Early Warning System Failure

Nose blows are surely as unique as our faces or fingerprints, right?  Mine?  Well, I have a medium-loud blow when I'm with family or alone, and a dainty squeak of a girly blow when I'm in public.  My kids?  Well, we usually have to nag them to get them to actually do it and when they do, it's likely messy.  But Dave...oh, my, my, my, Dave.  His do actual damage to the ears of anyone in the surrounding area.  We were at a store once when he blew his nose and a child about five feet away actually started crying.  His blows are bad, people!

So, as Dave always likes to be a nice guy, he came up with a warning system so we would all have a chance to cover our ears and prevent future hearing loss.  Here's how it's been going.


Dave:  "HOOOOOOONNNKK!!!!"

Everyone else:  "Aaaaaaaaaaah!!  My ears...they're bleeding!!!!!"

Dave:  "Excuse me."

Everyone else:  "You were supposed to warn us!"

Dave:  "Oh, yeah.  What was I supposed to say again?"

Everyone else:  "'Blow' warning, remember?"

Dave:  "HOOOOOOONNNKK!!!!  Look out B-low!"

Everyone else:  "You're supposed to warn us before you blow!"

Dave:  "Oh, well now I don't have any more buggers."


I know it's poor form when you have to explain a joke, but as Dave came up with this one, I figure it just might need explanation.  

"Look out B-low!" is very similar to "Look out below!" but it's funny because "B-low" spells "Blow".  OK, go ahead and laugh now, get it out of your system.

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The Gift of Words

Thirteen year olds fart a lot.  Or maybe thirteen year old boys fart a lot.  Or maybe it's just my thirteen year old boy who farts a lot.

Let me just pause here for a moment to say that my little guy wears his farts proudly and will likely love this blog.

His current super power is waiting until the car doors are shut and the car is moving, and then ripping one.  It makes me wonder if this phenomenon exists in the wild.  Not the "in the car" part, but the rest for sure.  And, if so, why?

Anyway, tonight in the car, after a series of having to roll all the windows down and up and then down again...we had one of our truly Parsons conversations.


Dave:  "You need to keep your stinkamus holamus closed."  (This was to the little guy.)

Dave:  "You can use that in your blog."  (This was to me.  I know, I'm a very lucky lady.)

Me:  "I don't think I can use that."

Dave:  "No, no, no, I can work it out."

Me (under my breath):  "He works out..."  (Because, after all, I'm obsessed with that song.)


How I get from teenage boy farts to "Sexy and I know it" in a matter of a hundred words or so is awe inspiring...I'm quite sure.  Jealous much?

This was a very scary chiminea and an abandoned beverage that sat 

across the canal from where we stayed in Rockport.  

I thought they were a very lovely couple.

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Cone Head

Poor Hazel.  Since being spayed yesterday, she's been stuck with the dog's most hated accessory...the cone of shame terror.  She doesn't know what to make of it.  Except for that it is bad.  Very, very bad.  And she must have done something absolutely terrible to deserve such a thing.  Me thinks she thinks we've stuck her in the corner with a dunce cap upon her head.


So, here's what our sweet Hazel is able to do with the cone on:

- stand perfectly still pretending to be a statue so the cone won't notice and eat her alive.
- drool...a lot.


Here's what she can't do with the cone on:

- eat food from her bowl because if the cone hits the bowl, well, that's very scary!
- drink water from her bowl for the same reason as the food.
- walk anywhere because the cone hits stuff when she moves...super scary!


One day with the cone down...only nine more to go, poor, sweet, neurotic girl.


P.S. We do give her regular cone break eating/drinking opportunities, so please don't think we're meanies.  And...I think that maybe, just maybe, she's considering taking a step or two with it on...maybe.

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Doses of Sweetness

It's been anesthesia week round these parts.  Big guy had his wisdom teeth removed and Hazel had her internal lady parts removed.  I asked the dental doctor guy if we could have the teeth when they were done and he said, "no."  So, I figured there wasn't any point in asking about Hazel's parts, right?  Weird to even think about, eh, but this girl grew up with the hip ball thingie that had been removed from the family cat in a small bottle in the medicine cabinet for years (the hip ball thingie, not the cat).

Anyway, when we were able to go see our big guy after his procedure, he greeted us with this conversation...over and over, at least five times.


Big guy:  "How long have you been here?"

Me and/or Dave:  "I stayed here the whole time."

Big guy:  "No, I mean here.  Here in this building."

Me and/or Dave:  "Yes, sweetie, here in this building."


Such a sweet little doped up guy!

So, you'll never guess what happened when we picked up Hazel after her procedure.  They brought her into the room and she immediately lay down on our feet and gazed up at us.  And I kid you not, that furry little girl asked us with her big brown eyes...


Hazel:  "How long have you been here?"


Pure sweetness round two.

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Sooooo in Love

I don't mean to embarrass my children.  OK, I do a little bit, but I don't want to hurt them or do something that makes them violent or anything like that.  And, gosh, it's always out of love, of course.  So, I was sitting at the table painting, and Dave and the little guy were watching TV.  Some commercial came on and the background music was Al Green's "Let's Stay Together".

Well, first I started singing along...


Me:  "I'm sooooooo in love with yooooooou!"

Little guy:  "I know you are, but you don't have to sing it."


Of course I couldn't stop singing, I just couldn't!


Little guy:  "I will shoot you with a rubber band if you don't stop."


Course you know what that did...the only response to violence is love, right...right?  So, Dave chimed in.  I swear there were little musical notes swirling overhead and they were all shaped like hearts.  It was just beautiful.  If you were us, that is.  If you were my little guy, you had already left the room in a huff and slammed the door.

That's alright.  We'll remember right where we were in the song and when he comes out we'll pick up where we left off.  Feel the love, kiddo, feel the love.

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Quirky is as Quirky Does

Earlier today Dave caught me licking my plate.  Yes, when I'm home, I lick my plate sometimes...waste not, want not, right?  And besides, it was delicious!


Me:  "I know, I'm weird."

Dave:  "Let's drop the 'weird' and call it 'pleasantly quirky'."


So, tonight when we were eating at Uchi, Dave spilled some of our dessert on the table and proceeded to pick up every crumb and eat it.


Me:  "Way to be pleasantly quirky, darlin'."


And, yeah, I did so want to lick that plate...but we were in public after all...and I am a lady.

...a quirky one.

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Brotherly love...it's kind of like pulling teeth.

Our big guy is going to have his wisdom teeth removed this week.  Poor guy got his mother's small mouth.  We went shopping today so we'd have all the right mushy foods around the house.  Ice cream, check!  Jello, check!  Pudding, check!  That's the day one cold mushy foods.  The big guy is seriously almost excited to have it done.  Soup, check!  The makings for potato salad, check!  That's the day two mushy foods.  Big guy prefers the day one menu.

He's also gonna have to take horse pill-sized antibiotics the day before and for six days after the surgery.  Little dude walked in on our conversation about them.


Little guy:  "Why do you have to take them?"

Me:  "Because he's having his wisdom teeth removed and they want to make sure he doesn't get an infection."

Little guy:  Tapping big guy gently on the arm, "Sorry, man."  <giggles>

Me:  "Probably gonna happen to you someday."

Little guy:  "I know, but that's in a long while...and he'll move out before then and won't be here to laugh at me then."


Thinking big guy might already be thinking about arranging time in his schedule when he's 20 to come back and tap the little guy on his arm...and giggle a bit.

Ah....brotherly love.

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Missed Target

Dave and I were eating at a restaurant the other night.  Good food.  Good times.  For the life of me I can't remember what lead up to what happened, but I can only assume that Dave was being a toot...or I was being a toot and he was being a toot in response...it can easily go either way.  Anyway, I had been playing with the paper wrapper my straw had come in.  I have a bit of an obsessive habit of folding the wrapper in half, then in half again, and again till it's about the size of a pea.  So, I'd been holding onto said wrapper and suddenly felt the need to flick it at him.  He deserved it, but, again, I cannot remember why.  The wee little thing flew through the air, went right by his head, and landed on the next table over.

Now, as I always own up to things right away, I quickly looked in the opposite direction...I might've even whistled just a bit.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the couple at the table turn to see where it had come from.  And, what did my lovely husband do?


Dave:  "She did it."  I turned toward them and smiled my sweetest smile.

Me:  "I'm so sorry.  I meant to hit him."


Must start target practice.  Every day.

 

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A Little Morning Love

Another day of rousing my sweet little guy out of bed.  Risking my life as I navigate the obstacle course that is his bedroom as I gently guide him toward the bathroom.  I lean in, kiss his cheek as this is when he's most likely to tolerate such behavior and whisper in his ear.


Me:  "My sweet boy...I love you, I love you, I love you."

Little guy:  "I can see people falling in the background."


In case you're feeling a little clueless, that's sleepyland language for, "Mom, I love you, too.  You're my favorite person on this entire planet.  I think you're amazing and I am, without a doubt, the luckiest kid in the world."

Now isn't that just wonderful?

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Danger, Danger!

Hazel was madly barking the other morning.  She was going crazy!  Dave ran to find her, you know, because he's super brave and all.  Well, what horrible threat to our well-being did he find?  It was little guy's evil electric toothbrush doing quite a little vibration dance in the hallway.  Well, our dog, Hazel, is quite a bada**.  She had shown it who was boss.  The head of the brush had been pulled off and chewed to bits.  Dave turned off the toothbrush, cleaned up the broken bits, and praised Hazel for her bravery.

So two things.

1 - The Parsons house is now and forever safe from all dangerous appliances, big and small. 

2 - All pieces of the toothbrush head were found except for half of the rotating brush tip.  Thinking that we will not only have the bravest dog on the block, but the one with the cleanest colon.

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Starting all Stupid and Stuff

It's no secret.  My favorite time of the day begins when I wake up and, well, takes a few notches down when my family starts moving around and making their presence known.  There, I've said it.  I've got them all convinced that I use my alone time to brew my tea, meditate, perhaps catch up on some laundry or dishes, read, paint, or anything else that resides on the zen spectrum.  Well, today, just about fifteen minutes after I woke up, Dave popped out of the bedroom and into the living room all perky and stuff.  He looked at me, all expectant like, and I could see his lip curl and his nose scrunch just a touch. 


Dave:  "Why are you sitting there all stupid?"


You see, I was sitting at the table eyes at half mast, mouth slightly agape, slouching in my P.J.s.


Me:  "Because this is how I start my day...I get smarter as the day goes on."


And, dangit, I've been having to prove that all day long.  It's been exhausting!  And not exactly successful.  Sigh....

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Head Waggin' Oblivian

After griping at my little guy tonight for what now appears to be a teeth brushing strike, I went in the bathroom to brush my own teeth.  I realized tonight that I must never, as in never ever, look at myself when I brush my teeth.  I knew there was one odd thing I do when I brush my teeth.  That is that I always turn the water on about 30 seconds before I am ready to swish and spit.  I feel guilty every time, imagine the Sesame Street piece about that very thing, turn it off, then fight the impulse to turn it back on for the remaining 27 or so seconds. 

Sesame Street Tooth Brushing Guilt Video

I've been aware of this behavior and have been battling it for as long as I can remember.  It's caused me much guilt and stress.  OK, breathe, inhale, exhale...sigh....

So tonight when I was brushing my teeth I turned on the water too early (again!), turned it off, then decided to look at myself.  You know, to be my own distraction.  I am now officially aware of yet another odd tooth brushing habit I possess.  Perhaps everyone does it and it's no thang, but somehow I suspect it's just me.  This is what I saw.  As I brushed side to side (I know I'm supposed to do it in circles, don't lecture me) I also wiggled my head side to side.  It was like I was saying, "no, no, no, no, no, no."  Oy...  Have I always done this?  I can only assume so.  I clearly need a dental hygiene therapist.

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A tale of a wee little elbow bo-bo

You know that feeling when you hit your funny bone and it's totally not funny?  Well, I zinged my funny bone on a very sharp TV stand today.  I actually have a hole in my elbow.  Round these parts we call such injuries "elbow bo-bos" because we're quite hilarious, don't ya know.  And, yeah, if someone stubs their toe, we're awesome about telling them to, "Call a toe truck."  I tell ya, it's an injury riot around here!

Now, I do have an honestly-earned reputation for hosting pity parties and wanting to milk it...just a little, anyway.  So of course I had to give it a try at dinner tonight.


Me:  "My elbow hurts."  It's true, five hours later it still hurts.

Dave:  "Dog bite."  (whilst pointing at the top of his left wrist)  Yes, he does still have the remnants of a dog bite that occurred when we were in Rockport.

Me:  "That was so last week, Dave."

Little guy:  "My burn hurts."  Yeah, yeah, yeah, a couple of days ago he burned his forearm on the hot-n-sizzlin' fajita plate at a restaurant.

Me:  "That was so two days ago."


So, back to me, right?  I'd like to cordially invite my family to my elbow bo-bo pity party, but they've been avoiding me and not answering my calls or texts.  Sigh....

I fell in love with this lovely little sculpted "plush" lady

...couldn't resist recreating her in 2-D.

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...We work out!

So this morning I thought I'd have a second go at doing these video workouts I just started, you know, for when I don't want to actually go to the gym and all.  I did it the first time when I was down in Rockport last week out on a screened porch with my dawgs hangin' with me.  They were great...lying down under the table and following me about the room as I went to and fro, and, in general, being pretty darn good company.  Well, that was all fine and good with a standing work out. 

This morning I chose a workout that involved a lot of floor time.  A lot!  Well, I tell you what, those canine girls of mine decided they were not only going to be my personal trainers, but they were going to get a serious workout of their own done, too.

Here's how they saw it:

- pushup = great opportunity to gnaw on mom's wrists and ankles so she knows exactly where to put them

- side plank = great opportunity to flop directly on mom's mat blocking her from taking the break she really wants to have

- downward dog = "Hey!!!  Lookie!!!  Mom's a tunnel...wheeeeeeee!"

- squats = see downward dog

- burpees = great opportunity to wrestle in front of her, behind her, beside her...on top of her...dawgs need a workout, too

- getting a drink = "I call mom's mat!"


This went on for a solid hour.  Did I say to myself over and over, "I should put these darn dogs out!"?  You bet I did.  Did I ever bother to actually do it?  Nope.  Why not?  Because lyrics were bouncing around in my brain and keeping this girl entertained and happy.

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah, yeah

Do the wiggle, dawg

I do the wiggle, dawg

Yeah...

...I'm fuzzy and I know it!

...We work out!

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What's today? Hmmmm...happily, I have no idea.

One of my parents recently had a doctor's appointment.  You know, one of those you go to once a year.  Anyway, one of the routine questions they ask you, particularly as you're getting older, as I understand it, is "What day is today?"  This tells them what?  That your mind is still intact?  That you haven't begun losing your faculties?

Well, all I have to say is that when I'm in my seventies, I don't want to be considered to be losing it if I have no sense of what day it is.  I think of that as a sign of being at one with your bliss, truly living in the moment, a sign that you don't need to be aware of and ruled by human definitions of time.

I'm quite positive that I won't have a clue what day it is if I ever have the opportunity to stop working.  If my summer breaks are any indication, I will never be able to accurately answer such a question at my annual doctor visit.  I celebrate when I lose that skill after the last day of school and I know that I'm truly in the summer zone when I cannot relay what day or date it is without consulting my phone or computer.  I say, "Hooray!" for such things.

Now, I must go set an alarm in my phone to remind me when to take the trash/recycling out...after all, I can't think of a single other reason why the day of the week would matter to me...at least till mid-August, anyway.  Yay!

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My Inner Klutz

Most people do that silly New Year's resolution thingie 'round January 1st, right?  I've always thought that was pretty darn ridiculous...but then today I came to the realization that I do it, too...only my New Year starts when school lets out and I find myself with abundant free time and the renewed urge to be at the pool.  So, yeah, every summer I find myself remaking the commitment to dive into a workout routine.

So, I've been blissfully rediscovering my inner klutz since summer break began, doing hip hop and Zumba like a crazy woman.  I'd like to take the opportunity right here, right now, to turn back the dial and apologize for those unfortunate individuals who actually paid to see performances I belly danced in.  More like twitching around on the dance floor, doing my impression of the Elaine dance, all with a sword precariously balancing on my head.  Really, I'm so sorry, people...and thank you for not throwing tomatoes at me.

Anyway, there's something about being 45 now that has freed me to laugh at myself in the mirror when I'm the only one going left in a sea of right-goers, when my arms are up high while others all have theirs on their hips, I'm happily learning to love and appreciate my inner spazz.

OK, so with my new routine it's been suggested to me that I take some "before" photos so I can actually "see" any progress I may be making.  So, being the mom who always wants to include her children in things, I asked my little guy to help me out.


Me:  "Hey, will you take 'before' pictures of me in my swim suit?"

Little guy:  "Ask dad, that's why you got married."

Silence....

Little guy:  "OK, what camera will I use?"

Me:  "Just my iPhone.  I don't need it to catch all of my flaws in detail."

Little guy:  "No, I want to use dad's fancy camera to get them all."


What a great kid!!!  Such a "helper"!

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Granny Panties...Bring it!

I took my little guy and a friend of his swimming today.  Good times were had!  On the way home I had to ask a question that's been burning in my mind for some time now.  And, of course, my little guy loves when his mom dives into questioning him and his friends.  Loves it!


Me:  "OK, so tell me this.  Why do you guys wear your boxer shorts under your swim trunks."

Youngster #1:  "It's more comfortable."

Youngster #2:  "Yeah, and if someone pulls your trunks down, you're not naked."

Me:  "So you wear boxers just in case someone pants you?"

Youngsters in unison:  "Yeah."

Me:  "Well, OK, I'm going to start wearing my granny panties under my bikini bottoms when we go swimming...you know...just in case someone decides to pants me."


Silence...I think those poor teenage boys just had to deal with an image they won't soon forget.  Ha!  I can sleep well tonight knowing that I did, indeed, rock as a mom today.  Yes!

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I can hold it!

You know how it is when you're all braggy braggy about your puppy and then you find out something that they totally "fail" at (to use my little guy's language), and you have to reexamine all your braggy braggy-ness?  Well, I do.

Ya see, we took Hazel with us to Rockport this week.  Scout was there, too, but this is about Hazel as my braggy braggy-ness about Scout is solidly in tact.  Anyway, Hazel was a perfect passenger in the car all the way there.  She was an absolute delight!  We arrived at the house we were staying in and I promptly took the dogs for a nice long walk .  The wind was blowing, salt was in the air, birds were flying all around, and Hazel was utterly and completely distracted.  Too distracted to pee, it turned out.  I took her out many more times that evening hoping that she'd feel the need and deal with it...eventually!  Well, no, no, no, no, no...and then...finally...yes!  Whew!  We could safely go to bed with no worries of wet spots.  (She's been an amazing dog.  Only two or three accidents total as a puppy, one directly on my lap when she was super excited, and none since then.) 

The next morning I woke up to Hazel whining a little bit.  I figured she was telling me she needed to go.  I got up and took her and Scout outside.  Scout dutifully went potty, and Hazel dutifully sniffed the air.  This dog has a bladder of steel, I was thinking.  After wandering around outside in my P.J.s, and my mouth guard I'd sleepily left in (lookin' good, right?), impatiently waiting for her to do her thing, I took them back in.  I came to the realization that Hazel, while amazing in every other way, had no idea how to deal with her eliminations comfortably anywhere except our back yard.  I repeated this going outside process about once an hour.  All.  Day.  Long.  Hazel finally peed about mid-way through the day.  But, it was occurring to me, she had not yet had a poo.  These are worrisome thoughts, I'm telling you. 

I'm a teacher so I started thinking about what a doggie teacher would do to help Hazel.  As talking to her wasn't working, and I couldn't exactly expect her to understand visual picture representations of the activity, I decided that Scout was my best bet...as a model for what to do.  So, I encouraged Hazel to stay really close by Scout when we were out, as Scout is a "go on ahead and get 'er done" kind of girl.  Hazel diligently watched Scout pee and afterward, when I wanted her to sniff and then mark the spot, she instead just stepped directly on Scout's pee and tagged along behind her best buddy.  When Scout started to poo I got really excited because Hazel appeared to be really interested, getting closer, sniffing...and then suddenly sticking her head right between Scout's hind legs and was blissfully oblivious to the fact that a big turd just landed on her head.  Ugh!  Bath time!

Well, you'll be happy to know that Hazel did finally poo...three days later.  I hooted and hollered and carried on like a crazy woman.  Yes, this is me, all braggy braggy again!

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Hair, Thair, and Everywhair

The other day I got my hair cut/trimmed/whatever you want to call it.  I'm sure for most folks it's not really a big deal, but this cheap girl gets her hair cut twice a year...max.  Really I have to have it looking bad before I'll do anything about it.  Split ends have to be hanging out on my split ends, the left side of my head has to have significantly longer hair than the right (ya see, my hair is quirky, and one side grows faster than the other...weirdness), and I have to start trying on hats and bandanas to leave the house with my dignity in tact.

So I'm sure you're thinking, "So, shut up and go get your hair cut already."  But you see, you don't know my hair.  It's a brain eavesdropper and it hears what I'm thinking and you'd better bet that as soon as I decide to get it cut I have fabulous hair day after fabulous hair day.  Well, that is until it wears itself out from all the effort and returns to a state of anarchy.

So, back to my hair cut, because after all, I did make the appointment, and I did go.  Here's my pattern.

1 - Grow it out as long as I can directions:  "Cut the tiniest amount off that you have to so I can barely tell it's been cut."

2 - I've forgotten that I don't actually like having bangs directions:  "I want bangs...do you think I'll look good with bangs...let's go for bangs."

3 - I'm sick of my crazy curls directions:  "I'm letting my layers grow out so my curls won't drive me so nuts, so barely trim the layered part, but lop an inch or two off the very bottom so the rest can catch up."

4 - I don't want to have to do anything to my hair at all, I want it to style itself directions:  "Let's go for layers...everywhere!"

Lather, rinse, repeat....


So, I was feelin' number four somethin' serious the morning I went to the salon.  I felt like I was attending a L. H. A. meeting.  You know, Lazy Hair Anonymous. 


The stylist smiled really big-like.  I'm convinced that they love BIG changes, opportunities to truly sculpt a piece of art.  She went to work, hair flying this way and that, channeling her inner Edward Scissorhands.  She turned me to the mirror she was done.  And, there I was, "Curly Top Kali".


Me:  "Awesome, this girl's got her Big Texas Hair back!"

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Sympathy Eating

My incredibly sweet husband was so great when I was pregnant.  He was pound for pound with me weight gain-wise, all the way up to 15 pounds.  I mean, that's serious love, right?  Well, tonight made me remember that ever so fondly.  We'd been out for tacos and come coffee shop hangin' out and had just arrived back home.


Me:  "I'm hungry...that dinner didn't fill me up."

So, I got out a bag of carrots, salted them, and started crunching away.


Dave:  "I should eat too, out of sympathy."

So, he got out some left over lasagne.


Dave:  "Cheese!"

Me:  "'Geez'?"

David:  "And this toast...that's all I need."

...and this lamp...

Who let Navin in da house?

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Slip of the Tongue

So I slipped up with my not saying bad words commitment tonight.  I'll be doing my 10 push-ups right after I finish typing.  In all fairness, though, I was just stating something back to Dave in agreement with what he'd said, and it just popped out.  It's a funny thing...Dave seems to have found all the bad words I've stopped using and he's been using all his share plus mine!


Dave:  "I've been cussing like a sailor."

Me:  "Ya, I know.  You should start doing push-ups every time you do it."

Dave:  "I have an idea, you should do ten push-ups every time I say a bad word."


Thinking that wouldn't solve the language problem 'round these parts, but it sure would make me look like the bada** I am.

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Words are cheap, but why waste them?

I've had the pleasure of taking my little guy and his buddy to camp almost every day this week.  It made me think of all the times I've schlepped my kids around, and all the times I've, admittedly, eavesdropped on their conversations.  I never heard anything inappropriate or even particularly surprising, but it was a delightful window into their friendships and the wonderful things they were enthusiastic about at the time.

So, now, this week...well, we're 13 ya know.  This means that we require more sleep than a baby, which leads to intense grogginess in the morning, AND we've learned to be super cautious around mom's radar ears.  So, here's how the morning 20+ minute commute would go as I quizzed the guys.


Me:  "So, camp is fun?"

Either boy:  "I guess."  "Uh-huh."

Me:  "Are you making new friends?"

Either boy:  "Uh-huh."  "Sorta."

Me:  "Do you want to go next year?"

Either boy:  "Maybe."  "I think so."


...and they never, not once, talked to each other during the ride.  Not once.


Not much scoop, and definitely no elaboration, in those super deep-voiced responses, but when my guy's day was finished and he was back home again, the evidence of the crusted dirt on his legs, the strong scent that would ward off any predator, and the mouth agape snoring on the couch by 9:00 PM tells me that camp is awesome.  Who needs words anyway, right?  We moms always have ways to find out what we want to know.

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Death by Halitosis

Little guy has been going to summer camp this week.  It's all awesome medieval sword fighting, tracking animals, shooting arrows, and such.  He's been waking up all on his own...seriously a miracle as the kid cannot wake up for anything on a school day.  So, it was almost time to go and all I asked of him was that he brush his teeth.


Me:  "Brush your teeth, kiddo."

Little guy:  "I don't like brushing my teeth."

Me:  "Do it for your fellow campers if not for yourself."

Little guy:  "It could be my secret weapon."

Me:  "Yeah, you could accidentally kill someone with your breath."

Little guy:  "Death by bad breath asphyxiation...awesome!"


That's my boy...makin' his mama proud...every day.

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Gone Fishin'

So, it's that time of year when Dave starts thinking about our super fun annual fishing trip again.  He went out to the shed and pulled all the gear out to make sure we have everything we need.  And...then he brought the tackle box into the house...the tackle box that hasn't been opened for about a year and has been sitting in the hot, hot, hot shed.

Me?  I'm very sweetly (of course, as that's my pretty much all the time disposition) painting a picture at the table, minding my own business.

Dave?  He sits down at the table to join me, which I absolutely adore, and then he opens the tackle box.


"Gaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh...."  (That's the sound of the tackle box emitting a most undesirable odor.)


Big guy happened to be walking by.  "Dad, are you trying to kill mom?"

Dave:  "If I was trying to kill mom she'd be dead a long time ago."

Silence...

Dave:  "Just fart, that smell will cover anything."  Yeah, I'm not going to ask Dave if he meant me or the big guy.


Woof...where's the Febreeze?

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Gold Digger

My little guy is channeling his inner "old man on the beach".  He saved up enough money to buy a metal detector and is utterly and completely blissed out.


"Beep.....beep.....beep...beep...beep...beep.beep.beep.beepbeepbeepbeep!"  Commence digging!


Yes!  He's found another nail!!!  I love that he doesn't even really care what "treasure" he's dredged up from our back yard, which, by the way, now looks like a page out of a Louis Sachar novel.  He's proudly shown us a tent stake, a piece of wire, a can tab (like the ones from when I was a kid)..."Wow, mom, that's really old!" (Thanks, kid!), many nails, and two pennies.  Not a bad take!


"Hey, it's already paying for itself!"

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Excuse Me

Got to hang out with my big guy for a number of hours today.  Course it was because he had to...he had an appointment with a dentist type guy today who is going to extract his wisdom teeth in a few weeks.  I still totally loved spending time with him.

Anyway, as we were driving home in rush hour traffic today, we ended up behind a car with personalized plates.

"BURRRP"

Me:  "Here's my phone, you have to take a picture of that for me!"

Big guy:  "Mom, you're so weird!"

Me:  "Just take it."

Big guy:  "You'll have to get closer, I can't see any of the letters on here."


Lucky for me, traffic slowed to a halt...yay!


Big guy:  <click> <click> <click> <click> <click> <click>


The traffic ahead started moving, but the "BURRRP" car remained in place.  The driver waited till my big guy lowered my phone, and then Mr. Burrrp waved to us and drove on.


Big guy:  "Oh, my gawd, mom...he knew we were taking pictures."

Me:  Waving back enthusiastically.  "I know, awesome, right?"

Big guy:  "I hate that you make me do stuff like this."

Me:  "I love you."

Coming out of the Closet

I hear most folks do a "spring cleaning".  Yeah, there's no time for such silliness at my house that time of year.  So...it ends up being "summer cleaning".  I spent much of the day today going through most everything in my closet.  I had the standard questions to ask myself, of course.

- Have I worn it in a year?

- Does it even still fit?

- Is it ugly?

- Is it even too ugly to be reborn as a costume?

- Should I keep the polyester dress that the guys in my house can fit into when they get that urge to cross-dress on Halloween?


So, what I have to show for it at the end of the day is a big garbage bag full of stuff that's too big, too ugly, and never worn.  What's still in my closet?  A bunch of stuff that I hope looks pretty good on me, a well-worn holey pair of overalls that are perfect for my last minute Bubba outfit on Halloween, and one fabulous dress for my guys!  I'm the best mom/wife ever...always thinking of their needs.

Our Date was Tail Waggin' Good

Ya know what makes my day?  I'll tell ya.  Dave and I got to go on one of our Costco dates.  You know going anywhere without our children is a "date".  Unfortunately, it was meat lovers sample delight, to my great disappointment.  I do so love it when our Costco dates turn into a "dinner date"!  Sigh....  As we wandered the aisles searching for enough food to feed two teenaged boys, we passed by the "outdoor" aisle.  There was something in it that was calling to us...we had to go look.  It was an awesome outdoor shower that you could just hook up to your hose and soap up to your heart's delight.  Yes, we totally wanted one!  Fortunately for our neighbors, who are only separated from us by a short chain link fence, an outdoor shower simply wasn't in our budget...yet.  We continued our shopping/sampling through much of the rest of the store and were just about done when Dave decided he had to have one more taste of sausage.  As luck would have it, we had to pass the "outdoor" aisle to get there, and in that aisle was a little gift I swear the Costco gods put there just for me.  You see, there was now a grown man (perhaps in his mid-20s) standing at the shower pretending to bathe, and as he turned away from us a big, amazing, fuzzy striped tail that was attached to the back of his pants swung to and fro, like a windshield wiper clearing residue from his buttocks.  I was in I-LOVE-WEIRD heaven!  I told him just how awesome I thought he was...Dave even chimed in with his admiration.  And, you know what's funny?  I bet anything that guy went home that night and told his friends he had the strangest encounter with a weirdo couple at Costco.  I sure hope so.

A Dawg's Life

My little guy was being his super cute self this afternoon.  Hangin' with his old ma and pa, doting over our dawgs.  And when I say "doting" I mean lying atop a pooch, embracing them tightly, and giving them biggest hug ever.


Me: "You're so incredibly cute!"

Little guy: "How?"

Me:  "Well, duh, 'cause you got lucky enough to have me and dad as your parents."

Little guy:  "That makes me ugly."


Then that ugly little dude plopped his heaver and taller and cuter than me self right on my lap.  Ooph!  Sometimes it's good to be treated like a dawg.

One is the Loneliest Number...But not at my House

Lucky, lucky me, I'm off work till mid-August.   I'm so happy, happy, happy!  The gift of leisure time is huge, and one that I appreciate every moment of every day during this time of year.  In addition to the gift of spare time I'm basquing in, I also find myself being able to...get ready for it...all my teacher buds will understand...go to the bathroom whenever the urge strikes.  Each summer I find myself reflecting on how this activity has changed over the years.  Seriously I can't really remember going to the bathroom before I had children.  I mean, surely I went, of course I went, but it wasn't really a thing.  All that changed about 17 years ago.

Yes, the big guy entered my life and going to the bathroom has never been the same.  Quite suddenly, I had company everywhere I went, and, seemingly, especially in the bathroom.  I remember quietly tip-toeing into the bathroom only to have my moment disrupted by crying, yelling, and later a wee one  just coming right on in...and even crawling up onto my lap!  Then this cycle repeated three-and-a-half years later when little guy came along.  Don't get me wrong, I loved every second of it.  It's just that it was a change.  Now that my kids are 13 and 17 they decidedly do not enter the bathroom if I'm using it, rather they act appalled that I would even have a need for such a thing that has interrupted whatever their current preening needs happen to be.

Lucky for me, though, I've never had a gap in loving interruptions.  When my kids faded their invasions, my pets picked up the slack...a caress on my legs from my cat, an opening nudge on the door and a shaggy black face or a white one full of curls coming on in and giving me a lean-in hug and a request for some scratchin'.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure if I found myself alone in my bathroom at home, I'd have serious abandonment issues.