Archive for the ‘family’ Tag
July 05 2011
My brother and his family came by this past Friday night to belatedly celebrate my birthday. With food and good times along with a present. Because in they came carrying a pink Victoria’s Secret gift bag.
I like Victoria’s Secret. Just not from my brother.
I tried not to fixate on this gift bag as it sat on the coffee table in front of us while we made small talk. And there it stayed while the kids filled every corner around it with play and amusing dance moves. We ate dinner with it directly in front of me, pink tissue paper billowing from the top, and watched I Am Legend. It was difficult to pay attention, however, as this bag kept me captivated from the corner of my eye. But not once did I peek in, because frankly I was scared.
When it was time to open my birthday gift, my brother’s girlfriend must have finally took notice of my trepidation. She explained, “We didn’t get you Victoria’s Secret. It was just the only feminine kind of bag I had.”.
“Oh, phew!”, I responded as my apprehension lightened. “Because that would have been awkward.”
We all had a mighty laugh at just how awkward it could have been as I reached into that Victoria’s Secret bag. And instead of being presented with underwear, however, I was given by my brother an adjustable, handheld “massager”. With, as the package states, a smooth tip and 3 side surfaces for “energizing relief of stress related tension”. For personal use only.
Still a little bit awkward.
May 10 2011
Buzz is a handful. This I know. I’ve said it before and it bears repeating because it’s true. I would never consider him easy unless he’s sick, then he’s just cranky and I’m not sure if that’s better. That kid can push buttons I never even knew existed before. I’ve pulled out so much hair over him that I’m amazed I have any left. He doesn’t stop. Ever. Never. Does. Not. Stop.
All of this I’ve said before. Here and in venting to others, particularly my own mother. She’s had to babysit quite often recently and has been privy to his antics. I can hear the frustration in her voice when I return. She tries to offer advice. None of which I want to absorb. I don’t want to hear how bad my kid is from someone else, even and maybe especially Grandma.
It’s OK for me to say, because I’m his mom. I call him a little shit in the moment after a long day, but I also say it with love. I love that kid fluently, though he pushes and pulls. I know where his behavior stems and how his actions move like only his mom can. If anyone else says the same, it feels like an attack. Like we’re doing something wrong. Like somehow, if I’m not the only one who can notice, my kid must be bad.
You don’t talk about my kid, even if he’s related and maybe possibly deserves it. I don’t care. I will cut you. A really mean look, anyway. On the other side of the telephone. Where you can’t see. Because this is my mom, after all. For anyone else, though, I will cut you.
Mama bear. Rawr.
Yes, I know Buzz is a handful. He’s also an incredibly cheery, bright, and playful little boy, even if his version of playing may be a little rough. He is not a bad kid. He doesn’t set out to be mean or angry. I don’t believe he has a mean-spirited bone in his body. He’s 5 with moods just like every other and some days he really is just too much, but he’s trying. I know he is. We all are.
April 27 2011
We have spent a lot of time with my parents this week, Abby and I. While the boys were with their dad this past weekend, my daughter and I went out to lunch with her Grandma and Grandpa then went shopping with Grandma before traveling back to their house for dinner. Where Abby was immensely excited to see their dog, Joey.
“Go see Joey?”, she asked hopefully.
“Yes, we are going to see Joey”, I affirmed.
“Joey!”, she cheered.
She was so excited. So excited that she could barely contain herself in her carseat. As we pulled into my parents’ driveway, she began the happy bounce. Nose wrinkled in jubilant anticipation of this canine that she hadn’t seen since Christmas. That she wouldn’t go anywhere near then. It would never hurt her, but this thing with the paws and the tail that keeps wagging back and forth, get it away! Which made her enthusiasm to see him now a little baffling.
“Joey!” she continued on as I unbuckled her from the carseat.
“Joey!”, she kept on as we walked up their front steps.
“Joey!”, as we opened the door.
Then, as Joey came darting out to greet us, stumpy and fat and furry, just as excited to see her as she had been for him, she curled back into my shoulder. The smile disappeared, the lip pouted.
“No Joey! Bad Joey!” And that remained her stance every time he so much as looked at her until we were safely on our way home.
2 year olds are a very confusing bunch.
July 26 2010
My parents gifted Abby clothes for her birthday. From the outside, this would seem like a boring present for a 2 year old. However, my daughter loves expanding her wardrobe, possibly more than toys. She received many new items to play with, too, but I do believe the clothes were the biggest hit.
Along with 2 new outfits, one of which containing a skort which confounded J, and socks, they bought her a pair of shoes. All of this I knew ahead of time, since they asked for the correct size. What I failed to anticipate was my mother’s conflicting sense of style.
I’m not a flashy person. I don’t like metallics or sparkles or animal prints or too much show. I like to dress my kids the same. Of course, my mother would have her own opinions. I wasn’t prepared for what we received instead.
They were gold canvas and so very shiny. Without exaggeration, the very first thing that came to mind was Ben Stiller as White Goodman in Dodgeball, “There’s no resisting when White Goodman puts on his shiny shoes”. I couldn’t help but laugh. A lot.
“If you don’t like them, I have the receipt”, my mother offered with a hint of offense when I couldn’t stop laughing.
“No, they’re fine. It just took me by surprise”, I finally managed to sputter.
Which is true. Once Abby had them on, they didn’t appear that brazen. Probably because I happen to find the girl so cute that she can pull off anything. But now I’m afraid I’m going to think of Ben Stiller every time she wears them.
July 07 2010
One day last week, my brother called to say he and my nephew would be over in a half hour to give me a belated birthday card. I contemplated changing out of my comfortable clothes for something more suited for company, then decided against. It’s only my brother, I came to reason. My daughter’s shirt, however, had a grape jelly stain from lunch. I opened her drawer and suggested a few pieces. She wrinkled her nose at it all. I didn’t have time to argue with her, though, so I just left her drawer open. She was free to put on whatever she wanted.
The boys, I thought, looked fine. Sure, Buzz is only wearing shorts, but that’s his normal attire. Trying to keep a shirt on him if we’re not out somewhere is futile.
I spent the time until my brother arrived in a mad dash around the house, straightening pillows and picking up toys. Right on cue, my brother’s car pulled up the driveway. Jedi’s excitement was radiating, he likes spending time with his uncle who we don’t get to see enough. Whom we might have scared off for good.
Apparently, my Buzz, my sturdy 4 year old boy, heard me tell Abby to dress herself however she wanted and thought he’d take me up on that as well. Where I went super casual, it would seem he wanted to adorn himself in an outfit a little more formal for the occasion. My brother and nephew walked in to my son wearing his sister’s bell-sleeved white shirt, a green bucket hat, and a pair of white tights. Sized a snug 3T or less. Along with a giant smile. He was like a snow princess.
And that is how to make the rest of us look downright normal in comparison, raggedy jelly stained clothes and all.
