Last night was the football banquet. The final football thing in a season that seems to have lasted for an entire year.
I’m really not complaining though. We have thoroughly enjoyed every moment.
My son is standing up there with his head coach getting a prestigious, yet little known, award. The “Making weight and then destroying the Ponderosa buffet” award. We are so proud.
It was a long event, with speeches, awards, and even more speeches. Miles entertained himself thoroughly by playing in his water glass and licking the water off of his fingers. The things you are willing to let your children do just so that they will be quiet. He also held his fingers up and shouted “TOUCHDOWN!” on the top of his lungs anytime there was applause. A few of those times he flipped the bird to the entire room. But it was a room full of football players, not high tea with Junior Women’s League, so I like to think that he fit in just fine.
And because there is no rest for the weary, this morning we got out all the baseball gear in anticipation of the season starting a few weeks. Everyone tried on their cleats and pants, and we examined gloves and bags, and we wondered where random items could have possibly disappeared. Call me crazy, but I am fairly certain everyone always came home wearing BOTH cleats, one on each foot, but I guess anything is possible.
This will be Miles first year playing. On a 4 yr old AND UNDER team. Could you just die from the potential cuteness and comic relief? He is so excited that he can’t even contain himself. When we found out about the team my 5 yr old said, “Well, at least now he won’t have to keep talking about his imaginary team.
The thing that is the cutest of all? The way his older brothers are excited for him. I am not sure that there will be many other kids who are lucky enough to have 5 older baseball playing brothers cheering for them.
I told Miles that there was going to be a team for him this year, he said, “I have been waiting since I was a baby!”
I still call them “The Babies.” Yes, I know at 4 and 5 years old they technically are not babies. In fact they roll their eyes at me and tell me every day that they are not babies.
Well, Miles has been known to embrace the “Baby” title when it suits him. He will get up in the morning and if I am already downstairs he will come running into the room shouting, “Here comes your baby!” Or if he doesn’t feel like turning on the bathroom light himself. “But I am just a baby!” Or if walking across the parking lot is too much. “I have tired wittle wegs because I am a baby!”
The Babies are on a Fluff and peanut butter sandwich kick right now. Cut into quarters. Hers in triangles. His in “tiny squares.” He refuses to eat the crust. You do not want to endure their wrath if you cut their sandwiches wrong. Those Babies are picky.
My oldest son asks me how long I am going to keep calling them The Babies. I don’t know.
“The Babies need a ride back to college.” Yeah, that sounds fine to me.
The Babies are already prepared for college life. I ask them all the time if it is lunch time or play time.
They aren’t sure.
Eating lunch is just way too funny….the opportunities for burping, showing the food in your mouth, and making a mess.
I couldn’t decide which one of the photos in this series was my pick for the day. Each one of them makes me smile. My favorite is the fifth one down, but technically it isn’t a great photo since everything is blurry. But that is sort of how things look when you are holding a camera and laughing, in spite of yourself.
Yes, I know I am late posting this. But in my defense my computer is trying to die. It shuts down at the most inopportune times. Apparently it needs a new motherboard, or so some tech in India tells me. Since it is still under warranty, because it is only 8 months old, I have someone coming out here to my house tomorrow morning to replace it.
Yesterday I had my annual girlie bit check-up. See my nicely folded clothes sitting on the chair? All the underwear tucked neatly inside the other clothes. Sure, you can look in my vagina, but I don’t want you to see my underwear or bra.
The dr said my pulse and blood pressure were nice and low and questioned whether I worked out. I hesitated and finally told her, “I think about working out. Does that count?”
This is what we did during breakfast this morning. Watched Martin Luther King Jr’s I Have A Dream speech and talked about civil rights.
My children watch the speech and think that it was something in the very distant past. After all there wasn’t even color tv back then! They can not even grasp why people would care about the color of the skin of someone else.
“But, why?” they keep asking.
I have no answer.
“People don’t still think that, do they?” they ask.
Tommorrow we will watch Barack Obama become the 44th president of the United States.
This is my partner in crime, or shovelling, as the case may be. The two of us have a system down. It has turned into a time for the two of us to spend alone talking, because Lord knows the other kids scatter at the mention of shovelling.
He gets to tell in my excruciating detail about the latest episode of How It’s Made. Or Mythbusters. Or ask me questions like, “What percentage of people do you think actually buy things from telemarketers?” and tell me trivia he has picked up from his voracious reading.
I mostly nod and smile and throw out an occasional, “Wow, that is fascinating!”
And while the questions themselves might not be fascinating, or constant stream of “fun facts,” it is fascinating to listen to him and hear how his mind works.
This morning I went to do laundry and noticed that the load I had out in the wash yesterday morning was sopping wet, sitting in a little pool of water. I didn’t think much of it since the on and off knob is on the front of the washer and we all frequently lean against it and turn the machine off. So I turned the washing machine back on and went on my merry way.
I came by it a little while later and realized that running the washing machine again had not solved anything. The clothing was sitting in a pool of water and the machine wouldn’t spin.
As someone who does endless laundry, I had no other choice than to pull the machine out and attempt to fix it. Even though, honestly, I had no idea how to actually fix it.
Long story short, I pulled the washer out from underneath the counter, took the drain hose off and cleaned it out. In the process spilling water that smelled like an old swamp all over the floor and myself. Then I cleaned out the little pump motor thingy. Turned out the frigid weather had caused some ice to form in it. No, my washer is not outside. Yes, it is located inside an interior room of my house. Imagine me shrugging my shoulders.
I heated the little pump motor thing up with the hair dryer. And then hit it with my screwdriver really hard a few times.
And viola, it began working again. (I’d like to pretend that I typed viola on purpose like it was my own saying, “Violin! Harpsichord!” But alas I really did mean voila, with the little accent mark that I do not know how to type.)
My daughter was fascinated by this process, jumping around just out of the room asking me a million questions.
“How do you know how to do that, Mommy?”
“I don’t, sweetie. Like everything else in life, I am just making it up as I go along.”
And sometimes just smacking the crap out of something with a screwdriver really is the answer.
Today we spent the day huddled near the woodstove. We read stories. We did school work. (By “we” I mean the children. Though sometimes it feels like it is me and I have to stop and tell certain children that I have already done elementary school, thankyouverymuch.) Watched bad Disney tv. And abused the Ninetendo DS priviledges. But what else are you supposed to do when it is really too cold to go outside and play?