Janitor or Bag Lady?

I have strong suspicions my Elliott could be either one.

1. He loves to clean. Loves. His favorite toys are a child-sized broom, mop, or the bottom half of a Swiffer. Sometimes he dusts with a feather duster. No really. He does. Occassionally, he says along witht he cleaning, "wee-uh, wee-uh." (sweep. sweep.)

2. Elliott has a new obsession with carrying his treasures around. Yesterday, this involved a handful of books, a cup, and socks with a random toy stuck under his chin. When that was no longer comfortable, he pulled a small wagon of Legos around stuffing in bits of trash, unmatched sacks, diaper inserts, his cups, a book and feather duster (see above).

These, the most favorite of his activities, have lead me to the solid conclusion that "Environmental Superintendant" or bag lady. I am certain that his father and I can influence him to seek higher education. Right?

God on Earth?

And again, today's Star of the Show, the ever sassy and observant, Abigail.



Setting: Sweet little Addison's Baptism party, attended by family and close friends (that's me). Other guests included my long-time friend and Addison's godmother, Kathy, and her family: Carl (hubs), Hailey & Hannah (daughters). The kids, all of them, were running wild playing together, or at least playing around each other loudly.

Abby decided that she needed some help from an adult to carry out her latest scheme, or maybe just to read her a book (her favorite past-time is being read to). She walked into the kitchen and calmly said:

Je-shush? Je-shush? Come hewe a minute?

Let me introduce you to Jesus, in Abby's eyes:


The rest of us know him as Carl, husband to Kathy and daddy to darling Hannah and Hailey. Kathy was surprised to be married to God on Earth and well, I don't think H & H are aware of their father's newly crowned status. What do you think?



I laughed until I cried, while Abigail stared on, with her precious face reading, "What's the heck is so funny, NeeNee?"

And as a bonus, this is what I may look like if I ever experience a stroke:

In case you were wondering, Je-shush took this amazing photograph.

Biscuit Holders and Letting Go

I am all about function. Typically, this means any short-cut available to me will be taken (unless it relates to cloth vs. disposable diapers). Today I called that theory into question. I was wearing a cute maxi-dress with Spanx and a strapless bra (definition on to turn a comfy dress into restricted misery). Pretty normal, right?

I went to the bathroom at work, looked down and questioned, not for the first time, why Spanx have a huge gaping hole in the crotch. Is this intended to air out the goods? Or are you supposed to actually pee through the hole? I seriously pondered this and decided to test my theory. I sat down, ready to tinkle right through that little hole. I did. I was going to do it. Was you might ask? I totally chickened out. . . I mean it just didn't seem like a good idea to test the 'pee hole' theory while on a short break from a meeting with my corporate supervisors. I am fairly certain that coming back from the restroom reeking of urine and damp spots on my hiney would ruin any chance of further advancement in the company, right?

My whole life has been a series of vignettes where my timing is off because I just couldn't reign in my impulses and WAIT for the right time to blurt out my observation, question or awkward thought, but this time, this one time I made the right choice. I'm convinced.

(My friend, Deana oft comments,that taking off a pair of Spanx is like "opening a can of biscuits." I get that today. I totally get that.)

Elliott has Mad Skillz

Elliott is love with music, and has been for a long time. Soothed by my off-key voice, he sings with me in a cacophany of sweet jibberish in the carseat, the highchair and rocking to sleep each night. My mom unearthed the synthesizers of my sister's and my youth. Elliott is in heaven. Not only is he a tiny songbird, he's got mad white-boy dancing skillz. Of course, this is likely due to the fact that my dad and my husband, the penultimate white boys, were providing the model. Witness for yourself:

The Do-Run-Run

That darn sinus infection knocked me down for two whole weeks, but it sure didn't knock me out. I do-ran-ran all over our neighborhood, despite the oppressive heat(it's seriously a bazillion degrees outside) and about a billion excuses I had at my disposal to not go. AND, I have a new favorite to share, brought to you by by brills sister, Amanda.

My thighs are BFFs, to borrow a quote from my sister. That makes this the best invention in a long, long time:


Yep. Perfect for sweaty runs in the bazillion degree heat, cute skirts and dresses in the same heat and protecting those sensitive armpits from hateful sports bras. How did we miss out on this brilliance in my many chafe-tastic summers of sweltering heat at El Tesoro? True,there is no Gold Bond tingle with application, but let's face it, the Gold Bond tingle came from already irritated skin. And the genius of Body Glide is the prevention of the irritation. Amazing, I tell you. Amazing enough to prevent all irritation in 100 degree heat in the chub-rub area after a day of dress-wearing and finishing up with a run. Revolutionary in my pants-area.

Two ships, passing in the night. . .

I wear many hats: mom, wife, supervisor, daughter, friend, manager, sister. Right now I am feeling the weight, the wonderful weight, of all of those roles. It seems the one that most easily suffers is the one that is my bedrock--the relationship with my husband. Whew. We aren't fighting. We aren't angry with each other. We aren't even disinterested with each other. We are simply busy. Busy trying to have a life outside of our small family, be quality parents and meet expectations at our respective jobs. We trade-off Elliott-duty and give each other a quick peck on our way out the door. Honestly, it's a bit disheartening. The good news is that we have not one, but two dates scheduled this weekend. Amazing that after months of not having even one date that we get TWO!

Date one will be the Rangers v. Boston Red Sox when we'll be sweating our asses off cheering the Rangers to victory (at least I will be). Woo hoo. Fireworks. It's a testament to Chris that I am going, because it's hella hot outside and sitting at a baseball game doesn't sound all that relaxing. . . but I will go and I will sweat and complain cheer!

Date two brings us to a 'Welcome Back to Texas' party in honor of our dear friends, Karen and Nathan, both of whom I have known for over 10 years. They have spent the past two years in the desert wastelands of Arizona and we will celebrate their return to the Promised Land by drinking beer. Beer and grilling. It's basically everything that defines Nathan wrapped up in one evening: beer, meats, and having a wonderful time with friends.

Moral of the story: it's about damn time I get to spend some quality time with my husband.

Addendum to the story: I have a ridiculous love for So You Think You Can Dance and I am sad it is coming to an end. It will definitely help with me getting to bed on time because it's a strict no-go when Chris is awake. . .

Abby-Abby-Abby

After vacation, Elliott was obsessed with my best friend's middle child, Abby. He would talk about her in the mornings--"Abby, Abby, Abby." Or would point to any toddler-ish aged little girl and say "Abby, Abby, Abby."

Well, after far too long, we finally got to see the star of the show--Abigail herself. Abigail is a diva. She is rough and tumble, determined to match her brother step for step. Abigail is compassionate. With every blow of my nose, she would say "bwess you." Heart-warming. She is a bit bossy--turns out that she's not the best playmate for a friend's more laid-back child. I've told Elliott repeatedly that Abby or her sister, Addison, are on the approved list for marriage. I figure that their lessons in sharing are just preparing them for marriage. Right?She can light up the room with her smile, but this post is not about her smile. Oh no, this post is about her darling booty, exposed as she trailed up the playground after her brother. Her mom and I repeatedly reminded, "Pull up your bottoms, Abby." Dutifully, she tugged at the front of the suit, leaving the back continuously in the open breeze.

And Elliott? After a month of requesting Abby-Abby-Abby, Elliott was not all that concerned with playing with Abby. It took until the last 30 minutes of our visit before their parallel play worlds collided. I suppose Abby-Abby-Abby is a love interest from afar. I think the key to her heart is making friends with her big brother, Jackson. Finally, after over a year of wishing that little boy could DO something, Jackson and Elliott had a delirious game of chase. Yep. The way to her heart indeed.







And a glimpse into the fun of our Family Fun Day for my company, THERAPY 2000. We visited a 60s-era amusement park in the 103 degree heat. Brave, aren't I? Chris had to work, so Elliott and I set out for some fun on our own. Merry-go-round=screaming and clutching at mama. Train=success! And of course, everyone, and I mean everyone with whom we spoke, commented on those beautiful baby blues my baby sports. It makes this mama awfully proud, even if I can only thank Poppy's genes for those luscious eyelashes.

We're in trouble now. . .

Yes, that's our Breakfast Room table. Yes, that's Elliott standing on the chair. And yes, he got up there all by himself. All previous bets are off. Time to bring out the big guns. . . now can someone tell me what the big guns should be?

Meh.

Sinus infections suck. Like really suck. I have one and it's miserable. It started as a cold given to me graciously by my sweet son, Elliott. He is so thoughtful. So today I broke down and paid 65 buck-a-roos to have a doctor confirm what I already knew. The upside is that the additional 67 buck-a-roos for medication should provide some relief.

The dorky doctor with braces at the doc-in-a-box also kindly provided prescriptions for cough syrup with codeine and that oral yeast infection medication. Lucky me--I get a yeast infection (or "east" infection as my Nanny called it) with every antibiotic exposure. My husband thinks I should see an ENT because each and every cold I get results in a sinus infection. I know he's probably right, but it sure seems like a hell of a lot of hassle. Meh. Maybe someday? I'm an expert procrastinator, have I mentioned this? So someday I'll see an ENT and they'll say I have jacked sinuses. . . and then what? Yeah, that's the answer I'm dreading. Surgery. Surgery that could like hurt my brain. Sounds pretty miserable to me.

I bet I can procrastinate on this one a long, long while. Unless Chris has his say. We're going to keep that option off the table though, right?