mothermayi

No Mrs. Good Candy

I finally got my first “You kids don’t even know how good you have it” moment.  The kids were polishing off some rogue Easter jelly beans for dessert.  They were being really cute playing and chatting while chawing away on the sweet joys of springs most mysterious holiday tradition.  Eggs?  Bunny?  Jesus?  I don’t even care, I love jellybeans. 

I asked the kids which color tastes the best.  They discussed for a while, then asked me my favorite.  I said “yellow, no maybe black” and really got them shrieking.  “Black!?  Eww there are no such things as black jelly beans!”  That is when I pulled my pants up around my armpits, snapped my suspenders and relaxed back into my cane rocking chair and said, “When I was a kid, jelly beans were the size of a clove of garlic.  There was icky black flavor, gross green flavor, nice yellow flavor, odd blue flavor, and codeine syrup red.  They weren’t organic, they weren’t fruit juice flavored, and they turned your tongue disgusting colors and got a kid crazy hyper, as though he was on the goofballs!  But that was all we had!  And we loved them!  Even the yucky black ones!  Sheesh, kids these days.” 

Well, I didn’t really say that, and I haven’t worn suspenders since the 80’s.  But I thought it.  While those little miscreants mocked my love of black jelly beans, I thought it real loud.  I have had it with those two.  From here on out, it is nothing but Brach’s finest for these little stinkers.  Next year the Easter bunny is bringing Neopolitian Coconut Sundae's, really old ribbon candy, and spiced gum drops.

T-ball

Last night Lucy had her first T-ball game.  She didn’t get home until 8:30, a good hour after her usual bed time.  I groused about it.  It was a school night after all.  Then I realized how over the moon Lucy and her sweet Daddy were.  I changed my attitude quick. 

I hated playing any sort of base running game with a bat when I was a kid.  I never really knew the rules, and the idea of having something thrown at me, that I was then supposed to hit, didn’t crank my engine, if you know what I mean.  If I played at all, I was usually stuck in the outfield, with all that itchy grass and sun.  I have never been a big sun fan.  I know, I know, the sun makes the grass grow that feeds the cows that I like to eat and all that, but why oh why must it be so skin burny and eye squinty?  Anyhooooo, Lucy loves T-ball, and I don’t.

It is weird to have to make myself be excited about something that I don’t really care for.  I guess excited isn’t really the word, but I feel like I should not be openly pissy about it.  As in “Why on earth would you want to play T-ball?  With all the yucky sun (at this point it is mostly rain) and grass?”  Yeesh.  I guess this is one more thing that isn’t about me.  Why are there soooo many things like that?  I am starting to suspect that I am not the center of the universe.  Naw, I am probably just being paranoid.  Carry on with your orbiting, not too quickly though, it creates a breeze and musses my hair.

Cleanse II

I am in the thick of coming off the caffeine today.  There is still a stocking cap of pain upon my head.  I am trying my best to be positive and remember that this is just momentary and that the end result will be worth it.  After Tennessee's third time out in so many hours, I came down the stairs feeling much the victim.  It sounded like this; clump, pout, clump, pout.  Very pathetic.  Then I reached the bottom of the stairs, and there was my good ol' Lucy.  Dancing her heart out to the song at the end of the movie I had put on.  (The caffeine headache and the surly toddler have meant more movie watching than I care for, but a moms gotta do what a moms gotta do).  Lucy was jumping side to side, and pumping her little fists in the air.  Her noodle hair doing its noodle dance around her giant sweet smile.  It is a damn good thing little kids are so amazingly cute.

Wild Drunken Hobo

Yesterday, I sat in my living room minding my own business.  I was reading a book, drinking tea, taxes paid, and library books returned.  All of the sudden, a wild drunken hobo crashed into the living room.  He screamed at the top of his lungs that he was hot and started trying to pull his pants down.  He struggled with the button, but finally managed to get them down.  Then his shoes prevented his pants from coming off with ease.  He hollered and moaned and rolled his head from side to side.  He rolled around on the floor grunting and struggling with his pants and shoes for a while until got them off.  After removing his pants, he pointed to his genitals and yelled “This is my penis!”  Then he charged into the other room, yelling at the top of his lungs that he was hungry.

Alright, it wasn’t a hobo.  It was Tennessee.  He wasn’t drunk either.  He also said “penith” rather than “penis”, but the rest is true, true, true.  Where are the police when you need ‘em?  He is getting more and more belligerent and rowdy as we approach his third year on this earth.  This morning he slammed the front door and locked it while I was outside loading the car up with a million peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I had made for his little pre-school friends.  Luckily, I had my keys on me.  I opened the door to find him rolling around on the living room floor cracking up.  That was time-out number three.  It was only 8:45 AM.  I am just glad three year old boys are not allowed to take out concealed weapon permits. 

Cleanse

I am trying a “cleanse”.  My allergy problem has been growing over the years, and now, post reproducing, my body has decided to be allergic to almost everything.  Last year, I went to see an allergist.  With my pile of prescriptions in hand, I set out to quit sneezing and wheezing.  A year and hundreds of dollars later, I am still sneezy and wheezy.  So now I am trying a little Chinese medicine.  I drink this icky powder in a smoothie three times a day.  I also abstain from anything containing beef, pork, corn , dairy, alcohol, soy, or wheat, oh and no caffeine.  The cleanse will give my organs a break, and clean out my liver a bit.  If I make it through the whole three weeks without murderizing someone, I should have at the very least, lost a pound or two. 

I can work around the food stuff.  I am a vegetable lover from way back, and I still get to eat potatoes.  Potatoes make me happy when nothing else will.  The thing I worry about, the thing that makes me sweaty and cranky just typing it, is the no caffeine part.  I have been hopped up on the stuff for most of my life.  My mom would give me a couple of tablespoons of coffee in a mug of warm milk with sugar when I was a kid.  It was the ultimate treat.  I worked in a coffee shop in high school and sealed my romance with coffee forever.  Portland is the perfect place for a person who loves coffee as much as I do.  Good coffee abounds and my passion for drinking the stuff is not nearly as strong as those coffee loving hero’s who obsess about obtaining the best beans from far off lands, then roasting them til they are juuuust right.  I love coffee so much, that I would marry it, if it weren’t an it and coffee and I lived in the same bizarre universe where weddings between ladies and stimulant beverages where not frowned upon. 

 I have quite before, or slowed down would be more honest.  I slowed to one cup a day while I was pregnant and nursing, but as soon as the breeding years were done, I was back on the juice.  Periodically I give up coffee for a few days, but I drink black tea like my life depends on it, so that doesn’t really count.  The headache is starting now.  It is located above my left eyebrow.  Opening the left eye is becoming a chore.  I wonder if it will be safe for me to drive in this half brain dead state?  I wonder if I will be able to be even remotely nice to the children?  I wonder if being allergic to everything is really all that bad?

Bigger

Lucy is at a roller skating birthday party.  Tennessee was gutted that he wasn’t going.  He wailed all the way home from Lucy’s T-ball practice where we had met up with Kenneth to exchange children.  Tennessee had just gotten done being sad about being too little for T-ball, then he gets sent home with mama instead of out on the town for roller skating and cake. 

I tried explaining to him that when he got bigger there would be many roller skating parties and much T-ball.  This just made him cry harder.  “But mama!  I got tho big already!”  He is big.  He has a Big Boy Bed, he can dress himself, (kinda, sorta, backwards pants and all) and he can answer the telephone (kinda, sorta, if you don’t mind callers being hung up upon abruptly).  He has many “big” skills these days but the thing is, he just really isn’t big enough to roller skate yet. 

He cried his giant blue eyes out, until I suggested we stop for tacos then go home and watch a movie.  He sniffled and asked if he could build a fort to sit in while he watched a movie.  I said sure.  Then he wanted to know if he could get a bean ‘ritto (Tennessee for burrito) instead of a taco.  I said sure.  He stopped crying, wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve and pulled himself together.  We both enjoyed ‘rittos and headed home for a nice bath and a movie.  Lucky for me, he doesn’t have the attention span of a Big Boy yet.