Big C, Little C, what begins with C? Camel on the ceiling, c c c.

This picture always makes me smile.  It is an old picture, but I remember it so clearly.  Little C was pitching a huge fit.  The kind where you worry about the inner-cranial pressure building and it crosses your mind that if he does rupture something it is going to look suspicious on the scan.  He threw it without much of a reason either.  Well, that is not entirely true.  He had a reason.  But the issue did not merit the shade of purple he turned.  The truth is the baby was exhausted.  It is tough to be 2 trying to keep up with a 5 and a 7.  You want to sleep in and your mama drags you out of bed to take your sister to school.  You are in the middle of playing and you have to go with to drop your brother off at preschool.  You want to watch a show and mama pauses it to go get them from school.  And somewhere in between she hauled you to the store again.  And once they are home, you have to play with them.  Going everywhere and climbing everything just the same and doing it all with a diaper in the way.  

I remember leaving the room while he was on the floor kicking the ottoman.  I was in the kitchen and it suddenly went silent.  Not the normal decrescendo and muttering that would signal the end of a tantrum.  Silence.  Flashback to the thought of his brain exploding.  I went in to check and he was passed out on his face on the chair.  Little C had gone from banshee to baby in 0.7 seconds.   He was so tired his body just turned off.  And after checking for a pulse, I checked the clock.  Shit.  It was time to pick him up and put him in the car seat to go get the Biggins from school.  Or...it was time to call in some markers and ask a couple of friends to pick up my other two at their schools.  I picked the latter and let the doll rest.  

At the time, I will be completely honest with you, I called the friends so I wouldn't have to struggle with him again.  My ear drums were tired too.  But it is still one of those mama decisions I made that I am proud of.   

camouflaged mama

Let this be a warning to mamas with little girls.  They get big.  When this baby stands next to me she is past my eyeballs and closing in quickly on the "only 3 inches shorter than my mama" mark.  She's only 10.  Do I not get more time than this?

But let this also be a word of encouragement to mamas with little girls.  They just keep getting better.  Sweeter, smarter, kinder, funnier, and more and more lovely every day.

Also, when you have a baby that is close to your height, it is easier to do tricky dance moves with them on the living room rug!

Camouflaged hound dog

I have been looking for Olly.  I'm having trouble finding him.  I looked in the mulch...

...and in the leaves...

...on the couch...

...and on the living room rug.

But I know he is around here somewhere.  (This is why, when I clean the house, I shake my head in wonder at the point of it all.  I was vacuuming under the rugs, trying to suck some dust from the underbelly of my house, and Olly ran through the room with muddy paws.  I'd hide too if I were him!)  

Rrrrraaaaadiio

How would you spell that title to read like it sounds when the Yip Yip Aliens said it on Sesame Street?  You Tube THAT one.  Wet your pants funny.  Especially since I have felt like those aliens when it comes to my radio dial lately.  Look up "Yip Yip Aliens Radio."

Any more hip-hop songs about strippers?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope

Any more vintage Pat Benetar?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope (Where is that coming from all of a sudden?  And am I the only one who notices?)

Any more apologetic jerks sorry for cheating...AGAIN?  Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope-nope

And now I have heard "Betty Davis Eyes" three times in three days.  I'll bet I hadn't heard it three times in three years before this week.  What-what-what-what-what-what-what-what?

Come on Rrrrraaaaadiio, I need a little Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip now and then.  What do you say?

Two silly conversations

Conversation the First:

Moose: I saw the guy in the hall at work today with the p_rn stash.

Mama: What?

Moose: He has a crazy, 70's p_rn stash.

Mama: And he still has his job there?

Moose: What?

Mama: He hasn't lost his job?

Moose: Uuhhh...no.  Why would he?

Mama: What?

Moose: It is just a mustache.

[proverbial light bulb flips on]

Mama: Oohhhhhh!

Moose: What?

[Mama takes a moment to catch her breath after the laughter]

Mama: I thought you meant a stash of p_rn from the 70's.  Not a stache like a 70's p_rn star.

[Moose doubles over in laughter]

Conversation the Second:

[A mother and young child sit at the family table practicing his handwriting]

Mama: Here, let's write the word "pumpkin."

Little C: OK, tell me the letters.

Mama: P U M P K I N

[the child carefully writes the word and then sounds it out]

Little C: [laughing hard] Haha, it says puMPkin!  Mama, you spelled it puMPkin!

Mama: That's how it is spelled, baby.

Little C: [abrupt change from laughing to serious] What? 

Mama: That is the word. Pu-MP-kin.

[silent consideration]

Little C: Not puNkin?

Mama: No sweetie, the vegetable is a pumpkin.  You are a punkin.

Little C: ???

Drunken Wasps

These are the drunken wasps we get every Fall.  They don't arrive in a stupor.  They come here specifically to achieve it.  They get loopy off fermented crab apples.  I think there are 5 in this picture, but I have counted up to 7 on one crab apple.  The apples are maybe 1.5 inches across.  They are funny when they are done, too.  They stumble around the woodpile, make a few lazy attempts at flight, and then crash to the ground to sleep it off.  

I bring this up for two reasons: it is silly and every species does stupid things.  Not just primates.  Not that this makes risky behavior excusable.  It doesn't make it ok or acceptable or even tolerable.  Some of the wasps never get up off the ground after the merry-making.   It just makes it understandable.  And as tempted as I am to sing the Press Conference Rag from Chicago for you right now I won't.  (You're welcome, because that one can get stuck in your head for days.  Feel free to find it on You Tube but don't say I didn't warn you.)  Back to my point; this is the essence of empathy, I guess.  You can see someone and consider their situation and connect with their motivation as well as their emotion.  

A strong sense of empathy is a good thing.  In fact it is a great thing.  But I also find that it gets a one-sided reputation.  It is not sympathy, though I have noticed people who can define the difference still treat it that way.  As if the only result of an empathetic consideration is to feel sorry for someone.  There are only two people on this planet that I hate above all else.  Should ill befall them I might give a little cheer.  Maybe host a party.  Certainly do a little dance in fancy underpants.  (If you have to ask it is not you.  If it was you, you would know for certain!  BTW, the third member of the list died in a fiery plane crash.  No joke.  There's karma-phala for you.)  I have given each of them a massive amount of consideration.  I believe I understand their motivations and emotions.  It makes me loathe them.  But empathy also allows me to answer questions that would otherwise plague me and then let them go.  

I even turn inward and look at myself with empathy now.  That is something I have learned over time.  Much of that has come through my yoga practice.  (Have I told you how much I love my Yogis?  I like them, admire them, and genuinely love them.  I would tuck them in my pocket too!)  But I think we need a different word for it.  Something that describes the ability to consider your own motivations and emotions.  A term that covers an honest assessment of your present tense and to understand how your past has colored this moment in time.  A word that covers learning from your mistakes and your triumphs so your future is a better place to live.  Mepathy.  

P.S. With that title were you maybe expecting pictures from this summer's RNC? :) 

Ode to 5

When I finally stopped laughing and wiped away the tears, Miss M helped me finish this poem for you, Little C:

5 is great

5 is good

5 is early

childhood!

And now the reason for the laughter: 5 is also smart.  Smart enough to have an intelligent conversation about the Presidential race.  Smart enough to question some negative adds...but maybe a little lax on the details.  Like when he talks all big about playing cool video games on the "Intendo".  (As in he meant to play that cool video game.)  5 is also funny.  Sometimes on purpose.  Sometimes not.  And before you all click your tongues at me for laughing at my kid...you try having a serious conversation with a 5 about Obama and McHankin.  Close, baby.  Very close.