Monday, August 31, 2009

I'm So Hungry, I Mean Sleepy

I don't know about the rest of you, but sometimes when I'm really sleepy I think I'm hungry. And sometimes when my mom gives me a gigantic blueberry bagel I start eating it, but I fall asleep in the middle of the bite. Because it's hard work, eating those things. And sometimes, I wake up and just keep on chewing. It's best to pick up where you left off. Even if you left off yesterday.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sunny Salutations, Summer is Slipping Away

With any luck we'll be going to the neighborhood pool until October. But, it's highly likely that this past weekend marked the end of our poolside adventures for the year. Sniff sniff.

This has been a sun-drenched summer. I have thoroughly enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom this year. Last year was the year of the museum. This year was the year of the pool. Sadly it was not the year of rockin' my swimsuit, but that's another post.

The markers of the end of season were pretty obvious. More than half of the pool's lounge chairs were locked away. They didn't even look trapped with little sad faces saying "Let us out." They looked tired, worn out, and relieved to be set aside for next year.

The water, usually refreshing on the hot days, was mildly exhilarating but mostly down-right cold. Like teeth chattering cold. We even stayed until the pool closed for the evening. As soon as that sun hit the horizon and the countdown to sunset began everyone jumped out of the pool complaining of the chill.

Why am I so sad to see the end of the season? The pool represents a milestone in our lives. Both boys are getting more and more comfortable in the water. Each has overcome little fears. And I especially have started to trust their abilities. Swimming lessons will continue through the fall and winter -- but not at our community outdoor pool. That party is almost over. For this year, anyway. And frankly, I'm a little sad.

Dear museum, you can expect to see us, soon.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

I Can't Resist

I know I said I wasn't going to post pictures of the first day of school. But I can't resist. This will show you how unenthusiastic Cooper was about photographs that day.

Friday, August 28, 2009

I'll Take That as a Compliment

The job of mother is one full of buttering up but little genuine ovation. Just the other night when we were in a rush to clean up just enough to be seen in public I was reminded of the foremost rule of fishing for compliments. I made the mistake of asking my son if my hair looked stupid, or if it looked like I had cancer.

I'm not sure why I phrased it this way? I'm also not sure why I asked a 4-year-old his opinion (about my hair). But I did. And here is his reply.

A flat but indisputable, "Like cancer."

And with that, I asked him to take my picture... so I would remember what cancer looks like, of course. Oh, and the true reason, so I would remember that I shouldn't ask questions like that.

PS -- Directly after this cancer compliment I thought I should get my hair cut. Now it looks like Sarah Palin. Politics aside I can't think of a worse haircut for me. So, I'm not leaving the house for at least 6 months.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Cereal Killer, II

Last night when I tucked Mason into bed -- or rather propped him up on the pillows so he could feel the full effect of the fan -- I mentioned he'd be going to school at Ann's the following day. His eyes lit up and he cooed, "Ohhhh Ann has ToeKo Pucks!"

For the record, I think that's his speech impeded version of Cocoa Puffs. Then he began a long oratory of, "Logan (a boy from school) is so nice. He's a nice boy. I like Logan. Logan is mine friend. Logan is Tooper's friend. Tooper is nice. Mason is nice."

Then he patted my face and sighed.

PS -- Ironically enough, the first time Cooper was stung by a bee was Aug. 15 of last year. This year, Mason had the misfortune of experiencing his first bee sting on Aug. 20.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Retrospective Sympathetic Affections

Look the other way if you're not in the mood for heartfelt gratitude.

I must acknowledge the efforts of a young mother I know. She saved her baby's life. In fact, she reached beyond death and said, No. Not yet. Then breathed life back into him.

I am grateful that rather than crumbling in the horror of the moment, her instincts led her to find him in that pool. I am thankful that she set pride aside and frantically begged and pleaded for people to help her.

It is with tender thanks that I praise her vigilance at his side. She was there for him when he lay on the concrete with others breathing for him, then prayed over his gurney in the helicopter, and then next to his bedside until he miraculously opened his eyes and recognized her.

Lana, the miracle of your motherhood is an amazing thing.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

What You Won't See

You might have been expecting a back-to-school confessional. But, I'm not going to do it. Not for the reasons you might expect.

For starters, I have few pictures of Cooper marching off to school. He made it clear he would have none of that. Too cool, I suppose.

Also, there was no crying. None.

I suppose I should have felt a little melancholy. But I just couldn't. Cooper's excitement was not just dripping but shooting off him in little buds and stars of intoxication. School! He loved the first day.

He was all things I could have hoped for. Ready on time. Rested. Eager. Curious. Supplied. Well-dressed and ironed. (Yes, I used an iron.) His teacher even later confided in me that he was clearly prepared, if not the MOST prepared.

But then there was the second day of school. He'd already found out what that was all about, so he wasn't as enthusiastic. He hid behind my legs and jumped to the back of the queue to go into school so many times that eventually he was the very last student standing in the playground.

And then you know what happened? The school district decided he should go to the school that is right by our house. (Novel idea I had been pointing out to them all summer.) So we had the first day of school all over, again. But you won't be seeing any pictures of that either.


Monday, August 24, 2009

Speed Racer

Someone misses grandpa.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Lost and Never Found, II

Cooper: Mom, can we get a crane to lift our fridge.

Mom: Pretty sure it won't fit in the kitchen.

Cooper: But I need to get that PloKoon head out this day.

So, does anyone out there want to offer up a fridge lifting crane for the purpose of finding a small LEGO guy head, approximately 10 mm X 8 mm. (It's been under the fridge for about a year.) Also, if anyone has any idea how we can find the LEGO Indiana Jones who is currently lost in the lawn, please speak up. It's so sad when things are lost and never found.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

The Night I Got a Concussion

Wait, I'm exaggerating. But I am a little worried that I might have gotten a mild concussion.

I guess that is what happens when you go to places called Riot Zone. But don't you worry, I didn't just get a concussion, I inhaled my fair share of lawnmower engine exhaust and almost broke my child's neck. It was awesome. (I've really got to stop talking like my kids.)

So, if you ever find yourself in Rigby, Idaho (population 2,998) may I recommend the following. Go to Pickett's Bambinos and stuff yourself. The bambinos are actually baby pillows of dough filled with deliciousness -- not actual babies. Then go directly to Riot Zone. Go ahead and buy the all-night pass, then go hog wild. You're in the middle of nowhere, so you won't run into anyone you know. Which is a relief when you fly rear over head and smack your noggin.

Oh wait, if you actually live there you might run into every last person that you know. So, be careful with the showing off of your rear.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

We Don't Camp

When I was younger, a lot younger, I used to think of my two sets of grandparents as the city grandparents and the farm grandparents. One set lived in town, the other a little farther away from town. I honestly didn't think one was better than the other -- I love all my grandparents. I enjoyed my time in their homes and I have funny stories to tell growing up around them.

I realize now that my children have this same feeling about their own grandparents. What might shock my parents is that they are the farm grandparents. I've become very city-fied, I can't help it. And my kids are, well, they are my kids. (The other grandparents aren't city grandparents so much as golf grandparents.)

I realized how far from Idaho I had moved, in both body and spirit, when on our recent visit my son was asked if he'd ever been camping. He declared, "No!" The man looked at me like I was Sylvia Plath in the flesh. The closest my kids have come to camping thus far in their short little lives is a trip we took to my family's cabin last year. That didn't end well, so I'm not in a big hurry to jump back into the bush.

We did take them on a hike, though. That counts for something, doesn't it?

Would you think less of me if I told you Cooper pointed out the green spots in the panoramic view and said, "Nice golf course." They were farmers' fields. PS -- That's my cute dad showing my kids how to make necklaces out of snake grass.

Monday, August 17, 2009

A Little Competition

Don't even ask me where they get it. But my boys are competitive. True story. If I want them to do anything I have to make it a race.

Who's going to brush their teeth first?

Who's going to put their seat belt on first?

Who's going to pick up the LEGOs first?

Turns out, there is a race that no one at my house wants to win. The Who Is Going To Fall Asleep First Race is a bust. Those words actually dropped off my lips and directly on the floor. Then crickets started chirping. No one, and I mean no one moved a muscle toward getting in bed. Which is also the reason why my children stayed up until midnight every night we were in Idaho. Which is also why they hate me now. We have a new bedtime, 8 p.m.

PHOTO NOTE: How cute is that handmade quilt? I'm a sucker for soft and flimsy gingham.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Majestic and Something Else, I Just Can't Put a Finger On It

I've been home from my journey to Idaho for about a week now. As I've encountered my friends they've each asked me -- because what does everyone always ask -- how was your trip?

I stutter at this question. I never know what to say. I could say any number of things, and all would be true.

1. It was exhausting.
2. We did and saw a lot.
3. It smelled.
4. I'm glad to be home.
5. I was happy to see a lot of my family and friends.
6. I look forward to doing it, again.
7. I hope I don't have to do it again for a long time.
8. The weather was nice.
9. My kids loved getting reacquainted with everyone (especially Uncle).
10. I'm glad I don't live there.
11. I wish I lived closer.
12. I think I got a concussion.
13. It was probably the worst thing I could have done the week before Cooper started school (I wasn't prepared).
14. My kids stayed up until mindinght every night and ate lots of junk food (my kids LOVED it).

I think Cooper summed up the trip the best. When his father asked him if he would ever want to live in Idaho he said, "It's nice, but it smells." Then he wrinkled up his nose and plugged it -- you know to beat the dead horse.

PS -- Idaho doesn't smell per se. It just smells really different to two little city kids. Usual suspects: farm dirt, animals, crops, heavy equipment, reservoir water, etc.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Cootie Factor

As age dictates, our Cooper is obsessed with coming to the bottom of the cootie mystery. When he tells me that girls have cooties I generally tell him that girls get cooties from boys. Then he'll tell me that he has cooties, so he better not talk to any girls. So I tell him that girls don't mind cooties. (I like mind games, oh you probably knew that about me.) None the less, he's not keen on girls as of late, which proved for several funny moments at a birthday party he attended a few weekends ago.

Coop may not like the girls, but the girls like him. Sitting in the grass waiting for the next party game he found himself surrounded by girls. I watched as one spunky little thing plunked herself next to him and then sidled up a little closer. He glared at her and then slowly and deliberately slid his mask over his eyes (they all had masks, see photo). Then he looked away. His meaning was clear without his uttering a single word. "Don't. Touch. Me."

In another game Cooper found himself running a race against a girl. When he looked over and laid eyes on the competition his leisurely lope turned into a blazing sprint for the finish line. Silly boy, they always catch up. He'll learn.

After I Read...

It's no secret, I love to read. After I read A Woman in Berlin my previous way of thinking was shattered and I became someone absolutely obsessed with the people who must live in the cities and countries torn by war. I rexamined who I thought was the enemy and decided I was wrong. Then I read Three Cups of Tea. I realized we can all do something and it will mean something to someone.

While I always believe in doing good things locally first, I ran across an opportunity to serve that I thought I would share. You know, if you're of the mind and you have the time. Read about it here and do what you feel like doing. No pressure.

Also, if you're going to read a book about war, I recommend A Woman in Berlin or Reluctant Fundamentalist over Three Cups of Tea.

Friday, August 14, 2009

I Grew This, 2009

When I handed each of my boys 3 seeds and said, "Plant these wherever you want." I scarcely could have guessed that the most established, healthiest plant would sprout from less than a foot of rocky soil wedged between the garage, the driveway, and the steps to our front porch.

The zucchini is thriving (though I've noticed some strange furry stuff on the leaves lately) and we picked our first zuke and baked five loaves of bread with it.

After we picked that thing, took pictures with it, and shredded it up, I let the boys have a little taste. They were anxious to partake of their labors. Yuck! Seriously, they gagged. But then they each had a steaming piece of sweet zucchini bread and Cooper giggled and said, "I changed my mind, I like zucchini."

Lesson learned? First try making your children grow the vegetables you want them to eat. If that doesn't work, just remember a little rule I learned from my sister-in-law, if you add enough sugar and butter to anything it will taste good.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Waterlogged, II

There is something about summer than drains my creativity. So, I've been looking back. I thought that if I looked back at what we were doing last year at this time I would be renewed with artisitc energy. In case you're wondering, no.

But it is amazing to me how much my boys have grown and changed. Remember when little Mr. Mason wouldn't go near the water? This year he stills show reserve, but he has plunged into swimming lessons.

Also, isn't he cute in these goggles?

See, I told you. No genius writing happening here.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Why I Read, II

I read. When I meet people who read, I know it instantly, and I like them. They can have a million other likable qualities, and unlikeable ones, and I will love them if they love to read. While I was on vacation I finished two books, and started a third.

I started Three Cups of Tea. I don't love it so far, but will likely finish. It's just the way I'm built. I read People of the Book. I liked it. In fact, I even loved parts of it. If you like books and libraries and the people that keep both alive you will probably like it, too. I read Water for Elephants and I LOVED IT!

Water for Elephants got inside my head and I have a few things I want to say about it. Upon finishing the book I decided to issue the following wish.

When I am old, and I mean really, really, really old, I hope I can remember the happy, amazing details of my little life. For it is these memories that I will watch, rather than T.V. when my kids ship me off to the nursing home. I hope I remember every detail of my husband's face, particularly the first time I realized how long and thick his eyelashes are. I hope I can recall the very squeal of my children's unabashed laughter. And I hope I can remember what really good food tastes like. (Actually I hope I can always eat really good food, but if I'm forced to eat Jell-O I want to imagine it's tiramisu and believe myself.)

When I am old I hope I can endure the patronizing ways of my children and undoubtedly their wives. I'm pretty sure I'll know when they think they are stooping to my level, I just hope I can pretend I don't care. When they do something nice for me I hope I can't tell they are doing it because it just might be the last time.

When I am old I hope I can find someone kind to usher in the very end with me. Someone who permits me to grasp the very last of my dignity on my way out. Someone who speaks to me as if I am a grown up, but with the patience they may offer a child. I would like if this person was my husband, or my children, but in the end... I really just hope there is someone.

And last, when I am old, and I do mean right up until the very last moment I live, I hope that I can read. I hope I will remember what I have read, what I am reading, and what I want to read next. What will I do if I can't read? Seriously, what will I do?

PHOTO NOTE: Here I am, with the person who taught me how to read.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Where Are We Now

It turns out, that wherever you go, eventually you have to come home. And that is exactly what we set out to do today. It was a typical day-long commute complete with bickering, fast food, and tired bums. And punctuated, I might add with a little chagrin, with, "Where are we now?" every 20 or 30 minutes. Not lying.

6:28 a.m.
In 48-degree weather we give brief hugs and kisses to Grandma and Grandpa and drive directly to Starbucks. A fine establishment that opens at 6 a.m. even on Sundays (yes, I called the day before to make sure). On the way my teeth chattered and I listened to the sleepy voices of my two boys.

Cooper: You (directed toward me) have scabs everywhere because you're a girl. (O!M!G!)

Mason starts humming the Star Wars march, of course. But then moves on to the Raiders' March from Indiana Jones. Cooper dozes off for just a minute.

Hit Starbucks and order an iced coffee and two "old fashioned" doughnuts. Mason refuses his claiming it is slimy.

Cooper: I miss my daddy.
Me: You get to see him today!
Cooper: But we have to drive a really long time. (Eureka! He gets it. Maybe this will be the last time he asks me about this.)

We crossed the state line and are cruising along at a quiet clip when Cooper whines, "Mommy, I really wanna see my dad." But Mason is starting to snore and I think Cooper is close.

Phew, Cooper is asleep. Seriously if he asks me how much longer we have, again, I might poke out my own eye. Smiling, of course.

Cooper: We need to get ready for a big bump, right?

OK, that was strange because he was completely asleep and at the moment he woke up we entered road construction.

Cooper: Is daddy awake, yet? Let's call him.

When you have EIGHT hours of travel ahead of you, it comes as no comfort that there will be "road delays" for the next 12 miles.

Ahhhh, Wyoming Welcomes us and I almost respond with my middle finger. I'm just saying, I know what's ahead. Let's start looking for a McDonald's.

After a recess at McDonald's (I hate to wake Mason up for that, but it had to be done) we get back on the road.

The first screaming match of the day occurs over a coloring book dispute. I wish this was the first, and only. Good thing we're headed into the Green River tunnel. They find that almost as interesting as who gets to color in the Wall E coloring book.

12:33 p.m.
It has become painfully obvious that the boys know I am a toothless tiger. While driving, I am rendered helpless to mediate any and all fighting. They take advantage. I'll let your imaginations take over here, but it's not pretty. The screaming goes on for a full 10 minutes before Cooper announces he has to have an emergenpee. Thank goodness for the Potette.

I'm so glad I distributed cold cereal to the troops, as it is now raining over me by the fistful, courtesy Mason. During our Lucky Charm shower Cooper enlightens me on the reasons behind his newly discovered sliver (it's in his big toe).

Cooper: My body wanted to give me a sliver because I never had one. I never threw up either. (Ummmm, why is he telling me this?) You can squeeze it and it will poke out with blood. And then you just pinch it with your nails. And it won't even hurt really bad. This is not a sliver actually. It is if you put a band aid on it and it will stick on it. And then it will be better, can you get that? Mommy?!?!?! Are you listening to me?

Me: Yes. Totally listening.

Cooper: But you need to put neosporing on it. Then a band aid on top of that. What band aids do we have?

Mason begins singing, "Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle. Where are you scar?"

I begin telling knock-knock jokes in Chinese.

Cooper: Clouds lift up the sky. Actually the moon lifts up the whole planet and changes our state. So we can go to Indiana and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again, and somewhere else again.

(Heavy sigh.)

I really want to do something fun, so please go a little faster. But don't get a speeding ticket. Those are bad news.

Did I just see a billboard that said, "Come do time in Rawlins."? No thank you. I've spent just about enough time in this purgatory, thank you very much.

We hit the McD's (I know, again) and the Loaf & Jug (it's still funny).

Cooper: Hey mommy your car is a girl. Because the life guy talks like a girl.

After handing out some melted chocolate Mason starts to panic, "Mom this is leaking!"

Mason begins his version of Twinkle Twinkle, again. And puts himself to sleep.

Cross into Colorado and I'm tempted to get out and kiss the ground. Cooper's response? "This really doesn't look furmiliar. Where's the castle?"

Cooper discovers that a rubber shark I picked up at the dollar store squeaks. I mean SQUEAKS! This thrills him and he laughs and laughs until I convince him to put it away until Mason wakes up. While he concedes, he's nonplussed and pouts with ANOTHER, "When are we going to be there?"

Cooper falls asleep.

Both boys open their eyes and Mason starts singing Indiana Jones music. Cooper doesn't say anyting, just smiles broadly and pulls out that shark. Gives it a squeak and startles Mason into giggles. Laughing all around, that's a great way to bring our trip to a close.

We pull into the drive and both boys chorus, "Is daddy home?"

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

An 11-Hour Conversation

I've said it before, I'll say it again. If you want to hear what your kids have to say, trap them in a car and give them absolutely nothing to do. When they can't watch movies, can't play Wii, can't play LEGOs; they will talk to you. Yesterday I engaged my children in an on-again-off-again conversation over the span of 11 hours. They said some funny stuff.

5:50 a.m.
Mason: Mommy, I love you.

Cooper: I had a dream that I saw Go Go and no one saw us. And I telled her where Uncle Andrew lives and I said does he live in a castle? And she say-ed yes!

Mason: (singing the Star Wars theme)

Cooper: Mom, I see the sun. But I don't see the moon. They usually fight when they wanna grow. And they play this game where they push back and forth. Isn't that so cool?

Mason: The moon can't stop, Tooper!

6:08 a.m.
Cooper: I see it! (The sun is fully risen at this point.) Hey, is that a golf course? I've never played that one. It's called the Tiger Woods, right mommy?

Mom: OK, boys, you might want to take a little sleep. It's like 4 hours earlier than when you normally wake up. Just go back to sleep. (Damn, well laid plans.)

6:20 a.m.
Pass the beautiful downtown skyline.

6:42 a.m.
Stop at a Costco for gass (just need to top off before hitting the serious road).

7:09 a.m.
Mason: What is that smell?!?!? (This is just the first of this proclamation/question. It is repeated every couple of hours with alarm whenever we encounter a new aroma.)

7:19 a.m.
I break out the Bakugan Breakfast. I have secretly packed meals for the whole road trip that have food AND a toy. I'm hoping to avoid the McDonald's 3 times in one day scenario. Well received.

8 a.m.
The boys finally start a movie and there is complete and total silence from the backseat. See?!!?!? I told you. If you want your kids to talk to you, make them ride in an entertainmentless car. Of course, at times, you don't want them to talk to you. This is one of those times.

8:06 a.m.
Cross into Wyoming. Brace yourself, it gets really boring from here on out. Saddened by the state moniker, "Forever West." Really? Forever? I can't endure it.

8:43 a.m.
Mason: Mommy! I! See! Something! (I guess he's just seen his first herd of cattle.)

Cooper falls asleep.

9:09 a.m.
I accidentally wake up Cooper when I try to wrench away the bag he packed (it is filled with LEGOs).

9:58 a.m.
Really need a bathroom. Who has the cleanest bathrooms in Wyoming? McDonald's! Usher kids into the can, let them take a 15 minute recess on the play equipment, then buy 3 fountain drinks as recompense.

Leave -- the boys are somewhat long-faced -- and drive head-long into nothingness.

11:02 a.m.
Cooper: Why does no one in this town have yellow faces?

Now, this is just the tip of an iceberg I suspect will be called, "How to talk to your kids about diversity." For the record, he wasn't asking about what you think he might be asking about. He wanted to know why humans (town actually meaning planet) don't have yellow heads like LEGO guys.

11:47 a.m.
I issue the first "Knock it off!" for perpetual raspberry blowing and spitting.

11:56 a.m.
Cooper: How many uncles do I have?
Mom: 7
Cooper: What are their names?
Mom: (I list them.)
Cooper: How many uncles do you have?
Mom: 4
Cooper: What are their names?
Mom: (I list them, one of which being my uncle Mark.)
Cooper: Oh, is your uncle our neighber Mr. Marcus?
Mom: Ummmmm, no.

Dear friends, my neighbor Mr. Marcus is an African American (and I am not). I suspect, this might be more of that iceberg. But I leave it at that.

12:04 p.m.
We pass through the Green River tunnel. For some reason, this is a big deal to the backseat passengers.

12:25 p.m.
Approaching Little America (sounds of gospel choirs singing). I have approximately less than 1 gallon left of gas. So we fill up, use the bathrooms, and I permit the boys to pick a treat. They pick powdered doughnuts.

12:47 p.m.
We're on the freeway and I'm noticing that we probably have 5 hours left. Surely my calculations are wrong. My rear-end hurts and I'm really not in the mood for 5 more hours. Someone, please help me. Why did I do this? Are we ever going to get there? What was I thinking? Five hours! Heellllllllp.

1:26 p.m.
I am interrupted in a wildly needed lecture on the importance of sharing with your siblings with...
Cooper: Are you trying to talk me back?

1:37 p.m.
I issue the first, "Stop throwing stuff!" as a piece of fruit leather whizzes past my head. I nearly miss the Utah state line in all the commotion. But hello! That explains the increase in crappy drivers. Come on, Utah!

1:48 p.m.
Oh dear. I smell something. Please tell me potty training is not on vacation, too. I ask, "Who is making that smell?"
Mason: Mason! (As he lifts not just both his hands, but both his feet.)

The tide of toots is also the kick off of a marathon of nonsensical knock-knock jokes.

2:52 p.m.
Mason falls asleep

3:23 p.m.
We cross into Idaho and I teach Cooper about mile markers and tell him to start counting them (we only have 109 more to go).

3:59 p.m.
Cooper falls asleep. That mile marker trick worked better than I thought it would.

4:54 p.m.
Mason lets me know he is awake by humming his favorite tune.

5:04 p.m.
We're here. Now wait, I have to do this again?

RESOURCES NOTE: In case you're wondering how I can recount every detail of this conversation. First of all, I only share the good stuff. Next, I graduated in journalism and used to work as a reporter, then producer at a handful of television stations and news networks. I can -- and do -- take copious, one-handed, blind notes while I drive. I know, dangerous. You should see my handwriting.

Monday, August 3, 2009

All A Boy Needs

Bedtime proceedure at our house is fairly simple.

Brushed teeth.
Soft pajamas.
A lovie.
Something good to read.

I wonder what he dreams about? Oh wait, he told me. I believe its LEGO 7628.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Under Foot

Try as I might, it is next to impossible to capture pictures of my children. (That's why I've resorted to taking pictures of plants.)

They move really fast and everything comes out a little like this. My life is a hive of movement and it follows me everywhere I go. Always under foot, always buzzing, always loud.

Some day they will be too old for this, and I'll be nostalgic. But for now, I'm a little tired.

PS -- Is it just me or is anyone else freaking out that it is August and summer is nearly over!!??!?! Do you remember what was on our minds last year? I didn't think so. Refresh your memory.