Halfway to Seventy

Yep. Today is my birthday. I'm 35. THIRTY. FIVE. Thirty-five! Damn. Thirtyfive.

Here I am 34 years ago:
That's me in 1975. I'm sure I'm at Olan Mills. I think they were the only people in 1975 who owned cameras. Let's be honest, they sucked. What's up with the overall orange -twinge to every photo from this era? Ah well, this way you can barely discern my orange hair. The orange hair that I hated for the entirety of my childhood. The orange hair that I now love. The orange hair that is fading to blond because of OLD AGE. Isn't life strange?

I don't know why I'm so bothered by this birthday. I have a beautiful life. I have literally NO COMPLAINTS. None. Who can say that? At 35... or ever?

No. Here's the truth: I'm vain. I'm vain and at 35 I'm not as cute as I used to be. And things are only going to get worse from here. Now, everywhere I go, people call me ma'am. And they call me ma'am because they're respecting their elders.

Also, my eyesight is going. And I have arthritis. And insomnia.

Sheesh. Didn't I just say I have NO COMPLAINTS? Hmmm. Clearly old age has also made me a liar.

The good news is: I was whistled-at while mowing the yard a few months ago. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I've Still Got It.

**Ok, so in all honesty, the guy was very old and was wearing thick glasses. But still.

So here's the deal: as a special birthday gift to me, would you please leave a comment on this post? Please? Just this once? I have no idea who's reading this. I'm curious. And since it's my birthday and I'm a princess you have to mind me.

Yes. Mind me. Say "yes, ma'am". Everyone else does.

*post script: this blog is being posted late at night, prior to my actual birthday. Don't worry, friends, you've not been calling me on the wrong day all these years. My birthday is 7/1. Sorry!

Things I've Said Today

Bear in mind, it's only 8:30am.

"I'm not sure how many miles are in outer space"

"Please try not to toot at the breakfast table" (discussion about how to hold in a toot. ick.)

"Please do not shoot your friends with a crossbow"

"No, you may not take the crossbow on the trampoline"

"I don't know when your teeth are going to fall out. Yes. You've been 5 years old for 11 days and still you have all your teeth. It's a miracle" (discussion about definition of miracle. For 10 minutes.)

"Yes, honey, I missed Mrs. Robinson too"

All in a Days Work

Today was good. Very good.

The kids went to mother's day out.

I earned money today for the first time in 5 years. And had a ball doing it.

Then, we ended the day with a family walk.
We walked on the golf course.

This was the baby's first golf course walk. She did alright.

The hills are a bit steep for a beginner. Especially when your legs are 14 inches long and 12 inches wide.

William was very happy. Golf course walks are a special Monday treat in our house. We never wear our shoes. There's something about soft grass between your toes.

Yes. Golf course walks make us very happy. The kind of happy that makes you want to leap.

Weedeaters and Wedding Rings

This is my step mom, Jane. Isn't she lovely?
She was married to my dad. They were very happy. Right up until my dad up and died on her. And me. Brain aneurysm at 55 years old. It was tragic. Broke our hearts into a million little pieces.

Some time after dad died, Jane met Henry. Henry is a very nice man. So nice, in fact, that Jane has decided to marry him.

I couldn't be happier for her.

Jane and Henry shopped and eventually picked out a beautiful engagement ring. I assumed she traded in the ring she had when she was married to dad.

Oh my, I was wrong. THIS is what she brought to me today:

An early birthday gift for me. It's her wedding ring. She's had it set with a lime green peridot. It's gorgeous. Jane wanted me to have it.

First I cried. Then I wept. Then I boohoo'd. Then I hugged her. Then I cried.

Oh but it wasn't over yet. Apparently Jane and Tracy (my sweet step sister) thought I needed myself a weed eater. As a birthday gift. Yeah, you heard me, a weed eater.

You know what? They were right! I do need a weed eater!

I hate to admit this, but, um, uh... I love to mow. There, I said it. Well, it's not so much love, as enjoy. Well, maybe not even enjoy. Here's the deal, I just really like the instant satisfaction I get. The nice neat rows of freshly cut lawn appeal to my type-A leanings.

Also, it makes my husband want to weep with joy when he comes home and finds that I've mowed the lawn for him. And I love making my husband want to weep with joy.

So, for my birthday, I got a weed eater and a wedding ring. One will make me cry, the other will make me sweat. Both make me very happy.

Speaking of birthdays. We're on, like, day 27 of celebrating William's 5th birthday. While Jane was here, she took William to the toy store and told him he could pick out anything he wanted for his birthday. Can you believe? I did not go. Instead I sat at home and prayed to Jesus that William did not pick a Wii, or some other outrageously-priced item.

Thank God, this is what he came home with:

Two NASCARs. Excellent. William named them Looty and Judy. I do not have any idea why. I'm pretty sure NASCAR would not approve of naming the race car. And naming the race car with a girl name is a definite no-no.

Next, Aunt Tracy gave my boy a CROSSBOW. A Nerf Crossbow. Honestly, what boys life can be complete until he owns himself a CROSSBOW?

Listen, we all know I got the best gifts today, but try telling that to a NASCAR driver who's packin' crossbow heat.

Around Here We Prefer A Small Crowd

William is my child who doesn't much like being in a big group. Ever. Especially if there's noise. A Big Noisy Group is a definite joy-kill for my buddy.

And it's only taken me five years to figure this out.

All four of his previous birthday parties have involved 8 million family/friends. And he's been a total wreck for each and every party.

So, today, we had a small party. Only 4 friends. His very closest friends. The ones who are here almost every week. It was like an inflated play date. He loved it. Every minute.

For his party, William wanted Bolt on his birthday cake. No problem. And Bolt plates. And Bolt napkins. AND Bolt party hats. The hats had dog ears. This was a bonus for Will.
He was very happy about his Bolt party hat. He likes to wear it, then pretend to BE a dog. With super powers. This was so cute for a while. But after the eleventy-millionth 'super bark', it got a bit tiresome.

When our guests arrived, each received a real dog collar. I thought this was such a cute idea. But then, they ALL started with the 'super barking'. Chaos.

So, I made margaritas. For the parents. We needed them. Margaritas really do make everything better. Then the boys decorated bone-shaped cookies. And ate them. All of them. This was before we had cake. It was a Sugarama.

In order to receive their candy-filled goody bags (sorry parents - more sugar to take home. yay.) the boys had to complete Super Dog Obedience Training.

Here they are scratching behind their doggie ears:

Both funny, and sort of impressive, eh? The flexibility in the youth today. Who knew?

And here they are wagging their tails:

Don't you just want to pinch every one of those little bottoms?

Me too.

We're Taking a Mental Health Day

It's hard for my kid to travel. Oh heck, who am I kidding? It's hard for ME to travel. I don't much like being out of my routine. And I don't sleep well when I'm not in my own bed. And I don't like living out of a suitcase. And... oh well, you get the idea.

All this applies to William. And then some.

So yesterday, when this child was acting like a cranky teenager (bear in mind, he's FIVE). I knew he was just overwhelmed from traveling. I decided we all needed a break. A break from errands, and car seat buckling, and socializing, and using our 'manner words', and the HEAT. My god. We had to get out of the heat.

So, we did NOTHING outside the house today. Well, almost nothing. We did leave the house once. William got a haircut.

Here he is enjoying the post-haircut sucker:

Please note that he is wearing a Bolt birthday party hat. I don't know why. He just really wanted to wear it to get his hair cut. I told him it might be a touch difficult to cut hair if it was located under a hat. He was undeterred.

The day was fun. And it was air conditioned. And no sunscreen was required. Everyone was pleasant. William and I even snuggled and said some extra 'I love yous' just to make up for yesterday. Yesterday, I wanted to sell him to the gypsies.

This morning, William pretended to be a Jet Plane Pilot:

Will: Momma, I'm here loading all of the passengers onto my Jet Plane (holding teeny tiny airplane)

Me: Excellent.

Will: See my plane now? (rolling slowing along kitchen counter). It's terminal-ling down the taxi.

Me: (stifling giggle) Mmm Hmmmm.

Will: And now look momma, he's going fast along the run away.

Will: And now he's blasting off (sound effects)

Me: Awesome.

After the haircut, we raced home to take a bath. Nothing bothers Will more than those tickly-scratchy hairs on his neck.

Much later, he jumped up and said 'I'll be right back momma, I need to get an ear pick'. Ear pick? Huh? He returned with this. He had bath water in his ear. In William's mind, if you use a toothpick to get something out of your teeth, then it only makes sense that this would be an ear pick.

I love this kid. And today, I even like him. A lot.

Baby Steps

I started out thinking I would post the great news that baby Paige is walking. Walking! It's so cute. Off the Cute Meter, really. So cute it should be illegal.

To accurately document this momentous occasion, I took a picture of her little legs. See how her toes are gripping the grass in manner of a gorilla?
Oh, but then I had to have a picture of her little foot. And her little sausage toes.

Oh dear, then I saw her little hands. I got totally distracted from the theme of the post. Look at these hands. All covered in grass. Is the cuteness killing you yet?

Lordy me, then there's this:

Is this the sweetest nose and lips you've ever seen? So sweet. Ugh. Am I affecting your blood sugar? Perhaps you should lie down a bit.

Brace yourself. Here's the whole package:

Now you're having a full seizure from the sweetness, aren't you? I'm sorry. Dial 911. I'll wait.

When you feel up to it, here's a video of the walking. Don't overdo it. Maybe come back tomorrow and push play when you recover from the cuteness overdose.

I also took a picture of William's freckles. But honestly, your heart can't take it in your weakened condition. Perhaps when you've had some time to recuperate from this post we can discuss it.

If You're Not Smart You'd Better Be Tough

This is a quote from my step-father.

It has become a regular part of my vernacular. It can be used in multitude of situations. Feel free to adopt is as your own.

Last evening, I was making a delicious meal for my family. It was delicious. I swear it was.

Ok, it was moderate at best. But still. I cooked! Yay me!

I pulled some french bread out of the oven and prepared to slice it. It was very hot. So I used my handy-dandy silicone potholder to hold the bread while I sliced it with my extremely dull bread knife. Look at what happened:

Do you see a wedge of my potholder is MISSING? Well it is. It is... because I cut it off with my bread knife. Yes I did! I didn't notice I'd done it until the piece clunked down on the cutting board.

Seriously, sometimes I'm such an airhead it scares me. I can't believe I've been allowed to procreate. Or operate heavy machinery. Clearly I am a danger to myself and others.

That is all.

Please Tell Me You Do This Too

Today I washed, dried, and folded seven loads of laundry. You heard me. Seven! Bear in mind there are only four of us living under this roof, and two of us are much smaller than the other two. How does this happen?

Now I said I washed, dried, and folded. I never made any mention of putting away the laundry.

Sadly, this is what my laundry room looks like on most days:

* I would like to apologize to my mother for the above photo. I know, at this very moment, she's probably making arrangements to change her name and go into the witness protection program just to avoid anyone knowing she raised such a pig-daughter. It's ok momma. I'm sure this gene came from dad.

Since I have absolutely nothing exciting to report to you, I thought I'd entertain you with a story about my husband.

The first thing you should know about my husband is: he never takes medicine. Of any kind. Ever. When he's sick and running a 167 degree fever I might be able to convince him to take some ibuprofen.

The other thing you should know that I take enough drugs for the both of us. In fact, I take Benadryl on a fairly regular basis for insomnia.

And finally, you should know that Dave never ever ever has insomnia. He simply lays down, closes his eyes, and in 4.2 seconds he's snoring. What I wouldn't give for this ability. Truly.

So, the story takes place one fateful night when, for reasons unknown, Dave cannot sleep. I hear him over there tossing and turning. Eventually, I notice him crawl out of bed. I opened an eye long enough to read the clock. 12:27am.

Next I hear him rifling through the medicine cabinet. 'Oh good', I think, 'He's going to take some Benadryl. Smart man.

I hear sounds coming from the kitchen again. This time it's 2:30am.

I get out of bed to investigate. I find Dave in the kitchen eating a banana. He says he hasn't been to sleep yet. He says he took Benadryl but it's not working.

And that's when I realize what's happened. He's taken two Excedrine instead. Excedrine has 65 mg of caffeine per tablet. He effectively had 2 cups of coffee at 11:27pm.

Why would he do such a thing? Because his wife put Excedrine tablets in the Benadryl bottle. WHA?!? Yes I did. Wait! But I can explain!

When I travel, I like to put all my stuff in one little travel-sized bottle. You know, my multivitamin. Migraine meds, ibuprofen, etc. Anything I might need. Everyone does this, right?

Well, when I returned home from my last trip, I just put that little bottle full of mismatched pills right up there in the medicine cabinet. Since Dave doesn't take drugs, he just found the Benadryl bottle, shook two pills out and swallowed 'um up.

Now I use THIS bottle for my traveling menagerie of pills:

Can you believe he didn't divorce me? Or kill me?

I think he would have done one or the other, but he was afraid of the laundry. No way could he do 7 loads in one day. No way.

Birds Migrate Here From Houston All The Time

I am sad to report that Mrs. Robinson was left behind at the Houston airport last night.

We realized she was missing as we were settling into our seats. I got OFF THE PLANE and ran out into the terminal to look for her. But she was gone. Gone! I searched every possible nook and cranny. I LAID DOWN ON THE FLOOR OF THE HOUSTON AIRPORT to look under the chairs. I was wearing a skirt. A white skirt.

I got back on the plane and told Will she was lost. Poor Baby. He was in shock. “But she’ll be so lonely!” “Won't she be scared?” “Who will take care of her?”

And this is when I distracted him so I could cry. Yes, I cried about a stuffed robin yesterday.

Then I ordered a brand new one right there in the plane using my iPhone. Gotta love technology.

I did the ordering without William or Dave noticing. You see, daddy saw this as an opportunity for William to Learn a Lesson. He explained Responsibility. And Consequences.

Then I reminded Dave that he’d left his entire backpack behind in the waiting room chairs. I noticed it just in time. Said backpack contained his work computer, his iPod Touch, and several other coveted items.

So, Mrs. Robinson #2 will arrive on Thursday from my friends at Amazon. I plan on telling William she flew here from Houston. And that she missed him. And she wasn’t scared because Robins can always find their way home.

And if this makes me a bad mommy, I don’t want to be good.

Hello, Ritz Kids? Will You Marry Me?

I'm in love with a program here at the hotel called 'Ritz Kids'. I mean serious love here people.

When my sister-in-law suggested I leave William with the hotel kids program, I was skeptical. I hated to bring my dumpling all the way to Florida, only to dump him unceremoniously with some gum-smacking college student/hotel lackey. Isn't that what you'd expect from a hotel?

Oh my. I was mistaken.

First, we drop William off in an amazing kid room. Decked out head-to-toe in Pottery Barn Kids furniture. Giant beanbags. Overgrown stuffed animals. A puppet show theater. Tiny tables with matching multi-colored chairs. It was precious. Frankly, I wanted to cancel my dinner reservations and stay with William. Here, they fed him dinner (Pizza! And rice crispy treats!), while he watched Curious George on the over sized television.

William barely noticed me leaving. He was in heaven.
Then, the kids are whisked down to the poolside playroom. This room is home to Amelia the Parrot. Yes! She's a real parrot! According to William, she can say 'hello', and 'goodbye', and 'good girl', and 'kaleidoscope' (just kidding on that last one).

The children are given a chance to talk to Amelia, then she's re-caged while the teacher reads the kids a pirate story. Guess who's the lead character? Yes! Amelia!

Then, these crazy Ritz folks take all the kids to the seashore where they hunt for Real Shark Teeth. Again, I cannot believe I was drinking wine and eating steak with adults when I could have been hunting for shark teeth.

THEN, they bring the teeth back and each child makes his own shark tooth necklace.

Finally, they take all the kids swimming in the hotel pool. That way they're nice and tired when mommy and daddy arrive to pick them up.

Off to bed with you William... dream of Amelia. We all know how you like birds.

The Millenium Robin

Yesterday was a Big Day. My sweet boy turned 5 years old. Five. Five! What happened? Wasn't he just 7lbs, 5oz. yesterday? Now he's a skinny, funny, energetic Big Kid. With a personality all his own. Yes. They broke the mold with this one.

To set this up, I should tell you that William has been VERY excited about his birthday. Very. On our way to Florida, he told every single person he met "I'm William. I'm going to be five years old on Sunday".

I wanted to make the day special. Especially since we're out of town. I didn't want the day to go by unnoticed.

First, I ran to the grocery store to buy a cake. The only white cake they had was covered in blue icing. With dolphins. Oh well, we're at the beach, right?
Whoops! I accidentally bought trick candles. William practically hyperventilated trying to blow them out. Poor kid.

Next, it was time to open presents. Now, William has expressed (no less than 50 times) that he wants all the original Star Wars action figures. He saw the original 1976 movie a few weeks ago and has developed an obsession. I hear this is a developmental stage for boys. First you crawl, then walk, then talk, then learn to feed yourself, then Star Wars obsession, then puberty. Something like that.

So, I ran to the toy store to buy the action figures. But, WHA?!? They don't CARRY the originals? Oh no! Disaster! So, I checked the Internet. Ebay? Outrageous collector prices. Amazon? Expensive! As a final resort, Dave checked Craig's list. Bingo! A toy dealer in nearby Edmond carries them. Wooohoooo! Crisis averted. William was only mildly happy to receive his Star Wars stuff.

Apparently, nothing in the world could compare to this:

"What is that?", I'm sure you're wondering. Well that, my friends, is a robin. A stuffed robin bird. Bought at the last minute by mommy. Look at him. He adores her.

That's my kooky kid for ya. He carried that bird to the pool. To dinner. To bed. Her name is Mrs. Robinson. And when we get home "we have to build her a nest". Excellent.

So much for all that work to find those action figures, eh?

In other news, William swam a fair distance in the pool yesterday with NO FLOATIES.

I'm sure he was just showing off for Mrs. Robinson. She is the wind beneath his wings, you know.

In the Morning All My Teeth Will Fall Out

Me: Honey, tonight is your last night as a four year old. Do you think you'll feel different tomorrow when you're five?

William: Yes! I think it will be so weird to wake up with no teeth.

William has a friend, Charlie, who is 2 full years older. Charlie lost his first tooth a couple of years ago. He and William had a long discussion about losing baby teeth, and the subsequent rewards to be gained from the tooth fairy. This ONE discussion - TWO years ago - has haunted Will. He will lose all his teeth tomorrow. He will not be convinced otherwise.

Here we are saying our prayers before bed. We're talking about teeth.
I wonder what we'll talk about tomorrow night during prayers. Will he thank God for giving him one more day with his teeth?

I love this kid. Happy Birthday beautiful boy.

The Ritz Carlton May Not Invite Us Back

(As you read this, imagine the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies is playing quietly in the background. This really will add the perfect ambiance to this post)

Well, I did a great job packing for myself and the kids. Yes! A Great Job. Except for this tiny little detail: underwear.
I forgot underwear for William. Try explaining "commando" to a very rigid 4 year old.

So today I ran over to the local Walmart and picked up some very cool Spider Man underpants. Crisis averted.
However, I just hated to put those stiff, never-been-worn undies on my little fella's hiney. So I did the only thing a mother can do:
Yes. I washed underwear in the bathroom of the Ritz Carlton.

Oh, but it gets better.

Here they are drying on our balcony. Classy, no?

Our little family did all sorts of high-society things today.

First, my baby took a nap in a lawn chair at the beach. Wearing nothing but a swim diaper.

Then, my mother-in-law broke her toe. And I took a picture of it. And put it on the Internet. You're welcome, Pam.

And finally, check out the way we ask for a beverage. So prim and proper. Practically demure.

My mother-in-law raised 3 boys. Bless her. When they were young, she'd venture out in public with the boys. Eventually, as boys will, they'd go and do something to totally humiliate her. To which she would always reply -in a low growl - "I am Never Taking You Boys In Public Again". Apparently, the boys believed her.

Dave says he imagined himself imprisoned in their home, unable to Go In Public because he shot a spit-filled balloon across the Pizza Hut or something similar. It was long after Dave was an adult before he realized she could not have held true to her promise.

Now the question is: when her daughter-in-law dries underwear on the balcony of the Ritz, will Pam ever take Rita In Public again? Hmmm.

My Thighs Look Exactly Like This

The rolls and cellulite look so much better on Paige. Don't you think?
To quote her uncle "Those look like the delicious turkey legs from the Medieval Fair".
Come to think of it, I sure I hope he was talking about Paige. I was sitting nearby in my bathing suit. Hmmm.

This is a photo of my baby girl seeing the ocean for the very first time.
I doubt she'll remember it.
But mommy will.

If You Do That Again I Will Take You Outside and Spank Your Bottom

These words were spoken to my son yesterday. While on an airplane. While in the air.
Yes. I know.

Funny thing is, he didn't even laugh. He had the decency to look scared and then he stopped whatever it was he was doing. Perhaps I looked angry enough to actually do it.

Airports are so much fun for little boys. William was thrilled. We sat down in our seats, and he exclaimed "When is thing gonna blast off?". When we explained that airplanes take off, he looked very disappointed. Then he said "well, it does blow fire, right?". No honey, we're not on the space shuttle. Sorry.

And isn't it amazing how much luggage it takes to get 4 people out of the house for 5 days? See all those bags behind the kids. Yep. Ours. I bet folks thought we moving somewhere permanently.

And then there was the security checkpoint. First, all the bags on the conveyor. Then the stroller. All shoes must be removed. Even the baby's wee little sandals had to be x-rayed. We got through, then realized I'd left a very important carry-on bag sitting next to the boarding pass checkpoint. The bag that contained my camera *gasp* AND all of William's birthday gifts. I retrieved it just before security called in the bomb squad.

When we'd made it through security, Dave turned to me and said - with a straight face - "well, we've made it through the hardest part". Seriously? He thought THAT was hard? When I told him that holding a 1-year-old in our laps for next 5 hours might be a touch harder than security, he decided to change his lunch order:

This man has maybe a beer per month. Yet, at 11am yesterday morning, he ordered himself a Bud. Smart man. We should have put some in the baby's bottle.

William had a great time. No stress for him! The conveyors were like and amusement park.

Woo hoo! What could be better than People Movers. Nothing. Especially when you're four.

When we arrived in Jacksonville, William looked around and said "Momma, are ALL these people IN FLORIDA?". Uh, yeah honey, they sure are. And so are we. For the next 5 days.

Tune in tomorrow for: They Closed The Kiddie Pool (or Why Does God Hate Me?)

Looking for a Witty Post? Come Back Tomorrow.

Sorry. Usually I try to keep these blog posts on the light side. But today, I'd like to plead for help instead.

You see, I have an adorable 12 month old baby girl. Isn't she adorable? (just say yes).

She's perfect. She's growing well, reaching developmental milestones in an appropriate time frame, eating well. It's all good. Well, almost. This little girl has a weird breathing problem. She begins 'gasping' when she's in a very deep sleep. This has happened since the day she was born. The episodes aren't as frequent as they used to be. Now it happens every 7-10 days. It used to happen multiple times each night.

Here's a video of last night:

My pediatrician is stumped. My ear/nose/throat specialist says he's never seen anything like it. She completed a sleep study with only mild signs of apnea. She's been monitored and her pulse/ox is normal as is her heart rate during the episodes.

So, Smart Internet Community, what IS this? Where should I go next?

You know I wouldn't post such a downer blog unless I was desperate, right?

Please forward this post to anyone who might know something about this. Have a cousin who's a doctor? - forward this! A sister who has child that does this? - forward! You get the idea. C'mon. Help a mommy out.

That is all.

Tomorrow: Light and cheerful blogging. Maybe even silly. I swear!