I am allowed to keep calling him that forever, right? I'm going to keep telling myself that until he's fifty. Or, at least until his wife (or husband, I'm not going to judge) insists that I stop.
He had a pretty good day, well series of days, starting at school on Friday. They do a "celebration" tradition at Montessori that is actually pretty cool. The child brings in a poster that details the history of their life and for the older kids, they participate in the making of said poster. Nonetheless, the kid is center of attention for circle time when the poster is shared and they do a little poem-type thing after each year and they feel really special. I would love to just share a picture but it is helpful to put the card in the camera when you take pictures, no?
Collin's class has a tradition of the birthday child bringing in lunch for the whole class which I'm torn on. I like them having something special and the kids all having a treat that day, but on the other hand, lunch for twenty kids is not cheap. What happened to the days of cupcakes?
Anyway, that kicked off his birthday weekend and he's been a spaz case ever since. A happy, wonderful spaz case.
Once, for his second birthday, I had the brainiac idea to blow up about fifty balloons and cover his floor with them while he was asleep so he'd wake up to a sea of balloons. He loved it. About once a month, at random times, he's mentioned in passing, "remember that day that was so wonderful that had balloons on my floor?" He knows just how to con me, doesn't he?
I got him some more balloons this year. I hope it's not going to be an annual thing.
He had a great birthday though. He got the only thing that he asked for: a Toy Story Scooter. And yes, it was hard to find. It was last year's model and not exactly at the first store we went to. Why can't kids just ask for milk?
The reaction is worth it.
I feel so grateful to be his mother on days where I can bring him such joy.
I love this boy!
Thankfully, Daddy got to be a part of his day, even if far away. We love you Daddy and we'll see you next week for the real partying down.
Thanks to Granny for so many things, not the least of which is allowing me to be in at least one picture with my son, even if he still does the squinty smile!
Oh, and when I asked him if his mom was pretty cool for knowing he'd want a Superman shirt for his birthday, he said, "Mommy, you are only cool on my birthday." And, so it begins.
I spent about an hour searching for a costume for Collin today. It's sort of a surprise for him because I know how geeked he'll be to wear it and I know if he sees it, he'll literally freak out, go crazy and think I'm the greatest mom on the planet.
Once again, I discovered that my child is into things that no one else seems to be. On Halloween this year, he decided that he wanted to be Jack Skellington, and unable to tell my boy no, I shelled out almost $100 for that costume, including shipping because no other kid wants to be Jack, so they stopped making that costume ten years ago.
The costume I know he'd want to wear to Comic Con is much akin to that kind of search. I suppose he could wear Jack, or, ahem, nothing, but I want to be cool. Wait, that would mean we have to stay home. I guess I want him to be excited about it, that's it. I also want him to have fun and feel like he's part of the action. I'm sure he'll be super-cute.
So, I started my search. Of course, I came back empty. Literally. Not even some exorbitantly priced leftover costume that I could convince myself was "worth it." So, I have to cobble together a costume that can be made fun of by the "true" geeks.
I think I did a good job, and a cheap one at that in my hour-plus that I spent on this today. These are the pieces. Any guesses on who my boy is obsessed with lately?
Add strangely short-short black shorts and a green belt and for modesty's sake, a white t-shirt.
Why do I think he's going to want to wear these boots all the time? You know, as a fashion statement?
Yeah, sorry. It's not a good picture. In case you can't tell, it's our (Collin's and my) official tickets to the Anaheim Comic Con.
Collin, you are done-for. Why? I'm sure you'll have fun there, that's why. Gotta start 'em young, right? What's not to enjoy about TONS of costumes NOT on Halloween? You are going to meet THE Darth Maul. Yep, he'll be there. Bryon didn't understand why in the world I'd want to go, or take Collin to something like this. Because it's fun, dummy. At the very least, it's fun to look at grown-ups, acting like children. No, I didn't call him a dummy.
The only saving grace to your mother not being a full-fledged nerd just yet is that she failed to get you (us) into the best Comic Con (aka San Diego). Why? Because I didn't realize that it takes under an hour to sell out all four days every year. Apparently, you have to stalk their website for the on-sale time and then furiously hit refresh when they go on sale and purchase your ticket. They went on sale in November and apparently so many geeky people went on-line, from all over the world, to buy tickets that they crashed the Comic Con server not once, not twice, but three times, causing nerd freak-outs heard round-the-globe. "AAAH! I won't be able to wear my new Stormtrooper boots!! Whatever will I do!"
I checked a few brokers, no one had any passes. I checked a few people willing to scalp their passes, just out of curiosity. I mean how much could a convention pass be, anyway? Well, apparently upwards of $400 for the one day pass. Because Collin is under 10, he's free with my pass.
I think we'll settle for the Anaheim Comic Con and take baby steps to permanent geekdom, thank you very much. And no, I'm not dressing up. But Collin sure is.
Jen watched him today and she told me that he talked her ear off about Beowulf. I'm destroying my child. At lunch, we had a talk about what's appropriate to talk to others about right now, things like violent movies that mommy shouldn't have let him watch, and what isn't; and he told me that he likes the stories. Poor Daddy is losing his boy to the other spectrum of geek. I'm sure this will all be a (fond) distant memory when Collin discovers math. For now, I'll hold onto it and take my little boy to Comic Con and take as many pictures as possible for ransom in his teen years. He'll already think I'm lame, what's one more reason?
If anyone other than Daddy, who misses Collin more than anything, can make it through all 2 minutes of this, I'm impressed. But, I think it's pretty cute and I'm really proud of my boy. Heck, maybe Grandparents can make it through.
When not distracted by leaves, he actually goes all the way down the block too. It's a pretty big leap in progress from last week's bloody nose. That's quite the learning curve. What's next week? No training wheels? Then what? Indy cars?
On a side note, one never realizes how obnoxious one sounds until one hears oneself on video doing the "encouraging" voice (that's my way of sheltering myself from saying I sound annoying). And Collin looks like a riding "Toy Story" billboard.
It's not that Collin and I spent a bit of our morning at urgent care making sure that his sore throat wasn't strep.
It's not that I was up all night with his fever.
It's not that I'm now, bleary-eyed, trying to catch up on the homework I was supposed to finish while he was at school yesterday.
It's that I got an e-mail this morning from my medieval professor, aka thesis advisor, aka kind of cool dude with very distressing news.
In case you haven't figured out yet, I'm a super nerd. This is my favorite movie. (who said English majors liked ALL stuffy stuff? Sure Wuthering Heights rocks my world, but bring me Connor MacLeod any day).
Haven't heard of it?
Does this help make it seem any geekier? It should.
Well, I found out that this guy, The Highlander, THE HIGHLANDER, man!! Are you getting it? Well, he's in a version of Bewoulf.
I was so excited, I dropped what I was doing because I'm doing my seminar paper for Old English on film and representations of monstrosity. If I went on with what my thesis for that paper really is, you'd poke your eye out. Anyway, I thought, hooray! I can watch Highlander as Beowulf. He's got to be kick-ass, right?
In the back of my head, I knew, deep down, that the movie probably blows. Because, really, "Highlander" blows. It does. I know it does. It's totally lame. It's an 80s action flick about a Scottish immortal swordsman with a soundtrack from Queen. It's awful. Terrible. I think it rocks though. It's one of those cult classic things that you love, or turn off in ten minutes because you can't bear to waste another second of your life.
Anyway, my professor replied to my e-mail asking if it was a good a place as any to start "researching" and he shot my hopes down, and said that it wasn't even worth watching, just for fun. He said it was awful, terrible, and of no "cultural significance."
Of course, I replied that he ruined my day and that I really think the Highlander as Beowulf should be badass and that I will probably watch it anyway...or maybe not, because, as the Highlander says, there can be only one and maybe it should always be that way. (And yes, it's cool to say badass to him, and that, my friends, is badass).
Just looking at some of the screen shots, I'm already concerned. Why is Beowulf dressed this way? It's slightly anachronistic to say the least. I'm concerned for the plot if this is his costumery. Beowulf is set in approximately, the year 500 A.D. What do you think he'd be wearing? Just wondering. This does not look right to me.
Buzz cut? Motorcycle jacket? Interesting. Why? Modernizing him for what purpose? And, the woman seems to play a very pivotal role. There is a great deal of criticism that suggests a feminist take on the Queen, but not so much that I would put her on the poster. Something tells me there's some nooky for Beowulf in this version. Hmmm. I'm freaking you all out with my over-analyzation, aren't I? This is what "we" do. Take math, the answers are easier and don't generate twenty pages of circular analysis that no one but us seems to understand.
I may not be able to resist watching this culturally insignificant abhoration just because I love him so much as Highlander. The man knows how to swing a sword. Besides, a Frenchman raised in a zillion and one countries, most famous for butchering a Scottish accent in the Highlander must do a bang up job butchering Danish or Old English, right?
Really, really, really badly. He's coming to campus next month. It's not cheap. Damn.
Why, might you ask? I have come to the Star Trek party late in life. Late as in, say the past year. I have discovered that if I meet this man, I might actually fall in love with him. In a very real way. He's so darn sexy. In actuality, I may wear this.
And ask him to sign the heart.
As it stands right now, I don't have anyone to go with, and I think it's too sad to go to an event that will be filled with 40-year-old, single, fat, sweaty guys, and/or stalkers and be there alone.
Confession Number 2:
I'm afraid to admit this...I made the worst parenting decision of my life today. I mean ever. Really. Ever. I feel like if I don't admit it out loud, I might make a similar mistake. Somehow, getting it off my chest, makes it go away.
I let Collin watch Beowulf with me. Good God, I forgot how violent it was. He was home sick and I literally plan EVERY single second of my homework down to the millisecond. There's not a lot of wiggle room. I had it planned to watch that today when he was at school. He was drifting in and out of consciousness and it was rated PG-13.
I knew it was violent. I knew it had monsters. Heck, I figured he's seen monsters. He's seen violence. He watches Star Wars all the time, right? He can handle this. What's the difference between Jabba the Hutt and Grendel? A Wampa and Grendel's Mother?
While we're at it, there's another confession in there: why the crap do I know ALL the Star Wars monsters, including the obscure ones, and all the aerial vehicles, ground vehicles and weaponry? I'm beginning to geek out in way more ways than I'm comfortable with, thanks to having a son.
Anyway, I figured it wouldn't phase him and it's ONE movie. He even liked Little Shop of Horrors. Can you tell, I'm rationalizing? Besides, the last movie he selected in his sleepy, sick haze, he slept through 3/4 of. I figured I was in the clear.
Why didn't I remember that THIS....
was violent...and a little scary for a kid?
Oh. My. God. The worst part? I didn't turn it off. What was I thinking? The carnage. The blood. The men being eaten. The heads being ripped off and bodies lampooned on spears. The dragon's heart being ripped out of his body, still beating. Dude. Super cool. So Badass. The reason I'm in medieval studies. The reason I love what I do. However, not what I want my four year old to be watching. Note this as the moment my child went from sweet to a sociopath and that I'm the reason. In my defense, the last version of Beowulf I watched, last weekend, Grendel looked a heck of a lot like a man. I totally forgot he looked this evil and scary in this one. Note as well that I remember thinking: I'm glad I didn't let Collin watch this as I watched last weekend's version. So, duh on this one, but I digress.
I got totally wrapped up in the movie because, of course, I love it. I eat it up. I can't get enough of Old English and Middle English and I peeked over at him enough times to tell that he was awake about half of the time. Too much. He saw enough violence in half that movie to have lasted him his entire pre-adolescence.
"Mommy, I'm not sure I liked that. It was a little scary but Beowulf...he's pretty brave. I should be like him. I'll fight bad monsters for you. That Queen was pretty. What was her name?" I'm so relieved that my child is not easily frightened, but that will not be a mistake I make again. This folks, is why I stay up until all hours of the night doing my homework and spend my child's wakeful hours with him. Not because I normally do "inappropriate" homework like watching scary movies, but because my child and I should just hang out and be kids, right?
If anyone ever says, "you pick" for a movie suggestion involving children, please don't hold me responsible, at least for the next six months. I'm on probation. I feel awful. Someone please tell me the worst thing you did to your kids so I can feel some relief. We have all had a "moment" haven't we? Please? Or, just silently judge me. I know I am.
Collin's school is collecting pennies for the tsunami victims in Japan. He came home today and separated all of the pennies out of of my piggy bank because, in his words:
"The people in Japan don't have any UNDERWEAR!!"
It was so cute to see him make sure that the "gold" coins all went to the school.
When he was done, he insisted that all his hard work deserved a brownie. I agreed. Man, I'm a pushover.
I love these little interviews with my son though. The things he says, I will treasure forever.
However, I do wish that I felt more confident in his ability to retain information; since I have explained what a tsunami is to him, at least ten thousand times. Besides, I do think that he might be on the right track: maybe a vacuum would help clean up the mess, right?
Remember Super Mario Brothers? I'm not talking about Wii, or the modern version or anything like that, I'm talking about the original, classic, A-START-START to start where you died Super Mario Brothers. That's the only Mario Brothers I can really talk abut because we don't have a Wii. We never even got past the original Nintendo with the cartridges that you had to smack on your palm and blow on when the games got wonky.
Well, apparently, Mario is back. I have been informed of this through my son. The kids at Collin's school are obsessed with Mario. I'm pretty sure that they are obsessed with some sort of "new" Mario that is played on a newer system. However, he comes in action figures now that the kids are trading. Of course.
One of Collin's friends, "gave" Collin a Luigi last week. Collin, who doesn't make friends all that easily, took that Luigi as a sign that he loved him forever and Collin loved that Luigi like I've never seen him love anything. I think he might have loved that Luigi more than he loves me. That Luigi didn't leave his hot little hands for five straight days; not to go to the bathroom, not to take a bath, not to eat, not to sleep, never. Then, the unthinkable happened; his friend wanted it back. Of course he did. These are trading toys. Collin was devastated. He cried. And not the tantrum kind of crying, the sobbing, blubbering kind of crying because he's really hurt in his heart. I was broken for him.
Whatever the conversation was when his friend gave Luigi to Collin, it wasn't clear to either of them what "giving" meant. His mama is great and I knew if she knew what was happening, would step in and ensure that he would let Collin keep the Luigi but I didn't want his friend to learn that lesson at Collin's expense and have him angry at Collin over something silly. I wanted Collin to be able to have access to these darn things because they are clearly social currency for these boys in his class. So, off we went on Friday afternoon to Target to see if we could find a set of our own Mario action figures so we could not only replace Luke's Luigi but also so Collin could have his own. Of course Target didn't have them. But, Toys R Us did, and Collin was a happy camper.
He hasn't put them down since. He carries them around in a bucket, literally everywhere he goes. He keeps them outside his bedroom door when he goes to bed and beside the table when he eats. I don't think he's played with a single other thing since we got them. He's afraid to take them to school because he doesn't want to be pressured to trade them. That's fine by me. I don't think it's really an appropriate thing to be played with at school anyway, so I'm not about to encourage them at school. But, I think it's pretty funny to watch peer pressure start so young. And, as a parent it's so hard to say no to it when their faces light up when you say yes and you know you've helped them fit in. Man, I'm in trouble when he starts whining for a car when he's sixteen. I hope he gets uglier because if he stays this cute, we are going to have to start taking out loans.
As you can see pedaling was optional. I like to call it the Bam-Bam approach. Remember the Flinstones? How they just used their feet to propel vehicles? No matter how much we tried to convince him that he would be able to go faster using the pedals, he was convinced that this way was easier.
Well, he's been begging, pleading and all out whining that he wants a Toy Story scooter for his birthday. He has a Toy Story bike sitting in the garage gathering dust because he rides it as above. Ugh. I told him he needs to show me he's a big boy and can ride his bike before I think about getting him one (even though I know he can ride a scooter and already got him one...I'm a sucker).
So, we went out and practiced yesterday. He was thrilled to find out how fast he can go when he goes downhill and the wind pushes him forward. You don't even have to pedal!
Yep, I think we might be done practicing for a while. This morning he said, "Mommy, blood tastes yucky."
In my defense, he did finally get the knack of pedaling for about ten seconds before the disaster. And as horrible of a parent as I look for videoing his bloody disaster, I carried him two blocks home, plus his bike, and his monkey. I don't think I've ever felt so guilty in my life for not catching him. He was inches away from me when he went down. I felt like I failed him. I don't think I've ever given him such a big scoop of ice cream. I told him everyone falls when they learn to ride a bike and everyone gets ice cream when they do (secretly saying to myself, when every one's mother lets them down that is). Um, the kid had training wheels on, so it was a pretty miraculous fall too. He's definitely my child.
I have a confession: I'm a grown woman who doesn't know how to purchase make-up. At all. Seriously.
I buy it only when I run out of whatever I last bought, and that usually means they have discontinued whatever it is I last bought because I wear so little, and so rarely, that it has been that long between purchases and I end up in a cold sweat in the drugstore aisle pondering what the hell to buy. Whipped foundation? Really? Am I supposed to eat it?
So, as I watched my foundation getting all oily and gucky over the last few days/weeks/months, I thought to myself, I'd get on the ball and start eyeballing the stuff early and maybe decide what to get ahead of time. I started perusing the aisle during my prescription wait time, and making notes in my phone about what color I thought I might be, etc. They were always OUT of whatever color I actually was.
I finally got online last night and ordered some stuff and now I just have to wait for it to come so I can look beautiful (or exactly the same way I always do because it will sit in my cupboard and I will be afraid to apply it as it will come in a different form than the last item I owned and thus get all gucky).
I hate make-up. Why don't they have a make-up class in junior high? They should sit us all down and instruct us in the finer arts of being a girl so we don't end up being 32 years old and not know how to operate a mascara wand, eyeliner and curling irons. Seriously. I feel like I've failed somewhere. Thank God I don't have a daughter.
Someone come over and teach me these things. Especially the eye stuff. I look like shit lately. I think it might help trick people into thinking I'm sleeping more than 4-5 hours a night so they stop asking me, "are you doing okay?" and "boy, it's getting rough on you, isn't it?" I know they are being nice, and it's nice that they are concerned, and it's genuinely nice that they care, but not when I know that they care because I look like crap. I'm well aware that I look like crap. You would too if you slept on your desk and woke up with your face smeared into the spiral part of your notebook. Is there a makeup trick to cover that?
Ever since we let Collin in on the glory that is Star Wars (probably at too young an age, but oh well), he has been begging to ride the Star Wars ride at Disneyland. Alas, he's been too short. That happens when you were, perhaps, a little too little for Star Wars. We were given a brief reprieve from his begging when they closed it down for repairs a few months ago. However, the argument begs that all the "fun" stuff at Disneyland requires that you be, at minimum, 40-inches tall.
My friends, Collin is now 40 inches tall, as of our most recent trip. Oh, how we have been measuring him each and every time. He scurries over to the height sticks outside those rides every time and then skulks away ever-so-shy of the line. This time, this time, hooray! He makes it just by the hair on his chinny-chin-chin....or should I say on the top of his heady-head-head?
This was the hour-long wait for Space Mountain, his very first, real, serious, no-kidding, roller coaster. (I know I cut off the top of his head but the picture made me smile). No matter how much I prepared him for how fast it was going to go, I don't think I can put into words the look on his face when it stopped. I think he blinked more times in the first ten seconds than he has in his whole life, before he said, "that was really cool." Then he asked if it was a real rocket ship and wanted to go on it again immediately.
He decided however, that the Tower of Terror was not for him, as "saying goodbye to the real world," a-la Twilight Zone was a little too freaky for him. He said he wasn't scared, but that he didn't like it and would rather be in a rocket ship. Okay.
He did agree to stop growing now that he's tall enough for the Star Wars ride when it re-opens and that's fine by me because I took this picture of him sleeping last night because I always think he looks so weird when he sleeps and when I noticed his feet, I thought, my God, he looks like such a...BOY! Look at those things! They are boats! They aren't little baby chub things anymore. They are real, grown-up, people feet. What happened to him?
Oh well, I suppose he can get to 56 inches. That means he can ride everything. Then, that's IT! No more.
By the way, I had to pull the covers off to confirm that, indeed, my child was sleeping exactly the way that his mother does, diagonally across the entire bed, with one foot pulled up to the other knee, the way that a flamingo stands. It's weird how much how children act like us in the strangest of ways. Yes, I'm a joy to sleep with. I take up the whole bed. Oh, and if you are wondering why his pillow is pulled halfway down his bed? It's because he says the pattern of the sheets needs to line up with the pattern on the pillowcase. I swear. As to why he's covered in sweat? Because he refuses to sleep without blankets, or pajamas, despite his inclination to have the equivalent body temperature at night to a roasting ham. And yes, those are still the pajamas that the hospital gave us the night he threw up all over the e.r. He thinks they are magic and insists on wearing them. All. the. time.
This is what insult looks like. This is a sampling of a few of the books I used yesterday and the day before. It is not all of them.
I have literally been timing my breaks to fart around so I don't lose my mind. You know, to do things like look at strangers' pictures of their trip to exotic places like Cleveland, or how fat that girl from high school got; or online dream shopping for things that are completely inane, like pens, anything to pass the time. It has to be done.
Anyway, this is what adding insult to injury looks like. Can you spot the difference between these two pictures?
Too much information? Oh well. Now, I'm sick, tired and have cramps. Damn kids and their germs. Damn mother nature. Have I mentioned I'm tired and grumpy.
My end goal for the morning is to complete about three more hours of homework, shower and then take a nap before heading to class. See my goal. That bed hasn't been made in three days. It looks glorious to me despite how disgusting it looks to all of you. As hairy and awful as it seems, it looks like a slice of heaven to me. In fact, if Eddie stays still, I might just sleep on him. He's very snuggly.
Here, I feel better now knowing that I didn't have to listen to Justin Beiber a few dozen times while the kids practiced their dance at Austin's dance party. I'm still bummed about not being able to go, so I'm looking for the silver lining (and I just uploaded the pics so I needed an excuse to put one up). Goal #2: teach Collin how to zip up his fly better. Goal #3, teach all of our children that they should not be gangstas because they are just too white. Goal #4, come up with some sort of gangsta outreach slogan that gets out the message conveyed below--that their whole "thing" looks a lot like little self-hugs that are really just precious, so in all, hugs not gangs?
Wow, I'm really tired. Maybe I shouldn't revise. It's probably just crap anyway.
I generally consider my son to be a genius. Don't we all think our children will rule the world with their amazing wit, their compassion, their uncanny ability to amaze us?
Just this morning, Collin overheard a story on NPR about the Supreme Court's decision about the protesters at the military funerals and he picked up on the bit about how they were carrying signs that say, "God hates Fags"
He said, "Mommy, what are fags?
In my pause, he said, "And why would He hate anyone....I mean we are all the same, right? Is this the God from Constance's story that He was the good guy in?"
I was blown away (aside from him ending his sentence in a preposition). In my constant struggle to make sure that I raise my boy to be considerate and respectful of other people's beliefs because ours are so different, I make a supreme effort to explain that we don't make a big deal about God to others, and here I was with a little boy who got the most important part of all; that yes, we are all the same. Over the weekend, I'd told him a condensed version of Chaucer's, "Man of Law's Tale" because it makes a great adventure story and God comes off pretty great in that story and I think it is important for him to understand that, despite us not necessarily believing in Him in our family; but, I digress.
I was walking around so proud of my genius son who understood compassion and humanity; and then, he came home today singing this new version of the alphabet song.
My son has known his letters for a long time now, although you wouldn't know it based on his rendition of whatever this is.
Collin celebrated Austin's 5th birthday at a hip-hop dance party. I guess if you have a big sister who takes dance classes and does recitals, you are kind of interested in those things and, as Bryon and I discussed, are much more mellow. If you are an only child, like my son, you are an insane beast who would rather have a party on a spaceship in which all the guests were given real guns to shoot each other in the eye and then beat one another with their severed arms. Maybe it would be fun to have two children once in a while, if only for the peaceful party ideas. Collin is actually having a birthday party this year (his first one since his first birthday--I know, I'm cruel) but it will be at a paint-your-own-pottery place. I'm looking forward to placing bets on which child accidentally breaks their pottery piece while painting.
Anyway, I didn't get to go to the hip hop party because in no particular order, this is my homework list from the weekend:
-Read ALL of Edward II (in case you are wondering, it is a Renaissance play about a homosexual king who is killed by his nobles because they are mad that he tries to share the kingdom with his boyfriend)--this is about 65 pages of that itty bity print that you remember from college
-Read criticism of said play so I can write a paper about it--forty pages of really boring stuff
-Try to write said paper (still working on it)
-Translate Old English version of the Bible's, "Fall of Man" (Old English by the way, is HARD)
-Read and summarize two critical articles about two medieval pieces (both about 25-30 pages apiece)
-Read Chaucer's "Man of Law's Tale" in Middle English
I finished everything but the paper. It's due on Thursday and I'm still chugging away on it. I've got almost no clue what to write on because the article sucked. Maybe I could just say that. I feel like the woman just droned on for 45 pages and said nothing.
Alas, I feel like I should have gone to watch Collin do this.
I feel confident that my son will not become the next Patrick Swayze. He dances like I do. Plus, Patrick doesn't take hug breaks and have to be prodded (gently, and then aggressively) to get back out there and finish his dance. Although, his dancing is pretty adorable, no?
By the way, he now says that Justin Beiber is "cool." Thanks Jen. He's not. Ugh. When we were listening to my iPod this morning, he heard a Weezer song and said, "is that your Justin Beiber?" When I said, "no, Justin Beiber is icky," he got all angry and said, "I love him!"
I love school so much that I know I'm in the right field but I miss so much lately. I'm so busy that I forget to switch the laundry for days at a time, forget where I put my shoes and have to wear different ones, forget whether I brushed my teeth so have to go back and do it again. It's one crazy year. I just wish it were over sometimes!
I'm Mommy to the best boy on the planet and wife of the best husband. What more could I ask for? I am enjoying my life of loving my family and writing, writing, writing and even getting used to getting rejection letters, sprinkled with a few acceptances here and there.