream,
almonds, and such.
We both wring our hands
to come up with those plans
to feed bellies' demands
for more than Zataran's!
We have the same addiction
to reality shows
Yours: Survivor. Mine: Runway
because AI kind of blows.
You answer the phone
Every time that I call
and still seem interested in
what I hung on the wall
You keep me company
throughout my long days
with adult perspective
to lessen the craze.
You are unique
You are kind
You are hilarious
You don't mind
homemade earrings
bracelets too,
lopsided necklace
birthday cake snafu
Happy Birthday, dear Mom
You've done your job well
We know how much you love us
and we can tell
you wouldn't trade places
for another's too soon
unless it came with a maid
and perhaps New Moon too.
We are lucky to have you
and all else above?
We adore you, Mom.
You too are loved.
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Human (Female) Condition
Weekends are sometimes tough, aren't they? Working around, next to, or with the spouse who is usually the other end on the phone during the week is difficult. They mess up your rhythm and add another dimension to the already perfected algorithm that is The Mommy Boss. I'm sure this goes on all over the world and isn't just happening in our house. In fact, I'd also guess there's TWO sides to this story but you won't find that here. Read the title of this blog. Make no mistake, this is a unilateral buffet of literary inanities.
So this weekend the husband was not away at school and wasn't preoccupied with writing a paper or reading 5 chapters of his school work. He didn't even have a major project that would require him to shuttle abroad to Home Depot for a hunk of the day. Nope, he was home, walking around his house, fixing himself things to eat, like he lived here too. On more than five occasions I found myself giving him the hairy eyeball while he stood there meditating in front of the open refrigerator because it was 9:27 and if the kids were not both stuffed with blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes by the stroke of 9:30 all hell was going to break loose and the earth plates would shift making this the worst day in the history of all unplanned Sundays for our family. In other words, I crabbed at him for taking so long and scooted him out of the way so I could feed the children like I always do.
Then the poor man dared pick up a few toys in the living room. I noticed he put several blocks in with the plastic superheroes. Not sure what it was, perhaps a baby aneurysm, but my brain vibrated and my teeth shook in place. It was a 6.3 on the crazy b---- scale. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning up."
"Okay but... these go there. And theeeeeeeese go here."
I'm sure he was wishing I could evaporate into thin air. Or explode painfully into color coordinated microbits of flesh and bone. Frankly, so was I. It's exhausting being this irritating. So I did the second best thing. I went out to look at furniture.
When I returned (sans furniture) he and Grayson seemed well with the world. Outside. In the trees. With the dirt. Abby was still sleeping.
She woke up. The boys came inside. The Husband and I bumped into each other like our house was on wheels. We literally ran into each other all day long and never once made eye contact or had a nice thing to say to one another in the process.
The day wore on in a very bumpy fashion and dinner was another tug-of-war between spouses. But I relinquished post haste. If you know me, you know I will always prefer to entertain the troops vice combine ingredients in hopes of something edible to come out of it. It was a good choice. The Husband could totally compete on Top Chef. And be the last one standing.
A couple hours later we managed to get the kids to bed and found ourselves staring at the same television screen.
Internal Dialogue to Myself:
Man, he looks pissed. I was really a bear today. He hates me. He's probably dreaming of smothering me with this pillow. Who can blame him? Did I put the garage door down? Is this that sequel to Planet Earth with Oprah Winfrey's voice? It is! Oh, this will be good. Oh man, he's reaching for the remote. He's gonna watch a car show. I hate car shows. I'm going to fake sleep. No, I'm going to watch this show with him because it's the least I can do for being so obnoxious today. Oh wait, he's turning his back to me. He's REALLY mad. I wonder if he's going down to sleep on the couch.
Just then he turns back around to snuggle up to my pillow, takes one hand to softly smooth my freaking out face and says, "I love you, honey."
And that?
That is the human female condition.
So this weekend the husband was not away at school and wasn't preoccupied with writing a paper or reading 5 chapters of his school work. He didn't even have a major project that would require him to shuttle abroad to Home Depot for a hunk of the day. Nope, he was home, walking around his house, fixing himself things to eat, like he lived here too. On more than five occasions I found myself giving him the hairy eyeball while he stood there meditating in front of the open refrigerator because it was 9:27 and if the kids were not both stuffed with blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes by the stroke of 9:30 all hell was going to break loose and the earth plates would shift making this the worst day in the history of all unplanned Sundays for our family. In other words, I crabbed at him for taking so long and scooted him out of the way so I could feed the children like I always do.
Then the poor man dared pick up a few toys in the living room. I noticed he put several blocks in with the plastic superheroes. Not sure what it was, perhaps a baby aneurysm, but my brain vibrated and my teeth shook in place. It was a 6.3 on the crazy b---- scale. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning up."
"Okay but... these go there. And theeeeeeeese go here."
I'm sure he was wishing I could evaporate into thin air. Or explode painfully into color coordinated microbits of flesh and bone. Frankly, so was I. It's exhausting being this irritating. So I did the second best thing. I went out to look at furniture.
When I returned (sans furniture) he and Grayson seemed well with the world. Outside. In the trees. With the dirt. Abby was still sleeping.
She woke up. The boys came inside. The Husband and I bumped into each other like our house was on wheels. We literally ran into each other all day long and never once made eye contact or had a nice thing to say to one another in the process.
The day wore on in a very bumpy fashion and dinner was another tug-of-war between spouses. But I relinquished post haste. If you know me, you know I will always prefer to entertain the troops vice combine ingredients in hopes of something edible to come out of it. It was a good choice. The Husband could totally compete on Top Chef. And be the last one standing.
A couple hours later we managed to get the kids to bed and found ourselves staring at the same television screen.
Internal Dialogue to Myself:
Man, he looks pissed. I was really a bear today. He hates me. He's probably dreaming of smothering me with this pillow. Who can blame him? Did I put the garage door down? Is this that sequel to Planet Earth with Oprah Winfrey's voice? It is! Oh, this will be good. Oh man, he's reaching for the remote. He's gonna watch a car show. I hate car shows. I'm going to fake sleep. No, I'm going to watch this show with him because it's the least I can do for being so obnoxious today. Oh wait, he's turning his back to me. He's REALLY mad. I wonder if he's going down to sleep on the couch.
Just then he turns back around to snuggle up to my pillow, takes one hand to softly smooth my freaking out face and says, "I love you, honey."
And that?
That is the human female condition.
Friday, March 19, 2010
A Post Not About the Children
Thought I'd take a different slant and discuss something with you that has me sweating bullets: summertime.
I know I'm not alone in admitting the complete state of panic I am in as the temperatures increase daily and we are outside more than inside. Fewer clothes. More skin. Fewer clothes on more skin. (Very close to reaching for paper bag. Both to breathe into and to wear.) Nothing in my closet fits except the 18 pair of black cotton pants that probably should be burned instead of folded.
The only solution is to suck it up like a big girl and run.
Dieting is out of the question. I rebel like Che Guevara and burn inconsolably at the injustice of it all. Nobody, and I mean nobody, should have to live without pancakes.
So I will not whine, whimper or mope about it one more day.
This is me promising you that I will run. Run fast and away from the stretchy pants and loose-never-was-flattering-even-under-the-sweatjacket shirts. Run toward self confidence and dressing rooms. Run circles around my excuses and reasons for not getting out there to run. Just Do It until I get to at least halfway incapacitating side cramps and shin splints. I will run.
I'll miss you, computer chair. But summer is fast approaching and no amount of typing will make my legs look cute in capris. I'll keep you posted on progress or slackage. Whichever happens first.
Who's with me?
I know I'm not alone in admitting the complete state of panic I am in as the temperatures increase daily and we are outside more than inside. Fewer clothes. More skin. Fewer clothes on more skin. (Very close to reaching for paper bag. Both to breathe into and to wear.) Nothing in my closet fits except the 18 pair of black cotton pants that probably should be burned instead of folded.
The only solution is to suck it up like a big girl and run.
Dieting is out of the question. I rebel like Che Guevara and burn inconsolably at the injustice of it all. Nobody, and I mean nobody, should have to live without pancakes.
So I will not whine, whimper or mope about it one more day.
This is me promising you that I will run. Run fast and away from the stretchy pants and loose-never-was-flattering-even-under-the-sweatjacket shirts. Run toward self confidence and dressing rooms. Run circles around my excuses and reasons for not getting out there to run. Just Do It until I get to at least halfway incapacitating side cramps and shin splints. I will run.
I'll miss you, computer chair. But summer is fast approaching and no amount of typing will make my legs look cute in capris. I'll keep you posted on progress or slackage. Whichever happens first.
Who's with me?
Seeing into the Future
Dear Abby,
Last week we took you to get your 15 month check up. The doctor said you were perfect. She actually said you were skinny too! I'm going to repeat that for you here. She said you were skinny. She said you have always been on the "thin side "ever since you were born so it's nothing to worry about. It's just who you are and it looks great on you.
I'm bringing this to your attention now because you are inevitably going to, at some point in your future, dislike your body. You are my daughter and the DNA won't allow for you to love yourself indefinitely. When that time comes, I'm going to crank up an old PC (like an ancient phonograph) and ask you to read this entry.
I know I'm your mom and I am biased but you are one tiny beautiful little person. There isn't one inch of you that isn't the peachiest of porcelain known to man and when you get a scratch or a bruise it looks like graffiti on a marble statue. Your little body is strong, healthy, and succulent. I've almost eaten you two thousand times. You have a lot of girly mannerisms already that make your Daddy completely weak in the knees. He works hard and doesn't always have a smile on his face around here but when you walk over to him with your head tilted to the side like you do, he is nothing but smiling eyes and happy teeth. Job well done, sister.
And your brother thinks you are the sun and stars too. Unfortunately, he will hurt your feelings from time to time. I'm sorry for this. For now and in the future. But it's natural. You should see him here. He loves you so much he practically pops your head off in a bear hug and the next minute is shoving you over because you want to play with his Batman motorcycle. But never question his devotion to you. Right now, this three year old boy will not walk one foot away from you when we are outside. He is ever vigilant and ever watchful. He is your own personal pit bull that will not leave you alone in this world. You can rely on him, no matter what happens. Trust me here.
You guys have even created your own secret language, both in body and "words." The doctor watched you two interact in the office and brought your secret language to my attention. It's a series of hugs, smiles, grunts and short "words" that I always mistook as simple sibling play. You are doing more than that. You two are bonding yourselves together for life. You get each other and that is priceless. Trust me again here. This will be crucial in years to come. Because you see, when you get older he will date and you will date (each others' friends - surprise!), probably marry (hopefully someone who values both families), and become separate. It's going to break my heart when it happens but please don't give up on each other. Each of you will fall in love and evolve into new family roles - whether that is husband or wife or mother or father. This is just another step toward building a larger family, not a step away from the one you knew (although that's exactly what it's going to feel like at first). You will miss him. But please trust and know that you are still important in each others' lives because you will be. There is no replacing a sibling.
And lastly me. Please know that I'm going to revel in you. You are already 200% more ladylike than I ever could wish to be and it's like watching a garden bloom. Until you are tired. Then you are just like me and bump into your own shadow. And your sweet little "ippy" face. Your darling little face looks nothing like mine and for that I am grateful. I wake each morning to find you in your crib and stare for a minute or two just to see your exquisite features melt into that coy smile only you can do. You will never have a "natural" double chin because yours is so prominent. You will have big eyes like your Daddy and your brother, not mine that are all but invisible without makeup. Believe me, it will be a blessing to take after your father's side because they have incredible high cheekbones and great hair. And luckily for you, both sides of your family tree bring tenacity, warmth, creativity, and heart. I hope you look in the mirror when you are older and see all that we see in you, both inside and out. I will always remind you, like a broken record, that you are perfect. Even the doctor said s
o.
Last week we took you to get your 15 month check up. The doctor said you were perfect. She actually said you were skinny too! I'm going to repeat that for you here. She said you were skinny. She said you have always been on the "thin side "ever since you were born so it's nothing to worry about. It's just who you are and it looks great on you.
I'm bringing this to your attention now because you are inevitably going to, at some point in your future, dislike your body. You are my daughter and the DNA won't allow for you to love yourself indefinitely. When that time comes, I'm going to crank up an old PC (like an ancient phonograph) and ask you to read this entry.
I know I'm your mom and I am biased but you are one tiny beautiful little person. There isn't one inch of you that isn't the peachiest of porcelain known to man and when you get a scratch or a bruise it looks like graffiti on a marble statue. Your little body is strong, healthy, and succulent. I've almost eaten you two thousand times. You have a lot of girly mannerisms already that make your Daddy completely weak in the knees. He works hard and doesn't always have a smile on his face around here but when you walk over to him with your head tilted to the side like you do, he is nothing but smiling eyes and happy teeth. Job well done, sister.
And your brother thinks you are the sun and stars too. Unfortunately, he will hurt your feelings from time to time. I'm sorry for this. For now and in the future. But it's natural. You should see him here. He loves you so much he practically pops your head off in a bear hug and the next minute is shoving you over because you want to play with his Batman motorcycle. But never question his devotion to you. Right now, this three year old boy will not walk one foot away from you when we are outside. He is ever vigilant and ever watchful. He is your own personal pit bull that will not leave you alone in this world. You can rely on him, no matter what happens. Trust me here.
You guys have even created your own secret language, both in body and "words." The doctor watched you two interact in the office and brought your secret language to my attention. It's a series of hugs, smiles, grunts and short "words" that I always mistook as simple sibling play. You are doing more than that. You two are bonding yourselves together for life. You get each other and that is priceless. Trust me again here. This will be crucial in years to come. Because you see, when you get older he will date and you will date (each others' friends - surprise!), probably marry (hopefully someone who values both families), and become separate. It's going to break my heart when it happens but please don't give up on each other. Each of you will fall in love and evolve into new family roles - whether that is husband or wife or mother or father. This is just another step toward building a larger family, not a step away from the one you knew (although that's exactly what it's going to feel like at first). You will miss him. But please trust and know that you are still important in each others' lives because you will be. There is no replacing a sibling.
And lastly me. Please know that I'm going to revel in you. You are already 200% more ladylike than I ever could wish to be and it's like watching a garden bloom. Until you are tired. Then you are just like me and bump into your own shadow. And your sweet little "ippy" face. Your darling little face looks nothing like mine and for that I am grateful. I wake each morning to find you in your crib and stare for a minute or two just to see your exquisite features melt into that coy smile only you can do. You will never have a "natural" double chin because yours is so prominent. You will have big eyes like your Daddy and your brother, not mine that are all but invisible without makeup. Believe me, it will be a blessing to take after your father's side because they have incredible high cheekbones and great hair. And luckily for you, both sides of your family tree bring tenacity, warmth, creativity, and heart. I hope you look in the mirror when you are older and see all that we see in you, both inside and out. I will always remind you, like a broken record, that you are perfect. Even the doctor said s
o.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Day in Review
In case you were curious to know what we do all day, here's a glimpse of yesterday. Upon further review, I'm not sure what all my complaining was about because in pictures it looks like a Hallmark commercial. We packed as much into a day as anyone could. Perhaps therein was the problem? Anyway, here's what we do from day to day...almost from start to finish, minus the incessant floor sweeping, dish washing, sippy cup filling, diaper changing, hiney wiping, mess cleaning, and general Mommy hair pulling. Thought you could do without those visuals.
You're welcome.
To begin: This is our wee little front yard picnic that lasted maybe 11 minutes. Abby quickly and deftly put both knees in that peanut butter & jelly sandwich she's eating, then clawed after Grayson's like a voracious muskrat. He almost gave it up. She can be convincing
Here we have my little twenty something out posturing for the ladies....
He's too good at this. I am worried. And proud.
Then we have the naughty one who was so trying to gain entry into her own house by way of screen window.
So we went to the backyard where...
There were balls.
There were bats.
There were balls being rendered stooopid by bats.
There was horse back riding.
There was uphill.
There was downhill. *Notice the body language and Grayson's lemon face. He was pouting because little sis joined him to play tetherball massacre. Evidently, it's a solo sport.
There was a nice (short) game of kickball.
There was still the little sister trying to chime in.
But settling for the cheering section instead (unbreak my heart already).
And voila! Another country heard from.
You have to look fast or else you'll miss the baby gazelle.
The 75 pound baby gazelle.
And then there was running uphill.
And laughing because uphill IS funny.
But very tiring too.
Look up!
Look down.
Oh crap, it's only 1:30, what next?!?!?!?!
Time for cookie dough!
Lots and lots of cookie dough.
Passing time creating "rocks" while the cookies bake.
Whew - are you tired yet?
Well don't get all comfy on me now like we're almost done here...get your walkin' shoes on because we're going to the park!
by way of curbside
to collect sticks
and to play on the slide
on your belly
again and again until the peepers peep.
Uh oh. Looks like someone's not ready to leave.
But he gets a second wind quickly.
His mother, however, does not.
The End.
What are your days like?
You're welcome.
To begin: This is our wee little front yard picnic that lasted maybe 11 minutes. Abby quickly and deftly put both knees in that peanut butter & jelly sandwich she's eating, then clawed after Grayson's like a voracious muskrat. He almost gave it up. She can be convincing
Here we have my little twenty something out posturing for the ladies....
He's too good at this. I am worried. And proud.
Then we have the naughty one who was so trying to gain entry into her own house by way of screen window.
So we went to the backyard where...
There were balls.
There were bats.
There were balls being rendered stooopid by bats.
There was horse back riding.
There was uphill.
There was downhill. *Notice the body language and Grayson's lemon face. He was pouting because little sis joined him to play tetherball massacre. Evidently, it's a solo sport.
There was a nice (short) game of kickball.
There was still the little sister trying to chime in.
But settling for the cheering section instead (unbreak my heart already).
And voila! Another country heard from.
You have to look fast or else you'll miss the baby gazelle.
The 75 pound baby gazelle.
And then there was running uphill.
And laughing because uphill IS funny.
But very tiring too.
Look up!
Look down.
Oh crap, it's only 1:30, what next?!?!?!?!
Time for cookie dough!
Lots and lots of cookie dough.
Passing time creating "rocks" while the cookies bake.
Whew - are you tired yet?
Well don't get all comfy on me now like we're almost done here...get your walkin' shoes on because we're going to the park!
by way of curbside
to collect sticks
and to play on the slide
on your belly
again and again until the peepers peep.
Uh oh. Looks like someone's not ready to leave.
But he gets a second wind quickly.
His mother, however, does not.
The End.
What are your days like?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
More of a Night Person
This day has me looking at Monster.com
This day has me twisting my too short hair into some ponytail beansprout amalgam thing.
This day has me feeling fat.
This day has one very whiny 15 month old who is not happy unless her little body is scaling furniture and/or bedrails.
This day has me angry.
This day has me dreaming about kindergarten.
This day has me despising my neighborhood with nobody in it.
This day started out with a walk and a picnic.
This day has me by the jugular.
This day has me wanting to work with things that don't talk. Or cry. Or need me.
This day has me so thankful that won't ever really happen.
This day has me needing a very long run with nothing but the sound of my feet and my own "whoo whoo whoo" exhale to listen to.
This day also started with blueberry pancakes.
This day is trying to push me until I push right the ----- back.
This day is one in which we all stepped in dogsh*t and brought it back into the house.
This day is one in which I want to donate every last toy and keep only one drawer of crayons and paper.
This day isn't so bad now that the children are napping.
This day might have a Dunkin Donuts' drive thru in its future.
This day could very well have me doing a post natal workout because the bajillion household chores and quadrabajillion childrens' games don't burn off a belly fast enough.
This day could also be serving leftovers on paper plates for dinner.
This day might just demand a raise.
This day may help me find my way back to me.
This day doesn't want to talkaboutit.
This day is not even halfway over.
This day will usher in this night and
that right there
makes me very happy.
This day has me twisting my too short hair into some ponytail beansprout amalgam thing.
This day has me feeling fat.
This day has one very whiny 15 month old who is not happy unless her little body is scaling furniture and/or bedrails.
This day has me angry.
This day has me dreaming about kindergarten.
This day has me despising my neighborhood with nobody in it.
This day started out with a walk and a picnic.
This day has me by the jugular.
This day has me wanting to work with things that don't talk. Or cry. Or need me.
This day has me so thankful that won't ever really happen.
This day has me needing a very long run with nothing but the sound of my feet and my own "whoo whoo whoo" exhale to listen to.
This day also started with blueberry pancakes.
This day is trying to push me until I push right the ----- back.
This day is one in which we all stepped in dogsh*t and brought it back into the house.
This day is one in which I want to donate every last toy and keep only one drawer of crayons and paper.
This day isn't so bad now that the children are napping.
This day might have a Dunkin Donuts' drive thru in its future.
This day could very well have me doing a post natal workout because the bajillion household chores and quadrabajillion childrens' games don't burn off a belly fast enough.
This day could also be serving leftovers on paper plates for dinner.
This day might just demand a raise.
This day may help me find my way back to me.
This day doesn't want to talkaboutit.
This day is not even halfway over.
This day will usher in this night and
that right there
makes me very happy.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Karma
Lost my cell phone today.
It's what I get for talking smack about my husband's yesterday.
Be good to the universe or it will bite you.
It's what I get for talking smack about my husband's yesterday.
Be good to the universe or it will bite you.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Backpack Dialing
My husband's cell phone called me from inside his backpack at 7:05 am this morning. From the metro.
Me: "Hello?"
Husband's buried cell phone: **** (animated metro voice) "Please move to the center of the car."static. thump thump. static. (his muffled voice) "Mornin' Sir." static. thump thump. static. "Sir." thump thump. whoooooshhhhhh. "Mornin' Sir. static thump thump thump. whooosh. Whoooosh.**** end call.
Three things confirmed. First, good news! His cell phone does work underground. Secondly, there aren't any men at the Pentagon. Third, I am far too easily entertained. What exactly was I listening for once I realized his phone accidentally dialed home? "Hi. This is your husband's cell phone. I got nudged by some guy in a Dolce Gabbana suit and accidentally woke you up. My bad."
So I did what any good upstanding Marine wife would do. Called him back 30 minutes later. Had to leave a message but he returned my call at lunchtime.
Me: Hi.
Him: Hey.
Me: I'm returning your call. (still amused by this morning's mistake) Well, not your call but your backpack's call. He called me.
Him: (not nearly as amused and at work and bettering the world at large)
Yeah. I got your message.
Me: Your backpack misses me.
Him:
Me: Your cellphone luuuuvs me.
Him:
Me: Are you busy?
Him: A little.
Me: You forgot to bring your lunch.
Him: No, I didn't.
Me: What did you bring?
Him: fish.
Me: ew.
Him:
Me: I'll let you go.
Him: How are the kids?
Me: I'll have my backpack call your backpack.
Him: Goodbye.
Me: Bye.
I really should have better things to do at 7:05am but I hope to get another underground prank call tomorrow!
Me: "Hello?"
Husband's buried cell phone: **** (animated metro voice) "Please move to the center of the car."static. thump thump. static. (his muffled voice) "Mornin' Sir." static. thump thump. static. "Sir." thump thump. whoooooshhhhhh. "Mornin' Sir. static thump thump thump. whooosh. Whoooosh.**** end call.
Three things confirmed. First, good news! His cell phone does work underground. Secondly, there aren't any men at the Pentagon. Third, I am far too easily entertained. What exactly was I listening for once I realized his phone accidentally dialed home? "Hi. This is your husband's cell phone. I got nudged by some guy in a Dolce Gabbana suit and accidentally woke you up. My bad."
So I did what any good upstanding Marine wife would do. Called him back 30 minutes later. Had to leave a message but he returned my call at lunchtime.
Me: Hi.
Him: Hey.
Me: I'm returning your call. (still amused by this morning's mistake) Well, not your call but your backpack's call. He called me.
Him: (not nearly as amused and at work and bettering the world at large)
Yeah. I got your message.
Me: Your backpack misses me.
Him:
Me: Your cellphone luuuuvs me.
Him:
Me: Are you busy?
Him: A little.
Me: You forgot to bring your lunch.
Him: No, I didn't.
Me: What did you bring?
Him: fish.
Me: ew.
Him:
Me: I'll let you go.
Him: How are the kids?
Me: I'll have my backpack call your backpack.
Him: Goodbye.
Me: Bye.
I really should have better things to do at 7:05am but I hope to get another underground prank call tomorrow!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Cain and (Un)Abel
Here's my first controversial post. You ready? Not sure I am but here we go. Judge accordingly.
Today's trip to my favorite thrift store produced a plastic Navy boat and two children's books. We're not to the controversial part yet although the Navy boat could certainly produce some heartburn when my husband gets a load of it tonight. It's about one of the books. At the risk of exploiting my utter reprehensible lack of religious knowledge I have to tell you how taken aback I was at the one I chose called, Bible Stories for Bedtime. This book was specifically designed for ages 3-7 and basically breaks down complicated biblical verses into "See Jane Run" type paragraphs. It's got pictures and short sentences. It leaves out confusing details and gives only pertinent information. The thing is, you guys, because I never really studied the bible myself
(I was far too busy making mud pies for a pretend orphanage when I was little - Does that count?), I had no idea how scary it was and how violent it can be.
Here we were today at lunch - one heathen adult and two innocent lambs - reading some stories from the Bible over grilled cheeses and quartered up grapes. Things were sunny. We were all learning. "God Creates the Earth." Light, moon, stars, land, animals. Got it. Geographically riveting. Let's keep going! Next up was the story of Adam and Eve. Even I knew there could be some risque moments here but Eve was modestly sketched with some appropriately placed foliage and baby deer so I figured the coast was clear. I was right. Things were going swimmingly until after I put Abby down. I promised Grayson I'd read a few more stories right before his nap. He was stoked. I was psyched. We're all a bunch of literary dorks around here and look forward to a good read.
So Abby is in her crib and Grayson and I are lazing on the couch, ready to pick up where we left off with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. I have enough background knowledge of the topic to know this too could get a little PG-13 but I'm going to trust the authors who have done a great job keeping it G rated up until now. We meet the serpent. He's slithery and bad. Grayson's eyes widen. Eve takes a bite of the naughty apple. Grayson holds his hand to his mouth in awe. Eve shares it with Adam. "Oh no!" Grayson shakes his head. He seems to understand the bad juju a bite from this apple will bring. Then I read the words in print: "God said to Adam: You ate from the tree. I made you from dust. So you will turn back into dust." Grayson goes pale. Paler than his usual lunar pinkness. But he seems okay when I tell him God let them live out their life complete with kids, two goldfish, and a mortgage before they had to make good on their promise to turn back into dust. Whew, dodged that big "death is the end of this whole living thing you're getting used to" bullet. That was a close one.
Then we get to the next page entitled...and I quote, "Cain Murders His Brother."
You can't be freaking serious. I'm not reading this to my three year old who almost had a coronary when he pictured Adam and Eve turning into dust particles. Murder? You want me to say that word to my three year old?
Not one to give up easily, I perused the rest of the paragraph to see if I could change some things without compromising the content or validity of the story. "Later, Cain killed Abel while he was walking in the field. What have you done, Cain? God said. Listen, Abel's blood is crying to me from the ground. You murdered Abel. You will always live under a curse."
Not exactly The Pokey Little Puppy, is it?
Grayson, hungry for more nice stories of abundant sky and floppy eared animals urges me on to tell him more. I cave and we totally skip over Cain and that poor guy Abel.
"Noah Builds the Ark" is next and again, I have enough background understanding of this one to know we should be safe. I quickly read ahead to myself searching for more violent red flags, "The land was full of people." Good, not so scary. We can handle this. "God looked at the world he had made." Nice. It must've been so green back then. "The people were wicked." Oops, down that dark alley we go. "God said, "I am sorry I made these people." Wow. This bible stuff is such a downer, who knew? I dive in, however, and give it my best Disney makeover and this is what Grayson heard: "God looked at the world he made. There were a lot of people there. God said he was cool with most of them but some were not very nice." Okay, that wasn't so tough. I should totally teach Sunday school.
I continue to read forward in my head: "God saw one very good man named Noah. He told Noah, "I am going to wipe out the people I have made. They will die with all things on earth. Only you are living right. You and your family will be saved. The rest of the people will drown."
Oooooh-kay, I think we're just about done here.
Seriously, at this rate, I might as well plunk him down for a nice long soak in front of Jaws or Silence of the Lambs. At least there he would learn to appreciate incredible cinematography and superb role playing. RIP Mr. Roy Scheider . You were tired and you wanted to go home...
Call me what you will, but my little guy can wait for words like "kill, die and murder," especially when in the realm of learning about God and creation. I'm quite sure the ripe age of three is not the developmental milestone capable of shouldering all the horror that comes with words like that. I'm also sure we will reconvene about these Bible stories when he's ready. Not when he still has to read Max & Ruby twelve times before going to bed because he's afraid to sleep alone in his room at night. I'll take my chances that I'm bringing up children with values and spiritual appreciation without the exact verbage from these biblical verses. I made it thirty some years without reading them and I am good. They have only gone a couple of years without hearing these specific stories and are also good. I highly doubt God minds how they grow to know him. Just as long as they do.
Today's trip to my favorite thrift store produced a plastic Navy boat and two children's books. We're not to the controversial part yet although the Navy boat could certainly produce some heartburn when my husband gets a load of it tonight. It's about one of the books. At the risk of exploiting my utter reprehensible lack of religious knowledge I have to tell you how taken aback I was at the one I chose called, Bible Stories for Bedtime. This book was specifically designed for ages 3-7 and basically breaks down complicated biblical verses into "See Jane Run" type paragraphs. It's got pictures and short sentences. It leaves out confusing details and gives only pertinent information. The thing is, you guys, because I never really studied the bible myself
(I was far too busy making mud pies for a pretend orphanage when I was little - Does that count?), I had no idea how scary it was and how violent it can be.
Here we were today at lunch - one heathen adult and two innocent lambs - reading some stories from the Bible over grilled cheeses and quartered up grapes. Things were sunny. We were all learning. "God Creates the Earth." Light, moon, stars, land, animals. Got it. Geographically riveting. Let's keep going! Next up was the story of Adam and Eve. Even I knew there could be some risque moments here but Eve was modestly sketched with some appropriately placed foliage and baby deer so I figured the coast was clear. I was right. Things were going swimmingly until after I put Abby down. I promised Grayson I'd read a few more stories right before his nap. He was stoked. I was psyched. We're all a bunch of literary dorks around here and look forward to a good read.
So Abby is in her crib and Grayson and I are lazing on the couch, ready to pick up where we left off with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. I have enough background knowledge of the topic to know this too could get a little PG-13 but I'm going to trust the authors who have done a great job keeping it G rated up until now. We meet the serpent. He's slithery and bad. Grayson's eyes widen. Eve takes a bite of the naughty apple. Grayson holds his hand to his mouth in awe. Eve shares it with Adam. "Oh no!" Grayson shakes his head. He seems to understand the bad juju a bite from this apple will bring. Then I read the words in print: "God said to Adam: You ate from the tree. I made you from dust. So you will turn back into dust." Grayson goes pale. Paler than his usual lunar pinkness. But he seems okay when I tell him God let them live out their life complete with kids, two goldfish, and a mortgage before they had to make good on their promise to turn back into dust. Whew, dodged that big "death is the end of this whole living thing you're getting used to" bullet. That was a close one.
Then we get to the next page entitled...and I quote, "Cain Murders His Brother."
You can't be freaking serious. I'm not reading this to my three year old who almost had a coronary when he pictured Adam and Eve turning into dust particles. Murder? You want me to say that word to my three year old?
Not one to give up easily, I perused the rest of the paragraph to see if I could change some things without compromising the content or validity of the story. "Later, Cain killed Abel while he was walking in the field. What have you done, Cain? God said. Listen, Abel's blood is crying to me from the ground. You murdered Abel. You will always live under a curse."
Not exactly The Pokey Little Puppy, is it?
Grayson, hungry for more nice stories of abundant sky and floppy eared animals urges me on to tell him more. I cave and we totally skip over Cain and that poor guy Abel.
"Noah Builds the Ark" is next and again, I have enough background understanding of this one to know we should be safe. I quickly read ahead to myself searching for more violent red flags, "The land was full of people." Good, not so scary. We can handle this. "God looked at the world he had made." Nice. It must've been so green back then. "The people were wicked." Oops, down that dark alley we go. "God said, "I am sorry I made these people." Wow. This bible stuff is such a downer, who knew? I dive in, however, and give it my best Disney makeover and this is what Grayson heard: "God looked at the world he made. There were a lot of people there. God said he was cool with most of them but some were not very nice." Okay, that wasn't so tough. I should totally teach Sunday school.
I continue to read forward in my head: "God saw one very good man named Noah. He told Noah, "I am going to wipe out the people I have made. They will die with all things on earth. Only you are living right. You and your family will be saved. The rest of the people will drown."
Oooooh-kay, I think we're just about done here.
Seriously, at this rate, I might as well plunk him down for a nice long soak in front of Jaws or Silence of the Lambs. At least there he would learn to appreciate incredible cinematography and superb role playing. RIP Mr. Roy Scheider . You were tired and you wanted to go home...
Call me what you will, but my little guy can wait for words like "kill, die and murder," especially when in the realm of learning about God and creation. I'm quite sure the ripe age of three is not the developmental milestone capable of shouldering all the horror that comes with words like that. I'm also sure we will reconvene about these Bible stories when he's ready. Not when he still has to read Max & Ruby twelve times before going to bed because he's afraid to sleep alone in his room at night. I'll take my chances that I'm bringing up children with values and spiritual appreciation without the exact verbage from these biblical verses. I made it thirty some years without reading them and I am good. They have only gone a couple of years without hearing these specific stories and are also good. I highly doubt God minds how they grow to know him. Just as long as they do.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Architecture
Lately Grayson has been creating things. With household materials. Like toilet paper, lotion bottles, old foam curlers. And Softsoap. You know, things found under the sink. Sometimes a vegetable or fruit is incorporated into the structure if I fail to hear the shwip of the refrigerator door in time.
Here are some of his latest creations.
With a little tweaking, I think the last one is a contender for the Smithsonian. Or a commercial for that there metal gate.
Ta Da! The Toilet Tower of Yuck
"Yes, I am the man responsible for all this awesome."
(Notice his sweet little pleased-with-himself face. It was 11:32pm. That's not at all what my face looked like. But I did manage to congratulate him on a job well done and snap a picture of him with his foam toilet seat and softsoap tower. Twenty seconds before I threw it all in the trash when he wasn't looking. I know. I should have hung it on the wall.)
This one is entitled, "Nascar Nasties" by me.
Or "Cake" if you're Grayson.
The scary thing was that he kept going downstairs all afternoon to cut me a piece of "cake" from this buffet of crap. Bless his heart. I "enjoyed" every single last morsel out of guilt for trashing his first creation and also because who can say no to cake?
Now this last series is good. You'll have to click on one or all to get the full effect.
Backstory: I went upstairs to hide for literally 4 maybe 4.29 minutes - Daddy was home and in the kitchen - and pulled the gate closed behind me to keep one little shadow girl from following me up the stairs. In that time, Grayson collected and purposefully positioned every toy known to man on the landing to make "an easel" (probably ladder but maybe he wanted to climb an easel, who am I to know for sure?) on which to climb over and check on me to make sure I was safe. One never can be too cautious. Many a mommy had disappeared into her bathroom for hours only to reappear with wrinkled skin and a towel where her hair once was.
I think the true charm is in Sadie's forlorn expression and surprising ability to balance her backside and make a veritable bean bag chair from that gigantic red rubber ball. She's always been resourceful. And could probably show Pink a thing or two on that trapeze now that I think about it.
Thanks for visiting Grayson's art show.
Can I interest you in a piece of "cake" for the ride home?
Here are some of his latest creations.
With a little tweaking, I think the last one is a contender for the Smithsonian. Or a commercial for that there metal gate.
Ta Da! The Toilet Tower of Yuck
"Yes, I am the man responsible for all this awesome."
(Notice his sweet little pleased-with-himself face. It was 11:32pm. That's not at all what my face looked like. But I did manage to congratulate him on a job well done and snap a picture of him with his foam toilet seat and softsoap tower. Twenty seconds before I threw it all in the trash when he wasn't looking. I know. I should have hung it on the wall.)
This one is entitled, "Nascar Nasties" by me.
Or "Cake" if you're Grayson.
The scary thing was that he kept going downstairs all afternoon to cut me a piece of "cake" from this buffet of crap. Bless his heart. I "enjoyed" every single last morsel out of guilt for trashing his first creation and also because who can say no to cake?
Now this last series is good. You'll have to click on one or all to get the full effect.
Backstory: I went upstairs to hide for literally 4 maybe 4.29 minutes - Daddy was home and in the kitchen - and pulled the gate closed behind me to keep one little shadow girl from following me up the stairs. In that time, Grayson collected and purposefully positioned every toy known to man on the landing to make "an easel" (probably ladder but maybe he wanted to climb an easel, who am I to know for sure?) on which to climb over and check on me to make sure I was safe. One never can be too cautious. Many a mommy had disappeared into her bathroom for hours only to reappear with wrinkled skin and a towel where her hair once was.
I think the true charm is in Sadie's forlorn expression and surprising ability to balance her backside and make a veritable bean bag chair from that gigantic red rubber ball. She's always been resourceful. And could probably show Pink a thing or two on that trapeze now that I think about it.
Thanks for visiting Grayson's art show.
Can I interest you in a piece of "cake" for the ride home?
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