Bacon, it’s what’s for dinner
September 24, 2007
My weekend was defined by two completely unrelated events.
One, I brought my 6, 8, and 10 yr olds to see Magic Tree House: The Musical. Yes, really. All I have to say is that they had better remember this when it comes time to pick out my old age home. They were the perfect age for the performance and loved every minute of it.
I would like to put out a memo to other parents though, What were you all thinking bringing a child under 5 to a live performance. There were so many 3 and 4 year olds. And how many of them do you think were able to sit quiet and still for well over two hours?
And second. I bought a new camera, a Nikon D40x. After seeking the advice of Otto who talked me out of my original purchase. Also, I bought a second lens. And then I paid for two day shipping, because if you are already bleeding money what’s $20 more. I am impatient like that.
Truthfully, if you don’t pay for the shipping you never can tell how long amazon will take to get your stuff to you. or maybe that is just how I justify it. I will point out, however, that I did not pay shipping for the ash vacuum I ordered almost 2 weeks ago and it still is not here.
Maybe they are dragging it here by its hose.
Anyway be prepared for an onslaught of photos. Probably of crying children demanding I just put the camera away already.
Also I ate some bacon wrapped chicken thing my husband grilled for dinner, and a weekend that involves eating bacon can’t possibly get any better, can it?
Posted by Chris @ 9:01 am
just another day
September 21, 2007
when I wonder I how I got so lucky.
Posted by Chris @ 3:18 pm
September 20, 2007
You love to talk. No, that sentence doesn’t quite express your love of the spoken word. You LOVE to talk. Constantly. All the time. You narrate every aspect of our day.
Watching television with you is the bane of your siblings existence. No matter how loud they turn the volume up, your voice can still be heard over it.
Your baby talk is slowly fading away and being replaced by real words. You no longer call your siblings by the cute nicknames you once gave them. I have caught them telling you to keep calling them by the special nicknames. You will humor them and say it once or twice, but quickly revert back to your new grown up way of talking.
Your insatiable baby palette is now being replaced with a picky preschooler one. You randomly turn your nose up in disgust at foods that just yesterday you loved. And tomorrow you will love again. Some meals you will only want to eat the vegetable, others only the meat, still others you want to everything, but with only one kind of food on your plate at a time.
One night I refused this unreasonable, to me, request and put all the food on your plate and told you to deal with it. You did. By throwing all the food off of your plate that you didn’t want.
I grabbed your wrist and reprimanded you. You looked at me with your big brown eyes and said, “Okay, mama”
As soon as I let go, you quickly reached over with both hands, grabbed the offending food, threw it off of your plate, and turned to me with, “Sorry, mama.” It doesn’t help matters that your siblings all laugh at your antics.
I love the way you describe things. Tonight for dinner we had “silly french fries” which really was asparagus. You call cows “moos” and have recently developed the habit of saying, “What the hell is this?” about everything you come across.
And just this morning you said,loudly to everyone within earshot, “It’s true I like eggies. So shut-up.” Completely out of the blue. No one had said you didn’t like eggs.
When we are out in public I find myself apologizing for your mouth by explaining you have a slew of older brothers. But if I were to be honest you get it from me. I am just happy that you haven’t picked up any other choice words of mine.
You are a creature of habit. Anything we do one time we must do forever. Whether it is read three “bed stories” under the covers of my bed, drink out of a certain cup, or wear socks with your crocs. There is no such thing as changing your mind in your little world.
You love looking at books and being read to. I will often find you sitting on the floor of our sunroom, your legs outstretched in front of you and resting on them a huge book. Your most recent favorite book is an Illustrated Pocket Guide to Insects. You keep handing it to me and demanding that I read it. It is filled with huge pictures of icky bugs that I would rather not look at, but I will browse through it anyway with you and give silent thanks that most of those insects don’t live anywhere near us.
You still love baseball, more than I have ever seen in a child your age. You insist we call you a “baseball guy” not a baby, not a little boy, not a big boy. You are a baseball guy.
You also still love trains. But not Thomas, no you love Percy. Unfortunately for you everything has Thomas on it. This makes you angry. Irrationally angry. You will see Thomas on something in the store, like a cup or lunchbox, and feel compelled to throw it on the ground. That is how great your displeasure is that Percy is not the star. “Not wike it dat Thomas! My wike Percy!”
We think you have restless leg syndrome. No really. You put yourself to sleep at night by kicking your legs. On those nights that you decide to come join Daddy and me in our bed you kick us constantly in our backs. And then kick all the covers off. If we pull the covers back up you kick them off again, laying on your back like you are bicycling in the air. Even holding your legs down doesn’t stop you. Not that I do that ever in the middle of the night. Ahem.
You have such a sweet disposition. Always smiling. Always happy. And when you aren’t it is for a good reason and usually brief. Like seeing Thomas on a store shelf.
I could go on and on about you. How you love talking on the phone, digging in the dirt, and eating french fries from Mac-n-donald. They way you rub my stomach and arms when you snuggle up to me and say I am “cozy and squishy.” And when I prompt you to say that about other people you say no one else is squishy like Mama. I love how you will get close to me when I am sitting on the floor, cup your hands around my cheeks and kiss me.
There is so much more I can write about you and your delicious ways, but we have to leave to drop one of your brothers off for baseball practice, another at gymnastics, and then go and watch a night game for yet another. Somewhere in the next two hours we have to eat dinner. And I have to decide what snacks to bring or else fork over my bank account for overpriced snack bar fare. And plan what sort of jackets to bring, because it might be cold. Maybe? Who knows this time of year.
And while I am thankful for your happy easy going personality, I also wonder if it developed because there was no other choice. Since you were born you have been dragged around. And then I wish I had dragged your oldest brother around when he was a baby, or maybe I should just tie him to my bumper and drag him around town now.
I promise I will never want to do that to you. At least not for another ten years, anyway.
I love you, baseball guy.
Posted by Chris @ 4:18 pm
September 19, 2007
I have the worst stomach ache. I don’t think I have had a stomach ache since I was a little kid. I guess it isn’t technically my stomach, more accurately my abdomen. But it hurts. Sort of like I have been punched repeatedly in the stomach. Or what I imagine it would feel like since I am a wimpy girl who has never actually been punched or punched anyone.
(It’s not on my right side for all you googling people who are going to scream appendix. I am one of you, and already checked Dr. Google.)
If I die everyone had better show up to my funeral in their 70’s disco costumes. Also, I think karaoke would be fun and lighten the mood. “Stayin’ Alive” by the BeeGees is tops on my funeral karaoke playlist.
Posted by Chris @ 10:13 am
He is a boy now, isn’t he?
September 17, 2007
My baby is 33 months old. And flesh colored. Kidding. It’s a joke.
What is that sound? Oh yes, me laughing all alone.
But at least I have a cute baby, right?
Posted by Chris @ 11:54 pm
What’s in a name
Luckily my son’s room has dried to a more acceptable color, more tan, definitely not the color that we normally think of when we use the word FLESH to describe it.
So I will refrain from using that apparently non-PC word to describe the color of my son’s walls.
From now on I will refer to the color of his room as the color of skin that results when a pasty white girl of german descent procreates with a dark olive skinned man of Italian descent and they have a daughter who goes down to Walgreens and buys a bottle of foundation off the shelf that she thinks will match her skin. But it will be too pink, like a newborn hog. That color.
Or the room painted the color formally known as the color Crayola had called ‘Flesh Tint’ in 1903 until it was changed to Flesh then temporarily to ‘Pink Beige’, back to Flesh and then finally to Peach and now we have no idea what to call it without offending everyone.
Or maybe for brevity I will just call it the LIGHTEN-THE-HELL-UP color.
Posted by Chris @ 8:24 am
A Room Fit For Hannibal
September 15, 2007
My 10 yr old son and I painted his bedroom yesterday afternoon.
This was a long time coming. We went to the paint store more than once and picked out paint swatches. We narrowed it down and brought home a paint sample, which we rejected for being too dark.
We went back to the paint store and using one of Benjamin Moore’s helpful charts that showed co-ordinating colors picked a color that matched his sheets and comforter.
So excited we were. We came home and immediately (five days later) began painting.
I knew when I opened the can that we were in trouble. It looked rather peach like. Tra-la-la, I ignore it.
And so we paint. I wish that I could say that any reservations I had melted away as I saw the lovely color paint up on the walls. But sadly that is not so.
But we painted on with our $35 a gallon non-returnable paint. My son was happy with it. Probably because he was just happy to be using the roller and painting his name is huge graffiti-like letters on the walls.
After we finished for the day, I stepped back and looked around the room. It is the color of flesh.
I turned to my son, “It takes the lotion and rubs it on it’s skin.”
“Yeah, you’re weird.” he replied.
I am waiting to see how the room looks with the different lighting of different times of day. I really don’t want to have to repaint the room. Maybe we can just hang up lots of posters? Or keep the lights off?
Posted by Chris @ 10:09 am
Making an informed decision
September 13, 2007
Ever the informed consumer, Miles reads the immunization information sheet before deciding that he will get the tetanus shot if he can have candy. Wots and wots of candy.
He will however scream loudly enough to shatter windows in buildings two floors down. That is his right, dammit, and he will exercise it.
Posted by Chris @ 8:41 am
September 12, 2007
So I mentioned in the previous* post that I was waiting for a phone call from the doctor. Even though the doctor had assured me that everything was fine and that the test was purely precautionary I worried. No, worry would be an understatement.
But having a part of your body biopsied is not something taken lightly, especially by people (me) who tend toward being overly dramatic worrywarts.
I prefaced everything by saying, “Well if I’m not dying, then…”
And when my pants were feeling
slightly very tight, I said “Well could be that I haven’t gained weight, but am really carrying around a 10lb tumor….”
And as I ate another huge bag of chips and hummus, “Well, if I am dying I certainly don’t want to spend my last days exercising…”
Just my way of making light of the situation.
Last night I finally got to talk to the doctor. The pathology report (more scary words!) came back completely normal. I don’t think I really even realized how much it had been weighing on my mind until I heard those words. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, not my ass, sadly.
So I can stop planning my funeral. Do you think people would have honored my last request to come to my funeral dressed as 1970’s disco stars?
Now I must start exercising so I can fit back into my winter clothes. Right after I finish eating that gallon of ice cream.
*(I had the typo precious in here, and while I think all my posts are precious, I mean to say previous. So there it is.)
Posted by Chris @ 9:02 am
Use a Pen, dammit
September 11, 2007
“Wait, was there a message?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I can’t remember.” he answered, looking down at his computer. Like I was interrupting him from some very important thing, like perusing the lego website. My blood pressure started to go up.
I have a post up about my son and his inability to TAKE A MESSAGE when he answers the phone.
Our lazy summer days are over. School has started again in earnest and since I am the teacher that means I am busy teaching and planning and alternately between patting myself on the back and being crippled by feelings of self-doubt. The activities the kids are all involved in have restarted and I feel as though I am in a contest to see if I can drive to every corner of the state in a single day.
I ordered the kids a bunch of new clothes online last week, mostly jeans since they wear through the knees in record time. There was a good sale and so I bought 4 pair of jeans each for five kids. The jeans came and NONE OF THEM FIT. Not one. When my fifth kid was trying on the jeans, in the size he should be wearing, and they were twice as big around the waist as they should be and too long I started to wonder if I have mutant children. Miniature mutant children.
So now I need to head to the store, with my children, to exchange the jeans for ones that fit. Just typing those words makes me want to curl up in a ball in the corner of the room.
Posted by Chris @ 8:42 am