My kids are pretty sweet...

..when they aren't throwing tantrums.

One of my big fears as a parent is my children will be jerks.  I encourage good manners and being nice to people, but it's really out of my control.  I've had a glimpse that hopefully my fears are unfounded.

Flynn and I went to the LEGO store in Bellevue on Wednesday. While getting ready to drive there, Flynn found a quarter.  He told me that if I needed to buy anything that cost 25¢, he'd take care of it. After an hour of shopping in the store, we left the store to get lunch.  The kate spade store recently opened next door to the LEGO store.  Jokingly, I told him, "Honey, if you ever need to buy Mommy a present, that's the place to go."  Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket, took out the quarter, and started to go into kate spade.  My heart melted a little.  (Can one purchase anything in kate spade for a quarter?)  Flynn is also the same kid who gave his daycare lady 42¢ so she could buy oatmeal, raisin bran, and Cheerios.

Drake brought home a big book containing artwork and photos from his kindergarten year.  Most of his answers on the question sheets involve me.  What is love: Mommy.  How can I be more like Jesus: helping my Mommy.  (The accompanying drawing was odd him helping me wash LEGOs.)

Such sweeties.  I write this now, so when they are teenagers, I can look back fondly.  Oh, and so I have some evidence.  Just in case.

Flynn's bank story

When Flynn and I go to the bank, he insists on sitting at the desk in the lobby and drawing a "map" on deposit slips.  To the untrained eye, the map is a bunch of scribbles.  To him, the scribbles include where we are, how we got there, and some hidden challenges along the way.

The upper right is our house.  The lower right is the bank and the bank's main doors.  The challenges are in the middle.

On the other side of yesterday's map was a drawing.  And here's the story he told me to go along with it.

Once there was a sea monster who lived under the water.  No one ever saw the sea monster because he was invisible.  One day, along came a fish.  He said to the sea monster, "You need to come on land.  That's where all the food is," he explained.  The sea monster went on land and got the food.  The End.

You can see the sea monster on the left.

The bank employee who was assisting me had no idea what to make if this.  I was impressed he used the word "explained".

Dreaming

Current time: 3:43 a.m.

I have had a fitful night of sleep, fighting a self-induced migraine cause by lack of Starbucks.  Tossing, turning, dosing, pain, fighting, and finally, a nap.  In the most recent interrupted portentous vision, I dreamt I was on the talk show circuit, promoting my novel.  You know, the one I haven't finished yet and spend more time writing about it here than writing it.  One can ignore the Muses for only so long before they stop being so subtle. I get it, ladies. Message received.

Pinterest

I've been hearing about Pinterest for a while and its meth-like addiction.  Other moms spend hours on end scouring the boards and repinning image after image.  I finally succumbed and joined, but not as myself and my personal interested.  I joined as the business.  (Bricks 4 Kidz Tacoma... just in case you haven't seen my 80-zillion Facebook posts and tweets.)  Lots of pins of Lego bricks and Lego related crafts.

Bite me

At first blush, I thought the site was all about, "Hey, look at this super cool thing I found."  The truth is much more sinister. I was unaware that it was a site promoting DIY perfection.  It pits woman against woman to duke it out for domestic superiority.  If the valentines handed out to your child's class weren't handmade, you are a failure as both a mother and a woman.  The myth of the super mom is alive and well, and feasting on our souls. Everything we do must exceed the expectations of others.  I'm all for handmade valentines, but if your child is handing them out, the cards need to be made from that child's hands. 

It must be nice to be a young, full of energy and optimism.  How about we let the lazy moms be lazy?  Just for a little while.  We can start a site showcasing the shortcuts we make every day to keep the shorties in our house alive and make our lives a little easier.  Little tips like, "I take shampoo and soap along to use after swim class.  This way, they don't need a bath for a couple more days."   Mostly, we're just too tired.  Thankfully, we lazy moms have Etsy: the place where young, energetic moms sell the cool stuff they found on Pinterest to the moms who are too tired to give a crap.

Today's funny

Drake:  I invented a new color.  The color of awesome!
Flynn: Oooooo!  What does it look like?
Drake: I don't know yet.

What's wrong with society

You really had to imprint "play money" on bills one-third the size of a normal bill and in black and white instead of green?  I weep for our future.

How to (unintentionally) make a congregation cry

Step 1: Play "How Great Thou Art" during the service over Memorial Day weekend.

That's all.


I remember the elderly man walking into church.  He held his military baseball hat in his left hand as he walked to a pew toward the front.  The hat was brown; I don't recall seeing one in brown before.  Navy seems to be the color of choice for military baseball-style hats.  I wasn't able to see the specifics.  My eyesight isn't that good.

Two bars into the song, used for the communion hymn, he makes a hasty retreat to the back of the church, holding his hand over his mouth, face flushed red, and holding back tears.  We watch him go, helpless to help him.   He leans against the wall at the back of the sanctuary, and the sobbing begins.  His shoulders betray what he was trying to hide.  A near-by usher goes over and puts his arm around the man.  For those of us watching it all unfold, if we weren't crying already, that moment sent us over the edge.  The usher did what the rest of us wished we could do.  He composes himself in time to be the last person in the whole place to receive communion.  The usher makes sure the priest waits.  We are still weeping, wondering his story and what made him react.

A few people ask the usher at the end of mass, since the man left fairly quickly, why the man reacted as he did.  I didn't inquire.  Two reasons.  1.  I couldn't stop crying.  (I'm crying as I write this 12 hours later.)  2.  It really wasn't my business.  I just wanted him to be comforted; it didn't matter that it wasn't me.  He story is is own, and I was a stranger.  Based on his age and his hat, I'm sure he heard that song at many a funeral: for fallen comrades in arms, maybe a spouse or a child.  I don't know.

Thankfully, the universe has a way of giving us perspective.  A toddler escaped his parents during the announcements.  He ran to the nearest stoup, and blessed himself repeatedly using scoopfuls of holy water.  He was very proud, and we were thankful for the levity.