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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sorry.