Have I really been working there that long?

Ryan's birthday was Tuesday.  (This is not a recent picture of him, but it is one of my favorites.)

I was at work and one of my friends asked me how old he was.  When I replied "nine" we both almost fell over at how fast time flies.   I got pregnant about a month after I was hired, and that means that this December marks ten years that I have been working with this company.  No way.

Ryan remains the cuddliest little boy I ever met.  He has a temper, but for the most part, is very sweet.  He still says, before he starts his sentence/statements to me, "But first, a hug." I love that little squeeze, even if he's about to deliver bad news.

He does a face that is a spot-on imitation of one of his father's expressions.  He is shameless when he is trying to get me to cave, throwing that lower lip out like a pro.  It's hard to resist him, and he knows it. 

He had a nice day, his Dad and I took him to lunch, while the other kids were at school.  He had his favorite pizza for dinner, and I made him a cake so he could have the requisite "Happy Birthday" song and candles to blow out.

I still call him "Sugar," although it has morphed into the more mature "Suggity-Buggity".

NINE.  Yikes. 

Isn't that the beginning number in the "tween" age group? (9-12) 

It's a good thing I have an appt to get my hair colored Monday.   I feel some more gray coming on....

 

Groundhog Day

It occurred to me this morning as I made the kids' lunches and yelled at Audrey to hurry up and Nolan to get out of the shower that my life has turned into a version of the movie "Groundhog Day."

Every day at the same time, I find myself saying/thinking/doing the exact same thing.

Get up get dressed just a minute no, you can't have soda in your lunchbox where's your backpack do you need your trombone who took my keys where's your water bottle no I'm not signing that hey, that's not your shirt what do you mean you forgot your homework too bad you're gonna be late oh shit you're all late did you brush your teeth did you do your inhaler get changed for aikido no you can't yeah go ahead I'm making ____ for dinner take a shower who fed the dogs feed the dogs did you finish your homework did you read did you do your inhaler did you take your medicine I'm in the bathroom can I have five minutes there's only one of me go to bed take it to your father where is your father don't wake up your father go away I am on the phone....

Lather, rinse, repeat; every day, with a stint at work in between.

Usually around 8 or 9 pm, I pick up the phone, and dial.

"Mom?"

At around ten, when silence is golden, I can do whatever I want, watch tv, use my computer uninterrupted, read....

But I fall asleep instead. 

It's too quiet.

One more reason for me not stifle a laugh

The Discovery Channel was on yesterday afternoon, just background noise while I was helping someone with homework.  An episode of "Dirty Jobs" was on, so of course I was listening (oy, that voice) and I looked up at the screen to see a banner on the bottom that said something like "find out what's on Mike's iPod."

I was curious.  I'm nosy enough to be interested in what people like to listen to, just like I like to know what they like to read.  It's nice to have something in common (or not) with other people.  It's a good way to check out/try new things.

I went to the website to check it out. 

Wow.  The website has got all kinds of features that are about the show, and Mike Rowe, too.  I felt a bit like a stalker.  There's a fine line between like and obsessed, and looking at the website, it seemed I was gonna cross right over it.  I hesitated.

But curiosity got the best of me.

I was bouncing around the snippets of this and that when I saw this, a list of "Ten Questions for Mike."  It's a list just like the one at the end of Bravo's "Inside the Actor's Studio" show.  This one thing caught my eye.  Okay, I clapped my hands in glee when I read it:

What sound or noise do you love?
The involuntary snorting that sometimes comes from a woman laughing uncontrollably.

As this is one of my more charming ladylike traits, I am glad to see someone out there appreciates it. 

Yeah, the light is still on

My nephew took the vows this weekend.

Not to enter the priesthood--he got married. 

At the rehearsal, I was annoyed with myself for feeling so jaded.  I know that weddings are just the right environment for incubating all kinds of Hallmark cheesy moments, and ordinarily I go with it, but this time...

Part of it is I don't know the bride well, and I am not sure if I ever will.  (or if I even want to)

Part of it is--these people, most of them, were in their mid-twenties, if not older.  Surely, they'd seen a wedding or two in their time.  How hard is it to walk down the aisle, take your places, have a mock ceremony, and let us get to the rehearsal dinner, where hopefully a glass of liquor can be found?  Were four (or was it five?--lost count) run-thrus really necessary?

By the end of the night, I was totally happy to lie down.  We were staying at a Motel 6 not too far from the festivities.  It's okay that there were no frills there, we really just needed a crash pad with a bathroom.  They left the light on for us, and that was about it.

We have a king-size bed at home, and I eyed the double bed (postage stamp) warily.  I sleep like the dead, usually, and Mr W sleeps like the Princess and the Pea.  I knew he'd be a little cranky the next day, between my snoring and the elbow to the ribs he was sure to get by midnight.

In our bed, even though it's big and he's always waaay over theeeere, I am always aware of his presence.  But I'm aware of it being waaaay over theeeere.  You have to roll over to touch.

This time, sleeping like the dead didn't happen for me.  Aside from some bizarro dreams, I was surprised...

..surprised that in this bed, I was aware of Mr W's presence all right.  All night long, I knew where he was, even if I wasn't all the way awake, I could reach out, and touch him easily.  Which happened often, because every time I moved, our proximity made me do it.

At some point in the morning, I woke up and went to the bathroom, and when I went back to bed, I got comfy and realized that we were spooning.

It was surprisingly effortless, no pulled hair or 'ow, my arm'.  Sweet!

We chatted a little, and then I realized that this closeness, while very nice, was going to present a problem very soon (mainly because we were sharing a room with the kids, of course.)

For once, I was grateful for the ever-consistent cold hotel shower.

Take two and call me in the morning

I was hoping, hoping, hoping, that Mr W would not catch what the kids had.

Unfortunately, he's had a weird week.  Little sleep.  On Friday, he approached me with that "I think I am coming down with something" gleam in his eye.  (Let me tell you, that is not the gleam you want to see in your hubby's eye on a Friday night.)

I went into instant Battle Mode.

Because as we all know, there is nothing worse than sick kids....unless it's a sick husband.

I made him quaff back some Airborne, of which I am a recent convert, after some tough negotiations:
"Take it."  "What does it taste like?"  "Take it."  "No, really, does it taste bad?"  "Take it."  (skeptical look)  "Is it nasty?"  "Take it before I decide to see if that tablet will dissolve lodged in your...."

He took it.  Once or twice, but he felt better Saturday morning, so he took nothing else all day.  Saturday night, his face contorted in sinus pain, I could see he was approaching the "ick" phase.

I did what every good wife would do.

I medicated him to the bejesus belt.  A HUGE shot of Benadryl, on top of the Sudafed Sinus he took earlier, followed by some Motrin.  I was preparing the Nyquil chaser when I realized that that was probably overkill, and reserved the right to use it later.

The hearty zzzzz's I heard after about an hour told me I'd made the right choice.  I was a bit concerned in the morning, as I left for work, that he might not get up again until Tuesday, so I was a little surprised when the phone rang at noon.  He said he felt much better.

Meanwhile, I had to make a detour on my way to work...for some Airborne.

There's a tickle in my throat.

I had ventured over to Patrick's, to see what was up for this weekend.  The Sat Six is all about grammar.  My head started hurting on third question of the quiz.  I know my their to they're to there, so send me to detention, I'm skipping it.

However, the Sunday Seven caught my attention.

THIS WEEK’S QUESTION:
Name the seven musical instruments you most wish you could play.

I am a wannabe band geek. 

However, when I was younger and could have learned in jr high, I quit band.  See, I wanted to learn how to play the flute, my Mom strong-armed--I mean talked me into--the clarinet, and I hated it.  This, coupled with a desire to not be in band in high school so I could find my glory as a majorette (in my small town, people tended to pigeonhole you in whatever you did currently, and I didn't want to hurt my chances) led me to trade one stick for another, before I got too accustomed to the taste of the reed.  Ick.

It's one of the things I regret doing, but we all do silly things in the shortsightedness of our youth.

Besides, band geeks are hot, what was I thinking?  (Oh, this is a throwback to jr high.  Did I just blush?)

In no particular order, here they are:

Piano.  (Forever.  All my life.  Now we have an old one, and when no one is home, I try to remember what little I know about reading music, and have at it.  I guess it may be time for some lessons, before the neighbors start calling the police about the 'tortured animal' sounds coming from our house.)

Trumpet. (I would so love to get my mariachi on.  For this, for the sheer loud joy of it, I have a special place in my heart for the brass instruments; this is my favorite.  Back in the day, if memory serves, I was told that it was too masculine an instrument to try.  Can you believe that?)

Cello.  (It looks so difficult.  What a sound!  The posture, the way you hold it...wow.  Sexy.)

Saxophone. (I've tasted things worse than a reed by this point.)

Harp.  (I have a little Greek goddess complex.)

Drums.  (Come on.  What's not to love about banging on something rhythmically?)

Guitar. (I have a Guitar Hero complex, too.)

Music is a wonderful thing.

I was listening to Ben whistle the other day, and was about to yell at him to cut it out, when I realized he was whistling "Ode to Joy."  I dug that he had it in his head, so much so that he could whistle it so naturally.

My delight was surpassed when he was practicing it on his trombone later, and Nolan and a friend of his that was over afterschool took out their instruments and joined him.

It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination.  They argued about who was messing up, they started over umpteen times---

But they played.  And that was very, very cool.

It's one of those things I know I will remember when my house is quiet and there's no one around to whistle and annoy me except Mr W.

I hope he knows a little Beethoven.

 

P.S.  This is a place I like to visit, just to show the kids how different things sound.  And to play a little on my own.  Check it out.