Sunday was a nice day and we hadn't made plans, so I talked BN into gathering the troops and going Letterboxing. We decided to finish the job that Pogo and I almost died from gave up.
If you've never heard of Letterboxing and you like to hike, follow clues and use a stamp pad (woohoo), then make sure and click on it to find out more. It's the thrill of the hunt, usually with really bad directions and compass readings. At least that's my story. I don't know how to read a compass and BN said he did but we couldn't find the last box so we headed back to our van and called it day. Hey, 3 out of 4 ain't bad.
It wasn't quite as hot as that last fateful trip and BN took charge of the water. My oldest has a habit of watering the flora when we hike. Not only is it annoying but it makes us all cranky when we run out. We no longer have the stroller so BN ended up carrying RePete the last mile. He's a good daddy.
~R
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Family Reunions
My dad's side of the family gets together yearly for the family reunion. It's always held at my Aunt Pat's home, not only because she has acres and acres and the setting is perfect, but because she's the Matriarch of the bunch.
My dad left us and began his new family when I was nine years old. Because we moved away and of course because they were divorced, my mother never really took us to visit with any of dad's family over those following years. I was always saddened by that and being a kid, of course, I didn't understand everything that transpired during those times and why it was the way it was. I kept in touch sporadically with a couple of my cousins but nothing lasting.
After graduating, my dad came back into our lives and with him came the rest of the family. That first year I went with him to our family reunion, I was filled with excitement and trepidation. I stepped out of the car to be met with the hardest and most heartfelt hug from Aunt Pat. She couldn't stop looking at me and telling how good it was to see me. Those missing years melted away.
With everyone else, it felt a little different but still good. All the "stories" were told again and again. There are lots of stories and inside jokes that my sister and I didn't get. We met cousins we didn't get to meet before or that we were too young to remember. Pictures, food, swimming, games, fireworks. A typical family reunion.
Each year we've returned and listened to the stories again and again. My sister and I, though we feel a part of the family, still feel a little outside of it. Just enough to wonder if we'll make the trip each year and just enough to pack up the car and go.
~R
My dad left us and began his new family when I was nine years old. Because we moved away and of course because they were divorced, my mother never really took us to visit with any of dad's family over those following years. I was always saddened by that and being a kid, of course, I didn't understand everything that transpired during those times and why it was the way it was. I kept in touch sporadically with a couple of my cousins but nothing lasting.
After graduating, my dad came back into our lives and with him came the rest of the family. That first year I went with him to our family reunion, I was filled with excitement and trepidation. I stepped out of the car to be met with the hardest and most heartfelt hug from Aunt Pat. She couldn't stop looking at me and telling how good it was to see me. Those missing years melted away.
With everyone else, it felt a little different but still good. All the "stories" were told again and again. There are lots of stories and inside jokes that my sister and I didn't get. We met cousins we didn't get to meet before or that we were too young to remember. Pictures, food, swimming, games, fireworks. A typical family reunion.
Each year we've returned and listened to the stories again and again. My sister and I, though we feel a part of the family, still feel a little outside of it. Just enough to wonder if we'll make the trip each year and just enough to pack up the car and go.
~R
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Boyly Moments
That is a play on Boy and Girly.
I think little girls are great. If I had little girls, I would have been happy. But I didn't. I had little boys. Oh, okay and truthfully, I like little boys better than little girls. They whine less, for one.
I know people who have boys and keep trying for girls. (And the reverse of that too. Gotta have a boy to carry on the proud family name.) I've never understood that. I'm so happy to have two healthy, intelligent kids, that I could care less how they go pee-pee.
So for those of you with boys that are longing for girls, I'd like to share a few Boyly Moments with you. Boys will tickle your back and brush your hair - if you bribe them.
And if your little mudslingers are into pain and torment, go buy a jar of wax. I used to go to the salon to get waxed but making time for appointments often left me with hairy legs and an invite to the pool. So I decided to start waxing myself.
You've never truly bonded with your sons until they've lovingly ripped the hair off your leg. And mine really get into it. I certainly didn't ask for their help but the thought of ripping something, possibly causing pain really appeals to my two.
So don't think that if you are blessed with boys, your mothering isn't complete. Those Boyly Moments are just as wondrous and painful. See? Their laughing, my crying - just like mothers and daughters.
~R
I think little girls are great. If I had little girls, I would have been happy. But I didn't. I had little boys. Oh, okay and truthfully, I like little boys better than little girls. They whine less, for one.
I know people who have boys and keep trying for girls. (And the reverse of that too. Gotta have a boy to carry on the proud family name.) I've never understood that. I'm so happy to have two healthy, intelligent kids, that I could care less how they go pee-pee.
So for those of you with boys that are longing for girls, I'd like to share a few Boyly Moments with you. Boys will tickle your back and brush your hair - if you bribe them.
And if your little mudslingers are into pain and torment, go buy a jar of wax. I used to go to the salon to get waxed but making time for appointments often left me with hairy legs and an invite to the pool. So I decided to start waxing myself.
You've never truly bonded with your sons until they've lovingly ripped the hair off your leg. And mine really get into it. I certainly didn't ask for their help but the thought of ripping something, possibly causing pain really appeals to my two.
So don't think that if you are blessed with boys, your mothering isn't complete. Those Boyly Moments are just as wondrous and painful. See? Their laughing, my crying - just like mothers and daughters.
~R
Monday, July 14, 2008
Our Future Proctologist
My husband is the King of Too Much Information when it comes to our kids. I like to keep our kids informed also, but know when to stop.
So one day we are on the subject of getting physicals and BN somehow blurts out that at 40 years old, men get a rectal exam.
Pete: A rectal exam?
BN: Yes, they stick a finger up your butt.
Pete: OMG, that will hurt. No way am I getting that done.
and round and round they went.
Two days ago, Pete comes out of the bathroom, face all concerned and asks,
Pete: Mom, is a doctor really going to stick their finger all the way up my butt?
Me: (I'm gonna kill BN) Yes, a doctor, with a glove on his hand, will insert his finger in your anus as part of your exam.
Pete: Well, that will hurt too much. Not gonna get it done.
Me: That'll be up to you. But it's part of a regular checkup at that age and most think it is necessary. It won't hurt too much if at all anyway.
Pete: Well, I just tried it and I couldn't get my finger in there.
Me: You did scrub your hands when you were done, right?
(word of caution: DO NOT TOUCH THE NAIL BRUSH IN OUR GUEST BATH)
~R
So one day we are on the subject of getting physicals and BN somehow blurts out that at 40 years old, men get a rectal exam.
Pete: A rectal exam?
BN: Yes, they stick a finger up your butt.
Pete: OMG, that will hurt. No way am I getting that done.
and round and round they went.
Two days ago, Pete comes out of the bathroom, face all concerned and asks,
Pete: Mom, is a doctor really going to stick their finger all the way up my butt?
Me: (I'm gonna kill BN) Yes, a doctor, with a glove on his hand, will insert his finger in your anus as part of your exam.
Pete: Well, that will hurt too much. Not gonna get it done.
Me: That'll be up to you. But it's part of a regular checkup at that age and most think it is necessary. It won't hurt too much if at all anyway.
Pete: Well, I just tried it and I couldn't get my finger in there.
Me: You did scrub your hands when you were done, right?
(word of caution: DO NOT TOUCH THE NAIL BRUSH IN OUR GUEST BATH)
~R
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Her Carseat
The boys love watching Flushed Away and they especially love the song played during the credits, "What's New Pu$$yCat?"
Pete, my ever inquisitive one asked what a pussycat is? We told him a cat. Then he shortens the song and leaves off the cat. Gah!! We wait. Hoping he'll just finish the song and move on. Nope. He wants to know what pu$$y is. We tell him it means cat. He thinks and then asks how it could also mean cat and we tell him that lots of words mean the same thing. He continues to say it over and over and over.
So I finally break down and tell him that pu$$y is usually not a word that is said by itself and not a word we want him to say. WHY??? (ofcourse) BECAUSE! I say.
moving on...
My Kubi-girl is a strange little kitty. She walks around like she owns the house and is tres particular and then she up and uses RePete's old carseat for a bed. It really doesn't suit her queenly demeanor at all and yet I love her more for it.
I really get a kick out of saying to BN, "Kubi is in her carseat." It sounds hysterical to me. I need to get out more.
~R
Pete, my ever inquisitive one asked what a pussycat is? We told him a cat. Then he shortens the song and leaves off the cat. Gah!! We wait. Hoping he'll just finish the song and move on. Nope. He wants to know what pu$$y is. We tell him it means cat. He thinks and then asks how it could also mean cat and we tell him that lots of words mean the same thing. He continues to say it over and over and over.
So I finally break down and tell him that pu$$y is usually not a word that is said by itself and not a word we want him to say. WHY??? (ofcourse) BECAUSE! I say.
moving on...
My Kubi-girl is a strange little kitty. She walks around like she owns the house and is tres particular and then she up and uses RePete's old carseat for a bed. It really doesn't suit her queenly demeanor at all and yet I love her more for it.
I really get a kick out of saying to BN, "Kubi is in her carseat." It sounds hysterical to me. I need to get out more.
~R
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Two Days into Camp
Pete was very apprehensive about going to day camp. He's never been. Even though the camp is through his gymnastics gym, he was still worried.
So Monday I went in to pick him up at 3pm sharp as promised and guess what? He begged me to let him stay longer. I told him I'd be back at 4pm and at four he was ready to go home. Not because he didn't like the extra hour, but because he was plum worn out! He had a blast. I knew he would.
Tuesday he asked if he could stay until 4pm again. I'm cool with that. Why?
Psst. Come closer. I have to whisper this.
I feel like a heel for saying this, but I am glad he wants to stay until 4pm. I know, I know. MOTY and all that, right. BUT, I didn't have to yell one time yesterday. Obviously, I don't have to yell any day, but I do. I didn't have to have all of my answers, suggestions, questions nitpicked. I didn't have to thwart whining. There was none of the constant sibling squabbling.
RePete and I had a very relaxing day together. And when Pete came home? I was better equipped to handle it. I did have to raise my voice once last night, and bit my tongue a few times, but all in all I felt more calm.
I think this week-a-month camp thing is going to work out just fine. But let's keep this between you and me, kay?
~R
So Monday I went in to pick him up at 3pm sharp as promised and guess what? He begged me to let him stay longer. I told him I'd be back at 4pm and at four he was ready to go home. Not because he didn't like the extra hour, but because he was plum worn out! He had a blast. I knew he would.
Tuesday he asked if he could stay until 4pm again. I'm cool with that. Why?
Psst. Come closer. I have to whisper this.
I feel like a heel for saying this, but I am glad he wants to stay until 4pm. I know, I know. MOTY and all that, right. BUT, I didn't have to yell one time yesterday. Obviously, I don't have to yell any day, but I do. I didn't have to have all of my answers, suggestions, questions nitpicked. I didn't have to thwart whining. There was none of the constant sibling squabbling.
RePete and I had a very relaxing day together. And when Pete came home? I was better equipped to handle it. I did have to raise my voice once last night, and bit my tongue a few times, but all in all I felt more calm.
I think this week-a-month camp thing is going to work out just fine. But let's keep this between you and me, kay?
~R
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