Monday, January 28, 2008

B and B

It's amazing that, during the week, I could practically enlist the use of sirens along with a big pot and wooden spoon to try and drag my child out of bed and it would still be a fight. The weekend is a different story, and this past one was no exception:

Sunday morning, before the sun had even come up, I felt the presence of my son and the dog in my bedroom. He was watching cartoons and talking to the dog as I dozed in and out of consciousness. At one point I remember thinking there was an awfully cold spot in the bed near my knee. Oh, never mind. I turned over and snuggled with the pillows some more... There it is again, that coldness. Something making a noise like crinkling plastic... Finally I sat up to investigate. I peeled back the covers, then called to my son...

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Uh... why is there broccoli in my bed?"

"Because my leg hurt."

"Do what?"

"Because my leg hurt."

"And you thought broccoli would fix it?"

"No. I was using it for an ice pack."

You can't make this stuff up.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Closet Treasures

Last night, my son asked me if he could organize the closet in his room. Yes, I know, a weird request from a seven year old, but apparently he has some strange genetic mutation that causes him to organize things compulsively... The closet request actually came after he'd finished the refrigerator. (The pear stems, you see, needed to all be facing the same direction.)...

So I said yes, but reluctantly. The room that is now his used to be the spare bedroom downstairs, and in its closet are mostly things that belonged to his father. Things that I cannot seem to get rid of for one reason or another. Things that I will never get rid of because they are so much a part of him. Last night, a flood of memories (and questions from my son) came back to me.

What's this? He would ask...
His walking stick from Mt. Fuji...
Is this from when he was in the Army? He wanted to know.
Yes, it's his backpack.
Cool! He would say...

Then, the kicker: My wedding dress, still in its pink garment bag. He wanted to know if he could look at it. I said sure. It really is a pretty dress: Ivory colored, simple beading at the top, layers of chiffon... My son said he thought it was beautiful. He also said he thinks I am beautiful. Then he said he couldn't wait for his future wife to wear my dress.

I love my kid.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

What Bugs You?

These are my top ten pet peeves... What bugs you?

1. Air Guitar. Don’t do it. You look like a dork.
2. Hypocrites in any shape, form or fashion.
3. Rude people. I don’t care if you are the King of the World or the gal serving me my fries in the drive-thru. Treat people the way you want to be treated.
4. Women who are obviously bottle blondes who still blame their stupidity on being blonde, as in: “Oh, no! I’m having a blonde moment!” No you aren’t. You are just doing something dumb. Period.
5. The smell of syrup. It is for this reason alone that I do not eat pancakes.
6. Open cabinets/drawers. Say it with me: “Open. Close. Open. Close.” Thank you.
7. Phone people. Especially you blue-toothers.
8. Rude smokers. (I smoke, by the way). If you are within a couple of feet of the receptacle provided, put your ashes and butts IN it, not just somewhere in the vicinity. You make the rest of us look worse.
9. Spearmint gum. (Stinks!)
10. Adults who want to talk to me about my child through my child, as in, “You need to tell your mommy to sign your permission slip.” Uh, no, he does not need to tell his mommy, his mommy is standing right here. YOU tell his mommy, then his mommy will happily sign the permission slip. Have a nice day.

P.S. I reserve the right to amend the above without notice.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Happy New Year

2008 began for me as I’m sure it did for a lot of people: with a terrible case of cotton mouth and a crick in my neck. In my case, though, it wasn’t from all the wild partying I had done the night before, but from the cold I felt coming on the day before. When I finally managed to get out of bed, I shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table heavy-eyed and tired and basically feeling sorry for myself.
My son, however, was as chipper as ever. He was playing with the dog and one of the toys he’d gotten for Christmas while I pouted. He laughed out loud at what he was watching on television. I thought a shower and a bowl of soup would help me a little, and they did.Soon, though, my son was asking what we were going to do that day. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, so we probably would not go anywhere. He wanted to know if he could play with “that plaster stuff.” (Plaster of Paris). I said no. He wanted to know if he could paint. I said yes. He painted for a little while, and then wanted to know if he could go outside. I reluctantly said yes, but as long as he bundled up. He stayed out back with the dog for only a few minutes and was soon back in wanting to know what he could do for fun. Frankly, I just was not in the mood but felt like I needed to give him some kind of option, but what? My purse was sitting on the floor by the couch, and he dumped it out when his gum fell in it. Great… Then he eyed my makeup case and asked me if he could make me look “scary.” I figured I couldn’t get much scarier than I already was, so I said sure. I laid on the couch while the master went to work. Every once in a while I’d open my eyes and see him smiling, deviously.
Finally, he announced that he was done. I opened my compact and peered in to find this:

Happy New Year, everybody!