Sign on the Freckled Line

Evidence of my being a neglectful mother showed up today.  How, you ask?  Well, it showed up in the form of my kid's epidermis.  You see...the little guy is covered with writing.  All over his arms and his chest.  The boy looks like he's been tagged!


Me:  "Why do you have writing all over you?"

Little guy:  "It was yearbook signing day and I didn't get a yearbook, so everyone just signed me."

Me:  "Oh, now I feel bad.  Did you want a yearbook?"

Little guy:  "Not really.  And they're really expensive."

Me:  "So you're OK?"

Little guy:  "Yeah.  Take some pictures of me."


And, thus, I was off the hook for the lack of yearbook purchasing.  And, hey, this is an end of year he'll never forget.

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The Audition

The little kid and I just got back from auditioning for a commercial.  Yup, a T.V. commercial.  Our task?  Well, it was to "be ourselves".  Knowing that going in was totally awesome.  I mean, really, how on earth can we fail at just being us, right?  So, in we went.  Me?  I was bubbly, spazzy, and totally talking with my hands (it's a wonder I didn't put someone's eye out).  Check!  That's me.  My little guy?  He was sweet, brainy, and totally adorable.  Check!  That's him. 

If either of us get chosen, we both say, "Great!"

If neither of us do, we walked outa there knowing we totally rocked at being us.

...and being us is a blast!

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The Honesty of Children

Every once in a while I lose my grip on reality and start thinking a little too highly of myself.  Thankfully my kid is always there to knock me right back down to where I oughta be.


Me:  "Look how the veins pop out on my arms.  Do you think I might have low body fat and that's why?"

Little guy:  "No, you just have old skin."


Gee...little turkey.


But then, not more than an hour later...


Me:  "Should I get my hair cut short?"

Little guy:  "No, girls look better with long hair."


Um...dude..."girls" are not "old".  I'm gonna go ahead and pretend I'm a girl with low body fat.  Yeah, that's my plan.

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Things Bubble Up

Ruh-roh, Kali might have found a new art addiction.  You see, I spent many, many hours over the holiday weekend volunteering on a mosaic project.  It's all hearts, flowers, butterflies, and such...totally right up my alley.  But here's the problem.  We're in the process of redoing our counter tops and back splashes and I'm feeling the creative juices a burbling. 


Me:  "Let's do them all flowery and colorful!"

Dave:  "Let's do them in a way that will make someone want to buy this house someday."


Okay, okay...I suppose he has a point...and I already make him sleep in a purple bedroom every night.  But, gosh, the magic mosaic powers are bound to bubble up sooner than later.  Better watch out, Dave...you might find yourself lifting a ladybug covered toilet seat in the near future!

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Wackbirds

Sometimes you just happen to notice that there's something you do that is wackbirds compared to everyone else.  Happened to me the other night.  I was sitting at my little guy's last middle school band concert (ever!) and I was tapping my foot right along with the music.  I didn't even realize I was doing it until my wonderful mother-in-law pointed out that all the kids who were listening were also tapping their feet.  That was all well and good until I looked at my foot, looked at their feet, and then back to my own.  What the heck?  They were ALL tapping their right feet.  Me?  Well, my left foot was going up and down like crazy. 

I scanned around the room where their shoes met the floor looking for someone like me.  And, by golly, I found one!  And it was my kid!  At first I had all this genetic pride going...DANG...I've got some seriously strong genes.  And then I realized that it was likely just an instrument thing, you know, the bell of the french horn sits on the right thigh and all.  If we were to tap that right foot the mouthpiece would be jiggling all about.

My kid and I...just the same...it's good to be wackbirds.

A Statement Piece

Dave:  "Did you get any milk?"

Me:  "Nope, go get some milk."


So, off he went to the store.  And then he came back.


Me:  "Your shirt is on inside-out."

Dave:  (all indignant and stuff) "I was making a statement."

Me:  "What's the statement?"

Dave:  "Shhhhhhh!"

Me:  "No, really, what's the statement?"

Dave:  "The statement is 'Shhhhhhh!'"


That loveable guy is straight up goofy!

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Know what's awesome?

Know what's awesome?  I'll tell you what's awesome.  What's awesome is sitting in a vegetarian restaurant with my super cute husband, eating my delicious vegan meal, gazing out the window, and seeing a dude ride by on his horse.

Know what's even more awesome?  I'll tell you what's even more awesome.  What's even more awesome is seeing the dude on the horse stop, get his phone out, and start texting.  Yup, even cowboys know it's not safe to text while driving riding.

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