Great dinner last Friday night at one of our favorite restaurants (where we got a "Happy Birthday" card from the staff instead of a "Happy Anniversary" card). Movie plan thwarted by the fact that 1) I ate so much I could barely move, thus inducing some serious sleep in the car partially due to the fact that I stayed up until 3 am reading "The Help." When we got home, K fell asleep on the couch instead of going to get the kids (WHAT?! Who thinks, "Hey -- I'm gonna lay down for a few minutes before I go pick up the kids at the in-laws. That sounds like a great idea. I'm sure I won't slip into a sleep-induced coma."), so at 12:30 am -- which is about 5 hours after my mom's normal bedtime -- I wake up and realize that I never heard kids come in. In a panic, I wake K up, who is snoozing on his respective couch, and he tells me to call my parents.
I am still peeved about this.
If you're the one who lays down instead of going to pick up the kids (which he volunteered to do, I might add), I think you should have to suffer the consequences. I mean, when I didn't mail my mother-in-law's Mother's Day gift or my father-in-law's Father's Day gift because I kept misplacing it, I called them and told them it was my fault the gifts were so late.
So, anyway, last night at dinner, we were talking about our past anniversaries; we came to the conclusion that very few of our anniversary dates/trips have turned out according to plan, so I guess this anniversary will go in the books as another.
(For the record, I did call my parents, but I threw K under the bus while he stood there -- totally told my mom that he laid down on the couch instead of coming to get the kids and fell asleep. K is famous for his sleeping in my family, as he can 1) fall asleep faster than I can inhale a Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cake, 2) sleep through anything, and 3) sleep as long as you will let him. My mom was not surprised -- or upset, for that matter --,but I felt better.)
Anyway, on to the next installment: Stalking.
Once I started working at The Home Depot, I made it a point to talk to The Hot Guy as often as possible. It seemed to me that he came by my register a lot, but I couldn't get verification of this because the front end management wouldn't let Bess and I work together; we were always on opposite sides of the store. (This trend continued once we started teaching together... not sure why...) I started out in the tool corral but was quickly moved to either lumber or garden after an unfortunate incident involving a man was looking for a wood file.
Now, my dad had lots of tools laying around when I was growing up, and I'd always been fascinated with this thing that looked like a giant nail file with a point. When the man asked me where the wood files were, I figured he was talking about this kind of file, so I told him where they were located. He came back three different times, and I sent him to three different places. I even asked the guy in charge of the tool corral where a wood file would be. (For the record, I was right the first time.) Mr. Wood File came back yet again, and I'd had about enough.
"Sir, I've told you everything I know. The only kind of file I really know anything about is a nail file, and we don't sell those here."
That was my last day in the tool corral.
What did I learn from this? When looking for a certain tool, if YOU don't know what the tool looks like, then maybe you shouldn't be working with it.
As a cashier, you have the option of making an all-call when you need a manager's help, or you can call a manager directly. I made quick work of finding out The Hot Guy's personal number, and when he was working, I always called him first.
He always responded.
I took this as a sign.
One day, as I was slaving away at the garden register, I needed a manager to come get money from my till. I dialed The Hot Guy's phone, and he came out to pick up my money. After he left and I stopped drooling, I realized he'd left a small leather-bound black notebook by my register.
It was fate.
Of course, I opened it up and looked through it first, just in case it contained the locations of the bodies of people he'd killed or something like that; I had to make sure he was going to pass the background check that my dad would inevitably do on him if we ever went on a date.
It appeared clear -- just some work doodles -- so I dialed his number again.
Me: "Hey, you left your little black book with all of your girlfriends' numbers in it. It's out here at my register."
Hot Guy: "Thanks. While you're waiting, why don't you put your number in it. That way, it will have at least one number in it."
Ohh- he was smooth. He had game. He also now had my number because I wrote down as quickly as I could, just in case he changed his mind.
I had more game, apparently, because he didn't run away or "lose" my number.
He called me later... a date followed the next evening (March 23, 1999 -- yeah, I know -- I can't remember my own phone number. Why can I remember that date?!)... and another that weekend... and that was the beginning of us. There were certainly some obstacles... like that whole girlfriend thing (did I mention that? He had a girlfriend. Oops.)... but they worked themselves out.
That July, we went to eat Cajun food, I got a nasty case of hives (seems I'm allergic to cayenne pepper), and I met his parents the next day, covered in scary red whelps. A little over a month later, he came over to ask my dad for my hand in marriage; a concept that seemed sweet, except he kinda had a panic attack (maybe a vision of the future with three kids, two dogs, and a wife who doesn't clean house), and I basically had to talk him down from the ledge (or at least, out of the swing on my parents' carport). Another month passed before he got up the nerve to ask -- and the proposal deserves an entry all to itself.
I'll save that one for another day. :-)
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Friday, July 01, 2011
The Story of Us
Today, K & I are celebrating ELEVEN years of marriage.
Eleven years.
Holy cow.
First, I never thought I'd like any boy this long. Ok, sometimes, I don't like him very much, but I love, love, love the man all the time. I never thought that would happen.
Second, I never thought I would find a man who would be able to put up with all of my, um, sparkling qualities for more than a few months at a time. I'm not saying I'm difficult to deal with, but... I might've been told that once or twice... or a couple hundred times.
I've been thinking a lot about our story the past couple of days, and I have to say -- we've never been normal. I've always thought that our relationship would make a great movie, which made me think of the movie, "The Story of Us" starring Michelle Pfieffer and Bruce Willis. Back in the day, when that movie came out, I made K take me to see it in the theater.
He was not really excited.
Normally, he picks the movies, and I tag along. To say our tastes in films is different is like saying Antarctica is chilly.
Anyway, one day, if our kids want to know how we came about but don't want to ask because they're teenagers and don't want to talk to us more than neccessary, I want them to be able to find "The Story of Us: The K & A Version."
Let's start at the beginning: The First Meeting
I was a senior at Clemson, having just moved home to do my student teaching. My friend Bess -- one of my college roommates, teaching partners, and general partner in crime -- had gotten a job at The Home Depot.
Not the most obvious choice for an English major, but whatev.
B wanted to introduce me to this guy, Van. I was always on the lookout for The Perfect Man, but generally, I found The Weirdo, The Suction Cup, or The Uninterested Man... so B decided to help me out.
Around January 1999, I decided to get a job at The Home Depot, too; why, I will never fully understand because at that time, my idea of home improvement involved cleaning my room.
Anyway.
I got a part-time job there in February, and I had to go to this higher level institution called Cashier College to learn how to run a register. One evening, after my educationally enlightening experience at Cashier College, I was supposed to pick B up at work and go back to her house for the evening. The plan was for us to casually bump into Van so she could make the introduction, as he wasn't really excited about the idea of a blind date.
When I got to HD (I'm sure I was over-dressed), we started walking toward the back of the store where Van was working, unaware of the extraordinary opportunity about to befall him. As we were walking toward the plumbing department (or maybe it was millwork -- I can't remember which, but still -- either place just SCREAMS "romance," right?), we saw a cluster of people standing in front of the kitchen cabinet display.
We walk up to the group because B is the friendly sort, and there, leaning against this giant, orange, rolling metal ladder, is The Most Beautiful Man I Have Ever Seen.
*Cue the angels singing and heavenly spotlight.*
I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped open slightly, which is super-hot and shows total nonchalance.
B introduces me to him and the rest of the small group, mentioning that I will be working there when I finish Cashier College; I shake his hand, hoping I'm not drooling or breathing loudly through my partially open mouth.
I managed a smile, I guess, and he said something grown-up, like "Look forward to having you working here."
As we walked away, my head was spinning, and when I finally regained my power of speech, I interrupted Bess, who was chattering on about Van, and said:
"I'm going to marry him."
B: "Who? Van? You haven't met him yet."
A: "No. That guy we just met."
B: "You can't marry him. He has a girlfriend. And he's an assistant manager. And Van is so nice."
A: "I don't care. I'm going to marry him."
B gives me a look, as we are not typically boyfriend-stealers, and we proceed on to meet Van, who was a super-nice guy but appeared to possibly be scared of me.
Now, I had no idea if The Hot Guy had any interest in me at all, but I couldn't get him out of my head. That night, I outlined B's new mission: to find out if The Hot Guy was serious with his girlfriend, to find out his basic story, to pretty much super-secret stalk him so I could figure him out. Reluctantly, she agreed; the rest was up to me... once I finished Cashier College and was bestowed with that beautiful orange apron, of course.
Tune in later for the next installment in "The Story of Us": Stalking My Prey
Eleven years.
Holy cow.
First, I never thought I'd like any boy this long. Ok, sometimes, I don't like him very much, but I love, love, love the man all the time. I never thought that would happen.
Second, I never thought I would find a man who would be able to put up with all of my, um, sparkling qualities for more than a few months at a time. I'm not saying I'm difficult to deal with, but... I might've been told that once or twice... or a couple hundred times.
I've been thinking a lot about our story the past couple of days, and I have to say -- we've never been normal. I've always thought that our relationship would make a great movie, which made me think of the movie, "The Story of Us" starring Michelle Pfieffer and Bruce Willis. Back in the day, when that movie came out, I made K take me to see it in the theater.
He was not really excited.
Normally, he picks the movies, and I tag along. To say our tastes in films is different is like saying Antarctica is chilly.
Anyway, one day, if our kids want to know how we came about but don't want to ask because they're teenagers and don't want to talk to us more than neccessary, I want them to be able to find "The Story of Us: The K & A Version."
Let's start at the beginning: The First Meeting
I was a senior at Clemson, having just moved home to do my student teaching. My friend Bess -- one of my college roommates, teaching partners, and general partner in crime -- had gotten a job at The Home Depot.
Not the most obvious choice for an English major, but whatev.
B wanted to introduce me to this guy, Van. I was always on the lookout for The Perfect Man, but generally, I found The Weirdo, The Suction Cup, or The Uninterested Man... so B decided to help me out.
Around January 1999, I decided to get a job at The Home Depot, too; why, I will never fully understand because at that time, my idea of home improvement involved cleaning my room.
Anyway.
I got a part-time job there in February, and I had to go to this higher level institution called Cashier College to learn how to run a register. One evening, after my educationally enlightening experience at Cashier College, I was supposed to pick B up at work and go back to her house for the evening. The plan was for us to casually bump into Van so she could make the introduction, as he wasn't really excited about the idea of a blind date.
When I got to HD (I'm sure I was over-dressed), we started walking toward the back of the store where Van was working, unaware of the extraordinary opportunity about to befall him. As we were walking toward the plumbing department (or maybe it was millwork -- I can't remember which, but still -- either place just SCREAMS "romance," right?), we saw a cluster of people standing in front of the kitchen cabinet display.
We walk up to the group because B is the friendly sort, and there, leaning against this giant, orange, rolling metal ladder, is The Most Beautiful Man I Have Ever Seen.
*Cue the angels singing and heavenly spotlight.*
I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped open slightly, which is super-hot and shows total nonchalance.
B introduces me to him and the rest of the small group, mentioning that I will be working there when I finish Cashier College; I shake his hand, hoping I'm not drooling or breathing loudly through my partially open mouth.
I managed a smile, I guess, and he said something grown-up, like "Look forward to having you working here."
As we walked away, my head was spinning, and when I finally regained my power of speech, I interrupted Bess, who was chattering on about Van, and said:
"I'm going to marry him."
B: "Who? Van? You haven't met him yet."
A: "No. That guy we just met."
B: "You can't marry him. He has a girlfriend. And he's an assistant manager. And Van is so nice."
A: "I don't care. I'm going to marry him."
B gives me a look, as we are not typically boyfriend-stealers, and we proceed on to meet Van, who was a super-nice guy but appeared to possibly be scared of me.
Now, I had no idea if The Hot Guy had any interest in me at all, but I couldn't get him out of my head. That night, I outlined B's new mission: to find out if The Hot Guy was serious with his girlfriend, to find out his basic story, to pretty much super-secret stalk him so I could figure him out. Reluctantly, she agreed; the rest was up to me... once I finished Cashier College and was bestowed with that beautiful orange apron, of course.
Tune in later for the next installment in "The Story of Us": Stalking My Prey
Monday, March 07, 2011
I'm Almost Back...
Let me tell you something, my peeps.
Whoever said having three kids is not much more work than having two kids lied.
Maybe it's just my kids (which is possible), or maybe it's just my ADD (which is also possible), but for the past 2 years, I have struggled to find time to do anything besides what is required so that I don't appear to be a total failure to the outside world.
Blogging hasn't been on the top of my list, as the outside world rarely reads my blog, BUT I have missed it... and I am campaigning to make a comeback in the next month or so...
Stay tuned...
Whoever said having three kids is not much more work than having two kids lied.
Maybe it's just my kids (which is possible), or maybe it's just my ADD (which is also possible), but for the past 2 years, I have struggled to find time to do anything besides what is required so that I don't appear to be a total failure to the outside world.
Blogging hasn't been on the top of my list, as the outside world rarely reads my blog, BUT I have missed it... and I am campaigning to make a comeback in the next month or so...
Stay tuned...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Now I Remember...
why I love blogging so much. I can do something I enjoy while being productive, which makes me feel less guilty for not doing the other things that I should be doing but don't enjoy... like dishes, laundry, and assorted other duties of someone who lives with 4 other people who don't like to do any of that stuff either.
Currently, the kids are pretending to "rest" -- except Sam, who is like his father in the fact that he relishes a 6-hour nap in the middle of the day, so I have a few moments to breathe... which I need, considering that Sam has given me heart failure twice in the span of less that 24 hours.
Both experiences are actually parenting firsts for me -- something I find unusual considering I thought I'd already covered a good bit of territory with the first two. Anyway, yesterday was the first time I've ever been at home alone when one of the kids got hurt bad enough to bleed.
I should preface this by saying that I do not normally mind blood, but if it happens to come from one of my children, it totally freaks me out. The first time Ethan busted his lip, I hyperventilated and almost passed out.
Over time, I've learned to at least semi-disguise my reactions, and I actually thought that maybe I was getting over my fear until Sam bounced his face off of the ledge of a stair yesterday.
I didn't throw up, which surprised me, but:
1- I did set him on the counter and leave him unattended while rummaging through the freezer for one of those bleepity-bleep frozen "boo-boo" compresses that are always everywhere to be found when I don't need them -- like when I'm looking for the real ice packs to insulate a cooler -- and nowhere to be found when I need them -- like when my youngest offspring is bleeding profusely from the mouth.
Thankfully, Sam was too distraught to realize that he was finally up on the counter, so he didn't try to jump off, climb to the top of the cabinet, or clear my everyday dishes off of the shelves.
2- He did, however, help himselves to some grapes, which didn't concern me until I realized that the grapes hadn't been washed and that he was probably consuming some kind of pesticide/grocery store funk that would make him sick.
This freaked me out even more... leading me to think it was a good idea to try to rinse his mouth out... which seemed to be working until I realized that I was patting the lip he had just busted on the stairs.
Oops.
At any rate, Sam hasn't tried to run up the stairs once since yesterday; I think he learned his lesson... or I scarred him for life. One or the other.
Today, Sam decided to top his bleeding escapade yesterday by drinking water from the toilet.
Just typing that makes me gag.
The toilet fascination is something I don't understand. Ethan had no use for the potty whatsoever when he was a toddler. In fact, he avoided it -- and wearing diapers -- if at all possible.
Laney was different, which I chalked up to her being Laney. She didn't drink out of the toilet, but she did like to play in it. I'm pretty sure I posted pictures to the blog when she combed her hair with water from the toilet, which also made me gag as well as become a firm believer in the importance of sanitizing one's children.
Sam, well... he just does things his own way. First, he swiped my favorite Tervis tumbler. Normally, this would have immediately resulted in me retrieving said tumbler, but I was in the middle of solving some other critical delimma.
Sidenote: I'm pretty sure Sam planned this out in advance as revenge for me making him come inside without his prior approval.
Anyway, I hear rustlings in the bathroom. I don't worry immediately because the toilet lid is down, and Sam isn't one to exert enough effort to open it.
Until today.
Also, Sam normally just throws things... like his siblings' toothbrushes (replaced. No worries.)... into the toilet. He hasn't really shown interest in the water... just in destroying things via potty exposure.
Until today.
Today, Sam marched into the half-bath downstairs, just steps away from me, opened the lid, lowered my precious Tervis tumbler into the putred, disgusting potty water (although, I will take this moment to say that the toilet was flushed, so it could have been worse...), scooped up an unknown amount, and drank it.
Vomit.
I know this because I sent Laney to see what he was doing. She waited until he finished his cup o' vileness before she wrenched the cup out of his hand and brought it to me, proclaiming, "Mommy! Can you believe Sam just drank potty water?!"
No. No, I can't.
So I run into the bathroom to find Sam -- who apparently likes potty water -- trying to scoop some into his hands to drink.
Dry heaves and spine chills.
For the love. Is one uneventful day (or twenty) too much to ask?!?
Currently, the kids are pretending to "rest" -- except Sam, who is like his father in the fact that he relishes a 6-hour nap in the middle of the day, so I have a few moments to breathe... which I need, considering that Sam has given me heart failure twice in the span of less that 24 hours.
Both experiences are actually parenting firsts for me -- something I find unusual considering I thought I'd already covered a good bit of territory with the first two. Anyway, yesterday was the first time I've ever been at home alone when one of the kids got hurt bad enough to bleed.
I should preface this by saying that I do not normally mind blood, but if it happens to come from one of my children, it totally freaks me out. The first time Ethan busted his lip, I hyperventilated and almost passed out.
Over time, I've learned to at least semi-disguise my reactions, and I actually thought that maybe I was getting over my fear until Sam bounced his face off of the ledge of a stair yesterday.
I didn't throw up, which surprised me, but:
1- I did set him on the counter and leave him unattended while rummaging through the freezer for one of those bleepity-bleep frozen "boo-boo" compresses that are always everywhere to be found when I don't need them -- like when I'm looking for the real ice packs to insulate a cooler -- and nowhere to be found when I need them -- like when my youngest offspring is bleeding profusely from the mouth.
Thankfully, Sam was too distraught to realize that he was finally up on the counter, so he didn't try to jump off, climb to the top of the cabinet, or clear my everyday dishes off of the shelves.
2- He did, however, help himselves to some grapes, which didn't concern me until I realized that the grapes hadn't been washed and that he was probably consuming some kind of pesticide/grocery store funk that would make him sick.
This freaked me out even more... leading me to think it was a good idea to try to rinse his mouth out... which seemed to be working until I realized that I was patting the lip he had just busted on the stairs.
Oops.
At any rate, Sam hasn't tried to run up the stairs once since yesterday; I think he learned his lesson... or I scarred him for life. One or the other.
Today, Sam decided to top his bleeding escapade yesterday by drinking water from the toilet.
Just typing that makes me gag.
The toilet fascination is something I don't understand. Ethan had no use for the potty whatsoever when he was a toddler. In fact, he avoided it -- and wearing diapers -- if at all possible.
Laney was different, which I chalked up to her being Laney. She didn't drink out of the toilet, but she did like to play in it. I'm pretty sure I posted pictures to the blog when she combed her hair with water from the toilet, which also made me gag as well as become a firm believer in the importance of sanitizing one's children.
Sam, well... he just does things his own way. First, he swiped my favorite Tervis tumbler. Normally, this would have immediately resulted in me retrieving said tumbler, but I was in the middle of solving some other critical delimma.
Sidenote: I'm pretty sure Sam planned this out in advance as revenge for me making him come inside without his prior approval.
Anyway, I hear rustlings in the bathroom. I don't worry immediately because the toilet lid is down, and Sam isn't one to exert enough effort to open it.
Until today.
Also, Sam normally just throws things... like his siblings' toothbrushes (replaced. No worries.)... into the toilet. He hasn't really shown interest in the water... just in destroying things via potty exposure.
Until today.
Today, Sam marched into the half-bath downstairs, just steps away from me, opened the lid, lowered my precious Tervis tumbler into the putred, disgusting potty water (although, I will take this moment to say that the toilet was flushed, so it could have been worse...), scooped up an unknown amount, and drank it.
Vomit.
I know this because I sent Laney to see what he was doing. She waited until he finished his cup o' vileness before she wrenched the cup out of his hand and brought it to me, proclaiming, "Mommy! Can you believe Sam just drank potty water?!"
No. No, I can't.
So I run into the bathroom to find Sam -- who apparently likes potty water -- trying to scoop some into his hands to drink.
Dry heaves and spine chills.
For the love. Is one uneventful day (or twenty) too much to ask?!?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
My Sabbatical is Over...
So, it's summer, again... almost a year after my last post... and I'm laying down while the kids "rest" (code for shriek and run amuck behind closed doors while I pretend I don't hear them). I'm looking forward to a lovely mid-afternoon nap, nestled in the cool retreat of my sheets, where -- with a pillow over my ear -- I can't hear E & L beating the ever-living tar out of each other. I'm laying there, so happy that I could almost spit because I'm getting a nap, and I CAN'T GO TO SLEEP!!
Ridiculous.
As I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to think of something on my To Do list for today that I actually want to do, it dawns on me.
BLOG!
Yeah... so it's been a year... but that doesn't really count in cyberspace, does it? Anyway, here I am, cursing my sudden sleeplessness but kind of excited to rejoin the land of the blogging.
Let me start by saying that whoever made up that stupid adage about having three kids not being much different than having two should be kicked in the teeth. It wears me out. Ethan is 7 now, a lover of all that is rule-following and orderly. I did have to write him out of my will last night because he said that his daddy is the smartest person in the house.
I chalked it up to him being 7 and ignorant as to what "smart" means, but he certainly is not getting any of my boundless teacher wealth until he figures out which end is up.
Laney, the diva, is now 4 years old, and just as full of her princess power as ever. She lives to torment E, who in turn lives to make sure she follows every rule ever written in the history of man. She loves him, loves him, loves him, but sometimes, she just can't help herself. She has to break a rule... or seventy... and E just cannot abide the lawlessness.
She drives him absolutely nuts.
(Incidentally, I also wrote her out of the will because she said I was 3rd smartest -- Daddy, then Ethan, and then me. Absurd.)
Between the two of them, I have my hands full most days... but wait! I've got a great idea!! Let's throw in a third kid, disguised as a sweet child for the first 15 months of his life, and see how that goes.
Sweet baby Sam... oh where did you go? Sam has hit the Terrible Two stage early... by about 9 months. No one really believes me... with his cheek-pinching little grin and his frat boy curls, he pulls the women just like his older brother, but let me tell you -- he is, as of this point in his life, the devil in disguise.
Just ask the elderly lady he kicked whilst throwing a tantrum in CVS this morning.
(I had not written him out of the
will up until that point because he has yet to voice a ridiculous opinion about the intelligence ranks in this household, but I'm in the process after he showed his rear this morning.)
This summer, for example, has been much like I think a summer with the circus would be. I fondly remember summers past when I was able to relax at the beach with a book or browse the local farmer's market or bookstore without much of a scene.
I should mention that those days are gone.
Recently, while on a trip to the grocery store, I ran into a friend. We stopped to chat for a few seconds, and when I turned around, Sam had emptied the entire endcap of Hot Wheels cars into the buggy.
All 47 of them -- in 4.2 seconds flat.
He, of course, smiles that sweet-Sam smile and starts his favorite chant (besides "Mommeee. Mommee. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." -- which I'm convinced is really his way of cursing): "Mine. Mine. Mine."
This chant is vaguely reminiscient of the sea gulls in "The Little Mermaid." Drives me insane because whatever he has usually is NOT his.
And so begins the processional of the mortified mommy (that'd be me) pushing the screaming meanie (that'd be Sam) through the rest of the store (because I refuse to make another trip) while other customers curse me, scurry from my path, and murmur things like, "Bless his heart! His mommy must've hurt his feelings!"
My bad. Sorry for not buying 47 Hot Wheels for the kid when the safety warning clearly states, "Small parts. Not intended for children under 3." He's not even 2!
We, of course, had prayer meeting once we (quickly) got to the car.
Should I mention that Sam stopped crying right after we exited the store? Par for the course, people.
Through all of this, I have one recurring thought: I am pretty sure that none of this was really covered in "What to Expect When You're Expecting."
Ridiculous.
As I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to think of something on my To Do list for today that I actually want to do, it dawns on me.
BLOG!
Yeah... so it's been a year... but that doesn't really count in cyberspace, does it? Anyway, here I am, cursing my sudden sleeplessness but kind of excited to rejoin the land of the blogging.
Let me start by saying that whoever made up that stupid adage about having three kids not being much different than having two should be kicked in the teeth. It wears me out. Ethan is 7 now, a lover of all that is rule-following and orderly. I did have to write him out of my will last night because he said that his daddy is the smartest person in the house.I chalked it up to him being 7 and ignorant as to what "smart" means, but he certainly is not getting any of my boundless teacher wealth until he figures out which end is up.
Laney, the diva, is now 4 years old, and just as full of her princess power as ever. She lives to torment E, who in turn lives to make sure she follows every rule ever written in the history of man. She loves him, loves him, loves him, but sometimes, she just can't help herself. She has to break a rule... or seventy... and E just cannot abide the lawlessness.
She drives him absolutely nuts.
(Incidentally, I also wrote her out of the will because she said I was 3rd smartest -- Daddy, then Ethan, and then me. Absurd.)
Between the two of them, I have my hands full most days... but wait! I've got a great idea!! Let's throw in a third kid, disguised as a sweet child for the first 15 months of his life, and see how that goes.
Sweet baby Sam... oh where did you go? Sam has hit the Terrible Two stage early... by about 9 months. No one really believes me... with his cheek-pinching little grin and his frat boy curls, he pulls the women just like his older brother, but let me tell you -- he is, as of this point in his life, the devil in disguise.
Just ask the elderly lady he kicked whilst throwing a tantrum in CVS this morning.
(I had not written him out of the
will up until that point because he has yet to voice a ridiculous opinion about the intelligence ranks in this household, but I'm in the process after he showed his rear this morning.)This summer, for example, has been much like I think a summer with the circus would be. I fondly remember summers past when I was able to relax at the beach with a book or browse the local farmer's market or bookstore without much of a scene.
I should mention that those days are gone.
Recently, while on a trip to the grocery store, I ran into a friend. We stopped to chat for a few seconds, and when I turned around, Sam had emptied the entire endcap of Hot Wheels cars into the buggy.
All 47 of them -- in 4.2 seconds flat.
He, of course, smiles that sweet-Sam smile and starts his favorite chant (besides "Mommeee. Mommee. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." -- which I'm convinced is really his way of cursing): "Mine. Mine. Mine."
This chant is vaguely reminiscient of the sea gulls in "The Little Mermaid." Drives me insane because whatever he has usually is NOT his.
And so begins the processional of the mortified mommy (that'd be me) pushing the screaming meanie (that'd be Sam) through the rest of the store (because I refuse to make another trip) while other customers curse me, scurry from my path, and murmur things like, "Bless his heart! His mommy must've hurt his feelings!"
My bad. Sorry for not buying 47 Hot Wheels for the kid when the safety warning clearly states, "Small parts. Not intended for children under 3." He's not even 2!
We, of course, had prayer meeting once we (quickly) got to the car.
Should I mention that Sam stopped crying right after we exited the store? Par for the course, people.
Through all of this, I have one recurring thought: I am pretty sure that none of this was really covered in "What to Expect When You're Expecting."
Monday, August 17, 2009
Ode to Summer's End and Day 118...
Well, the mobile blog thing was short-lived because I couldn't ever remember what day I was on, and I kept deleting the sent emails without thinking, "Oh, wait! I need to know what my next blogging day is!" Snikes.
Speaking of snikes -- where the heck did my summer go?!?! One day, I'm laying by the pool, watching my kids frolic in the water. The next, I'm getting up early and wearing uncomfortable clothes and trying to remember where I saved my syllabus from last year.
*Sigh.*
I am not ready for this.
Day 118:
1. the sense of relief when I finally get everything in order in my classroom.
2. spending days and days of my summers in junior high and high school, reading TEEN magazine from cover to cover and planning my back-to-school wardrobe. I know -- so nerdish, but it fed my inner-OCD over-achiever to chart out every outfit in my closet on index cards.
3. discovering some of my old journals from high school while cleaning out my classroom and laughing at how excited I used to get about the first day of school. I might possibly have been una nerda.
4. opening new school supplies.
5. no meetings this morning. :-)
Speaking of snikes -- where the heck did my summer go?!?! One day, I'm laying by the pool, watching my kids frolic in the water. The next, I'm getting up early and wearing uncomfortable clothes and trying to remember where I saved my syllabus from last year.
*Sigh.*
I am not ready for this.
Day 118:
1. the sense of relief when I finally get everything in order in my classroom.
2. spending days and days of my summers in junior high and high school, reading TEEN magazine from cover to cover and planning my back-to-school wardrobe. I know -- so nerdish, but it fed my inner-OCD over-achiever to chart out every outfit in my closet on index cards.
3. discovering some of my old journals from high school while cleaning out my classroom and laughing at how excited I used to get about the first day of school. I might possibly have been una nerda.
4. opening new school supplies.
5. no meetings this morning. :-)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Day 116 & 117
I'm telling you- this mobile blogging thing is pure genius!! Just set out on a road trip, but I'm not driving, which means I get pretty antsy. I can't really read to entertain myself because I get carsick. The kids are talking 90 mph, and I would normally be getting pretty dang annoyed right about now, BUT I can pop my earbuds in and blog the miles away while my less technologically-savvy parents drive, eat Fiddle-Faddle, and discuss the merits of upcoming rest areas.
By the way- for those of you who know my parents, I can barely contain my laughter. I am riding in the back seat... well, the middle row of seats, like I'm 12 again, but I swear- Carl is driving and Hazel is riding shotgun. (For those of you who don't know, Carl was my dad's dad; Hazel is my mom's mom.)
Carl is cruising at 60 mph down the interstate, oblivious to the fact that everybody AND their grandmothers have passed us... I'm not sure he realizes that the speed limit has indeed changed to 70 mph on most areas of the interstate.
Hazel is lamenting about leaving her blue dress at home. It has palm trees on it, so I doubt we're really missing anything, but she's downed almost an entire box of Fiddle- Faddle in mourning.
They both have on their game faces and weird sunglasses; however, they are NOT wearing matching outfits, for which I am grateful.
Day 116:
1. Ipods on road trips. Dang, they save my sanity! :-)
2. Getting my first Walkman back in the day. Thought I was some kind of hot stuff when I could listen to my Poison tape on field trips and car rides.
3. My dad is -- as I type -- wearing my Pop's Solar Shades and a sun visor. I laugh every time I look up in the front seat.
4. Driving as opposed to riding.
5. Family vacations. Without them, I'd be short some blogging material.
Day 117: Odes to Funny Vacations
1. Disney with my entire fam when I was in 8th grade. To this day, I can't see a luggage cart without momentarily seeing my Uncle Jimmy skating across the parking lot, scooter-style, with his Dwayne Wayne shades flipped up.
2. The vacations- two that I can recall- where something happened to the car and/or my dad didn't make hotel reservations, so we ended up coming home the same day.
3. The Weeks/Hunt family excursion to Toronto. I have never laughed so hard in my entire life. What happens in Toronto stays in Toronto. :-)
4. Family trip to Sapphire Valley. I never met any boys on vacation because we vacayed at retirement hot spots. On this particular trip, Mary and I went horseback riding. Pretty sure no one else has ever witnessed my mother on a horse.
5. Family trip to Maggie Valley, yet another 70+ resort area. I hit a golf ball out in the middle of a six lane highway playing miniature golf. Then Jay hit me in the head with his golf club on his backswing. Some one should've explained to us that we weren't gearing up for Hole 13 at The Masters, OR Toad shouldn't have made us watch all that golf on Sunday afternoons growing up. Had no idea that teeing off in putt-putt requires 1/50th the strength of teeing off at a regular golf course until I watched my dad turn scarlet as he watched that ball bounce across six lanes of heavy traffic.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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