Comfy Chair

Eva has found the best seat in the house.

At least I don’t have to worry about the upholstery.

Mother’s Plea

Dear Eva,

Will you please stop throwing fits when you don’t get your way; especially at Costco?  I get really embarrassed when everyone stares at me with judging eyes.  Also, no one can see how cute you are when you’re flopped back wailing like a walrus.  I understand you like almonds, but the checkout line is not the place to crack into them.

I’d also prefer it if you wouldn’t hold your poo for a clean diaper.  Every time you soil a fresh diaper, that’s 25¢ of hard-earned money that could be better spent on candy bars or dirty magazines.  I really don’t think you need fresh linens to do your business.  We aren’t royalty.

Finally, could you keep your hands off my cellular telephone?  I don’t need you to purchase tickets to a Christian rock concert, link my contacts, delete emails, send voice notes to my friends, or otherwise completely mess with my phone settings.  I have your father for that.

Sincerely,

Your Darling Mother

(Think it will work?)

Moonbeam

I went running in the pouring rain this morning.  Usually I would see that it was raining and mumble something like, “Oh, heck no!” and put my lazy butt back to bed.  However, I was meeting Janna this morning and she runs without exception.  In fact, she puked last week and then ran 5 miles.  I puke once and stay in bed for twelve days yelling at Michael to bring more soup.

But I digress.  It was raining.  I knew I would have to still go out in it so I got up and started getting dressed.  The pants I wanted to wear were in my suitcase, (no, I haven’t unpacked yet.  What’s it to you?) and I didn’t want to wake Michael rummaging around for them.  I had to put on what I could find without making any noise.  My only option was the pants I hate the most.  They don’t fit right and are quite uncomfortable.  I don’t know why I haven’t cast them out of my wardrobe yet.  Probably because I’m lazy.  (Refer to my suitcase still being packed after being home for 5 days.)

Halfway through our run, my pants started to fall down.  They were soaked by this point and were feeling really heavy, like my legs were wrapped in ill-fitting wet towels.  I had my dog’s leash around my waist, rain pelting me in the face so fiercely I felt like the drops were sapping my eyesight, my shoes were making a squishing noise, and my pants wouldn’t stay on my waist.  I would pull them up but because they were rain-soaked, the fabric just stretched like a rubber band up to my waist without budging from my legs.  They were suctioned onto my skin.  After fighting with them for half a mile, I gave up.  I just let the waistband fall to it’s preferred resting place and let the quarter-moon shine.  Having rain dribble into your crack is not as refreshing as you might think.

A few lessons can be learned from this:

1. Don’t be running buddies with a die-hard.

2. Unpack your stupid suitcase in a timely manner.

3. Get rid of those darn pants.

I apologize to the drivers whose headlights illuminated my rear.  At least you have a story to tell your coworkers today.

Suspicious

I flew home from my sister’s house last night.  I’ve flown with Eva numerous times and we’ve always sailed through security.  Yesterday, the woman said she needed to swab my hands.  The swab tested positive.  I’m still not sure what it tested positive for.  They must be testing for traces of urine, poo, or snot because those are the only things I dabble in.  The failed swab turned into a complete search of all my belongings and a pat down.  I wasn’t even allowed to touch Eva until I had been cleared of any inappropriate and unpatriotic activities.

I had packed Eva’s diaper bag with the skill of a ninja; if ninjas are really good at Tetris.  I saw the guy behind the little partition taking EVERYTHING out of the diaper bag and I instantly knew he wouldn’t be able to put it back properly.  So while the TSA people were having fun grabbing things out of the bag and tossing them over their shoulders, my pat down began.

The lady asked me if I wanted a private pat down.  No.  No, I did not.  I wanted everyone in the airport to see how ridiculous TSA looked accosting a striking woman traveling alone with a young, beautiful child.  I have to say, my patter-downer did a very thorough job.  I also have to say that I enjoyed it a little since I had been sleeping alone for the past ten days.

Let me end your suspense: they deemed me innocent and handed my bags back with stuff spilling out the tops and a disclaimer that they hadn’t ruined anything.  Except my day.  Then the TSA woman asked, “Did you put lotion on recently?”  I had indeed.  In the car.  My hands were feeling chapped.  It was a delicious scent that another sister gave me.  I told her I had put some on moments before the confrontation.  She counseled, “Well, don’t do that again.  It’s probably what the machine detected.”

Are you kidding me?  What exactly are you swabbing for if lotion fails?  And if you know that lotion sets it off, how often are you groping people and dismembering their belongings because they sought relief from dry skin?  Ridiculous.

The woman did say during my pat down that I didn’t look like I had birthed a child.  Why, thank you.  I will take the compliment but I will still be indignant that you thought I was suspicious.

Thanks for the lotion, Chris.           

Geezer

Here's something I just learned about myself: I'm apparently old-fashioned.  This diagnosis was proclaimed by my 11 year-old niece.  She accused me of using old-fashioned words such as 'fool' and 'silly.'  Context?  My nephew was being crazy and hanging upside down from the couch after I repeatedly asked him to join us for prayers.  I said, "Spencer! Quit acting like a fool."  Old-fashioned.  Thursday morning the kids were running around the house kicking each other and laughing instead of packing lunches for school.  I admonished them to, "Stop being silly!"  Old-fashioned.

I asked which words would be more modern and appropriate for these situations.  'Fool' should be replaced with 'imbecile' or 'moron.'   'Idiotic' or 'stupid' are better descriptions than 'silly.'  Well, I disagree.  Those words just sound really mean, not modern.  I am not old-fashioned, I am kind. 

Now if you'll excuse me, Lawrence Welk is on. 

Back Breaker

I'm at my sister's house for a visit.  Eva and I are sharing a room for the next ten days.  Eva thinks that if we are in the same room, certainly I want to share a bed with her.  She wouldn't stop screaming last night until I reluctantly pulled her into bed with me.  She then embarked on a personal mission to kick and slap me as often as her little legs and arms had the strength.  All night long she kicked and rolled and flopped and smacked.  It was terrible.  I was curled up on the edge of the bed huddled under the blankets trying to ward off the assault.  My hips and back are so sore today I feel like I need a wheelchair.  We went to story time at the local library and we had to sit on the floor like barbarians.  It was torture. 

Eva is not allowed to sleep with me again.  I don't care if she screams all night.  I'll wear earplugs.

That's what all good parents do.

Snowed In

We have had a legitimate snowstorm the past few days.  8 inches have accumulated so far and it is snowing again today.  For people who live in snowy climates, it would be just another storm.  For people who never see snow, i.e., Western Oregonians, it is complete pandemonium!  Roads are closed, stores are closed, it’s all anyone is talking about, and there are abandoned cars everywhere. 

It’s all very funny to me.  I’ve spent my life in the snow and this storm looks dinky compared with, say, Island Park, ID.  But I won’t take the excitement away from everyone.  I can see how it would be enchanting to be snowed in if it’s never happened before.  It also looks very pretty with the snow-covered trees.

One problem: we don’t have a snow shovel.  I gave that baby away the minute we decided to move to Oregon.  Another problem: this would be a perfect moment to fire up my snow blower.  Too bad it now belongs to my papa.  Can you imagine what kind of hero I would be if I went around the neighborhood with a snow blower?  I’d be a God.

Another missed opportunity to be revered and admired.  Dang.