For The Ladies In Da' House...

The baker. Oh, the baker.

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Lost In America

Wild week. I haven’t been able to get it together to blog. I’m on my last day of a four-day event cycle. Indiana Jones theme…skeletons, treasure chests, rubber snakes, rope bridges. This is also my last day at work for two months. I am dancing in my shoes to get out of here. My desk is cleared, boxes packed. The office is relocating while I’m away. I wanted to make the transition easier for all by hauling out my stuff and returning with it in mid-August. I’ll probably get shafted on where my new desk will end up living but right now I don’t care. I’ll deal with that later. Much later. We’re headed to the beach tomorrow morning, W and I. We’ve been reading books about the beach to get him familiar with the idea. He hasn’t been since he was this small and just learning to walk.




Now it’s all he can talk about. CaCa and her family are joining us. W was saying this morning on the way to school, “CaCa beach, yeaaaaaaaaaay!” Yeay is right, kiddo.

His last day at school is next Tuesday. I’m feeling the bittersweet sadness of it already. So are his teachers. He’ll be back later in the summer but it’s like splitting up a family. They’ll miss him and vice versa. On a somewhat related note, last Friday W came home from school with two bite marks on his little arm. His teachers didn’t mention anything about it so I asked W what happened. I asked, “Who bit you?” and pointed to the offending red circles. “Isbabell,” he replied. I talked with him about biting being bad and how it hurts our bodies and our friend’s bodies and so forth. I kissed the wounds and we went on our merry way. Several times during the weekend W pointed to the marks and said “Isbabell.” I reminded him that biting wasn’t a nice thing to do, blah, blah, blah. By the end of the weekend, he was pointing at every mosquito bite, scab and bruise on his person and blaming them all on little Isabel. He was obviously getting carried away at incriminating her and I tried to set the record straight but, damn, it was funny.

So the Hubs has sold his soul to Tony Robbins. I know, I know…awaken the giant within and all that voodoo is bunk to many but I’m telling y’all, this stuff has some super-duper powers. See, the Hubs has been dealing with some mighty big issues, decisions, demons, and such. He needed someone unbiased to assist him in making some very important choices and that someone was definitely not his biased wife. So he plunked down a hearty wad of dough and got himself a life coach. They talk every three weeks, just enough time for him to get some assigned homework on himself done. Y’all, I’m not kidding, the first time he talked to his coach things started happening right away, good things, offers, invitations, opportunities. It's like there was some unspoken barrier in our world and it's been removed. And they keep coming and now I’m getting excited because I can see the wheels of change happening for us. It’s freaky and awesome and I'm stoked to see what happens next.

Summertime, here we come.

Oh Little Man

(This is an entry to W, for W, about W so read on if you can stand the syrupy sentiments.)

Oh, kiddo…

Lately we’ve been spending big chunks of time together while the Hubs is away and it’s been pretty awesome. At times, I do find myself mentally mixing every cocktail imaginable when I have to tame your more spirited moments and I’m at my wits end of things but on the whole you’re pretty wonderful.

The other night I was curious to see how late you could stay up and, man, did I pay the price. I snuggled you into my bed thinking it would be so nice to have you fall asleep in my arms like you do when you’re ill, all cuddly and warm. This turned out to be a very bad idea and finally had to drag your flippity-floppity buns downstairs to your own room at 11:35 p.m. You won, son. You are your father’s child, oh keeper of rock star hours. I should’ve known. There are times though when we are watching Wonder Pets or Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch something or other on the couch together and you grab my arm and wrap it around your neck like a mink stole. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

You’re full of information, tons of information with details and details of those details. Sometimes you share this knowledge in a language you are cultivating on your own and you sprinkle in bits of the English language, kinda like our new cleaning lady who speaks both English and Spanish simultaneously…“I cleaned the bathroom pero no mas cleaner for the tub, o.k?” The best is when you pretend to talk on my cell phone like an attorney making a deal for a very guilty client you're representing. You wring your hands and wave them in the air like you’re stating some very pertinent facts. The best is when you pause like you’re listening to the other party talk for a moment. So real.

I’m wondering though if you’re ever going to be okay with taking a bath again. You unwillingly charge in there like I’ve got a cattle prod poking your arse when I tell you it’s bath time. Tears stream down your cheeks as we undress you. You immediately start saying and signing “All done!” as soon as your toes touch the water. Try as I may, I can’t get you interested in the hundreds of toys floating and sinking in there so we just wash up really fast and get you out of there quick. You like to look at yourself in the mirror while you cry as I bundle you in your towel. Talk about drama.

Lately you’ve been sitting at the piano and playing it with your left hand while shaking the blue egg shaker in the other. Throw in some jibber-jabber sing song stuff and I’m front and center at my own little concert, a peek in to things (and groupies) to come. This morning on our way to school you were singing Old MacDonald so loudly you’re little voice was cracking. I could barely drive I was laughing so hard. You are quite the entertainer/dramatic artist, my sweet child and you get it honest.















Besos,
Mama

And for your viewing pleasure...

Wunnerful Weekend

Me and W, our weekend was stuffed like a Chicago style pizza. Right after school on Friday we headed to our neighborhood cement pond for our first dip of the summer-to-be. Freakin’ cold, as to be expected, and W cried the whole time except when I pointed at imaginary fish in the water. A little girl was making a game of getting out of the pool and jumping back into the water. Every time she did and the droplets landed on W’s skin, he’d shriek like acid was being throw on him. We lasted about 10 whole minutes. We ended the evening at Central Market to watch a friend’s husband bang on the drums. I eagerly purchased a refreshing glass of white wine, a well deserved beverage after a hard week of solo parenting and work at the orifice, and planted myself, ready to take in the surroundings. I then proceeded to dump the whole glass of nectar into my friend’s purse, just bumped it into the crevasses of the table. She said she’d drink it later. I was too ticked to brave the line and get another.

Saturday we joined the motorcycling masses and headed to the hill country for an overnighter with Pop Pop and family. My wonderful Aunt Ginna from Oatmeal (yes, there is such a place and it’s lovely) came down for the fun, too. The wildflowers along the way were in Technicolor! We had a grand time grilling out (be sure and mix some parmesan cheese, fresh lime juice, S & P with butter, rechill and then slather it on grilled corn on the cob…hell yeah!), swilling vino and getting caught up. Wella gave W a battery operated, hand held bubble blower so we spent hours on the back patio framed in scenes from the Lawerence Welk show. On Sunday morning, a few of us went here. I could drop some serious cash in that place but made it out relatively unscathed.

We ended the long, wonderful weekend by sitting on the front porch and watching it rain droplets the size of silver dollars. They smacked the pavement like wads of wet toilet paper. Lightning lit up the sky followed by the thunder and W and I enjoyed every minute of it. If the Hubs had been home, he would’ve been hidden safely inside the house but I want to make sure that W isn’t afraid of the storms and marvels at their beauty the way I do.

I promise to post some pics soon. We got a new camera but the Hubs keeps running off with it every time he leaves town.

Kiddo

The Hubs and I decided that since we will be taking a summer off from working and school that we’d hold W back from moving up to the bigger kids room. Wednesday was the last day for CaCa, his best bud, to be in the class. His other friend, Zane, who could easily be running for office by the way he stands there and smiles at you while never saying a word, just waiting for a photo opp by the cubby area, had his last day yesterday. Both of them cried on their final days like they knew something was about to change. It was a sad sight to see. Did they really get it? Did they really know what was about to happen? This morning, however, after I dropped off W, who, let me point out, was the first one at school at 8 a.m. because he decided to start his day at 5:45 a.m., I saw Zane getting dropped off by his mama in the other play yard. I drove slowly down the alley to observe him absorbing his new routine and he seemed absolutely thrilled, just beaming with happiness and excitement. He saw me and waved like the good politician he is and flashed the pearly whites that match his platinum hair. I waved back enthusiastically and tears welled up in my eyes. You know, you get close to the little posse of children your kiddo spends so many of the hours of the day with and you root for them and you feel their parent’s anguish when their babes are growing up so fast knowing full well you’re going to be in their shoes very, very soon.

Thankfully W is still in a cuddly state and doesn’t venture far when we’re out in public. He likes to be carried and have things explained to him as he is tenuous about his surroundings. He asks questions and makes many (sometime too many) verbal observations. All in all, he’s a very good kiddo but he’s recently encountered the world of monster trucks (the DVD came with the cars) and now everything has to “Cash!” or crash and he has become rather destructive with his toys. Just yesterday as I was standing in the driveway talking to the neighbors from across the street who have a boy a couple of months younger than W. We were saying that we needed to get the kiddos together and hang out and all that small talk. W was pushing his little school bus in the pea gravel at my feet and I commented on how that school bus was about 18 years old and formerly owned by one of my younger brothers. As what seemed to be his cue, W lifted it above his head and tossed it with a resounding crash as the plastic hit the ground. He did it again, shaking some components loose inside. Again he threw it and it bounced twice. W was very proud of himself and repeating “Cash!” over and over. Real nice, son. I’m sure the neighbors are just dying to bring their composed and calm son over to play with you. Lord, keep my son away from the WWF.