Playing house

Two Augusts ago, when Julia was just about Evan's age, we hit a rainy couple of weeks which left us stuck around the house with not much to do. I've had big time deja vu thinking about those weeks recently. This morning, I suddenly remembered that I had solved the problem then with a new toy -- the Fisher Price Sweet Sounds House -- which I surprised Julia with on a particularly hellacious morning. It was love at first sight, and for the next several months, that dollhouse was virtually the only toy Julia played with. For hours at a stretch, she would move the figures through the house and narrate elaborate storylines that sounded a little too familiar (the Daddy was always working on the computer, the Mommy was always going to the bathroom and no one was doing much laundry). I loved listening to our lives played out at the hands of my toddler, and even more than that, I loved the way it kept her occupied for so long.

The "Mama Dada Baby," as Julia always called it, has been gathering dust on a shelf for months now, until it occurred to me this morning that maybe Evan was ready for it and perhaps I could keep both kids occupied together if we took it out today. The dollhouse had saved me from August once, I reasoned, so why not try again?

Julia loved the idea, so out came the house. "Here, Evan... you can be the Daddy," she told him. Evan lit up. "Ba?" he asked, using his sweetly mispronounced version of Paul's name. "Dada! Dada!" And off Evan ran to the door, clutching the Little People Daddy and looking for his father. "No, Evan," Julia explained. "It's pretend. You're holding the Daddy to this house. And here's the Mommy and the baby." Evan looked sad. "Ba?" he asked again. "No, no Ba," Julia replied. "Just pretend. The Daddy can come home from work and kiss the Mommy now." Evan brightened considerably, ran over and planted a big smack on my face. "No, Evan, the Daddy in your hand," Julia explained again. "He should come home and kiss the Mommy in my hand." Evan looked at his hand, clearly confused. "Ba?" he asked, running to the door to look for Paul again.

Five minutes of inane conversation later, it was abundantly clear that Evan was just not cognitively ready for the land of make believe just yet. Finally tired of running back and forth to the door to look for Paul, he started taking the plastic pieces of furniture that came with the toy and tossing them around the room. In seconds, Julia squealed with glee and joined him in his game. Plastic highchairs and tables were scattered willy nilly. Both kids were giggling happily as toys flew through the air. My visions of a quiet morning on the floor of the playroom were dashed as said playroom floor rapidly became a land mine of Little People accessories.

I started to step in to break up the mayhem and then I thought the better of it. No one was playing the way I'd anticipated, but both children were happily playing with the dollhouse -- and more importantly, with each other. Mission accomplished... sort of.

My legacy, neatly outlined by dotted lines so you can cut it out and hand it to the cashier

A few years ago, my mother gave me a framed, calligraphed card that she'd picked up at a craft fair somewhere. The ornate letters read "mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all." We laughed when I opened it, both a little unsure whether we were supposed to feel complimented or horrified by the fact that we're so much alike, but both fully confident about the accuracy of the saying.

For the most part, becoming my mother is something I welcome. My mother has a terrific marriage, a wonderfully funny and close group of friends and (if I do say so myself) great kids. She spent a little over half a dozen "formative" years at home with us before going back to work, then back to school, then back to work again. Now, with her kids grown and gone, she has an enormously successful career and has risen to the top of her field. She's a good cook and an interesting dinner companion. She's well traveled and well read. I could do a hell of a lot worse than to be like my mom.

But then again, she's my mom, and by definition that makes her the fuddy-duddy I rebelled against for all of those teenage years. She's the woman who implemented all sorts of overprotective rules (guilty as charged), restricted my television viewing for all of those years (check ) and outlawed all those yummy, unhealthy foods (um, yeah... guess I do that too). As a fellow parent, I can't fault most of her parenting decisions, but as her child, I sure had opportunity to take issue with quite a few of them. Hearing her voice come out of my mouth as I discipline my children or lay down rules of the house is a little unsettling, even as I recognize in my adult self concrete proof that these tactics work.

The one way I have always sworn I would never be like my mother, however, was where money is concerned. I grew up in a household where you didn't spend it even if you had it. My father kept the thermostat at 68 and refused to nudge it up even slightly, even as we all piled on second and third sweaters on cold winter days. My mother clipped coupons, looked for bargains, frequented discount stores and Marshalls and steadfastly refused my frequent, impassioned requests for designer clothing. Even worse than the way she denied me was the way she denied herself, rarely purchasing anything new and never purchasing anything costly. Never, I always swore, would I be that way. And I thought I was doing a pretty good job of living up to that vow. Our home is always toasty warm, my children are always dressed in style and I buy what I want as easily as what I need. My mother's legacy thwarted.

But there's that swingset now sitting in my backyard, purchased only because I got it for a steal. And the fact that increasingly large amounts of those designer wardrobes my children sport were purchased off eBay for a song. There is my newfound love for Kohls (they sell the greatest t-shirts -- they fit my chest and my waist -- for only $7!) And in the past week alone, I've caught myself having 2 conversations with my closest friend -- the first in which she enthusiastically endorsed a Target bra ("just like the Victoria's Secret ones I love... for TEN bucks!") and the second in which she admired my new bread basket ("Longaberger?" "NO! Shop Rite... only NINE bucks!") -- that sounded suspiciously... Mom-like. I even must confess to clipping a few coupons recently. I haven't exactly used them yet. But the writing, I'm afraid, is on the wall.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am a cheapskate after all. At least I come by it honestly.

Meme-ory

Suzanne over at Mimilou tagged me for a meme last week.

This is somewhat of a first for me, as I've never really participated in memes or any other blogging sub-culture activities before. I've been doing this blogging thing for nearly a year now, but for the most part I've steered clear of the community aspect of blogging. Yes, I've made some friends along the way and discovered some people whose lives look a lot like mine (and some whose lives look very little like mine but whom I just plain enjoy). But I didn't really go looking for community when I began blogging, and I'm always a little surprised (thought pleasantly so) when I find it here.

That said, I enjoyed reading Suzanne's answers to this meme, and it seemed like a good writing exercise. Plus, as I keep mentioning, it's August and everything's harder in August, so I'll happily take an easy idea for a blog entry right now. How's that for a long winded introduction to a long winded post?


Boiler plate text: The rules to this meme game: Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross polination effect.

1. Melody http://melslifeinanutshell.blogspot.com
2. -A- http://motherswork.blogspot.com
3. Heather http://outloudvoice.blogspot.com
4. Suzanne http://mimilou.blogspot.com
5. Rebecca http://ministones.blogspot.com

Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No obligation here, folks. Given my lack of community focused-blogging -- see above -- this is actually the most challenging part of this meme for me! Feel free to ignore if you're not a meme person... just consider this a friendly wave "hello" or something.)

1. Kristy http://bivo.blogspot.com
2. Gretchen http://www.mrbabyshow.com
3. Steph http://snowcentral.blogspot.com
4. Dana http://angstdujour.blogspot.com
5. GKGirl http://itsacanadiangeek.blogspot.com

Let the game begin.



What 5 things do you miss about your childhood?

1. Summer Camp

Camp was the first thing that came to mind when I read this question, and as it always does, thinking of camp immediately made me smile. I spent 6 idyllic summers at Camp Golden Arrow (later renamed Sunapee Arts Camp), a very liberal artsy fartsy overnight camp in New Hampshire. The place was liberal both in ideology (I have a stunningly large repertoire of anti-war songs lodged forever in my brain for a child barely even alive at the tail end of the Vietnam War) and in organization (one memorable summer, I simply opted not to attend organized activities. A handful of friends and I spent the whole damn summer playing chinese jumprope outside my bunk and no one seemed to notice or care). I survived the rest of the year just to get to summertime so that I could be back there. The entire camp dancing around the dining hall singing "I Wanna Be Sedated" after lunch... Walking the 3/4 mile sawdust path down to the lake for a water polo match with a greased watermelon... Improv Drama classes where 12 year olds explored topics like death and peer pressure... Dance Nights on the tennis courts; first the required square dancing, then the "real" stuff, and always "Stairway To Heaven" to end the night... The smell of chemicals in the darkroom... Overnight hiking trips... There's no question that camp was the single most defining experience of my childhood. 20 years later, I still find myself reliving my camp years every night as I sing Taps to Evan before I put him in his crib.

2. My Hometown

This seems like a bizarre choice, given the fact that I spent the majority of my childhood dreaming of escaping the small Massachusetts town where I was raised. My parents moved away when I was in college and it was just fine with me not to have any reason to go back there. But lately, I don't know if it's the nostalgia for my own childhood that raising kids evokes or what, I've found myself missing the town I grew up in. I'll mentally walk through the house I grew up in and those where my friends lived when I'm trying to fall asleep at night, or I'll try to recall the exact lineup of stores in each of the local strip malls. The other night, I actually found myself giving Paul a "tour" using Google Earth. I don't know if it's the town itself I miss, or just the idea of a place being that familiar and that comfortable, but the thought of that town makes me awfully nostalgic either way.

3. Friday Night Services

As a child, going to Shabbat services with my mom was an exciting way to end the week and see my friends. The temple became such a familiar and comfortable place that even when my social life took precedence in my teen years, I still came to services with my mom; we just took 2 cars and I went out with my friends afterwards. Our congregation was small when I was growing up, and the synagogue was a friendly, unintimidating place. On a regular basis, the rabbi would call me and Eden and Ashley up to lead a song at the end of the service and we were so proud to stand up on the bimah and help him out. (Why don't I remember any other kids ever doing this? Surely we weren't the only ones...) The entire experience was less religious to me and more about community, but it gave me the foundation for a lifelong commitment to Judaism. That rabbi should be very proud.

4. Erickson's

Erickson's was a local ice cream stand one town over, a long bike trip or a short car ride away. When we were very little, my parents would bring us there in our pj's after dinner, years later, I came in carloads with my friends and with many a boyfriend. Their chocolate mint ice cream (not mint chocolate chip, but a true chocolate with mint flavor infused in it) was among the most amazing flavors I've ever tasted. And I always thought it was damn cool that they'd give you a free doggie cup of freezer burnt ice cream to bring home to your dog. Ericson's closed in the winter and there was never any official announcement when it reopened. But one day, you would just know, and when you pulled into the bumpy gravel parking lot, you would see the long lines at each screened serving window that indicated that everyone else knew, too.

5. Freedom

The other 4 items on my list are concrete memories, and this one is more vague. It's just the feeling I get when I picture being a child -- biking the 3 miles into town alone, spending hours catching frogs in the pond behind our house without a nervous chaperone, getting dropped off at the library for an hour or so and waiting on the front steps for my mom's car to pull up, wandering the neighborhood in search of a playmate, playing kick the can at twilight with boundaries a mile or so long -- being free. I don't know if people worried less or just trusted more. But I grew up loved without being smothered, equally at home in the world around me as in the house I called my own. I don't know that I'll ever be able to provide that for my own children. And my heart aches for them and all they'll miss without that freedom. They will never know what they're missing, but I will. And it makes me sad even as the memories make me smile.

Countdown

T minus 18 days until school starts up again.

T minus 18 days until I can wave a cheery goodbye to my older child and be joyfully reunited with her several hours later, both of us reinvigorated by the time apart and full of things to talk about again. (Because let me tell you, we are nearly out of things to talk about around here by now.)

T minus 18 days until my younger child can actually get a second of my undivided attention instead of simply being shuttled around to his sister's summer activities and playdates. (The poor kid's practically going to have to re-learn how to walk, he's spent so much time in a stroller this month.)

T minus 18 days until my children get enough breathing room from each other that they enjoy each other's company once again, instead of hitting each other over the head with blunt objects and screaming "NO! THAT'S MINE!" all damn day long. (God help me, they'd better start enjoying each other again, because they've got a lot of years left to live together under the same roof.)

I knew that this would be a challenging month and I was prepared to pull out all of the stops. There have been field trips, special swimming lessons, playdates, extra babysitting hours and fun at-home projects. We have successfully filled the days. But I am tired. And my children, quite frankly, are tired of me.

It has not escaped my attention that nearly every blog maintained by a parent of a child aged 3 - 17 has contained a similar post in the past week or two. I think I speak for a significant number of parents out there when I say that August. is. simply. too. long.

T minus 18 days. And not a moment too soon.

Cookwah

Evan's a chatty fellow, and he spends the majority of his days jabbering away cheerfully. This is a nice way of saying that the kid never shuts up. Never. The casual onlooker would think his babble to be entirely without syntax or meaning, but I've gotten pretty good at deciphering Evanspeak and can follow along with his train of thought the vast majority of the time. (A little side note here: his train of thought is not really all that interesting to me much of the time. Does it make me a bad mom to admit this?) It is, however, becoming increasingly clear to me that I am missing something very important that my son is trying to communicate. And that something sounds something like "cookwah."

The cookwah word that I do not understand is not to be confused with Evan's word for his beloved Cookie Monster, which is also pronounced cookwah. No, cookwah simply must mean something else in addition to Cookie Monster. Because no person in his right mind, no matter how obsessed with a big furry blue monster who is a messy eater, would talk about that monster ALL DAY LONG. Seriously. At least 75 times in any given hour. With (and I can't stress this enough) EXTREME intensity. He can't just be talking about a Sesame Street character that much. He must be trying to communicate something else, something I'm missing, something noble about wanting world peace or his plan to cure hunger in impoverished areas with the donation of massive amounts of cookies. Right? Right???

I know that Cookie Monster's googly eyes are appealing, that his approach to sugar consumption is endearing. I think it's sweet that Evan's asserting his individuality and forming his own attachments and all that crap. But if the child is really just talking about Cookie Monster all day, every day, without so much as a pause to breathe sometimes? I can't even bring myself to contemplate how mind numbing the next 17 years of listening to him talk all day are going to be.

An odd side effect of Julia's temple preschool education

Quote of the day from Julia, watching Evan squirm out of my arms: "Go, Evan! Be free like the Jews!"

Um... OK.

Need I say more?

Head heavy.

Body sore and tense.

Children wired.

Rain falling.

No afternoon plans.

No Whammies, no Whammies, STOP!

I've always, as 80s game show fans will guess from this blog title, been one to press my luck. One more drink in my old bar hopping days, 5 more minutes at a playdate with a clearly too cranky child more recently... I never seem to be able to call it a day when I'm still having fun. Usually, I get lucky. Sometimes, it doesn't end as well. Today, I got the Whammy. Big time.

It had already been a slightly crazy morning. The first week of Julia's swimming lessons coincided with the last week of her art classes today, sending us running all over town in pursuit of enrichment for my 3 1/2 year old (insert eye roll here). By 11:00 when art ended, Julia had already been instructed in the back float, the doggie paddle and the art of using scissors and glue. Evan had been corralled in his stroller waiting for his sister not once but twice. We should have called it a hectic morning and gone home to relax. Fat chance.

Instead, I took a friend up on her suggestion that we go to the playground. We spent a happy hour there, all 4 of our kids climbing and sliding and playing together beautifully. At about noon, she looked at her watch. "Do we push it and go for lunch?" I looked at the kids, who were all enjoying each other so much. I thought about the long, empty afternoon that stretched out before us. "Sure," I shrugged. "Why not?"

Why not indeed. As we pulled up near the diner, I noticed a terrible odor -- Evan. Changed him in the trunk of my car, tossed the diaper, grabbed the kids hands & into the diner we went. As Julia sat down with her friend Alexis, I took Evan to the bathroom with me so I could wash my hands. I watched him reach into my purse and pull out my keys. Except there were no keys. Evan was playing happily with the key fob that locks and unlocks my car. But the key itself was nowhere to be found.

A frantic search ensued -- the bathroom, the restaurant, the street, in and around my car. I looked. Lauren looked. No key. It was fast approaching nap time at this point. All of the children were fading. And I had no way to get mine home.

In the end, I suppose I should just be grateful that I wasn't alone. A ridiculous amount of shifting of children and adults and car seats enabled me to drive Lauren's car to my house to locate a spare key with the crankiest of our children strapped behind me, then swap out kids when I returned. We all got home safely, albeit an hour or so later than anticipated when we decided to get a quick bite to eat. I'm out the cost of a new key (of course it had to be an expensive computerized one) and the full lunch tab, but it could have been so much worse. If I hadn't realized my key was missing before we'd said goodbye to our friends, I'd probably still be sitting downtown with my kids right now and I'm fairly confident all 3 of us would be crying.

This isn't the first time I've pressed my luck nor is it the first time I've hit a Whammy. It won't be the last. But this time, as always before, I was incredibly fortunate to have a friend who was willing to help bail me out. The moral of today should probably be "quit when you're ahead," but I'd prefer to think of it as "surround yourself with good people." I've never been good at the former, but the latter skill has saved me from sticky situations countless times.

A bump in the road

We had been talking for almost half an hour about trivial things when she finally mentioned it. "So I have to tell you," she said. "I have another lump in my breast."

The last time we had this conversation was 11 years ago. I was just out of college, just starting my life, and just about the age my mom had been when she'd lost her own mother. The lump turned out to be benign, but not before some sleepless nights spent worrying, thinking about what I could lose and what she could miss. I've thought of that near miss many times over the past 11 years... at my wedding when she walked me down the aisle with my Dad, when each of my children were born and she came to take care of all of us, and on countless other random days that were important only because they weren't actually important at all except for the fact that she was there, healthy. And now here we are again.

"My doctor wants the lump out, but he thinks it's most likely benign again," she told me today. "Are you nervous?" I asked. "Yes and no. They told Rowena there was like a 2% chance that what she had would get her, too. You just never know."

You just never know.

Is it too late to rethink our child spacing decision?

I would be fine if I were raising each of my kids individually. My discipline techniques -- scolding and redirection for the 18 month old and time outs and consequences for the 3 1/2 year old -- work reasonably well in a bubble. But with the two kids together in one house, things are just not working out so well.
Even I can see the inequity -- when Julia does something wrong, she loses a privilege or gets sent to her room. And when Evan does the exact same thing, I tell him no and offer to read him a book. If I were Julia, I'd be pissed, too. But I'll be damned if I can figure out a better system.

The "let's be good role models and teach Evan" line gets parroted beautifully but is useless in practice. Giving Evan timeouts and taking away toys he cares about makes Julia happier, perhaps, but does bubkus in terms of preventing or correcting Evan's negative behavior. And Julia? Has taken up flinging her food off the table, emptying dresser drawers in giant heaps on the floor and other charming 18 month old habits. And then throws a temper tantrum worthy of a 2 year old when she gets a 3 1/2 year old's punishment.

Oh, Dr. Spock, where art thou? Calgon, you'd do, too...

Summer reading: epilogue

Julia and I read the final chapter of Charlotte's Web last night. It's been the focus of many of our summer nights, finding out what would happen to the pig and the spider, and I think I'll always think of Julia at 3 1/2 when I think of that classic book. At times, Julia's been completely caught up in the story, at other times, she's been easily distracted and we've put it aside for a few days. In all, it took us about 6 weeks to get through the 22 chapters in the book. We won't be winning any speed reading awards around here, that's for sure, but she stuck with it and I suspect the story will stick with her.

In the end, she laid beside me last night looking at the pen and ink illustrations as I read the last few pages. "Look, Mom, there are 3 webs where Charlotte's used to be," she exclaimed before I got to the part where Joy, Aranea and Nellie decide to stay. Then, a moment later, "I think when these spiders die, their babies will come to live here, too."

"You took the words right out of E.B. White's mouth," I told her, and then as I read her the final paragraph, I found myself fighting back unexpected tears. Julia can try my patience and push my buttons like no one I've known in my life, and I know that as she grows, we're likely to be at odds more and more often. But I'm raising a child who shares my love of reading, and as long as we can bond over a good book, well, I think we're going to be OK.

A little maternity test, sans DNA

Julia just tried to give Evan a "miniquence" because she thought he was being naughty. A miniquence, she explained to him, is like a consequence, but not major enough to merit the consequence label.

She's certainly never heard me utter the term ministones. So it's gotta be the genes, right?

S is for softie -- that's what you can call me

I've never been especially fond of theme parks. They always sound like terrific fun in theory, of course, but the reality of crowds and long waits for short lived thrills and overpriced food and lines for public bathrooms (ESPECIALLY those lines for bathrooms) never lives up to the hype. I'm simply not a fan, as a friend once put it, of all that humanity in one place. So it was with some trepidation that we set out yesterday for Sesame Place. We were pretty sure it was going to be one of those experiences better imagined than lived. But Julia had been counting down the days to this day trip all summer, and Evan, who can talk about nothing else but his beloved Cookie Monster these days, has been equally enthusiastic (though somewhat less clear what he was so excited about). The weather, our last shining hope for a trip postponement, was beautiful and we were out of excuses. So off we went, cheerfully shepherding the children into the car while privately expecting the day from hell.

I guess when you expect the worst, anything more than total disaster is an improvement. I was pleasantly surprised by what we managed to pack into a day, and by how well the kids held up through all of it. We hardly waited to do anything and the crowds weren't too bad. Yes, lunch was overpriced, but the bathroom lines were short and the two balanced each other out. All in all, I was feeling like it had been a decent trip; the best one could expect from a day at a theme park, at any rate. As we headed home, I asked Julia for her impression of the day. Her whole face lit up as she considered the question. "I knew it would be great, but I had no idea it would be THAT great," she gushed. And just like that, I became a fan of theme parks.

The swingset chronicles

Summer, 2003: Every 18 month old girl deserves a swingset. I want to make sure our kids have the coolest one on the block. Look at this lovely $7,000 model. Do you think it looks too small? Let's think about it a bit.

Fall, 2003: I'm putting these catalogues away for the season, but next spring, we're getting really serious about this. I still like the $7,000 one, but if money's the issue here, I think we could do this pretty well for about $5,000. Let's think about it a bit.

Spring, 2004: There is no way I can manage a whole summer at home with a toddler and an infant unless we get a swingset. It doesn't need to be the biggest or the best, but quality is obviously really important. This one's only about $3,000. Do you like it? Let's think about it a bit.

Summer, 2004: It's too hot to get a swingset right now, but we are not going to miss the fall sales this year. $2,000 or so should get us a basic one that we can add onto as the kids grow. Let's think about it a bit.

Fall, 2004: I just found this flyer in the weekly ValPack coupon mailing. We can get a discontinued swingset model for only $1,500. The wood isn't the highest quality, I guess, but really, it's a slide and some swings. Who cares? Let's think about it a little bit.

Spring, 2005: OK, seriously? We can't go another year without a swingset. Do you think this is the kind of thing we could get on eBay? Let's think about it a bit.

Summer, 2005: A friend of a friend is moving. She's got a swingset at the old house and there's also one in her new backyard. She's willing to sell the old one for $750. Maybe this time we shouldn't think too much, OK?

The eagle has landed. I give us a month before somebody breaks a bone...

The reason I'm glad July is over

Evan's front teeth still aren't in enough to photograph, so I guess all I have to show for a few sleepless weeks is a brand spankin' new kitchen. Guess it was worth it after all. But that backsplash (or lack thereof)? It may stay tile-less forever. I just don't have the energy to invite more workman chaos into my home right now. We're big fans of the unfinished look. Goes well with cherry and granite, don't you think?

Was it something I said?

Lexicon (noun):

1. A dictionary.
2. A stock of terms used in a particular profession, subject, or style; a vocabulary: the lexicon of surrealist art.
3. The morphemes of a language considered as a group.

The word I meant to use was vernacular. As in "Jewish stories and culture have just become a part of her vernacular." The word that came out of my mouth was lexicon. Yes, I actually said "Jewish stories and culture have just become a part of her lexicon." We all squinted at each other a little strangely and then simply continued the conversation.

In truth, I doubt anyone else involved in the conversation was 100% sure lexicon wasn't an appropriate word. And if I really push it, I suppose I could almost claim that the second definition justifies my choice of words. Sort of. But it wasn't what I meant to say, that's for sure. I drove home muttering "lexicon" over and over again and shaking my head. Is there a Language Bitch version of the Grammar Bitch? If so, I gave the Language Bitches of the world serious fodder with my (at best awkward, realistically just plain wrong) comment today. I will no doubt be muttering "lexicon" for days to come. That and "duh," which is really more my speed at the moment.

It's August. I'm hot. Excuse enough for sounding stupid? I didn't think so.

Way to get yourself written into the will, kiddo

"Evan, do you want to say hello to Grandma?"

"Yeah."

"Hi, Evan. I'm sending you kisses over the phone. Mwah. Mwah."

"Can you send Grandma a kiss?"

"Mwah."

"Good job. Do you have anything else you want to say to Grandma?"

"Yeah."

"OK, go ahead."

"I love you."

"Did you hear that???"

"Oh my God, clear as a bell. Has he ever said that before?"

"Nope. You're the first. 18 months I've waited for a clear 'I love you' and you got it."

"I love you, too, Evan. I'm so excited!"

"I did a good job."

"Oh my God... did you hear THAT?!"

"I did! I did! I'm so excited. I have to go now. I have to go tell everyone I know that my 18 month old grandson just told me he loves me. First."

"Say bye bye, Evan."

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

"Goodbye, Evan! I love you!"

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

My mother is going to be dining out on this one for months...

The key to my good mood today

Gap khakis that zip off at the knee to become shorts for $6.95. In next year's size. Yes, it really is that easy to make me happy. Maybe I need to think more seriously about going back to work...