It's been such a long time...

*for the lovely Mrs L, who emailed me, wondering where I've been :)

It all started when I was looking for a shirt in Audrey's room. I had a bridal shower to attend in the afternoon, and I was considering taking her with me.

I wanted her to wear the shirt in question with a skirt I'd been eyeing at Target just the day before. It's so easy with a little girl to go overboard buying clothes, so I try to rein myself in as much as possible. She's been on quite the growth spurt this summer as well, all the more reason to exercise caution.

It's very hard to exercise caution, however, when the little girl in question is just so damn cute.

Anyway, as I searched her drawers, I felt my pulse start thumping as I realized everything was hodge-podge and things that should be here were there. Her closet was equally as bad and as I sighed and surveyed the room, it seemed as though every single scrap of paper, every single misplaced sock, every bit of ittybitty toy was screaming for my attention.

The huge pile of toilet paper, unwound in the corner is what did me in, and I less-than-calmly hollered for her and Ryan to come to their room and take care of things.

And so the rampage-rant began. It was not pretty.

I railed against the falling standards of their cleanliness and as I walked into the living room on my way to the garbage can in the kitchen, I went after my next target, Ben; and turned on my heel to reach out and grab Nolan's headphone from his ear, so that he could hear me too, when suddenly, Mr W appeared in the doorway and said: "Hey. Hey, settle down. Why don't you get ready, and go get the present for the shower, and head on over there?"

The look on his face was of the "my wife is a lunatic" variety and I was a little embarrassed that he was pretty much asking me to leave; deflated, I took a deep breath and agreed.

But the bridal shower was in like, oh, 4 hours or so and while my toilette can be dragged out when I want it to be, there's no way it's going to take me 4 hours to take a shower and put on some lipgloss.

He went back to our room and I decided that I was hungry, so everyone else must be, and I made breakfast.

I took his to him, and he looked up at me, surprised, and I half-expected him to ask me to taste the food myself first, you know, just to be sure I didn't lace it with rat poison; but instead, he asked, "This is for me?" as I rolled my eyes and put it in front of him. "Of course it is," I replied, making a face as I showed him the grape jelly on his toast.

"Do you know what I like about you?" I asked him. "I like it that when I am all sweaty, and I look awful, and smell worse, and we're leaving the gym, you still open the door for me." (which he'd done that morning) "And I also like it that when I turn the corner, onto Bitch Avenue, you always check me and let me know I should knock it off."

"You didn't just turn the corner onto Bitch Avenue, you gave it the gas as you took it on two wheels," he replied.

I hugged him anyway.

And I'm sure that after I left for the bridal shower, the kids all hugged him too.

Mutual appreciation

We took the kids to see "Wolverine" a couple of weeks ago. 

As the house lights went down, I leaned over to Mr W and I said, "Am I granted leeway this movie, to drool a little and make animal noises?" (I knew what Hugh Jackman was going to look like, and I also knew that not sighing at the sight of his form was going to be next to impossible.)

He laughed and told me that one of his colleagues had taken his wife to see the same movie recently as well, and had just outright offered his apology to her for not resembling Hugh in any way, shape, or form.  "So I'm offering you my apology too,"  he added, "right now." 

"Don't be silly,"  I told him, giving his arm a little smack, "that's not necessary."

The movie started and Hugh did not disappoint. (I am not exaggerating when I say woooowww.) There is one scene where he's out in the wilderness, in a cabin with his beloved, and he comes out onto the ledge in grey pajama pants and no shirt.  I heard it in my brain before I even took it all in:  "Thank you, God."   I sighed and leaned over to my husband:  "I accept your apology."

He didn't respond, but he hates to talk in movies so I figured he more than likely didn't hear me.  When we were leaving, heading out to the van, I giggled, and asked him, "Did you hear what I said to you in there?"   I was rubbing his back as we walked.  "Yeah."  He stopped.  "Get your hands off me,"  he joked.  

It was all in fun, but nonetheless, I felt a little bad about it.

We got home and everyone scattered.  I went into the bathroom, the idea formulating in my head....and I took a picture of my cleavage (only that, nothing too risque) and I sent it to his phone with the message, "Please accept my apology, that my parts are not as perfect as Jenna Jameson's."

I heard him laughing before I clasped my phone shut.

Few of us out there have perfect parts, isn't it nice knowing that somewhere out there, someone thinks they are perfect, only because they're part of you? 

Exorcise

I have to stop having these impure thoughts, but my mind just cannot stop sneaking over.

I can feel it in my hand, it's the perfect texture and heft.   I see it in my mind, it's shape is perfect and so pleasing to the eye.  I can smell it, and catch myself breathing in deeply, inhaling, even as I sit here at home, at my desk.

I can't stop thinking about it.  I've been thinking about it for months.  I was visiting it from time to time but I had to stop myself, it was pure torture to run my hands along it and know that it was not coming home with me.  It was certainly not mine; I would talk myself into biding my time, in hopes that someday, the stars would align and I would quite greedily take it home and just own it.  I know others have heard its siren call, too, I just never imagined that I would be one of them, one of many who know its allure and succumb to its charm.

Recently, I couldn't help myself, and found myself parked in front, my eyes hungry for the prize, searching out the contours they know so well.

It wasn't in the usual spot, and it wasn't the usual color, but I still held it in my hands, turning it this way and that, appreciating the craftmanship.

I approached the saleslady.  "Where are the rest of the Penelope shoppers?"  I ask, because while the one in my hands would do, it's not The One.  "That's one of the last ones we have,"  she answered, "but I can look and see if we can get any others from another store."

My heart sank, disappointed.  I had hoped that if I waited long enough, I could talk myself into taking the plunge.   The ladies out there will understand.  The object of my desire, the thing I can't stop thinking about, is a....purse.   I hang my head a little in shame admitting it, but I know if I admit it, and let my desires be known, I can hopefully exorcise this demon and get on with my life.

In the Coach store, a few months ago, I first saw the Penelope 'Shopper' bag.  Now, I don't frequent Coach, although, occasionally, I do go in there out of girly curiosity.  I love their stuff, I just have never been able to get my brain wrapped around the price tag.   I'm practical, and I know that a nice bag around my little ones wouldn't be so practical.  But now they're not-so-little, and I hide behind the price tag.   The larger bag is just shy of 400 bucks.  The smaller one? 350.  I fell in love with the navy one, as it was perfect; the perfect-neutral-shade-that's-not-black, almost a denimy color.  Great for jeans, but able to be dressed up for other ensembles.  Oh, and the lilac colored one?  Get out.  Purple is my favorite color (but it was much too light--it would get dirty and probably only best trotted out in spring/summer).  Now, navy is no longer available, nor is the lilac.  There's black, tangerine (it looks tan online), white, and platinum.  The platinum is nice, it's got a lilac-striped interior.  

I didn't know Coach doesn't carry stuff for more than a couple of months (crafty bastards) and that once this style is gone, it will be gone indefinately. 

I really, really, want it, too.   It's ridiculous, the longing so unsensible it borders on annoying.  Mr W has offered once or twice, but then I tell him no; objecting, "It's 400 bucks.  Good lord, it's a purse.  There are other, more necessary things we need more.  No.  Absolutely not."  He gets pretty irritated with me, but I am firm.

Until I see myself with it in my head, it sitting in the spot between the seats.  I see my iPod in it, and my latest read, I imagine it swinging off my arm as I go into work.  I can feel the supple leather whisper in my hands...

Out, out, damned spot.  

I'm usually not like this.  I can talk myself out of most impulses, but this time...*sigh*  I have resigned myself to admiring it from afar.  In my mind, I can caress it and inhale, and let myself get a little dizzy from its light leathery scent.

Ridiculous.

The sensible part of my brain reminds me that Mr W has to have dental work (is that ever cheap?), there are band fees for Fall coming up, and dogs that need vet visits...it's an important reality check that makes me put it back on the shelf and head out the door.

As I make my way back out into the mall towards my car, I start to feel better, the little pang diminishing as I get further away.

I know the siren song will return.  I will hear the call and replay the high points, admiring all the angles in my mind.

Purse Porn.

While not as nice as the real thing, it's a good substitute for now.

Boyspression

I have to hope that it is an underlying love for each other, unspoken affection, that makes the boys in my house interact like this:

(in the van, at a stoplight)

Ben to Ryan:  "Slug bug!"  (muffled punch)  "Slug bug!"  (muffled punch)  "Slug bug!"

Ryan to Ben:  "Stop it!  Mooom..."

Mom intervenes, can't these people see she's driving:

"Knock it off Ben, that's annoying.  No more 'slug bug', or I'm changing the game to 'slug balls'."

Ben:  "Awww, Mom, that's not funny, you don't joke about stuff like that!"  he exclaims, crossing his arms over his pelvic area and doubling over.

Nolan to Ben:  "I don't know why you're complaining,  you don't have any."

Mom cracks up.

Nolan puts his headphones on, the van is quiet for now, mission accomplished.

It must be the heat

Somehow the kids gave me the slip afterschool. I showed up to our usual meeting spot and they weren't there; and when I looked up, I saw Ryan's backpack across the playground, headed towards the place I park.

I was on the way to the van but stopped to talk to Audrey's teacher, who had crossing guard duty. I asked about the eggs they were incubating, because although the first grade does this every year, every year we never know who will have duds and who will have chicks. I told her about the talk I'd had with Audrey before they started the project. I know my girl well enough to realize that the second she saw cute fuzzy baby chicks, she'd be wanting to bring one home, and I had to nip that in the bud. "Sweetie," I told her, "when the eggs hatch, the chicks will be very, very cute. You may not bring one home. You and I," I pointed to each of us, "are the only chicks in this house." Her teacher laughed and said that Audrey had relayed the story to her already. We looked toward my van, and spotted Audrey headed back to me, a purpose to her step.

I figured she was going to come rush me along, but once she got there it was "Ryan grabbed my arm,", Ryan this, Ryan that...and once in the car, Ryan yelps and I look over my shoulder as he starts in with "She hit me when she went by with a water bottle," and the chorus of 'he said, she said' began.

I sighed and told them that neither one of them will be allowed to sit shotgun and once we got home, Ryan was to go to my room and Audrey was to go to their room and they would have to chill until I came to get them.

We got home, and I got busy with the dogs, of course, I needed the bathroom. Ryan was laying on my bed, but he's got a mild cold or allergies, so I figured he was just seeking refuge. After checking him out, I went into the kitchen, and realized Audrey was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Audrey?" I asked Nolan. I got no response. (That's it, I'm writing an article--Headphones: Blessing and Curse.)

Suddenly, she appears behind me, a little tear-streaked and contrite. "I was in my room, Mommy, you said I had to go there."

Let me preface the next part by stating that the distance from the school to my house is five minutes, tops. We'd been home for maybe ten.

And in that small nugget of time, I'd completely forgotten they were in trouble and that I'd told them to go to their opposite corners. Doh!

I can't believe I couldn't remember what I'd just said. No wonder my oldest tends to look at me like I'm insane. Because although I can't remember what I say, I know that he (and his siblings) always do. And they call me on it.

Ordinarily, I'd blame it on fatigue, or distraction, or their misinterpretation of what I meant.

But today, I'm blaming it on the heat....it's 104 today.

It will be 104 until October, which means I'm gonna have to start writing things down.

Because if I don't, I'll be building a coop in the backyard next Tuesday.