So I should explain how Zoe came into my life, or rather, I came into hers. She started out as Hubs' dog, back in our early courtin' days. He decided, after living in a river town for a couple of years(my hometown, BTW) that he should own a black lab like each and every one of the other inhabitants. Except he thought he'd go a little wild and get a yellow one.
One Saturday we perused the place where EVERYBODY goes looking for a pet, the hunting supply store, of course. This particular store was known for posting the names and numbers of beagle, lab and various hound dog breeders. After jotting down a few phone numbers we heard the sound of irresistible cuteness coming from behind the register. A mixed-up jumble of whimpers, soft grunts and smacks that could only come from a pile of puppies. The guy at the counter proudly pointed to a big wooden box and said the adorable babies inside were all spoken for except for one, and he 'spected she'd be gone before the day was out.
The dude behind the counter was big, but I nearly leveled him to get back there and scoop up Ms. Available. The pups were English Setter/Brittany Spaniel mix, but the end result was sort of a lanky, dainty Springer. The one in my arms was black and white, with freckles on her nose, back and belly. She had a sweet, newborn-baby smell and deep, navy blue eyes. When I rolled her on her back, she yawned, stretched and gently licked my thumb, no matter how long I held her there.
"Fifty bucks." said counter guy. "Just to cover the first shots."
"Nah." said Hubs. "I really wanna lab." I made him smell the pup's head. He obliged. Then he winced and said, "I gotta go to work in an hour. Let me think about it."
This would not do. I knew as soon as we left some hunter would claim her. He'd probably make her sleep outside. In the cold. Probably keep her chained up at night. Probably make her earn her keep chasing squirrels. Or fetching dead ducks. Or something.
On the way back to H's neighborhood, my mind raced. Somehow, over the next several hours, I had to get that sweet bundle of awesomeness into my life. And I had to convince Boyfriend that it was his idea. But the magic of puppy love was already at work.
About ten minutes after I dropped H back at our place of business, The Daily News, he called me up and said, "If you come by and let me give you fifty bucks, will you go get me that little speckled pup?" Victory.
I wish I could say that her name was the result of some well-thought-out process, but we actually saw it on some Lenny Kravitz liner notes and thought it was cool. It was a song called "Flowers for Zoe," which Lenny write for his daughter.
We played her the song on her first night at H's apartment. She liked it. She also REALLY loved The Grateful Dead, and bites of grilled hamburger tossed her way, and having her belly scratched. And most of all, she loved us.
Over the years she's endured four moves and the humiliation of sharing her home with two human babies who took years to potty train and occasionally yanked her lovely, fringed tail. But she loved them for their perpetual trail of crumbs and because they loved her. She also enjoyed their lullaby CD's, and would often drift off to sleep at my feet while I rocked them.
Another song she liked was an excruciatingly corny ditty that I used to twang to her in the mornings:
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, Honey---everything will bring a chain of looooo-ove. In the morning when I rise, bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me everything's gonna be all right."
And that is what I whispered to her in the vet's office today, as she left this world with H and I by her side. I loved that damn dog. We all did.
Goodbye, sweet girl. You were the best.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Unexpected
A few weeks ago I was performing one of 1,000 nightly rituals, cleaning out the kids' bookbags, when I found a note from Liv's teacher. "You should congratulate Olivia," she wrote. "She was elected president of our first grade class today."
She hadn't even said a word about it.
After I congratulated her, I asked her why she hadn't told us the good news herself."Well, it's not what I was expecting," she said. "I don't actually get to make any rules or anything, Mommy."
I'd wager that 100% of our U.S. presidents have woken up a few months after the innaugural ball with those exact same sentiments: "It's not what I was expecting."
Regardless, we are proud of Olivia. And, in so many ways, she's not what I was expecting. I had expected, at 29, to get pregnant. I did, almost immediately. Then, I expected to have a blissfully perfect pregnancy. It wasn't, and it was very short-lived. It ended in about ten weeks. Eighteen months and two more miscarriages later, I expected that my husband and I would begin learning a little about the adoption process and maybe give it a try in a year or so.
What actually happened was that within eight months of our first baby steps into the process, we found ourselves on a plane to Ukraine, where we were told to expect to bring home a little boy.
Not only did we not expect a sweet baby girl, but we didn't expect her to toddle right to us after only a few visits.
We didn't expect her to somehow, incredibly, have my mother's eyes, Mark's cousin Pam's smile, my cousin Holly's complexion and my dad's silly sense of humor.
We had given up on finding a miracle, but then she found us.
The other day she told us this president thing has turned out pretty great, because she gets to announce when it's time to line up for lunch AND she gets to help with role call in the morning. See? Sometimes what you least expected turns out to be better than you could've ever imagined.
Monday, January 28, 2008
What I'm reading and admiring so far in '08
I like winter---in small doses. (I have to add that because if I don't I will wake to seven feet of snow blocking the front door, which will cause me to turn into that guy from The Shining quicklike).
So, suffice it to say that I appreciate some seasonal chilliness once in awhile, I mean it IS January, for Al Gore's sake. (Love you, Al! Call me!) Also, it gives me the perfect excuse to curl up with a book and my $29 down-alternative throw from Cosco. Both are best enjoyed while making sweet love to a huge mug of sugar-free Swiss Miss.
We're a happy library family here at Casa Pellin, although sometimes I find the trip a tad frustrating. Much like wandering the video store aisles, an aimless search among the stacks can often prove overwhelming for me. It must've been all those nights in the early 00's reading "Here Comes The Truck!" and "How A Princess Gets Dressed"---for a while there I wasn't sure what the grown-up me liked to read anymore.
But now I get the pleasure of finding out all over again.
Don't get me wrong. I still love to read to my kids. Ramona Quimby, Junie B. Jones and that blessed farting dog, whatshisname, are alive and kickin' around here. But, since most of my friends have little ones too, I needed some suggestions on some good hibernation material that doesn't include colorful illustrations or an accompanying sing-along CD.
Recently I was flipping through a "Good Housekeeping" magazine while waiting for my oil change. It was the ONLY remotely female mag in the tiny little waiting area. The guys there already know I don't know nothin' 'bout fixin' no cars, so I'm not about to put on any airs by thumbing through Car and Driver, OK? Anyway--so not the point! GH has a piece in every issue now called "A Good Read" with a list of books recommended by their staffers. Guidance! I obediently marched down to our local branch that afternoon (um, well, this is Charlotte, so I zoomed over in my mini-van, found a killer space, THEN I marched). Here's what I found:
"Here If You Need Me" by Kate Braestrup. I found myself reading aloud to Hubs a lot from this book, which he usually hates, but he forgave me for this one. That's how good it is! This is an autobiography of a young widow and mom of four who also happens to be a chaplain for the Maine Wildlife service. She brings home the bacon, fries it up in a pan, and then gets called out to encourage, console and pray with the families of people and children lost in the Maine woods. Yes, we do need you, Kate!
"The Myth of You and Me" by Leah Stewart. This one was written by a Carolina girl, and if that's not reason enough to go out and grab it, it's won a couple of fancy awards, too. Because it's so effin' good. For anyone who's ever had a bestest friend who totally crapped on you once or twice but you loved them anyway, not in a pathetic co-dependent way, but an unconditional, kill-or-die,love-you-even-if-you-write-run-on-sentences way, this is for you. She also published a mystery called "Body of a Girl" that's currently on request at my library; I think I'm fourth on the wait list, so get in line, ladeeez!
Those are the only ones I've had time for so far, and GH is two-for-two on their picks!
I just adore books. Growing up in a three-channel-TV house (and one of those was fuzzy), books were of grave importance to me. If I can just get all personal-growthy for a minute, they became part of who I am. It's such a treat getting to see my kids discover what they love to read and have read to them. I can proudly say I know every word to "Here Comes The Truck" by heart because I read it eleventy-seven times to one Nathaniel Pellin from the time he was one year old until oh, about two months ago. That's when he discovered "Here Comes The Fire Truck!" Sigh. I sense a pattern.
As for Liv, she's actually started asking to cut our nightly storytime short so she can read a little of her favorites by herself in her room. This makes me want to beam with pride and burst into tears all at once. It's the gradual end of an era, of snuggling with her in bed and reading and re-reading "Dora In The Lost City," and "Bear Stays Up For Christmas" (even in August).
She's got new pals like American Girl Stories and A to Z Mysteries. I swear, she is like a garden. Every single day, every minute, there's something new and amazing there that you didn't notice before. Like little crocus shoots breaking through frozen soil. Or the first, finger-shaped daffodil bud, destined to be a yellow beauty.
Or a girl becoming a reader.
So, suffice it to say that I appreciate some seasonal chilliness once in awhile, I mean it IS January, for Al Gore's sake. (Love you, Al! Call me!) Also, it gives me the perfect excuse to curl up with a book and my $29 down-alternative throw from Cosco. Both are best enjoyed while making sweet love to a huge mug of sugar-free Swiss Miss.
We're a happy library family here at Casa Pellin, although sometimes I find the trip a tad frustrating. Much like wandering the video store aisles, an aimless search among the stacks can often prove overwhelming for me. It must've been all those nights in the early 00's reading "Here Comes The Truck!" and "How A Princess Gets Dressed"---for a while there I wasn't sure what the grown-up me liked to read anymore.
But now I get the pleasure of finding out all over again.
Don't get me wrong. I still love to read to my kids. Ramona Quimby, Junie B. Jones and that blessed farting dog, whatshisname, are alive and kickin' around here. But, since most of my friends have little ones too, I needed some suggestions on some good hibernation material that doesn't include colorful illustrations or an accompanying sing-along CD.
Recently I was flipping through a "Good Housekeeping" magazine while waiting for my oil change. It was the ONLY remotely female mag in the tiny little waiting area. The guys there already know I don't know nothin' 'bout fixin' no cars, so I'm not about to put on any airs by thumbing through Car and Driver, OK? Anyway--so not the point! GH has a piece in every issue now called "A Good Read" with a list of books recommended by their staffers. Guidance! I obediently marched down to our local branch that afternoon (um, well, this is Charlotte, so I zoomed over in my mini-van, found a killer space, THEN I marched). Here's what I found:
"Here If You Need Me" by Kate Braestrup. I found myself reading aloud to Hubs a lot from this book, which he usually hates, but he forgave me for this one. That's how good it is! This is an autobiography of a young widow and mom of four who also happens to be a chaplain for the Maine Wildlife service. She brings home the bacon, fries it up in a pan, and then gets called out to encourage, console and pray with the families of people and children lost in the Maine woods. Yes, we do need you, Kate!
"The Myth of You and Me" by Leah Stewart. This one was written by a Carolina girl, and if that's not reason enough to go out and grab it, it's won a couple of fancy awards, too. Because it's so effin' good. For anyone who's ever had a bestest friend who totally crapped on you once or twice but you loved them anyway, not in a pathetic co-dependent way, but an unconditional, kill-or-die,love-you-even-if-you-write-run-on-sentences way, this is for you. She also published a mystery called "Body of a Girl" that's currently on request at my library; I think I'm fourth on the wait list, so get in line, ladeeez!
Those are the only ones I've had time for so far, and GH is two-for-two on their picks!
I just adore books. Growing up in a three-channel-TV house (and one of those was fuzzy), books were of grave importance to me. If I can just get all personal-growthy for a minute, they became part of who I am. It's such a treat getting to see my kids discover what they love to read and have read to them. I can proudly say I know every word to "Here Comes The Truck" by heart because I read it eleventy-seven times to one Nathaniel Pellin from the time he was one year old until oh, about two months ago. That's when he discovered "Here Comes The Fire Truck!" Sigh. I sense a pattern.
As for Liv, she's actually started asking to cut our nightly storytime short so she can read a little of her favorites by herself in her room. This makes me want to beam with pride and burst into tears all at once. It's the gradual end of an era, of snuggling with her in bed and reading and re-reading "Dora In The Lost City," and "Bear Stays Up For Christmas" (even in August).
She's got new pals like American Girl Stories and A to Z Mysteries. I swear, she is like a garden. Every single day, every minute, there's something new and amazing there that you didn't notice before. Like little crocus shoots breaking through frozen soil. Or the first, finger-shaped daffodil bud, destined to be a yellow beauty.
Or a girl becoming a reader.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Ah, recovery. And Christmas movies that aren't so Christmassy.
We had a fabulous holiday of Beaufort County travel (me and the kids) mingled with holiday time here at home with my dad. I loaded up the kids to take them to Eastern NC the weekend before Christmas so they could meet my cousin Erica and her family who flew in from Oklahoma for a few days. It was so good to see her, and I also got the bonus gift of seeing my friend Renee who now lives in NYC.
Renee and her husband Stu were visiting her folks, who live just up the road from my dad. ( Now, in rural Eastern NC, "up the road" means about five-ten miles away.) Anyhoo, once I realized she was nearby, I arranged to stop by her mom's house after the kids were tucked away. Man, is there anything that's more of a deja-vu overload than sitting in your friend's mom's kitchen? Renee's mom, Ms. Dorothy, puttered around in the kitchen the entire time, putting together a pecan pie while Renee and I chatted. We sat at the same little kitchen table where we used to swoon over Rick Springfield and eat Manwich sloppy joes that we'd occasionally whip up after school. I felt fifteen again for the first time in a long, long while, and it was one of the coolest gifts I could've received.
We headed to Charlotte on Sunday, with my dad following behind. The next night he got to see the kids sing at church on Christmas Eve. Nate's group sang "Away in a Manger," complete with occasional swaying, and Liv's choir sang a rousing little ditty called "Dance and Sing." They went to bed immediately after church----is there any better bribe out there than Santa's pending arrival? The next day, after the dust had settled from the ripping open of a foldaway doll house, a robot, two guitars and yes, a set of bongo drums (if you see Santa tell him I'd like a word or two), we lounged and played for awhile, then headed over to Mark's mom's for an early dinner of beef tenderloin and all the trimmings. Delish. The days preceding and following that day have been sprinkled with my dad's peanut brittle, various butter cookies, egg nog and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Awesome holiday. My pants are tight, but my heart is full.
Now it's the 28th, and the kids are watching their "Jungle Book" anniversary edition DVD (thanks Grandma!) and football's on the other tube. It's been a great couple of days. Last night hubs and I got the unexpected treat of having the kids stay at Grandma's while we went out for spicy Asian food and a cold cocktail. After that we even managed to stay awake during a real, grown-up movie. It was called "No Country For Old Men," and hubs wanted to see it because he'd read the book. It was pretty good, a tad violent for my usual taste, but I was so excited to be conscious after 9 p.m. on a Friday night I didn't give a hoot.
Aside from last night's outing, there have been several really good movies on cable lately, and a few of them, even though they aren't really "Christmas" movies per se, are must-sees for me nearly every year around this time. Oh, you feel a list coming on, don't you?
1. "Because of Winn Dixie". This movie came out on DVD in December of 2005 and Olivia watched it repeatedly until about March. It was also the last movie she saw in a theater with my mom. In the movie, ten-yr-old Opal often says upon meeting someone, "The first thing you should know about me is that I don't have a mama." And now I often feel like saying the same thing. I guess that's called "irony". Or, "shit-on-a-stick", but whatever.
2. "Moonstruck." It's wintertime in New York, and Cher gets her hair done big as a house and puts some lovin' on a crazy-haired, wild-eyed Nick Cage. Can't you just hear those jingle bells?
3. "Fight Club." Mark and I watched this with his friend Bernie Vogel when he came to visit at Christmas about eight years ago. I like to replace the guest soaps after watching it. Heh.
Turns out that's a pretty short list! And now, for the shows that drip Christmassy goodness. . . or badness, depending on the mood.
1. "Scrooged." Bill Murray with a still almost-full head of hair gets scared into a serious 'tude adjustment by a ghostly Buster Poindexter, among others. In the end, he gets with that cute girl with the freckly nose.
2. "A Christmas Story" Believe it or not, I'd never even seen this movie before I met Mark. My first Christmas with the Pellin clan included a late-night viewing of this one with Mark, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. Hence, "frag-eee-lay" has been part of the household vocabulary for 14 years.
3. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" My kids don't understand why I cry a little bit during this one. It's just, that poor, sweet tree must symbolize how we all feel sometimes until someone shows us a little love. And because---oh, the holidays!
4. Any "Little House on the Prairie" Chrsitmas episode. My kids seriously need to see other kids who get deleriously happy over a skinny little stocking with an orange and a penny in the toe.
5.Little Women--the '90's version with America's favorite five-finger-discount girl, Wynona Ryder. Susan Sarandon is radiant as Marmee, and there's a lot of gorgeous period costumes swooshing about. And more swooning over little Christmas miracles like oranges and sausage stuffing.
Hope ya'll had some poigniant viewing moments this holiday! See you in 2008!
Renee and her husband Stu were visiting her folks, who live just up the road from my dad. ( Now, in rural Eastern NC, "up the road" means about five-ten miles away.) Anyhoo, once I realized she was nearby, I arranged to stop by her mom's house after the kids were tucked away. Man, is there anything that's more of a deja-vu overload than sitting in your friend's mom's kitchen? Renee's mom, Ms. Dorothy, puttered around in the kitchen the entire time, putting together a pecan pie while Renee and I chatted. We sat at the same little kitchen table where we used to swoon over Rick Springfield and eat Manwich sloppy joes that we'd occasionally whip up after school. I felt fifteen again for the first time in a long, long while, and it was one of the coolest gifts I could've received.
We headed to Charlotte on Sunday, with my dad following behind. The next night he got to see the kids sing at church on Christmas Eve. Nate's group sang "Away in a Manger," complete with occasional swaying, and Liv's choir sang a rousing little ditty called "Dance and Sing." They went to bed immediately after church----is there any better bribe out there than Santa's pending arrival? The next day, after the dust had settled from the ripping open of a foldaway doll house, a robot, two guitars and yes, a set of bongo drums (if you see Santa tell him I'd like a word or two), we lounged and played for awhile, then headed over to Mark's mom's for an early dinner of beef tenderloin and all the trimmings. Delish. The days preceding and following that day have been sprinkled with my dad's peanut brittle, various butter cookies, egg nog and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Awesome holiday. My pants are tight, but my heart is full.
Now it's the 28th, and the kids are watching their "Jungle Book" anniversary edition DVD (thanks Grandma!) and football's on the other tube. It's been a great couple of days. Last night hubs and I got the unexpected treat of having the kids stay at Grandma's while we went out for spicy Asian food and a cold cocktail. After that we even managed to stay awake during a real, grown-up movie. It was called "No Country For Old Men," and hubs wanted to see it because he'd read the book. It was pretty good, a tad violent for my usual taste, but I was so excited to be conscious after 9 p.m. on a Friday night I didn't give a hoot.
Aside from last night's outing, there have been several really good movies on cable lately, and a few of them, even though they aren't really "Christmas" movies per se, are must-sees for me nearly every year around this time. Oh, you feel a list coming on, don't you?
1. "Because of Winn Dixie". This movie came out on DVD in December of 2005 and Olivia watched it repeatedly until about March. It was also the last movie she saw in a theater with my mom. In the movie, ten-yr-old Opal often says upon meeting someone, "The first thing you should know about me is that I don't have a mama." And now I often feel like saying the same thing. I guess that's called "irony". Or, "shit-on-a-stick", but whatever.
2. "Moonstruck." It's wintertime in New York, and Cher gets her hair done big as a house and puts some lovin' on a crazy-haired, wild-eyed Nick Cage. Can't you just hear those jingle bells?
3. "Fight Club." Mark and I watched this with his friend Bernie Vogel when he came to visit at Christmas about eight years ago. I like to replace the guest soaps after watching it. Heh.
Turns out that's a pretty short list! And now, for the shows that drip Christmassy goodness. . . or badness, depending on the mood.
1. "Scrooged." Bill Murray with a still almost-full head of hair gets scared into a serious 'tude adjustment by a ghostly Buster Poindexter, among others. In the end, he gets with that cute girl with the freckly nose.
2. "A Christmas Story" Believe it or not, I'd never even seen this movie before I met Mark. My first Christmas with the Pellin clan included a late-night viewing of this one with Mark, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. Hence, "frag-eee-lay" has been part of the household vocabulary for 14 years.
3. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" My kids don't understand why I cry a little bit during this one. It's just, that poor, sweet tree must symbolize how we all feel sometimes until someone shows us a little love. And because---oh, the holidays!
4. Any "Little House on the Prairie" Chrsitmas episode. My kids seriously need to see other kids who get deleriously happy over a skinny little stocking with an orange and a penny in the toe.
5.Little Women--the '90's version with America's favorite five-finger-discount girl, Wynona Ryder. Susan Sarandon is radiant as Marmee, and there's a lot of gorgeous period costumes swooshing about. And more swooning over little Christmas miracles like oranges and sausage stuffing.
Hope ya'll had some poigniant viewing moments this holiday! See you in 2008!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thanksgiving rocked!
This year we travelled to Ohio for Thanksgiving to see Mark's sweet aunt and uncle. I was more than a little apprehensive about the drive, but the kids handled it beautifully. Mark and I were more than a little amazed. In fact, I'd say that was probably the greatest blessing of all!
This was the first time I'd been out of state for Thanksgiving in.. .well. . .my lifetime. But we'd been itching to get up north and visit and around Halloween we decided this would be the best time for everyone. My Mom-In-Law Extraordinnaire, Barb, travelled with us. She sat up front and I sat in back between Liv and Nate, an arrangement we worked out somewhere around Beckley, W. Va. when the "He's looking at me!!" stuff started (hey, we still had our standard sibling moments). Mark took command of our massive rental vehicle the whole way up and the whole way back, for which I am also truely grateful.
There were many cool, almost magical things that occurred on this trip that made it more than a worthwhile way to spend the holiday:
1. The kids got to see the street where Daddy grew up, an idyllic little stretch of Boardman, OH with one beautiful,Norman-Rockwellesque house after another.
2. The hotel we stayed in was simply awesome. It's called the Dutch House, and although it has 100-plus rooms it had a very country-inn feel. They were already decked out for Christmas, with two huge trees in the lobby and several decorated fireplaces. The buffet straight from their own bakery every morning didn't hurt either.
3. We got to see Mark's dear friend from high school, Bernie Vogel. At one point he told Nate, while pointing to Mark, "I would kill or die for this guy. Do you have a friend like that? That's important in life." Nate paused for a moment and said, "My Grandpa. And also Uncle Larry." I beamed.
4. Mark and Uncle Dew got to celebrate their birthdays together, with two adorable cakes presented to them by the kids. And nobody dropped one!
5. Four letters: S-N-O-W. The real stuff, people. It started coming down late Thursday night and by Friday morning we had a gorgeous 2-3 inches. We were the only yahoos out sledding in it, but we didn't care. Mark said I was as bad as the kids; my nose was pressed to the hotel window, watching each little miracle float to the ground at 7 a.m.
6. Mark's cousin Pam, a walking piece of awesomeness who happens to be a teacher too, brought scads of leftover Thanksgiving crafts from her classroom so the kids could get their creativity on while the adults visited.
7. The coffee. Oh, the coffee---Seattle's Best, specifically, at the hotel. And the scrumptious Peppermint Mocha from the drive-thru Starbuck's in West Va. on the way home. Just the eye-opener Mama needed. Thanks, Mark!
8. Watching Nate and Olivia gleefully push Dew in his wheelchair. His new way to roll is pretty cool in their eyes.
9. Playing Apples to Apples with Barb, Pam and Mark after dinner.
10. Stopping at Cracker Barrel on the way home. Oh, and making it home in under the estimated time. Hey, I'm Woodrow Boyd's daughter---it's all about making good time. Right, Dad?
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The plague of the potty-mouths
I think every parent I know (except maybe Pastor Trevor) has a story or many, many stories about how their child once blurted out a curse word at the most inappropriate moment.
It usually turns into one of those I'd-kill-you-if-this-weren't-so-GD-funny times.
We've had one particularly horrifying/hilarious gem lately, and I wanted to jot it down before I forgot it. Also so I can return the torture to my children one day by telling the story to their prom date.
So we're in the van the other day, me at the wheel and the kids in the backseat in their boosters. Nate had two pieces of his Halloween candy clenched in his hands, so of course the moment I'm strapped in and backing out the driveway, he immediately drops them. This hasn't really occurred to me until now, but the kid pretty much verbalized what his mommy was thinking: "GodDAMMIT!"
Apparently, having your prized dumdum-pop and roll of Smarties plummet from your hands requires a choice selection from the sailor's handbook, in my four-year-old son's opinion.
I sort of froze, about to look up and deliver one of many Sermons From the Rearview Mirror, when Olivia held out her hand to stop me, as if to say she'd handle it. Then she turned to her brother and said, "No, Nate, remember we say GOSHdammit."
At least our mini war on Olivia saying "OMG" was working. There's just something so obnoxious about a little kid saying "God" in that way. The dammit part, well. . .obviously we're a work in progress at Casa Pellin.
There was another, much sweeter Olivia-ism that took place a few months ago. I was chopping up an apple for the kids to munch on while I cooked dinner. Olivia came into the kitchen and asked if they could eat it before dinner. I said yes, that's what it's for. Then she yelled up the stairs, "Nate---come on down---Mommy made us an apple-tizer."
That girl.
Other random, impossibly cute, non-cursing things they say and do:
It usually turns into one of those I'd-kill-you-if-this-weren't-so-GD-funny times.
We've had one particularly horrifying/hilarious gem lately, and I wanted to jot it down before I forgot it. Also so I can return the torture to my children one day by telling the story to their prom date.
So we're in the van the other day, me at the wheel and the kids in the backseat in their boosters. Nate had two pieces of his Halloween candy clenched in his hands, so of course the moment I'm strapped in and backing out the driveway, he immediately drops them. This hasn't really occurred to me until now, but the kid pretty much verbalized what his mommy was thinking: "GodDAMMIT!"
Apparently, having your prized dumdum-pop and roll of Smarties plummet from your hands requires a choice selection from the sailor's handbook, in my four-year-old son's opinion.
I sort of froze, about to look up and deliver one of many Sermons From the Rearview Mirror, when Olivia held out her hand to stop me, as if to say she'd handle it. Then she turned to her brother and said, "No, Nate, remember we say GOSHdammit."
At least our mini war on Olivia saying "OMG" was working. There's just something so obnoxious about a little kid saying "God" in that way. The dammit part, well. . .obviously we're a work in progress at Casa Pellin.
There was another, much sweeter Olivia-ism that took place a few months ago. I was chopping up an apple for the kids to munch on while I cooked dinner. Olivia came into the kitchen and asked if they could eat it before dinner. I said yes, that's what it's for. Then she yelled up the stairs, "Nate---come on down---Mommy made us an apple-tizer."
That girl.
Other random, impossibly cute, non-cursing things they say and do:
- Nate has called our minister, Pastor Trevor , "Patrick Trevor" since he was about two. He really thinks that's his name.
- Olivia recently told Nate's young, very pretty teacher "You smell just like my Grandma!" and she meant it as one of the highest compliments one can receive.
- Nate refers to his Bobby, his ratty, much-loved lovie blanket, as a "him," a living being with thoughts and feelings. For example, Bobby cannot be left in the car overnight because he might get cold.
- Olivia once told my dad, after he'd just gotten dressed after emerging from the bathroom in his boxer shorts, "Um, I'm glad you have a shirt on now, because before I could see your boobies and it was so disgusting." Just a side note, Dad---you look just fine. "Disgusting" was a new addition to the vocabulary at the time and absolutely had to be worked into every possible sentence.
That's all I can think of for now. Hopefully we'll have more moments like the ones above and fewer backseat swear-a-thons.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
They were angels at the pumpkin patch--what happened?
Have I said that I love my kids? I'm sure I have, and believe me, I do. I love how they accept everything as it is, including their deeply-flawed Mama. I love how they argue over who gets to snuggle next to me on the sofa----hey, working all day and living with a workaholic man (albeit very cute) who works nights can feel pretty isolating, so it's nice to come home and kick back with two people who actually nearly come to blows over who gets to sit next to you!
BUT!! (You know you saw the but coming!) Sometimes I don't think I'll be able to take them into a restaurant until they're about 25. I was really looking forward to this evening; I was going to treat my dear friend Dawn to dinner at one of those burrito places (her pick). Dawn, addition to being super smart, funny and kind, has suffered through about three funerals in the past month and a-half, and I wanted to sit and catch up with her while also celebrating her belated birthday, which was last week.
One of the things that makes Dawn so special to me is that she appears to genuinely love spending time with my kids. Even when they interrupt our conversation 89 times in one hour. Even when SOMEONE *cough*-nate-*cough* accidentally pokes me in the eye with his drinking straw and causes me to scream in pain, thus losing my train of thought AGAIN. Even when they announce they have to go potty immediately after we sit down with our food and I end up spending the next 20 minutes in the bathroom with Olivia, um, I mean someone, who for some reason does no longer likes to do "the number two" in her school's little girls' room. Even when they, when it's finally time to leave, accidentally go out the patio door, then run delightedly around, ignoring their mother's demands that they follow her out the correct door to the parking lot.
But I did manage to squeeze in a couple of updates about my life, and I think I heard Dawn say that she's holding up OK. OH, and she's lost about 70 some-odd pounds in about six months---you look smokin' hot, Dawn! You the hotness! Thick or thin, I love you all the way through. And so do those little monsters of mine.
BUT!! (You know you saw the but coming!) Sometimes I don't think I'll be able to take them into a restaurant until they're about 25. I was really looking forward to this evening; I was going to treat my dear friend Dawn to dinner at one of those burrito places (her pick). Dawn, addition to being super smart, funny and kind, has suffered through about three funerals in the past month and a-half, and I wanted to sit and catch up with her while also celebrating her belated birthday, which was last week.
One of the things that makes Dawn so special to me is that she appears to genuinely love spending time with my kids. Even when they interrupt our conversation 89 times in one hour. Even when SOMEONE *cough*-nate-*cough* accidentally pokes me in the eye with his drinking straw and causes me to scream in pain, thus losing my train of thought AGAIN. Even when they announce they have to go potty immediately after we sit down with our food and I end up spending the next 20 minutes in the bathroom with Olivia, um, I mean someone, who for some reason does no longer likes to do "the number two" in her school's little girls' room. Even when they, when it's finally time to leave, accidentally go out the patio door, then run delightedly around, ignoring their mother's demands that they follow her out the correct door to the parking lot.
But I did manage to squeeze in a couple of updates about my life, and I think I heard Dawn say that she's holding up OK. OH, and she's lost about 70 some-odd pounds in about six months---you look smokin' hot, Dawn! You the hotness! Thick or thin, I love you all the way through. And so do those little monsters of mine.
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