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Go Nigel, Go!
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Would You Like To Buy My Monkeys?
Mar
21
Ch-ch-ch-chia Baby!
by Leslie
Julia: “Mommy, what are these?”
Me: “Those are my prenatal vitamins. I take them to help grow the baby.”
Julia: “Okay. Do you want to do it in the kitchen?”
She runs to the kitchen.
Julia (shouting): “Mom? Come on. I’m ready to grow the baby now!”
Mar
20
A Frozen Moment In Frozen Foods
by Leslie
Julia and I were happily cruising down the beef side of the meat aisle at the IGA, on our way to the frozen food section to grab some garlic bread when we noticed a commotion across from us, near the pork. We stopped chatting to look over at a woman with three children. The oldest was a boy who appeared to be about 12 or 13. He and the woman were talking. Their voices were hushed, but curt, getting louder as the boy began to move away. The woman grabbed his arm and he turned, pulled his fist back and slugged her. Hard. I have never in my life seen anyone hit with such force. The woman moved just in time for the boy to make solid contact with her shoulder.
My mouth dropped open - I could not believe what I had just witnessed. The boy ran away furiously shaking his fists, past us, making eye contact with me for a brief couple of seconds. I don’t think I will ever forget the way he looked. Angry. Full of hate. I looked at Julia, her gaze following him out of the store, her brow furrowed with confusion. I glanced back at the woman who was back to shopping, as if nothing had happened. I looked around the store at the other customers who didn’t seem to notice what was going on. Julia tapped my arm, “Mom, that boy was mad.”
“Yes, he was.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
I continued my shopping, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I saw. I wondered how a boy could hit someone like that, how a woman could be struck in such a way and do nothing, how she could let a boy who seemed to belong to her run away. I felt like I needed to do something, but what? As we checked out, I told the cashier, “You know, I saw a young boy punch a woman in the back of the store.”
“Really? Who?”
Just then, the woman and the two other children pulled up behind me in the line, already eating some of the food they had yet to buy. “There’s the woman,” I offered quietly.
The cashier nodded, but that was all. It was all over. What could be done about it now? Julia and I walked out of the store, got in the car and went home.
Now, days later, I still can’t get that boy and his angry face out of my head.
Mar
19
The Big Sister
by Leslie
A lot of the advice I’ve read about preparing a child for the birth of a new sibling has suggested that, for a child Julia’s age, it is wise to wait until close to the due date to discuss it. Clearly these experts live in a household nothing like mine.
Julia knew she was going to be a big sister the exact moment I discovered I was pregnant. I’d been in the bathroom, preparing to take the test when Julia busted in and asked, “What are you doing?” then grabbed the foil wrapped pregnancy test off the hamper, “What’s this?”
“Well, that’s a test that will tell us whether or not Mommy has a baby growing in her belly.”
Julia stood next to me and I read the instructions aloud. Then I did the things you have to do to take a pregnancy test.
“Okay, we need to count to 20 ten times and then we can check it.” After our counting was done I said, “Alright. If there are two lines, we know there’s a baby.” We walked over to the counter and peeked at the little window. “How many lines?”
“Two.”
“You’re going to be a big sister.”
With that, she ran out the door shouting, “Mommy’s got a baby in her belly!” over and again.
Our house has been a baby buzz ever since and Julia is every bit a part of it. I couldn’t imagine even trying to keep it from her. Of course, I can’t keep it from anyone. A waitress at Cracker Barrell and a clerk at the IGA know, too.
Oh, and our Culligan man…
Mar
18
Guess What?
by Leslie
There’s the positive one. Then there’s the other positive one to confirm the first positive one. I won’t take a picture of my trash can, but suffice it to say, we’re pretty darn sure that I’m pregnant. We’ve had an inkling for a few days and our first positive test yesterday. And many more today. And probably some tomorrow. Then, the doctor will make extra-special sure. Meanwhile, my grandmother is wringing her hands because it’s bad luck to disclose this information so soon. I can’t help it. I’m am the world’s worst secret keeper.
Dave and I talked about keeping it to ourselves for a while. We decided we’d announce it in May. Then, we decided we’d announce it after I’d been to the doctor. Then Dave told everyone at work. Today I asked him, “What should I blog about? How can I possibly write about anything other than this!”
“You should take a picture of the pregnancy test and post it on your blog.”
“Really? But, we were going to wait.”
“Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.”
So, here it is. The most current, up-to-date, real time information about our lives. You read it first. I’m not just a crazy person. I’m a pregnant crazy person.
Mar
17
Drink
by Leslie
Here is Julia on her second birthday finding out what happens when you laugh right after you take a drink.
Mar
16
Outta My Head
by Leslie
I think I’m losing my mind. I have been so floopy and forgetful and just plain crazy lately. Consider yesterday as an example…
Julia and I woke up at our normal time to go to Jumpercize at our local-but-not-so-local-two-town-away-that-we-joined-in-hopes-of-finding-cool-friends-county YMCA, but managed to be running late almost right away. I think our bathroom is a time warp. Getting dressed in a hurry, I slapped on the only clean bra I could find. It happened to be a cup size too small. My husband’s first reaction was, “That sounds hot.” Yeah. Perhaps if we were talking about perky plastic porn star breasts, a little boob overflow might be sexy. We weren’t talking about those. We were talking about my saggy, tired, been breastfeeding for two year boobs that are so large, if I were on a sinking ship I could save us all with my natural floating devices. And that’s no kidding. I went swimming recently and it is impossible to submerge them. Seriously.
After inhaling some breakfast, I was running and twirling and hopping around trying to grab my keys, my phone, Julia’s coat and, “Oh no, I forgot to give Monet her medicine,” because we have a sick kitty which is a topic for a whole other post and Julia was at my heels caught up in the whirwind. I gave Monet her medicine and managed to get Julia’s hair pulled back (but not before I did it and re-did it about 8 times because it had to look just right!), got her coat on and was pushing her out the door shouting, “Go go go! Don’t get wet! Don’t get muddy! Go straight to the van,” when I noticed it. She was walking along the path to the car, in the rain, with no shoes on! I had forgotten her shoes. I called her back in, took off her wet socks, flew to the nearest clean laundry basket and grabbed a new pair, put shoes on her and headed for Stella, the van.
We got to the van without incident, then I opened the side door and realized that I had forgotten my keys. I ran back to the house to grab them, Julia dragging behind me. We returned to the van - the van whose door I left open when I ran back into the house - and found Tico, Rembrandt and Vincent, three of our kitties, milling around inside it. I stomped my foot and shouted, “CRAP!” which scared Tico right out of there. Vincent reared back and took a running leap at the windshield and nearly knocked himself out before finding the door. I coaxed Remembrandt out, then took off after Vincent to make sure his head was still intact. Finally, the van was cleansed of cats, Julia jumped into her carseat, I slid into my seat and we took off. Then Julia reminded me that I forgot to buckle her into her seat. Then she pulled her hair out of her pony tail. Somehow we made it to Jumpercize on time.
Now, Jumpercize is a class that, in the first two weeks, has included no jumping whatsoever. It was pretty much a free playtime, until the last ten minutes when they did a few yoga stretches. Until now. On this particular day, we had a new teacher filling in - a teacher who had prepared the room prior to our arrival, had an agenda of activities and expected participation by children and parents. No problem, right? Wrong. I started out okay. Head, shoulders, knees and toes went alright. I led Julia through the obstacle course. Great! Then, it was time to do the monkey, do the elephant, and then - here it comes - jump to the front and back. I wasn’t sure what to do. Standing still seemed too lame. I tried bending my knees and going up on tip toe to create the illusion of jumping. Then, the teacher said, “Come on, Mom. Jump!” So, I jumped and disrupted the delicate balance of tucking and strategic material placement of my bra. The phrase all hell broke loose has never had a more literal meaning for me. Now, the prosepct of finding new friends at that class is pretty slim for Lasso Boob Leslie.
After a whole heap of other stuff that happened through the day that took me through the entire range of human emotion, Dave and I sat down to watch the latest episode of LOST. And I cried. I sobbed. I wept. Dave looked at me and said, “Leslie, you are so pregnant.”
“What?!?”
“You are acting completely crazy. You’ve got to be pregnant. That last time you were this nuts was when you were pregnant with Julia.”
“Well, that’d be great, but what if I’m not?”
“Then God help me.”
Mar
15
A Lunch Time Love Letter
by Leslie
My Dearest Mac and Cheese,
I’ve been sitting here, staring at my blank computer screen searching for words that might express the way I feel about you, but no combination of letters on a page can justify it. As unoriginal as it may sound, it’s as simple as this: I love you.
I remember the moment I fell for you. I had arrived home from a long day at school, tired and famished, longing for comfort and nourishment. My mother made the suggestion, “How about some Mac ‘n Cheese?” It was the first time I prepared you myself and though I’d encountered you before, it was on that Tuesday afternoon that I truly came to know you. You did more than satisfy my hunger that day; you grabbed hold of my taste buds and my heart, taking me on an adventure filled with flavor, warmth and love. From that day forward, I was never the same. Even while visiting the most extravagant restaurants, I have found myself longing for nothing more than you. We’re a lot alike, Mac - easy, simple and cheesy. With you, I can be myself. I don’t have to pretend. I can just be me. We go back a long way. I don’t know how I would have survived those first few months out of college if you hadn’t been there for me. You’re one in a million. And while your singular ingredients may be a part of countless other recipes, blended together you rise above the rest. Whether served with sliced hot dogs, topped with bread crumbs or, my new favorite, mixed with peas, there is no denying that you are the magic that makes my lunch special two or three times a week.
There, I have said it. I love you, Mac and Cheese. I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you on the menu.
Forever yours,
Leslie
Written for Mommy The Maid’s weekly writing challenge posted on Monday. Visit her each week for a new writing prompt!
Mar
14
Happiness is…
by Leslie
There’s still time to enter the Happiness Giveway. Click here to see how My Mommy’s Place visitors define happiness.
What is happiness for you?
Mar
13
How I Became A Ghostbuster
by Leslie
After an afternoon of shopping in Dresden on Saturday, Dave and I decided to drive by nearby Prospect Place - a 29 room home built by abolitionist George Willison Adams in 1856 and an Underground Railroad “station” - to see if we could take a tour.
We drove past the building, but it did not appear to be open. We called to ask for their tour times and were told to return at 8 p.m.
“Eight? It’ll be dark then.”
“Yeah. It says in this travel book that they have ghost hunts.”
“Really? Wow. So, this after-dark tour sounds kinda creepy.”
“Do you wanna go?”
“Absolutely.”
We returned at 8 p.m., but the confidence we had hours before seemed to have faded with the light of day. My stomach was rolling as we slowly pulled up to the house. There were some other cars parked around and a woman standing outside smoking a cigarette. We sat in the car for a few moments, looking up at the dark house.
“Do you want to do this?”
“Do you want to do this?”
“If you want to, I want to, but if you don’t, I’ll understand.”
“I want to if you want to.”
Then the woman crushed out her cigarette and approached our car, “Can I help you?”
“Um, we were told to come by at eight for a tour?”
“Great, I’m just getting ready to start. Let’s go.”
“Oh, can I bring my camera?”
“Oh yes!”
We got out of the car and followed our tour guide into the building where a group of about 12 people were standing around cases of equipment - ghost hunting equipment. Like they have on Most Haunted. We quickly learned that they were there to spend the night for an actual ghost hunt. We were permitted to go through the house with them for a guided tour for the bargain price of $5.
Our tour began right away and we were shocked at the state of disrepair the house was in. The current owner (and great-great grandson of the original owner) had purchased the property and was working hard to restore it. We understood why the restoration was so important as the house has an interesting history. We spent the next two hours exploring the entire house - from the basement to the cupola, and even the barn were four bounty hunters were reportedly hung. After the initial anxiety wore off, we transitioned into ghost hunting mode, meaning we took lots of pictures hoping to capture the image of a ghost, or something.
I collected two pieces of what ghost hunters called “evidence.” You can judge for yourself.
The first is a photo of the door that leads to the second story balcony where a 21-year old girl fell to her death. Was she pushed? Did she jump? Could she have fallen? No one knows. Supposedly, her ghost has been seen near the door. I took a picture that includes an orb. Ghost hunters believe orbs indicate a paranormal presence, others say it is camera flash reflecting off of dust. Here is the picture. Here is another picture from a different angle without the orb.
This is the photo everyone in our group got excited about. It was taken in the ballroom on the third floor of the building. We were walking around the room in darkness, with the exception of a few flashlights. I was randomly pointing and snapping pictures, mostly to be able to see where I was going when I captured it. The photo is of a young man surrounded by orbs. One of the orbs is particularly pronounced and is located next to the young man where his shirt appears to be pulled to the side. It is absolutely possible that his shirt was out of place because he’d had his hand in his pocket or something - it’s hard to tell, I couldn’t see what was happening before the flash. For the purpose of comparison, here is the picture I took just before.
The tour was absolutely fascinating. I’m not sure how I feel about the whole “ghost” aspect, but I can say this: it was loads of fun and I’m now really tempted to return. They have a Psychic Fair followed by an all-night ghost hunt planned for March 24th. Perhaps we’ll go back to try our hand at Ghostbusting again.
Mar
12
A-Tisket, A-Tasket
by Leslie
It’s the world’s largest basket!
(And me wearing the world’s largest pants.)
Dave and I spent part of our Saturday in Dresden, Ohio. Although it’s rather close to home, we’ve never been there. We came across a brochure in our cabin over the weekend and I thought it would be fun to go.
“Hey, honey - let’s go to Dresden!”
“Sure. What have they got to do there?”
“Dining and shopping.”
“And what else?”
“What else is there?”
And so we went to Dresden, a.k.a. Basket Village U.S.A., the birthplace of Longaberger Baskets.
The town is amazing because it absolutely thrives on baskets. There are more than 50 shops that sell baskets or basket-related products. There you can find basket bumper stickers, t-shirts, mugs, hats, and even thongs. If you ever dreamed of making a living working noon to five, you can do it in Dresden by opening a basket lid store (there’s only one exclusive basket lid store compared to the six basket tie on stores, so I figure that’s the way to go).
They also have other rustic, country-looking items that are so charming, they tempted me to redecorate my entire house. I ended up with a Willow Tree angel, a dinner bell, wooden blocks that spell ‘Julia,’ and a sign that reads Our family puts the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional. It was either that one or Friends Always Welcome (Relatives by Appointment), which totally describes the attitude of our household, unless you’re the relative reading this - if so, I mean the other relatives, not you. You are okay. We love you.
I was delighted by the folks of Dresden - the shopkeepers and the patrons. They were so laid back and happy. The women wear floppy hats and shirts that are decorated with things like a bear potting a plant that says “Harry Potter.” The men carry the bags and smile a lot - most of them are there because they got in trouble. They sell homemade goodies, lots of ice cream and George Bush garden gnomes. It’s my kind of town.
Dave and I were hit with what we believe is a real money-making idea while sniffing the scented candles. Dave smelled one and handed it to me, “This one smells like ass.”
“Hmmm…I think I’ll take it,” I said aloud to myself, “It reminds me of my husband,” I whispered to the lady shopping nearby.
“Yeah, thanks hon. Although…that’s not a bad idea. What about bad smelling candles? Like sweatsox.”
“Yeah! For when your teenage son goes to college. Light the candle and it’s like he’s home!”
“So what other scents?”
“I ate buffalo wings last night scent.”
“Lactose intolerance.”
“Captain Morgan’s Revenge.”
“That’s a million dollar idea there, babe. If people will buy booger flavored jelly beans, this can’t go wrong.”
Oh, and if you’ve got an extra $600 dollars, you can buy an antique, handcrafted Longaberger Basket signed by Longaberger family members at The Hen House next to Roosters of Dresden. The guy there offered it to us for $540, but we don’t collect baskets, and something that expensive would only attract Julia to color it with a purple crayon, tear it up and leave it for one of the cats to pee on. But, if it’s your kind of thing, well, there you go.
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I Write A Haiku Each Day
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Hurts So Good
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Categories
- Daily Haiku
- Mommy’s Stuff
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You Should Do This
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Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
