Archive for the ‘family’ Tag
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.
June 08 2010
I’ve been known to make fun of my mom for her poor memory. If I tell her something today, I’ll most likely have to tell her again tomorrow. She’s going on 65 years old, though, she’s allowed a few gaps. There’s a lot of years there to remember. I’m barely over 30, what’s my excuse?
I blame the kids.
Last Sunday, my mom asked if I could buy her a newspaper. They weren’t going out that day and she likes to skim through the coupons. She said she’ll pick it up on Thursday, when she has to watch Jedi and Abby while I take Buzz to his speech class.
On Thursday, I remind my mom that I have her paper. “Don’t let me forget to give it to you when we come back”, I told her. Which is kind of like the blind leading the blind. She didn’t have to, but she insisted on reimbursing the $2 the paper cost before we left.
A short time later, we return from Buzz’s speech class. I sit and have a cold drink with my parents as Abby jumps in my arms. We watch a few minutes of television and talk about how things went. Goodbyes are said. It feels like I’m forgetting something, but I can’t place what. Hours after they’ve left for home, I look over and realize.
Not only did she pay me $2, but I still have her paper.
Watch out Bernie Madoff, there’s a new scam artist in town. Now if I can just remember where I put the money.
May 28 2010
My parents were over the other day for awhile. Jedi happily ran around them, telling imaginative tales and wanting to share toys. He handed my dad one of his many plastic guns and they boom boom boomed for a few minutes from the comfort of our couch. The entire time I could practically hear my mother as she huffed and puffed and shook her head in disapproval.
My son likes guns.
He’s a boy, though. He likes pistols and tanks and Army men and semi-automatic weapons and camouflage and bombs and blood and stuff that blows up and zombies. All with lights! and live-action sounds! He’s not violent, he never pretends to shoot real people, just monsters and imaginary bad guys. Of course I would prefer that he took up cupcake decorating, but it goes without saying by now that I lost that battle. Instead, I let it go. I made sure that Jedi knows the difference between a REAL gun and a TOY gun and what might happen if he were to ever play with a REAL gun. I’ve said it over and over, and will continue to reiterate, you never ever play with a REAL gun. Ever.
There is no point in huffing and puffing and shaking your head in disapproval. I know where she’s coming from, I do, I was the same, but if I can let it go then she should, too. Or else I might have to remind her how my brother used to hide in trees and shoot people on a golf course with a BB gun they gave him. If she really wants to shake her head over something, shake it over that.