Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Hands down, the highlight of this holiday for Nate has been the discovery of how to burp on command. We're not sure how, but all of a sudden, he sure can let 'em rip. In all sorts of locations, in all sorts of company. Charming, truly. Immediately after, he grins cheekily and says, “ 'Scuse meeee.”
Our kids think that saying “excuse me” or “sorry” is like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It doesn't matter what action preceded those magic words, if you purposely pinched your sister or belched like a longshoreman,“excuse me” gives you instant immunity from all consequences. In their minds, anyway. “Ava,” I'll say, “Why did you just shove Nate to the ground?” She'll look at me like I'm speaking Mandarin, “I said I was sorry.”
So yeah, we're working on that. But the burping. Oh my, the burping. These are not little ones that just slip out. They are great, joyous, cavernous belches. They are repeated. I can tell that Jason is at war with himself when it happens. Part of him feels the need to rise to the occasion as a parent and manage the situation and the other half (the half that usually wins out) is all, “Wow, Nate—nice one!” Like one dude admiring another dude's riding lawnmower or something.
Two nights ago at dinner, Nate opened his mouth and let fly a terrific belch. I think he is some kind of prodigy or something. We're very proud. Jason told him that burping at the dinner table is rude. “I said 'scuse me',” Nate said. “That's good”, Jason said. “But it's better to not do it at all, especially when you're sitting and eating with other people.”
“Dad,” Nate said, “When a burp come, it come.” The whole table erupted in laughter and Nate, clearly delighted with himself, carried the day. It's hard to argue with that logic.
These wacky kids. I tell ya.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Last night was our first here, and if you've travelled with small children, you know that the first night anywhere usually turns out to be interesting. Here's a brief run-down of our night.
6:30pm: After a hearty cry, Grace falls into exhausted sleep.
8pm: Ava and Nate in their room reading stories. (They each have a twin bed in the room across from Jason, Grace and I.)
8:15pm: Ava is dosed up with cold medicine, kids are tucked in, and it's lights out. (By lights out, I mean that I have to find a way to put the bedside lamp between them on the floor so that it's enough light for Nate, not too much for Ava and not a fire hazard. This takes about 5 minutes.)
8:22pm: Nate says he's "not comfy".
8:30pm: Ava is still coughing
9:30pm Grace wakes up, re-insert paci.
(Allow me to write a brief note to the inventors of the Nuk: Dear brilliant pacifier technicians: I love you. I always have. Please, please don't ever change. I never believed all that stuff the others said about you, anyway. You have been my near-constant companion these 6 years. Thank you--God bless you and the work you do.)
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
I don't want it very short, I told the young miss who would do the job. I like it longish, I just want a little length taken off and his bangs trimmed so he can see. (However, instead of "bangs" I said "fringe". Because I am culturally relevant.)
I said all that and then stood back. She started cutting, I was busy doing a few other things (cough, texting, cough) and then she was done. And Nate's hair was not very "longish" anymore.
Gone are the little curls at the back of his neck. Gone is the classic Nate shagginess. And in its place is a big boy haircut. What happened?
I fell asleep at the switch is what happened. Nate loves it, though. He grinned and strutted through the grocery store when we were finished. But I was a bit sad. He seems like such an older boy all of a sudden. (Until he shakes his bare bottom in my face--then I remember that he is indeed still a little boy.) And I have become the cliche of a mom who mourns every haircut and too-small shoe. Given Becky's recent hair dramas, I am keeping it in perspective. I know this is indeed No Big Deal. I know that It Grows Back. But I miss that little dude haircut.
I am totally letting it grow back.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Artistic representation only
Please, glean from my experience and avoid these types of TV shows...
1. An ankle being dislocated. (YIKES, you guys. In fact, try to avoid watching this in general. I will say again, YIKES.)
2. A detailed demonstration of how to de-bone a duck. (Though it was informative.)
3. An Enya music video (Remember--the idea is to keep your heart rate accelerated.)
4. Your own feet. Yes, that isn't a TV show, but it makes me dizzy. But maybe that's a personal problem.
5. Infomercials for other exercise equipment. Cause then you start to wonder why you aren't having as much fun as they seem to be having. Plus, the whole idea of watching TV while running is to distract yourself from the fact that you are running. Sheesh!
That's what I got. Any other no-go's?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Me: Aren't you glad I'm home? I feel like I need to sense some more gladness right now.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
I think I'll eventually be forgiven. I let her play with my phone yesterday so she'd stay on my lap and now it's wigging out. The screen is going all wonky. Oh well. That's the price of motherhood, I suppose.
Friday, May 7, 2010
- Liberty of London for Target dress, girl's dress, man's shirt and boxers, and two pillows
- Two yards of Ikea fabric
- Two jars of tomato basil soup from La Madeleine
- Tons of baby clothes from Gymboree and Kohl's
- Stuff she took from me while cleaning out my closet
- Crest Vivid White Toothpaste
- Antique milk glass vase from a store in North Carolina
- New exercise clothes bought at TJ Maxx
- Girl hand-me-downs from Laura
- KC Masterpiece Barbecue Sauce
Saturday, May 1, 2010
First, Becky and I got pedicures--courtesy of my mother-in-law. (Thanks, Jan!)
Yes, I thought you might be interested in viewing our freshly painted toes. Mine are the ones in the green flip flops. My dad always makes fun of what he calls my "freakish looking" pinky toes. But I am not ashamed. After all, I can blame genetics for those gimpy toes--I'm sure he's in some way responsible for it.
Becky and I were picking out magazines to read during our pedicures, and in a moment of sisterly synchronicity, chose copies of the same People magazine. And that's when we had a genius idea.
The magazine had two separate snippets: one about teenage mother/minor celebrity Jamie Lynn Spears and one about teenage mother/minor celebrity Bristol Palin. When we saw that, true inspiration hit. We felt a little like Edison must have, when he was all, "Hey--what if I made some light bulb thingys?" Or like when Einstein was like, "Hey--E equals MC or whatever." What if, Becky and I mused, the next big reality TV show followed Bristol and Jamie Lynn getting an apartment together in insert name of big city here and raising their babies together?
Oh, the zany teen misadventures that show would feature! Oh, the crazy misunderstandings! Oh, the fodder for our reality TV driven culture! How has no one thought of this before?
So, when you see it advertised on E! or MTV, remember--you read it here first. Maybe my freaky little toes have are indicative of a good idea gene or something.