We had the honor of spending Thanksgiving this year with dear friends.
Mark and Diane have a young son (3 years old) who is obsessed with golf. “Focused” we’ll call it. So Mark and Diane, Diane’s brother and wife, and four kids total invited the three of us over. (My job was pumpkin pie. I went to the store with a recipe, fully intending to do my duty, and walked out with a finished pie. Perfect.)
Oh, and there was a puppy. K-Rae was in heaven: older girls to play with, a little boy to hit balls with and a sweet puppy upon which to lavish hugs (poor dog. sooo patient…)
Kids played and behaved well. Adults ate and drank. All was well. Then Mike threw a ball. It hit me and then the wine glass with red vin. Kids didn’t spill. We did. oops! (need to run off to write my “thank you/sorry” note…)
You may recall my first post here and a reference to my dear friend, Alecia Yancik. Friends now for 32 years (good god), Alecia not only threw me a baby shower, but she actually knitted WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS the most beautiful seagreenblue blanket for K-Rae.
For the first year, the blanket was carefully tucked away while I fretted about ANY items in Kate’s crib and the frightful monster, SIDS.
Now that the Kid can roll over, sit, beg and nearly do back flips off her bed, I’ve reopened that beautiful gift. At first, the blanket made for a great binkie-barrier (too many dropped through the rails in the night… you’d hear the unmistakable sound of plastic magic on hardwood, followed by pitiful mourns of “binkie… binkie…”). Today, the blanket has become a make-shift pillow. Sending her off to sleep while I remember all of the fun the blanket-maker and I had as kids.
Thanks, Leash.
Ok, picking up where the running joke below ended:
A good friend encouraged me to purchase one of the photos from the race. (That’s right, some poor photographer is actually earning a living by taking photos at these events.) So I poured over the proofs sent to me. And I do mean “poured” – I couldn’t find one where I looked either (a) happy or (b) like I was actually running. (with both feet still in contact with the ground, in some fashion, I’d call that walking)
Anyway, here it is. It’s really quite funny – hence the sharing. I’m running (barely) and looking quite tired and serious. You see those gals behind me? They’re having the time of their lives. And it shows. I look like I have to barf.
I “ran” track in junior high. I thought I would die most days. To this day, I really can’t remember why I participated. I did the high jump, too. Laughable really.
I played basketball in high school. I dreaded the “Z’s” – those horrific sprints at the end of practice which require you to touch each of the lines on the court. HATED them. Silently cursed the coach the entire time.
These days, I actually jog on my own. Not because someone is blowing their whistle at me or holding a “starting” position over my head. Inconceivable, I know.
Blah, blah… years pass and I still jog and have found that if I don’t, I now turn into a Royal Bitch (with a capital B). Now that I work with some likewise twisted people who jog for kicks, I’ve ramped it up a notch and run, um jogged, TWO half-marathons.
Do 2 half-marathons make a whole? Can I stop now?
I’ve thought about this post no less than 4 times – and subsequently forgot the topic 4 times.
This is either (a) a clear example of the dreaded “mommy brain” or (b) it’s just not that interesting. Even for me.
What was that again?
Oh yeah. We learned another valuable parenting lesson last night:
Don’t let your toddler watch tv (for her, it was “Thumbelina“) while eating dinner. She’ll never finish her meal.
Or, was this the lesson?
DO let your toddler watch tv while eating dinner. It will buy you a leisurely meal, reminiscent of those quiet, pre-kid days. One that you can sit back a savor… before jumping up to pick up a dropped fork, washing the kid’s hands, throwing away scraps (no dog anymore, remember), washing dishes, putting up leftovers, heading to bathtime, etc.
We felt completely guilty. And, strangely, liberated.
They say watching too much tv leads to adult ADD. My guess is that my own mother let me watch a little too much of the boob-tube. Hence my complete inability to remember this story.
Or it was just lame.
(have I mentioned how much I wish Word Press came with a spell-checker? guess it’s up to you, Nat.)
Aunt Jennifer (”G”) married Mr. Big last weekend.
MRA and The Girl were in rare form. (While Kate really seems to love Mickey, she appears to be contemplating a drowning here. Perhaps just a drink?)
From day one, The Girl’s day care has referred to themselves as “school”. MRA and I picked up the term, more of a tongue-in-cheek reference than any true belief. We sinners have been converted.
Since her arrival at “school” a year and a half ago, The Girl has learned to do many things that I KNOW we (dad and I) didn’t teach her.
(1) Navigating stairs. You would think we would have made that a priority given our home’s multitude. Nope we’ll just pick you up, kiddo.
(2) Sharing. Who needs to share when we have no interest in her crayon?
(3) Blowing her nose. BIG one in our book. She spent her first year of life bouncing from one cold to another. They somehow managed to teach the blowing part. God bless them.
The latest and greatest, however… the one which made me smile when I write the “tuition” check last week… was this:
MRA sneezed.
“God bless you.” That’s right. It came from The Girl.
Let’s hear it for DCC.
Halloween 2007 brought out the Minnie-Mouse-dressed-as-a-Fairy in The Girl.
You gotta admit it… she’s pretty darn happy with herself. So are we.