Wednesday, May 16, 2012

i almost forgot.


S graduated from preschool yesterday, and my only struggle with sentimentality was when I walked her into school.  She was perfect and amazing, and I couldn't love her any more if I tried.  

 Before her last day of preschool.
 Getting ready to sing.
 Announcing that when she grows up, she'd like to be a princess, a ballerina, a teacher, and a gymnastics owner.
 Please note she's standing on a pew. She's not quite that tall yet. 
 M, however, is standing on the floor.  He is that freakishly tall.
 The girls.
 Leaving preschool for the last time.
Please note the difference between the boys' table and the girls'.

Friday, May 04, 2012


Yesterday evening, as M put T to bed, S and I built a couple of new fairy houses.  They are awesome, but that's not the point.  The point is that when I went to cross the item off of our Spring To-Do list, I realized that the only item left on the list involves her preschool graduation, and for the love of Pete, can someone stop time for a minute so I can catch my breath from all the growing up that's happening around here?  

S taught herself to snap.  She's literally been trying to snap for years.  Suddenly, her teeth are falling out and she can snap and I feel like she's going to need a bra or something the next time I turn around. I suppose I'm not that weirded out by the fact that she'll need a bra someday, but when Thad comes to me and tells me he needs a jock strap I will fall over dead. 

I'd like donations to be sent to a charity in lieu of flowers when that happens.  Just so you know.

Thursday, May 03, 2012

checkout lane gut check.

I go to the grocery store on Wednesday nights.  I used to go on Thursdays, but a few months ago we ran out of a bunch of stuff a day early, so I went on Wednesday and realized that 72% of the county's population was at church on Wednesday nights, so the place was practically deserted.  So much less playing of chicken in the aisles, so much less being annoyed at the ladies who park their carts in the middle of the aisle whilst they peruse the numerous choices of boxed cake mix, so much less waiting for Suzy Q No Decision Maker to choose what flavor of Yoplait she wants this week so that I can grab T's plain yogurt.  It was really lovely.  I can't bear the thought of going other times now.  It's a standing date between me and the Kroger.  Every Wednesday night.

Last night, for some inexplicable reason, the store was packed.  I didn't notice it while shopping, but when it came time to check out, the lines were mighty.  I grabbed a magazine from the rack and hunkered down.  A mom and teenager got in line behind me.  They kept looking in my direction and talking quietly in a way that made me really self conscious.  When I started unloading my cart onto the belt, the mom crept up alarmingly close to my cart, peering in.  I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, am I in the way?" (In a nice way, not the snarky way it just seemed.) I thought that maybe she needed a Twix.  Or a prepaid Visa.  It was weird.

She looked at me and said, "No.  My husband just had open heart surgery.  He just came home today.  He has to eat healthy, and I don't know what to do, so we were looking in your cart for ideas."

I told her that I was sorry about her husband and that she could rifle through my groceries as much as she liked.  She proceeded to tell me that her husband wasn't heavy, but that they'd always eaten whatever they wanted and that they'd basically never wanted anything healthy.  The woman was totally lost, admitting that pretty much they had always lived off cheeseburgers and pizza.  It didn't really add up.  This woman looked really fit.  Her daughter looked really fit.  She even told me that she and her daughter walk every single day together.  She told me that they were hauling hay when her husband just fell over.  Seven bypasses.  Seven.  I didn't even know that was possible.

She asked me what I do with broccoli because she saw a head of it in my cart and sent her daughter off to the produce section.  I told her she could steam it or roast it, and that we like it roasted.  Then I told her how I do it.  She just started asking things like, "Can he eat tuna fish?" I said that yes, fish would be great but that he probably shouldn't eat tuna salad with a bucket of mayonnaise in it.  She saw unsalted butter in my cart and said she'd probably need to get some for his toast.  I told her to check with her doctor on that one.  The poor woman was overwhelmed.

When she sent her daughter off to grab something else, I asked how the daughter (who's name is Lindsay and is 15) was coping.  She said she was okay.  She was driving the truck her dad was throwing hay into when he collapsed. She was shaky a lot and obviously freaked out.

I asked about her.  She just said it was completely overwhelming.

I desperately wanted to hug this woman.  And I wanted to go to her house and roast her some broccoli.  I didn't hug her.  Frankly, she didn't look like the type that would want a hug.  Instead I told her I was giving her a mental hug.  I didn't know what to say after all of that.

This whole long story is just to remind you that you need to take care of yourselves.  And that there are multiple parts of the equation.  This was an active guy.  A young guy (44).  But he ate like he thought his body was a garbage disposal, and his wife mentioned a family history of heart disease.

Take care, my peeps.  And teach your kids to do the same.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

time flies.

Sorry I went missing for a week.  I realize you've weathered longer breaks than that, but still.  I've been busy with life and slight meltdowns over the pace at which life seems to be moving along.

Last Thursday, I jetted up to Albany to snuggle Scarlet Lily's baby E and C.  Shrimp and Grits was made and eaten.  Mac and cheese was made and eaten.  Molly's cake was made and eaten.  Wine was consumed.  Stories were told.  Belly laughs were laughed.  And I invented a new color.

Before I left on my trip, it was made very obvious that T was about to start walking, and he waited for me to get home on Sunday to start because he loves his Mama, and if he hadn't waited for me then there might not have been adequate snuggles if he fell.  It's solid logic.  Sunday afternoon, he started taking a couple of steps at a time.  Very tentatively, but they were deliberate and they moved him from Point A to Point B.  Each day there have been a few more steps added before the inevitable flop onto his bottom.  Last night at the tennis courts, he figured out how to stand up without pulling himself up on something stable.  He'll be totally over crawling in a matter of days.  It's magical to watch, but also a little scary in that "wobbly toddler" way.

Then there's kindergarten...

...Sidenote: I just got up to check the bread that's baking.
Do not poke at a loaf of bread from a 400 degree oven.
It smarts.
Also, I have no fingerprints anymore.
Anyone who's up for a bit of illicit activity should send me an email.

...back to kindergarten.  Registration is just as convoluted as one might expect from a public school system.  Don't get me wrong,  I have a deep, true love for public education, but when you're publishing a list of required documents for registration, please don't ask me for another document when I get there. If you want me to bring in a utility bill to prove my place of residence, add it to the list of stuff you want me to bring.  Hauling a wiggling toddler in and out of an elementary school is not as easy and graceful as I made it look whilst trying to break into said school because I did not see the sign saying you have to be buzzed in and thus yanked on all the doors like I was trying to escape the boogey man for several minutes.  In front of a classroom's worth of kids. 

So, that emotional milestone is not yet met.  But we're getting there.

Then, to just pile it on with reckless abandon, S approached me with not one, but two, loose teeth this morning.  
It's like these two children are conspiring to see if they can break me with all the milestones at one time.  And you know what?  They can.  I can't win this fight.  I'm a broken woman.  

And I love every second of it.  The seconds just go a little too fast sometimes.