on wallets...and memory

Yesterday I told a complete stranger on the telephone that I loved her. But this was after she told me that, yes, I had left the afore-described wallet at their office the day before.

It was even my makeshift wallet. A small zip bag stuffed with receipts, a bank card, one $10 bill and a handful of half-used gift cards. It was a bit embarrassing to claim the jumbled mess as my grown-up wallet. Life should really be more orderly at nearly 35.

The real wallet was lost right before Christmas. Which was good in a way (when I consider how much money cash doled out carefully by a Jim probably saved us).

Then there was the time a few years back when I left my bank card at Kyoto Bowl (I hope it’s not too painful for you to read that word when they’re closed now, Jim...I’ll make you some teriyaki soon). But, back to my point - who gets their food at a drive thru and drives away before retrieving their card?

Me.

My paternal grandmother had Alzheimer’s and I am fairly convinced that mine is the type of mind where such a disease will easily take root and thrive. She didn’t even use a wallet in her later days. I can’t help but wonder how many she lost over the years before developing the new system. Cash, tissues, important notes – all stuffed in her bra.  You never knew what wonder would emerge when her hand plunged past her collar.             

So, if you ever see me reaching down my shirt for a bank card or $10 bill, please find me help. A new wallet. And medication.

this & that

I started this blog years ago to keep a record of my life, yes.  But also because I have a need, urge, inclination for thematic writing.  It keeps me in tune with myself.  And I suppose that's the plain & simple truth behind why my entries have been so sparse lately.  I am 100% not in tune with myself.  And my thoughts now come in infrequent dribbles rather than thematic streams.  In a word, I'm distracted.  You'd think on a third pregnancy I'd finally master how to build a tiny human and be a normal human simultaneously.  Not even close.

My distraction manifest itself in the kitchen on Friday.  My friend Mandy's birthday and I wanted to make a little cake.  A simple thing..the work of a moment in my better days.  Well, Friday was not one of those better days.  First, I made the cake and it came out of the oven completely flat and hard.  A quick survey of my kitchen counter told me I had substituted baking powder for soda.  In a recipe I've made dozens of times.  Not acceptable.  So I tried again, fingers crossed, eyes double-checking each addition.  The timer buzzed and the layers looked perfect.  Until I grabbed one and dropped it upside down (onto the counter, luckily).  A complete mess.  I quickly tried to salvage the pieces by putting them back in the hot pan, pressing together and sticking it in the freezer.  But this meant that my cake would not have perfect sides.  So, remembering April's genius wedding cake from a few weeks back, I headed to the grocery store in search of pirouette cookies.   

It was a good save, but far more effort than any 6" cake should require.

In other non-thematic randomness...

I need to get a good close-up of this boy in his baseball uniform.  Little League has turned out to be a bit more than I bargained for...first, the fundraising.  Don't even get me started there.  Then...the day before the first game they hand us a patch that needs to be stitched onto their uniform shirt.  What?!  I knew the cub scout eventuality would require this of me for years, but that's still years away.  It took me a literal 40 minutes to handstitch the patch onto the arm of his shirt.  But the payment came in full when I tossed the finished product down the stairs and Aidan's little voice yelled up, "Thanks, Mom.  I knew I could count on you."  It seemed like such a mature, unexpected statement.  I would have happily sewn 10 patches for that comment alone. 

Another A comment that had me thinking on how grown up he has become...after his first game, we hopped in the car and he said, "One of my classmates was on the other team, Mom."  Do you know how much I love that he said "classmate" instead of "a boy in my class"?  Do you know how much I love being "Mom"?  I can't begin to say. 

further randomness...

My boys have been long overdue for haircuts.  It's the story of our lives really.  So I've been trying to convince the two of them to buzz it all off.  They have adamantly refused.  Until...we saw Jenna last week and she told Davyn that Tyler (his favorite person in the multiverse) would come cut his hair.  Suddenly the whole buzz thing seemed just fine in his little mind.

D has no ability to smile naturally for the camera in a posed picture.  He looks pained, but was actually quite happy.  Thank you Tyler & Jenna (for the haircuts and the visit!).

It was then Aidan's turn.  And his favorite person took over.  Dad (of course).

I was busy being stunned by the sheer amount of hair these boys had.  This was the pile on the floor after the two cuts:

So I guess with a theme of randomness, it doesn't really matter how I end this post.  Still, it pains me not to come up with something that ties everything together neatly.  But I've now sat here for five minutes and it seems far more productive to simply call it a night.  My bed is a truly lovely spot.

while I was sleeping...

I was flattened over the weekend by a sinus and ear infection, so Jim aptly took on the role of primary caregiver for the little men of the household.  He does it well.  But creative cookery is always a byproduct of his watch, and this morning when Aidan asked for pancakes I found out exactly what happened on Sunday through his very specific demands.Apparently we're out of syrup.  So the batter was dressed up with fruit loops.  Then topped (and I couldn't bear to take a picture of this) with the juices from a bottle of maraschino cherries. 

I shouldn't really be surprised.  Jim gets itchy fingers making pancakes.  They stray through every cupboard in search of a magical ingredient or substitution.  Much to my plain pancake prefering annoyance.

[I do steer clear of his mystery pancake batters, but also empathize with his urges.  My fingers get itchy making chocolate chip cookies (much to his annoyance).  Even when I set out to follow a recipe precisely, I seldom make it through without detours.  Plain chocolate chip cookies are okay, but a little bit of coconut..peanut butter..oatmeal...there's always something that makes them better!]

Needless to say, fruit loops and bottled cherry juice were not going on my pancakes.  So I sprinkled powdered sugar and squeezed an orange over the top.  And I have to say it was the best pancake I've had.  Syrup has nothing on this combo.

Then again, I can't get enough of oranges lately...perhaps a reflection of my secret hope to ward off colds forever.  The past week (plus!) has been rough.  And by the weekend my house was living proof. 

On Sunday I saw my mom and mentioned the sorry state of certain bathrooms that haven't seen a toilet scrubber in weeks (Yes, you read that correctly. I know.).  She was alarmed.  And came over yesterday to amend the situation.

Aidan loved being Grandma's shadow through a morning of cleaning and was a very attentive pupil. As chief bathroom-dirtying culprit, he should be.  Those with little men will concur that they have no patience for careful toilet visits...it's all about speeding in and out.  Which causes problems.  And odors.  And frustration. 

Cyn bought them a "special" (it's all about advertising) package of cleaning wipes for each bathroom and carefully showed them where to wipe after each visit.  They were thrilled.  I'm sure the enthusiasm won't last forever, but it did amuse me. 

Today I woke up feeling completely human.  I'm breathing through my nose, which deserves a loud "hallelujah" after a week of mouth breathing (don't even get me started on that subject).  

My house is clean.  My kids are home.  We've got fruit loops and oranges to spare.

Life is good.

spying on Little conversations

I forgot to finish this off and hit publish, but this car conversation cracked me up.  I wish I could write their tones and inflections.

London, speaking to Aidan:  What does it feel like to be mean to people?

Aidan, answering London:  That is the stupidest thing you have ever asked.

my ticking clock

Aidan and Reagan adore each other.  So when I saw this picture Mandi took, it had to be stolen.  It made me remember the first time I broached the subject of a new baby with my two boys months ago (oh yes, the biological clock has been ticking loudly for a while).  This was what I got: 

"We want a Reagan baby." 

You mean you want a sister? 

"No, we just want Reagan."

Well, while I'd happily clone that child, we decided to instead take a gamble of our own.  Perhaps we ourselves can produce a sibling who they'll want equally. 

Or accept despite.

Perhaps.

Now for the questions asked (and thanks for all of the sweet congratulations!).  We would love a girl, but we would love a boy, too...the only thing I live in fear of is twins (I am not your equal in any way, Ras!). As for timing...well, I'm just about 2 seconds pregnant (7 weeks that is), due in mid-October, which for me easily means Halloween because I bake my babies long and large.

So, yes, I'm spreading the good news early.  "The plan" was to wait until at least 10 weeks, especially since our last pregnancy ended at about 8 1/2 weeks.  But whim easily trumps "plan" with something so Amy-encompassing.  And we move forward, hoping for the best, prepping for any eventuality, and praying that the boys will Love the end result...even when it isn't a carbon copy of our Reagan girl.

Each of these littles is - after All - a miracle all their own.

I sit by and (humbled) sigh.