Archive for the ‘of course’ Tag
January 11 2012
My daughter was snacking heartily from a bag of cheddar Goldfish crackers. This after complaining she was hungry, even though she had just finished lunch. That girl can eat. She reached in, fishing for another. Kindly, she offered it to me.
“You hungry, Mommy?”, Abby asked.
“No, thank you. You can eat those, they’re for you”, I said.
Abby was unsatisfied with my answer, however. She continued standing before me stoically, searching my facial expressions for any signs of impending weakness. Surely, my mind would change. My daughter was determined to give me a damn cracker. A 3 year old enabler.
“Fine”, I relented. “I’ll take just one. But only one.” Because there’s always room for at least one Goldfish.
“OK, just one”, my daughter cheered, opening the bag wide enough to fit her head inside. Then, a single cheesy cracker fish swam into the palm of my hand. And then another.
Those fish, they just kept swimming uncontrollably.
Before I knew it, I was holding on to a handful of small orange Goldfish, with a little girl pushing more into my mouth. When I clearly remember specifying I only wanted one. Just one. The magnificent powers of persuasion. Not to mention a really cute kid. Then, half the bag was gone. How does that happen?
January 09 2012
The first day at Buzz’s new school went shockingly well. I’ve said the boy has a way of surprising me, and he did yet again. The second day, however, started with a bit of a hitch.
Buzz’s new school begins half an hour earlier than where he went before, and where Jedi still goes, so I gave us an extra 20 minutes in the morning. There’s a new routine to learn, and it could have a few kinks to work out. As such, I woke Buzz first and set his bowl of Lucky Charms in front of him while I went about dragging everyone else out of bed.
His bus would be at the end of our driveway by 8:10, they told me.
Constantly aware of the clock, I did my best to make sure we made good time. His teeth were brushed, his hair was combed, the pen he marked on his hand washed off. Pleased with myself for adhering to schedule, I bundled him up in his coat with his backpack on his shoulders and opened the front door, hurrying up to wait.
And there we stood, staring out the screen door. Waiting.
And waiting.
Hmmm… the bus should be here by now.
When some more minutes passed as if in slow motion, still hopefully and pathetically waiting like an anxious teenager being stood up at prom, I knew the time had come to accept that the bus should have definitely been there already.
I made a few calls and the bus finally arrived, eventually. He bounded aboard, glad to be on his way. But the second day at his new school and I already feel like stuffing myself with donuts to suppress this feeling like we’ve been dumped.
November 22 2011
“Here, puppy, come on!”, my daughter called for her stuffed animal. When the immobile toy didn’t follow as intended, she swooped over to pick it up. Then, nuzzled its white cotton fur against her cheek lovingly.
“Puppy needs food”, she declared.
“What kind of food does it want?”, I asked.
“Puppy food!”, she replied. Of course. So I looked around to see if there was anything available to feed her stuffed animal, settling on pretending to pour some beans from a decorative jar. But an animal can’t live on food alone, even one that’s not real, thus it needed water, as well.
When her puppy was fully nourished, we headed out to pick the boys up from the bus stop. She carried her cozy friend along the way way, first jammed in her pocket, then setting it on the ground to feel the grass on its feet. Because puppies, they want the semblance of freedom. Abby even took it for an assisted walk, before she was afraid it would get too cold.
“Puppy needs gloves, too”, she stated, looking at the mittens already on her hands.
“Your puppy has fur. That keeps it warm”, I informed, an explanation that seemed to satisfy her enough. Though she held it tight next to her, against her heavy winter coat, as an extra layer of protection. Then she praised, “He’s a good puppy”.
She was really cute with her puppy.
So cute that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her puppy is really a lamb.
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 09 2011
It was that precious time of night when all the kids are tucked safely under the warmth of covers. I was able to exhale my guard away as they slept peacefully against their pillows, like apple-cheeked cherubs. Including Buzz, even though he was taking over more than half of my bed after insisting that’s where he wanted to rest.
Once they did, and the house fell silent, I gathered myself a midnight snack. A treat. Normally and preferably ice cream, but I’m trying to make healthier food choices. So I poured a bowl of Raisin Bran.
After making sure the doors were locked tight, I stumbled in to bed with a sloshing bowl of two scoops of raisin cereal in hand. Looking down at the little boy hogging more than his fair share of my bed, I pulled the covers down to slip in. Attempting a smooth, quiet transition. On tiptoes, as careful as I could be not to stir him.
But then I lost my balance.
I couldn’t catch myself. I tripped. I fell. In slow, horrified motion.
The hand holding my bowl of cereal landing square above my sleeping son’s head.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”, I whispered, raising myself to view the damage. I was expecting a puddle of milk. Bran flakes clinging to his soppy hair. A look like what the hell, mom? But Buzz only tossed very briefly, then found a comfortable position to sleep again. I patted the bed in awestruck disbelief. A bowl full of milky cereal fell on his head and there was not a drop spilled. Now I’m not a very religious person, but I’ll be damned if that’s not a miracle.
