Like Mother, Like Son

I'm a reader. I read and read and read, until I fall asleep over the pages of my favorite books. Our little Mason has the same interest. Learning to read has been great for him. No more fear of the dark. Instead he sits in the incandescence spilling from his table lamp (which he calls a lantern) and reads until his breathing slows, his eyelids close and he drifts off to dreams.

 He's a sweet, quiet boy who I can spend hours and hours with. We have many a shared if dull moment in our days. So for these I will forgive him for this:

On my birthday he looked down at my bare feet and said with great disgust, "Ewwwwww. Look at your feet."

I looked down and said, "What's wrong with them?"

He then regarded them with further distaste and said, "They're old."

It had been a rough week of reconciling my age against my health so I said, "They are old! They are 37 years old. But they're clean."

His voice softened ever so slightly and he said with an air of dawning understanding, "Oooohhhhh, is that why you're so floppy?" Then he slapped my thigh.

It Will Do

Taken from a just-before-i-fall-asleep conversation with the 4-year-old.

"Mason, I love you. I'm so glad you decided to come to our house."

"Well, Mason is a pretty good name. I actually like it."

Merchandising 101

On the day the housekeepers come I try to make myself scarce. So when I return to the house with the boys, Mason -- my 4-year-old -- races up to his room and flops himself on his bed and coos, "Oh mom, I love it."

Seriously.

He likes a neat bed. He regularly sleeps on top of the covers so he doesn't mess up his bed. Very strange child. Recently he sought me out with a special request. "Will you take a picture of me on my bed for my teacher?"

Ummmm... this is a weird request. Right? Just re-examine those last three words. For. My. Teacher.

Anyway, I followed him back to his room where he had painstakingly arranged his stuffed friends. He then climbed to the middle of them, affixed himself into what he deemed a photogenic posture and asked me to take the picture. I'm not kidding. I wish I were, but I'm not.

I took an additional picture so as to remember the care he had administered to one pet in particular. It is tucked into the covers

Photobooth Friday, On Saturday

So, a day late, and you shouldn't be surprised. Because that is how I roll. Always late. And for the most part, unapologetic. But, it's photobooth Friday nonetheless...

bonus question: Any idea what is going on here?

Good Morning Boys

Today, my sweet children, I leave you behind and take off on an adventure. While I'm gone I want you to give your daddy hell. I mean, I want you to be well-behaved and help him out. He's being kind enough to let me take off for an entire week and enjoy myself in a city I've dreamed of visiting for a very, very, very long time.

I will miss you. In fact, I miss you already. But I know you will enjoy the bachelor pad of life in daddy's care.

Love,
your mamma

PS -- Don't worry, I'll steer clear of King Kong.

Didn't See That Coming

In every family there is a child who talks. Will talk about anything. In our family his name is Mason. If you're really patient, you hear the damnedest things. Damnedest. Now, that would be the topic of the conversation tonight.

Mommy, I really wanted to tell you that I love you and something else. But I can't tell you.

Did you forget?

Yes, I forgot, and it's a bad word. (Holds up hand showing all five fingers and motions to count down on them.) Let's talk about bad words.

What do you mean? I don't like bad words. (Actually I love bad words.)

Like Stupid.

Oh yes, that is very bad.

And Shut Up.

Oh right, that is not a very nice thing to say.

Well, what about if a ninja says, "Oh my God!"? (We've been trying to explain that while God is good, saying Oh my God is disrespectful. Really a stretch of a concept for the under 5 set.)

That would be kinda rude to say.

Can a pirate say, "Oh my Gosh!"?

I think that would be OK.

What about if General Grievous said, "Oh my crap!"?

Laughing. (Can't help myself.) I think that would be OK but it is kinda gross and teachers and moms don't like gross words.

Oh right. I think if something is weird you're supposed to say, "Oh my heavens!".

Yes, that's a good alternative.

I'm saving this one (Points to last finger) for hamster. I like to say that.

Oh. (Scratch my head.)

Now mom, I think we should keep talking about the other bad words. Can you tell me some? (Holds up opposite hand and makes to continue counting down.)

I don't like to say bad words.

But mom, I want to know them.

How about I tell you what you can say?

OK, yeah, that's good.

Oh darn! Have you said that before?

No. (Counts down on his fingers.)

Oh my heck!

Laughing. Mom! That's crazy. (Counts down on his fingers.)

Freaking. Freaking is kinda dangerous to say because it sounds like a bad word. (I have known Mason to say, "Are you freaking kidding me?".

(Counts down on his fingers.)

Mason, really, I have to go to bed. Forget about the bad words.

OK. But I want a hamster. When can I get a hamster.

(I close the door and whisper, "Aw shiite, he wants a hamster.")

We Broke The Rules and Survived Anyway

Given that I've already recapped our journey to get to Utah, it's a needlessly mentioned conclusion that we survived the trip. It goes without saying that I will belabor this point by describing the reason we should not have.

Namely, no one -- I repeat no one -- should drive through, near, or in Wyoming before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. And yet, we did. Lived to tell about it. So, you know, maybe there is such a thing as global warming.

Of course our day started with coffee, lots and lots of coffee. So let's skip that nonsense and get right into the gritty:

9:29 a.m.
Find ourselves en route to Colorado.

10:32
Pass into Wyoming and simultaneously conclude it ("it" being driving through aforementioned hell) wouldn't be so bad if you could drive 100 mph or so.

11:15
Stop at Little America. Despite the glamour, Mason refuses the facilities. And I am categorically disappointed that this is probably the last possible stop in which I could find a suitably tasteless souvenir for one of my friends, and recognize that I have failed her miserably.

1:40 p.m.
And here we have Rawlins. It's high time I distribute gifts/bribes/concession trinket. Cooper is now the proud owner of a Zooble named Rad. He is fascinated by this name.

2:01
What is my zoobles' name, again?

Rad.

2:21
Is my Zoobles' name Red?

No, Rad.

2:42
I forgot my Zoobles' name.

Rad.

3:04
Can you tell my Zoobles' name?

Rad. As in, it would be rad if you never asked me that again.

3:31
Mason falls asleep.

3:48
OK, did you say his name was Red?

Nope. It's Rad. Raaaaaaaaad. Say it with me, Rad.

4:18
Mommy, I still can't remember this guys' name.

Rad.

4: 39
Oh I remember, his name is Rad.

Argh.

5:38
Finished. I am finished. I am getting out of this car and it is going to take serious cash to get me back in it. Serious. Also, Rad is banned.

Walcott, And Other Places I Scorn

Here's something you probably didn't know about me, once I get a bee in my bonnet, I gotta do what I set out to do, even if it's against my better judgement. In other words -- or rather less words -- I'm stubborn. That is how we came to start a multi-state road trip at 4 in the afternoon. 4 p.m., people. That stubborn.

Actually it went down something like this...

4 p.m.
Pick up Cooper from school. And while hoping that we can avoid socializing and get on with ourselves I see the teacher wave me down. I flash between, "Should I pretend I didn't see her." and, "Ah shoot, she knows we skipped homework."

Timidly approach her to find out that Cooper didn't eat lunch because his lunchbox was switched with another boy in school. And according to Cooper the mother of said boy packed "rotten chicken soup" that made, "me and Spencer went like this (motions to make gagging noises and retching faces)."

4:17
Arrive home where car is dangerously loaded to the gills and children pile in. We stop for gas. True to the questions I've had since the boys woke up this morning I hear, "I'm so excited, when do we get to grandma's house," at least 47 times.

4:45
On the road, only to slam on brakes in bumper to bumper traffic. Oh that's right, people work. And then they drive home from work at about 5. Oooops.


5:20
Mason is making non-stop machine gun sounds. I'm over it.

5:30
Cooper asks when we're going to be at the airport. Clearly he's over it.

6:57
Cross into Wyoming and the temperature instantly drops. We're travel weary already. Nothing is where I want it and I'm feeling cross. The kids seem smashed into the backseat. And to top things off, the new video games that I bought to surprise them? One of them doesn't work. So, planning fail and we're setting a 10 minute turn timer so they can switch back and forth between one Nintendo DS. (Does anyone have a used DS they want to sell?)

7:27
While at a Wendy's in Wyoming an anonymous patron belches in such a way I am reminded of demon hounds being released from Gehenna. Which you might think would make my husband and I make gagging noises and retching faces. But no, we had an exchange including eye contact followed by hysterical laughter that will be legendary. Mark my words. In this house, we are quick to find comedic relief in errant eructation. Never did figure out who the culprit was. But it was either the grease ball in leathers and a Yellowstone t-shirt and a very loose idea of personal hygiene or the teenage girl in a soccer uniform enjoying dinner with her family. Toss up. (There is an outside chance it was a large woman who was 75% bald. But I'm unconvinced.)

9:17
It's really dark outside. And remarkably cold, 37 degrees. And we see a mile of red lights ahead of us. Uh oh. An absolute standstill on the freeway and we don't have much gas. The night's about to get hugely interesting. Make panicked phone call to family in Idaho for a little OnStar. Learn that I-80 is closed due to an accident. I-80 is THE only route. We pull off the freeway at Walcott hoping for an open gas station. None! Everything is closed. Doesn't 9 p.m. seem a little early to close a gas station? We are literally faced with the decision to sit and wait and hope we don't run out of gas, or drive all the way back to Denver. Hmmmmm... looks like we are aborting this trip.

9:29
Make phone call to Wyoming Highway Patrol (if you would like the number let me know) and discover that at least 1 lane is now getting through. So we turn on the car and pull onto freeway (at this point the inside of our car is freezing). It's slow going, it's raining, but we're moving. This is when everyone falls asleep. Everyone, except me because I'm driving and eating. I do this very well. Especially the latter of the two.


12:31 a.m.
Mandatory stop at Little America. LA claims to have the cleanest bathrooms in Wyoming and this could be true. It's a balmy 42 degrees and I'm questioning why we elected to leave a city that was enjoying temps in the 80s. It's cold enough that we consider buying blankets in a gas station. Then we come to our senses and turn on the heat. I'm telling you, we're a little out of practice.

I'm starting to question my decision to let Mason get his immunization this morning. He's groaning in his sleep and complaining that his leg hurts.

1:30
We cross the Utah state line, I'm listening to Ted Nugent, clearly I'm chockfull of this road trip for I am listening to my husband's playlist. Everyone else is ... naturally... asleep.

2:38
Arrive. Creep by tippy toe into in-laws' home and crawl into bed. Sleep. Sleep very deeply.


I will eventually have fun stories to tell you of our adventures in Utah. Don't worry, none of them include The Browns of Sister Wives fame. Stay tuned.

If I Ignore Her

I finally met Finley. Finley is my youngest niece -- I have nine. She is THE most daring. I love her to pieces. (Also she has pierced ears which I think is so dang cute on a baby with a naked noggin. So dang cute.)

Mason, I fear, has another opinion. There could be a few things at play:

1. He was insanely jealous to see his mama going gaga over baby Fin.

2. He thinks girls have cooties.

3. He is a damnable stick in the mud and it wasn't really Finley so much as life at the moment.

Enjoy these photos of his response to sitting in her stroller with her. He basically ignored her, while she -- sweet thing as she is -- inspected his tattoo. When pretending she wasn't there didn't work, he forced himself to fall asleep.

Night Walker

Remember how noises of the night freak me out? After I'd put the boys to bed and even fallen asleep myself, I was startled awake by a weird thunk. Something was prowling around in my house!

I grabbed a knitting needle and tip-toed out to the kitchen (the general direction of the noise). I was fully poised to take down the intruder (or at the very least cable knit him) when I found my 3-year-old sacked out on the tile floor. Either he snuck out of bed and played until he dropped to the floor with exhaustion, OR he was sleep walking.

While It Lasts

In the beginning we elected to give our children separate rooms. I'm starting to regret that a little bit now.

Someday they will kick and scream and punch and bully each other into a form of brotherly love. But for now they ask for sleepovers and then share a pillow. Sweet while it lasts.

On The Eve of Hysteria

There is something about Christmas Eve that is more special than Christmas. When we stand on the brink of expectations, excitement, and even a bit of anxiety, there is much to treasure and cherish. There is a field of imagination yet to be mined and our minds dig right in and try to. That's the magic of it.

By the following day, we've had what we're going to have and it's over. Only to be wished and planned upon for another year.

At my home right now... we're wavering in between the Eve and the Day. It's warm inside, but cold and snowy outside. The boys are asleep in their beds. Santa has done his (and her) job. And only my busy fingers are flitting over the keyboard searching for memories and thoughts that remind me of some of my favorite years.

At about this time some 16 years ago I charged into my parents' home after a night out with friends to find Santa had done his (and her) job for the night. The house was dark but already I could see the bounty of what would be Christmas morning and my heart broke a little bit. It was the first time I had seen the workings of Eve into Day. Of course I suspected there was a little more to the process than a jolly fellow falling down the chimney. But I'd never peeked behind the curtain. And part of me still wishes I never had.

Rewind even deeper and Christmas Eve would have meant a tiring night of cousins, second cousins, and a bunch of uncles and sweet but alien aunts. Because Christmas Eve was always the night of my Great Grandmother's party cum talent show. There must have been 100 of us -- seriously -- from all over the country in her little farm house. We'd feast on homemade popcorn balls and candy while waiting for our turn in front of or at the piano. And then Santa would come -- who looked a lot like one of my great uncles -- and we'd each get a gift. Something my great grandmother would have sewn for us. Usually a slip with lots of lace, and always longer than any of my dresses and skirts. (I guess she knew what kind of girl I was going to become and was trying to send early hints.)

On the way home my brothers and I would slump in the backseat, sick on candy canes and hot from our party clothes, and fall asleep. But by the time we were home, none of us could sleep in our own beds. You might think this lasted until we were 7. But I distinctly remember staying up well past 4 a.m. on at least one Christmas Eve when I was in junior high.

I'm not sure how my parents decided what traditions we would follow. How they weeded through their respective families' customs to find their own is a mystery to me. I look at my own little foursome and I wonder what I should do. I thought I wanted to have and keep lots and lots of Christmas books. And now it's starting to seem like a storage issue to me, rather than a heartfelt tradition. I thought I wanted to keep the same stockings for my family year after year. But every time I see new trims and patterns, and baubles I want to remake the ones I've already created. (Plus, nothing fits in Cooper's.) I thought I wanted to be insulated from obligation and plans on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. But I felt a little lonely this evening.

One thing is for sure. I don't have to figure it out in one night, or one year, or ever. It's the most fluid holiday I've ever experienced. The only thing I'm hellbent on preserving is the magic. So, for my children I wish...

May you never see the strings that orchestrate the puppet show and may Christmas EVE live in your mind forever.

PHOTO NOTE: My Great Grandmother (when she was a child).

Dear Mr. Incredible

Dear Mr. Incredible,
I just wanted to write and let you know I've enjoyed borrowing your super suit. The thing is, it doesn't fit anymore. I was wondering if you're at liberty to share the number of your famed tailor -- Edna Mode. I know she's retired, but surely when she sees how this is fitting me, she'll make a comeback.

Honestly, it's only a little tight around the waist, but the shirt shows a bit more than my bellybutton these days. And I've grown a few inches taller, so, it's not tucking into my super boots like it should. Any suggestions? My mother claims she hasn't washed it in warm water, but that woman is not much of a laundress. And I swear I saw her taking it out of a very hot dryer just the other day. Isn't it supposed to be line-dried, exclusively?!??!

Other than that, my hero work has been on hold. I've been working on my numbers and letters and haven't had much time for cats up trees. You?

Sincerely,
Mr. Mason

Psssssst

As a parent I find myself teetering between laughing at my children and wanting to yell at them. I know, you're not supposed to yell. But if you claim you have never yelled at your kids then you have never found them up to their arm pits in feces. I'm just saying. I most often falter at bedtime. This is in part to the manipulative little sneaks who live here.

With Cooper the tactic is pretty straightforward. He goes to his room. After a few minutes he comes out, wanders to the room I'm in and then says things like: I forgot to give you a hug and kiss; I found this quarter in my room, I thought you might like it; Is daddy keeping you up?

Well, how am I supposed to yell at him for this?

Mason is a bit more surreptitious. Just the other night he came out of his room an hour after I had put him down and asked me if I would come inspect his room. (Yes, he actually used the word inspect.) When I asked why he said, "Because I cleaned it for you."

When I got upstairs to inspect I discovered he had used about 127 baby wipes to literally wipe down his entire room. Frankly, it smelled fantastic. But the tightly wadded up, and wasted baby wipes got me a little irate.

More often he quietly spies on me. I've mentioned his perch. But he also has a secret shelter. In the office where I sit when I write posts on my blog (how's that for burying a lead?) I am just across the hall from my children's rooms. I usually don't make it to the computer, and thus the blog, until well past their bedtimes -- when they are supposed to be fast asleep.

Most of the time I'm practically asleep as I peck out the events of the day. Every once in a while -- as a rule, when my strong, handsome hubby is out of town -- I get spooked by noises. I imagine I'm hearing people open my garage door, walk on my porch, or rummage in my yard. Yes, I'm that crazy. But every once in a while, it's not my imagination. It's just Mason. Hiding. Under my desk.

And here is how he lets me know he is there. I take pictures before I bellow and usher him directly back to bed.

Stay 6 Days

When our family contemplates taking a road trip we weigh a few things as we decide what the perfect balance for our family is.

How long does it take to get there?
How much do you need to get done while you're there?
What will you miss at home?
How quickly will we wear out our welcome?

We have found that staying no longer than six days (with family) is perfect. As we pull away we're wishing we had one more day. But in truth we're starting to see our children throw a few more temper tantrums, our gracious hosts take a few more minutes to themselves, and our bodies start to feel the pull toward home.

The unfortunate part is that pull. It's really only strong enough to get your back in the driver's seat. Doesn't do much to soothe your aching arse when you are 6 hours in and still have a long way to go.

10 a.m.
We find ourselves waiting in line for what we hope will be our last drive-through for the next month (seriously we're cleansing). Somewhere between placing our order and pulling up to the first window we start debating the best route. It occurs to me that we should have looked up a few things online before embarking on our return. Does anyone know if snow is in the forecast?!?!?

From 11:49 until 11:51
Mason starts singing, "I'm a parachuting!" This is a song of his own invention. It's not particularly fun to listen to and it goes non-stop for at least 3 minutes. This doesn't sound like a long time. But just imagine watching the weather segment of your favorite local news. Now instead of hearing, "Partly cloudy with a chance of rain and snow showers..." you hear, "I'm a parachutingI'm a parachutingI'm a parachutingI'm a parachutingI'm a parachutingI'm a parachutingI'm a parachuting." It grates. I assure you.

1:31 p.m.
We cross into Colorado and at this point no one in the car is happy, amiable, nice, or pleasant. Myself included. In fact, I would say I was the most irritable. It might have had something to do with how bad I needed to pee. But as we all know, I don't do that in the out of doors.

1:47
Cooper moans, "I just want to sleep in my own bed." Amen to that.

1:51
A remarkably disturbing billboard comes into view. I won't go into all the details -- because it was much more interesting to see than to read about. But it ended with Genesis 1:1 and basically negated any reasonable educational measures that would advance any discussion of evolution. Where are we anyway?

3:01
We take a lunch break and then try to get back on the road. I get royaly lost. Oh I'm so mad that by the time I see a sign that says F Road, I almost blurt out the swears it's making me think of. And did you know Grand Junction has an F Road and an F 1/2 Road? You know, in case you didn't get pissed enough the first time around.

5:41
Cooper requires a pee break. We pull off in Frisco -- a delightfully quaint town -- and we find ourselves at the Loaf n Jug. Mason is asleep.

7
We're still barreling down the road when Mason wakes up and shouts, "And it's whacky!" from the backseat.

8
We're home. Now we'll begin weighing the deciding factors of when to go back.

PHOTO NOTE: Mason flexing his muscles. Now that's whacky.

I Might Have Freaked

Have you ever lost your kid? Just admit it.

I have lost one or the other kid for a moment or two many times. I lost Cooper once when he was about 18 months old. We were in a huge sporting good store looking for snow boots for him and then he was gone. The store was a zoo -- people everywhere. Crazed fans, no less. Some kind of event with the Broncos cheerleaders. And that my friends is where I found him, checking out the hotties in the ass-less pants.

But anyway, some of my very worst mother moments have been in fabric stores. And I have another one to add to the list (maybe I should just stop going to them). Remember Cooper's first field trip? On that very day I made my kids go to a fabric store. Not just any fabric store, but my favorite, gigantic, warehouse style, wannabe Mood, fabric store. Both kids were pleasant and honestly they know the drill at fabric stores. They absolutely will NOT get my undivided attention, so they don't even ask for it.

The two of them were trailing me. I could hear them playing at my feet as I flipped through samples and remnants. Then all of the sudden Cooper poked his head out from under the table and said, "Where Mason?" Where's Mason indeed! I wandered around the store calling his name. I was calm. Then I figured I'd made a full circle of the store and hadn't seen or heard him. So, Cooper started yelling his name and I posted myself at the exits. Nothing.

Then I started to sweat. We had just had some other weird stuff happen in our family and so I think I might have been a little extra sensitive. But I genuinely went into overdrive. Every little blue hair in there knew I was looking for my kid. They announced it over the intercom, I started crawling on the floor. And then...

One of the little worker bees came out of the back and sweetly said, "I found him." I followed her to the back of the store, and there he was, sound asleep. He slept so hard that I was able to pick him up, sit him in the cart, place a fat chunk of fabric under his head and he continued to sleep for another hour! (Do I shop too much?)

It's OK to freak. I freaked. I found him. But I freaked, first.

What We're Reading

I pretend that people care about what I've read and might be interested in reading the same things. Here's what's on the bookshelf around here:

KIDS
Chicken Butt
What Color Is Your Underwear?
DC Super Friends, Flying High

ME
The Reader
The Count of Monte Cristo (I know, again!)
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan
When Madeliene Was Young (I might not finish this one)

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.
Thanks,
Mason

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.

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.