Sarah and Colin were at the table today for lunch having their favorite meal: hot dogs. They love the kind with the cheese in them.
The two of them have gotten very creative in their eating. Now Sarah has always had a bit of an imagination. She can sit for an infinite amount of time playing by herself and any little objects she can imagine into little people. There have been fork and spoon people, cup people, her stuffed animals of course. She sits and pretends they are moms and dads or sometimes they are Gracie and Colin. She talks away in her own little world. It is truly fascinating to watch and listen to.
Colin has started doing just about everything that Sarah does lately, including talking to the "little people." Today the hot dogs were moms and dads. They were talking away to each other, making them hop up and down and such. Colin turned his hot dogs to Sarah's hot dogs and said "Mom. Mom. Where are you?" Sarah replied, "Sorry Colin, Mom got ate."
They say that kids who have imaginary friends and such are the more creative and intelligent children. One can only hope.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
9/11
I can not believe it has been 6 years since this horrid day will forever be remembered in United States history.
I, like everyone else, remember what I was doing when I first heard the news. I was at my job at FedEx. I had only been there one month at the time. I remember our boss coming to tell us what was going on. Details were very sketchy at first. I was scared to death being at an airport working, not knowing yet what was truly going on. We didn't know how many attacks had happened or how many were to come. We didn't have access to TV, only second hand information we were getting from our bosses when they heard something. It was a long, scary, day.
I remember after I got home and started watching what was going on I wanted to hug my daughter and my husband tight. The realization that something like that could happen here truly sank in.
The people that were killed that day went to work, or got on a flight like millions of people do every day believing they would come home. They didn't.
I believe that up until that point I naively thought I was safe in the United States. We didn't live in a country where things like that happened. That was always someone else's problem.
Living very near the airport, I am used to seeing and hearing airplanes go over my house with regularity. When they stopped all airplanes from flying that next day it was very disturbing to look up at the sky and see nothing, to hear nothing.
As the story unfolded over the next days and weeks I was stunned and mortified. With each detail I kept asking how and why this happened.
It was senseless and tragic and a day I will never forget. I didn't know anyone killed on that day but it has affected me in a different way. Every time I unwillingly get on an airplane, or someone that I love does, I wonder if I will see them again. Every time an airplane goes over my house just a little too low, I wonder. At work, if I see a package that just doesn't seem right, I wonder.
The United States has changed dramatically since 9/11. Some good, some bad. I still would never want to live anywhere else in the world. The way this country came together after that day to help and to heal each other was amazing to see. Strangers helping strangers, just because. We, as a nation, were attacked, and we, as a nation, were going to persevere.
I pray that nothing like this will ever happen again. I know, unfortunately that this is probably not true. Even one more life lost in such tragedy will be too many.
I, like everyone else, remember what I was doing when I first heard the news. I was at my job at FedEx. I had only been there one month at the time. I remember our boss coming to tell us what was going on. Details were very sketchy at first. I was scared to death being at an airport working, not knowing yet what was truly going on. We didn't know how many attacks had happened or how many were to come. We didn't have access to TV, only second hand information we were getting from our bosses when they heard something. It was a long, scary, day.
I remember after I got home and started watching what was going on I wanted to hug my daughter and my husband tight. The realization that something like that could happen here truly sank in.
The people that were killed that day went to work, or got on a flight like millions of people do every day believing they would come home. They didn't.
I believe that up until that point I naively thought I was safe in the United States. We didn't live in a country where things like that happened. That was always someone else's problem.
Living very near the airport, I am used to seeing and hearing airplanes go over my house with regularity. When they stopped all airplanes from flying that next day it was very disturbing to look up at the sky and see nothing, to hear nothing.
As the story unfolded over the next days and weeks I was stunned and mortified. With each detail I kept asking how and why this happened.
It was senseless and tragic and a day I will never forget. I didn't know anyone killed on that day but it has affected me in a different way. Every time I unwillingly get on an airplane, or someone that I love does, I wonder if I will see them again. Every time an airplane goes over my house just a little too low, I wonder. At work, if I see a package that just doesn't seem right, I wonder.
The United States has changed dramatically since 9/11. Some good, some bad. I still would never want to live anywhere else in the world. The way this country came together after that day to help and to heal each other was amazing to see. Strangers helping strangers, just because. We, as a nation, were attacked, and we, as a nation, were going to persevere.
I pray that nothing like this will ever happen again. I know, unfortunately that this is probably not true. Even one more life lost in such tragedy will be too many.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Colin
I guess it's about time I told you a little bit about my baby boy Colin. Listen to me, he will be 3 in January. I never thought I could handle a boy. I was scared to death of what to do with one should I ever have one. First of all, I never thought I would have one. I was just sure that God knew me well enough to not have a boy.
I am very wimpy when it comes to discipline and little boys need that constantly. They also have penises and testicles. I don't know what to do with questions about these things. I don't have them. I didn't have brothers. I don't know what little boys do, what is normal.
Potty training! Don't get me started. Did you know they shake it off when they are done? See, I didn't know this. Did you also know they love to start and stop peeing, like in mid-steam? He grins ear to ear when doing this, all while peeing down his leg and all over the toilet. I also wasn't prepared for the hand down the diaper like Al Bundy either. Yeah, they love it that early. He's 2 for heavens sake!
He runs constantly. He doesn't just walk through the den, he runs full force, does a few cartwheel-flip things, all the way through, then crashes into me like he's trying to tackle me.
He makes noises all the time. He grunts, and screams, then grunts some more. For no reason apparently. He is like a little caveman.
He likes to stick his head in mud puddles. I have a few pictures of him with his head full of mud and running down his little face with the biggest grin on it.
On the other hand.....
He brought me 3 leaves the other day and said "These for you Momma." My heart melted.
Whenever I wear earrings or a necklace he jumps up in my lap, grabs my face, looks directly in my eyes and says "You pretty Momma."
He holds my hand when we walk from the car to the store.
He screams in excitement when I come home from work every morning.
He helped me mop the floor the other morning and he always puts his dishes in the sink when he is done eating.
My husband, God bless him, has been my savior in this adventure so far. I could not have made this far with out him and him telling me "It's ok Mandie. He's just being a little boy."
I guess God did know what he was doing.
I am very wimpy when it comes to discipline and little boys need that constantly. They also have penises and testicles. I don't know what to do with questions about these things. I don't have them. I didn't have brothers. I don't know what little boys do, what is normal.
Potty training! Don't get me started. Did you know they shake it off when they are done? See, I didn't know this. Did you also know they love to start and stop peeing, like in mid-steam? He grins ear to ear when doing this, all while peeing down his leg and all over the toilet. I also wasn't prepared for the hand down the diaper like Al Bundy either. Yeah, they love it that early. He's 2 for heavens sake!
He runs constantly. He doesn't just walk through the den, he runs full force, does a few cartwheel-flip things, all the way through, then crashes into me like he's trying to tackle me.
He makes noises all the time. He grunts, and screams, then grunts some more. For no reason apparently. He is like a little caveman.
He likes to stick his head in mud puddles. I have a few pictures of him with his head full of mud and running down his little face with the biggest grin on it.
On the other hand.....
He brought me 3 leaves the other day and said "These for you Momma." My heart melted.
Whenever I wear earrings or a necklace he jumps up in my lap, grabs my face, looks directly in my eyes and says "You pretty Momma."
He holds my hand when we walk from the car to the store.
He screams in excitement when I come home from work every morning.
He helped me mop the floor the other morning and he always puts his dishes in the sink when he is done eating.
My husband, God bless him, has been my savior in this adventure so far. I could not have made this far with out him and him telling me "It's ok Mandie. He's just being a little boy."
I guess God did know what he was doing.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Confession
I have a confession to make. I decided to do this publicly because I knew I wouldn't be able to hide this from husband for long. He reads my blog so he will see this soon enough.
I have an iPod. No, that's not the confession. It's what I put on my iPod. I have bought lots and lots of songs since I was given this amazing gadget, by my husband, ironically. I am addicted to this thing. I think my husband secretly wishes I would lose the thing now. We have gone round and round about the songs I put on it.
You see I love the 80's and every horrible song in that decade. I also love the 50's. This is my mom's fault. I grew up on that music. Love it! Anyways, everytime I buy a song he rolls his eyes. He said jokingly just the other day, and I quote, "If I knew you loved every song I ever hated, I don't think I would have married you." What I just purchased may cause divorce. Mind you, the songs are only .99 but some of my songs I know my husband would pay to have erased from music history. A few examples include:
Cyndi Lauper-basically anything she ever sang
Celine Dion-see Cyndi Lauper
Elton John-Don't get me started on the conversations we have had about him!
Pink-He says only teenagers listen to her
I have secretly loved "Mandy" by Barry Manilow for years. I know, please don't hate. This song came out the year I was born, as well as a Don Williams song "Amanda". I think this is where my name came from as well as my nickname "Mandie". For years I have sighed and rolled my eyes at the mention of the Manilow song. I don't know when I started to like it but I certainly could never admit it. Well, I just spent .99 of our hard earned money on this song. I also bought two other songs but I just don't think he can handle too much at one time.
If he kicks me out you may find me homeless, with my sign saying:
"Please Help, Need Money For iTunes."
I have an iPod. No, that's not the confession. It's what I put on my iPod. I have bought lots and lots of songs since I was given this amazing gadget, by my husband, ironically. I am addicted to this thing. I think my husband secretly wishes I would lose the thing now. We have gone round and round about the songs I put on it.
You see I love the 80's and every horrible song in that decade. I also love the 50's. This is my mom's fault. I grew up on that music. Love it! Anyways, everytime I buy a song he rolls his eyes. He said jokingly just the other day, and I quote, "If I knew you loved every song I ever hated, I don't think I would have married you." What I just purchased may cause divorce. Mind you, the songs are only .99 but some of my songs I know my husband would pay to have erased from music history. A few examples include:
Cyndi Lauper-basically anything she ever sang
Celine Dion-see Cyndi Lauper
Elton John-Don't get me started on the conversations we have had about him!
Pink-He says only teenagers listen to her
I have secretly loved "Mandy" by Barry Manilow for years. I know, please don't hate. This song came out the year I was born, as well as a Don Williams song "Amanda". I think this is where my name came from as well as my nickname "Mandie". For years I have sighed and rolled my eyes at the mention of the Manilow song. I don't know when I started to like it but I certainly could never admit it. Well, I just spent .99 of our hard earned money on this song. I also bought two other songs but I just don't think he can handle too much at one time.
If he kicks me out you may find me homeless, with my sign saying:
"Please Help, Need Money For iTunes."
Saturday, September 1, 2007
I Told You So
This one is for my husband. I know I will never hear the end of it.
There are many lessons learned in life. Some hard, some not. This particular lesson I learned was definitely a hard one. My father tried to teach this lesson to me, and after I got married, my husband has tried to teach me.
Never let your gas tank get below 1/4 of a tank of gas. Sounds simple enough. The reasons are numerous as to why this is good practice. I experienced a few of these reasons while learning my hard lesson.
My day started out with almost 1/2 tank of gas. I went to lunch with a friend who works about 30 minutes away. After lunch I had to drive another 30 minutes to pick up another friend at school whose car had broke down. It was about this time that I felt the slight grumble in my stomach from lunch. No big deal, yet. We then drove to pick up her daughter from school and took them home.
By this time my gas tank is inching toward E and my stomach is slightly more angry at me for all the pizza I had at lunch.
My friend lives about 20 minutes from me. To get home from her house I have to drive through one of the worst neighborhoods in Memphis. She lives in a nice area of Memphis, but it is one of those places where if you go a mile or two in a particular direction you are in a place you don't want to be.
I know you are wondering why I don't stop and get gas when I am in a good neighborhood and my stomach is not so bad. Well, I am cheap, and an optimist. The gas is much more expensive in her neighborhood, and I think I can make it.
I am driving home and I know I won't be able to stop for gas for a little while and my stomach is hurting like hell now. I am in quite a dilemma. One, I don't want to stop in this neighborhood to get gas. Two, I don't want to run out of gas in this neighborhood. Three, I don't know if I can get out of the van to pump the gas now that I have to go to the bathroom so very badly. Four, if I run out of gas, I have to call my husband and tell him.
A quick side note: number four is very bad since I ran out of gas with him in my van not so long ago. There was walking, 100 degree heat, cussing,......very bad. I swore I would never let my tank get that low again. I will, in my own defense, say that was the first time I have ever run out of gas in my 15 year driving history. He was not impressed by this accomplishment in the least at the time.
I choose to ride it out until I get to Southaven, praying silently that we make it, and then when we do, I can get gas without having an accident.
We do make it to Southaven and I am able to get gas without a scene. After the gas station, I start a lecture to my two and four year old.
"Now listen guys. Mommy has to go to the potty very, very badly. Sarah, when we get onto our street I want you to unbuckle Colin. Colin, when we get home, I want you and Sarah to immediately follow me to the door and into the house. I don't want to have to ask you five times.
We get to our driveway and I'm like a drill sergeant. "Get out of the van! MOVE IT, MOVE IT!! Faster guys, faster!" They run as fast as their little legs can go. God bless them. We made it with no casualties.
There are many lessons learned in life. Some hard, some not. This particular lesson I learned was definitely a hard one. My father tried to teach this lesson to me, and after I got married, my husband has tried to teach me.
Never let your gas tank get below 1/4 of a tank of gas. Sounds simple enough. The reasons are numerous as to why this is good practice. I experienced a few of these reasons while learning my hard lesson.
My day started out with almost 1/2 tank of gas. I went to lunch with a friend who works about 30 minutes away. After lunch I had to drive another 30 minutes to pick up another friend at school whose car had broke down. It was about this time that I felt the slight grumble in my stomach from lunch. No big deal, yet. We then drove to pick up her daughter from school and took them home.
By this time my gas tank is inching toward E and my stomach is slightly more angry at me for all the pizza I had at lunch.
My friend lives about 20 minutes from me. To get home from her house I have to drive through one of the worst neighborhoods in Memphis. She lives in a nice area of Memphis, but it is one of those places where if you go a mile or two in a particular direction you are in a place you don't want to be.
I know you are wondering why I don't stop and get gas when I am in a good neighborhood and my stomach is not so bad. Well, I am cheap, and an optimist. The gas is much more expensive in her neighborhood, and I think I can make it.
I am driving home and I know I won't be able to stop for gas for a little while and my stomach is hurting like hell now. I am in quite a dilemma. One, I don't want to stop in this neighborhood to get gas. Two, I don't want to run out of gas in this neighborhood. Three, I don't know if I can get out of the van to pump the gas now that I have to go to the bathroom so very badly. Four, if I run out of gas, I have to call my husband and tell him.
A quick side note: number four is very bad since I ran out of gas with him in my van not so long ago. There was walking, 100 degree heat, cussing,......very bad. I swore I would never let my tank get that low again. I will, in my own defense, say that was the first time I have ever run out of gas in my 15 year driving history. He was not impressed by this accomplishment in the least at the time.
I choose to ride it out until I get to Southaven, praying silently that we make it, and then when we do, I can get gas without having an accident.
We do make it to Southaven and I am able to get gas without a scene. After the gas station, I start a lecture to my two and four year old.
"Now listen guys. Mommy has to go to the potty very, very badly. Sarah, when we get onto our street I want you to unbuckle Colin. Colin, when we get home, I want you and Sarah to immediately follow me to the door and into the house. I don't want to have to ask you five times.
We get to our driveway and I'm like a drill sergeant. "Get out of the van! MOVE IT, MOVE IT!! Faster guys, faster!" They run as fast as their little legs can go. God bless them. We made it with no casualties.
Once Bitten, Twice Shy
I was picking up Sarah from preschool yesterday and had my son Colin with me. We got there pretty early so we had time to kill. I turned the van off and let him out of his car seat. He found plenty to get into, including some gum.
Now Colin is always very particular when he opens his gum about always putting the wrapper in the trash. He opened the piece I gave him, gave me the wrapper, and went about his business. Little did I know at the time he snagged an extra piece. This will be relevant to the other part of the story.
It came to be close to time for Sarah to be coming out so I got up and had to wrestle him back in his car seat (which, by the way, sits directly behind my seat).
I was picking her buddy Jacob up also and I have to buckle him in his seat when he rides with us. I see the two of them come out of the building, and I get out of the van to go around to the side where he will be sitting. Well, when I got of the van I felt something in my pants. Get your mind out of the gutter - it felt like something had crawled down the back of my pants.
I stood there, frozen. I didn't know what to do. There are cars of parents lined up behind me, all eyes forward. Do I stick my hand down the back of my jeans to find out what in the world it is, completely and utterly mortified, or do I risk being stung or bitten by whatever I think is there?
My mind goes back to Halloween night about 25 years ago when I was completely stripped of my costume in the middle of the street by my father when I thought a bee had been trapped in there.
I choose to risk the sting or the bite. I walk as slowly as possible around the side of the van. I smile at the teacher, try to make small talk, praying silently that it won't hurt too bad. I buckle Jacob and walk back around to get in the van. I close the door and pull forward. My mind is racing and although I don't want to be stung or bitten, I don't want to stick my hand back there and find out what it is.
I finally do it and it is...........a gum wrapper.
Now Colin is always very particular when he opens his gum about always putting the wrapper in the trash. He opened the piece I gave him, gave me the wrapper, and went about his business. Little did I know at the time he snagged an extra piece. This will be relevant to the other part of the story.
It came to be close to time for Sarah to be coming out so I got up and had to wrestle him back in his car seat (which, by the way, sits directly behind my seat).
I was picking her buddy Jacob up also and I have to buckle him in his seat when he rides with us. I see the two of them come out of the building, and I get out of the van to go around to the side where he will be sitting. Well, when I got of the van I felt something in my pants. Get your mind out of the gutter - it felt like something had crawled down the back of my pants.
I stood there, frozen. I didn't know what to do. There are cars of parents lined up behind me, all eyes forward. Do I stick my hand down the back of my jeans to find out what in the world it is, completely and utterly mortified, or do I risk being stung or bitten by whatever I think is there?
My mind goes back to Halloween night about 25 years ago when I was completely stripped of my costume in the middle of the street by my father when I thought a bee had been trapped in there.
I choose to risk the sting or the bite. I walk as slowly as possible around the side of the van. I smile at the teacher, try to make small talk, praying silently that it won't hurt too bad. I buckle Jacob and walk back around to get in the van. I close the door and pull forward. My mind is racing and although I don't want to be stung or bitten, I don't want to stick my hand back there and find out what it is.
I finally do it and it is...........a gum wrapper.
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