I smell like a charter bus

That is what I said to Tony when I got home at 10:00, my little man in tow. That cloaking smell of velvety rubber with a hint of metallic was infused into my clothes and had seeped into my son's hair.

He asked me how it went, with his head cocked to the side expecting the worst.

I paused for a moment while my brain quickly reflected on the day we spent at the Pacific Science Center. I found several memories amassed in my mind. There was the immediate realization, as the bus moved down the road, that this would be a trip filled with nausea. There was the severe winds that added to the bob and weave of the bus. There was the repetitive thought that somehow the unthinkable would happen and I would have robbed Tony of a son and missed my daughter's life unfold because I selfishly wanted a piece of my family on this trip. There was the onslaught of carbs and the fact that I seem to be in a bubble that repels Diet Pepsi because none could be found. There was the disappointment that the facility cancelled part of the exhibit because of a memorial service. There was the fact that they moved our lunch to a cramped, untidy staff room. There was the ever-present fear that one of my 38 precious teen charges may turn up missing, injured or on some graffiti artist most wanted list (we are dealing with un-developed frontal lobes here). There was the chill still in my bones from waiting with a very respectful and thoughtful student whose parents just happen to be an hour late. Oh and there was the before mentioned permeating soft stench of the bus.

But then I felt the squeeze of Aidan's arm around my middle as he is want to do lately. I remembered how after holding the door open for him as we entered the house he looked at me and said, "Thank you Mom. Thank you for taking me on this trip."

"It was wonderful." was my reply.

my main man

They say there is nothing like your first love. They are right. They forgot to mention that there is nothing like the love of your first born. Nothing.

I love this boy fiercely.
I love every fiber of his being, including the goofey smile fibers, the nerdy joke fibers and the fibers that teach me again and again how to love every creature on earth.

He loves me.
He loves me even as I try to write the pages of the parenting manual. You know the one, the one that should have come with him. The one he deserved so there wouldn't be so much trial and error. The one that his sister has benefited from time and time again. The one that would have saved us both some tears along the way. The one that would have given explicit directions on how to laugh off the struggles.

I will be on the road for 8 hours on Friday. I am going to tuck my main man away in my carry on for entertainment. I am going to pay special attention to his unique vantage point of the world and learn what I can. I am going to love every minute of it.
I can hardly wait.

Halloween 2009 otherwise known as I can't think of a catchy title or even a witty or descriptive tale to capture the spooky family fun of Halloween

because I have crashed from a decadent, peanut-buttery, sugar high...

So instead,
here are some pictures...

pumpkin-palooz

I love that the pumpkins Tony worked diligently to grow have provided us with so many memory-making photo-ops.



I love that we have great friends to share the pumpkin fun with.

I love that I came home to a perfectly baked chicken, and that I didn't have to bake it.

I love that my children have a wonderful grandma who will take care of them when they have an ear infection.

I love communal eating.

I love how everyone supports us in rationalizing with the irrational Noni when she won't eat, because really we all just want her to be healthy.

I love watching the intensity of loved ones when they carve pumpkins.




I love how Lexi has deep-rooted stories with our family.

I love the gruesome giggle Nadia makes when she squeezes the pumpkins innards.

I love how Aidan sets Sara up for classic one-liners and she returns the favor.

I love that my kids are old enough to be trusted with carving tools (mostly).

I love how we can bounce from deep philosophical conversation to laughing our patooties off at completely inane, completely inappropriate potty humor.



I love how carved pumpkins smell when they are cooking from their little candles.

I love how meticulously Aidan picks out the seeds so he can roast them.


I love how Trevor has a recipe for bacon-flavored pumpkin seeds.

I love how everyone was patient with me while I insisted that every candle was lit and re-lit for a commemorating photo.



but oddly enough, I really can't stand the process of carving pumpkins.

no better way (amended to read, I spoke too soon)

to spend a saturday night
than
cuddled up with Tony
in my fuzzy Mario p.j.'s
watching a movie
and eating chocolate.





except
this little one woke up
just minutes after
the end of the movie
ear pain, tears
snuggles, Motrin
restless night
walk in clinic in the morning
puke in the sink
(sorry we missed the arrogant
doctor's pleated-front pants)
finally antibiotics

no better way to spend a sunday than baby-ing my sick Nonikins
and cleaning the house

toilets, urinals and such

I have lost my voice, most of it anyway. When the whisper of my vocal cords decides to catch mid syllable, always mid syllable, my voice sounds exactly like the flushing toilet in our last house when there was sand trapped in the tank. It may not register at the same decibel level, but I do think I have nailed the screeching-witch-like pitch.

Aidan has learned a crafty use for school toilets and it goes a little something like this: see toilet, remember school is boring, insert vomit, go home for the rest of the afternoon. The good news is that he is wicked-smart, I have the grandmotherly-sweet school nurse as a second opinion. Oh to be just eight and to have already mastered how to get around the mundane-ness of elementary education. What he hadn't counted on is a mother who has "been there, done that, and now knows how to sleuth out a malingerer", or the community service that faking an illness will earn you.

I have learned that in certain restaurants, hotels and the like they put ice in the men’s urinals. Why did it take me 32 years of life to learn this? 1. I am not a man so I don’t frequent men’s restrooms. 2. I have never thought to ask, I assumed the fanciest thing in a men’s restroom might be little bedazzled dividers so men don’t have to abide by the ‘leave a urinal between’ rule. 3. Again, I am not a man, so no where in my little mind is there room for the idea of making peeing a recreational sport.

I now have a new (soon to be ex) classroom pet. He (I am choosing to believe he is a he but it takes a professional herper to properly 'probe' a snake to learn it's sex) is a bullsnake. Snakes eat mice. I like mice. I don't want to watch a snake eat something that I think is cute. Ergo, snake will be finding a new home. How does this relate to toilets? He is the victim of a high school prank cleverly called 'put a snake in the bathroom and see who screams'.

Tony just shared with me that at his work the wall that separates the men's urinals and the women's loo is paper thin. We're talking thin enough to hear zippers people! That is just creepy.

I wanted to give a coworker a swirly when they sent a messenger to ask me if I planned on making it a habit of meeting the needs of my class of students who were begging to be educated and meeting student's need for photocopied materials come between said coworker and their coffee break. Ok maybe it didn't happen just like that, but seriously, what is the big deal if a student respectfully walks into the open teacher lounge (one of 4!), quietly copies a paper, and then quickly walks back to class? Are the adults so afraid that the student will divulge all of the faculty secrets they were gossiping about or is it that they are afraid that they were just caught not doing their job, you know the one where they were suppose to be in their classrooms helping young minds reach their potential? Wow! That felt way better than a swirly!

I find it curious that weekly we have a pink ring of fungi around the water-line in one of our toilets. What does the pink mold have against the other potties? Why pink? I am not complaining because who would want green, or even brown mold in their can?

not me (a plea not a declaration)

And there it floated, I imagine it floated anyway. That inconsequential, yet completely overpowering teensy invisible pathogen into my nasal cavity where it multiplied then divided, doing its little mathmatical reproductive dance, until my body yielded to it's tiny itsy bitsy little whim...

and there you have it...

I am sick.