Things that Go BUMP in my Mind

Knitting, stitching, reading, gardening, cooking--I have no time for any of it.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Sorry.

I was all set to write a cute and funny blog entry today about how we all got a bit crisped at the pool this weekend, but then I found out that a member of my church, a young man with a wife and baby girl, had emergency open heart surgery, and he's not doing well.

So, I'm sure you'll understand that I don't feel cute and funny at the moment. I'm mostly worried about this young man and his wife--dear God, I cannot imagine what she is going through right now. And I am praying, because that is the only thing that I can do at the moment. And even though I know it is the most powerful thing I can do, it still feels so very inadequate.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

All right, all right.

Since y'all are so curious, I'll give you two more words, but I'm telling you, you're going to be sorry you asked.




Poop.





Fingerpaint.






See? You're sorry, aren't you? I know I am.

Two words.

Owen.

ThankGodIhaveasteamcleaner.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Two movies! No, scratch that...

A movie and a half.

Andy and I went to see "Over the Hedge" on Saturday. Cute movie, appropriate for little kids. No real scariness, little or no potty humor (I can't recall any at the moment), and while there is some adult humor, it all went right over Andy's head. One thumbs up from me.

Last night, Chuck and I attempted to watch "Finding Neverland." Oh my, how I love Miramax pictures. Films that actually, say, develop characters and allow moments to linger when a half-second jump cut would suffice in any other production. Beautiful costuming, beautiful acting, beautiful dialogue. Le sigh.

Which is why it was all the more disconcerting when the DVD just STOPPED smack in the middle of the whole shebang. Movieus Interuptus. No. Fun. Our attempts at resuscitation failed, so the disc will go back to Netflix for a replacement, and Kate Winslet's "chest cold" and Johnny Depp's failing marriage (with a lovely Liverpudlian accent) will have to wait for another day.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Finally!

Someone who agrees with me that Dan Brown
couldn't write his way out of a paper bag.

The linked article is actually about a bit of plagiarism, not the extreme awfulness of Brown's prose. Scroll down to the bottom for links to that stuff.

And, I would like to add my name to list of those who have not read "The Da Vinci Code."

Monday, May 15, 2006

My mother's day presents.

I had a completely, absolutely lovely mother's day. These were my presents:

(1) An orchid corsage as I walked into church.

(2) Watching Owen wordlessly show his precious lovey, Lion, to a little girl in church. That probably doesn't seem like much to any of you, but for Owen to reach out to another person he does not know? Huge. Completely huge.

(3) A two-hour nap.

(4) A Curious George doll on my bedroom floor. Before his bedtime, Andy and I were playing "hospital" with George, who (I was told) had a boo-boo on his chest. And Andy told me that George wanted to sleep in my room, so I had to be sure to remember to bring him upstairs at my bedtime. I said, "mm-hmm" and immediately forgot about it. But when I came to bed (close to midnight, but that's what I get for taking a two-hour nap), there was George, propped up on Andy's favorite pillow and wrapped in Andy's beloved Bubby--the blankie he totes everywhere, the blankie that he won't let me patch because I only have time to do it at night, and he can't sleep without it. That Bubby. It made George feel better to have Bubby, so Andy did without.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm really not much of a mom. Sometimes, it seems like I am a monumental failure to the institution of motherhood, and I wonder if I should just cut my kids' losses and give them to someone who will do a better job. Last weekend was one of those weekends--completely horrible from start to finish, and I cried myself to sleep Sunday night, thinking of how badly I was failing my kids.

But I did a lot of thinking last week, and I think that maybe, just maybe, I've finally gotten a few basics through my head. Basics like, Andy and Owen don't care if I'm skinny or fat. They don't care if I'm hip or funky or clever (none of which I am, incidentally). They care about whether I am smiling when I pick them up from school. They care about whether I am there for snuggles, or for baseball practice, or at the school play. They don't care that our house doesn't look like something out of Southern Living; they just care that Mommy and Daddy are both there, with them, in it. In short, all that matters to them is that I love them.

And from these basics, I have arrived at the advanced conclusion: All that matters to me is that I love them.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Except for, you know, practically everything

An actual conversation in the parking lot at Owen's school:

Person #1: Well, would you look at that.

Me, attempting to follow his gaze: What?

P#1: There, on the bank building.

Me (looking for something remarkable--flames, lights, anything--seeing nothing): What?

P#1: On the side. Look at that!

Me: The window washers?

P#1: Yeah. Isn't that something?

Person #2: New York City's got nothin' on us.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Going, going ...

We got Andy a two-wheel bike (with training wheels, natch) last year. He didn't ride it much last summer. It was still a bit big for him, and it's a pretty heavy bike, which made it hard for him to get up the moderate hills in our neighborhood.

And going down the hills? Pretty much scared the crap out of him. Going down even the mildest of hills was totally crazy making (for me, anyway): goSTOP! gooSTOP! goooSTOP! goSTOP! goSTOP! goooSTOP! Like that. Little old ladies in walkers cackled at us as they flew by. (You think I'm kidding.)

This year is a different story. Andy is taller (I'm a completely lame mom without a height chart, so I have no idea how much taller) and stronger. Going up hills can be a challenge, but he can handle most of them.

Going down hills? He's become a completely fearless speed-demon. On Saturday, as he biked around the neighborhood with me walking along beside behind him, we got to a long, straight, moderate slope. Without so much as a "see ya, Mommy" he was off, speeding down the hill with only an occasional tap on the brakes to control acceleration. He totally left me in the dust.

I was at once proud and wistful. Proud because Andy, who tends to be rather fearful, is becoming so much more brave and self-confident. Wistful because I know I have to let him go out into the world on his own one of these days.

On Saturday, he was waiting for me at the bottom of the hill with a huge grin on his face. I hope that part never changes.

Friday, May 05, 2006

That is sooooo 2005.

Since the boys are still too young to know any better, I still cut their hair myself. This happens about every six to ten weeks. The routine usually goes something like this: about 5 weeks after the last haircut, I notice that the boys are getting a bit shaggy. Over the ensuing weeks, Chuck and I have series of conversations like this:

"We need to give the boys a haircut."

"Yeah, we do. But not tonight. We're tired/they're tired/there's a game on/Mercury is in retrograde."

"Yup."

"Maybe this weekend."

"Sounds good."


Eventually we get around to it, and the cycle begins again.

The thing is, Andy starts *asking* for a haircut at about week 3. It's not that he's so fastidious about his hair--haircuts mean a bath in Mommy's tub, which is big enough for two boys, bubbles, toys, and a lot of splashing. Mommy's tub is da bomb.

So Andy started asking for a haircut last week, and I started putting him off. Yesterday morning before school, he took matters into his own hands:



I should note that every female adult person who saw Andy yesterday (me, his teachers, the moms at karate, etc.) noticed this as soon as Andy was within five feet. The male person who is in charge of getting Andy to school, and who presumably was in close contact with him for at least a portion of the morning *after* this occurred? Not so much. But I digress.

Obviously, the solution to this was a haircut (a glass of wine would have been nice, too, but I'm dieting, remember?). On any ordinary kid (say, his little brother), a 1/4" trim would have been sufficient to minimize the appearance of the bald spot while not making him look like a Marine recruit. Andy, however, has an incredibly thick head of hair. So, out came the 1/8" trimmer. And now we have this:



It's so kind of my child to provide me with blog fodder. I just wish he wouldn't repeat himself.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Hey, Mr. DJ!

I am in need of a musical interlude.

You know what a musical interlude is, right? It's the bit in the movie where our hapless protagonist fixes his car with the help of the cute French girl, or learns to dance with the help of the hip city guy, or studies really hard, or generally goes from ugly duckling to swan.

I need want to lose about 15 pounds, and amazingly enough, it's not coming off when I just sit around thinking about how nice it would be to be a size 8/10 again instead of a size 12/14. I'm willing to do the necessary work--I joined weight watchers, remember?--but I'd really prefer to have it take about 3 minutes while a peppy song is playing.

Failing that, I am declaring May as my personal "musical interlude" month, during which I plan to (literally) work my ass off. There will be exercise, there will be limited quantities of judiciously selected food, there will be gallons and gallons and gallons of Crystal Lite. And at the end of it, with any luck, there will be less of me.

As of Monday, I was at 156. We'll see where I am on May 31.

Cue the music ....