Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
March 26 2010 ·
10 CommentsPosted in:
Favorites,
The Kids · Tags:
Buzz,
life It was raining as we left the shelter of home for Buzz’s speech therapy appointment yesterday afternoon. Not to the point of lightning flashing thunderstorms, but windy and cold nonetheless. The kind of dreary day that my adult stodgy self feels would be better spent sleeping away, instead of sauntering out into. Jumping in puddles just isn’t my thing.
The drops beat sideways against my back as I struggled to lock Buzz in his carseat. By the time we were on our way, I was drenched and cursing mother nature.
When we emerged from the 45 minute session, the steady downpour had formed large puddles in the parking lot. The biggest of which just so happened to encase our car. It looked like a small lake had swallowed it whole. I maneuvered my way up a curb, over the embankment, hop this way, put your left foot in that way, trying not to lose a shoe in the mud, and holding on to my son’s hand at the same time. All in a futile effort to keep dry. Buzz, however, viewed it as an opportunity. Where I saw an uncomfortable mess, he saw a scene straight from a dream.
Landing with both feet, he splashed and shuffled. His parched pant legs drinking up the water, like drops of bliss. I felt him tug on my hand, reaching for an inch more. Just one more, as the rain began to blend between us.
Sometimes, I forget how remarkable and jubilant that kid is. He deals me such a monumental fit the majority of most days, it’s easy to get lost in. Yesterday, though, the rain brought with it that reminder. He truly is a bright light of a little boy. Jumping in puddles may not be my thing, but he is. And whatever makes him happy, as long as it doesn’t involve sharp metal objects and electrical outlets, makes me happy as well. Even if it means my socks get soaking wet in the process.
March 23 2010 ·
12 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
letters,
life,
migraine Dear Crayola,
I’d like to thank you. You see, when I trudged out of bed the other morning with a migraine, I had no idea how I was going to entertain my children. Especially when what I really wanted to do was curl in a ball and cry until relief began to kick in. I needed a bright idea, short of a box of knives. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
That’s when I brought out the big bucket o’crayons.
The much coveted and elusive big bucket o’crayons that I normally keep long out of the reach of little hands. I’ve learned my lesson over the years. Again, though, I was desperate. Along with a giant coloring book, it was either going to be my saving grace or a complete disaster.
The initial outcome was a pleasant surprise.
My little ones, Abby and Buzz, were cheerily occupied and entranced in drawing pictures of lopsided snowmen. Aside from playing numerous rounds of 96 crayon pick-up, an orange mark on the XBOX, a blue mark on the front door, and Abby trying to lodge a brown crayon up her nose, the endeavor was a success. So was the Excedrin, eventually. I should write them a thank you letter, too. Which isn’t to say that I’ve changed my mind about crayons in general. They’re still a hassle. Usually more than they’re worth. For one day, though, one morning in particular, they worked their magic and we were all the better for it.
Sincerely,
A very thankful Mom
PS: Is there any point to a white crayon? Just curious.
March 22 2010 ·
6 CommentsPosted in:
Daily · Tags:
life,
motherhood We went out to eat with the kids last night. It’s a brave activity to attempt, I admit. For all the hassle that it is, I still say it’s better than having to cook and wash dishes. Usually, though, we go to a buffet. That way the kids don’t have to sit around while the food is prepared. Because the more little kids sit around, the more mess they’re going to make and the crazier it’s going to get. Experienced mom tip: the sooner you can stuff their face, the better.
This time, we went to a sit-down restaurant. And it was crazy. My hands were everywhere except with the plate in front of me. I was trying to keep Buzz from climbing over the median on this side and offering Abby bites that she kept refusing on that side. What I did get in her mouth, she’d inevitably spit on the floor. Then, while I picked up Abby’s crayons for the upteenth time, Buzz was busy coloring the table. Food was flying. It was chaos. It was nonstop. It was manic.
It was a shining example of my life these days.
On the way home I remarked to J, “That was A LOT of work.”
“Yes. Yes, it was.”, he agreed.
Then we came home. Where I had to argue with Jedi to get him to help pick up toys. Abby kicked and screamed as I put on her pajamas. Buzz fought bedtime with all his might. I didn’t get a chance to breathe until almost 11 o’clock, at which time all I could of to do was go to bed.
Yes, it was. It is. A lot of work.
March 18 2010 ·
6 CommentsPosted in:
General · Tags:
good,
life My dream house has a fenced in backyard where I can open the door and let the kids out to play without worry of them wandering off. There’s a swingset and sandbox and, in summer, a small inflatable pool. There might also be a dog. It would have a deck, complete with an outdoor dining area. I could try my hand at gardening in a small secluded patch of land safely off to the side of little running feet.
Inside, it would be spacious, but not enough to get lost in. It would have a separate playroom, so that toys wouldn’t be the first thing you trip over when you walk in.
There would be at least 3 bedrooms with an extra space for J’s office, because it’s just a given that the boys are destined to share. I would love more than one bathroom.
It would have a basement. If for no other reason than so I can feel safe during storms.
It would not have fake wood paneling.
Other desirable features of note: large windows and a place for a cushioned windowseat, a garden bathtub, two large trees to hang a hammock, a garage, lots of closet space, nice but non-nosy neighbors, cherry wood kitchen cabinets, stainless steel appliances, an open floor plan, a brick exterior. The list could go on.
When we don’t know what else to do on lazy days, we’ll drive around neighborhoods gazing at what could be. Over our many moves in the past, I’ve been able to narrow down my picture of our perfect house. Though our dream home is nothing without Abby’s infectious laugh and high-pitched demands, Buzz’s rambunctious energy and daredevil antics, or Jedi’s endless array of questions and bouncing off the walls. No matter how perfect, a house is not a home without the noise and chaos I’ve come to find comfort in. For them, I am thankful. I am home. A perfect, dream home. Wherever we are.
March 02 2010 ·
9 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
Buzz,
life I may have mentioned once or twice or twenty times how Buzz likes to scale the kitchen counters. It’s not an exaggeration. This doesn’t just happen every now and then. No, he hones this skill on multiple occasions daily. If counter climbing was an Olympic sport, he’d be going for the gold. Usually in an attempt to obtain hidden Christmas figures in an overhead cabinet or a cereal box or to spill olive oil out of it’s bottle. That last one is fun to clean up, I might add.
He’s a daredevil, we’ve been known to explain. No matter how often or harsh I reprimand, he does it anyway. Any attention is good attention when you’re a 3 year old testing your boundaries, it seems. Still, the ebb and flow is aggravating and impossible.
Jedi never did this when he was Buzz’s age. I don’t recall Jedi trying to climb much of anything aside from a chair. To sit down. My kind of kid.
As such, it’s no surprise when I caught him on the kitchen counter yesterday morning. It’s also not much of a shock when I began to storm up to him upset and exasperated, my arms extended and ready to pry him down yet again. It was too early in the day and I wasn’t even fully awake yet.
Walking closer, however, I saw in his hand a tube of lip gloss that I had been hiding in plain sight on top of the microwave. Glancing back at me, he popped off the cap and began to draw a heavy circle along his mouth. Right as I reached him, he sat the tube carefully back in it’s not-so-discreet place. A soft pink sheen glistening in the morning light like a halo around his lips. And chin. And cheeks.
How can I be mad at that?
