Bragging Rights

When I look back on how I spent today, I realize I bragged about my mother for most of it.

To talk boastfully. Yup, that's what I did.

Do you know how great she is?

She's so great that she's gone and made a bragger out of me.

I love you Mom.

P.S. Thanks for my pillows, they have breathed new life into my tired living room.

"My Hands Are Full"

What a day. Where to begin? I still have the smell of vomit wafting from my wedding band as I type. 3 washes and still a faint smell. Not sure if I really care any more.

It started with the surprise snowstorm, which I immediately used as an excuse to keep Dec home from school. No delay, no cancellations --- but I heard the roads were terrible this morning. We wouldn't know. We were knee deep in closet organization and finding the ultimate comfy snowy day outfits to change into. All three of us.

Afternoon plans to spend magical time at Xave's quickly faded as Nonie's eyes grew glassier and glassier throughout the morning. By lunchtime I gave her some pain relief, recorded a temperature of 102 and carried on with the day.

By about 3pm we were ALL ready to burst out of Happy House. It just wasn't big enough for all of us. Nonie was restless and not comfortable in her own skin. Dec caught on to the fact that there was, in fact, school today (which he missed) and began to jump about as if to prove to me that he should've been there. We had to get out.

First though - a short work call during which I heard myself thinking, "what whiney kids in the background??? Oh! those two feverish kids who are bouncing off the walls!!!? Yup, they're with me." Apparently I forgot to clear my "grand plan" (of having them both quietly resting while I conducted the call) with their inner sleep schedules. Maybe next time.

So we went to Dec's school to drop something off and on a whim I grabbed his sled. Figured we'd drive about before pulling in - to let "feeling miserable Nonie" (sounds like a name of a toy doll huh?) fall asleep on the way there. Didn't happen. She fought every south-bound eyelash and reversed the force of gravity that seemed (at least to me, from my rearview view) to be tugging those lashes down to a restful state.

At the school Dec made tracks in untracked snow. And, I immediately thought to myself: Oh NO! I just let him go sledding in forbidden (during school hours) territory!!! How do I cover his tracks (my tracks!) OUR TRACKS ALL OUR TRACKS!!!! before the gaggle of students arrive in the morning and see that the prime sledding hill, can ACTUALLY BE USED (AND HAS BEEN USED!) for sledding!!!

We (I, with my tail between my legs for breaking school rules) wandered over to a GrandCathal and Nonie who were both miserable together in the parking lot. Cathal: so darn cold he was actually shivering. Nonie: so darn sick she was actually mean to him (typically she is the sweetest darn thing in his presence - she works that relationship good and hard).

GrandCathal pointed to the sky and said - another squall is coming, hope it isn't freezing rain. Best be going. So we jumped in the car. By the time we got 100 yards from the school - the torrential snow (is that possible) plummeted at us from the sky.

By the time we got to our road a wee 5 minutes later, it was pitch black and I couldn't see the front of my car, or the side of the road, or oncoming traffic, or any of that other useless stuff.

Noticed immediately that shoveling needed to be done and the safest and warmest place for Nonie was in the car while we tended to it. She sat and picked her nose while we shoveled (I peaked twice through the foggy windows at her and both times she was delighted in her runny nose). Dec started on the front porch - I took the driveway area.

Not too long into it I called to him, "Hey Murph! Can you get me the big red shovel - this little black one is too small and heavy".

He seemed so far away in these blizzard conditions. But I caught a glimpse of his blue jacket and his tiny plastic kid's snow shovel. Then I watched him steady himself on the slippery walkway stone.

His reply is what stopped me, "Don't you see my hands are full Mom? I can't pick up your shovel for you!"

And just like that I gasped on the tiny laugh (filled mostly with shock) that erupted from my belly. Did I just hear him right? What sass!

And so, I got what I deserved. Absolutely 100%.

For Dec, I'm certain, had heard me say that to him at least once this very week. Granted, and my memory of the statement is becoming vividly clear as I type this, the actual context of my "hands are full" remark to him was this:

Picture: Little Me. Carrying Nonie. WHILE carrying 4 reusable shopping bags filled with 6 seltzers, laundry detergent, 2 gallons of milk, 1 1/2 dozen eggs, and several other cans of refried beans and 4 loaves of bread. WHILE (at the very same time) carrying his LLBEAN school bag. And Nonie's diaper bag.

He asks me in full awareness of my heavy load, "can you open this juice box for me".

To which I replied (lovingly), "Dec, can't you see my hands are full? I will when I put your sissy and all this stuff down....".

And so, you're all thinking I deserved his comment aren't you? Aren't you? Well, you can think that....

Now, on to the vomitty ring.

Actually, I'll save that for next time.

Ok. But is the grass ALWAYS greener?

Correct me if I'm wrong but I do believe it was about a year ago when I was thigh deep in self-pity. TRAPPED in the deep south I LONGED for the days when I could be within an hour radius of someone I was related to, heck, someone I KNEW.
At the drop of a hat I would buy a plane ticket to the North.
I stared at pictures of happy days gone by.
Time was passed indulging in indulging.

Sunday morning I woke up and put on my Saints Jersey.
I went to bed with a headache after screaming at the tv.
The Saints won.
The Saints are going to the Superbowl.
I woke up Monday morning and put on a black and gold outfit.
Nobody noticed.
But I was proud.
Each day I wake up and put on my "flare". Fleur de lis coming out my ears. Emblazoned on my shirt. Pinned to my coat.
Placing orders for King Cake to be shipped to my door.
Tearing up at images of New Orleans.
Longing to be there. Be a part of it. Dance in the Mardi Gras streets. Say y'all and ma'am. Wear short sleeves. Run outside. Catch the sunset over the Mississippi River. Watch the streetcar go by. Shop at "Winn Dixie".

About this time, two years ago, I sent an email to the Principal at Sacred Heart in New Orleans. I knew, I thought, that maybe, I wanted to live there.
About this time, a year ago, I was in New Orleans and wanted to come home.
I think I have the February itch.
I'm certain in will pass.

But I do miss that place.

Super-Saturated Mittens

It wasn't until we were well on our way to school that Dear Dec reached into his schoolbag and announced that his mittens were super-saturated. He didn't use those words, of course. Rather he flung them toward me and announced with snark in his sound, "look how wet I got my mittens yesterday on the playground!"

With minutes to spare - actually, not really. Kindly note that drop off for school is 8:50am SHARP and the picture above certainly gives my tardiness away.

With no time to spare, I flip the mittens inside out and pinch the tops through the opening of the car's heater. Dec congratulates me on my "good idea" from the back seat. Thanks buddy. Most of the time, he's my biggest fan.

Ever alert and with the heater so high it actually lifted the tiny hairs from the front of his face, Dec announced a few moments later, that the car smelled like old sardine stew and rotten garbage - some of his daddy's words that made his mouth turn into a grin. His cherub cheeks turned out the window to see why. "Ewwww mommy! what is that smell?!"

The stench circulated at us from all directions and actually made my tired eyes water. We pulled over. I checked the rear view to see if I'd run over rotten garbage, a carcass, or some other filthy find. I had not.

The stench, I soon suspected, was wafting from Dec's gamie mitten innards. Is that really possible? Could mittens really contain such stink? Do I dare put my nose near them to confirm my suspicions? If I cringe, how will Dec feel?

I decided to do what all good mothers should do in such a situation. I played dumb and kept my nose far away from the mittens. Reason A: Sure as heck don't want to make my boy feel less than perfect moments before walking into preschool. Reason B: if I know for a fact that the mittens smelled so bad, I couldn't possibly put them on his hands - but if I don't know, then off he goes stinky mittens and all. And finally, Reason C: did I mention? we had no time to spare.

Were they dry when we got to school? You ask. No. Not even close. They were warm, wet, and wafting: just the way Dec (apparently) loves them.

Back Scratching...

Today I had an itch.

"Center of my back."

"A little lower, a little lower."

"To the right."

"No not up."

"To the right."

"That way."

"No not that far."

"Okay, yes."

"Right there."

"Now scratch."

"Like mommy scratches your baby's back like this..."

Poor Nonie. She tried to itch for me but isnt good at the laundry list of directionals at 16 months of age. She left me wishing I was as equipped as the furry cow at the nature center. But, at least she tried.

P.S.


I still have an itch.

Go n-eiri an t-adh leat

Nothing important or profound has happened to me lately,

but I did have a pretty good day.

Before I got to work I found two things that I had lost.

I was worried I was becoming one of those people who lost things.

You know, besides my mind.

Well the rest of the day was ordinary I supposed but I still considered it to be my "lucky day". So on the way home I said to myself I said "Hey, if I can pull into that gas station (which is pretty much the hardest gas station to pull into and ensure that you can get out of as well) then I will go by myself a lottery ticket"... this advice under the council of Eric who suggested such nonsense when I told him about finding my missings.

Of course, I thought, I will never be able to pull in.

But I could. So I did. Bought me one of those tickets.

Then I went home and cooked up some lasagna.

Luckily it didn't get ruined even though I opened the door 80 times to get a picture of me opening the door.


It was really yummy.

Also, I won 10 bucks from my lottery ticket.

Luckily it only cost me 5.

Drivin' Dirty

I spend some some time in the car now.

And by some I mean, a lot.

And by car, I mean, my second home.

So, I have noticed in the past couple of months that all this time in the car might be reeking havoc on my driving etiquette.

I like to think that I have a clean driving record. Except for that one MINOR accident junior year in high school in the 1 month old car and the 5 car FENDER BENDER involving multiple members of the lacrosse team. Needless to say students were NOT ALLOWED to drive their own vehicles to sporting events after that. (But seriously, why were we allowed to in the first place?)

In addition to the minor dents, broken headlights, a dead deer now and then, ASIDE FROM THOSE TYPES OF THINGS, I have a good record.

But now...my job is to BE IN MY CAR.

And I have noticed that this has left me a bit LAZY in my DRIVING BEHAVIORS.

For example, the other day I realized I was steering WITH MY KNUCKLES ONLY, like, the top knuckles, and I am pretty sure I was on the highway.

And I have decided that the BEST TIME to pull out my phone and make some calls is while merging onto a major road, highway OR when I am driving through a construction zone with MULTIPLE POLICE CARS ready and waiting to bust me.

But this afternoon I realized I might really be in danger. I started DRANCING.

Yup.

I did it.

I was driving and dancing.

And this is by far the most dangerous, because as I was moving my arms, and singing (only trying to entertain a toddler of course), I was also pressing the gas in rhythm with the music.

And maybe swerving a wee bit onto the WRONG SIDE of the double yellow. But it was hard to tell because I was sooooo into it.

Drancing is dangerous, drancing is crazy, drancing is wrong.

And fun.

And I will STOP DRANCING....

...on major roadways, but beware if you meet me on the sideroads where the speed limit is 30mph or less.....

my car will be the one taking the lead.

Globey

In our house, we have a pillow named Globey. It was given to us by our dear Auntie Claire so that we would never forget her. She lived in far away places like Brazil & Mozambique and we used Globey to track her whereabouts and teach Dec about geography. In due time, he came to know the continents, New England, the place where Colorado Tim lives, and other important facts like hot equators and vast blue oceans and Auntie Una's Emerald Isle.

At story time, Globey is the designated parent pillow. A soft compressible pillow that cradles our head as we read to the children. Each night Globey is under a head (either dame's or mine) as the tiny tired eyes and bodies of Dec & Nonie give way to sleep.

Tonight, Globey was used to point out a tiny island called Haiti. We learned that Haiti is close to Dec's familiar Florida, and small in comparison to the US. After he learned where this island was, he learned of the major catastrophe that struck it and its citizens yesterday.

Dec and I held Globey as I said (and he mumbled along to) the Our Father. A prayer for the people of Haiti.

With more than three hours of sleep, I pray now that Dec's dreams are of happier things. And I pray that when he and I wake tomorrow we see that some relief has gotten to where it is needed most.

Now, I am glued to the tv unable to comprehend how a country in such despair, could possibly cope with the devastation that was delivered to them yesterday. And then I find a quote from a Red Cross worker in Haiti that makes me understand:

"...Certainly, Haiti will survive, it has, you know, it's been unfortunately labeled as the poorest country in the western hemisphere for way too long. I remember my Haitian friend telling me that Haitians are "infinitely compressible" that is saying something about their resilience and their ability to survive and they are going to have to survive...."

Infinitely compressible.

Just like globey.

if only i had known....

if only i had known what to do, but it's not in the books, or the blogs, or the forums.

for two nights we have been up crying, playing, screaming, crying some more, the ear infection has been a nightmare for all parties involved.

finally after watching freestyle skiing for an hour at 3 am, he found the place he wanted to be.

a place i never would have placed him in a million years.

he flipped and he flopped and squirmed his way out of my arms, down to my feet, where he nuzzled himself into the crook of my foot. where he finally strung together 3 hours of sleep.

if only i had known thats where he wanted to be... i would have made it happen earlier

us vs. them

In the spirit of the upcoming Olympics, I would like to share with you my thoughts on the way Canadians do two very important things.

The first is cross country skiing.
This picture was taken just over a week ago. We went for a cross country ski and although I fell on my arse two times, I still managed a smile.

I did not take a picture of my experience cross country skiing today because there was no smile involved. There were lots of hills and sprightly Canadians whizzing around me. I would have none of that! So like a true competitor, I took of my skis and walked back to the car. They can't be better if I'm not even trying! Ha!

The second is sledding. Good old-fashioned, no rules, let's get tossed around, when I say "bail" bail, knock people down who are standing in our way sledding.
How are you supposed to do that when your sledding hill looks like this...

Once back on VT soil we took the new sled over to the Round Church hill.


And did some whizzing around of our own.


See Canada!

Three Grannies

I learned this morning, that Dec has three grannies.

And this is the conversation that lead me there...

Trey has two grannies!

Wow Dec, that is pretty special. You have two grannies also!

(Silence)

No, I don't.

Yes you do.

(More Silence)

No. I have three grannies mom!

(Silence) (This time, from me)

Three grannies huh? Who are your three grannies?

Granny Annie!

Yup.

Granny Tess!

Yup.

And My Emah!

(Silence) (Tear...from my eye)

Auntie Emah is your granny?

Yup!

Why do you think Auntie Emah is your granny?

Because, My Emah loves me like my grannies do!

So there you go Emah - elevated to Grandperson status just like that! With love from Declan.

Now that you earned the honor, try drawing him a family tree!

A picture buffet and proving me wrong.

I hope you pronounced buffet as boofay. It's more fun that way.

There was life before THE bug, I am sure. I just forgot what with all that whoopsin'. Here is some evidence.

I spy an Emah sandwich.


The Whelans steal a quiet moment.


I call this "The Chairlift".


This way Xave!


"Xavey I am TRYING to watch BABE".


"Ok. I forgive you."


Cousins give Bri a massage.




Post Note which is really a pre-note... but later.
Did you see all that embracing, canoodle, snuggling? Might we be huggers?

hip sisters

xoxo

WITH THANKS.

First post of 2010.
A thank you post.
To all...
for all...

I begin the new year and the new decade counting my many blessings.

(And squeezing Nonie's sweet cheeks whenever I can.)