Monday, June 30, 2008

Does this boob cover make me look fat?

I'm not sure if Jack didn't believe me the first time we had this conversation, but tonight he asked me again, "Momma, your boobs are your property, right?"

"Yes." I reiterated. "They are my property."

"Yeah." Jack nodded. "You know Moms wear boob covers to stop the boobs from growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger so they don't get too huge. Boobs that are too big make you look fat, right Momma?"

I couldn't help but to laugh and just shook my head.

The F-word

Megan was telling me about the apparent vandalism that took place on the Tennis courts where she takes her lessons. "It's kinda like, um, well it kinda looks like a mushroom but I don't think it's a mushroom. I think it looks more like an alien."

"Hmm." I said. "Is it spray painted on the Tennis court?"

"Yeah. It's like it's paint or something but it's kinda hard to see because it's blackish."

"Well that's not cool that somebody did that." I lamented to Megan as we drove along.

"Mmm hmm. And it also has a swear word on it too." She continued.

"Really? That's not good."

Megan continued to look out the window and with a far away look in her eye added, "Yeah, it's the F-word one."

Gasp! I didn't even know she knew there was an F-word. So I decided to tread lightly on this one. For all I knew, to her the F-word was Fart or Fudge or Fat. "So, do you know what the F-word is?" I asked her.

"Oh yeah. I know what it is."

"Have you ever heard anyone use the F-word at school or anywhere?" I wanted to know.

"Oh no." She responded. "But you know Mom, I do know how to read, you know!"

Good point. I guess I can't shelter her forever... sigh. But part of me still hopes whoever the little turd was that vandalized the Tennis court wasn't smart enough to spell the F-word correctly. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

What I do, I mean don't, wanna be when I grow up.

Jack: Daddy, when you grow up you can decide what you want to be, right?
Jay: Yup.
Me: What do you think you want to be when you grow up, Jack?
Jack: Uh, I don't know. But I don't think I want to be a Dad or something.
Me: Why not?
Megan: Yeah Jack, why not? Is it because you don't know how to drive?
Jack: Uh, yeah.

Deep thoughts by Jack #2

"Momma, you know what is the hardest thing in the world? It's to burp your ABC's. Actually, you know something harder- climbing on the ceiling!"

At least...

Yesterday for some reason Jack picked up the phrase "at least". When we were driving to the health club, he started saying "at least" before every sentence.

"At least we have a big tree in our yard, right Daddy?"

"At least you can practice driving."

"At least you can decide what you want to be when you grow up, right Daddy?"

And on and on...

Megan listened quietly from the back seat but since she has my genes in her, the apparent repetition of the phrase "at least" finally got the best of her. "Jack, why do you keep saying 'at least'?"

Jack, without skipping a beat gave her a sideways glance and said, "At least you better stay out of this conversation."


Deep thoughts by Jack

"Everything in nature is alive but things built by humans are not alive. Right Daddy?"

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Look at the big brain on Jack!

I think I've given Jack a complex about the size of his head. Not intentionally, of course and although I know many times a mother's love is blind I don't think my son has an abnormally large head by any means. I've joked with him in the past when his shirt got stuck on his head when I tried to take it off that it's because his head grew too big. I would say something like, "Jack, you must be getting smarter, your brain is getting bigger!" Or other times when he would accomplish a task I might say, "Look at the big brain on Jack!" I thought I was being cute and potentially building his self-esteem but something happened yesterday that made me think I may have done him a disservice.

The kids have been cooped up in the house for the last day or so. It rained a bit, and Jack hasn't been feeling well. They were getting a little bit stir crazy. So yesterday, after Jack's latest dose of Ibuprofen kicked in the kids started chasing each other around the house. Megan was trying to write thank you cards and Jack came up and swiped her pencil and ran off with it. She was screaming, "Give it back Jack!" and he was running to the back room with it giggling mischievously.

A few moments later, after a few more "give it back" screams from Megan, I heard Jack say,"Uh oh, Megan. I dropped the pencil behind the couch. I'll get it for you." Then I heard some grunting and groaning as Jack made his way to the back of the couch.

The space between the back of our couch and the wall isn't very big. Maybe 12 inches or so. After the grunting, I heard Jack say with a mild bit of panic in his voice, "It's too big! I can't get it. It's too big!" Then he mumbled something else that I couldn't quite catch.

Megan started to laugh a bit. "Jack, did you say I believe my head is too big???"

"No Megan!" Jack was clearly getting a bit upset at this point. "I said my head is WAY TOO BIG!"

Friday, June 27, 2008

Slight of hand

I've always been a huge fan of having my back tickled. I remember in grade school a bunch of girls in my class would always sit in a line while we sat on the rug during story time tickling each other's backs. No one ever wanted to be at the end of the line because that meant you were tickling someones back but no one was tickling yours. The front of the back tickle line was where you wanted to be. You would get all the benefits of the back tickle and never had to do any of the work.

I've been trying for months now to get Megan interested in tickling my back (think of it as my version of child labor, a mini sweat shop if you will) but she doesn't seem to have any inclination to do it. I can't really blame her.

Jack on the other hand is on a tickling kick. He's willing to tickle everyone. But he is lacking in his technique. It usually consists of him coming up and jamming his fingers into your armpit which is really less than enjoyable. But I decided to give him some tips. I explained that the jamming of the fingers in the armpit doesn't work for most people and what is better is tickling on the back. I must say, he's getting quite good at it.

Yesterday, Jack offered to tickle my back so I took him up on it. He was doing great but after a moment, his hand slowly crept from my back around to my front and his little hand grabbed by boob. "Whoa! Jack, don't do that." I said.

"Why not? I want to."

"Because that's really not appropriate."

Jack thought for a second and said, "Is your boobs only your property?"

"Yes. Yes they are my property."

Thursday, June 26, 2008

The best way to give me the heebie jeebies

So I've been trying to figure out exactly how to write about this. I've had it on my list of things to write about but to be honest, every time I started thinking about it, I kinda got skeeved out. This goes back a few weeks to when Jay came out to visit me while I was working in Austin. He brought his golf clubs and spent one of the days playing golf with a buddy of his.

It wasn't until Jay had been in Austin for a couple days that he finally decided to let me in on the packing, um "issues" that occurred. Apparently, when he was packing to come to Austin, his golf bag broke. He was scheduled to head off to the airport and a mild panic ensued as he tried to figure out what to do about the golf club situation. He decided to use my golf bag.

My golf bag... I need to say a few things about my history with golf to set he scene here. Bottom line, I suck at it. A big part of my sucky-ness is probably because my golf clubs have been sitting in my golf bag since before Megan was born. Now that I think about it, it has probably been since I lived in Denver which means those golf clubs haven't seen the light of day since 1999. So we've been carting those golf clubs around in their golf bag between our moves. To give a bit of perspective, over the last 9 years, we've lived in 5 different apartments/homes. But when I did play golf, of course I had to look the part so I had the gloves, tees, balls and of course, the shoes. And herein lies the problem... the golf shoes.

Jay started to tell me about cleaning out my golf bag. "Yeah, uh well when I opened the part where your golf shoes were you would not believe what I found. I guess at some point, in one of our homes, your golf shoes became, uh home to...well...something."

My skin immediately began to crawl. "WHHHAAATT?" was my response. "That's so disgusting! What was it? Was it still in there?"

Jay explained that the critter, most likely a mouse, had nibbled the inside of my golf shoes and used the insulation to create a cozy abode for itself.

I continued to ramble on for a moment as I scratched my arms, face and head in order to alleviate the severe case of heebie jeebies I acquired after hearing about the shoe invasion. "That's so gross! What did you do with the shoes? Did you throw them away?"

"No." Jay said. "I set them on the fireplace in the house so you could see it. You won't believe it."

And he was right. I couldn't believe it.

Update: Jay pointed out that in my story above I didn't clarify that the golf bag I am referring to is the travel bag for the golf clubs, not the golf bag itself. I thought that was apparent but in an effort to not emasculate my husband by having friends and family think he played 18 holes with my feminine looking bag, I am clarifying that it was the travel bag... and it was quite blue.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Mommy the Paparazzo

I think I now get a sense of why celebrities are annoyed by the paparazzi. At Megan's birthday party, I think I may have gone a bit overboard in trying to capture the moment. Things started out great. I wandered around the party with my camera in one hand and video camera in the other alternating between capturing the moments of the party in live action and still.

The party was at Libby Lu and all the girls were getting their hair, makeup and nails done. Megan opted to get the Hannah Montana wig and looked adorable. I was able to capture the moment in video and I'm so glad I did. You can see the look of excitement on her face when she sees herself with the wig in the mirror.

But I think I pushed it a bit. Midway through the party she was checking out the accessory wall and when she noticed I was filming...again...She gave me the "stop it!" By the time I filmed her getting her nails done, she was trying as hard as she could to ignore me. I trudged forward in capturing the moment even if she found it annoying. I involuntarily found myself calling out to her like the paparazzi call out to Britney Spears when she exits her car. "Megan! Megan! Meg- look this way. You look beautiful Megan. What color are your nails Megan?"

The Nipper

Megan completed a week of bible camp where the theme was Australia. Every day, they learned about a new part of Australia (The Outback etc.) I'm not sure what Australia has to do with Jesus but she seemed to think it was interesting and so I'm not going to complain about it. After we picked Megan up, we all headed to lunch and that is when it happened. Megan had Jack cornered. She sensed he was cranky...he couldn't jump out of the car to get away from her...she had a captive audience. She intended to take full advantage of the situation. I saw the glimmer in her eye and the wheels turning in her head. And then the conversation began.

Megan: Jack, did you know you are a Nipper?
Jack: No I'm not.
Megan: Yes you are. At bible camp they told us about it. You are a Nipper.
Jack: Nuh-Uh. I am not a Nipper.
Megan: You are. You are a Nipper. All kids are Nippers.
Jack (getting really upset): NOOOO Megan. I am NOT!
Megan: Yes you are.
Jack (screaming): NOOOOO! I AM NOT A NIPPER!!!
Megan: Jack, listen to me. In Australia, all kids are called Nippers.
Jack: Well, I'm not.
Megan: Yes you are.
Jack: Meeeegggaaan! I am not a Nipper. I don't even speak French!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Where has the time gone?

My baby girl turned 7 this weekend. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday I was holding her and rocking her until she was almost asleep. Until she would look up at me, point to her crib and say, "In there" and then I would know she was ready for bed. Megan has been like that from the beginning-doing things in her own way, in her own time. Even in the womb it seemed she had a mind of her own. At 30 weeks, she decided that she wanted to come out. But then, she changed her mind and during those 8 weeks on bed rest while I waited to meet this baby girl who would forever alter my perspective on what was important in life, I dreamed about her and imagined what she would look like, what she would be like.

And so, as her mother, I have watched her and enjoyed watching her like my favorite movie with really great sequels. Like the Bourne movies...only better. At times, I can't wait to see what's going to happen next and I almost want to fast forward to the next part of the movie. But I know if I do that, I'll miss some very important parts of the movie- parts that will help me understand who she is, and what makes her tick. And so I watch her, and try to guide her, to help her, to love her. Sometimes I wonder if she knows how fiercely I love her. I hope she does. I wonder this in the simplest of moments- like when I give her the last bite of my food, or the rubber band from my hair when she asks. Sure, these are small things but they are among my gestures to her.

She makes it easy to love her because she is so loving to others... when she looks out for friends and relatives with food allergies, asking on their behalf, "Are there nuts in that?" when she comforts her brother and helps him get a band aid for his scraped knee. when she patiently helped her scared cousin to the bathroom four times in one night. when she took her Nana's hand to help steady her walking down stairs in a restaurant.

She makes it easy to love her because she is so witty and funny... when she stated aloud that she needed a rubber band for her hair and I gave her mine. She looked at me and smiled and said, "Wouldn't it nice if life were that easy? Just asking for what you want and getting it?" when she sat on my lap while we watched fire works one night. She tooted on me and I said, "Oh no you di'dn't just toot on my leg!" She looked at me straight faced and said, "Oh, yeah. I went there!" the time Jay told her a fake story and Megan sarcastically retorted, "That's soooo interesting! How interesting is that??? That's sooooo interesting...NOT!"

I'm proud of her, of the girl she has become. And I feel so privileged that I get to watch this amazing movie play out and I look forward to the many sequels where I get to see the woman she will become. I can't believe my baby girl is 7. Where has the time gone?

Friday, June 20, 2008

She's either really excited about her present or practicing to be an Opera singer

She's rockin' it out for the Lord!

Today was Megan's last day at Bible camp. We went early to see the children perform the songs they learned all week. Megan doesn't like to sing too much and she kind of just mouths the words. There was one part of the song that she just loved and she really got into it when it came time to point to the sky and sing about having a friend in Jesus. I wish I had video of it but the picture will have to suffice.

Hygiene tips from Jack

I walked by the open door to the bathroom and found Jack perched on the toilet. "Do you need any help, buddy?" I asked. Jack jumped off the toilet and stood with his pants around his ankles and informed me that he was old enough now that I no longer needed to wipe his bottom. As he was saying this he was unrolling the toilet paper roll and eventually tore off about 3 yards worth of toilet paper.

Jack explained, "I know how to wipe my own bottom now. It's easy! All you've gotta do is punch the toilet paper into your bottom and wipe the poops out." I think he may have a future as an educator, or a trainer, because as he explained this to me he provided a detailed demonstration of the uh, "punching toilet paper into your bottom". But of course he stuffed it so far into his cute little butt cheeks that he had a hard time pulling out the toilet paper and ended up looking like he had a long white tail.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

I'm officially uncool

Megan's birthday is coming up this weekend. I can't believe she's going to be seven. It seems like just yesterday I was holding her, crying for hours at a time, unshowered and totally post-partum-ly avoiding my friends phone calls to ask me how it was going. Sigh...ah good times, good times. She's decided that the theme of her party will be Hannah Montana.

Now, I'm quite embarrassed to admit it but I've gotta say, that Hannah Montana is a good show. On more than one occasion I've found myself laughing out loud at those crazy kids. (Eek, I just read that last sentence back and realized how nerdy I sounded but I'm keeping it because it proves the point I'm trying to make in the title of this post.) And in those moments, I think Megan and I are bonding over a shared experience until I look over at her and see that she is rolling her eyes at me and sighing at my apparent uncoolness. Once, I caught myself singing the show's opening theme song out loud. Well, I didn't "catch" myself exactly. I'm not sure if it was because my voice sounded like a dying cat, or if it was just too much for Megan to take seeing her 30-something mother singing The Best of Both Worlds, but she actually yelled, "Geez Mom! Stop!"

So I ordered her cake the other day. It's got Hannah Montana on it (obviously) and a lip gloss guitar on it as a keepsake. I thought it was pretty cool so I ordered it in Megan's absence. Even as I was saying "butter creme frosting please" I had an inkling that maybe I should have waited for Megan to be with me to order so she could have final approval. But I decided to take my chances.

And then this is what happened...

Me: Megan, I ordered your cake today.
Megan: What does it look like?
Me: It's a Hannah Montana cake.
Megan: Yes, I know that but what does it look like?
Me: Um, I don't know, it's got frosting on it that's Hannah Montana-ish. Oh! And it has a lip gloss guitar on it so you can keep that part. That's cool, huh?
Megan: How many?
Me: How many what?
Megan: How many lip gloss guitars?
Me: Just one.
Megan (obviously disappointed): Hmm. Oh. Well what is on the inside?
***Note: I was prepared for this question. I knew under any circumstance that if I went with chocolate, she would have wanted a white cake. And if I ordered a white cake, she would have wanted chocolate. So, in a genius move by myself (yes, I am patting myself on the back right now) I ordered marble!***
Me: Here's the great thing Megan. It has both chocolate and white! It's just like Hannah Montana! Get it? The best of both worlds? Get it? You know, like the Hannah Montana song?
Megan: Geeeeeesssshhh Mom!
Me(completely blown away that she didn't see the pure genius in my solution): What?
Megan: Why are you saying that... it's annoying.
Me: Whatever.

And then, later at dinner, this...

Me: Did Megan tell you that she was annoyed with me today?
Jay: No. About what?
Me: blah blah blah (insert recap of above here)
Jay: Really?
Megan: Don't blame me. She keeps saying creepy stuff like that. It's weird.

It's kinda like crack... sort of...

You would think that the more time you spend with your children, the less they would want to be around you. When I'm gone on a business trip, most times when I come home I end up on Megan's "Pay-no-mind" list for a few hours/days. I mean, you would think she would totally want to be around me since she hasn't seen me in a few days.

And take this summer, for example. Jay's done with school and he's essentially running the house and for the most part, he's with the kids 24X7. One would logically assume they would kinda be getting sick of this big guy who is calling the shots around here. (It's widely known that Jay runs-uh, shall we say-a much tighter ship than I do.) But they aren't sick of him. In fact, they CANNOT.GET.ENOUGH. The more he's with them, the more they want him. I swear it's like they are addicted to crack and Jay...well, he is the crack.

Poor guy- he's got 8 more weeks of smothering coming to him.

Waiting with Jack

I took Jack to the doctor yesterday to have his rash checked out. The good news is that it doesn't seem to be Scarlet Fever... Uh... Huh??? I didn't even know that was a potential option and to be honest, I didn't realize people in this new millennium even got Scarlet Fever anymore. It appears it is some sort of rash and after a brief look, and a significantly long conversation about which Transformers Jack likes best with the doctor, he told us to go home, take some Benadryl and call us if things get worse. (I suppose that is the modern day "Take two Aspirin and call me in the morning" although they had to change it to Benadryl since now we know that if there was a remote chance that Jack would have Scarlet Fever, the last thing you'd actually WANT to give your child is Aspirin but I suppose that is neither here nor there and I digress.)

I think I've mentioned this before but one of my favorite ways to pass the time is when I've got my kids in a situation where they have no choice other than to talk to me- like driving in a car or sitting in a waiting room. I try to soak it up like a sponge because I know there will come a time where the last thing they want to do is talk to me. Plus, they say the most interesting things around this age. It fascinates me how their minds work.

So in addition to Jack's lengthy monologue to the nurse and the doctor about the various episodes and characters of Transformers that he likes best, here were a couple more of his profound thoughts.

"Momma, If I fell off a cliff, you'd miss me forever right? There are LOTS of cliffs in our world."

And my personal favorite... while he's stuffing his arms into his shirt...

"Momma, If you have no arms, you have no armpits, right? Because when you move your arms, that makes your armpits move. So if you don't have arms, you don't need any armpits."

Monday, June 16, 2008

Instant Gratification

Jay and Jack came home this morning from being out and about for a couple hours. Jay's first words when he walked in the door were "Go show your mother." Uh oh, what could this be? Jack wandered over to me and pulled up his shirt to reveal a tiny 35 pound body with little bumps all over his stomach, back and arms.

I think Jack has heat rash;Or he's having an allergic reaction to something. I took one look at it and told Jay he probably needed to give Jack some Benadryl. It works wonders for hives, if you don't mind immediately drugging your child as a first step in health care triage.

Jay called Jack over to take the medicine. Jack is a great medicine taker so he took it like a champ. Although, like most kids in his generation, he was looking for instant gratification. He swallowed the medicine, lifted up his shirt, looked down at his belly and said, "It's not working."

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Wiener Dogs

Jack: "Daddy, Is wiener dog a bad word?"
Jay: "No."
Jack: "But wiener dog has a bad word in it."
Jay: "Uh, yeah I guess."
Jack: "Wiener is the bad word."
Jay: "Well, if you say wiener dog to talk about a dog, that's just the name and it's not bad."
Jack (chanting): WIENER DOG! WIENER DOG! WIENER...
Jay: "Okay- now that's not funny."

He's so good he even scared himself

The kids had a great time at Grandma and Bampa's while we were gone. When we picked them up today, we saw all the pictures from their adventures. Lots of playing, lots of fishing (Megan caught two fish but when I asked her if she touched the fish she said, "What do you think??? No! The fish are disgusting!") and lots of pictures of the kids eating ice cream. Luckily we have those pictures, and an email documenting the trip. Here is an excerpt of the email from my Mother-In-Law:

It was so cute. Jack was showing Amelia (my niece) how all the different things worked in the dollhouse. They started playing and Jack said he would be the Daddy who was actually a Power Ranger who hunted for aliens (you know, your typical dad!!) Pretty soon he called out excitedly, "Oh honey, I found the secret passage!"

After a few minutes I told them it was time for bed so they all went right upstairs and each picked out a story to read. We all snuggled into the bed and read each of the stories. Then Megan helped Amelia arrange the bed and they snuggled down to sleep, which is no small task for girls. On the way out I heard Megan say to Amelia..."Now Amelia, no talking unless you have to go to the bathroom."

All was quiet and peaceful on the western front. I could see a few storm clouds gathering so decided to take a quick shower and go upstairs and read, just in case. I was only gone 5-10 minutes....but apparently, I missed the worst clap of thunder! By the time I went upstairs, I was met with all of them and Bampa on the upstairs landing....eyes as big as saucers. Apparently after the big boom which woke them all up, Jack decided to make scary noises from his bed. He succeeded in scaring everyone, including himself!

The good news and the bad news

So Megan called Jay while we were in Austin from Grandma's house.

Megan: "Guess what? I got to ride a pony."
Jay: "Oh really?"
Megan: "Yeah, the good news is that I got to ride the pony."
Jay: "Uh huh."
Megan: "The bad news is the pony was attached to a pony-go-round."

Friday, June 13, 2008

One of these things is not like the other...

Jay and I are spending the weekend in Austin. Megan and Jack are having their own mini-vacation at Grandma and Bampas. Once we booked our trip to Austin, we realized that this weekend is the Republic of Texas bike rally. And when I say bike, I don't mean ten speeds. I mean huge, loud choppers. And the bikers started coming in droves to Austin yesterday. We were standing in front of our hotel attempting to have a conversation and kept getting interrupted by the sounds of the choppers. I've never seen anything like it. I think I saw one girl picking bugs out of her teeth as she hopped off her bike in front of the hotel. (okay, that part is a joke but it would have been hilarious to see!

Needless to say, Jay and I stick out like sore thumbs this weekend. It's kinda like this...

Anyway, you get the idea.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

This morning's conversation

I got into Austin, TX last night after midnight. This morning I called Jay at 7:30 which in my opinion is a completely reasonable time to call your husband under most circumstances...except when our kids are at their grandparent's house, and Jay is temporarily living the bachelor life (for 24 hours).

Jay: "Hello?"
Me: "Hey! What's up? How did the drop off with the kids go with your parents yesterday?"
Jay: "Fine."
Me: "Oh man, I didn't get into Austin until after midnight last night. And this morning, I got into a cab with no air conditioning. You would not believe how hot it is here. It's only 7:30 and it's like 85 degrees. It's ridiculous. So anyway, I'm in this cab with no air conditioning and we are driving down the highway at like 60 miles per hour. You should see my hair. It looks like a total rat's nest. Oh, and I talked to Carrie. She's doing good. She and her husband just bought a condo in Naples, Fl so that's pretty exciting! Hey, wait...are you still sleeping?"
Jay: "Yes."
Me: "Oh sorry! I didn't realize that."
Jay: "Well you just were super chatty."
Me: "Okay, well go back to bed and call me later-k?"
Jay(sighing with mild annoyance):"Well... okay."

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

I am Woman hear me roar

I wouldn’t call myself a Feminist per se but I would say that I am pro-woman. Pro-woman in the sense that it makes me angry that the Country Club in our town doesn’t let women join. I’ve already tried to instill in Megan a sense of resentment of that fact and every time we drive by the Country Club, I remind her that they don’t let women become members which then triggers Jay to retort something like, “Well they don’t let men into Curves now do they?” To which I then say something like, “But it’s not the same thing.” And then I continue to sputter and stutter about trying to make my point until I realize it’s an effort in futility and then I just go back to sticking my nose in my laptop or doing something domestic like the dishes or making cookies.

I’m pro-woman in the way that I get giddy with excitement when I see women succeed. I love hearing stories about women breaking the glass ceiling and becoming Presidents or CEOs of companies. I love that the television networks rely on women like Jean Chatzky and Suze Orman to tell all of America how to better manage their money.

I love that the inventor of Jibbits was a stay at home mom who created them by accident and then ended up selling her company to the founder of Crocs for millions upon millions of dollars.

I was equally excited while watching Oprah the other day when I found out that the designer/founder for Jimmy Choo shoes was actually a woman and not some guy named Jimmy. Which in retrospect totally makes sense because if we are going to get real here, what man could think of such cool shoes???

And although I consider myself to be a Moderate Republican on the political scale, I have to admit there was a small part of me that thought it would be kinda cool to have a woman as our next President.

I say all this to set the scene for what I am about to describe as something that happened at a party that was sooo unlike me! Jay and I went to a Shrimp Boil party with some of his co-workers and their spouses to celebrate the end of the school year. The older I get, the less social I become so I typically plant myself in one central location and make conversation with whoever ends up sitting next to me and am perfectly content until I run out of things to say and experience the extremely awkward long pauses and then I excuse myself to go to the bathroom or to get another beverage. Thankfully Jay works with some really nice folks so I don’t have those long awkward pauses and it's rare that I need to excuse myself from the conversation. Which is nice because I mean, under other circumstances, with another set of folks the frequent excuses would probably cause people to think that a) I have a bladder infection because I excuse myself to the bathroom so often or b) I end up getting really hammered from excusing myself to get another beverage too often.

At any rate, at the latest party I sat next to the spouse of a co-worker and we struck up conversation. For some reason, we got on the subject of me traveling for my job and she asked which airline I usually flew. I started to gush on and on about how I sometimes fly American but if I have my choice, I ALWAYS choose United. Jay overheard this conversation and leaned over and said, “Yeah, but tell them why you like United!” So of course, I then proceeded to explain my neurosis about my affinity to United and the fact that the sole reason I enjoy United has nothing to do with the seats, pilots or service. It has to do with the audio programming and the fact that on channel 9 I can hear the conversations between my pilots and air traffic control. And for some reason, I find this particularly comforting because with my control issues, if the plane is going down, I want to be the first to know and I feel like on United, I get a leg up in this department.

The woman’s husband then happened to mention that she (gasp) works for American Airlines. So of course at this point, I felt like a total idiot because I unintentionally insulted her in a roundabout way. So after I took my foot out of my mouth, I used it to start back peddling and reiterating that it’s essentially because I’m crazy and neurotic that I would select United over American.

But then… it got worse…after I sufficiently back peddled, I attempted to detract from myself and turned the conversation back to her. And the first question that came to my mind started to spew from my mouth. And in that next moment, I was about to become the person I hated and complained about all the time. The person that is on par with the waiter who always gives the man at the table the check and would never dare to assume that the woman might be paying for the dinner.

“So…You work for American, huh? That’s so great. What do you do for them?” (…here it comes…) “Are you a… Flight Attendant?”

Ugh! I couldn’t stop myself. It was like watching a slow motion crash. Now I just hoped to God the answer was yes. But of course I couldn’t get that lucky. She responded, “No, actually I’m a Pilot for American.”

DOH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So I opened my mouth and put my foot back in it. And let me tell you, it was quite a long hop on one foot to the bathroom!

Sunday, June 8, 2008

A room full of...well, just about everything

Megan is a huge pack rat. She never wants to throw anything away. It's at a point where I get anxiety and hives just walking into her bedroom and every other Thursday, I breathe a sigh of relief that our cleaning lady has agreed to come back and clean Megan's room once more. She sees a reason to keep just about everything. I made the mistake of opening the drawer next to her bed and it was stuffed with things that any other normal person might consider garbage. To be honest, I doubt anyone would believe me so I opened the drawer and took a picture of its contents.

It may be the artist in Megan but when I showed her the picture, instead of recoiling in horror she commented, "See, it's like a collage!" It may be hard to see but a few items to note are as follows:
1) Bottom center- used Kleenex
2) Bottom left- fish food (for a fish that died probably 6 months ago)
3) Upper right- brown silly putty that has captured tags from clothing and a black string
4) Bottom right- one playing card (yup, that's right... ONE playing card)

And, that is just the top layer but if you can extrapolate that the rest of her room, you'll get the idea of what I'm talking about.

One moment while I scratch my hives...

...Okay, I'm back.

At any rate, today Megan was open to cleaning her closet so we moved all the clothes from their various stuffed piles and hung them up. It was at this point that I noticed the shirts. A lot of shirts. I mean A LOT of shirts. Probably 30 of them. Of course I commented on this. "Geez Megan. If I would have realized how many shirts you had, I wouldn't have bought those other shirts for you today. What are you going to do with all these shirts?" Megan stopped what she was doing and turned and looked at me. Then she said, "Well, I'm gonna wear them. Isn't that obvious?"

Mr. Missy

Jack: "Uh, Momma- we don't have Mr. Missy anymore in our class at school."
(Mr. Missy was the tadpole turned frog from Jack's class at school)
Me: "Really? What happened to Mr. Missy?"
Jack: "Uh, he died."
Me: "Really??? That's too bad. What happened?"
Jack: "Uh, well Chrissy from my class dropped something in Mr. Missy's tank and he died."
Me:"What did she drop in there?"
Jack: "Uh, a cracker."
Me: "Oh. She put a cracker in there and Mr. Missy ate it and died?!?!"
Jack: "Uh, yeah."
Me: "Wow. That's too bad. Did Chrissy feel bad about that? Were you sad?"
Jack: "Actually, I'm just joking. Another teacher took Mr. Missy to her room. He's not dead."

So there you have it. Jack at the mere age of 4 has become such a proficient liar that he even had me tricked. Which has me thinking- we are in soooo much trouble when he gets to be a teenager.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Where are the humans?

Jack wandered over to the neighbor's today to see if he could play. A few moments later he came back over and started hollering at me from a few driveways away. Boy, what a sight that was. Jack yelled something to me that I couldn't understand so I yelled, "What?" And Jack yelled back, "What did you say?" I yelled again that I couldn't hear him and he again yelled, "What did you say????" Back and forth we went a couple more times until he finally came back over to me. "Momma, can I play at T's house for 5 minutes?" Jack asked. "Well,is it okay with T's mom?" I asked. "Um, well T said I could." Jack responded. I said, "Yeah but did T's mom say it was okay?" Jack thought for a second and replied, "Well, actually I didn't see any other humans over there."

Thursday, June 5, 2008


Jay: "Megan, what's another name for moustache?"
Megan (thinking for a moment): "Um...flavor saver???"

Chewing Gum

For some reason, neither one of my kids had any interest in chewing gum...until tonight. After our dinner, we stopped off at the candy store in our town and Jack insisted on getting some chewing gum. We agreed but knew that it must be done in a controlled environment to make sure no choking occurred. Jack was so excited that most of the way home he kept singing, "Bubbalicious, Bubbalicious! Bubba...licious!" So much so that Megan finally got annoyed with him and pleaded, "Jack, please stop talking about bubble gum!" I had a feeling that this might be somewhat humorous to watch so I got out the video camera. Some parts of it are hard to catch so I must highlight a few areas to note within the video.

1) Jack's pure joy after his first attempt topped with his pose for effect.
2) Megan yelling at Jack that he is wasting food.
3) Jack coaching Megan from the sidelines as to, "that's how you get it done, Megan!"
4) Megan literally gagging while chewing the gum but Jack cheering her on from the background.
5) And finally, Jack claiming to be the "master" of chewing gum after 3 attempts.

And so... in the words of my husband, "Yeah, our family loves gum."

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Jack's definition of jealous

Some of the best conversations in our house take place between Megan and Jack. Granted, in this video clip if I was Jack, at one point I probably would have thrown my peaches in Megan's face but it is entertaining to watch.

Think the kids were excited to get to the pool?

Taking it to the limit

Somehow Jack got on the subject of limits when we were in the car yesterday.

Jack: "There are all sorts of limits. Our house has all different limits."
Megan: "Jack, what do you mean limits? Do you even know what a limit is?"
Jack: "Well, limits are where you can go all different speeds."
Me: "Oh, you mean speed limits."
Megan (being the very accurate child that she is zeroed in on Jack's reference to limits in our house): "But not in our house. In our house the limits are on like how much candy you can have and stuff like that. You know, Jack?"
Jack (frustrated because he was talking about speed limits and didn't really want to hear what Megan had to say on limits in our house): "Oh just forget it!"
Megan: "But um Jack, did you know that Daddy has gone more than the limit in the car before?"
Jack: "WHAAAT??? He went up the limit????"


Megan (calling to me from the deck): "Mommy? Jack just said pathetic."
Me: "So?"
Megan: "Jack called me pathetic."
Me: "Jack, come here."
Jack (coming to the screen door): "What Momma?"
Me: "Did you call Megan pathetic?"
Jack: "Uh, yeah."
Me: "Do you know what pathetic means?"
Jack: "Uh, no."
Me (to Megan): "See, there you go. He doesn't even know what it means."


Sometimes the kids drop things when we are in the car and since they have their seatbelts on, they are unable to reach said things. That is when the pleas begin. "Momma, I dropped my toy... Mommy, can you reach my book" etc. So yesterday, Megan dropped her toy while we were driving. Jack proceeded to mutter under his breath, "I didn't drop my toy. I'm not gonna drop my toy." I was waiting for Megan to start in that Jack was bragging or teasing or something of the like but she actually held her own and didn't say anything. And then a few moments later, Jack dropped his toy. I couldn't resist. I turned and said, "Uh Jack, I thought you said you weren't going to drop your toy?" And Megan chimed in too, "Yeah, Jack that's what happens when you tease about dropping toys." But it was all in good fun and no one seemed to get too upset about it.

But as I suspected, Megan asked me to grab her toy for her. It was in a spot that I just couldn't grab.

Me: "Sorry Meg. I can't get to it. My arm is too big and is getting caught between the seat and the door so I can't reach it."
Jack: "I could probably reach it. My arms are small. I have smaller arms than you. My arms are the smallest arms in our family. Daddy has the biggest arms in our family. I'm the smallest one in our family and Daddy is the biggest one in our family."
Megan: "Jack, when you say Daddy is the biggest one in our family. It's kinda like you are calling him fat and that's not very nice."
Jack: "I didn't mean that. I meant Daddy is gigantic."
Megan: "Jack, that means fat too."