An Artist's Perspective

Madeline wanted to draw.

So she did.

This:

And then she gave it to me ... totally proud ... and said "THIS is a picture of YOU."

"Wow." I said. "I'm really beautiful, aren't I? ... but what is this?" I asked ... and pointed to long squiggly lines coming down both sided of my body.

"That's your long hair." she squeaked.

"Ooooooh ... and what is this?" I asked ... and pointed to circles on my face.

"That's your nose holes."

Awesome.

Blah Blah Blah

Michael had to be checked out of school, yesterday, because he puked on the playground. I didn't ask if the playground had to be closed for cleaning. I figure that makes you about as popular as the kid who poops in the public pool, forcing all the kids to stop swimming for an hour. He proceeded to puke all over me when I checked him out of the clinic. It was all over my dress, bare legs and also my flip flops, which had to be thrown away--forcing me to walk barefoot to my car. It was a beautiful moment.

Merrick has decided he can only have one pacifier, this week. It's pink. I'm thinking this is a great a time for the pacifier fairy to make a visit to our house.

The kids have their first soccer game this weekend. Madeline is a fast little runner, but she quickly loses interest and gets distracted by fashion and sparkly things. Yesterday, she told me all about one little girl who wears her socks under her shin guards, and then she told me all about a pink jewel she found in the middle of the floor. She said nothing about the soccer ball, or the goal.

For the past few weeks, I've seen this beautiful Bald Eagle on the way to work. Every day! And every time I see it, I do this little sing-songy thing in my head and go "Ameeeeerrrriiiiccccaaaa!!!!" (Because we so own that thing.) So this week, I took my camera with me, and he's been gone. I'm a little bummed. The first day of fall was this week, so I wonder if he left. (I have no idea if that even matters.) I only knew it was the first day of fall because my five year old told me so, but those birds seem to know more about that stuff than I do. Birds and kindergarteners.

Actual thing my husband said to me, after his workout: "I totally kicked my arms' butt, today."

I didn't know arms had butts.

Michael and Madeline have found the ipod. They love it. Particularly tunes like "Rock You Like a Hurricane" and anything Bon Jovi. We are children of the eighties.

Full Circle

When I was in high school, I was on the dance team. Every now then, instead of actually dancing at practice, our coach would have us do something to promote team building or morale boosting.

On one such day, we were to draw a name of a fellow team member, from a hat, and then act out some characteristic of that dancer as the rest of the squad guessed who it was.

I don't remember who chose me. I just remember what they did to portray me.

They pretended to walk into a pole.

And then everyone started shouting "Melissa! Melissa!"

Why?

Well, because one day before practice, we were huddled underneath the awning, waiting for roll call, and when they started counting down from ten (getting us to line up) I swung around to stand up and smacked my head into a pole. An aluminum pole. Aluminum poles make lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of noise.

It's a good thing I've always had a sense of humor, otherwise I probably would have been devastated ... being a hormonal and insecure teenage girl, and all.

I bring this up because every day when I drop Michael off, at school, he walks backwards and turns around and waves real big and blows kisses and makes this huge scene as I drive away.

And I watched him turn around and walk into a pole.

An aluminum pole. Not so different from the one I ran into.

And though I didn't hear it, I can only guess they are as loud as they were back then, because a lady standing a good 50 feet away, with her back to him, heard it, ran to him and instantly whisked him away.

Three minutes later I got a call from the clinic.

"Michael walked into pole. He's got a nice goose egg on his head."

So I went into the clinic to check on him, as he iced it and acted like it was no big deal.

"Eh. It's hereditary." I said. "He'll have more of these."

And then I kissed it and left, thinking Man, I hope they don't play charades today.

Check out more true stories at True Story Tuesday, by Once Upon a Miracle!

Life is Norvelous

We were coming home from church, yesterday, and Madeline starting jabbering, as she usually does, about things that totally make sense to her. Naturally, the rest of us just sat and listened and grinned and marveled at her ability to create (as she goes along) a world that would be totally awesome if we could somehow get into it.

She told us that some alligators trade their triangle teeth for square teeth because they don't like to hurt people. And then she told us it's because they're so unique. She then went on to say there were crabs out there that were sooooo "pinchery," and that makes them unique too. And since I thought "unique" was somewhat of a grown up thing to say, I asked what "unique" means.

"It means NORVELOUS," she said, kind of annoyed. <-- insert teenaged eye roll here.

And of course it does! I should have known!

"That sounds like a Dr. Seuss word." Matt said to me.

I'm thinking ... Dr. Seuss has got nothing on this girl. I figure when the Lorax finally hoisted himself by the seat of his pants and took leave of the Land of the Truffula Trees, in search a place that wasn't so "smoggery" ... he went to Madeline's world. And the second he got there he exclaimed "NORVELOUS!" and immediately starting seeking out some new digs.

The Scab Diaries

I'm just gonna dive in, here, and not a give a bunch of lame-o excuses about why I haven't blogged.

Let's just say we've moved, we've started school, we're adjusting to a zillion new things at once and the blog ... while always calling out to me has sadly been pushed aside ... It's not the only thing I've neglected. Believe me. But it sort of makes me sad because SO much has happened and I've missed documenting it.

Anyway ...

Michael started Kindergarten a few weeks ago, and so far so good. We're off and running without a hitch. (mostly)

Except that I got this note in his folder, today.

"Hi, Michael was picking his scab (on his knee). --- teacher"

AND I immediately laughed and had two thoughts.

ONE: eeeeeeeew. gross.

and

TWO: blog fodder.

Now, what does this mean, exactly? Does this mean my kid is the gross kid who picks at scabs? I know this might sound a little too laid back, but as long as he's not eating them, that doesn't bother me so much because he's a kid. AND he's a HE ... which means scabs are all the more curious!

I mean, I knew a kid in school who kept his scabs in a tin box. I had a best friend who kept a scab in a memory box because it fell off in the shape of a heart! Is a five year old boy mindlessly picking at a scab NOTE-worthy?

Does this mean I need to talk to him about the appropriateness of scab-picking? Obviously school is not the place--which seems a bit unfair since that's where he got the scab in the first place. Maybe he was just trying to put something back where he found it ... one of the major lessons learned in kindergarten.

Or MAYBE he was distracted by the scab and his teacher had to tell him more than once to stop picking at his scab and get back to work. That is the most likely scenario. But I will never actually know, because Michael isn't gonna tell me ... and the note did not address that. It only said he was picking his scab. And then she made sure to tell me which scab. The one on his knee. Not to be confused with the one on his elbow.

HAHAHAHAHAHA ... this is just gonna be too much fun. And I'm sure I'll have much to say. I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaack!