I love school holidays

I might like them even more now that I am not in school.  If my kids were at school all day would I hear these little gems?

Big C: I have the top score! (Wii fest in the livingroom.)  I have the first and third highest on this game.  That leaves only the second spot open.

I am afraid I did remind him how ordinal numbers work.  A third without a second?  Not possible.  Also, rankings.  Big disappointment to the boy.  Now he is avoiding that game at all costs, talking up EVERY OTHER game so his siblings won't be tempted to play and he will hold the record for all eternity.  

Then there was Little C wandering in to the kitchen for food at 10:30 am.

Little C: I am totally not getting a candy cane.  I counted them all on the tree and I know there are enough for everyone, but I am not asking.  

Mama: Not asking, huh?

Little C: Nope.  But could I have one of those eggs that goes in this instead? (Here, he indicates the antique silver jigger on the counter.)

Mama: Do you mean a soft boiled egg or a gin soaked egg?

Little C: What?

Mama: I will make the eggs.

Little C: After the egg I might count the candy canes again.

play with me

Does any one else completely LOVE the funny word verification words on Blogspot?  I thought of a game for us to play.  You hit the comment button, tell me your random letters, and then define the word for us all to enjoy.

I just had "imoan" over at lftec.blogspot.com  TOO EASY!  

Gimme sumthin worth my time.  We can all ring in the New Year together with some "kingfean" fun!

 

Points Against Public Schools

I am toying around with the idea that my five year old is too educated for his own good.  Well...for my good, anyway.  I am considering pulling him out of public education and teaching him myself.  Does a kindergardener need logic?  Should he be able to pull an end-run around my sensible directions?  

Let me work on some simple "do what I say without asking me why" exercises.  I will pencil out some "respect me or else" assignments.  Find some independent reading to support my new leanings towards "no need to think for yourself" child rearing philosophy.  I'll let you know what I come up with.

Too drastic?  You let me know what you think after I tell you the one he just pulled at the dinner table.

Little C: "Did you know my stomach has four parts?"

Mama: "Are you a Ruminant?"

Little C: "What?"

Mama: "Like a cow or a goat.  Giraffes too."

Little C: "Uh.  No.  You see, the first section is for swallowed food that I did not chew.  This one is at level zero.  The second one is for chewed up food that I swallowed.  This one is 100%.  The third one is for drinks and it is also full.  The fourth one is for dessert and is at zero."

Then he just smiles at me with those Paul Newman eyes, rosy red cheeks, and mop of blonde hair.  He can be very persuasive even when he does not come up with these wild theories.

Mama: "Let me make sure I get this straight.  Are you telling me that you have chewed and swallowed as much steak and baked potato as your body can hold?"

Little C:  "Yes."

Mama: "And that you have followed my advice and actually chewed your food this evening."

Little C: "Yes."

At this point he starts to look encouraged.

Mama: "So even though you have eaten less than half of your dinner you are telling me that you are full.  But not so full that you couldn't follow up with a big bowl of ice cream."

Little C: "YES!"

Mama: "Since there is no dessert tonight...you can use that fourth chamber to fit the rest of your potato, kid."

Nearly Headless Mama

...but not because of the scarf.  Because I wore a dark sweater and hat in front of cherry cabinets.

I cut bias strips from an icy blue organza georgette and did a straight, raw edge on the scarf.  I love it with my brown hat and brown down jacket.

I tried doing a slight ruffle but it was too Miss Havisham for me.

CTs and panCakes

Big C did great today!  He had a tough day at the Doctor on Wednesday and since today's test at the hospital required an IV, I was prepared for more of the same.  All I can say is, I love nitrous oxide!  Big C was SO cute when he was all looped up on it.  The nurses were laughing because he said he felt funny but was completely lucent.  He just closed his eyes and talked through his smile.  Very Zen.  

Of course it helped that the very pretty nurse seemed to have a crush on C from the moment she saw him.  She said he looked like her brother when he was a kid.  He was perfectly pleased to accept the attention.

During the scan he laid perfectly still.  It was a Savasana any yogi or yogini would be proud of!

Then we went out for pancakes.  Let me rephrase that: we went out for PANCAKES.  We got to the little diner and C bellied up to the counter and ordered 4 cakes.  They were so big that they arrived on two plates.  The waiter did not believe that he would be able to eat them all.  But Big C worked his way through all 4 cakes the size of a plate!  As he was eating the staff kept walking by to check on his progress.  The gentleman eating oatmeal two stools down just stared at him doubtfully while Big C ate.  When I paid the bill our waiter said he would never forget watching such a small kid eat so many pancakes.

Magic Scarf

Did you all know cashmere comes loaded with mojo?

I did not know this.

But nothing else explains the flirty stranger who offered to share his table and pay for my espresso at the coffee shop earlier today.  I said no to both of his offers.  I am just not into the tall, handsome, expensive coat wearing, greying temples, full wavy hair, subtle wrinkles around his laughing eyes kind of guy.  (Sigh.)

I have not been single for a LONG time.  But I have to imagine that a pick-up line like that just might work for a certain kind of fellow.

And, as it turned out, my husband was flirting with me a bit today too...with his comment on my previous post.  THAT is a pick up line that always works from exactly the fellow I AM into.

Crafty Mama

I am feeling all kinds of crafty today!  Dr. Fancypants helped me figure out how to make a scarf I had been craving.  And now I have this lovely cashmere blend scarf that ripples for SO LITTLE money!  No joke.  This beautiful wool ran me around $13.

I tried bleaching the edge to soften it but the dye held on for dear life and I was afraid to go any stronger for fear of eating away the wool.  Might mess with adding dye to the edge of another version.

I am going to go look at some yummy trim for the edge of it.  I want something sheer with a slight ruffle without looking like Queen Elizabeth I or one of those heirloom chickens.  While I love fancy fowl and kick-ass feminist monarchs (tiaras every day...oh the fun of it!) there is some fashion danger in toeing too close to the Nearly-Headless-Nick line.  

Will update...and post directions.

A mama and her boy

I don't know if I have done a very good job of letting you all know what an incredible kid Big C is.  He tends to be a little quieter.  More low key.  There are days where he is on the verge of stodgy, almost.  But every time I really look at him I am blown away by what a good person he is.

When Big C was 5 we were all at a playground in another part of town.  We knew no one else there.  And it took him about 3 minutes to round up a group of older boys and organize them all in an imaginary game of pirates.  These big 10 year olds were calling him Captain, and happy to follow any orders he barked at them.  

This is my boy who collects neck ties as vacation souvenirs.  The one who asked for a Navy Blue Blazer for Christmas last year.  He tucks in his shirt, wears a belt, likes to dress nicely, and wears his hair above his ears.  He loves wool socks.  Did I mention he is turning 9 next month?  Not 49.  09.  I guess that is how you buck the system around here.

He has read The Complete Far Side and has one right on the tip of his tongue to fit every circumstance.  He is completely intrigued by Calvin and Hobbs and laughs until he can't breathe, but then will tell me that while he thinks it is funny that Calvin would hold up a sign in the car window saying "help I am being kidnapped" he also knows that the consequences of such behavior would be very bad.  He is the one who always "beeps" over the cussing in any music playing.  He is a vegetarian because he does not think animals should be food.  And he very gently picks up any bug in the house and lets it go outside.

He and I went away this past weekend.  Mama and the boy took a road trip to visit friends.  We were driving at night and saw a farm on fire.  The house, the barn, everything.  The fire trucks were still racing to the scene and the flames were shooting 70 feet in the air.  The low, winter clouds above were blood red.  It was dramatic and scary.  He started to cry and was asking if the animals could let themselves out of the barn and hoping no people or pets were hurt.  It was a 4 hour drive each way and we spent part of it analyzing the lyrics to some They Might Be Giants songs.  He liked "Someone Keeps Moving my Chair" and "Your Racist Friend."  He asks some very big questions.  

Big C was jumping on the mini trampoline last night because it was too cold to play outside.  He was not exactly jumping, it was more of a Flash Dance jogging in place sort of thing.  And this is what he says:  "I am (huff) trying to get my heart rate (puff) up.  (Inhale.)  Because I am one of the (heeefff) shorter kids in my class (whoooooof) I thought I would make up for it (haaaaaah) with speed."  And that is how he handles most of his challenges.  

Big C has an autoimmune disorder.  Thankfully, he has only had two major episodes, but the one a year ago was pretty serious.  He was taking huge doses of Prednisone, which helped almost instantly, but had some obvious side effects.  One was that he suddenly put on 20 pounds.  Now I will probably do that over Christmas, but since he only weighed 40 to begin with, it was quite dramatic.  He also had the classic Prednisone moon face.  And his eye brows grew up while his hair line came down to meet them.  

When a younger neighbor boy saw him he said, "What is wrong with your face?"  

Big C smiled and said, "Nothing.  I am taking some medicine that helps me feel better but made my face change."  

The boy said, "Well I want your face the way it was!"

And Big C patted him on the back and told him not to worry.  That when he was done with the medicine his face would be back to normal.  There he was struggling with real, physical pain and he was comforting someone else.

At the end of every school day he gives me a hug and a kiss in front of his classmates.  I have been told those days are short lived, but I am not so sure.  He hugs his sister AND his brother too.  The three of them stand in a little knot, like wolf cubs that had wandered apart, and sniff their happy little greetings in the school lobby.  In fact, they all sleep in the same queen sized bed while three twin beds stand empty.  The other day in the back of the van he said, "Even if we weren't siblings we would all be best friends!"  All together now: Awww!

Big C is so strong in many ways that when he is vulnerable it brings out the mama bear in me like nothing else.  He has an appointment with the specialist tomorrow.  We both know they will need to draw some blood.  And it doesn't matter that he can be very logical about it before we get there.  He will tell me when it is over that it really did not hurt.  But that does not stop him from having a full-blown panic attack while we are there.  This tiny, gentle boy has pulled an acrylic pocket right out of their wall, screws, anchors, and chunks of drywall.  He has flexed so tightly when the needle was in that he has blown out the vein in one arm, and then the other.  No bribe, no treat, no amount of holding and soothing will calm him down.  

When it is over, we will both be sitting in the chair hugging and wiping away our tears.  And then we will go enjoy some vegetarian pad thai and waste half the day together because I am happy for any excuse to keep him close to me.  

"And while you're at it, keep the nightlight on 

inside the birdhouse in your soul."

 

-Birdhouse In Your Soul, They Might Be Giants

Guest Post: little c

i love  snickerdoodles

i love mama

i love daddy 

go off no on love tree try aeiou a kiss 

look book cook took hook rook

i love my 3 dogs

Birdy Haiku

This bee skep is one of my favorite things I have ever bought.  I do not keep bees.  If I did I would have looked for the kind of skep with a spigot at the bottom.  The kind where you just turn the handle and gooey golden goodness gobs forth.  (I am in an alliterative kind of mood.)  It turns out, sorry to disappoint anyone here, that the spigot-variety only exist in cartoons.  

This one was in a tidy little garden shop way back when I did not have children and I could spend idle days thinking about how to use this in my garden.  Then I brought it home and put it on a storage shelf and left it there--for more years than it deserved to be sitting all alone and unloved.  

When we remodeled the kitchen, I picked out fire engine red counter tops over espresso cherry cabinets for half of the kitchen.  The rest is a glazed knotty alder with espresso counter tops.  The walls are a shade of green.  Red glass shades on the pendant lights.  You may not have picked up on my little dilemma yet so I will help you out: I was stuck trying to accessorize a red and green kitchen.  My solution was to work the browns, add some black, and find some texture to mellow the shiny red counters.

Don't go thinking I don't love the red.  I still smile when I think about how they match half of my shoes.  But they were still shiny and red.  During the install the counter-man laughed and said, "no one has ever ordered this color before."  

And while digging around in my house for things to go on my new bookshelves, I found the bee skep.  Brown, textured, same benefits of a basket without having to dust any plastic fruit.  It now sits on the counter below an oil painting of poppy fields.  I keep a copy of The Secret Life of Bees nearby just for fun.

And now just look!  This wee tiny little birdlet has moved in.  

Yes she sings, no stings, 

Found among dear Joanie's things.  

Itty painted wings.

I am going to be in trouble

SO my baby lost his two front teeth yesterday.  The toppers.  He has lost three on the bottom already.  When those fell out the new, giant, serrated mothers popped up very quickly.  It was strange.  Plus I felt robbed of the gap.  I LOVE THE GAP!  My camera was dead yesterday but I promise to add a picture of it after school today.  (This pic was snapped by the brilliant wendyb on the sidewalk outside of school one day.  She is smart, funny, and incredibly talented.  Her blog is on my list.  You should peek.)

Miss M had months worth of gap.  But she was an aggressive wiggler.  She has manipulated out teeth that really should not have come out yet.  And even though her teeth have grown in she still has a habit of only biting and chewing with her molars.  Well, what else could she do when she spent all of first grade with all 8 front teeth missing?

Big C never wiggles a tooth.  He just chews to one side and ignores it until he spits it out one day brushing the teeth around it.  Teeth so loose they fall out when he drools.  With the first couple he lost, he would press them into the gums instead of wiggling them.

These two teeth of Little C's were just hanging crookedly, flapping like wind chimes when he spoke.  They were more fun that way so he was in no hurry to get them out.  The first one fell out yesterday morning at home so I sent him to school looking like he lost a fight: his blonde mop was hanging in his face, his cheeks were red with wind burn, his chapped lips were crusty and split, he was missing one tooth, and the remainder was dangling by a thread.  Not his best look, but it would seem 5 year old girls have different standards than the mama.  It must be those blue eyes.  When people ask me where he got them I say, "Paul Newman, but don't tell my husband."  

The second tooth fell out at recess.  He was just wiggling it, you know, to impress the ladies.  But it is cold here and he was wearing mittens.  And the tooth fell into the snow.  As luck would have it, it landed bloody hole up so he spotted it.  He put it in his mitten for safe keeping.  When the whistle blew he was walking in and happened to pass Miss M and company on their way out to recess.  All of the fifth grade girls gave him a congratulatory hug (which also seems to impress the kindergarten girls) and he gave Miss M charge of the tooth.  

Now the tooth was in her mitten while she ran around and dug in the snow.  When she got back inside she ignored the safety of her locker, backpack, and pockets.  There were too many possibilities for loss or theft in those locations.  So she wrapped it in kleenex and put it in her sock.  Not tall socks, mind you, but low anklets.  She stuffed it in the arch.  And the tooth stayed there through the rest of the day, including gym class.    

The tooth fairy tucked a crispy $2 bill under his pillow as a rare treat for losing two teeth in one day and saving her a trip.  And, as I have signed up for the tooth-buy-back-program, I have purchased the pair of choppers for my collection.  (I will fill you in on our tooth fairy lore sometime.)

But the funny effect of his classroom celebrity yesterday (loosing a tooth is a BIG deal) was some lingering appeal with the ladies.  Moose took the kids to school this morning, and the report is this: there was a little bundle of girls waiting for Little C inside the front door.  They giggled and cooed their hellos at him.  He gave them a casual side-nod and half a smile--a maneuver any high school boy would have to practice in the mirror for hours comes naturally to Little C.  Moose walks him to his locker and continues on to talk to Miss M's teacher.  When he comes back, little C is almost done putting his shoes on and there is one little girl, leaning on the desk in the hallway and making doe eyes at him (picture that scene from Bambi).  This is how it plays out:

Girl:  (in a sing-song way)  C, I know how to spell your name.  [She spells it slowly, lingering on the vowels]

Little C: [stands, picks up his folder with an air of nonchalance]

Moose:  C, do you know how to spell her name?  [Asking only so he could tell the mama which little girl was doing the flirting.]

Little C:  [Gives his dad a look to indicate that he is now quite certain that his dad is, in fact, an utter moron and would do well to stay out of it.  He knows how to handle this.  He went to preschool.]

Then the boy, with an air of Cool Hand Luke about him, breezes past them both and into the classroom.  The pig-tailed doll spins and follows.

It is getting harder to hide the evidence of my whole Paul Newman episode.  But don't tell Moose. 

Come on!

I do not like professional sports.  I do not follow any of them.  I am simply not an affiliate.  You will never see a jersey on me or the people I buy clothes for.  I do not need to find masses of people to agree with me on any topic in order to feel like I belong or my opinion is valid.  Not a team choice, not a direct marketing scam, not anything.  The larger the number of people of that are into something the less I tend to like it.  I am neither a fan nor a fanatic.

I am not claiming to be some anti-TV-activist.  I can consume with the best of them.  I just prefer to chose things that have a relevance in my own life.  (Like House.  That medical information could save my life some day!  And maybe yours too if you are with me and you suddenly experience a spontaneous tension pneumothorax.  I would feel confident stabbing a needle between your ribs to siphon off the air pocket in your pleural space.)  

I will occasionally enjoy part of a game of whatever is on.  I actually like sports.  I just really dislike the whole biz surrounding professional sports.

Which is why I don't know why I clicked on the news this morning about the NHL declaring its outrage and coming to the defense over some actress' reputation.  Maybe it was the irony in the NHL displaying indignation over anything, especially over how one of their players talked badly about an ex-girlfriend.

From what I can surmise, Sean Avery is a jerk and has been for years.  But there were a dozen reasons to suspend the icehole before this.  So what changed?  Don't try to sell me the PR spin about damaging the reputation of a young lady.  She is currently dating her third pro-hockey player and regularly poses like a seasoned porn star.  She is clearly not interested in "nice guys".      

What he looks like is a petulant brat.  The kind of guy who will talk smack because his own shallow self-worth is tied up in beating other people.  And even if she is an ex, he can't handle the mere thought that the public might think she chose someone else over him.  He looks like the kind of person who has no tools to feel good about himself without putting someone else down.  

Pro athletes are, just as the rest of us, products of their environment.  The icehole makes money for someone.  His behavior has been tolerated because he sells tickets and jerseys.  The only reason they are coming down on him now is that they fear his new comments will damage their own bottom line.  

When will we ever learn that it is a rare exception that is actually worth half the attention they receive?  Pro sports is not a deep pool of role models, folks.  But even I can see that there is something appealing in the stories of the few good guys out there.  The players who stay grounded, treat their wives with respect, build up those around them, and use their platform to improve things.  But they should have to earn the adoration.  Smacking people instead of the puck takes you off the list.  And occasionally, it would appear, off the ice.

Schemers and Savages

My sweet, darling children have this to say to Land's End:

You accept any return or exchange for any reason.  You also sell tins of cookies this time of year.  (Do you see where this is going?)

I think the words "exploit the giant loop hole" were said.  Also "we could take advantage of them for free cookies."  

(Miss M has clearly abandoned all Socialist leanings.  She is a microcosm of economic theory in fast forward.)

The plan is this: buy the cookies, eat the cookies, return the empty tin for a full one.  Repeat.  Land's End, consider yourself warned.

So I lied.

Wouldn't be the first time.  Certainly not the last.  You see, I tried these on.  I am woman enough to admit the mistake of not having bought them and kept them for myself for ever and ever amen.  I lied to myself.  I lied to the shoe.  They were a perfect fit.  Made me walk a little taller even.  Should have bought them right then and there.  

What did I take home that day instead you might wonder.  Cute yellow wedge sandals from JCrew.  Also nice.  But now that winter is here I can't slip them on over pointelle knit tights.  But of course these J-41 wedges would not have gone with the white summer dress and yellow cardigan.  

I am going to throw a pretty poorly sourced quote at you.  It comes from the author, Janet Fitch, talking about something her former therapist had said to her:  

"I know it feels like you have all these options and when you make a decision you are losing a world of possibilities.  But the reality is, until you make a decision, you have nothing at all."

So at least I am not barefoot, right?  Or is she telling me to get the J-41 shoes as well and keep my options open?  

Just one more shoe

Look at the inverted bottle taper on this heel.  Brilliant and beautiful.  The color is Mermaid.   And with the whole Nike+Cole Haan=Comfy thing they have going on...good thing they come in patent.  The drool wipes right off.

shoeshoeshoeshoeshoes...yes!

Sorry.  No photo.  But after this description you won't even want one.  You couldn't handle the picture anyway.  Thank you to my friend Miss Regina for calling this what it is--Hot Shoe Porn! 

Cole Haan red patent leather peep toe mary jane sling back kitten heels

Was it good for you?

Hello, Mall...

...remember me?  You have changed a bit since I have seen you last.  It has been two long months.  I know.  My bad.  You have always been there...waiting...anticipating.  Hope it was worth the wait.  My credit card thinks it was.

I know it was just a quickie.  I promise to stay longer next time.  Especially since you showed me a couple of new tricks.  It was quick but it worked for me.  Thanks for keeping it fresh.

I love the new soap at LUSH called The Godmother.  Thanks to the ladies working (they hire the nicest people) for the funny chat and the sample.  We spent quite some time trying to pinpoint the smell.  Yes, it is soap.  Yes, I want to lick it.  And after trying to identify it (not Jello, not Kool Aid) I figured it out.  Twizzler.  But not Twizzler in the bag.  Twizzler whiff in the car on a road trip.  Twizzler breath.  Warm Twizzlers in the sun on the dashboard.  

J. Jill, thank you for offering your Cyber Monday 25% off on EVERYTHING in the store just as you have online today.  Very thoughtful of you.  I know I tried on lots of things, left a huge but tidy pile in the dressing room, and eventually bought nothing.  But you had 5 women working with nothing else to do.  I am worried about you.  Have you lost your shoppers?

Mr. Bauer, can I call you Ed?  Why no corduroy skirts?  They are in the catalog...the website...but not the store.  Is this an oversight or was the supply depleted by the busy shopping weekend?  Since you still have 3,176 puffy jackets still in the store I am thinking oversight.

And Crocs!  You are so crazy innovative with the footwear.  Now you have furry lined mary jane ballet flats.  Miss M will be wanting them.  Maybe the Mama too.

  

H&M: can a 36 year old mother of three get away with the ballet pink tiered ruffle mini skirt?  Did I mention she is short and round?  Maybe the black one then.