I wasn't going to blog this story but my friend Kim said it was too funny not to, so, it's her fault.
Jonathan's out of town (read: its just me wrestling the boys every night.) This never makes for a fun week, or day or really even an hour. I think our boys need at least two parents. Probably more would be better.
A couple of nights ago, as I was struggling to get Chubalicious out of the bath tub and MRA in to it (trust me, its easier than both in the bath at the same time, really), I look over to see MRA fondling his nether regions. To which I say:
Me: MRA, what are you doing?
MRA: Mama, see my big BOULDERS!
ME: What?
MRA: See my BIG boulders!
Me: Uh, those aren't boulders, buddy.
MRA: Oh, what are they then?
Me: Uum, well, (fumbling) those are called testicles (matter-of-factly.)
MRA: Oh, well, I think there's a BIIIG ball of chocolate in there.
Let me just tell you that there is absolutely no way of hearing that and keeping a straight face.
Have a great weekend!
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Friday, September 12, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Friday, November 29, 2013
Its Me and George W.
Do you remember, oh, I dunno, maybe seven years ago or so., that time when George W. was still president and during a press conference a reporter threw a shoe at him?
I know how he feels. Sort of.
Of late, Chubalicious has decided to remove his shoes and socks whenever he is in the car. It started with a shoe then both, then the socks. And now, now, he chucks them at me while I am driving.
So there I am. minding my own business, trying to get him to school or wherever safely and BAM out of no where a sock flies into the front seat. Presently, I am grateful that its usually the socks but on occasion it is the shoes.
Now, unlike the disgruntled reporter in the George W. episode, Chubalicious does not seem to be at all upset. In fact when I ask him why he does this, he giggles like a madman. There are times, as well, when his aim is not so good and I go to get him out of the car seat only to realize he is barefoot. At these moments, when I ask where his socks are, he points to exactly where they landed (usually somewhere in the front console) and says, "Right there, Mama" like its the most natural thing in the world.
I am not offended by this at all although, sometimes, when I am in a hurry, it is quite annoying. I actually have begun to find the whole thing rather funny. And I am quite certain that on years to come, I will remember these moments endearingly or use them in some way to totally embarrass Chubalicious in front of his friends.
I have no idea how George W. remembers his incident.
Have a wonderful weekend, y'all!
I know how he feels. Sort of.
Of late, Chubalicious has decided to remove his shoes and socks whenever he is in the car. It started with a shoe then both, then the socks. And now, now, he chucks them at me while I am driving.
So there I am. minding my own business, trying to get him to school or wherever safely and BAM out of no where a sock flies into the front seat. Presently, I am grateful that its usually the socks but on occasion it is the shoes.
Now, unlike the disgruntled reporter in the George W. episode, Chubalicious does not seem to be at all upset. In fact when I ask him why he does this, he giggles like a madman. There are times, as well, when his aim is not so good and I go to get him out of the car seat only to realize he is barefoot. At these moments, when I ask where his socks are, he points to exactly where they landed (usually somewhere in the front console) and says, "Right there, Mama" like its the most natural thing in the world.
I am not offended by this at all although, sometimes, when I am in a hurry, it is quite annoying. I actually have begun to find the whole thing rather funny. And I am quite certain that on years to come, I will remember these moments endearingly or use them in some way to totally embarrass Chubalicious in front of his friends.
I have no idea how George W. remembers his incident.
Have a wonderful weekend, y'all!
Monday, October 21, 2013
Mondays
The weekend before last was so much fun. I started the week with an idea for a blog post. It was just a bunch of random bits of funny things I thought I would want to remember years from now, but things that are so small you tend to forget them quickly.
Well, the week got busy. I mean B.U.S.Y. BUSY! and as it kept getting busier, it also kept getting lousier. I would say the low point was when I ended up in the ER with ASA, because not only did he inherit his Daddy's looks but also is tremendously scary allergy to ants, (fire ants in particular) but no that was not the low point.
The picture was taken after the meds kicked in and doesn't really do the hives and swelling justice. Let me put it this way, the doctor said, "I am prescribing a couple of epi-pen jr.s. Keep one in you house and one in your purse, or glove compartment, or taped to his back."
No, the low point, I think, was a few days after the meds kicked in (extreme moodiness, temper tantrums, an insatiable appetite and no desire to sleep) as this coincided with a full moon, and my husband being out of town - this just about sent me to the dark side.
So this morning, I am hoping that things slowly start to return to normal with the completion of the medicine and the waning of the moon. And I really want to go back and think of all those random cute things they did two weeks ago but, as I suspected, those moments are already gone.
I am left only these two thoughts:
The boys LOVE pumpkin egg nog (only if I leave out the egg in the name thus calling it pumpkin nog). The way MRA says NOG is so adorable - he sounds English.
If ASA tells you to coodabit, he wants you to move over. It took a while to decipher but literally he is saying Scoot A Bit.
Oh, and last night, MRA was watching a movie. I leaned in to give him a hug which he returned and then promptly told me to "Get out of the way." At least I got the hug, though.
Hope you have a great week!
Well, the week got busy. I mean B.U.S.Y. BUSY! and as it kept getting busier, it also kept getting lousier. I would say the low point was when I ended up in the ER with ASA, because not only did he inherit his Daddy's looks but also is tremendously scary allergy to ants, (fire ants in particular) but no that was not the low point.
The picture was taken after the meds kicked in and doesn't really do the hives and swelling justice. Let me put it this way, the doctor said, "I am prescribing a couple of epi-pen jr.s. Keep one in you house and one in your purse, or glove compartment, or taped to his back."
No, the low point, I think, was a few days after the meds kicked in (extreme moodiness, temper tantrums, an insatiable appetite and no desire to sleep) as this coincided with a full moon, and my husband being out of town - this just about sent me to the dark side.
So this morning, I am hoping that things slowly start to return to normal with the completion of the medicine and the waning of the moon. And I really want to go back and think of all those random cute things they did two weeks ago but, as I suspected, those moments are already gone.
I am left only these two thoughts:
The boys LOVE pumpkin egg nog (only if I leave out the egg in the name thus calling it pumpkin nog). The way MRA says NOG is so adorable - he sounds English.
If ASA tells you to coodabit, he wants you to move over. It took a while to decipher but literally he is saying Scoot A Bit.
Oh, and last night, MRA was watching a movie. I leaned in to give him a hug which he returned and then promptly told me to "Get out of the way." At least I got the hug, though.
Hope you have a great week!
Thursday, September 19, 2013
And Sometimes, There Is a Time to Look Down
A few weeks ago, I wrote about times in your parental life when you just have to look up. Well, conversely, as a parent, there are times when you also need to look down.
Case in point, the return from our vacation in Hilton Head. the drive went relatively smoothly. That is, until we got about an hour from home. It is at that point that the skies opened up and let loose such a volatile rain that I was scared to speak lest I brake Jonathan's concentration on the road.
Of course, this didn't stop MRA from speaking (ASA had FINALLY fallen asleep, I think). MRA jibber jabbered on and on peppering me with questions about rain. Finally, I told him that because the rain was so heavy, we needed to be quite so that Daddy could concentrate on driving. To which he asked, "Why does he have to concentrate on driving?"
The rest of the conversation went something like this:
Me: "Because the rain is making the roads slippery and its very hard to see and we don't want to have an accident."
MRA: "No, Mama. That's not right. Tell me again."
Me: "MRA, I just told you the rain is making the road wet and when its wet its slippery. The rain is also making it hard to see. We have to be quite so Daddy can drive."
MRA (Beginning to melt down): "No Mama, that's not it. You tell me! YOU TELL ME NOW!"
ME: "I don't know what to tell you. Ask Daddy, if you want."
MRA: "No Mama. Now I'm mad at YOU!"
Daddy: "Bud, Mama just told you the rain makes it hard to drive. Its wet and slippery and the car could slide off the road. We need to be quiet so that I can concentrate."
MRA: "That's not right eider DADDY! Now I'm mad at boat of you!"
The only think we could do was look at each other. And with our lips quivering up into a smile, we both broke out laughing. To which MRA yelled, "STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"
And that my friends, is precisely when it is time to look down. Shoulders shaking with our silent laughter and all.
Case in point, the return from our vacation in Hilton Head. the drive went relatively smoothly. That is, until we got about an hour from home. It is at that point that the skies opened up and let loose such a volatile rain that I was scared to speak lest I brake Jonathan's concentration on the road.
Of course, this didn't stop MRA from speaking (ASA had FINALLY fallen asleep, I think). MRA jibber jabbered on and on peppering me with questions about rain. Finally, I told him that because the rain was so heavy, we needed to be quite so that Daddy could concentrate on driving. To which he asked, "Why does he have to concentrate on driving?"
The rest of the conversation went something like this:
Me: "Because the rain is making the roads slippery and its very hard to see and we don't want to have an accident."
MRA: "No, Mama. That's not right. Tell me again."
Me: "MRA, I just told you the rain is making the road wet and when its wet its slippery. The rain is also making it hard to see. We have to be quite so Daddy can drive."
MRA (Beginning to melt down): "No Mama, that's not it. You tell me! YOU TELL ME NOW!"
ME: "I don't know what to tell you. Ask Daddy, if you want."
MRA: "No Mama. Now I'm mad at YOU!"
Daddy: "Bud, Mama just told you the rain makes it hard to drive. Its wet and slippery and the car could slide off the road. We need to be quiet so that I can concentrate."
MRA: "That's not right eider DADDY! Now I'm mad at boat of you!"
The only think we could do was look at each other. And with our lips quivering up into a smile, we both broke out laughing. To which MRA yelled, "STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"
And that my friends, is precisely when it is time to look down. Shoulders shaking with our silent laughter and all.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
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Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Shiny, Sparkley Things and A Green Ballon.
MRA is a Scorpio. I am not a big follower of astrology but I think Scorpio's tend to be a bit on the selfish side. MRA is no exception. Part of this is his age, at three and half, it's typical to be egocentric; but, part of it is him. Most definitely.
Now just because he is selfish does not mean he isn't thoughtful. I think sometimes those things can be confused, but MRA is definitely thoughtful. But the thoughtfulness is not consistent... yet. It happens in spurts.
Like this weekend.
On Sunday, while at the grocery store. The man bagging our groceries asked if MRA wanted a balloon. Well, yeah. There was no way he was turning down a balloon and immediately asked if he could have a green one. So, with the groceries bagged, we pushed our race car shaped cart over to the helium tank to wait for the prized green balloon.
The man attached the balloon to a white ribbon, tied a loop at the end and slid it onto MRA's little hand. I had prompted him to say thank you and was waiting for him to show a little graciousness. But instead, instead, MRA said, "Can I have another one, a blue one, for my brother?"
ASA was at home with Daddy. Out of sight, out of mind... or so I thought. MRA's thoughtfulness struck me hard and I felt a well of pride in him.
It didn't end there though. I had also taken MRA to the store to make a return. On the way, I may have been a little side tracked by another store. And, I may have walked in. My intention was just a quick peek but I ended up in the dressing room.
MRA spotted a display of necklaces and pulled off several of the biggest, chunkiest, most colorful and sparkly necklaces there and brought them to me insisting that I put them on. All of them. At the same time.
I did and then tried to explain to him that I was not going to buy them and asked if he would put them back. He stared down at the twinkling, sparkling faux jewels in his hand and returned all but one. Then he ran off to hide in the racks. I checked out and was about to leave when he came bouncing out and said, "Mama, what about this one?"
I tried to explain that I had already paid and since he was busy playing he missed his opportunity to pay for the necklace. This discussion went on for several minutes and he became more and more upset. I could sense the melt down coming. Choosing my battles, I returned to the checkout counter with MRA still clutching the necklace and asked the sales lady the price. It was on clearance and came to a total of $8.48. So we bought it.
MRA was so very proud and carried it in the little bag out of the store. But first he explained to me and the sales lady (and the sales lady in the next store). That the necklace was for me. To wear when I have been good. To wear to work. And when I did, my boss would think I'm pretty.
Oh, the sweetness (and thoughtfulness). Never mind that he has no clue whether my boss is a man or a woman or whether my boss would care about my necklace. He just wanted me to be pretty.
To MRA, I say good thinking, little MRA. Sparkly shiny things, especially jewelry, often make us feel pretty. But so do kindness and thoughtfulness and showing that you care about others. Please remember that when you are in your twenties.
And I don't mind the necklace one bit!
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Now just because he is selfish does not mean he isn't thoughtful. I think sometimes those things can be confused, but MRA is definitely thoughtful. But the thoughtfulness is not consistent... yet. It happens in spurts.
Like this weekend.
On Sunday, while at the grocery store. The man bagging our groceries asked if MRA wanted a balloon. Well, yeah. There was no way he was turning down a balloon and immediately asked if he could have a green one. So, with the groceries bagged, we pushed our race car shaped cart over to the helium tank to wait for the prized green balloon.
The man attached the balloon to a white ribbon, tied a loop at the end and slid it onto MRA's little hand. I had prompted him to say thank you and was waiting for him to show a little graciousness. But instead, instead, MRA said, "Can I have another one, a blue one, for my brother?"
ASA was at home with Daddy. Out of sight, out of mind... or so I thought. MRA's thoughtfulness struck me hard and I felt a well of pride in him.
It didn't end there though. I had also taken MRA to the store to make a return. On the way, I may have been a little side tracked by another store. And, I may have walked in. My intention was just a quick peek but I ended up in the dressing room.
MRA spotted a display of necklaces and pulled off several of the biggest, chunkiest, most colorful and sparkly necklaces there and brought them to me insisting that I put them on. All of them. At the same time.
I did and then tried to explain to him that I was not going to buy them and asked if he would put them back. He stared down at the twinkling, sparkling faux jewels in his hand and returned all but one. Then he ran off to hide in the racks. I checked out and was about to leave when he came bouncing out and said, "Mama, what about this one?"
I tried to explain that I had already paid and since he was busy playing he missed his opportunity to pay for the necklace. This discussion went on for several minutes and he became more and more upset. I could sense the melt down coming. Choosing my battles, I returned to the checkout counter with MRA still clutching the necklace and asked the sales lady the price. It was on clearance and came to a total of $8.48. So we bought it.
MRA was so very proud and carried it in the little bag out of the store. But first he explained to me and the sales lady (and the sales lady in the next store). That the necklace was for me. To wear when I have been good. To wear to work. And when I did, my boss would think I'm pretty.
Oh, the sweetness (and thoughtfulness). Never mind that he has no clue whether my boss is a man or a woman or whether my boss would care about my necklace. He just wanted me to be pretty.
To MRA, I say good thinking, little MRA. Sparkly shiny things, especially jewelry, often make us feel pretty. But so do kindness and thoughtfulness and showing that you care about others. Please remember that when you are in your twenties.
And I don't mind the necklace one bit!
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Friday, June 7, 2013
Emeril, Bobby, Wolfgagng,Thomas Keller - is this how it starts?
About six weeks ago, the kid's school decided to upgrade their kitchen toys and offered the old ones to any parents who could haul it away. Luckily I was one of the first to respond and so I scored a very nice wooden kitchen. You remember what I am talking about, right? It has a little sink and two faux burners and some knobs and some shelves. A faux little kitchen.
So I get it home and realize that, although we have some wooden faux food, we don't have much and we don't have any toy utensils or pots or kitchen stuff. I thought for a few minutes about going to buy some but decided that it would induce creativity if they didn't have these things and had to really pretend.
What it actually did was induce them to play elsewhere.
Sooooo, I started looking, just barely, when I was at various stores for kitchen-y things. By this I mean, if I remembered as I was in Target, I would keep an eye out. But I NEVER saw any kitchen toys. After a while I started to think it really odd.
Then, two weeks ago, I went down the toy aisle with all the dolls because I was trying to short cut to another department and there, there with all the dolls was kitchen stuff. Kitchen sets even! Whole boxed sets of pots and pans and spatulas and egg beaters and cookie cutters. These were right next to the sets of hair curlers and most of it was PINK!
Now, I grew up in house where my Dad did most of the cooking, and so many famous chefs are men, and all kids play in the kitchen center so it never occurred to me that kitchen toys had a gender bias. I wonder, if Wolfgang, Emeril, Thomas Keller, Bobby Flay and John Besh all started with a little pink sauce pan?
So I get it home and realize that, although we have some wooden faux food, we don't have much and we don't have any toy utensils or pots or kitchen stuff. I thought for a few minutes about going to buy some but decided that it would induce creativity if they didn't have these things and had to really pretend.
What it actually did was induce them to play elsewhere.
Sooooo, I started looking, just barely, when I was at various stores for kitchen-y things. By this I mean, if I remembered as I was in Target, I would keep an eye out. But I NEVER saw any kitchen toys. After a while I started to think it really odd.
Then, two weeks ago, I went down the toy aisle with all the dolls because I was trying to short cut to another department and there, there with all the dolls was kitchen stuff. Kitchen sets even! Whole boxed sets of pots and pans and spatulas and egg beaters and cookie cutters. These were right next to the sets of hair curlers and most of it was PINK!
Now, I grew up in house where my Dad did most of the cooking, and so many famous chefs are men, and all kids play in the kitchen center so it never occurred to me that kitchen toys had a gender bias. I wonder, if Wolfgang, Emeril, Thomas Keller, Bobby Flay and John Besh all started with a little pink sauce pan?
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Just when you think you are in the clear...
I am busy. SO BUSY.
This weekend is my sister's baby shower. In DC. I am co-hosting. And I am taking Chubalicious. Mostly, he is accompanying me so Daddy only has to deal with the Notorious MRA. Actually, that is the ONLY reason I am bringing him. Well... that and he is still free to fly.
So with work and public hearings, and trying to save buildings, and plan baby showers, and pack, and blah blah, I don't have a lot of time to dwell.
This not dwelling thing is kinda a good thing.
For example, last night, for no apparent reason, the Notorious MRA pooped in the shower. Yep, right there on the shower floor.
Jonathan and I were mortified. I asked him why he did it. He didn't know. I asked him, "Where are you supposed to poop?" He responded, "The potty." I asked him if the shower was the potty andhe said no and pointed to the potty so clearly he understands that the shower is NOT the potty. He has been pooping on the potty for months so, what the wuck?
I told him I wasn't reading him a bedtime story because I needed to spend that time cleaning up the poopy shower (In reality, Jonathan cleaned it up - God bless him.). Then I just felt guilty for using reading as a repercussion.
That's actually what I went to sleep thinking about - how to balance repercussions and punishment. And, what exactly is the appropriate response to pooping in the shower.
And you know what, even though I was all kinds of disgusted. I am so busy that I forgot that he shat in my shower. Until just now. And, I am disgusted all over again.
Blech!
This weekend is my sister's baby shower. In DC. I am co-hosting. And I am taking Chubalicious. Mostly, he is accompanying me so Daddy only has to deal with the Notorious MRA. Actually, that is the ONLY reason I am bringing him. Well... that and he is still free to fly.
So with work and public hearings, and trying to save buildings, and plan baby showers, and pack, and blah blah, I don't have a lot of time to dwell.
This not dwelling thing is kinda a good thing.
For example, last night, for no apparent reason, the Notorious MRA pooped in the shower. Yep, right there on the shower floor.
Jonathan and I were mortified. I asked him why he did it. He didn't know. I asked him, "Where are you supposed to poop?" He responded, "The potty." I asked him if the shower was the potty andhe said no and pointed to the potty so clearly he understands that the shower is NOT the potty. He has been pooping on the potty for months so, what the wuck?
I told him I wasn't reading him a bedtime story because I needed to spend that time cleaning up the poopy shower (In reality, Jonathan cleaned it up - God bless him.). Then I just felt guilty for using reading as a repercussion.
That's actually what I went to sleep thinking about - how to balance repercussions and punishment. And, what exactly is the appropriate response to pooping in the shower.
And you know what, even though I was all kinds of disgusted. I am so busy that I forgot that he shat in my shower. Until just now. And, I am disgusted all over again.
Blech!
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Its definitely a hate thing.
I bought a fancy new scale. Its digital. Its uber accurate.
It measures body fat and water composition in addition to weight.
I was excited for it to come.
I could not wait.
It came. I weighed. I hate it.
It measures body fat and water composition in addition to weight.
I was excited for it to come.
I could not wait.
It came. I weighed. I hate it.
Friday, March 1, 2013
The Scarlet MRA
Did you know that Scarlet Fever is real? I mean, like, really real, not just something in an 19th century novel?
Seriously, its not a literary device. And its ugly. Lots of children die from it, or did, before antibiotics. You can goggle it if you want but I don't recommend it because if you have a little kiddo, it will scare you.
In case you haven't figured it out by now, the Notorious MRA has Scarlet Fever. It was hard to figure out at first because he couldn't tell us that his throat hurt. We would ask him and he would just click his tongue. He is one hell of a trooper, though, and did little complaining, relatively speaking.
The treatment is antibiotics, which he is taking. And, they appear to be working as his fever is down to a low grade 99.5 and he has resumed stealing toys out of his brothers hands.
Thank God for modern medicine.
Seriously, its not a literary device. And its ugly. Lots of children die from it, or did, before antibiotics. You can goggle it if you want but I don't recommend it because if you have a little kiddo, it will scare you.
In case you haven't figured it out by now, the Notorious MRA has Scarlet Fever. It was hard to figure out at first because he couldn't tell us that his throat hurt. We would ask him and he would just click his tongue. He is one hell of a trooper, though, and did little complaining, relatively speaking.
The treatment is antibiotics, which he is taking. And, they appear to be working as his fever is down to a low grade 99.5 and he has resumed stealing toys out of his brothers hands.
Thank God for modern medicine.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Rants from Mommyland Again!
Another brilliant nugget from the ladies at Rants from Mommyland. How is it that they seem to talk to me, or maybe for me. Either way, they are always on point
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Letter to My Kids Because I'm 40 and That's Old
Not wiser. Just a bigger ass. Literally.
Hello my very beloved offspring,
Someday when you read this, I will be even more ancient than I am right now. Someday I hope very much to be a crotchety old lady who says wildly inappropriate things and embarrasses you by grabbing your father's keister in the retirement community where we live. But for now, I'm only 40.
Everyone says turning 40 is a really big deal but I have not found that to be so. But upon this occasion (and just in case I drop dead tomorrow), I thought I'd tell you what my perspective on life is at this particular moment. Then when you turn 40 and start wondering "Why don't I feel like a real grown up yet?" you can read this and feel better. Because at least you will realize that your immaturity is in part hereditary. Sorry about that.
Relax, we're all faking it.
This is kind of a big deal, you guys. Because your whole life - there will always be someone. Someone who you look at and think, did I miss something? How come that person gets to be like that and I have to be like this? Sometimes it's not just a person, sometimes its a whole group of people. I wasted a lot of time thinking that at any moment, those folks would figure out that I was a big fraud and then they would shun me. It's actually a thing. It's called Imposter Syndrome and lots of people experience at different points in their lives. So guess what? Turns out it's totally normal to feel like you're faking it. Just do it with good manners and you'll be fine.
Know what makes you happy. Here's what makes me happy: the three of you. What the tops of your heads smell like. What it sounds like when you laugh so hard you might pee yourself. What you're like right now, what you were, and all the things you're going to be. Your father - all parts. The rest of our family. Friends who are kind and who don't get mad at me if I forget to call them back right away. Having a big, silly dog. Also Korean barbeque, aged Gouda, and pretty much any kind of dumpling. I know what makes me happy and as a result, I know what's important to me. It's called having priorities and thanks to you, I finally have some.
Don't invite poison into your life. Did you ever read something and you were like "holy crap - THAT IS A MOTHERFUNKING TRUTH BOMB"? Terry Pratchett is my favorite writer and he wrote that: "poison goes where poison's welcome". You know that's right. And guess what else? Drama goes where drama's welcome. Pain goes where pain's welcome. Betrayal goes where betrayal's welcome. All these things are going to find you anyway, so for the love of GOD, don't make them welcome. But you know what else? This thought has a bossy older sister and that sister says "light and love go where they're welcome, too. SO MAKE THEM WELCOME." Even when you feel like you don't deserve them, you really do. And so does everyone else.
Simmer the hell down. I know that you probably think I'm an unrepentant shrieker. But here's a little nugget for your bucket: I have never regretted a single time that I kept my mouth shut, got my crazy under control, and didn't lose my schmidt. But I regret every, single time I ever yelled at someone (including you guys). I regret every time I ever unloaded on someone because "they need to hear how I REALLY feel." I regret saying things that made me feel better for about five seconds until I realized they could never be unsaid. I find myself at stoplights, cringing at things I said 20 years ago. The words that haunt me are not the angry ones people have said to me, you guys. Let's just leave it at that.
The universe doesn't give you something without taking something away. There's a million different ways to say this. Isaac Newton said "every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Bridget Jones said "When one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.” And everyone's grandfather ever said "Nothing comes for free." It's all true. You get married and have kids? You will get so much, but don't kid yourself - you will have given stuff up along the way. You want a promotion more than anything and you get it. Then suddenly your whole life is about your job. You will do anything to be with that one person or get that one thing or achieve that next gold star... But getting what you want comes with a price (and you usually won't know what it is till long after the fact), so just be prepared for that.
Everything that sucks in your life is there to teach you a lesson. Take your time, but make sure you try and figure out what that lesson is, because it's always good for you. So when you're lying prone on the floor, surrounded by dirty underpants and Pringles crumbs, maybe stop sobbing "Why is this happening to me?" long enough to ask yourself "Why is this happening to me?"
Value resiliency and not just brokenness. There was a time when I was young where I felt damaged and I pretty much only identified with people I thought were as messed up as I was. Because they would understand and not judge me. But at some point, I decided to focus on people who are trying to deal with the junk in their trunk and are trying to make things better. Sometimes it takes a really long to time to do that, I think. And notice, I didn't say succeed - I said try. That's the thing about going through shit in your life. You have to try and wade through it because the alternative is just to stand there, neck-deep in feces. There was a time when I could stand by the people who wouldn't even try to fight their way out of the dukey, but I can't now. Because I don't want to get sucked in. Now I have priorities. Besides, it's really not your job to fix people. It's your job to love them while they fix themselves.
Understand the power of an honest apology. Oh my sweet baby condor, I have screwed up so many times. But I try to admit when I'm wrong and I try to make amends for my mistakes. The thing is though - you have to really mean it. A disingenuous apology is a very bad thing. It's a lie, wrapped in bacon. But not the good bacon. The kind of bacon they serve in England, that never gets crispy. It's a lie wrapped in flaccid, probably contagious bacon. It's bad.
Gratitude is actually about respect. I'm not just talking about saying thank you (though saying please and thank you is incredibly important). What I'm talking about is the more Oprah-esque kind of gratitude for the big picture stuff. If you have a family who loves you, if you're healthy, if you have food in the fridge, a job, health insurance, clean water to drink - be genuinely grateful for that stuff. Be grateful because you are no more entitled to those things than any other human on Earth planet. And there are millions of good, hard-working people in this world who are desperate for all those things. And it's profoundly disrespectful TO THEM to take what you have for granted and throw it around like it doesn't mean anything.
When you're feeling your worst, when things seem hopeless, there is one thing that will make it better. Here's the deal: there will always be people who really need help and there will always be something you can do. So pull your head out of your haunches, get your hands dirty, and do some good for someone else. This will remind you of who you are and will help repair some of the worm-holes in your soul that come from seeing and feeling stuff.
You can always start over tomorrow. You're going to make mistakes. You may find there are stretches of your life when you don't like who you've become. You may find yourself listening to the Talking Heads and wondering "HOW DID I GET HERE?" You may forget to go the gym for about 3 years. But if you wake up tomorrow and try hard enough to wade through it, you will eventually come out on the other side.
And, God willing, I'll be there waiting for you on the veranda at the retirement community. With one hand holding a refreshing cocktail and with the other, squeezing your father.
Love,
your mom
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Letter to My Kids Because I'm 40 and That's Old
Not wiser. Just a bigger ass. Literally.
Hello my very beloved offspring,
Someday when you read this, I will be even more ancient than I am right now. Someday I hope very much to be a crotchety old lady who says wildly inappropriate things and embarrasses you by grabbing your father's keister in the retirement community where we live. But for now, I'm only 40.
Everyone says turning 40 is a really big deal but I have not found that to be so. But upon this occasion (and just in case I drop dead tomorrow), I thought I'd tell you what my perspective on life is at this particular moment. Then when you turn 40 and start wondering "Why don't I feel like a real grown up yet?" you can read this and feel better. Because at least you will realize that your immaturity is in part hereditary. Sorry about that.
Relax, we're all faking it.
This is kind of a big deal, you guys. Because your whole life - there will always be someone. Someone who you look at and think, did I miss something? How come that person gets to be like that and I have to be like this? Sometimes it's not just a person, sometimes its a whole group of people. I wasted a lot of time thinking that at any moment, those folks would figure out that I was a big fraud and then they would shun me. It's actually a thing. It's called Imposter Syndrome and lots of people experience at different points in their lives. So guess what? Turns out it's totally normal to feel like you're faking it. Just do it with good manners and you'll be fine.
Know what makes you happy. Here's what makes me happy: the three of you. What the tops of your heads smell like. What it sounds like when you laugh so hard you might pee yourself. What you're like right now, what you were, and all the things you're going to be. Your father - all parts. The rest of our family. Friends who are kind and who don't get mad at me if I forget to call them back right away. Having a big, silly dog. Also Korean barbeque, aged Gouda, and pretty much any kind of dumpling. I know what makes me happy and as a result, I know what's important to me. It's called having priorities and thanks to you, I finally have some.
Don't invite poison into your life. Did you ever read something and you were like "holy crap - THAT IS A MOTHERFUNKING TRUTH BOMB"? Terry Pratchett is my favorite writer and he wrote that: "poison goes where poison's welcome". You know that's right. And guess what else? Drama goes where drama's welcome. Pain goes where pain's welcome. Betrayal goes where betrayal's welcome. All these things are going to find you anyway, so for the love of GOD, don't make them welcome. But you know what else? This thought has a bossy older sister and that sister says "light and love go where they're welcome, too. SO MAKE THEM WELCOME." Even when you feel like you don't deserve them, you really do. And so does everyone else.
Simmer the hell down. I know that you probably think I'm an unrepentant shrieker. But here's a little nugget for your bucket: I have never regretted a single time that I kept my mouth shut, got my crazy under control, and didn't lose my schmidt. But I regret every, single time I ever yelled at someone (including you guys). I regret every time I ever unloaded on someone because "they need to hear how I REALLY feel." I regret saying things that made me feel better for about five seconds until I realized they could never be unsaid. I find myself at stoplights, cringing at things I said 20 years ago. The words that haunt me are not the angry ones people have said to me, you guys. Let's just leave it at that.
The universe doesn't give you something without taking something away. There's a million different ways to say this. Isaac Newton said "every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Bridget Jones said "When one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.” And everyone's grandfather ever said "Nothing comes for free." It's all true. You get married and have kids? You will get so much, but don't kid yourself - you will have given stuff up along the way. You want a promotion more than anything and you get it. Then suddenly your whole life is about your job. You will do anything to be with that one person or get that one thing or achieve that next gold star... But getting what you want comes with a price (and you usually won't know what it is till long after the fact), so just be prepared for that.
Everything that sucks in your life is there to teach you a lesson. Take your time, but make sure you try and figure out what that lesson is, because it's always good for you. So when you're lying prone on the floor, surrounded by dirty underpants and Pringles crumbs, maybe stop sobbing "Why is this happening to me?" long enough to ask yourself "Why is this happening to me?"
Value resiliency and not just brokenness. There was a time when I was young where I felt damaged and I pretty much only identified with people I thought were as messed up as I was. Because they would understand and not judge me. But at some point, I decided to focus on people who are trying to deal with the junk in their trunk and are trying to make things better. Sometimes it takes a really long to time to do that, I think. And notice, I didn't say succeed - I said try. That's the thing about going through shit in your life. You have to try and wade through it because the alternative is just to stand there, neck-deep in feces. There was a time when I could stand by the people who wouldn't even try to fight their way out of the dukey, but I can't now. Because I don't want to get sucked in. Now I have priorities. Besides, it's really not your job to fix people. It's your job to love them while they fix themselves.
Understand the power of an honest apology. Oh my sweet baby condor, I have screwed up so many times. But I try to admit when I'm wrong and I try to make amends for my mistakes. The thing is though - you have to really mean it. A disingenuous apology is a very bad thing. It's a lie, wrapped in bacon. But not the good bacon. The kind of bacon they serve in England, that never gets crispy. It's a lie wrapped in flaccid, probably contagious bacon. It's bad.
Gratitude is actually about respect. I'm not just talking about saying thank you (though saying please and thank you is incredibly important). What I'm talking about is the more Oprah-esque kind of gratitude for the big picture stuff. If you have a family who loves you, if you're healthy, if you have food in the fridge, a job, health insurance, clean water to drink - be genuinely grateful for that stuff. Be grateful because you are no more entitled to those things than any other human on Earth planet. And there are millions of good, hard-working people in this world who are desperate for all those things. And it's profoundly disrespectful TO THEM to take what you have for granted and throw it around like it doesn't mean anything.
When you're feeling your worst, when things seem hopeless, there is one thing that will make it better. Here's the deal: there will always be people who really need help and there will always be something you can do. So pull your head out of your haunches, get your hands dirty, and do some good for someone else. This will remind you of who you are and will help repair some of the worm-holes in your soul that come from seeing and feeling stuff.
You can always start over tomorrow. You're going to make mistakes. You may find there are stretches of your life when you don't like who you've become. You may find yourself listening to the Talking Heads and wondering "HOW DID I GET HERE?" You may forget to go the gym for about 3 years. But if you wake up tomorrow and try hard enough to wade through it, you will eventually come out on the other side.
And, God willing, I'll be there waiting for you on the veranda at the retirement community. With one hand holding a refreshing cocktail and with the other, squeezing your father.
Love,
your mom
Thursday, December 13, 2012
From the Pregnant Chicken
I love this and it couldn't have come at a better time for me.
November 09, 2012/ Amy Morrison .
I’ve gotten a lot of emails from women saying they feel overwhelmed by motherhood. Not in a dangerous way, just in a “I totally suck and I don’t know how I’m supposed to manage all this” kind of way.
To this I say, you’re not supposed to.
If you think about it, if you had a baby thousands, if not hundreds of years ago, you would have had your mother, all your sisters (all of whom were probably lactating), and your nieces all taking care of your baby. They would help with food preparation, show you how to manage, and make sure your baby wasn’t eaten by a bear. Your kid’s feet probably wouldn’t have touched the ground until they themselves would be able to carry around an infant.
Back then the point of a child was to have free labour in the fields and someone to take care of your old ass down the road, and not much more.
As for the past generations that like to tell you that they raised six kids on their own and did it without a washing machine? Well, sort of. Keep in mind child rearing was viewed pretty differently not that long ago and you could stick a toddler on the front lawn with just the dog watching and nobody would bat an eye at it – I used to walk to the store in my bare feet to buy my father’s cigarettes when I was a kid. As a mother, you cooked, you cleaned, but nobody expected you to do anything much more than keep your kids fed and tidy.
My grandmother used to tell the story about how she forgot my mother at the grocery store in the early 40s. She walked up to the store with my mother sleeping in her carriage, parked it outside with all the other sleeping babies (I’ll let that sink in), went inside to do her shopping, then walked home forgetting that she’d taken the baby with her. She quickly realized her mistake and walked back and retrieved my mother who was still sleeping outside the store.
There were no flashcards, there was no sign language (unless you were deaf), there were no organic, free-range bento boxes – your job was to just see a kid through to adulthood and hope they didn’t become an idiot.
Hey, I’m not judging, and I’m not saying one way is better than the other, but I’m just saying that we are part of a generation that considers parenting as a skill. Like a true skill that needs to be mastered and perfected and if we don’t get it right we think our kids suffer for it and that's hard shit to keep up with. That's not to say other generations didn't have it tough or think parenting was important, but there just wasn't the same level of scrutiny that could be liked, tweeted or instagramed all at once.
You are in the trenches when you have a baby. To the untrained eye it seems pretty straightforward and easy – you feed them, you bathe them, you pick them up when they cry – but it’s more than that. It’s perpetual motion with a generous layer of guilt and self-doubt spread on top, and that takes its toll.
Feeling like you also need to keep on top of scrapbooking, weight loss, up-cycled onesies, handprints, crock pot meals, car seat recalls, sleeping patterns, poo consistency, pro-biotic supplements, swimming lessons, electromagnetic fields in your home and television exposure, is like trying to knit on a rollercoaster – it’s fucking hard.
We live in a time when we can google everything, share ideas, and expose our children to amazing opportunities, but anyone that implies that they have it figured out is either drunk or lying (or both) so don’t be too hard on yourself.
Your job is to provide your child with food, shelter, encouragement and love, and that doesn’t have to be solely provided by you either – feel free to outsource because they didn’t just pull that “it takes a village” proverb out of the air.
Mommy and Me classes, homemade lactation cookies, and learning Cantonese is all gravy, and if you can throw them in the mix once in a while, good on ya, Lady. I have about 9,000 things I've pinned on Pinterest and I think I've done four of them which is fine by me because those are above and beyond goodies, and not part of my just-scraping-by norm.
It’s an amazing and exciting time to have a baby right now, but always keep in mind, no one has ever done it like this before – you are pioneers that have to machete through the new terrain. Chin up. Hang in there. And remember, you’re doing a great job.
http://www.pregnantchicken.com/2012/11/9/why-youre-never-failing-as-a-mother
Why You're Never Failing as a Mother
November 09, 2012/ Amy Morrison .
I’ve gotten a lot of emails from women saying they feel overwhelmed by motherhood. Not in a dangerous way, just in a “I totally suck and I don’t know how I’m supposed to manage all this” kind of way.
To this I say, you’re not supposed to.
If you think about it, if you had a baby thousands, if not hundreds of years ago, you would have had your mother, all your sisters (all of whom were probably lactating), and your nieces all taking care of your baby. They would help with food preparation, show you how to manage, and make sure your baby wasn’t eaten by a bear. Your kid’s feet probably wouldn’t have touched the ground until they themselves would be able to carry around an infant.
Back then the point of a child was to have free labour in the fields and someone to take care of your old ass down the road, and not much more.
As for the past generations that like to tell you that they raised six kids on their own and did it without a washing machine? Well, sort of. Keep in mind child rearing was viewed pretty differently not that long ago and you could stick a toddler on the front lawn with just the dog watching and nobody would bat an eye at it – I used to walk to the store in my bare feet to buy my father’s cigarettes when I was a kid. As a mother, you cooked, you cleaned, but nobody expected you to do anything much more than keep your kids fed and tidy.
My grandmother used to tell the story about how she forgot my mother at the grocery store in the early 40s. She walked up to the store with my mother sleeping in her carriage, parked it outside with all the other sleeping babies (I’ll let that sink in), went inside to do her shopping, then walked home forgetting that she’d taken the baby with her. She quickly realized her mistake and walked back and retrieved my mother who was still sleeping outside the store.
There were no flashcards, there was no sign language (unless you were deaf), there were no organic, free-range bento boxes – your job was to just see a kid through to adulthood and hope they didn’t become an idiot.
Hey, I’m not judging, and I’m not saying one way is better than the other, but I’m just saying that we are part of a generation that considers parenting as a skill. Like a true skill that needs to be mastered and perfected and if we don’t get it right we think our kids suffer for it and that's hard shit to keep up with. That's not to say other generations didn't have it tough or think parenting was important, but there just wasn't the same level of scrutiny that could be liked, tweeted or instagramed all at once.
You are in the trenches when you have a baby. To the untrained eye it seems pretty straightforward and easy – you feed them, you bathe them, you pick them up when they cry – but it’s more than that. It’s perpetual motion with a generous layer of guilt and self-doubt spread on top, and that takes its toll.
Feeling like you also need to keep on top of scrapbooking, weight loss, up-cycled onesies, handprints, crock pot meals, car seat recalls, sleeping patterns, poo consistency, pro-biotic supplements, swimming lessons, electromagnetic fields in your home and television exposure, is like trying to knit on a rollercoaster – it’s fucking hard.
We live in a time when we can google everything, share ideas, and expose our children to amazing opportunities, but anyone that implies that they have it figured out is either drunk or lying (or both) so don’t be too hard on yourself.
Your job is to provide your child with food, shelter, encouragement and love, and that doesn’t have to be solely provided by you either – feel free to outsource because they didn’t just pull that “it takes a village” proverb out of the air.
Mommy and Me classes, homemade lactation cookies, and learning Cantonese is all gravy, and if you can throw them in the mix once in a while, good on ya, Lady. I have about 9,000 things I've pinned on Pinterest and I think I've done four of them which is fine by me because those are above and beyond goodies, and not part of my just-scraping-by norm.
It’s an amazing and exciting time to have a baby right now, but always keep in mind, no one has ever done it like this before – you are pioneers that have to machete through the new terrain. Chin up. Hang in there. And remember, you’re doing a great job.
http://www.pregnantchicken.com/2012/11/9/why-youre-never-failing-as-a-mother
Monday, November 5, 2012
The Dangers of Co-sleeping
I bet you read the title and thought this post was going to be some rant against co-sleeping with me spouting statistics about mothers rolling over and smothering their babies, or something. Truth is, I know many a mother who co-sleep. None have rolled over and smothered their baby and all are quite happy and healthy.
In fact, if anything, this post is the opposite. I have been quite careful about not sleeping with my babies. Mostly because I would like it. A lot. I would like it a lot until I wanted to sleep with my husband again and at which point I am certain the babies would not appreciate my departure. As much as I want to sleep with my babies, I am not willing to deal with the consequences of breaking that habit.
But this weekend, all the babies (and one husband) fell a little ill. And for one short, little half hour, my lil ASA fell asleep on me while we were playing on my bed. It was the sweetest, most delicious half hour in the history of ever. I got to lay there and smell his baby head and listen to him breathe and think how wonderful the feeling was.
Then my arm fell asleep and we both got really hot and a little sweating. At which point his head didn't smell quite as sweet and I thought I am ok not sleeping with my babies.
But the 30 minute nap sure was divine!
In fact, if anything, this post is the opposite. I have been quite careful about not sleeping with my babies. Mostly because I would like it. A lot. I would like it a lot until I wanted to sleep with my husband again and at which point I am certain the babies would not appreciate my departure. As much as I want to sleep with my babies, I am not willing to deal with the consequences of breaking that habit.
But this weekend, all the babies (and one husband) fell a little ill. And for one short, little half hour, my lil ASA fell asleep on me while we were playing on my bed. It was the sweetest, most delicious half hour in the history of ever. I got to lay there and smell his baby head and listen to him breathe and think how wonderful the feeling was.
Then my arm fell asleep and we both got really hot and a little sweating. At which point his head didn't smell quite as sweet and I thought I am ok not sleeping with my babies.
But the 30 minute nap sure was divine!
Thursday, October 18, 2012
When Its Over, Its Really Over
Sometimes it feels like we have been potty training MRA FOREVER. He has the pee thing down fairly well but the poop thing is still hit or miss. There are days at a time where he uses the potty followed by what seems like weeks at a time of cleaning out poopy underwear.
The other day, though, we had a successful potty experience and decided to reward MRA with a trip to Chick-Fil-A after school. Sadly, one there, the playground was closed and Chubalicious wasn't cooperating.
Jonathan decided to take Chubalicious home leaving me with the Notorious MRA. I tried to make it fun. I told him we were on a date. This is how it went:
Me: Its like a date. An MRA and Mama date!
MRA: A date?!
Me: Yes, a date. When we leave, you are going to have to open the door for me.
MRA: I can open the door.
ME: You should open the car door too. That's what gentleman do on dates.
MRA takes two bites of his sandwich and crawls under the table and out of the booth and begins goofing off in the aisle.
ME: What are you doing?
MRA: Dates over!
I guess I pushed it too far with the car door?
The other day, though, we had a successful potty experience and decided to reward MRA with a trip to Chick-Fil-A after school. Sadly, one there, the playground was closed and Chubalicious wasn't cooperating.
Jonathan decided to take Chubalicious home leaving me with the Notorious MRA. I tried to make it fun. I told him we were on a date. This is how it went:
Me: Its like a date. An MRA and Mama date!
MRA: A date?!
Me: Yes, a date. When we leave, you are going to have to open the door for me.
MRA: I can open the door.
ME: You should open the car door too. That's what gentleman do on dates.
MRA takes two bites of his sandwich and crawls under the table and out of the booth and begins goofing off in the aisle.
ME: What are you doing?
MRA: Dates over!
I guess I pushed it too far with the car door?
Monday, September 10, 2012
Who ME?
Yes me. I am, apparently, that mom. But then if I didn't embarass myself in public from time to time, there would be a lot less to blog about.
In the latest chapter of, "No You Did Not!" which could also easily be called "Doesn't Your Mama-ness Have A Filter?", I took MRA to his first non-survival swimming lesson. These lessons are at a local YMCA, which, might I add, has an incredible swim team that is competitive at the national level. So clearly, thier instructors have NO idea what they are doing, right?
Now, we just came off a vacation where MRA astounded the parents in the pool of our hotel with his aquatic abilities. We repeatedly received compliments especially after people found out that he is merely been on this planet two and a half years.
See, mad skills:
So I show up at the pool with quite a bit of swagger. I was expecting some oohs and aaahs. I got none.
The instructers took MRA back to a very basic level. I mean basic like sit on the step and put your chin in the water because some kids are scared to put their heads in the water - basic.
After some time, they progressed to making him "swim" holding onto a barbell. Of course, he "swam like a dog with his head up because, well, what else do you do with a bar bell in a pool.
It was about this time that I may have walked over and mentioned that MRA can put his head under water and will swim to you if you stand back.
I was told they were trying to teach him proper form.
And I sat back down.
Then, I had to endure them trying to teach him how to float on his back holding the dumbell across his chest. Of course, he kept trying to sit up because who floats with a dumbell across their bodies. Oh, I was squirming and pacing and mumbling and thinking of what I was going to say to those instructors to get them to JUST STAND BACK AND LET MY KID SWIIIIIIMMMMM like the fish he is.
So, after the lesson, I dressed MRA and then I MAY have made those instructors watch vacation videos of MRA swimming on my phone. And the whole time, I was thinking, "Oh My God, you are so totally THAT mom."
I'm not proud. I made my husband take MRA to class the following week.
In the latest chapter of, "No You Did Not!" which could also easily be called "Doesn't Your Mama-ness Have A Filter?", I took MRA to his first non-survival swimming lesson. These lessons are at a local YMCA, which, might I add, has an incredible swim team that is competitive at the national level. So clearly, thier instructors have NO idea what they are doing, right?
Now, we just came off a vacation where MRA astounded the parents in the pool of our hotel with his aquatic abilities. We repeatedly received compliments especially after people found out that he is merely been on this planet two and a half years.
See, mad skills:
So I show up at the pool with quite a bit of swagger. I was expecting some oohs and aaahs. I got none.
The instructers took MRA back to a very basic level. I mean basic like sit on the step and put your chin in the water because some kids are scared to put their heads in the water - basic.
After some time, they progressed to making him "swim" holding onto a barbell. Of course, he "swam like a dog with his head up because, well, what else do you do with a bar bell in a pool.
It was about this time that I may have walked over and mentioned that MRA can put his head under water and will swim to you if you stand back.
I was told they were trying to teach him proper form.
And I sat back down.
Then, I had to endure them trying to teach him how to float on his back holding the dumbell across his chest. Of course, he kept trying to sit up because who floats with a dumbell across their bodies. Oh, I was squirming and pacing and mumbling and thinking of what I was going to say to those instructors to get them to JUST STAND BACK AND LET MY KID SWIIIIIIMMMMM like the fish he is.
So, after the lesson, I dressed MRA and then I MAY have made those instructors watch vacation videos of MRA swimming on my phone. And the whole time, I was thinking, "Oh My God, you are so totally THAT mom."
I'm not proud. I made my husband take MRA to class the following week.
Friday, August 17, 2012
50 Shades of Wrong
I love it when my husband surprises me with photos of the kids during the day. It doesn't happen often but when it does, its usually something good.
Yesterday, I received this little gem.
Yes, those are my boys.
Lying in the dog's bed.
Under blankets.
And, yes, MRA is perusing "Lone Survivor" while ASA has seemingly read "50 Shades of Grey" in its entirety. I am very thankful that there are no illustrations here and am also wondering if the next knock on the door will be Child Protective Services.
Happy Friday everyone!
Yes, those are my boys.
Lying in the dog's bed.
Under blankets.
And, yes, MRA is perusing "Lone Survivor" while ASA has seemingly read "50 Shades of Grey" in its entirety. I am very thankful that there are no illustrations here and am also wondering if the next knock on the door will be Child Protective Services.
Happy Friday everyone!
Friday, July 13, 2012
They Call Me Chubalicious
In case you were wondering, I did blow this up to 20x30 and had it framed.
And, yes, it is hanging in a prominent place in my house.
And, yeah, it makes me happy.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Ladies Night and Boys Night
Last Friday I headed out with my friend Kim for dinner, drinks and a movie. It was the opening go "Magic Mike". The women were in rare form. They came with props and oversize fake money and a lot of energy.
Once the movie got going, there was quite a bit of whooping and hollering.At which point Kim leaned over and said, "I'm gonna have to come back and see this again so I can hear the dialogue."
To which I responded, "Really? You care about the dialogue?"
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch - okay, really just a few blocks down the street, MRA was with his Daddy and Babba watching a boat parade. They ate dinner and scored some loot.
MRA was so So SO excited. SO excited, in fact, that he slept with his swag and when he woke up and called for me in the morning, he was WEARING ALL OF IT. ALL. OF. IT. Ok, well, some of it was in the bag he wouldn't let go of all day long.
Once the movie got going, there was quite a bit of whooping and hollering.At which point Kim leaned over and said, "I'm gonna have to come back and see this again so I can hear the dialogue."
To which I responded, "Really? You care about the dialogue?"
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch - okay, really just a few blocks down the street, MRA was with his Daddy and Babba watching a boat parade. They ate dinner and scored some loot.
MRA was so So SO excited. SO excited, in fact, that he slept with his swag and when he woke up and called for me in the morning, he was WEARING ALL OF IT. ALL. OF. IT. Ok, well, some of it was in the bag he wouldn't let go of all day long.
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