Two Commercials

Rave: Have you seen the Citibank commercial where the outdoors-ey guys are mountain biking but one dude doesn’t have bike? And he pretends to pedal down the mountain and totally eats it? Ok, I laugh out loud at the commercial, I think because it reminds me of my brothers- they would totally do that. But here is the totally funny part- the boys saw that commercial, and now they RIDE their IMAGINARY bikes all over the house! I can’t stop laughing!

Rant: Who in their right mind thought it was CUTE to make scissors walk all over the freakin’ place, chomping and nibbling and being flippin’ SCARY, as they eat your old credit cards? OH how cute, look little Suzy, cute scissors- put your fingers close and lets laugh as the 100’s of POINT-UP scissors dance around the roadway! Holy crapsticks, it gives me the heebies just thinking about them…

That is all.

GOOD Morning, Sunshine!

Grrrr. Some mornings just shouldn’t happen. Wake up late, with a headache. (Why does this happen sometimes? Why on earth would a person wake, after a good night’s sleep, with a headache. Grrrr….)

Jeffrey forgot to do his homework- rush rushrushrush… do homework, ruffle through handouts I should have looked at last night. He needs $$ for a project at school- ruffle through change jar on DH’s dresser to pilfer proper cash…

Get dressed. GET DRESSED! NOW!

Wake baby up *sob*

In rush to get out the door, catch my pants on the door frame and tear pocket.  Get Abby and Jeff in car, go back inside to grab Beanie, and realize THE DOOR IS LOCKED.

Spend several minutes persuading Beanie it really IS a good idea to let mama in- grab him, self, purse, phone, KEYS and coat and head out the door.

Halfway to school, realize no one has had breakfast. Drive-thru, here we come! All I can think of is Supersize Me- and how atrocious a McMeal is for breakfast- is it really better than nothing? The Monkeys think so…

I can’t reach the Monkeys to give them their “food” from the drivers seat, so I have to pull over and brace myself on the ice and snow to go around, open the back door, and hand out the “food”- at which time Beanie, so excited for his potato crispy-thingamabob, inadvertently dumps his whole jug of milk out on the seat.

Back in the car and on our way. Yeehaw. Get Jeff there in the nick of time (barely) and head for Target. When? When Oh when, will I just give up hope on the Target thing? Long story short, there is a full cart of things I want and need somewhere in the middle of Target, left because Beanie thought hitting me and screaming “Don’t HURT ME, Mama!” was a good idea- even though I wasn’t touching him. Oh, I wanted to hurt him, believe it-!

So, dragging Kicking-Screaming-Boy directly to Jail, not passing GO, not collecting $200, we came home.

I’m going to go cry now.

*sob*

Heaven

Pre-dawn, Jeffrey crawls in bed and nestles down next to me, holding my hand tightly.

“Mama?” he whispers.

“Hmmm- what, baby?” I inhale the shampoo and Little-boy from the flames of hair tickling my cheeks…

Rolling over,  he puts his hands on my face, looking earnestly at me from two inches away. “I don’t want to grown up, mama. I don’t want to get big.”

Barely able to focus on his freckled nose- I ask why he doesn’t want to get big.

“I don’t want to get big because when I do, you will be old and die.” He starts to cry as the words choke out.

Gulp.

Lump in my throat, thoughts whirling, I try and figure out what to say… He is right- I won’t lie to my children, someday I will get old and someday, hopefully a long time from now, I too will die. It just wasn’t something I was prepared to face before the sun was even up today- and here it was, freckles sprayed across it’s nose, staring earnestly towards my face.

I hope and pray my answer was not only good enough, but that it was the truth.

Sasquatch

I have big feet. When I say “big feet” I really, really mean that- as in, it’s been often impossible for me to find cute shoes since my feet hit their current size in 7 th grade. I remember my grandma taking me shoe shopping as a fashion-victim Jr-high student, and the only shoes in my size were the old-lady podiatry specials. When you’re 11, and you wear a size 11, the world is not a pretty place. It was not beneath me to shove my long feet into too-small shoes and hobble around in pain for months. There’s no counting the tears I have shed in shoe stores.

I thought I would surly die when I heard having a baby can make your feet grow– the wail of pain. Yes, they did grow a tiny bit post-baby #1, but mercifully not again with #2 or #3- at least not enough to push me over into the realm of “transvestite and cross-dresser” sizes…

Thankfully, things have gotten a bit better. There are now quite a few shoe makers that carry what they call “extended sizes”. So I’m still not normal, and not all shoes make it up to the ES bracket, but the choices are way better than they were 20+ years ago. Way better.

So look at what I found, on total SALE, in MY size today:

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Presenting the Cutest Shoes I Have Ever Owned! I simply could NOT pass them up- in homage to the teary, misfit, self-conscious mid-adolescent girl I once was, I bought these wild, totally impractical, will not match anything, looks a little like Minnie Mouse, shoes that FIT ME!! AND I LOVE THEM!!

Note to the wise: Round-toed shoes make even water-skis like mine look acceptable in polite company. Darling, I tell you. I’m going to wear them with my Bee Girl outfit when I blog!

Footnote: Ha ha! I modeled them for DH when he got home tonight, and he was glad I was happy, but didn’t say much beyond a vapid stare- maybe the gray sweats and one of his white t-shirts kinda threw the outfit off? The Monkeys kept telling me how pretty I looked- A mama’s gotta love her boys! 

Overheard

Scene: My kitchen, the boys are peeling potatoes for dinner. They like to help, and I like having them help. I have given each of them their own peeler, cutting board and 4 potatoes to peel.

Beanie: “My potatoes are juicy, Jeff!” *giggle giggle giggle*

Jeffrey: “Oh, Bean! Mine too- if I skwish them, more juicy juice comes out!”

Beanie: “I’m a drink da juice, Jeff!”

Jeffrey: “No Bean! It will kill you! It’s poison like apple seeds!! Besides, we have to skwish them so all the juice comes out. That’s how you make mashed potatoes.”

Mr. Clean, Where ARE You??

We got a call the other day from a friend of a friend who heard from her hairdressers cousins parakeet that we are thinking about selling our house- and when I called her back this morning, she is flying in this afternoon and wants to come take a look-see.

Any guesses how big my laundry pile is? Any guesses how deep the toys are in the playroom? Or how long it’s been since I scrubbed the shower-doors? Uh, yeah, guess what I’m doing today?? I need the Scrubbing Bubbles, Mr Clean and a drill sargeant! Oh, and maybe a gallon of Clorox, too! 

Bee Girl

You may not remember Blind Melon, and you may not know the melodious young hippie-man who sang her tap-dancing ditty over-dosed on heroin and died a few years ago. But I’ll bet you remember the Bee Girl.

Millie posted the video for this song yesterday, and watching it took me far and deep down memory lane. Even now, years removed from those struggles, at home in my own skin, tears spring to my eyes when the mean girls laugh at Bee Girl. Bless her little sweet, stout heart, she keeps trying, dancing and tapping and looking for another bee… someone, anyone, who gets her.

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I spent most of my life being Bee Girl. It’s a hard girl to be.

When you finally, ultimately, one day, find that meadow full of other dancing bees, the joy is palpable. It’s a blessing that I have felt more than once in my life- and I have also felt the sting of the mean girls more than I care to recall.

I think this is why I keep this blog. No longer can I run in the meadow, dancing with Jerry and Carlos and Stevie and Bob; going wherever the wind blows. But I can still nurture the part of me that lives there and loves that freedom. I can let the creative side out- I can write my hopes, frustrations, ideas, be a mother, rant and love my kids all in one post, and say whatever I need to say. It’s my modern Bee Girl Dance, and you are all my fellow Bees, twirling around in the meadow with me. Thank you for Bee-ing here.