Mr. 4 asked me to wipe his bottom today after a trip to the bathroom.
Then he showed me he could count to five.
"Look mom! Five poops. One. Two. Three. Four Five."
We're not doing anything here if we aren't always looking for those teaching moments.
It was a pretty afternoon (every other hour it didn't rain today) and it started like this:
And as any parent might expect, it ended like this:
Way back in February I broke my ankle. You may remember the photo of the cast that attracted many an eastern European cast/braces fetishist to my site (thanks for the extra bucks my friends).
A physical therapist friend of mine recommended a terrific orthopedist to treat me. I loved him immediately. As the kid of a doc, I'm often hard to please when it comes to medical care, but he was personable and thorough and even cleaned my foot himself after it had stewed in a cast for six weeks.
Granted he missed a second break and a bunch of other soft tissue damage, but none of that was apparent on the x-ray. I still loved him.
His office staff is friendly. It's easy to get in to see him and you don't have to wait long in the waiting or exam room.
A virtual medical miracle.
But yesterday the love affair died.
Yesterday, at my three month check-up, we discussed some of my lingering pain and my continued inability to wear heels.
His answer?
You probably won't ever be able to wear heels again. The area of your injury is affected every time you put your foot at that angle.
*blink* *blink*
Clearly, he doesn't know that I consider Nordstrom's Shoe Department the mothership. Clearly, he hasn't seen my closet. Clearly, he doesn't understand how wearing a great pair of shoes can make you invincible.
Clearly he's not the doctor I thought he was.
Wonder how long this is going to take me.
Is this the most efficient way to assemble these?
This stapler sucks.
Dog chewing edge of box--well at least she's not teething on my toes. Could be worse.
That box is a virtual cornucopia of fundraising flyers.
This stapler sucks.
Screw it. They're stapled.
Shit, some Kindergartener is going to cut their hand on that staple. Do over.
Freaking husband. Convenient phone call while I'm sitting here with all this to do.
This stapler sucks.
Wonder if I should take that blogging gig. Interesting topic. Do I have time? Will I have anything to say? Will I need to research? Think I'll take it. I'm not sure.
Wonder if the motion I'm using to lean over and sit back up counts as core exercise? It should. I can feel it. My posture sucks. If I sat up better, I bet it would count.
How sad is it that I'm considering stapling as exercise??
But I'm sweating. Okay--that's cause I turned off the air.
This stapler sucks.
Still on the phone my mate? I swear it's because you can still hear my stapler.
What?? You're offering to help? Sure count and label these.
Bonus points to hubs for helping out.
Well it's his kids' school too. Damn right he should.
I'm a bitch.
Kinda fun hanging out doing this together.
Shit I'm not stapling fast enough.
Oh look and help from a four year-old!
I'm going to be here all night.
Thank god for the short attention span in four year old.
I must be close to done.
Hmmm. I could write a blog post about this.
This stapler still sucks.
What? We're only through the 1st grade classes?!
And there goes the hubs.
I'm going to be here all night.
What shows do I have to set up on TiVo this season? I liked that Criminal Minds.
I watch too many cop shows.
Didn't get many emails today.
I'm going to die alone.
This stapler sucks.
Dear Failed Wall St. Financial Executives,
We need to talk about your behavior.
There are rules we all live by--rules my three boys must follow in our house. I'm betting your parents enforced them in their homes too.
We didn't make up these rules so we could find excuses to take away your privileges. We created these rules so that you would grow up to be law-abiding, contributing members of society, so you could make and keep friends and so we could actually take you out of the house without being completely embarrassed.
See the thing is, my children who are still quite young, are having an easier time behaving than you seem to be.
Your lying and inability to make responsible decisions can no longer be tolerated.
Millions of people have lost vast amounts of money over the past few days because of your actions. Bills will go unpaid causing other businesses to suffer. Those about to retire may now be looking at additional years of work when they should be enjoying the plans they had for their money that is now gone. Children will receive fewer presents this coming holiday season. Families will cancel vacations.
Your bad behavior affects not only you but hundreds of millions of people too.
When my kids misbehave they must face the consequences. How am I going to explain to them that when YOU misbehave the consequences aren't yours to face but theirs?
I haven't decided yet what your punishment should be. I need time to consider it when I'm not so angry.
In the meantime, you need to go sit in the corner and think about your actions. I'll call you when I'm ready to talk--in about fifty years.
love,
Mamma
My first in-depth experience with Washington, DC was the summer I lived here and interned. My college roommate grew up here and had spent the spring semester at American University so she introduced me to a number of her friends. There was one guy in particular that I clicked with and we spent a good deal of our time together discovering the city. We didn't date we were truly just friends.
We went back to our respective schools at the end of the summer and once back into our daily routines--and well we didn't speak again--until we ran into each other the following summer at a tiny train station in the middle of nowhere in Spain and again six weeks later in Prague. We vowed that we wouldn't lose touch this time.
So that fall, both having graduated, he called me from NY to see what I was up to. I had returned from my excursion and was living with my parents in FL and trying to figure out my next move. He mentioned he was moving back to DC with a friend and wondered if I wanted him to find an apartment that had a room for me too. "What the hell!" I replied, and before I knew it I was driving to DC with all of my possessions hoping I'd find a job.
We lived together for three years. We visited each other's families, we developed our own traditions and we shared a dog. I loved him like a brother, but we began to grow apart. We moved into our own apartments. We started seriously dating people and we spoke less and less. I got married and got a son not much later and my life spun out of control. He moved back to NY and we haven't spoken in almost 8 years.
Tonight I looked him up on Facebook.
Social media and social networking have made it possible for me to meet incredible people, share interesting ideas and waste time trash talking over the internet during boring meetings, but are these people my "friends?"
It depends when you ask me.
My gut response is yes, but I think back to the friendship I had with my DC roommate or with college friends or folks from high school or middle school even and I wonder if the same definition applies.
The internet has made it possible for us to communicate with people we never see. Through blog posts, through email, in less than 140 characters we share our thoughts, but does that mean that we are friends?
Last night I had drinks with five people I met online and one I have gotten to know better online. We talked easily. We enjoyed ourselves and some of us stayed way later than we should have, but can I say these folks are my friends? What do I really know about them? What do they know about me? Would they notice if I hopped off my social networks? Would they check in if I did?
What about those long-lost friends that you can reconnect with through Facebook or Classmates or any other network out there? Can you revive a friendship that was? Should you even bother? Clearly there were reasons you fell out of touch in the first place. Is it better to leave the past in the past?
I don't have any answers tonight.
I'm just going to go outside and ponder this all.
I'm officially old.
No, I haven't turned 40--yet, but it's probably fair to say we're bumping hips.
No, it's not that I found my first gray hair. L'Oreal already sends me an annual thank you card.
And no, it's not because I can no longer tell you who half the people are in my high school yearbook who promised they LYLAS and wanted to KIT.
Nope.
The reason I'm officially old is that I rode the elevator today, and during my ride down 15 floors, wafting through the mysterious speakers that fill the space with ambient noise (where are those speakers anyway? and is do they play that music so I won't feel so alone while I'm in there?) were the soothing sounds of George Michael--set to MUZAK!
At first I didn't recognize the ditty, but something felt familiar. My mind kept wanting to make sense of the hypnotizing tones that seeped into my ears like alien life forms in their liquid state.
Then all of the sudden it hit me.
"Do do do da da da dada...Somebody tell me (won't you tell me) why I work so hard for you."
"My God. I don't even think that I love you!"
Pardon this post for posterity, but I had to capture just a few of the lines that have been handed to me by the boys recently.
Little P (who is still 4)
Getting ready to leave for the pool:
LP: "I want a tan. I don't want to put any sunblock on so I can get a tan."The next day...
Me: "You have to wear sunblock to protect your skin. You'll still get a tan."
LP: "Not as tan as A."
Jay (his 6 y.o. brother): "Duh! You're not going to get tan. You can't be brown like A. It's how you're born."
LP: "I still want a tan. I don't have to wear sunblock today, right."Out on the boat watching whales:
Me: "You still need to."
LP: "No! I won't get tan."
Gramma Gramma: "LP, want to come over here and see the whales?"
LP: "No. They are very big and I am very small."
Me: "You know I don't like you to play that game."Laying in bed last night:
Jay: "Girls just don't get sweat and blood."
Jay: "I love you mom. I'll love you even when you're old and dead."
*eye roll* "sigh" *eye roll* "sigh"
