I passed yet another milestone on Monday, August 17. I turned 31. Blahhh, I hate to be cliche, but I also really hate to see that number after the words "I turned" in regards to myself. I cannot believe that I am SO old. And it doesn't help that two haircuts ago my 24 year old sister-in-law exclaimed in a somewhat dismayed voice as she was cutting my hair, "Oh, I found a gray hair". So there you have it. Pretty soon I'll be a mammogram gettin, colonoscopy havin, cholesterol testin, menopausal, gray-haired fool. The husband says I'll still be sexy, but I know that he is bound by the eternal covenants we made to each other to always find me sexy and desireable :). Yeah, that's what the temple sealer said....I swear! I feel the desire to bring another child into the world just to test that my aging ovaries and womb still function, that they haven't given up on new life yet. But maybe that's not a good reason to have another kid...I don't know, I'll have to give it some serious thought :).
My family did their absolute best to help me pass the day with at least some aspect of pleasantness. I didn't feel much like celebrating, but husband talked me into organizing an adults only dinner at a nice restaurant with ice cream cake afterwards. It turned out to be a good decision and a lot of fun. We were missing some of my favorite people (shout out to T and M, my parents, and friend L) but other than that, I was with most of my most loved peeps, and we had one heck of a great conversation that will stick with me for quite awhile. And yep, you know me well if you guessed that the words vagina, puke, and "all you can eat" were a part of that most illuminating conversation. My only regret was when sister-in-law L said "vagina" really loudly in the quiet restaurant and there were two young boys sitting right behind our table. I'm pretty sure their mom ushured them out of there overly quickly on our account. And I would have done the same, yessiree, I don't blame their Mother one little bit.
But back to reminiscing. I really can't believe that 31 years have passed since the day I came screaming into this world. My Mom was absolutely sure I was a boy and had a hard time believing that I was indeed a little girl even when she was presented with the evidence. She had lost a little girl before I was born and figured she would not get the chance to raise another gal. I can't believe it's been 7 1/2 years since I met and married husband. I can't believe that I had my first baby 5 1/2 years ago and that next week I will be taking Young Man to Kindergarten. I'm pretty sure he was born just yesterday. And on that note, wasn't Princess who just looked at me while drinking a glass of water and said "Water soooo good Mommy" in her breathless, sweet voice, just born yesterday as well? Wait a minute, how the heck did I end up with 2 kids already?? I was just turning 18 years old and getting dropped off at the college dorm for my freshman year of college, standing and waving goodbye to my parents while my Mom cried and I tried really hard not to. And seriously, how is it that college is long over, because I still feel like an awkward highschool girl trying hard to fit in.
I tell you, time passes. And the more milestones you cross, the faster it goes. It won't be long before Young Man and Princess are begging to use the car and arguing with me over the fact that I won't allow them to date until they are 30, and the days of hello kitty rain boots and transfomers will be long over. I try harder and harder to hold onto every single moment because I am starting to realize that they all pass so quickly. It's true(though an overused and slightly cheesy saying) that moments really are like sand and they just slip right through our fingers. It seriously brings tears to my eyes to think how far I've traveled from childhood and how it all passed as quickly as it did. Just the other day, I was swimming at the pool with my dad and I swore I could breathe under water. I was convinced, and I thought I had the coolest special ability ever. It was just the other day, and I was 7 years old.
August 19, 2009
August 04, 2009
Had to Share
My neice, baby I, was blessed this past Sunday and we had a lovely get together with all the various family members at Grandma R's house (she's nearly 100 and doesn't look a day over 80 :), but don't tell her I told you that!). My sister-in-law and her husband, we'll call them S and S, were taking pictures of everyone. They are both really good at taking pictures and have the bonus of having a really nice camera. They managed to get a shot of the princess swinging that I just had to share. Isn't it beautiful?
Oh, and by the way, my husband once swang on this very same swing as a youngling himself. Ya, it's that old. And nope, it didn't break :).
July 31, 2009
A Funk
Well, it's finally happened to me this summer. I have slipped into a "funk". I've been in it for a couple of weeks now. I can't seem to get much done, I'm not very motivated to accomplish my "to do" list. I also get upset over small things and worry nearly constantly about things that I cannot control. You know, you've been there.
And isn't it funny how when we slip into these less than ideal moods, old Murphy's Law seems to just follow us around, ready to pounce at any moment. Seriously, bad things seem to happen with much higher frequency when I feel the least like I can handle them. Why can't they happen during the times that I feel so much more capable, upbeat, and prepared? Perhaps it's just my perception and the annoying, bad things do happen when I'm feeling great, I just notice them less because I have a brighter outlook. Where is the little fairy that flies around sprinkling happy dust over me? I think she's been on vacation for a couple of weeks.
So I'll give you a very small sampling of some of the more recent incidents that have made my "funk" even worse. The other day the princess and the young man were playing outside and I was happily harvesting my garden. After awhile I thought it was too hot, so I brought my little chicks into the house to cool off and have some juice. I noticed that the princess had gotten dirty, just a little smudge of mud on her leg. It was tiny, really, nothing to bother too much with. So I licked my finger and rubbed it off. Only, a tiny little bit remained so I licked my finger again and wiped the rest of it off. Suddenly, and with a fair amount of horror, it dawned on me that the princess had at one point picked up the little shovel we keep outside and tried to play with it. Can you guess what we do with that little shovel? I'll give you a hint. Remember that big dog I mentioned in my last post? Ya, we use that shovel as our "pooper scooper". So I gave my finger the old sniff test and yep, it smelled just like dog poo. So, I officially licked dog poo. How disgusting is that. At some point in time this will seem as funny to me as it no doubt does to you, but first I need to finish my deworming treatments with the local veterinarian.
So now on to the second incident. I was happily having a late morning snooze yesterday as the young man played with his legos and the princess had not yet woken up for the day (she sleeps in while young man is a total early bird). I awoke completely confused by the fact that I had been asleep. Well, owing to the fact that I was very befuddled, only half awake, and resting my hand directly under my jaw and chin...I completely twisted my own neck when I went to raise my arms over my head to stretch. Literally, my hand caught under my chin and I twisted my own neck too far in one direction. I heard a sickening sort of wet tearing noise and thought "okay, that can't be good". I felt a sharp pain and stood up to assess the damage. Within about 3 minutes I could not move my neck in any direction. It hurt so badly that I was actually in tears. I cried like a baby as I called husband at work and told him to please hurry home. He took me to the doctor, who prescribed narcotics, heat, and rest before he even examined me, assuming by my story that I couldn't have injured myself that badly. I mean, it's not like I fell down the stairs, he said. After an examination, he was quite surprised that I had managed to actually shift one of those little vertebrae in my neck over to the side. There was a gap where there should have been bone. So he sent me over to the hospital for further testing, and I am taking my pain meds and waiting to hear back on how badly I damaged my own neck.
So I tell ya folks, you best get yourself in a better mood if you're feeling down at all. Cause, old Murphy has no sympathy whatsoever for those of us feeling down. In fact, I think he gets a sick sort of joy from pouncing when we feel we are least able to handle him.
And isn't it funny how when we slip into these less than ideal moods, old Murphy's Law seems to just follow us around, ready to pounce at any moment. Seriously, bad things seem to happen with much higher frequency when I feel the least like I can handle them. Why can't they happen during the times that I feel so much more capable, upbeat, and prepared? Perhaps it's just my perception and the annoying, bad things do happen when I'm feeling great, I just notice them less because I have a brighter outlook. Where is the little fairy that flies around sprinkling happy dust over me? I think she's been on vacation for a couple of weeks.
So I'll give you a very small sampling of some of the more recent incidents that have made my "funk" even worse. The other day the princess and the young man were playing outside and I was happily harvesting my garden. After awhile I thought it was too hot, so I brought my little chicks into the house to cool off and have some juice. I noticed that the princess had gotten dirty, just a little smudge of mud on her leg. It was tiny, really, nothing to bother too much with. So I licked my finger and rubbed it off. Only, a tiny little bit remained so I licked my finger again and wiped the rest of it off. Suddenly, and with a fair amount of horror, it dawned on me that the princess had at one point picked up the little shovel we keep outside and tried to play with it. Can you guess what we do with that little shovel? I'll give you a hint. Remember that big dog I mentioned in my last post? Ya, we use that shovel as our "pooper scooper". So I gave my finger the old sniff test and yep, it smelled just like dog poo. So, I officially licked dog poo. How disgusting is that. At some point in time this will seem as funny to me as it no doubt does to you, but first I need to finish my deworming treatments with the local veterinarian.
So now on to the second incident. I was happily having a late morning snooze yesterday as the young man played with his legos and the princess had not yet woken up for the day (she sleeps in while young man is a total early bird). I awoke completely confused by the fact that I had been asleep. Well, owing to the fact that I was very befuddled, only half awake, and resting my hand directly under my jaw and chin...I completely twisted my own neck when I went to raise my arms over my head to stretch. Literally, my hand caught under my chin and I twisted my own neck too far in one direction. I heard a sickening sort of wet tearing noise and thought "okay, that can't be good". I felt a sharp pain and stood up to assess the damage. Within about 3 minutes I could not move my neck in any direction. It hurt so badly that I was actually in tears. I cried like a baby as I called husband at work and told him to please hurry home. He took me to the doctor, who prescribed narcotics, heat, and rest before he even examined me, assuming by my story that I couldn't have injured myself that badly. I mean, it's not like I fell down the stairs, he said. After an examination, he was quite surprised that I had managed to actually shift one of those little vertebrae in my neck over to the side. There was a gap where there should have been bone. So he sent me over to the hospital for further testing, and I am taking my pain meds and waiting to hear back on how badly I damaged my own neck.
So I tell ya folks, you best get yourself in a better mood if you're feeling down at all. Cause, old Murphy has no sympathy whatsoever for those of us feeling down. In fact, I think he gets a sick sort of joy from pouncing when we feel we are least able to handle him.
July 24, 2009
White Lies and Dog Spit
So do you ever lie to your kids, just a little, when you think it's for their own good? Cause, sometimes I do. I also occasionally tell little white lies when I am feeling sort of lazy and backed into a corner. You know, it goes something like: "Mom, can we go to the park, you said we were done working in the house (said by young man)", to which I might reply, "Um, no, today's not a good day babe, Mommy's gout is really acting up again". Which would work like a charm because his burning curiosity over what exactly gout is would completely distract him from his original query. I don't even know what gout is, but I do know it is something that would really incite the curiosity of a 5 year old boy.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
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