Could this be #9 and counting?

So my little guy finally went to the bonologist today after telling me he needed to see a doctor about his foot...for a week now. 


Little guy:  "I think my foot is broken.  It really hurts, mom.  I need to see the doctor."

Me:  "Put some ice on it."

Little guy:  "The cold hurts."


Little guy:  "Mom, it's feeling worse every day, not better.  I need to see the doctor."

Me:  "Let's just wrap it up in an ace bandage.  Better?"

Little guy:  "Not really."


Little guy:  "I can't walk."

Me:  "Do you think we need to make an appointment with the bonologist?"

Little guy:  "Sigh...."


Anyway, he did go to the doctor this morning.  And while they didn't find anything conclusive on the x-rays, his diagnosis was a bone bruise or fracture and he's been fitted with a lovely and large boot that he has to wear for three weeks.  I know, I know, worst mom of the year here.

And I should know better by now, I really, really should.  After all, he's already broken eight bones.  The dude knows when he's broken.

But it's all fine.  I love my kid, he loves me...and now my inner crafty chick has a few weeks to figure out how to make that heavy boot fit in with all the casts and splints on the "injury" mobile I created for him a few years back.

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Feelin' the Love

I get hugged by my kids.  A lot.  And I mean A LOT!


Sometimes it's clearly to avoid doing something. 

Me:  "Do your homework!"

Kid:  "Come on mom...hug!"


Sometimes it's because they want something.

Me:  "This doesn't feel like a 'love' hug."

Kid:  "Sammich?"


And sometimes it really is pure love.

Me:  "Gosh, you've been hugging on me for about fifteen minutes.  I never hugged on my parents when I was a teenager."

Kid:  "Yeah, but I have a great relationship with my parents."


Oh, my gosh...come here kid, mama's got a big hug for you!

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Hey, Good Lookin'

We all want confident children, right?  And we want them aware of their strengths and to feel generally pretty great about themselves, right?

Well, the other night I was in the kitchen with Dave and our little guy.


Me:  "Our kid is so much better looking than either of us."  This is a perfectly OK thing for me to say as a mom of my beautiful kid.

My kid:  "Yeah."  Hmmmmm...while it's perfectly OK for him to respond in this way, I'm thinking perhaps it could have been said with just a bit of a pause to reflect upon the genetic goo he received.


You know, something like, "I'm just so lucky that both of my parents are soooo good lookin'."  A white lie like that is perfectly fine in my book.

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When the Cat's got my Mouse

Some days I'm just clicking along, rockin' it on my computer.  And some days are like this.


"Clickety, click, click!"

"Clickety, click!"

"Click, click, click!"

And then I'm moving stuff.  I'm swiping stuff.  And ------------------------------------- nothin'.


My mind goes straight to panic.  My computer's broken!  Liquid must have somehow ended up in my keyboard!  Waaaaaaaaaaah!


Then I see my sweet, big ol' cat's paw.  It's just barely touching my track pad.  And "barely" is enough to render my swiping useless.

By the way he smirked at me I'm thinking he knew exactly what he was doing.

And since I gave him big snuggles for doing it, I'm absolutely positive this scene will be repeated again and again.

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About to be cooped up...and so excited about it!!!

So we've got chickens in our future.  I was skeptical at first.  I love animals, really I do so very much.  But chickens?  They've never seemed particularly lovable to me.  And as animals we'd be welcoming into our lives, I really wanted them to fall into the lovable category.

Now, my experience with chickens is admittedly limited.  I've eaten them, sure.  I've had a male chick in my classroom briefly (we named him "nugget" if that gives you any idea of how much of a fan I was).  I've even seen them from a bit of a distance at friends' houses.  But I just wasn't feeling the love. 

Well, all that changed yesterday.  The kid and I were going into my dad's back yard when we heard some rustling.


Little guy:  "Hey, it's a chicken...in their yard!"

Me:  "What?!?!"

Little guy:  "Look, a chicken."


And, by golly, there was, indeed, a chicken!

My little guy went upstairs to let them know and I set about figuring out just what to do about this lost chicken.  I followed it around.  It followed me around.  I reach out to touch it.  It scampered off.  I got in its path.  It let me touch its back.  I was officially starting to consider liking this sweet chicken.

I decided to be very brave and put my hands on both sides of it.  Everything was OK.  I decided to lift it a few inches off the ground.  Its legs dangled and everything was OK.  I decided to hold it close to me.  It settled right into the embrace.  I was officially starting to fall in like with this sweet chicken. 

I carried the chicken up to the house.  My kiddo walked out when he saw that holding the chicken was totally possible.  I handed him the chicken.  He held the chicken in a gentle hug...and then it pooped!!!  I was officially falling in love with this sweet chicken.


Jump forward a day and I'm sitting at the table and my husband and kid are designing a chicken coop for our back yard.  I'M SO EXCITED!!!!

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Does it Count if it was an Accident?

Last night I had a bite, only one bite, of the most amazing pecan pie I've ever had.  The flavors rolled around in my mouth and took me to the edge of dizzy bliss.  Oh, my gosh, it was good.  "What could be so different about this pecan pie that makes it so amazing?" I thought to myself.

And then I realized what it was.

It was not your run of the mill pecan pie.  Nope.  It was a chocolate pecan pie.  Gasp!


The thing is, I've been caffeine free for over a year now.  No coffee.  No tea (herbal is fine, of course).  And no...absolutely no...chocolate.


My thinking is that it definitely didn't count as breaking my commitment as it was totally accidental.  It's not like the pie was marked on the potluck table.  I mean, would you say an alcoholic fell off the wagon if they accidentally consumed a bite of rum cake?

I figure I'm good.  But, dang, I officially miss chocolate!

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I Got Zapped!

Static electricity drives me a little nuts.  It's not my friend.


It makes my skirts get up all in my business.

It makes me accidentally shock my wee little students.

And it makes it nearly impossible to walk through Costco with a cart without a zap every ten steps or so.


It's a problem.


So the last time I was at the gym I started feeling the slight raise of the hairs on my arms as I walked briskly on a treadmill.  And then I felt the hair on my scalp shift just a bit.  And then my husband came up behind me and touched my thigh...and ZAP!!!!!!

I almost wiped out...at 3.6 miles per hour.


Nope.  Not a fan of static electricity.

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