I got my shirt stuck in my braces.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Post Modern Mess
Four days ago I was in a delightful mood. My home was the closest thing to clean it had been in a long time, I had a homemade cheesecake in my fridge, ten pounds of meatballs in my slow cooker, three loaves of garlic bread in my oven, and I was about to celebrate the two year anniversary of the birth of my precious Israel Quinn. From my happy spot I gave my sister Alyssa a green light to bestow upon my beloved baby boy any gift she'd like (our mother used to consider gifts of play dough personal threats and wholeheartedly assumed the giver hated her guts, so Alyssa asked if there were any restrictions before doing her shopping) and even suggested a few things this little fella loved but did not have.
This is how the Crayola Pip Squeak Markers made their way into my home. For three days I've practiced the same deep breathing techniques I used while bringing Israel into the world many, many, many times; every time I found him coloring on the walls instead of on paper. For three days I've chanted, "This was your idea" and "This too shall pass" as I wiped down trim, walls, windows, Dorothy's face, and furniture; even as I tossed our throw pillows and blankets into the wash. "He's just learning and growing. Be patient." "Maybe he'll be an artist."
I watched a documentary on WWII and thought of it every time I came near to losing my s#!t on the boy. We've really never known a bad day. A marker "destroying" your home isn't the same as a bomb destroying your home. We are lucky to have each other, and a home, and even markers.
Thirteen and a half years of operating under the title of MOM really makes stuff like this not such a big deal anyway. I was a little ashamed of myself for even feeling the slightest bit frustrated. No point in flipping out. He'll get bored of graffiti, or the markers will dry out, or he'll lose them all. It will all be water under the bridge before I know it...
Then this afternoon I walked into the dining room and caught him drawing on the wall with a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone.
I lost my mother f^(*!^g mind.
This is how the Crayola Pip Squeak Markers made their way into my home. For three days I've practiced the same deep breathing techniques I used while bringing Israel into the world many, many, many times; every time I found him coloring on the walls instead of on paper. For three days I've chanted, "This was your idea" and "This too shall pass" as I wiped down trim, walls, windows, Dorothy's face, and furniture; even as I tossed our throw pillows and blankets into the wash. "He's just learning and growing. Be patient." "Maybe he'll be an artist."
I watched a documentary on WWII and thought of it every time I came near to losing my s#!t on the boy. We've really never known a bad day. A marker "destroying" your home isn't the same as a bomb destroying your home. We are lucky to have each other, and a home, and even markers.
Thirteen and a half years of operating under the title of MOM really makes stuff like this not such a big deal anyway. I was a little ashamed of myself for even feeling the slightest bit frustrated. No point in flipping out. He'll get bored of graffiti, or the markers will dry out, or he'll lose them all. It will all be water under the bridge before I know it...
Then this afternoon I walked into the dining room and caught him drawing on the wall with a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone.
I lost my mother f^(*!^g mind.
Friday, October 2, 2015
A Quick Question...
How do your children let you know they are hungry?
Enzo just came to me and proclaimed, "I require nourishment", and I can't help but feel like this isn't exactly the norm. Help me out here.
Enzo just came to me and proclaimed, "I require nourishment", and I can't help but feel like this isn't exactly the norm. Help me out here.
Eskimo Kisses?
Yesterday Israel climbed up into my lap and rested his sweet, soft head on my chest. "I lub you", he exhaled. Then he sat up and put a chubby hand on each side of my face before bashing the bridge of my nose full force, with his forehead.
Today my mother pointed out to me, as if she was seeing me for the first time in thirty six years, that my nose happens to be crooked. Needless to say, I was not surprised.
Today my mother pointed out to me, as if she was seeing me for the first time in thirty six years, that my nose happens to be crooked. Needless to say, I was not surprised.
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