Back on the treadmill

Literally.  I got my sorry ass up this morning and got on the treadmill.  I'm starting slow, but at least I am starting (finally).  I am worried about my knees.  Nine sprains and lots of abuse during the formative years has taken its toll.  I would eventually like to be running again.  Who knows what will happen?  I just know I am tired of being tired.  Wish me luck!

Imposter!

I was casually doing a search on the Internet to see how easy it is for a stalker to find me.  Thankfully, he only knows me by my maiden name, so he would have difficulty finding me in my present location.  During my search, I discovered an imposter.  She bears my name and is publishing her crazy ideas.  Don't be fooled by imitators!  I do not agree at all in the idea of "unschooling," and I don't believe Mexicans are trying to "invade" the U.S.  I have plenty of ideas, crackpot and otherwise, which I will share here.  And, if I am published by a respectable organization, I will bombard you with links, naturally.  Do not be lured by false claims of being me.

Social Graces

I'm so proud of Drake.  The two small dudes and I stopped at McDonald's for an early dinner.  Drake went off to play in the play area while Flynn shoveled in the food.  Another boy was playing.  Drake went up to him and asked, "What's your name?"  The boy replied, "Zachary."  Drake turned toward me and shouted, "Hey, Mommy, my friend has a name!"  About 10 seconds later he told the boy, "My name's Drake.  d-r-A-k-e."  He manages to play with whomever is around, and always tells me about his "friends."  I guess he grew tired of me asking what his friends' names are.

The boys had a great time together.  Zachary told his dad that he and his friend (Drake) were playing way up high.  It's all very encouraging.  Drake's starting to have social graces.  He still does better one-on-one than in large groups.  You hope that your kids don't exhibit the same negative characteristics you have (in this case, reserved in new social situations).  He seemed to be going that same path; hopefully, with some practice, he will be better than we are.

The Great Gaming Guru

I have played the Wii maybe 10 times.  We don't own one, but my parents do.  I haven't been able to play it while visiting because I am usually wrangling some small person.  Now that the small people have slightly more control over themselves and can manage a staircase, I have been able to indulge.  Today was Drake's second time playing.  The score in our final game of bowling was 172-165.  He had me beat the entire game until the final frame.  Thank goodness I threw that spare, or I would have been beaten by a 3-year-old.

At dinner, my father jokingly stated, "You know, other mothers would let their kids win."  Nope.  Not me.  Why?  He usually wins on his own.  He skunked both Tim and I at Candyland the other night.  First the Rainbow Bridge, then the Ice Cream Cone.  With the bowling today, first frame-- spare; second AND third frame-- strike; fourth-- spare.   He has such luck with games.  If he's this lucky with kid games, maybe we should teach him poker next.

Flynn and his bad day

The day did not go well for the wee one.  I had to take him to the lab to have blood drawn.  It's now his turn to begin the allergy gauntlet.  Drake had his first allergy blood draw at this same age (in the same lab).  The technician started in his right arm.  Things were going fine for the first 30 seconds.  Then, the blood wasn't coming.  She moved the needle around and around.  Flynn was crying, poor guy, but not flailing.  Drake was trying to help Flynn stay calm, but it's tough to stay calm under those circumstances.  I would have been crying, too.  She changed to the left arm.  More crying.  Finally, I start to sing the one song that always managed to keep both kids calm: Phoebe's song about farm animals.  For those unfamiliar with this diddy, the lyrics are as follows.  "Oh, the cow in the meadow goes moo./  The cow in the meadow goes moo./ Then the farmer hits him on the head and grinds him up./ And that's how we get hamburger... Now... Chickens!!!"  The technician looked at me and said, "Oh, you're that mom." Not sure if I should be flattered or disturbed about being remembered this way. 

After a three hour nap during excessive hammering and carrying on by the roofers, he was happy.  But, while in the kitchen, he lost his footing and fell.  Face first.  Into the corner of a drawer.  That boy has had more Band-aids on him today than he has during his whole life. 

Chicks dig scars.

I was fully prepared to have lots of snuggle time with him.  He was more interested in sliding behind the couch.  The fastest route to Mary Bridge Children's Hospital is to take 21st Street, in case anyone was curious.

The roof... the roof...

The roof is in a pile in the backyard.

Blech.

I need to go smack this home's previous owner with a large trout.  This is getting ridiculous.  The roofers came this morning to repair half of the roof (the flat torch down part).  I get a call while at Flynn's doctor's appointment, letting me know the status of my "roof."  It was a big ol' sandwich of rottenness up there.  Instead of replacing the rotten wood the last TWO times, he just put more wood on top.  Three layers of rotted wood were protecting my bedroom from the elements.  Criminy sakes alive.  This is bad, so let's just cover it up and not deal with it.  Hooray!

Some scale: the house is approx. one foot off the ground.  When standing outside, the pile is higher than the boy.

If this is the condition of the roof, I am dreading what we'll find when we redo the siding.  Aaaaaahhhh!

P.S.  Flynn is napping through the noise of roof installation.  Amazing!

Netflix just doesn't fill that void

So far, the mostly difficult part of being socially retarded is not having someone with whom to go to the movies.  I miss watching chick flicks in the theatre.  (I don't miss paying $11 for the privilege.)