Look who’s having fun on the jungle gym

Etiquette question of the day

If you get a massage from a massage therapist at a chiropractic clinic do you tip or is that just plain insulting?

Brrrrrrr

5:00 am + 8 degrees (-4 wind-chill) + 3 mile run around a flat lake with high winds = deranged and obviously insane woman

It’s all funny as long as you can take a step back

After a trip to the pediatrician yesterday she had given me some suggested reading material. So I had emailed all the ladies in our playgroup to see if anyone owned a copy I could barrow.

The email said:
Does anyone have a copy of How to Behave So Your Preschooler Will Too
by Sal Severe that I could borrow?
m

My friend Kim responded:
I laughed out loud when I read this! Thanks for that!

18 months

Dear KP,
At this point in our relationship, I have totally fallen head over heals in love with you.

You with your green eyes and funny dance and sassy words with fingers waging and arms always ready for hugging and little hands always reaching up to something you shouldn’t be reaching. You my dear are something else. I find myself taking in every ounce of you. Never wanting to look away for fear I might miss something.

You have stolen my heart. I love you so.

Mom

I guess I’m not getting my Christmas bonus this year

On the days we go to the gym, we ALWAYS have the following conversation, “Now, when mommy comes in to get you, what do I expect you to do?” Kids in angelic tandem, “Come right out and put on our shoes and coats.”

And today was no different. I asked the question. They responded. We went into the gym. I worked out. I came into the daycare to get them and PJ refused to get her shoes on. It’s not that she just doesn’t want to do it; she simply wants to watch the rest of the Dora the Explorer that she was so rudely ripped away from. None the less, we still need to leave.

After several failed attempts to redirect her to her shoes and away from the TV, I told her that the rest of us were ready and that we were going to start walking out the door. She turned to me and loudly proclaimed, “Mama, you goin in a time-out cause yous a snotty giyal. AND, (brow furrowed and finger waging back and forth at me) I don’t want you to be my mama anymore, I want someone else to be my mama!”

I told her that if that was indeed the case, she could go find that woman and have her make her lunch.

Heeeerrrrre Rufus, Rufus, Rufus

PJ has an unreasonable, ridiculous, violent and down right insane aversion to dogs. If she sees one from across the street she’ll go plumb crazy. She’ll start jumping up and down flailing her arms like she’s standing on a bed of hot coals and can’t get off and then will start in with begging and quickly move onto screaming some unintelligible voodoo spell at the dog. It’s a real sight to behold.

But over the past few weeks, PJ has mentioned that she now likes dogs. OK, small dogs. But it is progress non-the-less. And just two days ago she actually asked for a dog. Albeit, a small dog. And just yesterday she played with a dog, her very own dog. Her very own small dog that she made up in her mind, and she named her Rufus. Yes, her Rufus. She spent a couple hours throwing a bone (CT’s balled up socks) to Rufus, taking Rufus for a walk, feeding Rufus and putting Rufus’ collar on and off. Rufus even slept in her bed and kept her warm last night.

This evening we are invited over to The Bickerons for a campfire with the kids and their dogs. I can’t wait to see if Rufus will be joining us or if we will be dragging our hysterical, head spinning, fire spitting, dog hating little girl back home early.

Anyone want to place a bet?

Can you hear it?

Yeah, that’s it. The beating drums of the holidays fast approaching.

I wouldn’t call what I feel panic, but I definitely feel the jitters of the big race bell about to sound.

Between creating the lists and fulfilling the lists and the menus and the cookies and the wrappings and the photos for cards and the cards themselves and the giving of thanks and the giving of yourself and the wonderfulness of everything. My pledge is to take a step back, NOT panic, enjoy my family and hold onto every precious moment.

Starting right now!

Catholic guilt

Phone rings.

Hello.

This is The Father.

Hi Dad.

I was just wondering if you thought I was dead. Since you and your brother don’t call anymore.

You see…it really doesn’t matter to him that we spoke four days ago. If he doesn’t reign supreme in your thoughts on a daily basis he gets feisty or maybe crotchety would be a more fitting word.

Green tiles red walls

Saturday night I was lucky enough to be invited to a dinner party. This gathering consisted of six women, two of whom I knew and three of whom I did not.

As I walked into the house and met Meredith, I immediately knew I had met her before. So we went through the litany of ways we could have bumped into each other; college, high school, parks, gym, neighborhoods, neighbors, new houses, church (since we don’t go, that was never going to fly), friends, work, husbands. We kept trying but kept coming up empty handed and all that even before I had downed my first drink.

The wine kept coming and I almost felt like a stalker in the room. I sat there and stared and stared at her. I couldn’t figure it out and now it was driving me crazy. The way she talked, her mannerisms, her daughter, it all seemed so familiar I knew I had spoken with her before.

At the dinner table the conversation turned to pregnancies. All the women present had children, fifteen amongst the six of us in fact and another due in less than a month. The pregnancy discussion went full circle and ended on bed rest stories. I was telling my tale of 10 weeks of bed rest with CT and how we had to move in with my in-laws because or cute little English Tudor house had only one bathroom and it was on the upper level with the bedrooms and I couldn’t take the stairs up and down to watch TV, make food, or go to the bathroom.

At that point in the story, Meredith says, “I know this is so random, but what color was the tile in your bathroom?”

“Green.”

“With red walls?”

“Yes.”

“AAAAhhhhhaaaaaaa, you were selling your house and I walked through it.”

Three years ago, when we put our house on the market, she and her husband and her daughter came to look at the house. My kids were sleeping, so I told the realtor that I would not wake my sleeping babies but they could come look and I would hang out in the back yard. And in the back yard Meredith and I had a lengthy conversation about the house and the neighborhood and kids.

How “random” is right. How small of a world we live in. How lucky that I got another chance to meet Meredith, she’s way cool…even though she didn’t buy my house.