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You know those moments in life where you can either laugh or cry? I have never laughed so hard in my entire life.
While going through DynaGirl’s homework folder, I found this storyboard:
Me: What was this for?
DynaGirl: Oh, that’s just a rough rough draft of something.
Yeah, rough.
…
Rough draft?
Sitting in church.
Goose: Can I get a drink of water?
Me: Wait ’til he’s done speaking.
Goose: Why?
Me: It’s rude to get up while someone is speaking.
Goose: But I’m not even listening to it. Can I get a drink of water now?
I’m right behind you.
Family game time.
Me: Which dwarf is missing from this list: Grumpy, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Doc?
Mr. T: Happy?
Me: I said Happy.
DynaGirl: Sleepy?
Me: I said Sleepy.
Kids: Silence.
I make my best Bashful face.
DynaGirl: Dopey!
Me: I said Dopey!
Time runs out.
Me: I was giving you a hint!
DynaGirl: Yeah, I know. That was totally Dopey!
I’m thinking this could be a vital clue to what went wrong in my dating years.
In the car.
BigHugs: Mom, you’re the best mom in the whole world. When it’s Mother’s Time Day I’m going to make you a necklace out of beads.
Can’t wait.
Watching Enchanted, the ball scene.
Goose: That’s weird how people dance with other people’s mates.
Mr. T: Mates? What do you think this is? Africa?
DynaGirl: Africa?
Mr. T, with a hel-lo attitude: You know, like Lion King? What did you think I meant?
Well, duh.
Mr. T belchfest while I’m getting ready to put dinner on the table.
DynaGirl: Mr. T, please don’t eat the beans.
Mr. T: I have ways to make gas that you don’t even know of. I don’t need to eat the beans.
They’ve been telling us he’s gifted for years. They had no idea.
In honor of DynaGirl’s 10th, ten things I love about my firstborn daughter:
1. She is sweet and kind, with an amazing capacity for sympathy and empathy. (She came home from school the other day embarrassed because she had teared up during read aloud story time. She started crying again while she was telling me what the story was about. Yet she can fall off a bike, break both her arms, and not shed a tear.)
2. She is seriously funny (accidentally and on purpose), and has saved me from having a complete disaster of a day on more than one occasion with her ability to make me smile or laugh myself silly.
3. She cares what others think about her, but not enough to try to be someone she is not. In the end, she’s a take me or leave me kind of girl, in the nicest possible way.
4. She is artistic and creative. She writes her own comic strip, “The Adventures of Guy and Doody”, that showcases her talent and quirky sense of humor.
5. She is helpful, and somehow manages to be there when I need her the most without my asking.
6. She does great impressions: the valley girl, the homegirl, the surfer dude, the English street urchin (I could go on and on).
7. She has a strong sense of right and wrong and a finely developed sense of guilt. She feels genuine remorse, and is willing to do whatever she needs to do to make amends. She is also quick to forgive, being more concerned with others’ feelings than her own.
8. She is adored by every adult she interacts with. Every teacher, every friend’s mother or father—you name it—can’t say enough good things about her because she is so fun, so well-behaved, so hardworking and so genuinely delightful.
9. She is grateful and generous, giving thanks and compliments freely and sincerely.
10. She is the kind of girl that puts a zebra print Snuggie at the very top of her birthday list with a big star, squeals with delight when she opens the gift, and then spends the next several minutes having her picture taken in various Snuggie poses. Who can resist that?
Happy Birthday, DynaGirl! You are ALL THAT and a zebra print Snuggie with bonus book light, and I love you!
BigHugs was sicker than a dog this week.
Me: I’m sorry you’re sick, sweetie.
BigHugs: It’s OK. I still love you. I love you more than a rooster.
Me: Um, thanks. Do you love me more than a cow?
BigHugs: Yes.
Me: Do you love me more than a piggy?
BigHugs: Yes. And I love piggies.
Is there any greater compliment than being ranked above barnyard animals?
Out of the blue.
BigHugs: Mom, do you love me?
Me: Yes.
BigHugs: Thank you. For loving me.
You’re welcome.
Over spilled milk.
BigHugs: I’m sorry, Mom. Do you still love me?
Me: Yes, of course I still love you. Just try to be careful with your cup.
BigHugs: OK, Mom. Thanks for not stopping loving me.
What kind of monster does she think I am?
Bedtime.
Me: BigHugs, go back upstairs and get in bed, please.
BigHugs: But I want to stay with you.
Me: It’s bedtime. Get back in bed.
BigHugs, looking up with her big puppy dog eyes: But I love you.
Me: Yeah, yeah. Go back to bed.
I am so onto her.
BigHugs playing with her Leapfrog alphabet thingamabob.
Creepy Leapfrog Kid Voice, singing: C says “ck” and c says “sss”. Every letter makes a sound and c says “ck”. And “sss”.
BigHugs, singing: C says “ck”. And “sss”. Look, Mom, I’m doing it! I’m learnin’! I’m learnin’!
I hope she never grows out of that excitement. Puh. Who am I kidding?
Watching Pride & Prejudice on TV when an advertisement from Sugardaddie.com* comes on.
DynaGirl: OK, lots of losers must watch this channel.
Goose, to me: Good thing you didn’t use that.
Yeah, good thing. Hey, I’m watching this channel.
*I won’t link to the website because, well, it frightened me. But the tagline says, “Where the classy, attractive and affluent can meet.” Um, yeah, sure.
In the car.
Goose: I want my husband’s name to be Nick or John. Or something else if he’s awesome. Nick or John would have to be awesome, too, of course. But if he was super awesome, I wouldn’t care what his name was.
Husband wanted: only awesome Nicks or Johns or super awesome non-Nicks or non-Johns need apply.
I can’t remember how this came up.
DynaGirl: Exercise isn’t exactly my specialty.
A few days later, on the couch.
DynaGirl: I like laying down. Laying down is my specialty.
Obviously, there is a genetic component to specialties.
Walking in on the end of a conversation between Mr. T and DynaGirl.
Mr. T, scoffing: It’s not like mandatory for all contortionists.
I have a feeling I’m missing out on the best material.
Mr. T has officially reached adolescence. Since the day he was born, I’ve looked forward to this day with the dread of a Y2K fatalist—like a countdown to destruction and our impending doom.
I’ve spent the past several months wondering when everything will be different. When we he lose interest in this? When will he start refusing to do that? When will he decide he’s too old or too cool to do the things I’m not ready for him to give up? Or old enough or cool enough to do the things I’m not ready for him to try?
Late last night, I realized I’ve been bracing myself for the very worst. As a general rule, my life strategy is to keep the expectations low to avoid disappointment. But it’s not fair for me to assume everything will be a struggle. Undoubtedly, our adventure through the teenage years will be fraught with peril, but surely the most essential talisman to carry on our journey is hope.
I woke up this morning to find the earth is still turning, the sun still shining. Mr. T is still making me laugh and making me crazy in the usual dosages. Come what may, he’ll still be mine. And I’ll love him just the same.
Happy Birthday, Mr. T!
Good thing there’s no charge for awesomeness, or we’d never be able to afford you.
Breakfast time.
Me: You guys already drank all the OJ?
DynaGirl: Mr. T finished it off last night.
Mr. T: There was only a little bit left. It’s not like I drank the whole thing. I will not be blamed for this crime.
I detect a new catchphrase.
Before swimming lessons.
BigHugs, to Goose: You smell like a bathing suit.
Well, duh.
Waiting for present time. (BigHug’s birthday)
Me: You just have to learn to be patient.
BigHugs: But it takes too long for me to be a patient.
That’s a true statement.
Dinner time. DynaGirl’s under the table.
Me: What are you doing, DynaGirl?
Mr. T: She’s hiding away from all her fears and sorrows. She’s emo.
DynaGirl grabs Mr. T’s leg.
Mr. T: She’s got my leg!
That’s funny, usually Mr. T’s the one pulling legs.
Bedtime.
DynaGirl: Can I have a hug?
Me: I gave you a hug.
DG: No, you didn’t.
Me: Yes, I did.
DG: But I don’t feel the love from it.
I give her the look.
DG: I’m serious!
I give her the hug.
DG: One more, one more!
Me: No.
DG: But I still don’t feel the love.
Me: I have no more love to give. Goodnight.
It’s not that I have a maximum capacity for love, but rather a minimum tolerance for stall tactics.
Mr. T’s back from scout camp.
Mr. T: Seriously, I think I have some kind of butt rash.
Me: That is not information that I need to know.
Mr. T: But you’re my mother. You’re supposed to know everything about me. Evverrryyythiiiiing.
I used to think so. (And that sure was a long week without him.)
BigHugs was born on 7-31 at 1:31 am, weighing 7 lbs 7 oz. I’ve always liked those numbers.
Once we decided that our number four would be our last, I was determined to get this one right—to avoid all of the mistakes I thought I’d made with the first three. It didn’t take long for me to realize that either I’m not the kind of mom who learns from her mistakes or BigHugs isn’t the kind of kid who bends to the will and whims of her mother.
Year four has brought to pass so many milestones: out of diapers, out of our bed, out of our hair for a few moments at a time as she’s discovered how to entertain herself. As the last vestiges of babyhood fade away, I occasionally find myself wondering why I ever waste a moment wishing she would just grow up a little already. The past few months I’ve begun to feel the distance–that little bit of space opening up between us that has been both a source of relief and regret. Her more recent clinginess and sometimes resistance to all the “big girl” talk makes me wonder if maybe part of her is feeling it too, if maybe part of her is subconsciously reeling herself back in a bit. That pull makes me hopeful for the future—hopeful that no matter what we may say or do to each other in the coming years, we’ll instinctively manage to keep each other within reachable bounds.
Happy 4th birthday, BigHugs! I couldn’t have asked for a better last chapter to the story of my childbearing years—a chapter I hope will fill volumes. I love you!
We went to the doctor today. Better safe than sorry, right? Only a fool would let her accident prone daughter walk around with broken bones hanging out all willy nilly for ten days more than once. I am no fool, sisters. No fool!
So that sore pinky is perfectly fine. Beautiful, intact bones. WHAT a re-LIEF! It’s just the hand that’s broken. Yes, my friends, the hand. Who needs a broken finger when you can just break the WHOLE DING DANG HAND?!
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It looks like her already paid for cheer camp is out next week. Piano is a no-go, too. And she’s actually pretty excited that the swimming lessons I had planned for the first week of August will have to wait as well. Oh well. It could have been worse, right? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Well, THAT’S not ALL, folks! Why settle for a broken hand when you can have a broken hand AND, wait for it…
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…a BROKEN ELBOW!
And you know what would be even MORE awesome? How about we put that broken hand and broken elbow on DIFFERENT ARMS?!
Bonus! Isn’t that just FAN-TAS-tic?!
As the Dr. splinted her up, DynaGirl started to sniff. Not because she was crying, but because she needed to wipe her nose.
Dr: You poor thing. You’re not even going to be able to blow your own nose. I didn’t think about that. And how are you going to eat? I didn’t think about that. And, oh no! How are you going to wipe your behind when you use the bathroom?! I didn’t even think about that!
Good questions, Doc. Good questions. So far I’ve fed her, dressed her, and taken care of her more personal needs. Good times, my friends. Good times. We see the ortho guy tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this). Our doctor wasn’t sure whether or not she’d end up with two casts or one. We’ll just have to wait and see. Obviously, I’m tingling with anticipation.
And as if this wasn’t enough excitement, Chuck got called out of town last minute. He leaves early tomorrow morning and will be back next week on Friday. Awesome. Oh, and for just a little more icing on the cake, guess what lucky girl gets to go to the dentist in the morning? That’s right! Me! It’s me, me, me, ME, ME! I love my life! It…Just…Keeps…Getting…Better!
In all seriousness, I’m actually very glad it’s just a couple of broken bones. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet. She’s OK. Inconvenienced, greatly, but OK. And, as usual, my blessings are too many to count.
And, as a TOTALLY unrelated aside, here’s some classic PSB for you (I think Neil Tennant’s hair is wondering this same thing):
Yesterday a friend of mine called to check up on me, as she is often so thoughtful to do, and we ended up making plans to take our children to the lake. I resisted the idea at first because, well, that would require some effort on my part. Some planning. Some packing up of gear. Some sunscreening of the children. I figured I had already taken my kids on vacation, so I should be done with vacation-type preparations for the rest of the summer. But then I thought about how I’d spent the last ten days holed up in my home with bored, bickering children and decided there was a slight possibility it might be worth the trouble. For my sanity’s sake. So we agreed to meet at my house at 11:30 am today to head to the lake, and I was grateful to have a plan for the day.
Well, last night Goose comes running in the house to fetch me because DynaGirl crashed on her bike. She and her neighbor friend were coming around a corner from opposite directions and crashed right into each other. I arrived at the scene to see the neighbor girl sitting on the curb, bawling with a skinned knee and her sister standing over her sobbing hysterically as if she were standing vigil over her death bead. DynaGirl was still on the ground, bleeding from multiple places. She had managed to skin up her right hand, left ankle (in three places), left knee (with some superficial road rash running down the length of her leg) and left palm. Her palm actually looked pretty gnarly. She was also complaining of a sore right pinky and a sore left elbow.
I brought her home to clean her up. Her right hand was already starting to bruise and swell. I couldn’t tell if her left elbow was swollen, but she couldn’t move it much before protesting in pain. I knew then we’d be going to the doctor. After last time, I wouldn’t dare not take her.
So no lake for us, but at least we still have plans for the day. And we’re both showered and dressed and it’s only 9:30 am. Every cloud…
P.S. Please send your most excellent breast karma Mad’s way today.
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