Every day, while our elementary-school children are still in the throes of gluing macaroni to paper and counting dried beans, cars stack up in two-by-two formation outside, waiting in the”Car-Riders” line as early as 55 minutes before the last bell rings.
Lately, weve been on the birthday circuit. Today was a 2-year-olds Thomas-the-Train celebration, tomorrow is a 3-year-old pony riding extravaganza, and next weekend 6-year-old twins are celebrating with a gymnastics party. I love birthday parties. When Ava gets invited, it reassures me that she is popular and I can look forward to eating the piece of cake she decapitates by furiously licking away the frosting. Everyone wins. With all these parties on our calendar, I have to take a list with me to Target just to remind me of the presents I need to buy that month. But a $15 Barbie is a small price to pay for popularity and it beats the cost of child therapy, which I imagine is the sad lot of the uninvited.
I have a skewed perception of aging. My dad didnt start working out until he was 65. He got his ear pierced around the same time–about 20 years after ear piercing fell out of fashion. Then he bought a Harley-Davidson.
Last night I stayed up late watching A&Es Hoarders with my mother-in-law.
A couple of days ago, Ava and I went searching for a Mothers Day gift to send to my mom.
Whod you play with today?
My parents left yesterday after a two and half week visit. Mom cooked Thanksgiving dinner (and all the other dinners in between) and set up my Christmas tree. Dad fixed everything around the house that was broken, and what he broke while here (I swear my toilet automatically shuts down when it hears my fathers voice).
Over the years Ive learned a number of lessons when it comes to making new friends: my first impression of people is usually wrong and my husbands is usually right, avoid drama queens at all cost and dont trust a woman who doesnt have old friends. If youve gone through life making and breaking friendships, theres probably something deeply wrong with you. Im not exactly sure what that thing may be. Maybe you get clingy and chase them off. Maybe you borrow their designer shoes and return them with scuffs. Maybe you cut off their head and hide their body under the stairs. Whatever it is, I dont plan on waiting around to find out.
There was a time when Id wake up the day after Thanksgiving at 5 AM to drive 90 miles to Seattle to shop. But two things were different then: I didnt have a child (and thus, complete respect for sleep), and the sales began “early” at 7 AM.
My sister taught me how to read. Sure, there were a long line of teacher lessons, flash cards and episodes of Sesame Street that primed me for the big moment, but those memories are vague and faded – mere baby steps on the grand journey to literacy.