When in the bathtub he hollered,
'Hey you Mom! Come in here!'
I come in like the obedient mother I am.
'You bring me hamburger?'
'Oh ok. You bring me chicken nuggets?'
'That would be a negative, ghostrider.'
Sighs deeply and sadly.
'Oh nebbermind,' he says.
He says to call him 'Gianni Big Boy.'
'Is Mommy a big boy, too?' I ask him.
'No, dats silly! You da Big Mamma.'
When I tuck him in at night, I got in the habit of 'tucking him in like a burrito.' This has evolved into tucking in like a taco, an 'enchilalala,' a ham sandwich, and a lasagna.
This is not an -ism, but yesterday I walked by the window only to see the little moose in nothing but his birthday suit, hands clasped behind his back, contentedly pee-ing into the firepit in the yard. How long do we have before we are fired from working as professional parents/excommunicated from the Baptist Church?
Also, yesterday he microwaved a pencil. When I smelled a strange smoky smell, my mind didn't automatically jump to the ol' Pencil in the Microwave conclusion. It certainly will from now on however.
He likes to randomly tell people, 'I killed a man with this thumb.'
Since he holds up his index finger when he says it, that only adds to the cuteness.
In other news, we are in a home! Why, that's crazy, you say? Don't I know it. We have been painting and moving and packing things and unpacking things and it's amazing how forgetful you can be about things like that. Can't be that bad, I'll think. But yes, yes it is. Slooooooooooooow and painful. I'd like to get rid of anything we can't wear, eat, or read. But no one will let me. If I ruled the world it would be a sparse, well organized place. But I'm not complaining. I'm looking outside my bedroom window as I type, watching butterflies flit across our ball field. OUR ball field? Yes. No, I don't plan to take up sports any time soon, except in the stands, most likely cheering for the wrong team and being utterly confused as usual. We have two footballers (football players, boys who play football, whatever) in the house right now, a J.V. and a varsity. I think that has something to do with their ages...or grades...or skills...or something. All I know is it's constant practices, "two-a-days," conditioning, uniform orderings, weight lifting, and we haven't even gotten to football season yet. I like to ask how their "costume fittings," and "rehearsals" are going, but no one finds me as amusing as I find myself. But really, come one, it's boys in colorful tights...how manly can it be?
|Moose practicing his telemarketer skillz|
Next week is the Bike-A-Thon and you may want to turn off your phones, or pay special attention to your caller I.D. because, my little friends, if I have your personal phone number, you will be getting a call from one of my lil' darlings asking for sponsorship. (Unless you are one of the sweetums who responded to my email, and in that case I will let you have your weekend). I know the idea of my hubby riding 25 miles in August heat sends you into spasms of giggles, but let me assure you, when I am curled up in a ditch somewhere 9 miles in, gasping for breath and trying not to retch, it will not be a laughing matter. This could very well be my last blog. If I die you're going to feel really guilty for not pledging that few bucks.
|view of the sunset|
In other other news, I am going to be an auntie again! This simultaneously makes me happy and makes me sad. Happy because I can go shopping and not feel guilty (it's for little baby Takashige who really, really, REALLY needs this loud, obnoxious, beeping, rolling, large toy!), sad because I am not there to watch my little sister finally get fatter than me. It's only when she's preggers that I can get away with calling her little pet names of affection, like Fatty-Fat-Fat, and Chubbaroo, and Blimpikins. I can do it on the phone, but it's not as satisfying. Oh, stop judging me, if you feel the slightest twinge of sadness for her, let me remind you that this woman can eat the same amount of chow that a lumberjack can put away, never diet, never exercise, and still manage to stay a svelte size 2. She's disgusting. Where's my pitchfork and my angry mob? So when she's got a bun in the oven, I enjoy myself. The only good thing about being far away, is she is strangely cranky when gestating. I don't know why, the chuberella. Also a good thing: I can answer her phone calls with the shout, 'Are you in labor??? Do we need to boil the water yet???' Ahh, it never gets old, not even in nine months from now. She doesn't call much these days.
Oh, and speaking of phones, I'd give you all our new number, but I don't know it. We're thinking of getting another cell phone though. Thoughts? It seems silly, redonkulous really, to have a home number and TWO cell phones. I mean, really? Ten years ago, hardly any of us had cell phones, now suddenly we have to have a phone with us at all times? But then I think, what if Mike's in town and I'm not and I really really need some Cheezits? Or some sharp cheddar? Or some Hagen-Daazs Banana Foster ice cream? What then? I can't be expected to just do without, can I? I didn't think so.
And that's why they call me Big Mama.