Me: "Joshua! Lets go! You're the only one not ready to get in the car!"
Joshua: "I can't find socks!"
Me: "Get some out of my drawer!"
Ok. Admittedly it's totally ridiculous to send my son to my sock drawer to borrow some, but somehow Joshua's socks are frequently missing. Well. The truth is that he changes his socks often throughout the day- whenever they get dirty or wet or when he just takes them off because he felt like it. He won't put the same pair back on. And I have yet to purchase the right volume to accommodate socks that need to be in the drawer and socks that are in the laundry and socks that are missing.
Back to trying to get out the door:
Five years go by (maybe 35 seconds... but any mother knows what it feels like when you are TRYING TO GET OUT THE DOOR and you have a lagger).
Me: "JOSHUA! LETS GO!"
Joshua: "I can't get the sock on!"
Me: "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. Get down here and I'll help my super genius 7 1/2 year old figure out how to get a sock on. For pete's sake Joshua this screwing around is not helping us get out the door!"
Joshua sits down in front of me. Puts his foot up. I try to put the sock on. It doesn't go on. What. The. Hell. My 7 1/2 year old just out grew my socks. Me. My socks. A full grown adult's socks. He can't wear my socks. I don't have a back up plan for my failure to do the load of whites anymore. And worse... he's 7 and a HALF. And he can't fit into my 33-year-old grown up sized socks.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I Wish I Knew How to Curse in Polish
There are probably at least 100 childhood Christmas memories I could rattle off without pausing for a breath because they are all still so vibrant. But the ones that stand out the most that I'm pretty sure I understood the least about when I was a little girl was how special the time was with my grandparents.
My parents and my brothers and I would suck it up through the 4pm mass on Christmas Eve but really between the crowd, dying of hunger and literally insane with anxiety, that 4pm mass was the looooongest service on the planet. By the time we got out of church it was dark and things were definitely starting to feel in motion for Christmas.
We would then drive home and enjoy an extensive meal of ham and all the the trimmings and politely help my mother put the dishes away before retiring for the night. Yeah right... NO! Forget that crap. We would all pile in the car, shivering because it took the thing 9 years to warm up in the -9 degrees of heat Michigan sports in late December. We would also be without the ability to shut up or stop moving or in general stop bothering each other in the way only siblings can on Christmas Eve.
We would all actually have dinner at Como's Pizza which definitely wasn't empty for being Christmas Eve. That was also the only time all year that we ate at Como's but it was some darn good pizza! And we got to have pop. Except my little brother Mike who would order chocolate milk. And one of us would generally spill. Because that's the way we roll.
We would then start the drive from Ferndale to Royal Oak where my grandparents lived... a whole 15 minutes... trying not to cause my dad to pull the car over to drop one of us in the dirt pile of snow that seems to cover every street corner on Woodward from November until March. Luckily my dad was actually the worst instigator of the craziness because he was more kid at Christmas than grown up.
My dad would take us through neighborhoods to see the decorations and lights. Which was too bad for the sucker kid sitting in the middle seat of the station wagon! (HA HA MIKE!) I loved the houses on Vinsetta- so beautiful. When we'd finally get around to Hawkins there was usually another car or two in the driveway belonging to my Aunt Kate (grandmothers sister) or my Uncle Tim (dad's brother).
My brothers and I were assuredly still hopping from the pop from dinner and then LOW AND FREAKING BEHOLD, the kitchen table was covered with cookies and candy. There had to be dozens of these little tiny cookies and homemade candies, chocolates and fudge. My personal favorite were these small powdered sugar snowball looking things. My grandmother made a good majority of them herself and the rest were from the church cookie exchange. I don't get too far in to remembering Christmas without remembering those cookies! AND, the best deal of the night was getting shooed to go play in the basement or sent off on a beer run from the basement refrigerator because it gave you the chance to snitch more cookies on the way!
Everybody would eventually go out and sit in the living room and us three kids would have to sit there and try to be normal so that sometime before Easter we could open our presents. Our stocking was usually full of gumball machine quality toys that we would break on first use. Or the adults would break them showing us how they work. And when we'd get to the actual presents. Without fail, we got stuff like dress shirts. Dress shoes. Bathrobes. All the kind of crap you'd least want. But that you needed.
With my parents, two brothers and myself, plus my grandparents, my grandmothers sister, my uncle, a cousin or two and usually even my great uncle (my grandfathers brother who didn't drive so his car was never in the driveway!), all the family I really knew would be in that living room. They'd be telling stories, remembering their childhood with exaggerated angst. Remarking about who got shafted the most. Cursing in muddled Polish. My dad would hand out the gifts. My grandma would try to save the bows, my uncle would put them in the trash. My grandpa liked to be cute and write silly Polish names on the gift tags to confuse things or endearing cheesy names for his dear Helen. I can't remember any specifically but the joke never got old. It just got missed when it so abruptly stopped.
In December of 2000, I was having my first Christmas away from home. I stopped by my grandparents on the way to the airport. My grandmother was still sleeping (you don't wake her... no matter what). But grandpa was up and making himself breakfast and doing some daily puttering. I had a gift I was dropping off and he thanked me. He hugged me and said he loved me (not usual for this proud man). I left and had my first Christmas away, and missed the cookies, missed the cheesy gifts, missed the silly name calling and the Polish cursing.
About a week after Christmas my grandfather was admitted to the ICU with a brain hemorrhage. He would briefly wake here and there but eventually he stopped waking. I returned from my trip early but only could stand there to see him unconscious and not the grandpa who would smack his hands together as he laughed or the one that would swear in mumbled Polish and English at the stupidity of life's ways. Most of his family was around him as he took his last breath and died on January 6th, 2001.
Christmas gets different when you're not a child and when you grow up and when people move on or when you finally settle for the fake tree one year for whatever reasons. I still think of all of those childhood Christmases and hope that by writing it down I won't forget the details. It also makes me wonder what details my boys will remember when they grow up. I spend a lot of time thinking of their gifts, but I would be more than happy if when they grew up they never remembered a single present and instead remembered what they did, who they were with and what they would miss if it wasn't there.
-Sheryl
My parents and my brothers and I would suck it up through the 4pm mass on Christmas Eve but really between the crowd, dying of hunger and literally insane with anxiety, that 4pm mass was the looooongest service on the planet. By the time we got out of church it was dark and things were definitely starting to feel in motion for Christmas.
We would then drive home and enjoy an extensive meal of ham and all the the trimmings and politely help my mother put the dishes away before retiring for the night. Yeah right... NO! Forget that crap. We would all pile in the car, shivering because it took the thing 9 years to warm up in the -9 degrees of heat Michigan sports in late December. We would also be without the ability to shut up or stop moving or in general stop bothering each other in the way only siblings can on Christmas Eve.
We would all actually have dinner at Como's Pizza which definitely wasn't empty for being Christmas Eve. That was also the only time all year that we ate at Como's but it was some darn good pizza! And we got to have pop. Except my little brother Mike who would order chocolate milk. And one of us would generally spill. Because that's the way we roll.
We would then start the drive from Ferndale to Royal Oak where my grandparents lived... a whole 15 minutes... trying not to cause my dad to pull the car over to drop one of us in the dirt pile of snow that seems to cover every street corner on Woodward from November until March. Luckily my dad was actually the worst instigator of the craziness because he was more kid at Christmas than grown up.
My dad would take us through neighborhoods to see the decorations and lights. Which was too bad for the sucker kid sitting in the middle seat of the station wagon! (HA HA MIKE!) I loved the houses on Vinsetta- so beautiful. When we'd finally get around to Hawkins there was usually another car or two in the driveway belonging to my Aunt Kate (grandmothers sister) or my Uncle Tim (dad's brother).
My brothers and I were assuredly still hopping from the pop from dinner and then LOW AND FREAKING BEHOLD, the kitchen table was covered with cookies and candy. There had to be dozens of these little tiny cookies and homemade candies, chocolates and fudge. My personal favorite were these small powdered sugar snowball looking things. My grandmother made a good majority of them herself and the rest were from the church cookie exchange. I don't get too far in to remembering Christmas without remembering those cookies! AND, the best deal of the night was getting shooed to go play in the basement or sent off on a beer run from the basement refrigerator because it gave you the chance to snitch more cookies on the way!
Everybody would eventually go out and sit in the living room and us three kids would have to sit there and try to be normal so that sometime before Easter we could open our presents. Our stocking was usually full of gumball machine quality toys that we would break on first use. Or the adults would break them showing us how they work. And when we'd get to the actual presents. Without fail, we got stuff like dress shirts. Dress shoes. Bathrobes. All the kind of crap you'd least want. But that you needed.
With my parents, two brothers and myself, plus my grandparents, my grandmothers sister, my uncle, a cousin or two and usually even my great uncle (my grandfathers brother who didn't drive so his car was never in the driveway!), all the family I really knew would be in that living room. They'd be telling stories, remembering their childhood with exaggerated angst. Remarking about who got shafted the most. Cursing in muddled Polish. My dad would hand out the gifts. My grandma would try to save the bows, my uncle would put them in the trash. My grandpa liked to be cute and write silly Polish names on the gift tags to confuse things or endearing cheesy names for his dear Helen. I can't remember any specifically but the joke never got old. It just got missed when it so abruptly stopped.
In December of 2000, I was having my first Christmas away from home. I stopped by my grandparents on the way to the airport. My grandmother was still sleeping (you don't wake her... no matter what). But grandpa was up and making himself breakfast and doing some daily puttering. I had a gift I was dropping off and he thanked me. He hugged me and said he loved me (not usual for this proud man). I left and had my first Christmas away, and missed the cookies, missed the cheesy gifts, missed the silly name calling and the Polish cursing.
About a week after Christmas my grandfather was admitted to the ICU with a brain hemorrhage. He would briefly wake here and there but eventually he stopped waking. I returned from my trip early but only could stand there to see him unconscious and not the grandpa who would smack his hands together as he laughed or the one that would swear in mumbled Polish and English at the stupidity of life's ways. Most of his family was around him as he took his last breath and died on January 6th, 2001.
Christmas gets different when you're not a child and when you grow up and when people move on or when you finally settle for the fake tree one year for whatever reasons. I still think of all of those childhood Christmases and hope that by writing it down I won't forget the details. It also makes me wonder what details my boys will remember when they grow up. I spend a lot of time thinking of their gifts, but I would be more than happy if when they grew up they never remembered a single present and instead remembered what they did, who they were with and what they would miss if it wasn't there.
-Sheryl
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Noah-isms
Being related to Noah is truly a pleasure. It is. And I mean that. He's adorable. He can melt you with a smile. He says the best stuff. He pulls off the strangest shenanigans. He does the weirdest things. He is unfiltered in a way only a 4-year-old can be. But then there are those other times...
- Joshua and I both started referring to the upstairs hallway bathroom as "Noah's" bathroom. Why would a 4-year-old have his own bathroom??? I grew up sharing ONE with five people. Because he sleeps and pees. And misses. Joshua will walk all the way downstairs or use the master bath rather than risk wet socks.
- I woke up to a tiny finger poking the middle of my back while I slept away the 6am hour this morning. It was Noah. He had peed. And missed. Because he was in a hurry he says. He told me he was awake this time, just missed the potty. Great. He also mentioned "Joshua will be mad. He just washed my potty yesterday!" (Yes Joshua washes toilets at the age of 7. Nothing like a kid with a mild to moderate case of OCD to serve as an EXCELLENT toilet cleaner).
- Noah: "Did Santa and God see my tinkle accident? I don't want any of my presents to be fed to the orca whales." OH it STUCK! I told him three days ago if he didn't get his act together that Santa would pitch his presents into the Puget Sound and the whales would eat them.
We are suppose to go see Santa today. Five bucks says Noah confesses his tinkle sins in an effort to save his Christmas loot.
-Sheryl
Saturday, December 18, 2010
This was Joshua's first Christmas. I never think of Christmas without thinking of this picture and how HAPPY he was to get this gift- it was a toy piano. I don't know how he could even be happy or understand- he was 9 months old! He also fell asleep mid-morning thanks to the exhaustion of opening 9,000 gifts that always seem to get bestowed on a baby's first Christmas.
-Joshua
Friday, December 17, 2010
One Liners
I read a facebook post last night by Jill about smashing her smoke alarm via a bat after a botched Christmas cookie debacle. She's also told me about pitching her coffee maker into the driveway and various other sordid aggressions towards small appliances. Hmmm... immediate childhood flashbacks ensue... such as the incident with Jill's mother hurling a lawn sprinkler through the yard. Or showing up to ask to play with my pal Jill only to be greeted by various pieces of appliances littering the porch steps that had met their demise. On these occasions I generally headed back home rather than make that knock on the door. It seemed safer.
Jill forced me in to using Twitter and has been generating enough one liners that she could start a t-shirt company to support the replacement of her appliances:
Jill forced me in to using Twitter and has been generating enough one liners that she could start a t-shirt company to support the replacement of her appliances:
-so far today i've been projectile vomited on,lost the teacher xmas gift&had a chunk of hair ripped out by my psycho baby.Good times!
-here's a tidbit of helpful info. Smoking while pumping gas is not the best idea. I guess the idiot next to me is unaware.
-visiting the bachelorette section at the party paper place was just what i needed to cheer myself up!
-Costco is full of jackassery toinght.
-Leggings are not pants. I don't care how rockin your a** is, cover that shit up.
-Asked Alex to go get the Santa decoration out of the garage . 10 minutes later he comes back & says "I dont see a Llama decoration". Wtf?
I miss the comic relief that Jill exudes, even if its at her expense and my benefit!
-Sheryl
Saturday, November 27, 2010
I downloaded this picture from my camera this morning and it's 8:42pm and I'm still thinking about this picture. It's just... one of those. You can't ask Noah to pose, smile or even LOOK at you if you want to snap a picture. Every single one comes out like hell. I have over 5700 photos taken on my 'good' camera I realized today. I don't have even half of that on my hard drive because of all the ones I delete thanks to ill-fated "SMILE FOR ME!" attempts.
It's frustrating not to get a perfect picture.
But.
If my little blond boy wasn't so genuine when he smiled, this picture wouldn't be as perfect as it is.
-Sheryl
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Detroit Thanksgivings
When I was a kiddo Thanksgiving was a giant pain because one, my Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a roll and cherry jello, with fruit cocktail in it (Serious. This is all my brother and I ate. We didn't like anything else and there was no making grilled cheeses on Thanksgiving) and two, no friends allowed. That meant a whole day off of school and no Jill and Sheryl rendez vous.
But when we were in high school there was a few Thanksgiving Days that Jill and I spent together. One of my absolute favorite parts of Thanksgiving was the Detroit Thanksgiving Day Parade. My dad would take my brothers and I when we were little to see the parade. To say it was blistering cold 99% of the time is an understatement. The thing about doing anything with my dad is that he was 7% relaxed and excited and 93% on a mission. It was a funny mix. So when he woke us up to go to the parade- and he would be hyper and excited and being silly, you also had approximately 7 minutes to use our 1 bathroom, get dressed, get your snow gear on and pile out the door. Serious. The car was already running.
So out the door we all get. Sometimes when we saw the parade we would meet up with my dad's old high school friend and his family or more often, we would meet up with my uncle and two cousins. As soon as we got in to Detroit and found some place to park, game on. Do you know how these days when a child is lagging behind the mama or daddy turns around with their hand out and says "I'll wait for you Madison/Ashley/Cooper..." or whatever sweet name their hallowed child has? Yeah no that's not the way to drive results. My dad would just start walking and if you didn't keep up- that's your problem. In general he could hear if he had all three of us as we stomped behind him running in our moon boots, snow pants and hollering at each other to get a move on.
There was a typical 'corner' we'd stop at to park ourselves. It was right where the People Mover was (above ground public transportation train). This presented some added entertainment because all of the people with those giant balloons had to slide them under the People Mover. It wouldn't be fun to just watch the parade... that would be monotonous. It was fun to watch the potential for disaster. Once in a while there was the occasional trip up where people were running around trying to recapture their balloon hold strings like children who lost hold of their kite. It was all part of the fun.
The acts in the parade were not exactly Macy's Parade Superstars, but... there were traditions. The dudes that danced with their briefcases... I wonder if they are still there. Because nobody uses briefcases anymore... do they use laptop bags these days??? Just wondering. There are clowns that run around with little wagons and shovels to pick up after the horses. There are floats and balloons that are the same every year and those dang giant head things with people bodies underneath that had a way of making it in to my nightmares.
And then there are the marching bands. Folks. There is a giant difference between suburban Detroit schools and Detroit school bands. The suburban schools are dutifully playing their Christmas medleys- which is all well and good. But the Detroit schools- are all wooping it up, dancing and getting the crowd rolling. Except for the parents of the suburban kids who are just confused.
There were two occasions once I got to high school where I was actually part of the parade- Jill too. We were marching band nerds together and during our freshman and sophomore years of high school we got to be in the parade. Nothing is quite so contrasting as hundreds of clearly suburban kids standing in the middle of some of the pits of Detroit wearing a band uniform. Standing over sewer grates that had steam floating from them to keep warm. Not to mention, the homeless and other clearly less than fortunate folks that were milling around as we stood there holding instruments worth more than the cash they had to spend for six months of groceries... yeah not always a nice feeling.
But as the parade started and we rolled on, I couldn't wait to get to the People Mover to see my family. It takes for freaking ever by the way, because the parade does have to accommodate things like commercial TV breaks and rogue balloons and way-ward horses and the homeless guy that pees in the middle of the road. But as we started getting close... mind you I was a freshman... I realize, there is no question where my family is sitting. Because they are holding a damn eight foot sign with SHERYL spray painted on it. The band director came over to point it out to me in case I some how freaking missed it.
I wasn't embarrassed- I was giggling to myself actually. I had been over the top excited to be in the parade. I seriously had been counting down the days from the minute I found out that we were going to get to do it. I felt so... how-come-I'm-so-lucky. Grateful. Thankful.
This Thanksgiving is a bit different for me- I'm skipping it technically. The boys are in Denver with their dad and his family, which, poor Joshua and Noah, they are in DENVER. But I'm thankful for those little resilient men and can't wait to meet them at the airport tomorrow. Some other Thanksgiving I'm sure we'll make it to Detroit so those little boys can appreciate the difference between urban and suburban, they can run behind my dad to catch up, eat cherry jello with fruit cocktail that my mother made and in general, have something to remember and lots to be thankful for.
-Sheryl
But when we were in high school there was a few Thanksgiving Days that Jill and I spent together. One of my absolute favorite parts of Thanksgiving was the Detroit Thanksgiving Day Parade. My dad would take my brothers and I when we were little to see the parade. To say it was blistering cold 99% of the time is an understatement. The thing about doing anything with my dad is that he was 7% relaxed and excited and 93% on a mission. It was a funny mix. So when he woke us up to go to the parade- and he would be hyper and excited and being silly, you also had approximately 7 minutes to use our 1 bathroom, get dressed, get your snow gear on and pile out the door. Serious. The car was already running.
So out the door we all get. Sometimes when we saw the parade we would meet up with my dad's old high school friend and his family or more often, we would meet up with my uncle and two cousins. As soon as we got in to Detroit and found some place to park, game on. Do you know how these days when a child is lagging behind the mama or daddy turns around with their hand out and says "I'll wait for you Madison/Ashley/Cooper..." or whatever sweet name their hallowed child has? Yeah no that's not the way to drive results. My dad would just start walking and if you didn't keep up- that's your problem. In general he could hear if he had all three of us as we stomped behind him running in our moon boots, snow pants and hollering at each other to get a move on.
There was a typical 'corner' we'd stop at to park ourselves. It was right where the People Mover was (above ground public transportation train). This presented some added entertainment because all of the people with those giant balloons had to slide them under the People Mover. It wouldn't be fun to just watch the parade... that would be monotonous. It was fun to watch the potential for disaster. Once in a while there was the occasional trip up where people were running around trying to recapture their balloon hold strings like children who lost hold of their kite. It was all part of the fun.
The acts in the parade were not exactly Macy's Parade Superstars, but... there were traditions. The dudes that danced with their briefcases... I wonder if they are still there. Because nobody uses briefcases anymore... do they use laptop bags these days??? Just wondering. There are clowns that run around with little wagons and shovels to pick up after the horses. There are floats and balloons that are the same every year and those dang giant head things with people bodies underneath that had a way of making it in to my nightmares.
And then there are the marching bands. Folks. There is a giant difference between suburban Detroit schools and Detroit school bands. The suburban schools are dutifully playing their Christmas medleys- which is all well and good. But the Detroit schools- are all wooping it up, dancing and getting the crowd rolling. Except for the parents of the suburban kids who are just confused.
There were two occasions once I got to high school where I was actually part of the parade- Jill too. We were marching band nerds together and during our freshman and sophomore years of high school we got to be in the parade. Nothing is quite so contrasting as hundreds of clearly suburban kids standing in the middle of some of the pits of Detroit wearing a band uniform. Standing over sewer grates that had steam floating from them to keep warm. Not to mention, the homeless and other clearly less than fortunate folks that were milling around as we stood there holding instruments worth more than the cash they had to spend for six months of groceries... yeah not always a nice feeling.
But as the parade started and we rolled on, I couldn't wait to get to the People Mover to see my family. It takes for freaking ever by the way, because the parade does have to accommodate things like commercial TV breaks and rogue balloons and way-ward horses and the homeless guy that pees in the middle of the road. But as we started getting close... mind you I was a freshman... I realize, there is no question where my family is sitting. Because they are holding a damn eight foot sign with SHERYL spray painted on it. The band director came over to point it out to me in case I some how freaking missed it.
I wasn't embarrassed- I was giggling to myself actually. I had been over the top excited to be in the parade. I seriously had been counting down the days from the minute I found out that we were going to get to do it. I felt so... how-come-I'm-so-lucky. Grateful. Thankful.
This Thanksgiving is a bit different for me- I'm skipping it technically. The boys are in Denver with their dad and his family, which, poor Joshua and Noah, they are in DENVER. But I'm thankful for those little resilient men and can't wait to meet them at the airport tomorrow. Some other Thanksgiving I'm sure we'll make it to Detroit so those little boys can appreciate the difference between urban and suburban, they can run behind my dad to catch up, eat cherry jello with fruit cocktail that my mother made and in general, have something to remember and lots to be thankful for.
-Sheryl
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Home Movies
I make little videos with pictures of my boys every year for the holidays... but they love watching the old ones of their mom... and this is some ollllllllld stuff. Geez.
I have been starting to make this year's video/picture reel. It has been hard to see these little boys be less of little boys and more like big boys.
And as I type, that would be them yelling and laughing because it's funny when your little brother walks on his big brother's butt. Great.
-Sheryl
Going Home
I went back home to Michigan on business travel a few weeks back and stopped to see family and friends... including Jill and Gracie (and Jill's mother who was standing next to my mother as she took this picture!). And as Jill would like to have noted: We were standing on sloping sidewalk so she's not actually that much shorter than me.
It was a nice visit home but it was a continued reminder of things and people and places getting older. I still feel like I'm temporarily in Seattle which since I've been here 3 years something should say it isn't temporary. Not sure how to feel permanent...
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Mama Moment
When Joshua was a little guy learning to talk, he said "Go Green!" (for Michigan State) before he said mama. His awkwardly giant self made everyone remark that we certainly seemed to have an athlete ready to dominate.
And then we got past the cute toddler stage and moved in to the part where we'd want him to do one thing and he'd be doing another. Like refusing to get dirty. Wearing short sleeves at all times to avoid his cuffs getting wet when he washed his hands. Openly noting that boys are dumb because they wrestle around and that seems like a dumb way to play. And then add in there that Joshua continues to grow at ridiculous intervals elevating his clumsiness as he gets use to the 7 inches that just got added to his arms and legs. OH, and did I mention he's ambidextrous and it just makes him THAT much more awkward?
But this year he wanted to play baseball. And he stuck it out- never asked to quit once. We are still in the no-score-keeping phases of little league at this point but he is aware that if they are depending on him for the game winning run, that he better feign a disaster on the way to the plate because his left handed swinging pitches his ball up the first base line about 9 times out of 10 and then its left to him to out run a first baseman that has to pick up a ball 7 inches away and tag the bag. Did I mention he never asked to quit? Even despite the seemingly ridiculous frequency of his naturally awkward left sided swing motoring up first base.
Fast forwarded to soccer season. Where there were 7 kids on the team. 5 had played baseball together. The coach was even a baseball carryover. WOO HOO! We get to skip the I-don't-know-anyone phase that can paralyze Joshua for the first weeks of something new.
I wasn't prepared for watching these kids actually 'play' instead of just following the ball around. They pushed. They would run at full speed and something would happen and there would be a pile of them on the ground. They were covered in mud and rain and dirt and sweat. And my kid was one of them. MY KID.
And while Joshua played hard- something seemed to stop short when he was standing in front of the goalie with the ball and an open shot. He just would fold and should have just picked the ball up and handed it to the goalie to save some effort. And then as the season rolled on he would get close but would make a tap on the ball with less effort than when he kicks his dirty socks into the laundry pile. His caution, his desire for perfection, his intuitive nature that wants to know the absolute outcome before executing an action... makes it tough to be a soccer superstar.
But guess what.
It's the last game of the season. And Joshua SHOOTS! And the goalie grabs it.
But guess what.
Joshua SHOOTS AGAIN! And the ball dawdles in front of the goal line and the goalie grabs it.
But guess what.
As I was standing on the sideline with my friend who randomly and graciously showed up with her son to watch Joshua's game, and with a line of dad's in front of me who had helped Joshua learn to throw and catch and bat through baseball and learn to accept dirt and pushing and figure out how to not be so left footed through soccer (I didn't know there was such a thing- but there is!), Joshua shot again.
And it went in.
All those families erupted. They all knew it was Joshua's first goal. Ever. It was at least the fifth goal of the game so the other team had to be wondering what in the hell everyone was going crazy about. But our side knew. This pack of parents that I didn't even really realize were supporting my boy as much as they were... they knew.
Joshua came over and hugged his mama (I hope to God I wasn't as far on the field as my brain is remembering!). And his daddy picked him up and held him. And his teammates came to give him congratulations. And he made his way over to the coaches/dads and they all patted him on the back and gave fives and... it was all cheesier than a Disney movie but OH MY GOSH it was the best mama moment I've had that I can think of.
He shot. And it went in. IT WENT IN! And then he hugged me. His mama.
And then we got past the cute toddler stage and moved in to the part where we'd want him to do one thing and he'd be doing another. Like refusing to get dirty. Wearing short sleeves at all times to avoid his cuffs getting wet when he washed his hands. Openly noting that boys are dumb because they wrestle around and that seems like a dumb way to play. And then add in there that Joshua continues to grow at ridiculous intervals elevating his clumsiness as he gets use to the 7 inches that just got added to his arms and legs. OH, and did I mention he's ambidextrous and it just makes him THAT much more awkward?
But this year he wanted to play baseball. And he stuck it out- never asked to quit once. We are still in the no-score-keeping phases of little league at this point but he is aware that if they are depending on him for the game winning run, that he better feign a disaster on the way to the plate because his left handed swinging pitches his ball up the first base line about 9 times out of 10 and then its left to him to out run a first baseman that has to pick up a ball 7 inches away and tag the bag. Did I mention he never asked to quit? Even despite the seemingly ridiculous frequency of his naturally awkward left sided swing motoring up first base.
Fast forwarded to soccer season. Where there were 7 kids on the team. 5 had played baseball together. The coach was even a baseball carryover. WOO HOO! We get to skip the I-don't-know-anyone phase that can paralyze Joshua for the first weeks of something new.
I wasn't prepared for watching these kids actually 'play' instead of just following the ball around. They pushed. They would run at full speed and something would happen and there would be a pile of them on the ground. They were covered in mud and rain and dirt and sweat. And my kid was one of them. MY KID.
And while Joshua played hard- something seemed to stop short when he was standing in front of the goalie with the ball and an open shot. He just would fold and should have just picked the ball up and handed it to the goalie to save some effort. And then as the season rolled on he would get close but would make a tap on the ball with less effort than when he kicks his dirty socks into the laundry pile. His caution, his desire for perfection, his intuitive nature that wants to know the absolute outcome before executing an action... makes it tough to be a soccer superstar.
But guess what.
It's the last game of the season. And Joshua SHOOTS! And the goalie grabs it.
But guess what.
Joshua SHOOTS AGAIN! And the ball dawdles in front of the goal line and the goalie grabs it.
But guess what.
As I was standing on the sideline with my friend who randomly and graciously showed up with her son to watch Joshua's game, and with a line of dad's in front of me who had helped Joshua learn to throw and catch and bat through baseball and learn to accept dirt and pushing and figure out how to not be so left footed through soccer (I didn't know there was such a thing- but there is!), Joshua shot again.
And it went in.
All those families erupted. They all knew it was Joshua's first goal. Ever. It was at least the fifth goal of the game so the other team had to be wondering what in the hell everyone was going crazy about. But our side knew. This pack of parents that I didn't even really realize were supporting my boy as much as they were... they knew.
Joshua came over and hugged his mama (I hope to God I wasn't as far on the field as my brain is remembering!). And his daddy picked him up and held him. And his teammates came to give him congratulations. And he made his way over to the coaches/dads and they all patted him on the back and gave fives and... it was all cheesier than a Disney movie but OH MY GOSH it was the best mama moment I've had that I can think of.
He shot. And it went in. IT WENT IN! And then he hugged me. His mama.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
What's Disturbing About Halloween...
I had thought about what I wanted Joshua to be for his first Halloween long before I realized it was not the most appropriate choice for my big giant boy. My favorite Winnie the Pooh character had always been Piglet. Except Joshua was more of a Hoglet. Jill's mom made the costume and it's still my all time Joshua-costume-favorite.
We are currently in our third straight year of Star Wars. And there are already plans for a 4th consecutive selection.
Halloween in suburban Detroit meant a few different things growing up. First off, the morning of Halloween my parents would sit there chattering over the newspaper to see what was burned up in Detroit. This caused me to believe that every major city was plagued with the hazing of Devil's Night leading up to Halloween. It turns out this is inaccurate. In fact, it may even be fairly limited to Detroit because I haven't heard it any where else.
But after that part, there was getting to wear your costume to school and we'd parade around for parents to wave at you and then go back inside and cram ourselves with candy before going home to get hollered at for snitching out of the candy bowl meant for trick or treaters.
And of course the Trick or Treating. My dad usually was the one taking us out. One of the benefits of WWII era homes is that just a driveway separates houses for blocks and blocks and blocks. This provided the opportunity for MASSIVE amounts of candy.
Which I would hoard afterwards and sell to my brothers months and months down the road. I forgot about that until just now as I was typing it.
I got to be something different every year but it was pretty much limited to what could be dug out from the junk around our house or whatever I could con my dad in to making. One year I was a present box. Another a cheerleader. A doctor. Little bo peep. Jill was a Carebear for about 17 years of our childhood when she wasn't a witch for the other 17 years. Man if I had a picture of that Carebear gettup I'd get a t-shirt made just to have people ask me WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT! It was well crafted- don't misunderstand- Jill's mom could sew like a Disney costume maker.
But with all the other creepy things to look at running past you on Halloween, a giant blue Carebear head attached to my friend's body was very disturbing.
Happy Halloween!
-Sheryl
We are currently in our third straight year of Star Wars. And there are already plans for a 4th consecutive selection.
Halloween in suburban Detroit meant a few different things growing up. First off, the morning of Halloween my parents would sit there chattering over the newspaper to see what was burned up in Detroit. This caused me to believe that every major city was plagued with the hazing of Devil's Night leading up to Halloween. It turns out this is inaccurate. In fact, it may even be fairly limited to Detroit because I haven't heard it any where else.
But after that part, there was getting to wear your costume to school and we'd parade around for parents to wave at you and then go back inside and cram ourselves with candy before going home to get hollered at for snitching out of the candy bowl meant for trick or treaters.
And of course the Trick or Treating. My dad usually was the one taking us out. One of the benefits of WWII era homes is that just a driveway separates houses for blocks and blocks and blocks. This provided the opportunity for MASSIVE amounts of candy.
Which I would hoard afterwards and sell to my brothers months and months down the road. I forgot about that until just now as I was typing it.
I got to be something different every year but it was pretty much limited to what could be dug out from the junk around our house or whatever I could con my dad in to making. One year I was a present box. Another a cheerleader. A doctor. Little bo peep. Jill was a Carebear for about 17 years of our childhood when she wasn't a witch for the other 17 years. Man if I had a picture of that Carebear gettup I'd get a t-shirt made just to have people ask me WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT! It was well crafted- don't misunderstand- Jill's mom could sew like a Disney costume maker.
But with all the other creepy things to look at running past you on Halloween, a giant blue Carebear head attached to my friend's body was very disturbing.
Happy Halloween!
-Sheryl
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Soccer Stars
Joshua has turned in to this boy that actually shoves his arm out to keep kids off him in soccer. Previously he hung out down field, waited for the ball to break free, ran with it until the rest of the pack caught up and then he pulled off the ball and went back to the other end of the field to repeat his process. It has been fun to watch him grow up so much lately. Not so happy about the inch and a half since the end of August that we just scratched above his last growth marker.
Noah goes to soccer. And after great demonstrations as a strong, 32lbs scrapper who will bust through anything, he has taken to standing in the middle of the field and holding his coach's hand. He's trying again at today's game to return to his former scared-of-nothing self. Because if he does play then he gets to go pick out his Yoda Halloween costume at Target. I'm never above bribing a 4-year-old.
Friday, September 24, 2010
What You Learn at the Bus Stop
Up until about 10:30am this morning I hadn't made a clear cut plan for getting Joshua picked up from a half day of school (Awesome. Barely 3 weeks in to school and we already hit a half day). But I finally had to just bail out of work and be there for the bus drop off.
I got to the bus stop early but was soon flocked by the usual group of neighborhood mamas. I don't know any of them well at all, but I'm working on that. As we were chatting, a man with some visible mental issues came walking by and was just staring at us. One of the mom's smiled and waved and asked him how he was doing. He stopped for a minute and then kept walking. That particular mom adopted two boys- one with special needs- as a single parent.
We all went back to chatting when I realized a mom on the other side of me was standing there starting to cry. Of all the mom's she's one of the one's I know the most but understand the least about.
This particular mama has two beautiful sons that Joshua met in the park by our house one day. Actually he met them multiple days before I finally managed to head outside at the same time they were there with their mama. As she saw me walking that day she hugged me while speaking in half English and half something that was almost Spanish but wasn't- turned out it was Portugese. She was from Brazil.
Anybody that knows me is aware that me and physical contact don't get along so I was already in a "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO" state as she started speaking. Finally though I realized she was telling me her sons don't speak, that they are autistic and that they are never able to play with other children but that they have been playing with Joshua at the park nearly every day for several weeks. She was teary eyed and gushing how happy it was making her to watch her sons play with others. I... I didn't know what to even say. I was very proud of my boy who never, ever sees anything wrong with other human beings.
But back to the bus stop. So my neighbor friend begins to cry at the sight of this man who was passing by us because she fears it's may be the lonely fate for her sons if she can't help them. She wants to go back to Brazil to be with her family but can't because there are no programs that even compare to what she is able to get here in the U.S.. But she is unhappy and homesick and sad.
I sometimes wallow in a tiny bit of loneliness as a single mom. The other day I was standing on a stool in the middle of the kitchen table still in my most decent work clothes trying to change a light bulb I couldn't reach but the boys were doing a project and it would be great to have light (they are so demanding...!). I was hating to be me at that minute. The next time I have one of those pangs of rapid fire self doubt, I hope I remember the bus stop.
-Sheryl
I got to the bus stop early but was soon flocked by the usual group of neighborhood mamas. I don't know any of them well at all, but I'm working on that. As we were chatting, a man with some visible mental issues came walking by and was just staring at us. One of the mom's smiled and waved and asked him how he was doing. He stopped for a minute and then kept walking. That particular mom adopted two boys- one with special needs- as a single parent.
We all went back to chatting when I realized a mom on the other side of me was standing there starting to cry. Of all the mom's she's one of the one's I know the most but understand the least about.
This particular mama has two beautiful sons that Joshua met in the park by our house one day. Actually he met them multiple days before I finally managed to head outside at the same time they were there with their mama. As she saw me walking that day she hugged me while speaking in half English and half something that was almost Spanish but wasn't- turned out it was Portugese. She was from Brazil.
Anybody that knows me is aware that me and physical contact don't get along so I was already in a "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO" state as she started speaking. Finally though I realized she was telling me her sons don't speak, that they are autistic and that they are never able to play with other children but that they have been playing with Joshua at the park nearly every day for several weeks. She was teary eyed and gushing how happy it was making her to watch her sons play with others. I... I didn't know what to even say. I was very proud of my boy who never, ever sees anything wrong with other human beings.
But back to the bus stop. So my neighbor friend begins to cry at the sight of this man who was passing by us because she fears it's may be the lonely fate for her sons if she can't help them. She wants to go back to Brazil to be with her family but can't because there are no programs that even compare to what she is able to get here in the U.S.. But she is unhappy and homesick and sad.
I sometimes wallow in a tiny bit of loneliness as a single mom. The other day I was standing on a stool in the middle of the kitchen table still in my most decent work clothes trying to change a light bulb I couldn't reach but the boys were doing a project and it would be great to have light (they are so demanding...!). I was hating to be me at that minute. The next time I have one of those pangs of rapid fire self doubt, I hope I remember the bus stop.
-Sheryl
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Days to Remember
Everytime holidays intended to memorialize something roll around, I tend to feel a bit disconnected because I wasn't there. I wasn't at Pearl Harbor. I'm not a Veteran.
I wasn't in New York on 9/11. But I had been in Seattle. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center live on the news because I was sitting there on my Pacific coast time waiting for my jeans to dry in the dryer. That was my worry for the morning- having clean jeans for work.
Katie Couric inaccurately reported on the morning of September 11th that an Airbus 767 had just crashed into the second tower of the World Trade Center. I thought "What a dumb bunny. It's either a Boeing 767 or an Airbus plane." I imagine I felt all official because I could tell airplane models apart now that I was at Boeing, much the way I barely had known a Toyota from a Chevrolet before working at General Motors and could now tell the make and model of a car from its headlights in many cases.
I definitely know I had zero comprehension of the impact as I was waiting for the clothes dryer to shut off. I got to work, and at the time, it was the Boeing Everett wide-body airplane factory. The one that makes the Boeing 767's. The path I would take to my desk literally required passing beneath an airplane wing which made me flinch that morning.
By the time I got up the elevator people were chattering about it and talking about crazy stuff like there were a bunch of other planes involved and that the White House had been a target. It was sounding like a bunch of overblown chatter.
But I got to my desk and could barely access the internet. Somebody said it was because it was jammed with activity. I still was a little perplexed. I called Alan. And as my resident current and historical events walking encyclopedia, he spouted off words I had never heard like Osama Bin Laden and 'terrorist cells'.
I hung up. My manager came by shortly after and asked our group to stay in the area and be prepared in the event of an evacuation (the building occupies 30,000 employees.... we cause our own traffic jams at shift change on a normal day when people aren't hurrying anywhere except out of the parking lot to go home).
The insanity that hit the East coast that morning never met the West thankfully. I walked back under that airplane wing to leave on my way home that evening and realized I was now connected to a day that nobody understood. As I've tried to explain the event to my sons I can sense the same disconnect that I know I showed with Pearl Harbor Day or Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I hope they grow up to be respectful of what has happened and what has been done to prevent any other such event, but mostly, I hope they never, ever are connected to their own day of memorium. I hope my sons live a life where they honor what has happened before their time to give them a life free of terror, disaster and needless loss.
-Sheryl
I wasn't in New York on 9/11. But I had been in Seattle. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center live on the news because I was sitting there on my Pacific coast time waiting for my jeans to dry in the dryer. That was my worry for the morning- having clean jeans for work.
Katie Couric inaccurately reported on the morning of September 11th that an Airbus 767 had just crashed into the second tower of the World Trade Center. I thought "What a dumb bunny. It's either a Boeing 767 or an Airbus plane." I imagine I felt all official because I could tell airplane models apart now that I was at Boeing, much the way I barely had known a Toyota from a Chevrolet before working at General Motors and could now tell the make and model of a car from its headlights in many cases.
I definitely know I had zero comprehension of the impact as I was waiting for the clothes dryer to shut off. I got to work, and at the time, it was the Boeing Everett wide-body airplane factory. The one that makes the Boeing 767's. The path I would take to my desk literally required passing beneath an airplane wing which made me flinch that morning.
By the time I got up the elevator people were chattering about it and talking about crazy stuff like there were a bunch of other planes involved and that the White House had been a target. It was sounding like a bunch of overblown chatter.
But I got to my desk and could barely access the internet. Somebody said it was because it was jammed with activity. I still was a little perplexed. I called Alan. And as my resident current and historical events walking encyclopedia, he spouted off words I had never heard like Osama Bin Laden and 'terrorist cells'.
I hung up. My manager came by shortly after and asked our group to stay in the area and be prepared in the event of an evacuation (the building occupies 30,000 employees.... we cause our own traffic jams at shift change on a normal day when people aren't hurrying anywhere except out of the parking lot to go home).
The insanity that hit the East coast that morning never met the West thankfully. I walked back under that airplane wing to leave on my way home that evening and realized I was now connected to a day that nobody understood. As I've tried to explain the event to my sons I can sense the same disconnect that I know I showed with Pearl Harbor Day or Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I hope they grow up to be respectful of what has happened and what has been done to prevent any other such event, but mostly, I hope they never, ever are connected to their own day of memorium. I hope my sons live a life where they honor what has happened before their time to give them a life free of terror, disaster and needless loss.
-Sheryl
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Are you sitting down.....I'm finally posting something!!!
It's been awhile. I had every intention to post....lots of times. I would want to type something, but nothing would come out of my fingertips. It was weird. It wasn't for a lack of things to write about. As summers go, this one has been filled up. I guess my brain just got lost in the sea of pre-teen hormones, bagels-way too many bagels and mild bout of depression that swirled through my house. But the good news is that now I have lots of things to post about!
First things first, Sheryl's birthday post had me rolling on the floor laughing! I don't know how she remembers some of this stuff. But, turning 26 for the 8th time has kinda shot my brain to hell.
1)Watermelon Hubba-Bubba-my teeth hurt at the thought of that stuff. I don't even let my kids chew it very often because I can actually hear their teeth rotting away.
5)nasty words-I have no idea what she's talking about. I never said things like piss-worms or penis breath. never ever ever. And I didn't laugh hysterically instead of punish when Sheryl came to visit a three year old Alex and he called her a penis. That wasn't me.
7)dogs named Muffy-I loved that dang dog. Of all the dogs I've had she was my fave. Pudge was a close second, until he recently decided that every surface in our house needs to smell like his urine. Typical man.
8)curled pig-tails-I spent half of my childhood in curlers. It wasn't even normal.
9)worms-She's right, I'm denying.
11)playing monster- OMG I had totally forgotten about this game. Funnest ever! I tried to get my kids to play it with me, but they looked at me like I was nuts.
14)fake care bears- Playing with them wasn't so bad, but how about having to dress as a life sized one. Not great. I think we spent two Halloweens like that. ick.
18)leaving Girl Scout camp- I was barfing red Kool-Aid everywhere!!!! It wasn't my fault! Every fun childhood activity resulted in me barfing. It was weird.
20)band camp-This one time, at band camp........
21)Mr. Kantz's 3rd grade-That was the first year Sheryl and I got to be in the same class. And the first time I ever had to stay after school. I finally stood up for myself and pushed that little turd Kevin Laux after being picked on by him for years. Problem was, Mr. Kantz didn't see what happened to cause me to push him, and I got in trouble. I cried the whole way home, fearing what my mother was going to do to me. Thankfully, she also thought Kevin was a turd and applauded me.
23)picker bushes-I hate picker bushes a.k.a. rose bushes. They were all over my yard and one day my dad was holding my hands and twirling me around....and twirled me right into the bushes. It's too terrible to remember.
26)kleenex-I did use more kleenex than the average person, but then I met Matt. Nothing compares to him. The human foghorn. We buy kleenex by the case from Costco now.
28)flip flops-Ahhhhh....my beloved footwear of choice. These are not from my childhood because my mother despised them. But I have made up for not having them until adulthood. I'm currently on my 7th pair of the season.
31)endless giggle-That just happened this morning. For no reason I just started laughing until I had tears streaming down my face. Emily thought I was crying. Sometimes, I'm the weirdest person I know.
32)Best-Friends-Pretty soon she's coming to Michigan and I get to see her. The first time in two years. Way to long.
~Jill
First things first, Sheryl's birthday post had me rolling on the floor laughing! I don't know how she remembers some of this stuff. But, turning 26 for the 8th time has kinda shot my brain to hell.
1)Watermelon Hubba-Bubba-my teeth hurt at the thought of that stuff. I don't even let my kids chew it very often because I can actually hear their teeth rotting away.
5)nasty words-I have no idea what she's talking about. I never said things like piss-worms or penis breath. never ever ever. And I didn't laugh hysterically instead of punish when Sheryl came to visit a three year old Alex and he called her a penis. That wasn't me.
7)dogs named Muffy-I loved that dang dog. Of all the dogs I've had she was my fave. Pudge was a close second, until he recently decided that every surface in our house needs to smell like his urine. Typical man.
8)curled pig-tails-I spent half of my childhood in curlers. It wasn't even normal.
9)worms-She's right, I'm denying.
11)playing monster- OMG I had totally forgotten about this game. Funnest ever! I tried to get my kids to play it with me, but they looked at me like I was nuts.
14)fake care bears- Playing with them wasn't so bad, but how about having to dress as a life sized one. Not great. I think we spent two Halloweens like that. ick.
18)leaving Girl Scout camp- I was barfing red Kool-Aid everywhere!!!! It wasn't my fault! Every fun childhood activity resulted in me barfing. It was weird.
20)band camp-This one time, at band camp........
21)Mr. Kantz's 3rd grade-That was the first year Sheryl and I got to be in the same class. And the first time I ever had to stay after school. I finally stood up for myself and pushed that little turd Kevin Laux after being picked on by him for years. Problem was, Mr. Kantz didn't see what happened to cause me to push him, and I got in trouble. I cried the whole way home, fearing what my mother was going to do to me. Thankfully, she also thought Kevin was a turd and applauded me.
23)picker bushes-I hate picker bushes a.k.a. rose bushes. They were all over my yard and one day my dad was holding my hands and twirling me around....and twirled me right into the bushes. It's too terrible to remember.
26)kleenex-I did use more kleenex than the average person, but then I met Matt. Nothing compares to him. The human foghorn. We buy kleenex by the case from Costco now.
28)flip flops-Ahhhhh....my beloved footwear of choice. These are not from my childhood because my mother despised them. But I have made up for not having them until adulthood. I'm currently on my 7th pair of the season.
31)endless giggle-That just happened this morning. For no reason I just started laughing until I had tears streaming down my face. Emily thought I was crying. Sometimes, I'm the weirdest person I know.
32)Best-Friends-Pretty soon she's coming to Michigan and I get to see her. The first time in two years. Way to long.
~Jill
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Summer Time in 1980 Something
Joshua asked me the other day what I did during the summer when I was little. Mostly he was complaining about the lack of things to do for a 7-year-old boy with three rooms in his house dedicated to toys, plus an entire garage bay of more toys plus a park next door, literacy skills of a 5th grader that he could apply to a library of books and not to mention a stack of video games if all other forms of creativity fail.
But I get it. It's August and this summer thing is winding down. On occasion it can be hard to even remember it's summer because... just as Jill curses the steaming heat that seems to be plaguing everywhere but the tippy top of the Pacific northwest, I'm cursing the fact that I need a fleece coat in August. It MIGHT get out of the 60's today. Seriously.
Joshua's plight for summer fun is nothing new but it made me think- what did I do all summer long? I didn't have a nanny, baby-sitter or anything but helpful neighbors to yell at us to get out of the middle of the street. My dad was at work and my mom worked nights so she was sleeping most of the day. We did have some rules- no playing in the 10 inch deep kiddie pool while my mother was sleeping. That was a major violation. Don't hit each other. I admit non-compliance.
Joshua wasn't wanting to hear what I couldn't do so I dug deep into my head to try to recall what you did in the 1980's for fun when summer got boring:
But I get it. It's August and this summer thing is winding down. On occasion it can be hard to even remember it's summer because... just as Jill curses the steaming heat that seems to be plaguing everywhere but the tippy top of the Pacific northwest, I'm cursing the fact that I need a fleece coat in August. It MIGHT get out of the 60's today. Seriously.
Joshua's plight for summer fun is nothing new but it made me think- what did I do all summer long? I didn't have a nanny, baby-sitter or anything but helpful neighbors to yell at us to get out of the middle of the street. My dad was at work and my mom worked nights so she was sleeping most of the day. We did have some rules- no playing in the 10 inch deep kiddie pool while my mother was sleeping. That was a major violation. Don't hit each other. I admit non-compliance.
Joshua wasn't wanting to hear what I couldn't do so I dug deep into my head to try to recall what you did in the 1980's for fun when summer got boring:
- Go on vacation with some other kid's family (did this with Jill's family MULTIPLE times. Jill being an only child was pure genius in my friend selection process).
- Play in the back yard sand box that is really a large square of cinderblocks outlining dirt with sand on top of it until you dig all the way to the tree roots of the big fat oak tree. (Joshua seemed puzzled... didn't sandboxes only come in the shape of a green plastic turtle with 2 inches of sand?)
- See what you could freeze in the freezer and make a popsicle out of. Dish soap doesn't freeze well in case anyone was wondering.
- Ride your bike where you aren't suppose to so that you can see where the end of your street is (another confusing topic for a little boy living in a closed end cul de sac).
- Dig for change in every nook and cranny so that you can feign going on a bike ride but you really high tail it to the Dairy Queen and kindly ask for one small, Lemon Lime, Mister Misty float. It helps to not spill any green sludge on your shirt if you are trying to be covert about your mission.
Joshua wasn't impressed as I couldn't come up with a thing that he found any more fun to do than staring at the wall. I also talked at length about laying in the sunshine with your best friend, sunblock free and getting deep summery tans while talking about dirty words (didn't say that part but I remembered it), playing around in giant boxes thanks to whomever purchased an appliance recently, walking around in homemade matching sleeveless shirts and shorts pretending you are sisters with your best pal... these were all true activities when there was no cable being piped in every socket of a house or cell phones to send secret messages or SPF97000 strength sunblock.
After our chat, Joshua went outside with his light sabre and Jedi hood and spent a few hours conquering the cul de sac.
-Sheryl
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Happy Birthday
August 2nd is Jill's birthday. She is sometimes squeamish about what birthday she is actually having but the catch to it is that it's an awesome, incredible signature on our friendship. With all the things that happen in life and all the people you meet along the way, I don't know how the universe works to give me my best friend when I was just two-years-old and to allow us to still be connected as much as we are after all this time.
Despite being in Target twice this weekend I failed to even grab Jill a card. If we'd grown up to live next door with pools in our back yards like we'd planned I would probably still not have a card ready to go. Hate that about me. But working on it.
I have always been a pretty good failure at the card thing. Not just for Jill... it's universal. But it didn't mean I wasn't thinking of her knowing the 2nd was rolling up soon. Jill has been too busy with children and bagel store grand openings and (Blazing Bagels in Waterford, MI!), summer and electronics problems to hardly even chat with me let alone, email, facebook or blog post or remember it's her birthday... but I remember... LOTS.
Thirty-three word and phrase associations with Jill:
1. Watermelon Hubba Bubba Gum
2. The book How to Eat Fried Worms (I read it in the back of her parents car on a road trip)
3. My Child Dolls
4. Catherine. Jill named every doll some variation of Catherine for a good long while.
5. Nasty Words. Jill was the kid that told me most of the dirty words I ever learned. That's right. The only child kid taught the middle child between two brother's all the dirty words she ever learned.
6. Driveway rollerskating
7. Dogs named Muffy
8. Curled pigtails
9. Worms- she had a worm obsession. She'll deny it. But it's true.
10. Lasagna- Jill's mom has the best. And the first I ever ate.
11. Playing monster. Don't ask.
12. Pretty in Pink Barbie
13. Twirly Curl's Barbie
14. Fake Care Bears
15. Fake Cabbage Patch Barbie
16. Trying to see our first movie... going in too early... realizing it's a rated R movie that we just sat ourselves in... and bolting from the theatre back into Oakland mall because we didn't know what else to do.
17. Bunkbeds at Girl Scout camp
18. Leaving me at Girl Scout camp
19. Bunkbeds at band camp
20. Band camp
21. Mr. Kantz's Third Grade Class
22. Picker bushes
23. Blue shag carpet
24. Hershey candy products
25. A white skirt with magent polka dots that she wore in 7th grade
26. Kleenex. I've never seen another human require so much Kleenex.
27. Snoopy Band-aids
28. Flip flops- namely the glitter encrusted ones that Noah slept with for weeks.
29. The pink, blue and yellow plaid blankey with the satin edging
30. Fisher Price toy sinks (I loved that thing!)
31. An endless giggle that has been the same forever
32. Anklet socks with white lace ruffles
33. Best friend- in every sense.
For the 31st time in our lives, Happy Birthday Jill.
With much love,
Sheryl
Despite being in Target twice this weekend I failed to even grab Jill a card. If we'd grown up to live next door with pools in our back yards like we'd planned I would probably still not have a card ready to go. Hate that about me. But working on it.
I have always been a pretty good failure at the card thing. Not just for Jill... it's universal. But it didn't mean I wasn't thinking of her knowing the 2nd was rolling up soon. Jill has been too busy with children and bagel store grand openings and (Blazing Bagels in Waterford, MI!), summer and electronics problems to hardly even chat with me let alone, email, facebook or blog post or remember it's her birthday... but I remember... LOTS.
Thirty-three word and phrase associations with Jill:
1. Watermelon Hubba Bubba Gum
2. The book How to Eat Fried Worms (I read it in the back of her parents car on a road trip)
3. My Child Dolls
4. Catherine. Jill named every doll some variation of Catherine for a good long while.
5. Nasty Words. Jill was the kid that told me most of the dirty words I ever learned. That's right. The only child kid taught the middle child between two brother's all the dirty words she ever learned.
6. Driveway rollerskating
7. Dogs named Muffy
8. Curled pigtails
9. Worms- she had a worm obsession. She'll deny it. But it's true.
10. Lasagna- Jill's mom has the best. And the first I ever ate.
11. Playing monster. Don't ask.
12. Pretty in Pink Barbie
13. Twirly Curl's Barbie
14. Fake Care Bears
15. Fake Cabbage Patch Barbie
16. Trying to see our first movie... going in too early... realizing it's a rated R movie that we just sat ourselves in... and bolting from the theatre back into Oakland mall because we didn't know what else to do.
17. Bunkbeds at Girl Scout camp
18. Leaving me at Girl Scout camp
19. Bunkbeds at band camp
20. Band camp
21. Mr. Kantz's Third Grade Class
22. Picker bushes
23. Blue shag carpet
24. Hershey candy products
25. A white skirt with magent polka dots that she wore in 7th grade
26. Kleenex. I've never seen another human require so much Kleenex.
27. Snoopy Band-aids
28. Flip flops- namely the glitter encrusted ones that Noah slept with for weeks.
29. The pink, blue and yellow plaid blankey with the satin edging
30. Fisher Price toy sinks (I loved that thing!)
31. An endless giggle that has been the same forever
32. Anklet socks with white lace ruffles
33. Best friend- in every sense.
For the 31st time in our lives, Happy Birthday Jill.
With much love,
Sheryl
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
This Is What Happens
This is what happens when you're running out the door and you yell "Noahy! Hurry up and pick out some socks, put them on and get in the car!"
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The Summer That Joshua Became a Boy
One time Jill called Joshua a Forty-five year old man in a 7-year-old body. He think about stuff I will never even dream up by the time I'm 45. And he has a temperament as far from being a little boy as possible. Well he use to. This seems to be the summer that Joshua has become... a boy.
P.S. Jill isn't dead by the way. She finally emailed with some weird claim about technology failure after some bad storms.
He plays in the dirt. I mean he sometimes would before... but I have a picture where he just got done playing in some mud in his bathing suit. Except he is completely sans clothing, still covered in mud, and hosing off his BATHING SUIT. That's what he was worried about. Dirt on his clothes. Because he sometimes reads this blog, I won't post the pic.
He also is playing sports. Well trying... he is blessed with his mother's coordination and being a few years behind kids that started sooner and then growing several inches recently. But he is playing wildly with other little boys, scraping his knees and coming home covered in pond yuck. He argues with his little brother instead of telling me the psychology behind why he thinks Noah is behaving the way he is.
The one part of summer that has always been a tried and true event for my little man-boy is Day Out with Thomas. Serious. Thomas the Train was the first genuine toy Joshua played with. Before that he would mostly just play in the sink with water and bowls and spoons and funnels and collanders. That's all he wanted to do. And he would do it for hours.
But then came trains.When Joshua was 2, I saw him laying on the floor with a Thomas engine someone had given him and he had some blocks lined up behind it. After I took a picture of proof that my son COULD play with toys, I packed us all up to go get more engines at Target. Immediately. He wanted to play!
And then when we found out a REAL Thomas would come into town... HOLY COW. We were all over it at Greenfield Village in Dearborn, MI. And when we moved to Washington- HOLY COW. Thomas comes here too at the Northwest Railway Museum in Snoqualmie, WA. The summer Jill was visiting was actually Thomas weekend. She came on the ride- and held Noah who was monsterously beside himself with the crowd. I had forgotten how anti-crowd he was at that stage in his life. Oops.
But this year... Joshua was 7 and Noah was 4, ages that are dangerously on the bubble of not loving things that have always been loved. We got out of the car when we pulled into Snoqualmie with a parking spot so prime the train station and the lines and the crowd were all within sight as soon as we pulled in. The boys jumped out of the car with their train engineer hats on and we started walk-run-skip-walking over to the station when Joshua not only slowed up, but he handed me his hat and asked me to put it in my purse.
He spent the rest of the Day Out with Thomas feeling a little out of place and notably sad that Thomas isn't what he use to be. Noah was happy- but Noah loves this stuff. It could have been a Hello Kitty conference and the kid would have been ecstatic.
Joshua pulled his hat on for a quick picture with Thomas and his brother- and as a mom I'm grateful. But how very sad that my little man boy has officially entered the big boy world where Thomas the Train is a has-been.
It stinks that they grow up.
-Sheryl
P.S. Jill isn't dead by the way. She finally emailed with some weird claim about technology failure after some bad storms.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Too Far Away
I wondered if Jill was dead because there had been zero communication via facebook, email, phone or blog for WEEKS. Ok not weeks. But maybe a span of days which is kind of unusual. However I wasn't dead and I also had gone electronically silent so I figured I should give her a call.
I called her when I was running a little bit early to a meeting that required a 20 minute walk (I had given myself 35 minutes on the assumption/guarantee that I would get turned around and lost). I was worried though and the time zone thing hoses up most chances of catching Jill in the evening. But I got her voicemail.
As much as I struggle to find my way around work... and I've been there three years... Jill... oh my. OH MY. The woman has lived in Oakland County her entire life but please don't let her leave home without her GPS.
You may be wondering if I'm lost at work, then how can I even make a peep about Jill. My direction skills stink- I'm the first to admit it. However, I also work in the largest building in the world. I'm not kidding. Look it up.
But residents of Michigan come with the pre-made hand map. Residents of most suburban Detroit locations come with the benefit of mile roads (8 Mile really is a road, not just a movie...). If you hit 11 Mile and you meant to get off at 10, you know you need to turn around. And most neighborhoods are even lined up in neat little rows- no crazy meandering dead end cul de sacs.
Jill and Sheryl combined trying to find anything is hopeless. We somehow feed each others directional impairment.
To this day Jill's mother will never forget overhearing Jill tell me on the phone that she will meet me at the corner of Pearson and Leroy. These were streets in the neighborhood we'd grown up in. Parallel streets.
It's a good thing Jill's mother wasn't privvy to our email-followed-by-frantic-phone-call episode a few weeks ago. I'm coming to Michigan this summer and Jill and I have been talking about this trip for MONTHS. Apparently Jill has also been planning to go on vacation for MONTHS. The same week. As we swapped a few emails and finally realized the conflict- me banging my head on my desk and Jill on her child, dog, or whatever comfort from home was nearby, I finally thought to ASK her where she was going on vacation.
Holland. Holland, Michigan. HOLLAND, MICHIGAN. Which is directly enroute to one of my six stops in 9 days during my Michigan vacation which I must have told Jill about at least 17 times in the 6 months I'd been planning this mess. I'm also pretty sure Jill was under the impression Holland was somewhere near the U.P. or Kansas or whatever. But it's on the way. I get to see Jill. And her giant, perpetually growing children. If I had to find the corner of parallel streets or make a detour to China to see her, I would.
I miss that it used to be as easy as looking out my bedroom window and seeing if Jill's mother's car was in their driveway to know if Jill could come out and play. Even the span of two connected back yards was once painfully too far away. Can you imagine what 2300 miles feels like?
-Sheryl
I called her when I was running a little bit early to a meeting that required a 20 minute walk (I had given myself 35 minutes on the assumption/guarantee that I would get turned around and lost). I was worried though and the time zone thing hoses up most chances of catching Jill in the evening. But I got her voicemail.
As much as I struggle to find my way around work... and I've been there three years... Jill... oh my. OH MY. The woman has lived in Oakland County her entire life but please don't let her leave home without her GPS.
You may be wondering if I'm lost at work, then how can I even make a peep about Jill. My direction skills stink- I'm the first to admit it. However, I also work in the largest building in the world. I'm not kidding. Look it up.
But residents of Michigan come with the pre-made hand map. Residents of most suburban Detroit locations come with the benefit of mile roads (8 Mile really is a road, not just a movie...). If you hit 11 Mile and you meant to get off at 10, you know you need to turn around. And most neighborhoods are even lined up in neat little rows- no crazy meandering dead end cul de sacs.
Jill and Sheryl combined trying to find anything is hopeless. We somehow feed each others directional impairment.
To this day Jill's mother will never forget overhearing Jill tell me on the phone that she will meet me at the corner of Pearson and Leroy. These were streets in the neighborhood we'd grown up in. Parallel streets.
It's a good thing Jill's mother wasn't privvy to our email-followed-by-frantic-phone-call episode a few weeks ago. I'm coming to Michigan this summer and Jill and I have been talking about this trip for MONTHS. Apparently Jill has also been planning to go on vacation for MONTHS. The same week. As we swapped a few emails and finally realized the conflict- me banging my head on my desk and Jill on her child, dog, or whatever comfort from home was nearby, I finally thought to ASK her where she was going on vacation.
Holland. Holland, Michigan. HOLLAND, MICHIGAN. Which is directly enroute to one of my six stops in 9 days during my Michigan vacation which I must have told Jill about at least 17 times in the 6 months I'd been planning this mess. I'm also pretty sure Jill was under the impression Holland was somewhere near the U.P. or Kansas or whatever. But it's on the way. I get to see Jill. And her giant, perpetually growing children. If I had to find the corner of parallel streets or make a detour to China to see her, I would.
I miss that it used to be as easy as looking out my bedroom window and seeing if Jill's mother's car was in their driveway to know if Jill could come out and play. Even the span of two connected back yards was once painfully too far away. Can you imagine what 2300 miles feels like?
-Sheryl
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Independence Day
At first glance this picture looks like a toddler toddling. But it's Noah, taking his first successive steps as a walker- on a ferry boat in Seattle where we were visiting for my job interview before finally moving here. It was June 8th 2007 and Noah was 16 months old. 16 months. I was starting to wonder if his inability to walk was due to me wanting to carry him everywhere because he was tiny and cute and tiny. But he walked. And now at 4, he just runs. Runs, runs, runs.The 4th was always one of those holidays that showed up in the summer and I definitely wasn't connecting any dots to the intent or meaning. As a child, it was a neighborhood bonanza of marginally intoxicated family, friends and neighbors shooting off pyrotechnics and everybody loving them as if it was a Disney level fanfare. We got to run around in the dark and hold sticks of flames in our hands and attempt to not burn up a sibling. Who wouldn't love that?
Wait. Jill's mother didn't. We had to do most of the fireworks at her house in DAYLIGHT because that was the smart thing to do. And the woman had good reason because- geez we lived around some looneys.
But there was that time where Jill's dad brought over a whole box of fireworks to participate in my dad's neighborhood display. He was lighting some off while my dad and other neighbors were shooting some off and suddenly... everyone's attention was drawn to Jill's dad who had somehow caught the entire box on fire. MAN that was a good set of fireworks to watch! 20-some exploding pieces of fireworks going every which way!
The next year I'm pretty sure we returned to the fireworks in the daylight thing with Jill's family.
But anyhow, we landed in Seattle as a family on the 4th of July in 2007. We were spent to the nth degree after 4 days shuffling driving duties between my in-laws and Alan (most days nobody let me drive- no offense taken because paying attention while driving up and down mountains isn't my strong suit). We had everything we owned jammed into a yellow Penske truck. Plus Joshua was 4, and a newly toddling Noah and my giant, loveable golden retriever Max were all in tow. And when we got here... oh my. That was some independence. That was some true "we did what we wanted and we made it happen" level of independence. We moved away from everything we'd ever known. We were doing jobs we wanted. We were living where we wanted. We were in SEATTLE.
At 3 years later, I definitely miss the family that makes up the family part of BBQ's. I even miss the sticky-ness of 4th of July in Michigan, a hallmark that summer is here (it's raining in Seattle this morning but it's suppose to break 80 soon. Sometime next week. Really.). And I'm truly independent in way too many ways on this 4th of July... but... just as all that time ago Noah's independence sucked as he toddled away from me, it's what I wanted for him. It's what needed to happen. Independence is just one of those things that we need and want, but it can just be so, so hard getting to that moment where everything feels... right.
-Sheryl
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Not Dying Yet
I was at the doctor for an annual check-up and because I am quite positive that I'm dying. Every other minute of the day. I've become quite the hypocondriact. Every ache is a cancer cluster, every headache and aneurysm. It's really very annoying. And I'm pretty sure the doctor thought I was nuts. But she declared me well....pending the results from the speculum violation I received. So barbaric. Clearly a man invented that atrocity.
I love my doctor so much. It's possible that I'm a teensy bit IN love with her. I was telling a friend last night about how I had to wait for over an hour to see her yesterday, all while chasing a manic baby all over the place. She suggested I find a new doctor. But that will not be happening. I would walk over hot coals to see my doctor. I have to drive by her office every time I take one of the kids to the pediatrician and I actually feel this weird vibey pull towards her building. It sounds crazy, I know. But if you met this woman and she delivered your babies you would understand. When I was in labor with Grace I didn't want anyone but her. Not even Matt. Nothing was OK until she arrived at the hospital. She is like some kind of calming angel. She helped bring my three most important people into the world and nothing will ever be the same when she finally retires.
The same cannot be said for the some of the nurses at our local hospital. My sweet baby nugget got quite a bad chest cold last week and I had to take her there twice. Once by myself at 5am because Matt was already at work and I knew it wasn't a matter of life or death, so I didn't even bother calling him. The second time we went together in the evening. She was raspy, wheezy and kept choking on gunk coming up. The 5am visit went well and I had Alex along to help me. The nurses doted on Gracie and the doctor was super dreamy. The evening visit did not go as well. We were there forever, Gracie was having meltdowns left and right and the nurses seemed annoyed by this. We were clearly interrupting their hen fest. And the tech that took x-rays of her chest was equally as cranky. "Gosh she's really a stubborn one isn't she?" Um, hello bitch.....she's a baby that doesn't feel good and the bar you are making her lean against is banging her in the head. Not a fan of her!
Everything is back to normal now, thank goodness. Gracie is all better and I am not dying. Yet.
~Jill
I love my doctor so much. It's possible that I'm a teensy bit IN love with her. I was telling a friend last night about how I had to wait for over an hour to see her yesterday, all while chasing a manic baby all over the place. She suggested I find a new doctor. But that will not be happening. I would walk over hot coals to see my doctor. I have to drive by her office every time I take one of the kids to the pediatrician and I actually feel this weird vibey pull towards her building. It sounds crazy, I know. But if you met this woman and she delivered your babies you would understand. When I was in labor with Grace I didn't want anyone but her. Not even Matt. Nothing was OK until she arrived at the hospital. She is like some kind of calming angel. She helped bring my three most important people into the world and nothing will ever be the same when she finally retires.
The same cannot be said for the some of the nurses at our local hospital. My sweet baby nugget got quite a bad chest cold last week and I had to take her there twice. Once by myself at 5am because Matt was already at work and I knew it wasn't a matter of life or death, so I didn't even bother calling him. The second time we went together in the evening. She was raspy, wheezy and kept choking on gunk coming up. The 5am visit went well and I had Alex along to help me. The nurses doted on Gracie and the doctor was super dreamy. The evening visit did not go as well. We were there forever, Gracie was having meltdowns left and right and the nurses seemed annoyed by this. We were clearly interrupting their hen fest. And the tech that took x-rays of her chest was equally as cranky. "Gosh she's really a stubborn one isn't she?" Um, hello bitch.....she's a baby that doesn't feel good and the bar you are making her lean against is banging her in the head. Not a fan of her!
Everything is back to normal now, thank goodness. Gracie is all better and I am not dying. Yet.
~Jill
Monday, June 28, 2010
Phenomenal Timing
I called Jill and got no answer this morning. I was having a big what the HECK moment because Joshua decided he doesn't want to go back to his private school in the fall he wants to go to public school. It was 7 in the morning so my midwest eastern standard time zone friends are priceless during these 'moments'.
Except no answer from Jill.
Until 8:54. I had a meeting at 9 but I was sure I could spew out the whole thing and get her opinion in 6 minutes.
I thought she was calling me back. But she wasn't. She didn't even know I'd call because she had been at the doctor all morning.
I LOVE these moments of kindred insanity where things happen and bring us together.
I was 8 minutes late for my meeting because now I needed to know why Jill was at the doctor all morning.
-Sheryl
Except no answer from Jill.
Until 8:54. I had a meeting at 9 but I was sure I could spew out the whole thing and get her opinion in 6 minutes.
I thought she was calling me back. But she wasn't. She didn't even know I'd call because she had been at the doctor all morning.
I LOVE these moments of kindred insanity where things happen and bring us together.
I was 8 minutes late for my meeting because now I needed to know why Jill was at the doctor all morning.
-Sheryl
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Random Thoughts
Instead of winning the lotto, which has been a wish/goal/dream lately, I would rather have a 4th baby and bigger house. Given the fact that I would need to win the lotto to afford these things, I predict that neither of these things are in my near future. I should start wishing smaller.
I am starting to realize how not fun raising a teenager is going to be. I've only just begun and I'm ready to bail. Any takers for a 12 year old boy with a smart mouth and the ability to make you look like an idiotic moron in front of your friends and family?? No? I didn't think so. I see lots vodka and chocolate in my future.
It's a tiny bit pathetic that my dogs have been groomed three times in the past 6 months and I have been to the salon zero times in that same amount of months. Equally as pathetic is how many times they have been to the vet, especially More Annoying Dog, for various ailments, and I have been to the doctor zero times for my ailments. Which I'm pretty sure I may be dying from.
Probably I would loose more weight if I stopped eating ice cream. But I just love it's creamy, cool deliciousness.
Husbands that compliment your hair and actually mean it are lovely. Wives that crinkle their noses when given complements from their husbands because they don't accept compliments well are not lovely. Also lovely is when a husband gets the coffee maker ready for the next morning every single night, even though he doesn't drink the coffee. Wives should probably start saying thank you for these things and stop being so bitchy about pissy, unimportant things. I may or may not be this wife.
When you live in a shoebox with four other humans, the house is almost always messy.
Pedicures are amazing. And so are babies and bigger houses.
~Jill
I am starting to realize how not fun raising a teenager is going to be. I've only just begun and I'm ready to bail. Any takers for a 12 year old boy with a smart mouth and the ability to make you look like an idiotic moron in front of your friends and family?? No? I didn't think so. I see lots vodka and chocolate in my future.
It's a tiny bit pathetic that my dogs have been groomed three times in the past 6 months and I have been to the salon zero times in that same amount of months. Equally as pathetic is how many times they have been to the vet, especially More Annoying Dog, for various ailments, and I have been to the doctor zero times for my ailments. Which I'm pretty sure I may be dying from.
Probably I would loose more weight if I stopped eating ice cream. But I just love it's creamy, cool deliciousness.
Husbands that compliment your hair and actually mean it are lovely. Wives that crinkle their noses when given complements from their husbands because they don't accept compliments well are not lovely. Also lovely is when a husband gets the coffee maker ready for the next morning every single night, even though he doesn't drink the coffee. Wives should probably start saying thank you for these things and stop being so bitchy about pissy, unimportant things. I may or may not be this wife.
When you live in a shoebox with four other humans, the house is almost always messy.
Pedicures are amazing. And so are babies and bigger houses.
~Jill
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
I'm in a crap mood today. So many things have made this mood possible. Too many to list, really. I'm just tired of being the smoother over and the eggshell walker. I'm over going to school stuff alone(rephrase;alone with a baby spaz) because bagels rule the world and don't allow for days off or even a few hours off.
I am desperately trying to ward of an adult-like temper tantrum. I can feel it rising to the surface. I'm eating ice cream, normally an evening treat for me, in the middle of the day to make myself feel better. I think all I am accomplishing is making myself feel fatter. Fantastic.
If Matt comes home and asks if I'm on my period and that's why I'm crabby, I will seriously loose it. Completely.
~Jill
I am desperately trying to ward of an adult-like temper tantrum. I can feel it rising to the surface. I'm eating ice cream, normally an evening treat for me, in the middle of the day to make myself feel better. I think all I am accomplishing is making myself feel fatter. Fantastic.
If Matt comes home and asks if I'm on my period and that's why I'm crabby, I will seriously loose it. Completely.
~Jill
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
6:15a.m.
My phone rang at 6:15 a.m. this morning. You know how you sometimes have the pit of your stomach just swirl around when the phone rings at an off time because it MUST be something bad?
Not me.
Because I knew it was Jill. She called mat 4:45 on my birthday.
Jill was half calling to check on me and half calling to relay how entirely idiotic her day was going and it wasn't even completely daylight in all time zones of the continental U.S. .
She made me late getting out the door but it was totally worth it!
But her day taught me:
1. All grown women over the age of 15 should know how to pump gas without the dude calling to you over the loud speaker.
2. When pregnant women whack into your mom van with their own vehicles, forgive them quickly.
3. Keep money in your car for when it starts beeping relentlessly because you are running it out of fuel.
4. Be aware of the lockdown policies at your child's middle school to ensure you know the proper procedures for when you stroll in to pick your kid up and there are armed official looking people surrounding the place.
5. Call your best pal at any time of day. That's what they are there for.
Missing ya Jill.
-Sheryl
Not me.
Because I knew it was Jill. She called mat 4:45 on my birthday.
Jill was half calling to check on me and half calling to relay how entirely idiotic her day was going and it wasn't even completely daylight in all time zones of the continental U.S. .
She made me late getting out the door but it was totally worth it!
But her day taught me:
1. All grown women over the age of 15 should know how to pump gas without the dude calling to you over the loud speaker.
2. When pregnant women whack into your mom van with their own vehicles, forgive them quickly.
3. Keep money in your car for when it starts beeping relentlessly because you are running it out of fuel.
4. Be aware of the lockdown policies at your child's middle school to ensure you know the proper procedures for when you stroll in to pick your kid up and there are armed official looking people surrounding the place.
5. Call your best pal at any time of day. That's what they are there for.
Missing ya Jill.
-Sheryl
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Fads are Crap
I heard the line 'fads are crap' several (at least a million) times as I was growing up... because my parents said it 500,000 times and Jill's said it the other half. That's some of the uh... err... benefits of growing up with only a fence line between you. You get to hear everything twice. At least.
But I am actually a tiny bit thankful that practicality and budget and common sense often erroded any efforts I might have wanted to make towards some idiotic silliness of the 80's and early 90's while my parents were still responsible for what I looked and acted like. I wasn't exactly somebody that wanted all the latest and greatest things either- and even to this day- I'm just someone who wants to stay above the wire of wearing anything ridiculous/boring/hideously outdated and below the wire of wearing anything somebody will compliment you on for being bold or creative or whatever adjective they want to apply.
Joshua's trend endeavors have been minimal. From the age of 3 until he entered a private school with a dress code, wore mis-matched socks. I don't mean brown and black either- I mean Christmas with Halloween and blue stripes paired up with a dinosaur dotted sock. At first it was a little cute and then mortifying and then really, really practical.
It got mortifying when I found out that his socks had garnered the attention of his fellow pre-schoolers and now multiple kids were refusing to match their socks. But it was seriously practical to not have to match socks when doing laundry. And losing one of a pair was never a big deal!
The beloved sock collection... that I was permitted to dispose of under the terms of capturing it in a photo Joshua could keep forever...
I realize a 7-year-old is way different than the teenie tweeny set and the worst is likely well on its way to me. Noah already has some diva status- repeatedly changing his clothes in a day and rejecting selections I've brought home and taking 7 hours to find clothes in the morning. In fact, that is my morning discipline plan when he won't get a move on- "If you don't get out of bed and get going mister, I'll PICK YOUR CLOTHES".
I have to say I was a bit annoyed when Joshua asked for some plaid shorts this summer instead of his standard khaki cargos. Noah the diva already had a stack of plaid shorts but coming from Joshua... this was weird. And when I said I would look the next time I was at Target, I got a funny look and a request for Old Navy. I only exhaled hard once and then faked my smile. I wasn't as aggravated with his slight and even minimal and even reasonable demands as I was with the fact he's just getting too old too fast.
-Sheryl
But I am actually a tiny bit thankful that practicality and budget and common sense often erroded any efforts I might have wanted to make towards some idiotic silliness of the 80's and early 90's while my parents were still responsible for what I looked and acted like. I wasn't exactly somebody that wanted all the latest and greatest things either- and even to this day- I'm just someone who wants to stay above the wire of wearing anything ridiculous/boring/hideously outdated and below the wire of wearing anything somebody will compliment you on for being bold or creative or whatever adjective they want to apply.
Joshua's trend endeavors have been minimal. From the age of 3 until he entered a private school with a dress code, wore mis-matched socks. I don't mean brown and black either- I mean Christmas with Halloween and blue stripes paired up with a dinosaur dotted sock. At first it was a little cute and then mortifying and then really, really practical.
It got mortifying when I found out that his socks had garnered the attention of his fellow pre-schoolers and now multiple kids were refusing to match their socks. But it was seriously practical to not have to match socks when doing laundry. And losing one of a pair was never a big deal!
The beloved sock collection... that I was permitted to dispose of under the terms of capturing it in a photo Joshua could keep forever...
I realize a 7-year-old is way different than the teenie tweeny set and the worst is likely well on its way to me. Noah already has some diva status- repeatedly changing his clothes in a day and rejecting selections I've brought home and taking 7 hours to find clothes in the morning. In fact, that is my morning discipline plan when he won't get a move on- "If you don't get out of bed and get going mister, I'll PICK YOUR CLOTHES".
I have to say I was a bit annoyed when Joshua asked for some plaid shorts this summer instead of his standard khaki cargos. Noah the diva already had a stack of plaid shorts but coming from Joshua... this was weird. And when I said I would look the next time I was at Target, I got a funny look and a request for Old Navy. I only exhaled hard once and then faked my smile. I wasn't as aggravated with his slight and even minimal and even reasonable demands as I was with the fact he's just getting too old too fast.
-Sheryl
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Silly Fads
The new trend around town is something called Silly Bands. I had not a single clue what they were until last week. I case you don't know, they are thin, rubber bracelets that look like shapes of things. You wear them and when you take them off them snap back to their original shape (like a monkey, hammer, fish, that sort of thing).
Well, apparently my children were going to die horrifically bloody, painful deaths if they didn't have some of these silly things immediately. Of course as with most faddy things there were none to be found. But wait! Daddy swoops in very heroic like a few days later with three bags of the coveted bracelets.
I didn't understand all the excitement. They looked pretty stupid to me. And they were pastel colors. Um, Alex? Are you really gonna take your 12 year old boy self to 6th grade wearing those? I was informed that EVERYONE is wearing them so it didn't matter what color they were. So I guess if boys start wearing pink bras on the outside of their shirts, I can expect him to join in that fad as well.
I can't remember many fads from my youth. The only thing that come to mind is Girbaud jeans, especially overalls worn with one side undone. So fashionable! We also used to peg roll our jeans, which didn't cost anything, they just looked incredibly stupid.
But back to the bracelets. They happened to be knockoffs which is why they looked so stupid. I have to say, they pale in comparison to the real thing. But lucky us, we found the real version at a nearby Hallmark store. Yay! I guess. Yay as if I really love spending my hard earned money on silly bracelets. But spend it I did.
I took Emily and her friend there tonight. I'm not going to tell you how much I spent because you will think I'm insane. But my kids are happy, I'm a sucker and Miss Emily will be doing chores around here for a few days.
~Jill
Well, apparently my children were going to die horrifically bloody, painful deaths if they didn't have some of these silly things immediately. Of course as with most faddy things there were none to be found. But wait! Daddy swoops in very heroic like a few days later with three bags of the coveted bracelets.
I didn't understand all the excitement. They looked pretty stupid to me. And they were pastel colors. Um, Alex? Are you really gonna take your 12 year old boy self to 6th grade wearing those? I was informed that EVERYONE is wearing them so it didn't matter what color they were. So I guess if boys start wearing pink bras on the outside of their shirts, I can expect him to join in that fad as well.
I can't remember many fads from my youth. The only thing that come to mind is Girbaud jeans, especially overalls worn with one side undone. So fashionable! We also used to peg roll our jeans, which didn't cost anything, they just looked incredibly stupid.
But back to the bracelets. They happened to be knockoffs which is why they looked so stupid. I have to say, they pale in comparison to the real thing. But lucky us, we found the real version at a nearby Hallmark store. Yay! I guess. Yay as if I really love spending my hard earned money on silly bracelets. But spend it I did.
I took Emily and her friend there tonight. I'm not going to tell you how much I spent because you will think I'm insane. But my kids are happy, I'm a sucker and Miss Emily will be doing chores around here for a few days.
~Jill
Monday, June 7, 2010
You All Should Consider Yourself Lucky
Jill's rants are a minimum compared to the string of profanity she disposed of in my email box when blogspot wasn't being cooperative while she was stewing with all this aggravation noted below.
Beware when she is on the war path. Really.
-Sheryl
Beware when she is on the war path. Really.
-Sheryl
Letter to my Frenemy and my Enemy
Dear Royal Oak,
I am angry with you. You are disappointing me at every turn lately. We go way back and I really don't understand why you are doing this to me. I don't think we can be BFF's anymore.
I am no longer smitten with your many formerly lovely parks. They are muddied, gratified and overgrown. I don't like taking my children there anymore. Why aren't you taking care of them? A little mulch, mow, and paint are all they need.
Your homes are still overpriced, even in this down economy. Royal Oak, don't you know that people just can't afford that right now? You are being a tad greedy in my opinion.
Do you really think young families will want to move here and send their children to your schools with all of your stupid budget cuts? NO! Stop it already! You are to big of a city not to have busses. I am tired of seeing the pickiting teachers every morning. Just give them what they want! They deserve it! If you cut sports, we are through forever!
You want to get rid of more policemen and firemen. Insane, I say! Don't you remember when I called the police a few years ago because there was a crippled opossum hissing at my children in our yard? And do you remember what they told me? "I'm sorry but your call does not take precedence and we are very "busy" right now",said the policeman. "You should take a big shovel and bash it on the head", he says. Really? Is that what you are going to tell me when I call and say a big intruder is forcing his way into my house, because now you have even less of a police force? This is not smart, Royal Oak.
Your downtown is still kitchy, cute and inviting. But you want to start charging me for parking on Sundays now too? I don't really like that idea. I will not visit your downtown on a Sunday if you decide to do this.
The last straw came this morning when I was taking Emily to school. Royal Oak, you have made it impossible to get my children to their schools. Practically every street that leads to the elementary is closed down with all the ridiculous construction and the busiest intersection near the middle school is constructing as well. Why must you do this all at the same time? Couldn't you have waited until school was over for the summer? I am not amused at all. I stick my tongue out at you daily.
Royal Oak, if you don't get your act together, I am filing for divorce from you.
Sincerely,
A Disgruntled Resident
Dear Rude Playground mom,
Thank you so much for being a jerk face while I was at the park with my baby today. She really wanted to go on the baby swings, as you could plainly see with her reaching, crying and kicking as we stood by you ,patiently waiting. Waiting for you to finish pushing your gigantic, post-toddler sized children that could have gone on the big kid swings. But you just continued to push your huge kids while my baby cried. Your smiles and waving did not make her feel better. Swinging would have made her feel better.
Listen, I don't have a problem taking turns and all that. But did you really have to leave them in there for the whole half hour we were visiting the park? Not nice. I am not a fan of you. You are probably the type of person that stands in front of the monkey exhibit at the zoo forever and doesn't let the little kids see in. Boo on you.
Here's a tip, lady. If your kids are to big for diapers, they are to big for baby swings. Find a book on playground etiquette and read it!!!
Insincerely,
Nice Playground Mom
~Jill
I am angry with you. You are disappointing me at every turn lately. We go way back and I really don't understand why you are doing this to me. I don't think we can be BFF's anymore.
I am no longer smitten with your many formerly lovely parks. They are muddied, gratified and overgrown. I don't like taking my children there anymore. Why aren't you taking care of them? A little mulch, mow, and paint are all they need.
Your homes are still overpriced, even in this down economy. Royal Oak, don't you know that people just can't afford that right now? You are being a tad greedy in my opinion.
Do you really think young families will want to move here and send their children to your schools with all of your stupid budget cuts? NO! Stop it already! You are to big of a city not to have busses. I am tired of seeing the pickiting teachers every morning. Just give them what they want! They deserve it! If you cut sports, we are through forever!
You want to get rid of more policemen and firemen. Insane, I say! Don't you remember when I called the police a few years ago because there was a crippled opossum hissing at my children in our yard? And do you remember what they told me? "I'm sorry but your call does not take precedence and we are very "busy" right now",said the policeman. "You should take a big shovel and bash it on the head", he says. Really? Is that what you are going to tell me when I call and say a big intruder is forcing his way into my house, because now you have even less of a police force? This is not smart, Royal Oak.
Your downtown is still kitchy, cute and inviting. But you want to start charging me for parking on Sundays now too? I don't really like that idea. I will not visit your downtown on a Sunday if you decide to do this.
The last straw came this morning when I was taking Emily to school. Royal Oak, you have made it impossible to get my children to their schools. Practically every street that leads to the elementary is closed down with all the ridiculous construction and the busiest intersection near the middle school is constructing as well. Why must you do this all at the same time? Couldn't you have waited until school was over for the summer? I am not amused at all. I stick my tongue out at you daily.
Royal Oak, if you don't get your act together, I am filing for divorce from you.
Sincerely,
A Disgruntled Resident
Dear Rude Playground mom,
Thank you so much for being a jerk face while I was at the park with my baby today. She really wanted to go on the baby swings, as you could plainly see with her reaching, crying and kicking as we stood by you ,patiently waiting. Waiting for you to finish pushing your gigantic, post-toddler sized children that could have gone on the big kid swings. But you just continued to push your huge kids while my baby cried. Your smiles and waving did not make her feel better. Swinging would have made her feel better.
Listen, I don't have a problem taking turns and all that. But did you really have to leave them in there for the whole half hour we were visiting the park? Not nice. I am not a fan of you. You are probably the type of person that stands in front of the monkey exhibit at the zoo forever and doesn't let the little kids see in. Boo on you.
Here's a tip, lady. If your kids are to big for diapers, they are to big for baby swings. Find a book on playground etiquette and read it!!!
Insincerely,
Nice Playground Mom
~Jill
Sunday, June 6, 2010
2 weekends
Last weekend was amazing. It was Memorial Day weekend, so I had an extra day off. But what was even better was getting to dog sit. Actually, Alex was supposed to be the dog sitter(it's his bff Max's dog), but I pretty much hogged it. I don't really think he cared. He just took his money and ran. Fine with me because look at that cutie mug. That's Bruce. Who wouldn't want to dog sit him? It was supposed to be the type of deal where we just went over several times and let him out but I just couldn't leave him there alone. Since my crazy dogs were at grandma's house, I dog napped him. I'm pretty sure he had the best weekend ever. He got to go on a long walk,thanks to Joanna, which was more like a Bruce Parade because half the neighborhood joined in. I fed him lots of Snausages and gave him lots of love. Gracie liked him too, as you can see. Not much surprise there since she is a dog harasser. I think she used to be a cat in another life. (ironic right?) Bruce is everything I thought a dog could be and more. He doesn't bark. He doesn't scratch at the walls when he wants water. He is mellow and quiet and handsome. I'm going through Brucie withdrawal. I should have made a copy of their key so I could plan a permanent dog napping.My parents took all three kids to my aunt and uncles on Sunday. I had a slight heart attack at this because Gracie has never been away from me for this long. I think it hurt me more than it hurt her. Matt and I lounged around, had brunch at a disgusting restaurant where I will never go again(but at least there were no kids) and shopped around for stuff for the garden. It was lovely.
On Monday Matt took the kids out for five hours. FIVE HOURS. That's like a week in mom alone time. I got to watch TV without someone swiping the remote and changing the station to some inane show like Suite Life of Zac and Cody or Sportscenter. I ate ice cream and didn't have to share. And I also cleaned the house, which goes amazingly fast when three kids aren't underfoot. It was the best five hours I've had in recent history.
I wish this weekend was last weekend. So far, it pretty much blows. It's one of those weekends where every single second is booked up, and there is no time to do the things I love. Like laying on my couch doing nothing. It started with schlepping the kids by myself (so Matt could have a break because that's the knid of awesome wife I am) to Alex's baseball game Friday night at 8:15pm, which frankly is much to late for a game to start. After sitting there for an hour the game cancelled due to lightning and the down pour started on our way to the car. We all got soaked, including Gracie who did not appreciate the cover I put over her stroller to keep her dry and practically strangled herself trying to hang her head out of the stroller so she could see what was going on. Since the game was called we all went over to my friend Amy's where I did not get to visit with my friends. Why you ask? Well sillies, because approximately a year ago I gave birth to an insane, crazed baby and I spent all my time chasing her around Amy's house. At least Alex and Emily got to play with their friends.
Saturday began bright and early with an extra dance practice for Emily, baseball pictures for Alex and errands for me. Really errands for Emily and all the extra crap she needed for her dress rehearsal that evening. All of this would have gone a bit smoother if I hadn't gone to the wrong field for the pictures, which resulted in a zippy trip back across town to the correct location and a big fat headache for me.
Saturday night ended with the dress rehearsal, and while I did get to go out to dinner with the dance moms, again I had Gracie the spaz with me, so I was still in mom mode. She was very good at dinner and they all kept saying so, but I really wanted to throw back a cocktail, which probably would have been inappropriate. They were amazed at her eating skills. We used to call her the blueberry killer because she would down those suckers til her poop turned blue. Now we call her the food killer because she eats everything in sight. Last night was no exception. She consumed mashed cauliflower, cold peas from the salad bar (which tasted like grass), avocado, fruit and other assorted items from peoples plates, of which she was just helping herself to. And no, she isn't fat even after eating like a pig. Why? Because after dinner we went to pick up the girls and had to wait forever and Gracie probably logged a mile of walking/running all over the place with me chasing her. The question is, why am I still fat?
Today is house cleaning and the big recital. Emily is nervous and excited. She's been busting out her dance moves all over the place for weeks (sometimes I wonder if she has a mild form of tourettes). She will be amazing as always. And I am looking forward to next weekend.
~Jill
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I Don't Believe I Did That...
Joshua asked me recently to show him how to cook. I have been cooking before I could even reach the top of the stove- my parents would let me pull a chair up to reach it (growing up in the 80's had it's perks!).
And I can cook. I really can. I'm not one of those who sulks and says they can't cook. I'm also not one to have my hand waving wildly in the air to cook the main course of anything unless I have to.
Because I can ruin a meal like nobody's business. And I'm not talking about a degree too cold or a touch overdone... I mean DECIMATING food. I am the worst with anything that comes out of a bag, can or box because that means there are instructions I am suppose to follow and that just doesn't work with my kitchen skills.
But Joshua asked me to show him how to cook. And I want to show him.
And did I ever show him what I could do last night. It was going to be green beans, scalloped potatoes and kielbasa/polish sausage/whatever you want to call it. I have made it 37,000 times. I have left the milk out of the potatoes before but that's probably the worst thing. You can't screw this stuff up- right? RIGHT?
You can if you detect that the kielbasa is getting over done and you pour water directly from the tap into the Pyrex GLASS pan. Because then it will EXPLODE dumping shars of glass into the scalloped potatoes and across the entire confines of a 450 degree oven.
-Sheryl
And I can cook. I really can. I'm not one of those who sulks and says they can't cook. I'm also not one to have my hand waving wildly in the air to cook the main course of anything unless I have to.
Because I can ruin a meal like nobody's business. And I'm not talking about a degree too cold or a touch overdone... I mean DECIMATING food. I am the worst with anything that comes out of a bag, can or box because that means there are instructions I am suppose to follow and that just doesn't work with my kitchen skills.
But Joshua asked me to show him how to cook. And I want to show him.
And did I ever show him what I could do last night. It was going to be green beans, scalloped potatoes and kielbasa/polish sausage/whatever you want to call it. I have made it 37,000 times. I have left the milk out of the potatoes before but that's probably the worst thing. You can't screw this stuff up- right? RIGHT?
You can if you detect that the kielbasa is getting over done and you pour water directly from the tap into the Pyrex GLASS pan. Because then it will EXPLODE dumping shars of glass into the scalloped potatoes and across the entire confines of a 450 degree oven.
-Sheryl
Monday, May 31, 2010
House Rules
Noah added another one to the house rules: Don't ever ever ever put your underwear in the oven.
Typically when Noah comes up with these one liners it's because he's already tried the event. Don't hang from ropes your brother is hanging over the banister. Don't throw brother's wallet out the window. Don't put stuff in your hair unless mama is with you... there's a really long list of shenanigans. This time though... I think he's trying to be proactive. I suppose he's growing up...
Noah at 18 months... letting me know what he has in store for his future solo adventures behind closed doors.
But... all the trouble. All the rules. All the peed pants, clean ups, emergency shoe replacements, and crisis searches for cape saving wrenches... it's of course worth it when he tromps in the door with a "Disney" (odd mis-pronunciation of Dandelion don't you think?...).
Typically when Noah comes up with these one liners it's because he's already tried the event. Don't hang from ropes your brother is hanging over the banister. Don't throw brother's wallet out the window. Don't put stuff in your hair unless mama is with you... there's a really long list of shenanigans. This time though... I think he's trying to be proactive. I suppose he's growing up...
Noah at 18 months... letting me know what he has in store for his future solo adventures behind closed doors.
Yeah... that smile on his face is equal to a full belly for that dog.
Another rule... it's ok if mom washes your muddy flip flops off in the sink. It doesn't work the same for light up, Velcro Spiderman shoes.
Do we ride our bike wearing our Batman cape? Nooooo.
But... all the trouble. All the rules. All the peed pants, clean ups, emergency shoe replacements, and crisis searches for cape saving wrenches... it's of course worth it when he tromps in the door with a "Disney" (odd mis-pronunciation of Dandelion don't you think?...).Saturday, May 29, 2010
This Lovely Book
I don't have an e-reader, tablet or any of that snappy stuff just yet. I'm even ipod free- but I have itunes on my Ruby Red laptop.
As an adult a horrible, horrible, horrible habit has overcome me. And I don't know why. But I read books and forget them almost immediately. Or I start one that I'm not 'into' and then I feel so guilty for not giving it a chance that I hang onto it and keep dragging it the places I drag books and then don't read it. This can go on for MONTHS. The book dragging. Consequently, the bulk of my reading is a frenzied smattering of online garble.
But I think- I think I'm hooked again on luscious paper and the words that roll off of it. Where you skip over words or events you don't recognize instead of googling and getting space cadeted off onto 17 other things.
I just finished Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold- which I actually LIKED and it still took me an idiotic amount of time to finish. And that's with 2 business trips in there which usually means a good hundred or more pages per flight leg (seems like you can't get anywhere out of SeaTac airport without it being a 3+ hour flight!).
But... at the recommendation/insistence/persistence of a co-worker who IM'd a link from Amazon for a book he claims to have read 15 times, I have a new book. I bought it at the University Bookstore in the Mill Creek Towncenter and got me a 745 page novel on the softest paper I have ever touched. The book was somehow considered used so it's 745 pages only broke me of $7.99 and it is in perfect, mint condition without a single dog ear. I'm so distracted by how nice the book feels to the touch that I have barely gotten past the prologue. I'm afraid to crease the spine. It's ridiculous.
It also makes me happy that I didn't read this sucker on an e-reader because I would have never made this inordinant touch connection with the book.
It's Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin.
I can't wait to read it. Because it's a good, real, actual book! Hope the story matches... and from what I've googled... it should be!
-Sheryl
As an adult a horrible, horrible, horrible habit has overcome me. And I don't know why. But I read books and forget them almost immediately. Or I start one that I'm not 'into' and then I feel so guilty for not giving it a chance that I hang onto it and keep dragging it the places I drag books and then don't read it. This can go on for MONTHS. The book dragging. Consequently, the bulk of my reading is a frenzied smattering of online garble.
But I think- I think I'm hooked again on luscious paper and the words that roll off of it. Where you skip over words or events you don't recognize instead of googling and getting space cadeted off onto 17 other things.
I just finished Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold- which I actually LIKED and it still took me an idiotic amount of time to finish. And that's with 2 business trips in there which usually means a good hundred or more pages per flight leg (seems like you can't get anywhere out of SeaTac airport without it being a 3+ hour flight!).
But... at the recommendation/insistence/persistence of a co-worker who IM'd a link from Amazon for a book he claims to have read 15 times, I have a new book. I bought it at the University Bookstore in the Mill Creek Towncenter and got me a 745 page novel on the softest paper I have ever touched. The book was somehow considered used so it's 745 pages only broke me of $7.99 and it is in perfect, mint condition without a single dog ear. I'm so distracted by how nice the book feels to the touch that I have barely gotten past the prologue. I'm afraid to crease the spine. It's ridiculous.
It also makes me happy that I didn't read this sucker on an e-reader because I would have never made this inordinant touch connection with the book.
It's Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin.
I can't wait to read it. Because it's a good, real, actual book! Hope the story matches... and from what I've googled... it should be!
-Sheryl
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I'll Play Too
I'm home with a fever and sore throat courtesy of my favorite co-worker passing it around. Which makes for a perfect use of time to answer Jill's quiz:
Where is your cell phone?
FLOOR
Spouse?
DON'TASKMETHIS
Your hair?
SLEPT-ON
Your mother?
CRACKSMEUP
Your father?
MICHIGAN
Your favorite thing?
LITTLEBOYS
Your dream last night?
NOTHING!
Your favorite drink?
MILKSHAKE
Where are you now ?
BED
Your hobby?
KIDS!
Your fear?
THEFREAKINGGIANTHAIRYNORTHWESTSPIDERS!
Where do you want to be in 6 years?
STILLHERE
Something I'm not
PATIENT
Muffins?
BANANANUT
Wish list item?
BANANANUT
Last thing you did?
EDITED
What are you wearing?
PAJAMAS
TV?
BRAVO!
Your pets?
NONE:(
Friends?
WONDERFUL!
Your life?
AWESOME
Your mood?
CRANKY
Missing someone?
MIKE
Drinking?
CRANGRAPE
Your car?
VAN (me too!)
Something you're not wearing?
SHOES (me too!)
Your favorite store?
PIERONE
Your favorite color?
RED
When is the last time you cried?
30MINUTESAGO
Where do you go over and over?
Interstate5North
My favorite place to eat?
GOODCHINESE
Place I'd like to be right now?
WALKINGWITHKATTIEANDJILL!
The one word thing wasn't working for me. I tried.
-Sheryl
Where is your cell phone?
FLOOR
Spouse?
DON'TASKMETHIS
Your hair?
SLEPT-ON
Your mother?
CRACKSMEUP
Your father?
MICHIGAN
Your favorite thing?
LITTLEBOYS
Your dream last night?
NOTHING!
Your favorite drink?
MILKSHAKE
Where are you now ?
BED
Your hobby?
KIDS!
Your fear?
THEFREAKINGGIANTHAIRYNORTHWESTSPIDERS!
Where do you want to be in 6 years?
STILLHERE
Something I'm not
PATIENT
Muffins?
BANANANUT
Wish list item?
BANANANUT
Last thing you did?
EDITED
What are you wearing?
PAJAMAS
TV?
BRAVO!
Your pets?
NONE:(
Friends?
WONDERFUL!
Your life?
AWESOME
Your mood?
CRANKY
Missing someone?
MIKE
Drinking?
CRANGRAPE
Your car?
VAN (me too!)
Something you're not wearing?
SHOES (me too!)
Your favorite store?
PIERONE
Your favorite color?
RED
When is the last time you cried?
30MINUTESAGO
Where do you go over and over?
Interstate5North
My favorite place to eat?
GOODCHINESE
Place I'd like to be right now?
WALKINGWITHKATTIEANDJILL!
The one word thing wasn't working for me. I tried.
-Sheryl
Word Up
My Sister-in-Law emailed me this quiz. I heart this kind of stuff so I decided to post it here. And she begged me to so......here it is. The object is to answer with only one word.
Where is your cell phone?
POCKET
Spouse?
BABE-A-LICIOUS
Your hair?
WET
Your mother?
ROCKS
Your father?
COOL
Your favorite thing?
BABIES
Your dream last night?
ZIPPO
Your favorite drink?
COFFEE
Where are you now ?
HOME
Your hobby?
FACEBOOK
Your fear?
FELINES
Where do you want to be in 6 years?
HERE
Something I'm not
SKINNY
Muffins?
BAGELS
Wish list item?
MONEY
Last thing you did?
DROVE
What are you wearing?
CAPRIS
TV?
OVER-ABUNDANCE
Your pets?
LOUD
Friends?
AMAZING
Your life?
AWESOME
Your mood?
GOOD
Missing someone?
PUFFMASTER
Drinking?
COFFEE
Your car?
VAN
Something you're not wearing?
SHOES
Your favorite store?
TARGET
Your favorite color?
LOTS
When is the last time you cried?
TUESDAY
Where do you go over and over?
SCHOOLS
My favorite place to eat?
HOME
Place I'd like to be right now?
SPA
In case you were wondering, Puffmaster is one of my nicknames for Alex. He is the boy with a zillion names. But thats a post for a different day.
~Jill
Where is your cell phone?
Spouse?
BABE-A-LICIOUS
Your hair?
WET
Your mother?
ROCKS
Your father?
COOL
Your favorite thing?
BABIES
Your dream last night?
ZIPPO
Your favorite drink?
COFFEE
Where are you now ?
HOME
Your hobby?
Your fear?
FELINES
Where do you want to be in 6 years?
HERE
Something I'm not
SKINNY
Muffins?
BAGELS
Wish list item?
MONEY
Last thing you did?
DROVE
What are you wearing?
CAPRIS
TV?
OVER-ABUNDANCE
Your pets?
LOUD
Friends?
AMAZING
Your life?
AWESOME
Your mood?
GOOD
Missing someone?
PUFFMASTER
Drinking?
COFFEE
Your car?
VAN
Something you're not wearing?
SHOES
Your favorite store?
TARGET
Your favorite color?
LOTS
When is the last time you cried?
TUESDAY
Where do you go over and over?
SCHOOLS
My favorite place to eat?
HOME
Place I'd like to be right now?
SPA
In case you were wondering, Puffmaster is one of my nicknames for Alex. He is the boy with a zillion names. But thats a post for a different day.
~Jill
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I'm being stalked
I am not a fan of felines. Actually, I'm a bit scared of them. I haven't always been, but somewhere along the way in adulthood, they started spooking me. The phobia kind of snuck up on me, kinda like cats do in their sneaky,catty way. I'm not scared of all cats. I'm good with kittens. A kitten could come up to me and do that purring rub against your leg thing that cats do, and I wouldn't run screaming from the room. I can handle seeing a cat from across the street. Basically, if it isn't close enough to pounce on me and gouge out my eyeballs, I'm good.
Here's what i'm not good with. A stalker cat. A big, black, yellowy green eyed stalker cat. I am pretty sure I saw this particular cat at the vet last week while I was there with More Annoying Dog. It was safely behind the bars of his little cage, but he was eyeballing me and licking his chops. I'm pretty sure it wanted me for lunch. A few days later I was walking past my front door, which happens to have a huge window panel in it. Guess who was sitting there STARING INTO MY HOUSE???? A big, black, yellowy green eyed cat. I swear it looked just like the one from the vet. And who was on my porch in a pouncing position waiting for me when I got home from taking Alex to school yesterday? That's right. Stalker Cat.
My friend Joanna has a black cat with scary green snake eyes. As a kitten she was tiny and cute. Now she reminds me of a smallish puma that would, if given the opportunity, use my skin as a scratch pad. Ironically, her name is Gracie, same as my precious baby nugget. A few weeks ago I had to drop something off at their house when nobody was there. I opened the door and Gracie the cat jumped off the ledge, probably trying to pounce me, but I think I startled her with my screaming and running. I also peed my pants a little, which was no good. This is what cats do to me. Make me so scared I pee my pants. There is probably a name for this condition in the professional world, like tryptocataphobia or something.
Cats are creepy with their sneaky, catty ways. For all I know, Gracie the cat was amused by my screaming pee episode and called out for cat reinforcements to come to the hood so she could watch this happen over and over. She's probably sitting in her bay window laughing at me right now.
I have to take More Annoying Dog back the the vet again today. If Stalker Cat is there, i'm getting a restraining order.
~Jill
Here's what i'm not good with. A stalker cat. A big, black, yellowy green eyed stalker cat. I am pretty sure I saw this particular cat at the vet last week while I was there with More Annoying Dog. It was safely behind the bars of his little cage, but he was eyeballing me and licking his chops. I'm pretty sure it wanted me for lunch. A few days later I was walking past my front door, which happens to have a huge window panel in it. Guess who was sitting there STARING INTO MY HOUSE???? A big, black, yellowy green eyed cat. I swear it looked just like the one from the vet. And who was on my porch in a pouncing position waiting for me when I got home from taking Alex to school yesterday? That's right. Stalker Cat.
My friend Joanna has a black cat with scary green snake eyes. As a kitten she was tiny and cute. Now she reminds me of a smallish puma that would, if given the opportunity, use my skin as a scratch pad. Ironically, her name is Gracie, same as my precious baby nugget. A few weeks ago I had to drop something off at their house when nobody was there. I opened the door and Gracie the cat jumped off the ledge, probably trying to pounce me, but I think I startled her with my screaming and running. I also peed my pants a little, which was no good. This is what cats do to me. Make me so scared I pee my pants. There is probably a name for this condition in the professional world, like tryptocataphobia or something.
Cats are creepy with their sneaky, catty ways. For all I know, Gracie the cat was amused by my screaming pee episode and called out for cat reinforcements to come to the hood so she could watch this happen over and over. She's probably sitting in her bay window laughing at me right now.
I have to take More Annoying Dog back the the vet again today. If Stalker Cat is there, i'm getting a restraining order.
~Jill
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