Be More Specific

Friday is the worst day to have a problem.  So I was ecstatic when Rio chose today to inform me about the hole in his tooth. 

"Mom...it hurts to brush the hole in my tooth." He complained from the bathroom.

I inspected, and sure enough, half of his top back right molar was missing. 

To get an appointment last minute on a Friday, with the dentist, is next to impossible.  It's like pulling teeth.  I had to exaggerate, embellish, and plead with the receptionist.  Fortunately, negotiations went well and she squeezed him in. 

After the appointment was booked I pulled him out of school and drove him to the dentist.

"I don't know what I did with the baggy..."  Rio casually mentioned from the backseat.  "The dentist probably needs it,"  he added.

"What baggy?" I questioned.

"The one with my tooth in it,"  he explained.

"What tooth Rio?"

"The one that cracked at school,"  he said.  "I heard a crack when I was eating, then I pulled part of my tooth out of my mouth."

"When did this happen?"

"Ummm...a couple weeks ago,"  he continued, as I shook my head in disbelief.  "I put it in my sandwich baggy for you."

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" 

"You didn't ask."

Apparently, it's not enough to ask what happened at school today.

Now I know to be more specific.

This kid...unbelievable.
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Bowling Crusade

I have a secret passion for bowling.  In fact, I've been bowling since I was ten, it's one of my favorite things, so it's easy to bloviate about the striking skills I possess.

I thought my bowling ability would be passed down to my children through genetics.  I was wrong.  Instead they've adopted my bowling quirks and habits, like backing up on the approach while talking to the pins. 

Bowling is a sport that requires patience, focus and concentration.  These are my best traits.  But my kids are anxious and jumpy like rabbits.  They grab the ball and waddle quickly up to the lane like fuliguline.

"Bzzzzzzzz!"  The foul light turned on.

"What happened?"  Rio protested. "It didn't count my pins?"

"You fouled,"  I bluntly pointed out. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go over the line?!" I continued to nag.

He rolled his eyes and stomped back to his chair.  With crossed arms, he slumped down into his seat and stared blankly at the pins.  While he doesn't possess my bowling talent, he did inherit my attitude.

"A split!"  Amaya complained.  "I did exactly what you told me!" She threw her arms up in the air at the injustice.

"Obviously not!  Point your toe, look at your mark,"  I instructed her.  "The blade of your hand should come up over that third arrow." My hand motioned.

It was my turn.  I stood at the beginning of the approach, positioned my feet over the far right boards.  I took a deep breath, my right foot led, I took three steps, I kicked my left leg behind my right and with perfect form...gutter ball.

"Well it's easier said than done." 

True story!  Well not exactly...let's see if you can figure it out.

Marshmallows?

An old man recently flagged my husband down while driving.  The old man motioned for him to roll down his window and then asked him to pull over.  This man had no teeth.

"What is Raising Marshmallows?"  The old man asked slowly, pointing at the window decal on my husbands truck.  "I've been driving behind you and I just had to ask."

"My wife's blog,"  my husband answered.

"Does the white stuff spilling over the back of your tailgate have anything to do with the website?" The old man was still confused.

"No...that's taping mud."  My husband laughed, he explained it wasn't candy.

"What's the blog about then?"  The old man asked.

My husband handed him one of my business cards and suggested he check it out.

So my apologies to all who have stumbled across this blog thinking you would find marshmallows only to discover parental sarcasm. 

While the literal light, spongy, very sweet confection, made up of corn syrup, gelatin, sugar, and starch, then dusted with powdered sugar doesn't live in this blog...the proverbial kind does.
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♥ Valentine's not Valentime's ♥



It's that time of year, again.  Valentine's Day, not Valentime's Day, VALENTINE'S.  I know, it's a subtle difference, but there is a difference.

"Mom, I need my Valentime's by tomorrow!"  Amaya stated with urgency.  "My teacher said!"

"It's V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e,"  I corrected her.

"Okay, V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e..." she mocked me.  "I still need them."

At the store we stood in front of the impressive boxed card display and making a decision was impossible.  Amaya thought they were all so cute and wanted to buy her top three picks.  Obviously the answer was no. 

Rio quietly stared up at the shelves.  His eyes big with want.

"Which ones do you like?"  I asked him.  Not prepared for his answer.

"Um...I thinking...I want to get all of the girls...a bear, or a dog, or a frog, or something,"  he said.

"Well, how many girls are in your class?"  I asked.

"I don't know?" he answered. "A lot!"

"What?  He's in second grade!"  I said, leaning into my husband. 

"You know what...I was the same way."  My husband laughed into my ear.  He was proud of his little Casanova.

It was amusing.  But there are close to fifteen girls in his class.  The bears are five dollars each.  All I could see were dollar signs. 

So I had to break out my best negotiating skills, and I was able to persuade him with some pretty fantastic Sponge Bob Valentine's that came with lolly-pops.

"Can we do our Valentime's when we get home?" Amaya asked, as were leaving the store.

"It's V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e!  Gees, Amaya!"  Rio corrected her.

    

                                                           

Back to Normal

Everything is back to normal.  That is, if normal includes piles of laundry, a sink full of dishes, and playing referee to the game of  "he touched me...no, she touched me first."

Rio started the morning doing flips on his bed, kicking a soccer ball through the house, and terrorizing his sister.

Amaya took her sweet time eating her Cheerios...a solid 30 minutes.  Then decided she should kick her brother.

Surprisingly, we left for school on time and everything was peaceful in the car.  Until it wasn't.

"He's on my side!"  Amaya yelled.

"Stop pushing me!"  Rio yelled back.

"Really!"  I yelled at them through the rear view mirror.  "We're ten feet from the drop off, and you want to start this now?"

They got out of the car as I reminded them to have a nice day.

My day went by so quick without them.  Too quick.  I enjoyed the peace and quiet so much I forgot to pick them up from school.

That will teach them to fight in the car.
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Sick and Tired

February started just as pleasantly as January.  I'm being punished for skipping the flu shot. 

Today I woke up feeling better but exhausted.  The cough that has moved in is keeping me up all night so during the day all I want to do is sleep. 

Sleeping causes other problems.  I wake up to a puddle of wetness on my pillow and my sleeve with my hair plastered to the side of my face.  Even in sleep I'm aware of the torturous sore throat I have.  The drooling is completely involuntary.

It's Monday.  So imagine my excitement of sending the kids off to school.  First I drag Amaya out of bed by her ankles.

"Get up!"  I yell.  "You're going to be late."  This is due to me hitting  the snooze button repeatedly.

I go into Rio's room.  I try to shake him conscious.  He's burning up.

"Mom, my throat hurts,"  he complains.

I grab a flashlight to inspect his tonsils.  After all I am a throat expert.

"Uh-oh..."  I say.  "Looks like you're staying home." 

Then I remember.  What about my sleep?  I'm devastated. 

"You know if you stay home today, you're staying in bed?" 

"I know." 

"No video games, TV, or playing outside."

He was fine with that. So we slept all day.

The only thing worse than waking up on my own saturated pillowcase, is rolling over into his.  

♥