we are going on a sixteen day vacation in a few days.
that makes me nervous.
we are going on vacation with another family.
that makes me doubly nervous.
i probably won't be posting for a while.
but when we come back?
i'm gonna totally get into this blog thing.
it's my new (school) year resolution.
it was almost two years ago when i first saw raccoons in this city of a half million.
my how times change.
that was a whole house ago, and back when i had a single child who was only one.
now we live six blocks down the street, there are two kids running around our house, and the raccoons come to visit us nearly every night.
the dogs have a special Raccoon-Alert! noise that they make, not exactly a bark, more of a BOO! to scare off the critters. of course the critters are not at all worried about the dogs who are safely behind the gate watching as the ring-tails snack on the cat's Friskies Buffet.
after the sun sets, i hear the dog noise and announce, "raccoons!" my husband and i pull back the curtains and watch, amazed at the lotors' enormity, as they watch us while they eat, like we are the dinner show.
it was so hot the other night that the doors next to the cat food were open with a baby gate blocking the opening so they wouldn't come waltzing in, a mere visual cue separating The Wild from Civilization.
the routine went as usual, except i got a little brave and stepped over the gate to see how close i could get with my camera. by the time i managed to figure out that i needed the flash, and that i had to engage the flash manually, the bowl of food was empty and our friend sauntered off and up our giant tree.
i will never work for national geographic.
my fifteen year old cousin stayed with us for a few days last week and we managed to sneak away to get pedicures. when The Boy saw our lovely toes he expressed the need for some polish as well.
with some groups of our friends, this is a given; everyone deserves a little color splash, and their boys regularly wear blue, black, green, or some other "boy" color on their toes.
with other parents we know, they notice and either are so bamboozled that they don't say anything, or they say something like, "oh, well, milo. i just looove your nail polish," and then they flash me that you're-such-a-wacky-mom-you-know-you're-gonna-turn-your-son-gay look.
and then there are the strangers in stores and restaurants who are always telling him how pretty his hair is and, "excuse me little lady, what would you like to drink with your pizza?"
they really do like his daring choice of nail color.
i have had a song stuck in my head for months. it is from a Thomas and Friends DVD, a bonus feature, they claim. i call it a torture device. i can't remember the last time i've heard the actual song, yet it comes and goes from my consciousness on a regular basis, sometimes visiting for days at a time, and it chooses the strangest times to arrive.
this afternoon i packed The Kids in the car after a short beach visit with friends and headed home which is always a somewhat frantic drive no matter what time of day, what beach, or how much planning went into the venture. i'm driving through urban sunday traffic and blammo! "blahblahblah. you can jump SO high you can touch THE sky da-da-dadada just like fam-i-lee!" or something, i don't even know the words. if i knew the words i could just start at the beginning of the song, sing it to the end, and then? completion. i believe it would go away. i never get a song in my head that i know all the words to. nothing i would enjoy myself with. no catchy showtunes from my childhood, no fun camp ditties i can teach to my tots. that would be far too productive.
how does have a hectic few minutes with kids and traffic spark such a thing? i can understand why if someone were to say, for example, "she is a weaver," it would cause any sane person to respond, "ooo-ooo-OOO dreeeam weeeav-ah!" and perhaps for that phrase to stick around for a bit since no one knows the rest of the words without the music playing. but then the phone would ring, or a diaper would need changing and it would be gone until more talk of looms arose.
it pops up at odd times and it won't go away. i have the little beat - da-da-dadada - going around and around. and it is little. and so few words. so i make up my own. i set my personal dialogue to the tune, or the fraction of a tune, and i sing that, like a lunatic: "heymilo. get out of THE sand and go wash YOUR hands da-da-dadada and eat with the fam-i-lee!" it doesn't help.
perhaps this is my personal form of OCD. a little switch in my brain can't shut off, so it loops. if it isn't this particularly annoying song, it's another one, or even a phrase, usually one spoken with a distinct accent ("you talkin' to me? you talkin' to ME?" comes to mind.) for all i know there is a diagnosis for this, and a corresponding prescription. surely i only need to tune in to the commercials during 60 Minutes to find my cure.
well, he's been at it again.
spending all his free home-time in his office, obsessing over photos.
to help with the worthwhileness, i link to him HERE,
and in the sites sidebar.
and i say, thank you, honey.
my husband has finally discovered the joys of flickr. now it is much easier for me to steal his photos.
this little girl does not get enough credit:
she is so pleasant. she is happy. she is pretty. she is smart. and she sleeps at night.
when people meet her, and she looks at them with her shiny blue eyes, they say she has a deep soul.
or an old soul? they feel like she can see into their respective souls.
she is positive. she has "good energy". she is the one, we feel, who will guide the other three of us, the one who will lift us up, will make us smile, will make us want to be like her.
she does cry. a little. but who doesn't?
thank you for the pretty pictures, honey.
