The Most Beautiful Words

I always thought the most beautiful words I could ever hear Sam say are "I love you, Mommy."  They are spectacular words, don't get me wrong, but others have topped them, believe it or not.  Today he announced from his throne in the backseat of the car, "Sam's happy!"  Wow, I must be doing something right, at least something itty-bitty like not torturing him on a daily basis.  

It made me feel so good, getting an unsolicited compliment like that from my Boss.  I didn't get a raise or anything, but I was still thrilled.  Isn't that what we all want -- for our kids to be happy little campers, feeling loved and secure?  The funny thing is hearing him say that made me feel loved and secure, too.   

LibbY

Funny, Funny

Sam's at the stage when he finds so many words hilarious, downright side-slitting.  He cracks himself up trying to pronounce "sarcastic" over and over again.  And then there's "battery," another guaranteed knee-slapper no matter how many times it is repeated.  It actually is a hoot when you hear him pronounce it Sam-style, "battewee."  Oh, and the mere mention of a "coyote" gets him chortling away in no time, and he's still equally amused after the tenth mention.  (But who's counting?)  And then there's "mayday" and "tete en bas" which is French for "upside down," the extent of his foreign language vocabulary.  (Lots of room to grow!)  Ah, but his hands-down favorite and mine too is "edamame" which he pronounces as "and the mommy."  The kid's got an ear, dontcha think?

LibbY

Sam and the Purple Crayon

Sam is a big fan of the book, "Harold and the Purple Crayon."  I love it too, it's so very clever and creative.  Harold has really sparked his imagination which is, of course, a wonderful thing. Ah, but all things in moderation I have learned.

Harold comes over to play quite often and can be heard knocking on the door by one claivoyant resident.  So we answer the door and invite him in, over and over again.  It's a tad tedious but still pretty cute.  We have amassed several of the Harold books and gotten another out of the library.  If you aren't acquainted with Harold, he is a little boy who basically draws his world on the blank world all around him using, you guessed it, a purple crayon.

Well, a couple of months ago, I realized that Sam's doting Aunt Lynne had given him the video even before he was born.  So we whipped that puppy out, and it was a big hit.  The video is really neat because you can watch him actually draw with the crayon.  Sam was entranced by it right away, and he started to get really into coloring.  Cool!  Then he started to want to hold a crayon in his hot little hand while watching the video.  Not wanted to hamper his budding creative genius, I gave in after reminding him that we don't write on walls like Harold does.  

Sam didn't write on the walls, he wrote ON THE TV SCREEN.  All over it!  And all over the windows too.  And dontcha know it, technically he wasn't even out of line because he didn't write on the walls.  Future lawyer in the making, eh?  Surprisingly, the crayon came off very easily with just a wet cloth.  Good to know in case your child starts channeling Harold, too.  

That all blew over a while ago, and the other day he really wanted to watch the show while holding a purple crayon.  So after reviewing the No Scribble Policy in great detail with all parameters explained, I let him.  He did just fine.  Then it was nap time, and he desperately wanted to hold the purple crayon in his hand during his nap.  I relented, thinking that there was really nothing in his crib to write on anyway.

After I put him down, I went into my office next door.  It was very quiet which should have been my first  clue.  My second clue was this muffled scratching sound, something I had never heard before.  I didn't want to getting him all riled up by going in there in case it was nothing, so I hesitated for a minute and then busted in.  PURPLE CRAYON ALL OVER THE WALL!!  Aaaaaaaah!  He had reached all the way around the crib tent and gone to town, Harold-ing it up.  I was speechless, beyond words, mute, appalled.  And then my next thought was, "Oh my God!  Bernie is going to KILL me, and I deserve it!"  Nooooooo.....

There is a happy ending to this story.  I will always have a special place in my heart for Magic Eraser.  It is indeed magic, it does erase purple crayon off ultra-white walls, and it saved my life.  

LibbY

He Got the Beat!

On one of our recent forays to the library, we got out an informative yet dated book on policemen and what they do.  What do you know?  Back in the '70s, they did the exact same thing as today.  Go figure!  The only noticeable differences seem to be the wide-lapeled uniforms and the traffic chock full of station wagons with wooden paneling.  (I kid you not.)  Well, Sam likes the book A LOT, more than lots of his expensive picture books, so we have read the book A LOT.  And when I say A LOT, I mean A LOT.

Yesterday I caught wind of a major sale -- 80% off winter clothes at a high end kids' clothing store near us, CWD Kids.  So Sam and I went barreling over there, on a mission to dress him in prep-wear for cheap.  After the store closed, we finally left, emerging with a huge shopping bag overflowing with some beautiful duds, nicer than anything in my closet.  These are the clothes that you see those ultra-privileged kids wearing in Cookie Magazine--a beautiful suede cowboy jacket, two gorgeous $50 sweaters marked down to a mere $10, hounds-tooth pants for next winter, etc.

As we walked hand in hand to the only car left in the parking lot, I was thrilled to have found such impressive deals.  But of course my mind started to wander.  I was hoping that he won't end up being spoiled rotten or not compassionate towards people who are not as fortunate.   Will he end up taking $50 sweaters for granted and demand them?  Will he look down on the scruffy kid at school who has holes in his worn -out sweater?

Out of the blue, Sam piped up, "Sam walking his beat."  It hit me.  The boy couldn't care less about his grandiose new wardrobe.  His mind was home with his dog-eared police book from the library.  Atta boy!  That reminds  me - I need to renew it, again.

LibbY

Out of the Mouth of Buglets

What is a buglet, you ask?  Well, when the Saminator was a newborn, one of my first nicknames for him was "Bugaboo Jones."  Don't ask me why because I don't know why.  So, that has stuck around and morphed into a variety of sub-nicknames -- Buglet, Buggy, Buggy Boo Boo, and just plain Boo.  Oh, there's Boo Radley and sometimes Radley for short.  The Buglet's got some nicknames accumulated.  Hopefully he won't develop a personality for each one or we're in trouble.  I will only let Dr. Phil help us if he blood-promises not to leak it to the press.

So, getting on the main feature,  the other day Buglet and I went to see my friend's long-awaited  sweet little newborn.  Weighing in at over eight pounds, he sure didn't seem little during labor for his mommy, but he seems tiny to me now.  Anyway, we headed over there, and Sam had no interest whatsoever in Baby Tee.  He was too busy scoping out four-year-old Henry's trains and extensive collection of Matchboxes.  When we are getting ready to leave, Sam wanted to take  Harvey the train with him.  When I explained to him that it belongs to Henry and would be there for him to play with the next time we came to visit baby Tee, he relented and put it down like a good sport.  

Yesterday as we were eating breakfast, Sam exclaimed out of nowhere, "Sam want to go see Henry's little brother!"  

Wow -- I was shocked and wondered if I had heard him correctly.  "You mean Baby Tee?"  

"Yeah," he replied as if it his newfound interest in Baby Tee was the most normal thing in the world.  

"We'll have to go see him really soon!"  I was thrilled, elated that he was sensitive enough to take an interest in a newborn.  I thought about how his future wife would thank me one day for helping to develop his nurturing side....  

"Sam want to take Harvey home," Sam responded.

And with that I descended back to the planet Earth.  Well, at least he's honest.  His wife will thank me for that.

LibbY

Nothing -- and I mean NOTHING --to Show

It is one of those unproductive days which drive me bonkers.  It's 3:15 in the afternoon, and the day has been a big ole bust up to this point.  First of all, I woke up at 4 AM and then couldn't go back to sleep.  I finally got up, but I had to be really quiet to not wake anyone else up, so there wasn't much I could do besides surf the Internet.  (There should be a picture of a person surfing the Internet next to the word "unproductive" in the dictionary because there are few thing less productive.)  

Then around 7:30 I had a burst of optimism.  (I vow never to give into these positive impulses in the future.)  I suggested we take a joyous family outing to eat breakfast at a local diner.  Sam would do just fine with some pancakes, a couple of freebie crayons, and a coloring book.  What was I thinking?  I'm the one who is with him all the time!  If anyone should know better, it's me!  Soooooo the first pin to prick my balloon was him refusing to sit still for ten seconds, if that.   

Finally the food arrived.  Don't you know it, the little stinker ate barely any of his stack o' pancakes, egg, or sugary apple slices.  Aaargh!  I wolfed my omelet down as well as a few decadent bites of Sam's rejected buttery-sugary-pancakes while Bern dealt with the Terrible Twoster.  Then we switched custody.  The worst part was that it just never got fun, which was the whole point of the outing in the first place.  (See above reference to "joyous family outing.")  By then the ten minute window was up.  It was time to SCRAM before we were run out of the place by a lynch mob of "normal" people trying to relax and enjoy their lazy Saturday morning. 

I scrambled (get it, scrambled?) off to spin class at 9:15, but I was three minutes too late.  And so it went until now, but I'm hoping this rambling will put me back on track for the day.  There goes that optimism again.  Will I ever learn?

Unproductively yours,

LibbY

Consistency

It's hard to be consistent all the time, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  I know that it sounds like a classic oxymoron.  You're right, it is.  Alas, it is so true, at least for me.  Especially as a parent, I can establish the rule, re-establish it, enforce, it, enforce it, and enforce it.  Then I somehow let it slip because either Sam's tired/I'm tired/he's hungry/I'm hungry/he's doesn't feel good/I'm don't feel good, or it's the middle of the night and I'm ready to lose my beleaguered mind, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  

However, in defense of consistent consistency, I do notice that the more consistent that I am, the smoother things do flow around here.  I admit it.  I guess when you are a wee little munchkin with no real control over any aspect of your life, then it is reassuring to know that some things in life are predictable and will remain that way, period.  Nobody likes having the rules changed on them, unless it happens to be your own decision in which case it seems like a great idea.

As I was writing this, I was supposed to making the green beans for dinner while Bernie was doing the grilling.   The steaks are ready to be devoured, but the green beans remain in their little baggy in the crisper.  Oh well, tomorrow is another day to practice being consistent.  I guess I'll take the rest of the day off and start fresh in the morn.

Inconsistently yours,

LibbY

Winter Doldrums?

Life is back in it s regular routine, which I must admit is so very refreshing, but I can feel the winter doldrums sneaking up on me.  Shhh... If you are quiet, you can feel the vibrations too!  Thud, thud, thud.  What's a girl to do to liven things up a bit?  

Liven things up?  Wait, wasn't I just kavetching (yes, I just did indeed make up that word because "complain" didn't have enough spunk for me) about how December is way too harried for anyone's good?  Yes, that was me.  Well, what I am trying to say, rather inartfully, is that there must be some sort of happy medium between the frenetic pace of life from Thanksgiving through New Years and the screeching halt that takes place on January 2. 

In the same vein, isn't it strange how Christmas decorations that look so gorgeous during the month of December look absolutely hideous once the day has passed?  Don't you just cringe when you see a Christmas wreath still hanging on someone's door these days?  Would you be caught dead wearing red and green together right now?  (By the way, the correct answers to these three questions are listed below.  Check for your score.)

I think Christmas decorations look equally hideous when stores display them waaaaaaaay too early, like before the Halloween stuff.  It's downright unsightly, garish even.  Take a hint, Walmart and CVS, to name a few!  And the same goes for the hokey Christmas tunes before Thanksgiving!  I bet Miles Standish doesn't appreciate being one-upped like that.  Furthermore it doesn't make me buy more stuff.  Instead it makes me shudder, put down what I was going to buy, and run out of the store to buy my Halloween costume elsewhere.  

Oops, gotta go!  I just remembered that my mailbox is still decorated with ivy.  I better go take it down before someone starts blogging about how lame I am.

LibbY

Question 1:  Yes

Question 2:  Yes

Question 3:  No

TGIF

Why is it that even though I am not in the official "workforce" and haven't been for several years now, I still look forward to Friday and the ensuing weekend with the same level of anticipation that I used to.  So, what gives?  Is that weird or what?  Sure, the Bernmeister is usually around much more which is great.  However, it's not like Sam's needs or noise level come to a standstill and I'm snoozing 'til noon.  

Have weekends just become part of our circadian rhythm?  (I feel like this could be the start of a Sex and the City episode.  I still miss that show so much.  I'm ready to pre-buy my movie ticket NOW!)  It really goes back to God resting on the seventh day, I suppose.  We humans took that thought and ran with it, creating what we know and love as the weekend or, better yet, the luxury of a long weekend.  

I tell you what -- it is now  2 PM on Friday.  Why don't I crack open a beer, think about it some more, and get back to you.  It's time to kick back.  It is the weekend after all.

LibbY

The 70s in January?

What's up with that?  I'm not complaining because I just love warm, sunny weather, but it sure is strange stuff.   We've been drinking it all in, going to the park the last three days with no jacket on whatsoever.  Today Sam decided to wear his cute little-man "cappy" pants (some less imaginative people pronounce it "khaki") accented by a mustard yellow t-shirt emblazoned with a bulldozer on the front.  For his lid, he sported an Orvitz baseball cap to cover up his needs-shampoo-desperately hairdo.  Now that he's got that trick down, he's all ready for college!  My, my, they grow up so fast!

LibbY

"What This Is Called?"

The Saminator is picking up words and phrases right and left these days, often after only hearing then once, which is really amazing yet freaky!  Is this Jack-in-the-Beanstalk toddler the same baby who couldn't even hold his head up 2 1/2 years ago?   No!  But yes!  And now he wants to know the names of lots of things -- a pot holder, an ATV, and the buckle for his throne/car seat.  (If you could see the monstrosity that is a Britax Boulevard taking up most of the backseat of my Subaru Outback, you would agree that it is indeed a throne or at least a chair padded enough to use in the violent wing of a mental hospital.)  

I must confess to you, my blogging afficionados, that he stumped me when we were collecting our bags at baggage claim a couple of weeks ago.  He pointed at the carousel, and asked, "What this is called?"  And his oh-so-wise mama could not remember what the heck it was called.  Stumped, and he's only two!  I finally asked one of the bellhop guys who could help chuckling.  In my wimpy defense, I hadn't slept at all the previous night.  (Don't ask why unless you want an earful and then some!)