Shoes

Repost from a Facebook comment. I don't even know if it is right to say "black" or "white" anymore. Please feel free to correct me. I want to learn the right thing to say. I get that we are all Americans - and for the purposes of this post, I am racially descriptive.

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 It feels so stupid to have to even say this but as a white girl married to a Korean cop, I tend to think these things must happen in other communities.

 A few weeks ago, I was helping a friend put together a community event. Her brother took me to pick up some things from a storage facility. I had never met him before, and he was black. He listened to loud music and had low slung pants and smoked. Not a guy I would usually hang out with but we had great conversation about his time in the military (thank you!) and how hard it is as a veteran to get work, even with a Master's degree.

 We got to where we were going, and I hopped out of the car to go unlock the storage building. A big guy in literal overalls and a big diesel pulled his truck up to the bumper of my new friend's truck. He idled for awhile and then got out and shouted at the driver about "blocking the drive" which we weren't.

During this whole event, I never once was "afraid" or "intimidated" by this experience, until the white guy turned it into something to fear. It was eye opening to me. Being anywhere while you are black makes things suspicious and racial. I was nervous and we weren't doing anything wrong. I think it is delilusional to say we don't have a problem, but I don't know how a white girl goes about solving it unless we all just walk a mile in our neighbor's shoes.

Warning: Gross

We have a new addition to our family. "New" as in, we just got it last week.

It is Korenna's "bobo." It came to live with us when she slid down the driveway on the back of her hand. I am not sure it is ever going away.

I think it qualifies as an actual part of our family. I mean, we discuss it daily at length. We look at it frequently, at Korenna's request. It requires a separate, very gentle bath. It requires daily dressings of Hello Kitty and Princess Band-Aids, on alternating days.

Her bobo is even garnering its own blog posts.

Tonight Korenna was taking a bath, and she exclaimed loudly "The green part of my bobo came off!"

*GAG*

"Yuck! That makes me sick, Korenna!"

"Oh, I'n sowwy Mama."

Later I heard her telling her brother, "Hey, Dillon. Don't touch my bobo!!! It will make you sick, like Mama."

That's all she needs: some more power granted to her bobo.

WHAT???

So, two years off. That's kind of a lot.

I actually just read through a few of my "most recent" posts and laughed. I don't know if I am still funny, or if my kids and current life have just stolen all of my wit.

Still married. Still have two kids. Still have Tux. Still drive the mini-van.

Dillon is a very chatty five-year old. He will go to kindergarten in the fall. It is bittersweet to think of him growing up in that way. He loves to color, he loves Transformers and Spiderman. He still loves Thomas, but he knows that he isn't getting any new Thomas stuff. Last week was his first t-ball game. I love that we have started what could potentially be thirteen years of city baseball! I am proud to be his mom. He is sweet and compassionate and silly and smart.

Korenna is a mini-me. She is funny and so goofy. Her favorite things in life are her thumb and her BigDog. She is in the three-year-old room at Tanglewood. My favorite thing to do is to curl up in bed with her on top of her seventeen babies. Her favorite thing these days is to just say "Mama, you just cheesing!" which translates to "Mama, you just teasing!" or "Whatchoo talkin 'bout, Willis?"

Anyway, thanks for reading, but this blog isn't for you. It is mostly for me. I love to re-read old stuff that I wrote. Life goes too fast, and this is how I slow it down.

Sleep tight

Have you ever had "night laughing?" It is similar to "church laughing" but instead of being in church, you are laying in your own bed. There has to be an element of suppression, so obviously, if you are in your own bed alone, you probably are not trying to suppress anything, and that would not be considered "night laughing." But if your spouse is trying to sleep right beside you, that is usually enough of a silence motivator to produce "night laughing," if and when something funny happens. In the middle of the night. While you are supposed to be sleeping.

This happened the other night when Dillon got out of bed. Forty times. For many reasons, like "Come fix my covahs" and "I need to go potty" and "My clock won't turn to six!"

It was Daniel's turn. I had my turn the night before.

Daniel was furious. He does not handle being awoken from his nocturnal lumberjack adventures (sawing logs) with any kind of grace. He stumbled out of bed and fixed Dillon's covers. He went to the bathroom with him to turn the light on (cause we emphasize good aim at a young age). He explained that his "clock would turn to six when it actually was six, and not THREE in the morning."

The last time Dillon came in, the hilarity of the moment pushed me over the edge. He brought in his sippy cup of ice water. (His daddy fixes it for him every night so that he won't have to come get us when he is thirsty.) He shook the cup and made the water slosh and to show his daddy that there was no ice in there anymore.

"Daddy?? This water is NYAAAAAASTY!" He said in his a really nasal and whiny voice, and since "nasty" is not a word we use much, and he obviously picked it, and the pronunciation, up from someone else, it made me think about what would make a three year old be so vehement about how NYAAAAAASTY something was, and it just made me laugh.

A lot.

With tears.

Because, really???? This kid picks his nose (while saying, from the backseat where I can't reach him, "Mama! I'm not picking my nose, okay?"), and he eats food off the floor, and he talks a lot about bathroom stuff. So for THIS kid to think that his water was NYAAAAAASTY, and the very idea that this so compelled him to come out of his bedroom and announce this observation to his (kind of) slumbering father, was just too much for me.

And it would have been for you too. If you had been there. In which case we both could have laughed out loud! Cause two night laughers can overpower one night sleeper anytime.

Wally world

Not to whine, but I am TIRED. You wanna know why? Really?

Because I just left WalMart.

I guess every once in awhile, they do a big overhaul of department stores. They "flip" them, so to speak. Ours is being flipped. There is a rather hopeful sign by the front door that says, "Your new WalMart, coming soon! 44 more days!"

Well, I broke out the calendar, counted the days, and I won't be setting foot back in there until after May 26th. You can check my math, but I might make it the 27th, just to be sure.

It took me over an hour to locate seven little things. Anti-perspirant? Well, most of it was kinda close to the pharmacy area, but not my brand. MY BRAND was on some tiny whirly-gig kiosk thing, ten feet away by the plant hangers. Carpet cleaner? I still don't know. I would turn a corner and get all hopeful, only to realize that the sign hadn't been moved yet and I was lost in the largest pet department ever built in a WalMart. (Who needs that much pet stuff???)

You can forget about asking the friendly associates at WalMart. They walk around staring at their feet, mumbling "H'lo-how're-you" without even making eye contact. I am sure they are so tired of the griping and complaining from lost customers that work is pretty much unbearable right now. Good thing they are open 24 hours a day, and that they have a bedding section. This gives shoppers plenty of time, and the more traumatized customers have the opportunity to assume the fetal position under a comforter, clutching their list that says "Ziplock bags" and "Hairspray."

Fortunately, I was able to locate my Frappucinos. And toilet paper. You know. The necessities. As for allergy medicine, a new belt, and AlphaBits cereal, those things are going to have to wait. At least another 44 days.

Top o' the mornin'!

I am absolutely positive that my children love me. Korenna lunges at me with open-mouthed kisses of unashamed affection. Dillon says "Mama? Ah you my favwit boy?" at least thirty times a day. Hugs, snuggles, love pats, and all that good stuff.

So, why, in the name of all things Holy, do they not ever let me sleep late? And by "late," I mean one nanosecond past six. Seriously!

Friday morning won the award for the most absurd, sitcom-ish morning of the week. K started talking and whining at five. I lay in my bed, waiting for her to start sucking her thumb and go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to get her.

The babysitter takes naps with my daughter on a regular basis, so I thought maybe I could too. I have even asked her specifically how this is done, because never has Korenna ever tolerated a nap with me. I positioned her in my bed exactly how Krystal told me to, and closed my eyes.

Yeah, right.

Thirty frustrating minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to put her back in her own bed. She sucked her thumb and went to sleep. SCORE!

I still had twenty minutes to snooze before I had to get ready for school. I crawled eagerly under the covers and relaxed.

Fourteen seconds later, Dillon was standing by my bed. "Mama! My clock can't say six yet! Go put my clock to six! And also, my pants are wet."

He has been potty trained since last summer and has had all of two accidents in his bed. One of them was Friday morning.

It was like a Great Lake in there. Everything had to be stripped and Dillon had to be bathed.

There went my twenty minutes, plus some! I was totally late for school Friday! And I woke up at FIVE! Am I on Candid Camera???

I know there are some people who opt for early wake-up. Like old people. And exercise fanatics. And my own children.

Are there any old people or exercise fanatics who want a morning babysitting gig? I don't want to keep all the baby love to myself, especially before the sun comes up.

Dillon had his tonsils out about two weeks ago.

What? Um, NO. Not "about" two weeks ago. EXACTLY two weeks and twelve hours ago. I know this because it has been the most miserable two weeks and twelve hours of his (and maybe my) little life.

I didn't realize tonsils were such a big deal. I thought it was like getting your appendix out, and people go back to work like the next day I think...

But tonsils? Nope.

A tonsillectomy starts off okay, cause you are sure this is gonna be the big fix for your miserable little one. Even after the surgery, it seems promising because the patient is rather rambunctious (in my experience) and is playing rather loudly with his train in the surgery center room while you try to nap next to him in the tiny bed. (Of course, for the purposes of my illustration, "you" is really "me/I." But it doesn't matter. All of this is an illusion.)

Because, after going home, it becomes apparent that this is a way bigger deal than you signed up for.

The patient begins a heartwrenching cry/whine that continues for no less than nine days. It varies in tempo and volume, and can be quieted only with the EXACT size portion of EXACTLY the right kind of ice cream. When ice cream is unavailable or inappropriate for treatment, the doctor suggests filling a huge syringe with vile acid and persuading your preschooler to swallow it willingly to help control his pain. Every four hours. Even throughout the night.

Yes. The "night" where you are supposed to be sleeping so that you can be rested enough to fix perfect bowls of ice cream all the live long day tomorrow.

I think, if this does not sound fun enough for you, about five days in, when you are as sleep deprived as Octo-Mom, you should schedule for yourself a thyroid removal surgery. Hey, if the kid has to have a sore throat, why shouldn't mom?

Ug. Even recalling this for you is making me tense and tired.

I just wanted you to know that it is true that mothers will do anything for their babies. Once.

I hope tonsils don't regenerate.