My son's cub scout den had a visit from a veteran who came to tell them about his service in the Navy.
This guy spent a month or so on a submarine, and that was really exciting for my son to hear about. I know because they were asked to write thank-you cards afterward and this was the front of his:
I can almost keep myself from laughing because I shouldn't really laugh, but then I see the stick figure sailing headfirst into the smokestack and totally lose it every time.
We haven't played Pictionary for years but we pulled it out one night this week. Having older kids who can play games other than Candyland is fun.
Even the 4-year-old joined in, and truthfully her drawings were better than mine. I've already mentioned the infamous pig-car story, so let's just say my right brain must be sort of busted.
For example, when I drew a hairdresser the kids guessed "butcher."
|Drawn with my dominant hand, people. Let that sink in for a minute.|
Speaking of having older kids, I'm absolutely loving it. I could do a 3-hour infomercial about how awesome it is having older kids.
When they're little and all you do is refill sippy cups and buckle five-point harnesses and wipe butts all day, you can't possibly fathom that one day in the future you'll be watching your 12-year-old making tacos for dinner completely on her own.
And let me tell you, hearing your 12-year-old not only cooking dinner for the whole family but teaching your 10-year-old how to chop an onion is pretty much the sweetest sound in all the land.
I went to the dentist for a cleaning and was informed that my gums are receding. Naturally, I was concerned because this sounds appalling.
My conversation with the dental hygienist went like this:
"Is it reversible?"
"So what should I be doing about it?"
"Well, you don't want brush too aggressively. But you also don't want to brush too soft or you'll be leaving plaque behind."
"But even then, it might continue. So it's just something to be aware of."
Oh good, because lying awake at night worrying about getting a skin graft in my mouth is, like, one of my favorite things.
I opened my email to find a sign-up list for items needed for the upcoming Halloween party in my kid's class at school.
Volunteering is tricky because it means I have to put on real pants and find someone to watch two kids and a baby — but sending in items, I can do! I'm the best at sending in items! Bring on the spreadsheet.
I scanned down the list to see what I could donate.
Package of plastic spoons? Drat. Taken.
Napkins? Someone already signed up for that, too.
Bananas? It's open. I guess I could send bananas, although I'd have to make a special trip to the store and — waaaaait a minute: "Please make the bananas look like mummies"??
Now I think I know why 'bananas' is still open. It's all coming together now.
I've never once ordered or even thought about ordering school pictures, but my kids' school sends home a complementary print of their class picture every year, anyway.
My son handed me his class picture the other day and I removed it from the envelope, letting my eyes meander around to admire it. Everyone looked so dressed-up and nice. Some were wearing new clothes that looked like they were specially purchased just for that occasion. Lots of the girls had their hair done so prettily.
And then I noticed my son.
Since I never buy school photos I don't typically pay attention to when picture day even is, which is pretty obvious since my son was the one with bedhead and a neon T-shirt that says "MONSTER" in all caps.
Yes, I am that mom who ruins the class picture for everyone. Feel free to Photoshop away, Other Parents. It won't even hurt my feelings.
Phillip was on a trip for work earlier this week, so the kids and I did what we always do when he goes out of town: pig out on gluten.
Gluten, if you don't know, is the protein in wheat. Ever since we found out about 5 years ago that Phillip's chronic exhaustion and a whole lot of other things bothering him was a gluten problem, all of our dinners have been gluten-free.
We do this happily because it makes him feel better. But we really miss pizza.
(Yes, I know there's gluten-free pizza, but if you're even going to suggest that to me it means you haven't tried it because it's terrible.)
On the last day before he came home, we had the best biscuits and gravy imaginable. Made from scratch because we wanted to feel the flour running through our fingers. We were singing songs of praise and slinging handfuls of it across the room just for the joy of cooking with wheat.
Maybe I exaggerate. But my point is, if there were a way to extract only the gluten and just serve a bucket of it for dinner and suck it all down with a straw when Phillip's out of town, we would 100% do that.
He's home now, though, so we'll try to reign ourselves in until his next trip.