Inked

Been reminiscing about my little guy after finding (well, re-finding) an old photo of him.  He had been "inked" all over by his big brother, who clearly has mad drawing skills.  They both came out of the bedroom/tattoo parlor, faces beaming, SO proud of their work.  Yeah, we documented the heck out of it.

That little guy, who thought his super powers came from his golden tresses, is now a big dude, whose super powers mysteriously remained even after a drastic haircut, with a very deep voice...which he uses often to tell me this as he follows me around, stalking me, because, obviously, he loves me so.


"You're getting smaller mom."

"Really, why are you shrinking, mom?"


Love, love, love him!

"Some" Assembly Required

We've got a new piece of furniture from IKEA.  A very large chest of drawers for the big guy that came in two not terribly big boxes..."some" assembly required.  OK, so Dave jumped right in.  There's been a myriad of vocalizations from his end of the living room.

"Uh-oh."
"Oops!"
"I lost a screw."
"Um, this piece is on backward, that doesn't matter, right?"

So, I probably should've helped, but really, it looked much more like a "one dude" job.  So...I framed 26 of my paintings for an upcoming show.  Some serious "some" assembly required business on my end, too.

What were the boys up to?  Well, you see, this is a very big day around the Parsons House.  I probably should've lead with this big news, but here goes.  Benjamin got his first car today!!!!!  He's now the proud owner of my dad's old (not very) minivan.  Yeah, I know it's not the coolest vehicle out there, and it has rather mediocre pick-up on the highway, and it screams "mom mobile," but all those things spell "A-W-E-S-O-M-E" to me.  And I'm so proud of him for being so excited about it!  He and his little brother spent the afternoon making that minivan shine, inside and out.  I suggested getting magnetic flames to put on the side, or pimping it out in some way, but no, he prefers that it be stealth-mobile, perfect just as it is.  So, basically, that's a "no" to "some" assembly required on the minivan.  Congrats, kid!

Can you tell I'm ready to be at the beach?

A New Low in my Parenting Skills

I've officially sunk to a new low in parenting...and I'm sinking even lower by blogging about it.  What happened?  I'll tell ya.  Dave wanted my big guy to go help him set up some HUGE screens for a meeting.  The kid would've made some pretty good cash if he'd said "yes".  Well, cut to the end of the story, I went with Dave to do the set-up.  I like to think I'm better help anyway, at least I smell like a girl, sorta, which is a bonus, right?  Anyway, I should let you in on what transpired to create a change in Dave's labor force.

Insert photo of me hanging my head in embarrassment here.


Big guy:  "Mom, I don't want to go help dad."

Me:  "Go help dad, you need the money."

Big guy:  "No I don't, I have money."

Me:  "I know, but you'll need money in the near future."

Big guy:  "I'll let you squeeze two of my blackheads if you'll go help dad instead of me."

Me:  "OK."


I know, I know, disgusting, right?  But, the truth is, sometimes I think I missed my calling by not being a wound care specialist.  I'm not one to gross out on an abscess on my dog, a huge pus-filled spider bite on my kid's knee, I even do fine with a little gangrene on my cat.  Seriously, the ickier, the better.  There's just something about it that appeals to me.

Side note #1:  I LOVED studying parasites during college and took any opportunity to research and write about them.  I still google them on occasion if I need a parasitic fix.

Side note #2:  I totally passed out, literally hit the pavement, when I took my little guy to a doctor friend to see if the really large gash over his eye required stitches.  My friend was opening the wound and looking all around on the inside, and down I went, completely boneless.  When I regained consciousness, I was told that yes, he did indeed need stitches.  Guess I prefer pus, et al, to open lacerations.  We all have our limits, right?


So, to wrap this tale up, yes, I did take care of those two blackheads, and yes, I did help Dave with his set-up.  It was a win win thing!

Stick out your tongue and say, "Aaaaarrgh!"

Yes he did come into the room wearing a white eye patch with white tape all over it...and yes he did have a black pirate's patch drawn on top of it with a Sharpie...and yes he did have eye patch strings drawn on his forehead and his temple, also with a Sharpie.  Seriously, he looked just like someone who had the bad luck of passing out at a frat party and woke up all Sharpied up, none the wiser.  Who am I talking about?  I'll tell ya.  This buccaneer is my G.P.  We've been happily seeing him and his amazing P.A. for at least ten years now.  And, yeah, we pretty much love them both.

I went in today because of the crud I've had for over a week now (yes, I know I've been quite the whiner).  Well, turns out I have a sinus infection, have rosacea ("pretty common with middle age women"...guess I've hit that milestone head on), and I'm "super fit" and "super attractive" (he said this after I asked about the 10+ pound weight loss I've had in the past five months as it worried me just a bit).  That last diagnosis?  You know, the fit/attractive one.  That's the one I'm sticking with.  Never mind the three prescriptions and one over-the-counter med I had to go to Walgreen's for.

I texted Dave to brag about my "diagnosis"...and, gosh, did he go on and on about how lucky he clearly is to be with someone so "fit" and "attractive"?  Um, no he did not.  He had to tell me what the Doc told him when he was having an exam in his southern region.


Doc:  "That's quite a tool you've got there."


Course then Dave had to admit that the Doc surely has a good eye for such things as tools, fitness, and attractiveness, right?

Yup, you think we'll ever switch to another Doc?  No way, man...no way!  His skills are clearly above par, without a doubt.

Channeling my Inner Demi Moore

I've officially been sick a week now.  No longer miserably sick, but I now have no voice and I cough...a lot...and they're very pathetic hoarse little coughs...and tears leak from my eyes.  OK, I should pause now and just be thankful that at least during my coughing fits I'm not peeing, right?  Right.  Being thankful aside, I'm finding myself taking naps every day after school.  This, happily, gives me the opportunity to wake up with sexy mussed hair and stumble into the living room where I usually find Dave.  I croak something out, certain that I'm sounding like the very sexy Demi Moore.  He gazes at me, lip curling just a bit...


Dave:  "Even though your gross, you're sexy...in a really gross way."


Hear that, my peeps?  He thinks I'm "sexy".  Nuf said!

"The Talk"

Just had "the talk" with my little guy.  OK, so it's not the first time I've had the talk...the first was when he and the big guy were young and I read the same book to them that my parents had read to me when I was about five.  I remember the looks on their faces and imagine it was the same look of horror/disbelief/disgust that I had given my parents when they presented me with the same information.

Anyway, "the talk" from last night.


Me:  "You know, all those hip hop lyrics do a bad job of conveying what love and love making really are."

Little guy:  "Duh, mom."


Well, OK then, my job here is done!  Thinking I won't have to address this any more, right?  Check that off my "to do" list!

He's a Big'un!

My big guy and I went to the doctor today.  For him, not me.  If it were for me there's no way he'd be there, too.  Maybe in a decade or so, but not now.  He was there for something minor.  Achiness in his hands and shoulders.  My prime suspect is too much xBox time.  The doc didn't jump on my bandwagon...should've slipped him a $20 before the appointment.  Anyway, before we went to the room, the nurse had my big guy weigh himself.  And, oh my goodness, that kiddo weighs over twice what I do!  I had no idea!  I knew he was big, but then pretty much everyone over the age of twelve is bigger than I am, so my perspective on true "bigness" isn't particularly reliable.

After the nurse left the room I couldn't help but bring it up.


Me:  "You weigh over twice what I do."

Big guy (now really earning that title):  "Of course I do?"


He beckoned me to his side and had us compare the size of our forearms and upper arms.  After doing that I'm amazed that he's only two times heavier than I am.  I sat in the chair across from the examination table and just looked at him.  I must've bored holes in his head because he collapsed backward with a dramatic eye roll.

Wow, can't believe I birthed that amazing giant of a human.  Glad he was so much smaller back then!