When Sean expressed an interest in my camera the other day, I briefly showed him how to use it and then I handed it to him and told him to take off, go crazy, go take some pictures and then come back and we’d take a look at them. 

When I looked at his pictures, I noticed Mr. Monkey wore a disapproving expression, much like the Disapproving Rabbits, thus inspiring Sean’s first photography show:

“Mr. Monkey Disapproves – A Retrospective”

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Mr. Monkey disapproves of other toys.

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Mr. Moneky disapproves of baseball.

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Mr. Monkey disapproves of stripes.

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Mr. Monkey disapproves of old lady with washing machine.

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Mr. Monkey disapproves of blog readers.

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Mr. Monkey disapproves of bearded guys who read the newspaper on the sofa.

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The artist and his muse.

‘Mommy, can I get a bicycle for my birthday?” Sean asked from the backseat as we were driving home from school yesterday.

“I think that it is a very strong possibility that you will get a bicycle,” I said.

“Oh.”

Several moments of complicated thought-processing silence followed. Then he asked:

“How do we get a bicycle?”

Oh goody! A chance to talk about money.

“Well, you know daddy works all day, he talks on the phone and helps his company make money.  At the end of every month they give us money for daddy’s work and then when we need something or want something like a bicycle, we take our money to the store and trade it for what we need. Sometimes, though we have to save up enough money to buy something really special, like a bicycle. And then the store, they take our money and pay the people who work there and then those people can buy food and bicycles for their children.”

Another moment of thoughtful silence.

“No!  I mean how do we get the bicycle on the checkout?  Will I ride it on the checkout?”

So much for Economics 101.

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I didn’t see the resemblance at the time…

Sean is really into Melissa & Doug floor puzzles these days.  We have a growing library of puzzles of increasing complexity and it’s fascinating to sit on the floor and watch the mind of a three-year-old work through the reasoning that is required to complete a puzzle. 

Our current favorite puzzle is a 100-piece depiction of Noah and the animals exiting the ark.  Sean can work it without too much assistance which impresses his mother mightily.  Of course his mother is also impressed with how he inhales and exhales and blinks.  So then, that is to say, I’m easily impressed when it comes to my boy.

The other night we were sitting on the floor putting together this puzzle when Sean picked out the piece with Noah’s foot on it and examined it closely.   He passed it to me and said, “Look Mom.  Noah wore flip flops.”

Indeed he did.  And he wore a dress too.

Just like PMS, only with more pouting.

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I found this book in an antique store in downtown Tuna.  It made me laugh for a variety of reasons.  Not the least of which is the use of the word “fascinating” in reference to Jell-O.  Jello-O does not make the list of things I find fascinating.  The other reason I laughed is because I am tacky and have a 10-year-old boy living inside my head.

As I waited for Sean to finish his Party Burrito at Taco Bueno the other day, I picked up a newspaper that someone had left behind in our booth.  I never read the newspaper anymore, so it was kind of a treat. 

The first page I came to was the obituaries and I scanned them out of morbid curiosity.

There was a picture of a handsome man that caught my eye and so I read his obituary hoping to discover what had happened to him.  So I could then feel better about my own mortality. Somehow.

Anyway, this is what I read, exactly in this format:

“Bob was also an

uncleand friend.” 

Whaa?  Was this a statement on his salvation or his hygiene? And is this really the time to bring it up?

Rest in peace Uncleand Bob and thanks for the inappropriate laugh.

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My computer died suddenly Friday night after a long and protracted illness.  She had been sick for some time with the vapors but late Friday, she gave one long loud gasp and she was gone.  So Saturday we took the money we should have spent on tires for my car and got me a new ‘puter!

At any rate, I now have room for all of my pictures on my computer and as I was downloading them (uploading? whatever) I came across a few pictures that reminded me just how far we’ve come as parents which is to say, not that far.  Not only is Sean a yummy delicious tax deduction, but he is an endless source of entertainment.

 Here’s one of Sean in MeMaws store window when he was about four months old that we took to amuse ourselves and passers by  in Downtown Tuna.

As we were standing in line waiting for the train at the zoo this morning, I looked down to see Sean poking his index finger deeply into the fluffy behind of the grandmotherly lady who was standing in front of us, which was unfortunately, at his eye level and apparently just too much to resist.

My eyes grew as big as saucers.

Just then, she turned to see what was going on. Caught red handed, Sean immediately put his hands behind his back and put on his practiced expression of remorse.

“Sean!” I admonished. “That is not nice. Keep your hands to yourself!”

I was mortified. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized and then I pressed Sean to offer his own apology.

“Sorry,” he said hanging his head. “It just wooked so squishy.”

“You’re just too irresistible!” I teased her hoping to diffuse the situation with humor. Luckily she took it well and laughed.

Then she bent over and cupped Sean’s face in her hands and said, “You my friend, are irresistible.”

You know, I go to considerable effort to teach Sean good manners. He is quick to say please and thank you. But it never once occurred to me that I would have to TELL HIM not to poke little old ladies in the butt.

Today was one of those days when I just couldn’t seem to create any forward motion. I had plans to get things done, to get dressed, to brush my teeth, to move about in a productive manner.  But alas, it was nearly time for lunch and I had accomplished nothing more than a brisk 30-minute walk on the treadmill.  And I only got that done because I parked my child in front of the television.

And that is about the time the doorbell rang.

So, I jumped off the treadmill and hastily pulled on a tank top over my sweaty jog bra and my 1980s paint-splattered jogging shorts, the one with the L-shaped rip on the leg.  And then I zipped down the stairs in a cloud of perspiration to greet the Publishing Clearing House team.

But it was not Ed McMahon.  It was a gal from church.  Wearing a stylish pale blue matching shorts set. And probably deodorant.

With no other option at my disposal, I decided to rise above it in a Kathryn Hepburn sort of way and just pretend that I did not smell like last night’s Long John Silvers or have sweaty wet hair sticking to my neck or my tank top on inside out. And with my spine straight and my neck stretched tall, I opened the door and greeted her. 

To her credit, she came in when I invited her and didn’t even wrinkle her nose.  I had agreed to help out with Vacation Bible School and she was dropping off the lesson material, as she said she would. About that time, Sean ran past wearing nothing but a pajama top.

Yet she handed me the lesson material anyway and is entrusting me to instruct small children in the ways of the Lord. 

I’m not sure if that represents her degree of faith in what God can do with someone like me or her degree of desperation for VBS teachers.