Bean

I know two boys who grew their own beans from seed. I know two boys who tried to convince themselves they loved the taste of those beans as much as the experience of growing them.

Beside Myself

I am absolutely angry. That's right, bent out of shape! I lost my phone. More accurately, I left it behind in a gym class and when I returned to get it less than an hour later it was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Like stolen gone. Grrrrrrr...

Despite telling myself that whoever took it needed it far more than I did, I'm livid. If you know me, you know that when I get mad I am fierce. In the midst of researching new phone options I was struck down by what went missing with my palm-sized technology. My lists.

Not just any lists but two of my very favorite, most treasured lists. The lists of books to read (that have not yet made it onto my master list at goodreads.com) and my list of kidisms (that have not yet made it onto the blog). I had transcribed a 20-minute conversation that Cooper had with a pretty girl at the park -- which is so so so funny. And now it is gone.

First things first. If you haven't been able to reach me as of late, that is why. I have NO idea how civilization sustained itself without smartphones. This experiment in being out-of-touch has made me over-the-top disorganized, frenzied with useless running back and forth to use landlines and desktops, and maniacally ignorant of the world around me.

Next, if you need to get ahold of me, tough. The phone I want is backordered for weeks.

Lastly, I have learned, a smartphone isn't all it's chalked up to be. And when I have a new one in hand -- oh you know it is just a matter of time -- I will leave it at home more often. Namely, trips to the pool without phones are blissful. I won't be taking that bad boy to the gym, ever again. I think I burned more calories this week without it. And I absolutely am making dinnertime a phone-free zone.

PS -- If you have a book suggestion for my new and improved book list, leave a comment here.

Meant

Some things you are meant to do...



... dressing yourself, is NOT one of them.

Any Given Morning

If you were to spy on me -- I'm just saying IF -- and you drove by my house on any given morning you would find me and my boys on the porch. As I wander through my flowers snapping pictures and pinching deadheads they sit in the quiet peace of morning sunshine and read books. Sometimes they rub the sleep from their eyes, often they bicker over buttered toast, but always we start our day there.

It is for this reason I am dreading the start of school. For I fear it will be the end of our lazy ritual and the start of frenzied rushing and deadlines. I'm not a fan of frenzy. You?

Rose Count: 2

Should I expect to see more of these in my yard? If so, how?

His Words, Not Mine

No need to repeat this sentiment: I enjoy listening to the variations of the English language that my children invent. With the advent of the release of Toy Story 3 a few new ones have been added to the list. You know the part in Toy Story 2 when Mr. Potato Head finds himself at a pool party with a bunch of Barbies? He tries to shake temptation by chanting, "I'm a married spud.I'm a married spud.I'm a married spud.I'm a married spud.I'm a married spud."

Mason laughs the sheer tar out of himself whenever he sees that. Then he repeats, "I'm a marriage butt.I'm a marriage butt.I'm a marriage butt.I'm a marriage butt.I'm a marriage butt.I'm a marriage butt."

Just wondering... am I a marriage butt?

A Lesson Learned from Sparklers

Photographing children playing with fireworks is a little like being a parent to those same small children. The joy is clear, but the details are a little hazy. Namely, I know we’re doing a lot, having fun, learning something new every day – but I’m not always sure exactly what happened.

Likewise, holidays like Independence Day are a little like raising independent children. You want those fancy-free days of sleeping in late and staying up even later to last forever. But really, by Sunday afternoon the last thing you want to do is think about another hot dog, and your thumb is burned from too many sparklers. I’m hoping I’ll feel this way when it’s time for those independent children of mine to enter the next stage of life.

As for now, you should know that two pyromaniacs live here. They loved the holiday and have no clear understanding of why it is celebrated.