Archive for the ‘good’ Tag
December 09 2009
What does a lamb, a jackalope, and some groundhogs have in common? They’re all a part of Boundin’, a short Pixar film that Buzz adores. Basically, it’s a lesson in not being ashamed of who you are. Although, of course, Buzz is too young to care about a synopsis. He simply likes it for what it is.
Now sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down,
When you find that you’re down well just look around:
You still got a body, good legs and fine feet,
Get your head in the right place and hey, you’re complete!
For the 5 minutes that it’s on screen, we shuffle and dart about the room. I hold Buzz’s preschool-sized hands as we swing back and forth, our feet kicking up with the beat. The lyrics I know from heart by now, so I’ll sing along with silly faces while he acts out the words. We jump, we bounce, we slide, we smile. For a minute or two I feel like the Lord of the Dance.
Now every year, along about May,
They’d load him up and they’d haul him away,
And they’d shave him and dump him all naked and bare.
He learned to live with it, he didn’t care.
He’d just bound, bound, bound and rebound!
Most of the time, I don’t feel like a very fun parent. I’m either busy washing dishes or changing diapers or refilling milk cups or breastfeeding Abby or clearing noses or picking up messes or scolding or cooking dinner or recovering for a quick minute. Very rarely do I have an opportunity to play. So this. This is our thing. Mine and Buzz’s. This is our time just to laugh, together.
October 06 2009
Jedi has been really into learning about ages recently. He’s been playing The Sims, where people grow in a matter of minutes, distorting his element of time. He’s been telling me that he’s a kid, and Buzz’s a kid, but Abby’s a toddler. And once, a long time ago, they were all babies who came out of Mommy’s belly. Just in case I forgot, I suppose. He lets me know that I’m an adult, while J is an old adult. To that, I say good call kid.
He’s constantly asking how long until he becomes a teenager. Years, I usually reply. Thousands of days. But I know it won’t seem that long. He’s already grown into an almost 6 year old boy in the blink of an eye. Tomorrow, he could be asking for the car keys.
Wasn’t he just a baby yesterday?
Then he asks what happens when he grows up. How tall will I be? What will Abby look like when she grows up? How about Buzz? Will I always be their big brother? Mommy, were you a kid? What did you do when you were a kid? How long did it take for you to grow up? What do adults do? When I grow up will I be THIS tall? How long until I’m elderly? Are grandma and grandpa elderly? Why shouldn’t I call them elderly? Why won’t they like that?
He’s full of questions. I’m short on answers. Except through all my grunts and groans, I like THIS age. If only I could wave a magic wand and keep him 5 years old forever. He’s so interested in what will be, what could be, and I can’t get enough of what is. Now. Right in front of me.
August 24 2009
Say hello to my little friend.
No, really. Say hello.
His name is George.
I’ve been hinting for one of those colorfully cute mini Dell laptops that have been advertised for awhile now. Maybe one in green, I would think. Instead, J took it upon himself to buy a used (old) iBook for me off eBay.
Toma(y)to. Toma(h)to.
So George is a little slow and outdated, aren’t we all? He also seems to have chubby, deformed fingers and ghostly pale skin. But he’s so nice. He’s shiny, his teeth are straight, he doesn’t smell, and he doesn’t throw back attitude. Most notably, though, I don’t have to share him with anyone. He’s mine, all mine.
Plus, it’s been awhile since I’ve written by the glow of an Apple and I’ve missed it. And did I mention it’s mine? ALL MINE.
July 09 2009
Depending on your point of view, the best or worst part of returning home from a getaway is how immediately the routine of daily life falls back into place. A few days later and the however brief 3 days we were gone this past weekend seems like a mere 20 seconds.
At times both comforting and aggravating, everything was exactly where we had left it in a hurried rush 3 days before. Toys were still littering the floor. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. Laundry was tumbling out of the basket. The cat wouldn’t stop meowing at our feet. It looked the same. It smelled the same. It felt the same.
Home.
With our pictures hanging on the wall. And our DVD’s of Over the Hedge and Shark Tale. Our stains in the carpet. Our chocolate milk in the refridgerator. Our thirsty plants. Where the kids are loud (although please, for the love of God, not too loud). Where we can lounge around in our pajamas all day. Where everything I need is under this roof. Where I am prone to lose my everloving mind.
Home.
I have to say, I do miss being able to leave our grungy, wet towels lying on the bathroom floor, waiting for the motel housecleaning service to whisk away our mess. And how Buzz was strapped in a carseat for 7 hours. That was nice.
June 05 2009
It’s a madhouse around here during the day, to say the least. A bright spot has emerged, however, and that’s Abby’s late afternoon nap. Not for the obvious reasons, either. Although I’m definitely ready for a break by then. And vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.
More often than not for a few weeks now, she’ll awake long before naptime is officially over. Her eyes still groggy and cheeks puffed red with sleep. I’ll lay her on my shoulder, where she’ll instantly collapse, and let her slumber for as long as possible while I struggle to stay alert. Her hand grasping onto my shirt, her whisps of hair tickling my nose. During this time, I try to forget all of the need-to-do’s, should-do’s, and please-don’t-do’s. No appointments to set, dishes to wash, or butts to wipe. It’s just me and her, cuddled together on the couch.
Of course, the boys usually have a thing or two to loudly say about this. I guess whispering is a skill learned at a later stage in life. Especially Buzz, with his high-pitched shriek of a wake-up call. He tends to be our regular nosedive back to Earth. Abby’s head will raise, slightly sweaty, skin adorned in fabric wrinkles. She’ll look at me, glance around, and flash her trademark four tooth grin. After this, the day doesn’t seem so mad anymore. It’s downright pleasant, actually. If only for a moment.
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
