Peeking through the mail slot

What do you see out your front door?

Old Coot

I’m at the point in my training were I start playing little games with myself, talking to myself and talking myself into thinking that all this working out is really good for me.

Last year I decided to name my inner voice. Last week was a little tough and I actually was wondering where the hell Helen had gone. She hadn’t shown up yet or been shouting out positive reinforcement. But, I am happy to announce, she showed up yesterday. She’s still nice, but I think she went to boot camp over the winter because she’s a bit tougher than I remember.

Two weeks ago, after a 15 mile run, my big toe joint hurt so bad I thought I was going to throw up for several days. I decided to take my sock off and actually look at it and realized over the cold hard winter, that my right toe now slants real nice like waaay to the right and has a bony protrusion that accompanies it. It’s been a bit of a bitch and a pain that made me feel like I am actually (dare I say it?) getting old. Because let’s face it, do you see a lot of 23 year olds walking around with bunions?

So, now that I have an inner voice talking to me and a foot that is screaming at me most of the time, I decided that it was time to name her…her the bunion. And I have named her Agnes.

I really think I hit the name on the head with Agnes, as far as a name goes, until today. Since I have been teaching swimming lessons and training, I have been in the pool a lot and have gotten to see and chat with a lot of the “regulars”. Well, there is this one ol’gal who is crotchety as the day is long, complains about EVERYTHING, says she won’t ever come back (but always does), says the temperature is always wrong, it’s too hard to get around with her walker, and on and on and on.

Today, the pool was busy. This ol’gal was there, she was complaining about there being no space for her. I asked her if she wanted to share a lane. She told me the last time she tried to share a lane with someone the girl clawed at her with her fingernails and left a mark. I told her I wouldn’t do that and she was more than welcome to share with me.

As I swam, I began to realize I had named my bunion the wrong name. My bunion needed to be named whatever this old coots name was, because she is how my bunion sounds. As I got out of the pool, her gear was sitting on the edge. I looked down and noticed that something was written on her flotation belt, and hopefully it was her name.

As she swam the almost drowning side stroke, I waited until she was at the other end of the pool so there would be absolutely no way she could see me rearrange her things. When I felt safe, I moved the towel off the belt. And what name did I see?

MARY.

First Kiss

I’m not one to like “goodie bags” from birthday parties. So instead of handing out a ton of candy or a bunch of plastic crap I decided to get one large (oh about the size of an adult females fist) Jaw Breaker for the small handful of boys CT had to his birthday party.

After his friends had gone home and the house was quiet, I found CT hanging out with his jaw breaker in the basement. He broke the wonderful silence by yelling out, “Hey mom!”

Me: What?

CT: I’m making out with my jaw breaker.

Me: You’re whaaaaat?

CT: I’m making out with my jaw breaker.

Me: What does that mean?

CT: Uummmm, I don’t know…something about love?????

Eight is GREAT!

Dear CT,

Here we sit with the sun shinning in, it is April 4th again and you are rolling yet another year older.

It’s so true what people say about time passing in the blink of an eye. How on earth are you eight today? Just yesterday you were three months old, snuggled on my chest, fitting perfectly between my chin and legs, warming my very core as I watched you breath.

You, my boy, have grown into an amazing eight year old. I delight in your whimsy, I am awe-struck by your tenderness, and I am filled with utter pride at how you have persevered with your studies.

You, my boy, are a good friend, a gentle brother, and a caring soul.

You, my boy, are filled with silly, jokes and on many occasions just can’t get enough.

You, my boy, have freckles to die for, hair that has a life of it’s own and a physicality built for sports.

You, my boy, our first-born son, the child who changed our world in an instant on this day eight years ago, you my boy…are a joy.

I love you. May 8 be nothing but GREAT!

Love,

Mom

Let the antics begin

Today at PJ’s conference her teacher told us that she really enjoys making up funny sentences in Chinese and then writing them on the white board. I think her exact words were “Ooohhhh she sooo funny, she like mixing up woads to make funny sentence.”

At that point in the conference, I decided to share with her what happened at our lunch table earlier that day.

As the kids were eating lunch, I was on the phone with Adam. I was about to say goodbye to him and then looked over and asked, “PJ how do you say I love you in Chinese?” She looked at me, shrugged and said, “Oh…say, ni hao da pi gu”.

So I repeated it just as she had told me to. And as the last sounds were parting my lips she doubled over with laughter until tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“What did you just have me say?”

“You said…Hi big bottom!”

Important conversations one has with their Father

My Dad: Did you watch American Idol last night?

Me: Did you watch American Idol last night?

My Dad: I love that David Archuletta.

Me: Did you know he’s only seventeen?

My Dad: He’s got such a good voice for being so young AND he’s Mormon.

Me: (thinking…Mormon… what the hell does that have to do with it, you’d think he was talking about a Catholic.)

My Dad: Simon really gets a bad wrap. He is the only one who gives constructive criticism.

Me: That Kristy Lee Cook is only hanging around because she’s so cute.

My Dad: She is the only one that listened to Simon’s advise last week. She changed her whole look with that long dress and those bare feet.

…And tune in next week when my dad and I tackle Transubstantiation.

A Minnesota April Fools Joke

April Fools

Originally uploaded by sellke

Big Boy Bed

It has finally happened…the ALMOST four year old baby of the family got his very own BIG BOY BED.

I can’t believe it.

The babies are gone.

The cribs are put away along with the rocking chairs, the bottles, the teeny tiny baby outfits and the sweet warm breath of the newborn.

They all have suddenly crossed over.  Crossed over from babies into big, tall, loud hooligans that joke and sing and fight and tease and laugh and laugh and laugh.

The beauty in all this…I wouldn’t go back nor would I change it for the world.

Onward big kids!

The Wrong Reach

Do you ever reach up for something in your closet and suddenly realize the thing you are going straight for looks VERY much like the item you want but is soooo not?

I have two Wrong Reach itmes that seem to happen to me ALL THE TIME:

1. The Beach bottle – it looks just like the laundry bottle
2. The Preperation H tube – I always think it’s my toothpaste

Neither would be good.

What Kind of Art is in your closet?

Over the past two months I have had the opportunity to go into PJ’s school to show and discuss different pieces of art from the MIA with her class. Today we showed our last two pieces, from a grouping of eight, that portrayed either Friends, Families, or Foes.

As I was reading about the art and preparing what I was going to say, I began to wonder how the disscussion of death, burial, spirits and memorials were going to go over with these little ones. I decided to tread lightly and just see where it would end up on its own.

As my art partner was “on” telling the kids about how this particular sculpture would be buried with a dead family member, so that they could still have their family, friends and everything else they use to enjoy in life with them, a little boy raised his hand. She nodded to him and he said, “my mom has grandpas bones in a suitcase…she didn’t like him much…he smoked a lot.”

And then somehow she gracefully let that one slide right on by.