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  • The Ring

    March 9, 2006

    This morning as I was getting Sean dressed, he was twisting my wedding ring around and around my finger. He has always like to fiddle with it and I always tell him when he does that Daddy bought this ring for Mommy when he promised God that he would love me forever. So this morning as he was playing with it, he looked up at me and said, “Daddy buy mommy ring!” Yes, I confirmed, Daddy bought mommy this ring. “At the gwo-cery store,” he added. No, I corrected him, Daddy did not buy it at the grocery store. He paused and thought for a moment before asking, “Home Pee-po?”

    No not Home Depot, but I would have married him even if he had.


    March 7, 2006

    I don’t watch the Oscars or keep up with celebrities. I just don’t really care. But the news story today of Dana Reeves dying of lung cancer has left me feeling like I swallowed a canatloupe in one gulp. I can only think of her two young kids left behind, without a mom or a dad. Everytime I’ve looked at my boy today I have wanted to scoop him up and promise him that his mommy and daddy will never leave him — a promise that Dana has reminded me is not mine to make.

    Fire Ants

    The ides of March are upon us. Technically, it is still winter, but yesterday, it was 85 degrees. I wore flip flops, shorts and a tank top as Sean and I set off into the neighborhood to goof off. Wearing shorts in March might sound like a good thing, but there is a price to be paid for it in fire ants.As we walked towards the pond, the late afternoon sun made lacy shadows that shimmered and danced on the sidewalk under the canopy of trees. We stopped to admire the shadows and observe a parade of ants frantically marching to and fro in the crack. Squatting catcher-style, we watched them furiously shoving past one another, each one desperate to complete some invisible task. Sean held me back with one hand in a protective manner and waved the other hand over the army of ants to indicate danger. “Ants,” he said looking up at me solemnly. Then he repeated what he has heard us say over and over, “Ants bite. Don’t touch.” The sting of a fire ant bite is unfortunately something with which all Texans become all too familiar all too soon. And it seems each year they get bigger and meaner.

    With no cold weather this winter to freeze off their fire-y little behinds, the fire ants have been hanging out all winter in their subterranean dens of iniquity pumping iron, drinking protein drinks and making fun of humans.

    Which brings me to a new marketing slogan I have for our northern neighbors:Canada! No fire ants here!

    When it’s 85 in March, you know it’s going to be a long summer.

    Spitting Image

    March 3, 2006

    Since Sean’s first dental checkup, I have been trying to impress upon him the importance of good dental hygiene and brushing properly. Several times a day, I pull a stool up to the sink for him to stand on and show him how to brush, rinse and spit. The brushing part he has down pretty good. Spitting? Not so much.

    This morning, after breakfast, it went like this:

    AM: Okay, now go like this (leaning over the sink) P’toooey! (daintily pretending to spit into the sink)
    Sean: Puh-tooey! (I hear a thud as he bumps his head on the bottom of the sink) Mommy I spitted!

    He emerges from the depths of the sink, still foaming at the mouth with toothpaste. The concept of spitting suddenly strikes him as hysterical and he sprays my face with the watermelon toothpaste that was supposed to go into the sink.

    AM: (wiping toothpaste from my eye) No, Sweetie. You actually spit the toothpaste out of your mouth – like this – Puh-tooey! – and into the sink.
    Sean: Pfuhthooey! Like a whay-yull!
    AM: A whale?
    Sean: Jonah! Ptooh!
    AM: Yes, like a whale spitting out Jonah, only toothpaste. And into the sink.

    Later on, after lunch, I changed Sean’s diaper and then stood him up on the changing table to get his pants on him. As we stood there eyeball to eyeball, my sweet precious boy splatters me like Jackson Pollack.

    Sean: Mommy I spitted! Fffffft (sucking up a gravity-defying line of spittle)
    AM: (shocked) Sean DO NOT spit! That was NOT nice! Spitting is UN-acceptable, except for when you are brushing your teeth. You may only spit in the sink after brushing your teeth. Do you understand me?
    Sean: Pfffthoot! Ffffffth. Slurp. (giggle)
    AM: OK. That does it. Daddy, can you come in here and have a chat with your boy?
    AD: (using his authoritative Dad-voice) Sean, spitting is not acceptable.
    Sean: (Smiles broadly, hoping to charm AD out of a reprimand with his unbearable cuteness of being.)
    AD: Sean, I am not kidding. It’s not funny. Spitting will not be tolerated. I’m quite serious about that young man. (pauses for parental dramatic effect) Now wipe that smile off your face.
    Sean: Sorry Daddy (He grabs a baby wipe, vigorously wipes the smile off his face, then contritely hands it to Antique Daddy.)

    They say it takes more muscles to frown than to laugh. But today I found out that it takes twice as many muscles to not laugh when you are supposed to be frowning.

    I taught him how to spit. It will be up to his dad to teach him how to scratch.

    PP is not PC

    March 2, 2006

    This morning, Sean comes into the kitchen after I hear him being bounced out of Antique Daddy’s office.

    Sean: (complaining) Daddy working on his pee-pee.
    AM: Huh?
    Sean: Daddy made me leave. He not let me touch his pee-pee.

    (Long pause as I frantically search the Sean-English Dictionary)

    AM: PC! Daddy won’t let you touch his PC! Say it with me Sean, Pee- CEE! Pee – CEE!

    Life’s most embarrassing moments are still ahead of me, aren’t they?