3' 3"

I let Grace use my camera at her Thanksgiving program. My real camera with the nice lens that makes me cringe at the sight of grubby fingers wandering towards the magical moving toy.

Now, she fancies herself as a photographer. She wanted to use the real camera again. I compromised and showed her how to use the camera on my iPhone. I have almost 200 new pictures added to the collection from this weekend. So it seems a waste to let them go undocumented. (Because you can bet once this posts, I am hitting the delete button on the camera.)

The weekend from 3' 3":

The Power of Purple

It's always the little things. Things that I don't even seem to think twice about. Objects that I selected for one reason or another, but that really don't make a difference in my world.

The other day we were sitting down to dinner and Grace starting gasping and pointing.


G: Mama! MAMA! Look! LOOK! Who bought that? Did you buy that??

Do you see anything? Yeah, I didn't either.

This is how the conversation went:

G: The SPONGE Mama! You bought a PURPLE SPONGE!!!

Me: Ah, yeah. Yeah I did.

G: I love the purple sponge and I love you for buying me a purple sponge.

Me: Umm- well I bought the sponge to scrub dirty dishes with Grace. They came in a pack and the purple one was on top.

G: Well the dirty dishes will love being scrubbed by the purple sponge Mama. That you for buying it.

And then she finished eating her dinner and never said another word about the sponge again. Who knew the love that could be shown by the simple power of a purple sponge.

Artistic Liberties

Yesterday, Gracie wanted to go outside for a walk.

Matt obliged.

She wanted to race him, which constitutes running between our driveway and the neighbors.

Matt obliged.

She got tired, and wanted Matt to carry her while they raced.

Matt obliged.

(And Grace somehow kept ‘winning’ the races.)

Matt got tired of running while carrying a 30lb child and Gracie wanted to draw on the driveway in chalk.

Matt obliged.

Grace wanted to be drawn on the ground.

Matt obliged.

She then wanted me to draw Matt, while she worked on the detail work.

Matt obliged.

And was very happy with the results.

Fish Lips

One of my first solid memories of Matt is at a house party in college. My brother and I were each in our respective Sophomore years, and I wanted to take him out. Pretend like I was cool.

I know that I knew the host of the party, some such friend of a friend scenario, but those details are fuzzy. I remember both Jerry and I being handed plastic cups for the keg of beer, a persistent friend insisting that my brother chug beers with him (which I instead chugged and handed him back the empty cup) and Matt being by my side (helping chug the occasional beer too) for the majority of the night whispering Portuguese in my ear. As much as someone can whisper in a crowded, drunken, college house party anyway and he has still never told me what he was saying that night.

That night I learned that Matt was an adventurer and spent his Junior year of high school as an exchange student in São Paulo, Brazil. It was over the subsequent years that I discovered how much junk/memories he was hanging on to from that time too. I have badgered him down to one box of mementos, now stored in our basement.

Except for this fish.

I liked it, so it stayed out and it now resides in Gracie’s bathroom. So now that carved wooden fish is deeply engrained in our nighttime rituals. We start the bath, sit on the potty, play in the bath, brush teeth, towel off and then stop and give the fish a big hug and kiss goodnight.

It is an adorable ritual. Watching herself in the mirror, she hugs it sideways then flips it to face her and greets with a big kiss right on its fishy lips.

Isn’t it funny how memories from 20 years ago can be reborn into something even more beautiful today?

Sunny Days and New Words

When we arrived home last night, Matt was mowing.

In 95 degree weather.

(Not that the temperature makes any difference to this story, I just wanted to say how freaking hot it is here. In APRIL. 95 degrees. When I got into my car after work the thermometer said 105 degrees. IN APRIL FOLKS!)

Anyway, I digress....

As I was saying, when we arrived home last night, Matt was mowing and I set about getting dinner ready.

In true Gracie fashion, as soon as my hands were covered with the juices of raw meat she wanted to be picked up.

Down! Down! Doowwwwnn! (Because while she knows both up and down, she seems to get confused about which one is which.)

Knowing full well that Matt was outside, I decided to buy myself some time.

Gracie - Where is daddy? Go find daddy!!

Off she went, but I wasn't prepared for her response.

I had hoped she would wander into the other room and become sidetracked with toys, book, castle or all of the above. Instead she spent the next ten minutes wandering the house calling for him in the most forlorn voice I've ever heard out of her.

Daddy! Daddy? Daddy! Where you daddy? Daddy where you?

After I got over my initial shock that she knows the phrase "where you" I started to feel really guilty. How many parents send their kids on wild goose chases to occupy them?

I have vague memories of an Uncle constantly suggesting to me and my brother to go find "the snipes" in the back yard when we were children. I don't remember being upset about trying to search out a mythical bird he had created for his entertainment and our preoccupation though.

I guess in the end though it is all about keeping your sanity. And it is never a good thing to let sanity slip away while coated in potential salmonella and holding a butcher knife.

Dirty, Dirty

You know the world is spinning a little off kilter when your husband comes in and says:

"Just talked to Shawn. We're going to have a sausage fest tomorrow. He has 16 Italians that he's bringing over. You just need to get some buns. Paul's bringing the beer."

Wow.

The Face of Punk

Now that the process is over I can write about it.

I sold a gift. A Christmas gift from Matt to me.

And I feel guilty about it.

Matt bought me tickets to go see the Dropkick Murphy’s for Christmas. Their … quirky. Their …. a little out there for me. Their …. fun. How do you not love a band that comes up with a drinking, carousing song titled, Kiss Me I’m Shit Faced? It has everything – a thick Irish accent, bagpipes, vulgarity and humor. What’s not to like??

They are a punk band though, and I am suburban white bread. As much as I love the idea of rocking out to a CD in my SUV, the thought of getting caught up in a mosh pit filled with unwashed masses sporting piercings and tattoos gave me the cold sweats.

Plus, being completely honest, from the get go the idea of being out late on a Thursday night also gave me the cold sweats. Listen people, I go to bed at 9:30. The opening act wasn’t even going to start until 8pm. Not conducive for getting up at 5am.

When our tried-and-true babysitter backed out on us, it was a fairly easy decision. Let’s just sell the tickets.

Our friend Craig’s List gave us a buyer within a day, and in fact I just handed over the tickets to the lucky *ehem* lady an hour ago.

After talking to the buyer a few times on the phone, I started to have my doubts about the sale. She was SO nice. I kept thinking to myself, maybe I could show up in my cable knit sweater and pink Puma’s and not look like a fool. Maybe everyone will just be wandering around with pints and clinking with random strangers like a big transplanted pub. MAYBE I might even be able to dance and not feel like a fool.

If this girl can do it, why not me???

Then I met her. Whooo Nelly.

Crazy black eye makeup, without the flawless skin and bone structure that makes it work. Three piercings on her tongue. Yeah you read that right. Three. A stud in the middle and little hoops to the left and right. Completed by enough skull wear to open up her own punk boutique.

Ahhh. Me and my pink Puma’s will be staying home and enjoying a fine Zinfandel. Or maybe a glass of Guinness, sans mosh pit. Unless Grace decides to start one….

Curse of the Coupon

Attention Target Customers. The Lady at Register 4 is Buying Lube.

Do I have your attention?

Yeah, I had quite a few people looking at me. I was mortified, but was proud that instead of running away (which I might have done had I the $12.00 I needed in cash to throw at the cashier) I instead held my head high and smiled.

Oh my God did I smile. I had to. It was either smile like a crazy person or cry.

We are not big Valentine's Day people. Maybe it is a leftover self-defense mechanism from childhood, but I've never seen the importance of it. Matt and I tell each other that we love each other every day. We do things out of the ordinary for each other regularly. We've never needed Hallmark to prescribe when these activities should take place at an exaggerated price.

Sometimes it is hard not to get caught up in the hoopla of the day.

I always try to send my mom something, because I know my dad won't buy her anything. Hell, he probably won't even utter the words "Happy Valentine's Day" and I know it hurts her feelings.

This year, I purchased the little kid tear-apart Valentine's Day cards for Grace to give out at school.

That morphed into the creation of a homemade Valentine's Day heart card, complete with crayon scribble and hand prints, for her to give Matt. Then I decided to add a package of heart shaped peeps to the card as her gift to him.

From there I thought, well, I guess I should give him a card too.

Then I started going through the coupons in the Sunday paper. Guess what I found? A $5.00 off coupon for the new KY His & Hers lube. He he he, I giggled. That would be a funny present for me to give Matt. And so the idea was in my head and the coupon in my purse.

I marched into Target with the single purchase on my mind. For the first time ever, I didn't browse one bit. Straight to the section withe the condoms and lube, under the watchful eyes of the pharmacy staff.

I was bold. I took every single box of the stuff off the shelf to inspect the corners for the best looking one. This was a gift after all. Sure, I got looks from the old ladies looking for laxatives, but so what. I'm an adult. I'm even married with a kid, so keep your eyes to yourself.

Satisfied I had found the best box, it was straight to the registers. The line I picked only had 2 others in front of me, but the lines were building in the lunch hour rush. Within 2 minutes I had 5 people behind me.

At least I'm only getting one item, I thought. I'm everybodys best friend in this line!

I get up the front of the line, and the older woman with the thick Caribbean accent working the register grabs the box and scans.

I swear to God, this is how the next few minutes when, word for word.

That will be $16.92 Miss.
Oh, I have a coupon!
OK. Hmm. It's not scanning. It is for KY lubricant. Is that what your bought?
Umm. Yes.
Oh, OK. OH. OH. I understand. Well, the coupon says it isn't good for trial size. Are you buying a trial size?
Umm. No. I don't think so.
(My nervous giggle starts and I am starting to think I should tell her to forget about the coupon.)
Oh, OK. Well, let me call a manager.
(My face is turning red and the line behind me starts to grumble.)
(She picks the box up and holds it up in the air, waving it back and forth wildly.)
Mike. Mike. MIKE! This lady is buying some KY His & Hers lubricant and the coupon she has isn't working! Mike. Mike!!
(Everyone is now staring at me in the line, and the grumbling is getting louder. I however, figure that the entire store now knows that I am buying lube, so I might as well stick it out for my $5.00 off.)
(Mike now comes over, a early 30's white guy, and is clearly also uncomfortable with the scene too. He quickly works some magic with the register and his managers card. My $5 coupon now works.)
OK, we're all set. That will be $11.84 Miss.
(I hand over my debit card.)
Thank you and have a nice day!

All I have to say is this crap better be worth it. Happy Valentine's Day Matt. This story is now your true present.

Happy Valentine's Day all!

Table Turning

Over the last week, Grace has developed her new favorite word. Much to my dismay it is 'no'.

No. No. No.

No. No. No.

It's driving me nuts.

I know it must occasionally slip out of our mouths, but I have been really conscious about not using the word 'no'. In fact, I am positive that I curse in front of her much more often than I say 'no'. I blame Gwen, a daycare cohort, for this word.

So in retaliation, for every No. No. No. that Gracie belts out, I counter with Yes. Yes. Yes.

She knows the difference. If you ask her if she wants ... say cookies ... the answer is a resounding Yes.

Today, while trying to put her down for an afternoon nap, Grace started pulling my hair.

I was frustrated. I snapped. I said, "Oww! No. No. No. That hurts Mama!"

Without missing a beat, she smiled, looked me square in the eye and said, "Yes. Yes. Yes."