Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
November 16 2011
I was lying in bed the other morning, long before the sun woke up. My wouldn’t rest enough to fall back to sleep, because I was thinking about a basket I have. Clearly this isn’t your ordinary basket. It’s big and made of sturdy metal, a piece picked up from the previous tenants of some place I’ve rented over the years. I’m sure it would need to be cleaned, and the junk it was already holding thrown away, but I was lying there wondering if it might solve the stuffed animal storage problem I seem to be experiencing.
That’s right, I lie in bed dreaming of stuffed animal storage.
Doesn’t everyone?
But it’s a good dream to have. Kind of like world peace, and almost as unatainable. All of the stuffed animals stored in a neat, yet aesthetically pleasing, container out of the way. Instead of spilling forth and taking over every square inch of space.
The thing is, it’s boggling how we accumulated so many stuffed animals. I haven’t purchased a single one. The grandparents, however, can’t seem to pass a crane game without playing. And then they multiply. So I was trying to determine if this basket was big enough to house the many we’ve been given. Except even if it were, that might only solve one of my problems. Because then I wouldn’t know where to put the damn basket .
At which point I realized. There is only one truly good stuffed animal storage solution. And it involves packing them all in a trash bag, to donate to some other unwitting family.
November 08 2011
A long time ago, when Jedi was a young man at 6 years of age, the tooth fairy flew her way into our humble abode for the first time. What she left on that initial landing was staggering, and quite frankly given with not much forethought.
Because you see, once a 5 dollar bill is gifted for one tiny tooth, there is a need felt to continue with that amount of generosity. Perish the thought that the child might believe this tooth is any less than that tooth. As such, losing teeth becomes a rather lucrative transaction. Or so it would seem.
Sometimes, however, the tooth fairy is caught off guard. A tooth comes out before she has a chance to blink and is subsequently placed under the pillow. Leaving the tooth fairy to scramble. And maybe borrow a few dollar bills from the intended recipients own money jar in an effort to come up with 5 to give. The tooth fairy also leaves IOUs. She’s a schemer, that one. This whole business is very misleading.
As is what happened when Jedi woke that morning. He reached under his pillow, to eagerly retrieve the gift the tooth fairy gave. Then counting his ones, the ones he already unknowingly had, he turned to me and said loud enough for the tooth fairy to hear, “Thank you!”. Then lowering his voice, “But she could have just given me a $5 bill”.
To which I wanted to say, “If you had a $5 bill in your money jar, I’m sure she would have.”
It would be so much easier if Jedi started out only getting a buck.
November 04 2011
Beep
One eye shot open. The television in the room was still on, but everything past that was dark and hazy. I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been not too long before. Jimmy Fallon was the last I recalled and now it was on some late night poker tournament. Maybe I didn’t really hear anything. If I did it could have come from the TV. I just wanted to go back to sleep. My head turned towards the clock, sight still fuzzy and lids fighting to close, before I rested on the pillow again.
It was almost 1:30 a.m.
Beep
What the beep? I tried to will my tired eyes to cooperate as I begrudgingly pulled myself like the walking dead from the comfort and lumbered in to investigate. All the while, I was pleading under my breath for this not to wake the kids. After taking a moment to clear my head, I realized where the intermittent beeping beep was most likely coming from.
Beep
I looked around to make sure there was no immediate danger involved before I took my place under the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. My lopsided, confused gaze passing back and forth, the longest few minutes having passed since I was initially jolted awake. Then it beeped again, and the culprit became known.
Beep
Let this be a lesson to you to be wiser than I. Change batteries as instructed in your alarms. Lest you be with a screwdriver in hand, clumsily rotating in a new set of AA’s after being rudely rustled from a lovely bit of slumber at 1:30 in the morning. That’s just motherbeeping rude, I tell you.
November 01 2011
I took an arm, and Jedi chose a leg.
It was a duel.
Like a clumsy dance we moved, clanking our weapons courtesy of a plastic skeleton. I practiced my rookie poses that I obtained from a very limited view of fencing while my oldest son held a firm blocking stance. Even the dearly departed replica skull got into the action, converting into a magical amulet that could defeat all.
With a bout of laughter, Buzz picked up the other leg bone, and Abby the second arm. They had teamed together with 3 against 1, an odds I’m used to. Except now, I possessed a metal pan lid for armor.
There were things I had to do, and I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t running down the list while we were playing. The laundry needed switched, dishes washed, toys picked up. Same ol’, same ol’ that I worry myself with every day. In truth, it can all wait until tomorrow. Some days, we just need to use our imaginations and play. It’s amazing how included kids can get with a simple game of clanking bones.
“Can we do this again later?”, Jedi asked when we were done. “That was fun.”
Of course we can.
At first, I didn’t know what to do with the bag of skeleton bones that were meant as decoration for Halloween. I never would have thought of sword fighting on my own, but it was a rather brilliant idea.
October 28 2011
Red: My current toenail polish. The kids’ tricycle that each has zoomed on, starting when Jedi was a toddler. A Connect 4 chip. Buzz’s Power Ranger toothbrush. A bloody lip one acquired from another. My heart, for them. Also my head exploding after a long day.
Yellow: 4 rubber ducks in their bath. The glorious sight of the school bus. Spongebob. Frozen waffles, breakfast of champions. No. 2 pencils. Falling leaves taking over our yard.
Brown: Beloved teddy bear. Lion, too. Cafe mocha pick-me-up. The color of Abby’s favorite pants. The frames holding cherished pictures lining these walls. Chocolate ice cream.
Green: The Incredible Hulk. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Buzz dressed up as either or both. The quilt on my bed. A shade of Abby’s eyes. The I’ve been a good kid at school stamp.
Blue: The color of boys. Literally, sparkling back in Jedi’s gaze. Though mine, too. Pajamas. Abby’s markered fingernails that won’t wash off. Our carpet, here. A plastic whale of a spoon. Sully, from Monsters Inc, what we’re watching while I’m writing this.
Purple: Abby’s Princess nightgown. Our living room curtains, a more subdued, almost burgundy, shade. One of many scattered crayons. The sunset, bedtime near. The smallest bruise from rough and tumble play.
Pink: Princesses. Dolls. A Tinkerbell dress, complete with tutu. My little girl, a speed of feist. Headbands and hair clips, she’ll take out as soon as I put in.
These are the colors of my life. My rainbow.
