Captain Pork Chops

Baby Hudson

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 16:24:00 +0000

photo by Stevie

Michael "Hudson" Mahoney was born on Monday, June 21st.

He is simply perfect and wonderful and so good. I will write about more details later, and I will keep trying to find better and more adequate words to describe him. I spend hours looking into his face and am not entirely sure that there are adequate words.

If you had been following my maternity series, you can quickly catch up on Stevie T Photography's Facebook page. Stevie was also there to capture the moments of Hudson's Birth Day and she will be posting photos. Again, I can't adequately justify the amazing that is Stevie and what she means to our family.

I will be responding to emails, although not regularly. We are taking time to adjust as a family and to soak in all the wonderful. Thanks for understanding!

-Danielle

Time is Constant Motion

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 03:02:00 +0000

This morning I woke up to a three year old's billy goat breath on my face. Yellow-orange spring sunlight poured through the window, poking me in the eyes.

I woke up remembering that my husband was out of town and there would be no sleeping in or the smell of coffee drifting upstairs.

I woke up to cartoons and Pop Tart requests and "I need a vitamin, I need a napkin, may I have milk please?"

I approved bike riding and scooter riding and sidewalk chalk at 9:16 am, but "please no yelling, no screaming, no knocking on friends' doors- it's too early."

I did two loads of laundry and cranked the music.

I picked up abandoned pajamas and hangers haphazardly thrown on the floor. I stripped beds and found a weeks worth of white socks pressed between my side of the sheets.

I yelled out the window for boys to stop yelling.

I showered too quickly.

I attempted to look "put together" by putting on make up and touching up my unwashed hair with a flat iron and shine spray. I brushed my teeth and turned off the electric tooth brush before the cycle was even finished. Good enough.

I packed bags and snacks for swimming lessons, frantically searched for goggles and flippers and swim trunks that didn't smell funny and "where the hell are the towels with their names on them because those are the ones they like".

I monitored outside hurried clean up and clothes changing. Explained that teeth still needed to be brushed even though "chlorine would get on them".

I shuffled boys to the big white mini van, checked buckles. Bags? check. Wallet, phone, water, sunglasses, keys? We were ready. Too early.

We stopped at Starbucks. Three bleary family people holding hands in a person train, through the parking lot. Small, medium, big. In order according to Grant. I was big. Thanks, Grant.

Denied requests for hot chocolate. Made another train. Back to the van. Didn't step on cracks but balanced on the crosswalk lines. "Please walk faster. Can we make it to the van in 20 seconds?" Successful attempt to make walking faster a game.

Climb in, buckle check again. "Please hit play. Please turn up the volume. When will we be there? How long?"

I made phone calls. Caught up while driving. I arrived too early for swim lessons, which is not my style. Potty dance started. Had to go in. Too early.

I tried to watch both my guys by moving between two different pools. Made sure he saw me, waved, thumbs up, excited claps, signed "pay attention" and "stay of the wall" by vigorously waving my hands and mentally willing him to understand.

Next pool, next boy. Took pictures with my phone to send to their Dad. "Yes, he's back in the water. Yes, he loves it. Please send pictures of the wrestling match. He looks great! Tell him we miss him. Tell her we said hi."

I collected boys wrapped in towels with goggle induced raccoon rings around blood shot eyes and drippy noses. We navigated a too crowded pool area, changed, packed, back to the van.

Had McDonald's for lunch with chocolate shakes, commenced operation messy playroom, wrapped birthday presents for a party we couldn't attend. They insisted on picking the paper and helping with the tape. They refused to clean but requested construction paper made super hero masks.

I started more laundry.

I caught up with a friend on the phone while they pretended to clean. Had to hang up. Had to engage with the guys to prevent their exhausted bodies from melting into my carpet.

We made blue masks with yellow yarn. They commandeered their Super-Hero capes, boots and bikes and responded to the distress call of a princess. "They're off to save her!" and tell every neighbor about it on the way.

I wrangled them back in the house, convinced them that leftover pizza was what all Super-Heros ate. They reminded me that Super-Heros also like milk and don't use napkins.

They were exhausted. I was exhausted. How was it already 7:00 pm? How did that happen?

Showers and teeth and jammies and "pick up your clothes and no stories tonight please, it's just too late."

Tight little hugs and kisses and whispers of "you swam SO great today and good job cleaning and saving the princess!" Next bed over. "Tell me the same thing Mommy. That you told him."

They were asleep before I left the room.

I picked up the kitchen, unpacked bags, sorted out school clothes, started another load of laundry, hung up clothes, re made my bed, downloaded the weekend's pictures for a Facebook Brag Book, breezed through Facebook updates, "where in the hell did all this laundry come from?! Why is my laptop not charging?"

Exhausted. Waiting for my husband to get home. Hoping he remembers to bring up a glass of water. (He didn't.)

I'm a cliche.

I'm not complaining.

But certainly reflecting.

It was a great day.

23 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 03:23:00 +0000

Photo by Stevie T Photography

hi baby,

Over the next four weeks, you are going to double your weight- going from one pound to two pounds. No wonder why I'm so exhausted! You are so busy! Our life has been quiet this week. I'm napping a lot and your dad is keeping track of your brothers. Your dad places his hand on my stomach when you start bouncing around at night and you immediately become calm. Calm and quiet. Your activity is still our secret. I'm savoring every beautiful moment of this time with you right now. I'm comfortable and relaxed and can just focus on how amazing all of this is. And how much more complete our family is with you in it.

love you so much, Mommy

22 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 03:20:00 +0000

Photo by Stevie T Photography

hi baby,

It’s been a tough week. I’ve felt such a deep sense of tired that even my bones feel sleepy. Sometimes, right in the middle of doing something, I have to find the nearest soft surface and just go to sleep. I read that the sounds you are hearing now probably won’t bother you too much later. This means that your brothers running through the house screaming like wild Indians will not faze you at all. The sound of the vacuum cleaner however, will freak you right out! You are still so active at night, when it’s just you and I awake. I love “our” time, when I can just focus on all of your movements and enjoy them. It makes me smile.

love, Mommy

21 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 03:17:00 +0000

Photo by Stevie T Photography

Happy Valentine's Day 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 19:34:00 +0000

The boys' Valentine's Day Cards this year. (If they can get back to school for their parties.)

(The danger of being snowed in with too much time on my hands to "get ideas!")

To make these, I designed 2x3 cards, and had them printed as a 4x6 photo (two per photo). I cut them down the middle to make little photo cards.

The boys put the cards in the bottom of 4x6 plastic candy bags (found at Michael's in sets of 100). They then added candy and heart cutouts (and in some cases glitter).

To make the top tabs, I cut 2"x4"strips of construction paper for the bottom color, printed the tags on white paper, punched holes in the white paper (so the colored paper was visible) and stapled them on top.

Easy. A little time consuming.

But we had lots of time.

Happy Valentine's Day!

20 Weeks - UNEDITED

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 14:23:00 +0000

Photo by: Stevie T Photography

hi pregnant self,

The heartburn has been great this week. Frantically ransacking your makeup drawer at 3:30 am for "GOOD GOD!" that one travel pack of Zantac 75 that you KNOW you had the last time you were pregnant was a particular highlight. You were certain it was there. You remember shoving it aside every damn time you reached for your mascara for the last four years (FOUR YEARS?!? GAH!). It was covered with broken $1 e.l.f. eyeshadow crumbs, thanks to your sister. You desperately scoured the bathroom for that one Zantac 75 travel pack and made promises you knew you wouldn't keep and "HOLY HELL" you would have licked Zantac dust off of the bottom of a cowboy's boot to make the burning stop. You finally surrendered and stomped downstairs with your worthless piece of shit (SMOOTH DISSOLVE!) Tums. You realize in some twisted way this could be Mother Nature's jacked up way of preparing you for sleepness nights with the baby (?!)... even though you sort of want to kick Mom Nature in her homeo-organic shins.

20 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 14:19:00 +0000

Photo by: Stevie T Photography

hi baby,

Daddy and I named you this week. It's perfect. The world can wait to be introduced to you. Your brothers like to tell secrets so, for now, it's just between the three of us. I was worried because name after name, no matter how much we liked it, didn't feel "right". But... your name. We said it once and knew. I have been whispering it to you at night, when you are most active. It's almost as if you are so excited we are learning who you are. You seem to be a night owl, just like me.

love you, Mommy

Open Letter to My Boobs

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 02:14:00 +0000

Dear Boobs,

Really?

Really?

We have to talk.

I love being pregnant. I just don't love having to ask my ultrasound technician to ensure that fetuses aren't growing under my pectoral muscles.

What is with this growth surge?

We survived two pregnancies just fine. You expanded. Slightly. And then you got yourself back under control. No stretch marks. No sagging. I deemed you the "most favorite part of my body" even after having two kids. At 30 years old (and never having seen the inside of a plastic surgeon's office) I could have passed a pencil test any day of the month.

Now?

Now you've simply gone ballistic. You are out of your mind. No one is enjoying this.

You hurt constantly. My husband can't look below my chin without seeing me grimace.

You look like something reserved for National Geographic magazines or magazines that should not be named here. It's not pretty.

My skin is in revolt and is showing signs of stretch mark distress. When I lay down, you cozily nestle yourself all the way up to my neck.

At nearly 20 weeks pregnant, I can wear pre-pregnancy pants with little concern. Shirts though? Decollete? Forget it. I leave one button undone and become R-rated.

At 5'2" tall, I have no business seeing double letters on my newest bra size. Sizes like this are reserved for super models who are 6' tall and surgically enhanced. The combined mass of my breasts is now bigger than my entire head.

My lungs hurt like hell and I have to stop believing that it's because (woe is me) I was so so sick three weeks ago. I get winded (already!) climbing up stairs. It's not because I'm desperately out of shape.

It's because my body is being crushed by boobs from hell.

I'm seriously pissed off.

I'm considering researching breast surgeons that will reduce while pregnant. Surely someone will do that right? There just aren't enough ace bandages in the world to get you under control.

And we still have to survive 20 more weeks of growth and a hellish engorgement period together?

I'm not your friend, Boobs. Not at all.

If you don't get your act together - quickly - you will see the sharp side of a scalpel by next year. Mark my words.

19 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 01:23:00 +0000

Photo by Stevie T Photography

18 Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 21:20:00 +0000

by Stevie T Photography

16 weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 01:58:00 +0000

Recovering

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 19:48:00 +0000

We got robbed this week.

I've been sick. Horribly, dramatically, fever, sinus infection, can't move, come-home-now-or-I'm-calling-911, can't eat, lost weight, dramatically sick.

I was lucid enough this morning to take a clear look at my children. And my house.

We were robbed.

They ransacked the place.

They were starved thieves because they ate all of our food and left every dish in the sink.

They wore all of our clothes and left them, piled in the laundry room. Unsorted.

It's awful.

My boys have been going to school dressed like they are being raised by a single father.

Homework has barely been done.... by 9pm. Bedtimes? What bedtimes?

Excema has flared up on Cannon's face, due to Eucerin neglect. I don't even want to know why Cannon couldn't find his toothbrush this morning.

It's a mess.

This place is a mess. And I can barely drink water, so, it's staying a mess.

It may seem that I'm frustrated with my husband for his lack of keeping it all together. But, actually.....

He was "hanging out" with them. Keeping them quiet because my head was splitting in pieces.

He was sending them upstairs quietly to bring me Pedialyte in a straw cup and gently kiss my forehead.

He wasn't doing dishes. Or ignoring Cannon while helping Grant with homework. Or keeping up with laundry.

He had them both nestled in his lap and watched movies with them so that the house stayed quiet.

My house was robbed. My boys were raised by a single father this week.

And I think I'm fine with that.

I think.

Baby 4.0 and FB Recap

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 16:08:00 +0000

Despite all of my best intentions, I’ve pretty much ditched blogging for Facebooking.

I know. I can’t believe it either.

Baby 4.0 is expected in June 2010.

In a moment of temporary insanity, my previously “We’re Done!” husband has confessed to wanting yet another one after this baby….

[insert slackjaw]

I know. I can’t believe it either.

I’m cautiously optimistic. I would LOVE for that to happen, but… he changes his mind. A lot.

Baby 4.0 is a thumbsucker. That’s all we know for now. We’ll hopefully see parts and know boy/girl in early February. Yay!

To all of you that are not FB friends with me, here is a FB Post Recap. It’s the best I’ve got for now. When I get to my other computer, I’ll post up some recent pics.

Happy New Year!

Recent Facebook blurbs:

If you want to know what you are getting for Christmas, just ask Cannon. He tells. :)

Saw Santa last night. He said only really, really special people were allowed to visit the North Pole. So, Cannon turned around and started licking the window... I wish I made this stuff up.

I have an intern in the office today. He's 5 years old, loves geography, spelling and math. Anyone need help with contracts? Algorithms? Coloring?

I will never ever ever ever ever, in a million years never understand boy hygiene. Ever.

Cannon's Version: "Ho Ho Ho, the missing toe..."

Hard Life Lesson #0093: When you are blissfully enjoying a quite house, and Mommy Instinct alerts, and you yell out "Are you boys doing anything that is going to make me frustrated?!", well, you sort of deserve "Grant DID IT!" as your answer....

I love when all I have to do for lunch is send my kids outside... so they can eat their weight in snow.

"Cannon, do you want one big marshmallow, or a lot of little ones?" "Ummm... a lot of big ones!"

Determined to get this recipe right. My once agreeable oven has become the place where oatmeal cookies go to die...

I don't know who "Wileum" is, but the bastard tagged my carpet with blue marker. Glad my graffiti artists don't write on carpet. (Or know how to spell their own name...)

Hard Life Lesson #91: If you throw a temper tantrum, and refuse to wear your new winter coat, your mom will run a.lot. of errands. And park far way. And you will freeze your arse off. And your tears will freeze to your face...

Just infiltrated the advent calendars and replaced all the chocolate with sugar-free vitamins. I don't know what the #*%& is in German chocolate, but we are DONE, I tell you. DONE. (The beatings with the deprivation hippie stick will continue until behavior around here improves.)

Grant's response upon discovering the tampered with advent calendar: “IT'S A VITAMIN! Cool. Wait.” {Shake Shake Shake} “It's ALL VITAMINS. Oh, shit.”

Had our first child-cutting-their-own-hair experience. Thank god he's a boy. With long hair. That should be that short anyway...

Disgusting life experience #492: Watching a five year old eat spaghetti. *shiver*

The newest entry in Cannon's "I Love Having My Mouth Washed Out With Soap" vernacular: "You wanna piece 'a me?" variation: "You ready for a piece 'a me?"

Wow! Peapod just called to say they were running late! I'm so impressed! My husband doesn't even do that!!

Boy 2 Flu (almost over). Boy 1 Croup (just beginning). Mom (Dirty Martini). Dad (Oreo Blizzard).

Peapod- where have you been all my life? Amazing! I think we should get married and have many grocery babies.

Just ordered groceries online for the first time. My "To Freaking Do" list (and my stress level) was just lowered astronomically. Thank you, Peapod.

Welcome to our lovely home, Influenza. Please leave soon.

Cannon: {sad voice} "I have a ditch (itch) in my throat. An I didn't even eat a ditch. It's djust dare."

Unfortunate incident with feathers and a hot glue gun

When was the last time you ate Top Ramen? Willingly.

Quote. From my five year old. While driving down hills in the Jeep. "My penis is crying." What does that meeeeeeeeeaaaan?!?!

Are all three year olds bipolar?

Lost: Hermit Crab. Where: Outside of House. When: Today. Answers to: Hermie. Description: Resembles a shell. Well, it is a shell... (sigh)

My throat is hurty. My yelling voice is broken.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say #2,893: No Cannon. I will not iron your underwear. (ever again)

Cannon - my THREE year old - just said "Mom. I HATE your hair that way. I like it squirrel-y (curly)." Now, he's singing "I hate your hair that way, your hair that way, your hair that way. I HATE your hair that way...." Anyone interested in adopting him. He's on the market....

Quirk you should know about me #1,037: I don't listen to voicemails. Ever. Just email me. Or text. (Current "new" voice mails on my phone = 16)

Things That Annoy Me #582: The phrase "Hit me up". What does that meeeaaaannnn?

We leave for OBX tonight and I haven't even begun to think about packing. The Type A in me is kicking the Type B in me's ass....

Teaching boys Paper, Scissors, Rock. After multiple losses, Cannon made a finger gun, said I'm "Shoot", shot our hands, jumped up and said "I won."

So much work to do and I can't stop downloading fonts. Is there a 12-step program for that?

I try to be calorically "good" but Diet Coke is SO not worth it....

Chauvinistic Chivalry

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 15:56:00 +0000

The first time I found out I was having a boy, a good friend said something that stuck.

"You have the opportunity to raise a MAN. To teach him how to treat a woman. How to be a good man."

I loved that.

Yes.

I was going to raise a wonderful man. (And later, wonderful men.)

I started locking them in a figurative closet early.

Grant: Can I have a snack, Mom?

"Sure, sweetie. Tell me I'm beautiful."

After a while:

Grant: Mom, you sure look beautiful today! I LOVE your dress!

"Thanks, Baby! You're so handsome too!"

Grant: Can I have a snack?

ABSOLUTELY!

Cannon is a rebel. He's learned at a young age to escape from that closet.

Cannon: Can I have a snack, Mom?

"Sure."

Cannon: Thanks, Mom. I hate your hair that way.

"Really. Well, sassy, how do you like my hair?"

Cannon: I like is squirrel-y (curly).

[breaks into song] I HATE your hair that way, your hair that way, your hair that way. I HATE your hair that way.....

At least I've brainwashed one good man.

To the lucky lady that gets that other one some day.... I'm so, very. very. sorry.

Amusement Park Days

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 15:55:00 +0000

Happy Summer!

Kindergarten

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 02:02:00 +0000

Every morning during preschool dropoff, I would kiss him and whisper, "Be a good guy today".

Turns out to be an overall good piece of advice we could all use, but it stemmed from the boys playing good guys and bad guys on the playground. The first time he told me he was the bad guy, I asked him if he would please be the good guy from then on.

I reminded him every day.

*****

We are so proud of this guy.

He was excited.

He did great.

He was ready.

He wanted hard boiled eggs, a banana and oatmeal for his special breakfast.

He didn't object when I served cinnamon rolls, too.

He wanted a "work" shirt with a t-shirt underneath so that his teacher would think he was so handsome.

He knew there were no hats allowed in school, but was convinced sunglasses would be okay.

He wanted to carry the big bag full of tissue and paper towels and dry erase markers all by himself.

He wants to ride the bus. No more car drop offs.

He wants to buy lunch. We're going to give that a few weeks and talk again.

*****

I have been trying to find my feelings all day. I know it's big, but I didn't cry. (I.know. She-who-cries-at-commercials!)

But Rachel said it right on. I read her post and said YES! That's it!

I couldn't cry because I was too busy being so proud of him and excited for him.

"Here you go, World. He's ready for you."

He's ready to learn. Ready to experience all of the experiences that will shape him into the man he will become.

He's curious and thirsty.

So curious.

He is dripping with questions and craves the answers.

He contemplates the answers. Absorbs them. Comes back to them later to expand on what we talked about earlier.

He's a thinker.

He's sensitive.

*****

Maybe before I put him on the bus next Monday, I can whisper "Change the world".

Just to remind him.

(Or don't eat glue. That's also very good advice. It follows you for years!)

What I Wanted to Buy on Etsy Today

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 03:01:00 +0000

{Vintage Dress, Bowl, Clutch, Peach Cobbler Bag, Scrabble Pillows, Train Case}

Honest Scrap

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 02:52:00 +0000

I'm not entirely sure what the statute of limitations is on being tagged, but Jennifer tagged me a while ago. What is a little weird is that the same weekend she tagged me, I was actually at my in-laws... ~2 miles from her house! (One day I'll get up the nerve to ask her out for coffee or something when I'm her hometown!!)

The Explanation: The Honest Scrap award is given by other bloggers who consider a blog’s content or design to be brilliant. The awardee must then post ten honest things about themselves and pass the award on to other bloggers who fit the bill – in other words, whose blog is brilliant.

Wake up in my makeup. I don't wash my face before I go to bed. Ever. I'm way too lazy. When I'm ready to go bed, I just want to go to bed. The end.
Alaska. I lived in Alaska when I was eight, and have a vivid memory of swimming in the Bering Sea in the winter, and walking home with no shoes (because I couldn't put them back on) and blue feet.
Burps. I'm a pretty great burper, and my husband may have recently bet someone a case of beer that I could take them in a burp off.
Babies. I desperately want another baby. My husband? Does not. And it sort of sucks. I look at my guys and don't feel like our family is complete. Someone is missing. He (admittedly) worries about the financial aspects of another child. I think it will just work itself out.
That should have been its own post.
Night owl. I would rather stay up all night and sleep in than wake up early and go to bed early.
Re focused. I have been much more attentive to my other blog than this one. Love me over there a little if you'd like!
Retail Therapy. I feel great when I spend money. It's hard for me to save. Or plan. I like to buy. It's much better for our account when I'm really busy...
Maybe if I stopped buying crap, my husband would agree to another baby...
Ellipses. I overuse ellipses... when I write and when I talk. I talk in ellipses... is that even possible?

Smile

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 16:25:00 +0000

One of the beautiful things I ordered from Etsy last week.

I'm in L.O.V.E!

You can find it here, at Roll & Tumble Press on Etsy.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 17:40:00 +0000

I’ve been talking to people lately and they know all about the post that was up for 2.5 seconds before I took and down, and I’m all like “What the hell? People even still come here?!” I don’t post anything, like ever, and unless you are a (ahem) professional Blogger and subscribed (Or have been involuntarily subjected to receiving an email with my post in it because I signed you up (hi girls!)) then that means my friends actually type in this blog address on a regular daily basis to read about what I wrote. And how disappointing when I don’t really write anything anymore.

I have some dedicated friends, that’s for sure. I am feeling guilty(ish), but I am also just a little behind on life and other things have taken priority over my boring the internet masses with my stuff.

Yawn. I know. We’ve all heard that blog mantra before and we are all over it.

So, this morning I was snoozing in with Cannon tucked in my armpit. (That kid is a magnet. His little three year old too-old-to-be-sleeping-in-my-bed body sneaks in every effing night and becomes suctioned to my skin like a sucker fish to the side of an aquarium tank. I secretly love it.)

Josh was in the shower and I could hear Grant downstairs eating oatmeal, occasionally screaming my name (which I ignored because Good God son I’m sleeping!) or talking to himself.

I heard Grant get up from the table and begin to walk his bowl to the sink. I heard him say, “Hi” a little timidly. That’s when I became really awake and stopped breathing so I could really analyze every sound that was occurring in my house.

Then I heard Grant running, I mean fast, no-shit hauling ass upstairs, I think he probably took two steps at a time sprint. He tore into my room and soared right onto my bed. I bolted upright!

“What’s wrong?”

“There is something downstairs!”

His voice was shaky and scared.

“Like a bug?”

“No. A gray thing. It was moving really really fast. I said hi.”

“Was it an animal?”

“No, it was a gray thing. Like my age.”

“What are you talking about? What’s downstairs?”

“I don’t know. It was moving really really fast.”

“Do you want me to go look [please fucking God say no I do not want to go down there what the hell is in my house]?”

“No, it’s too scary. Don’t go downstairs.”

“Grant, was it your shadow? Did you see your shadow down there?”

“No mom. It was a gray thing and it was moving really fast.”

‘”Did you see your reflection in the window Grant? Was it you?”

“No, it was in the dining room. I was putting my bowl away and it was really fast in the dining room and it was big like me.”

Because I like to take the flamingo approach with scary things, I stuck my head ~~back under my pillow~~ in the sand and completely ignored the issue. It didn’t come up again this morning.

Until now.

Should I be calling a priest? What the hell was in my house? What did he see?

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 17:29:00 +0000

Peonies

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 18:26:00 +0000

One of my favorite summer flowers.

They make me happy.

My First Pomp and Circumstance

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 03:50:00 +0000

(Wow. I'm surprised I just remembered my login password.)

I'm going through pictures tonight (what else is new) and looked at Grant's graduation pictures for the first time.

He starts kindergarten in the fall, and graduated from preschool a week (or two-ish?) ago.

We went to dinner before the ceremony, and Grant knew that there was a nicer change of clothes in the van waiting for him; that his shorts and t-shirt would not be acceptable.

He looked Cannon up and down and asked, "Is he going to wear that Wolverine shirt to my graduation? He IS NOT going to look very handsome. I want him to change."

Right.

Anyway, I was very excited for him and happy and "maybe I'll cry maybe I won't". Everyone was dressed a little nicer than usual and we fought to get Cannon to stay in a metal folding chair and not embarrass us too badly with his ~~horrendous~~ two/three year old behavior. Josh and I had determined who would man the video camera (him) and who would man the camera (me) and who would man-handle Cannon (him).

I could hear shuffling behind the big white screen that separated the parents from the kids.

And then someone hit play on (what I can imagine was) a boom box and THE processional march echoed throughout the room via a microphone. Cameras were aimed high and I could hear the buzzing start of nine thousand over-priced video cameras above the music.

I stayed in my seat.

I didn't squirm up and raise my camera.

I froze for a second. I watched the teacher motion a signal for about 40 four year olds to start the walk they all practiced.

It hit me so unexpectedly.

My throat tightened up, my lip quivered, my eyes welled, and I could feel the silent cry coming hard.

It was so unexpected.

It was the first time in my life that I sat in a room for a graduation ceremony that played Pomp and Circumstance.

It was the first time I had ever HEARD that song.

Of course I am familiar with the song. From movies and, hell, I don't know. General knowledge I guess.

But as I sat there listening to the crappy recorded rendition of that piece and anxiously watching a white curtain for my first born son to round it (complete with a blue Made in China felt "mortarboard"), I couldn't hold back tears.

I was embarrassed. That it appeared I was crying over a preschool graduation. But it was more than that to me. It was monumental.

We didn't have graduation ceremonies when I was in preschool and kindergarten. I graduated high school when I was 17, joined the Army, and was at my second training school by the time my high school class took the stage.

I chipped away at college courses and professional development courses over the last twelve years but I will probably never participate in an actual ceremony-ish graduation ceremony, even after I finish what I started.

I'm not sad about what I haven't experienced. I was just, in that moment, shocked at what I haven't experienced.

And overwhelmed that my first time sitting in a metal folding chair and hearing the march was for Grant.

My son.

Who worked so hard at school and is so proud of himself for completing something.

And now, I can't hear that damn song without being immediately brought to tears.

Grant- I am really so very proud of you.

{paragraph deleted because I can't publish it through my mushy gushy tears}

And YOU so are amazing. I just love you.

PS: Pictures with me not included because A) I was manning the camera, remember and B) I didn't realize then exactly how busted up my face looked with stitches and green bruising. Cannon actually took a pretty well-composed picture of Josh, Grant and I, but I seriously look scary. So I won't post it.

PPS: The stitches were from me slipping in the shower at my mom's house, falling sideways OUT of the shower and cracking my head on the toilet. Glamorous, no? Our first Colorado vacation in three years resulted in another trip to the ER.

...Because I Have the Stitches on Mah Head

noreply@blogger.com (Danielle) — Wed, 27 May 2009 01:59:00 +0000

"Can we stop for Starbucks when we leave the ER? It sounds good because I have stitches in my head."

"Oh! Pink Princess band-aids! I need those because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you please just wash my hair in the sink because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you please bring me another cookie? I'm laying down because I have stitches in my head."

"I can't take care of the boys right now because I have stitches in my head."

"Can you just cuddle with me tonight because I have stitches in my head."

"I need to sit by myself on the plane because I have stitches in my head."

"I'm not really going to finish unpacking or start the laundry because I have stitches in my head."

"I deserve to sleep in a little because I have stitches in my head. Eight stitches, if you're counting."

"I can't play softball on Wednesday because I have stitches in my head."

It's turning out to be a pretty air tight excuse...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I can't blog right now. Because I'm tired. Because of the stitches in my head.