So what am I complaining about, right? I should be reveling in this new-found evening freedom. I should take this time to take a shower, finish a book, clean up the kitchen, right? I should be jammin' out to my iPod, listening to music I would never let Mr. B hear, while dancing the way I want to dance, because it's not ring-aroung-the-rosey. Well, for some reason, I just can't seem to stay away from my son's room.
I just keep thinking about a sweet-smelling, just clean from the bath little boy, who loves to cuddle up at the end of the day, read a story and listen with rapture to the make-believe tale I fabricate about a little red-headed boy named Mr.B, soaring through the clouds on the back of a flying lion. But in my story, I'm right there with him, soaring through the clouds, hanging onto him so tight, and as I give him a little squeeze, I whisper softly into his ear,
"You are stuck forever, Mr. Bentley."
"Oh Momma," my baby boy replies, "I hope so!"
Long, long ago, in a faraway land, there was a woman who had three precious little boys. The boys names were Kyle, Lane, and Zach. They were sweet, perfect little ones who posessed the natural curiosity that all boys seem to have inherited. Except then their mother woke up from the drug-induced coma she was enjoying and realized that she was still the mother of these three busy little vermin. In desperation, the mother (oh, heck! Let's just call her Katie, for fun), um, Katie, called upon her single friend (and we'll call the friend Sarah) Sarah, to come over so Katie could run to Dairy Queen and enjoy a moment's peace and eat something all to herself, all by herself.
Was Single Sarah worried about taking on the challenge of three very busy, very mischevious little boys? Oh, no. Not Single Sarah. For in times of trouble, when things got tough, suddenly Single Sarah became....dum da da da!! (Fanfare, please!) SUPER SARAH!!! All it takes is a Dr. Pepper and a little duct tape, and Super Sarah has the situation under control!
This is what happens when little boys take off all the cabinet doors in the kitchen while Super Sarah is cleaning up the baby powder mess in the living room. It looks like little Zach is off to tell his mommy (a.k.a. Krazy Katie) what a meanie Super Sarah is....
Here we are a few months later, and we just haven't learned our lesson yet. Did we have fun today while mommy was gone? Of course. Were we good while mommy was gone? Naturally. Sarah, will you come back and watch the kids this Friday night? Sure!! Just let me run by Home Depot on my way, and we'll be in for a wild time!!!
(Audrey, Noah, & Aly)
(Noah and Aly)
Here are a few pictures of Noah and his two best friends before Christmas. Yes, I know they are girls, but he likes them anyways. Ha, ha. He gets to do stuff with them that he doesn't get to do at home - like play with a Dora the Explorer kitchen, or watch the girls put on makeup or lipstick (or watch the moms put on the lipstick, hee hee). We had some pizza and a little gift exchange and we just really enjoyed ourselves over at Karla's house. This was just one of the many things that we did before the New Year, so again - I'll take being sick now over being sick then anyday!
(Audrey, Robin, and Sarah Ann)
Mine are the blue ones (Suprise, suprise) Front and center, baby!
"Calgon, take me away!!"
Where the heck is that woman anyway? I'd like to ring her scrawny neck for saying that statement like she really meant it. Sure, like anyone could be magically whisked away to a marvelous paradise where the stress, the kids, the dogs, the hubby, and the chores, all magically fade into the background. As if something like that could ever happen, right? What a joke....
Now wait minute...wait a cotton-pickin' minute....Maybe I do believe that this can actually happen.
(Here's Noah on Saturday Morning In Rio Rico, About To Let Go Of A Rocket Balloon That Santa Left In His Stocking)
the cold weather that made it feel like we were in, oh, I don't
know....DECEMBER?!?!?!?!
Well, my son is now 3. Yep...he's a big boy now. No more little boy stuff, or baby stuff. No more "Big squeeze, little squeeze". He's just tooooo big for some of those silly things. And yet, he seems to be growing into more things. Like his 4t pants! I mean, he just keeps getting taller and taller. Oh, and he has developed the most amazing imagination. You can sit on the floor and play with him and his Chevron cars for 2 hours. REALLY. Just making up stories, talking about life, driving around town, cruising down the strip, asking what your name is and coming up with a different a different name for each car every time.
And there's this funny thing about pretending to be a dog. With the tongue hangin' outa the mouth and wanting to eat on the floor and all that. He's a dog about 20% of his day right now. But right before lunch, he switches into "CAT" mode. There goes the other 59% of his day (he spends about 1% of his day being a little, ahem, I mean big boy).
So as you smile to yourself thinking of how cute it would be to see a 3 year old pretend to be a sweet kitty cat all morning or afternoon, let me show you a typical conversation with my 3 year old as we wake up in the morning:
"Hey, sweetie! How did you sleep?" I ask.
"Good, meow, good. Thank you meow."
"Are you ready to get up and eat breakfast?"
"Yes, meow. Meow would like meow milk in meow bowl on the floor, meow"
"Well, let's first go potty and we'll talk about the milk on the floor. C'mon, follow me into the bathroom."
"NOOOOO! KITTIES DON'T GO POTTY IN TOILETS!! KITTIES GO POTTY IN BOXES!!"
"Well, you are a little boy pretending to be a kitty, and little boys go pee-pee in the toilet."
"But I'm not a little boy, I a big boy." (assume the pouty-lip face)
"Ok. Sorry. You are a big boy, so let's go pee-pee in the potty like a big boy."
We tinkle, we wash our hands, we sit at the table to eat.
"Meow would like meow milk now please meow."
"Ok, and what would you like in your milk?"
"Meow kitty oatmeal please, meow."
After eating said oatmeal and I walk towards him with the washcloth.....
"NOOOOOO! KITTIES DON'T GET CLEANED UP! KITTIES LICK THEMSELVES LIKE THIS! I NO NEED TO BE WIPED!!"
"Yes, kitties lick themselves, but you are a big boy pretending to be a kitty and therefore must be wiped down after eating sticky oatmeal." (if I throw in a big word or two like that, he furrows his little forehead and thinks about this larger word which gives me 3 seconds of wipe-down time before he scampers off to his room)
2 minutes before I MUST (I will repeat MUST) be out the door to avoid the train, the little boy walking to the bus stop with his dog who is not leashed, the short bus that I WILL inevitably get stuck behind (lemme tell ya, those kids don't board too quick), so I can get to the fitness center to get Noah checked in and get my equipment set up before all the good spots and nice weights are taken so I don't have to stand up front, (breathe) I go into Noah's room to get him dressed.
"C'mon sweetie! Let's get dressed so we can go!" (as I enter, I see that my son is completely in the buck)
"NOOOOOO! MOMMA, KITTIES DON'T WEAR CLOTHES!! THEY DON'T WEAR CHONIES! THEY NO WEAR SHIRTS LIKE THIS! NO CLOTHES! KITTIES HAVE NO CLOTHES! OH, SHOES HURT MY KITTY FEET! OW, OW, OW!! I HAVE CLAWS LIKE THIS AND I NEED TO USE THEM TO WALK! NO SOCKS, NO SHOES, NO CHONIES!"
"Oh, I know a coupla kitties who I've seen wear clothes."
"Where? I want to see. Who wears clothes? Not MY kitties!"
"Nope. Not your kitties. But you are just a little boy pretending to be a kitty, so you must wear clothes so you don't get cold."
And thus starts the "little boy" discussion again.
As I start my aerobics class in the very front row, directly to the right of the intructor, in front of the mirrors, with the grimy weights that have the coating peeling off of them, I realize that there are worse things that my son could pretend to be. I just can't seem to think of one of them right now.
So recently, I've been getting up every morning and driving to the fitness center and working out. This means that I have to get Noah up, get him dressed, get him some grub, and get him in the car. On the way, we usually listen to his favorite songs from "Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat" from my iPod.
Well, this being the MONDAY after a 4-day weekend of endless stuffing of the face with numerous carcinogenic entrees and me eating every last drop of the sweet potatoes, I was not looking foward to going this morning and was falling behind as we got ready. When we finally got in the car and were on our way, Noah asked for "Go, go, go Joseph" and I told him we had forgotton my iPod. He was bummed, but we had a nice drive anyway.
After working out (and I was REALLLY sorry that I didn't do anything for 4 days), we got home and Helaman asked Noah about Church the day before.
"We sang, "I Am A Child Of God", he said.
"That's a nice song," Helaman replied, "May I hear it?"
"Nope, sorry Daddy." said Noah "I don't have my iPod".
Well, the sad thing about Thanksgiving this year was that Helaman didn't get any time off. NONE. He had the Sunday before Thanksgiving off and then NEXT Wednesday after that off. Since we were suppossed to go to St. John's this year, it was especially disappointing for him. I was sad also, except I had one little consoling thought: I still get to have SWEET POTATOES!!
Oh, yeah.
That gooey, marshmellowy, (it is too a word!) sticky, cinnaminy, (see afore mentioned claim) goodness. And I got to eat all I wanted because, my friends, I made a BOAT-LOAD of them. Yummy. It was sad that we had to change our plans for the holiday, but who can feel sad around a huge vat of orange-goodness slash manna from Heaven?
I think my parents felt sorry for me when I called and said, "Well, I guess we'll just go out and buy a ready-made meal, because it stinks that we'll be alone and Helaman will get off of work, come home, eat, and go to bed. (Inhale, and SIGH)."
I think it was the sigh that broke her down. Or maybe it was my Dad...either way my parents came all the way out here and ate some grub with us, even though my Dad had to work on Fridat and they had to drive out here and back on the same day. Then my younger brother Michael found out we were having a shin-dig out here and I told him he was welcome to come. And he did! I had to go out a buy a 5 pound bag of potatoes when I found out he was coming, but it was soooo worth it! Sheesh, that boy can down some taters! We talked, we laughed, we played the PSP, we talked, we ate, we laughed.
All in all, it was a perfect day. Lots of food (ham AND turkey, by the way), lots of pie, lots of love. And though we are missing the Lambson side of the family, I couldn't have asked for a better Thanksgiving.
As my husband is a tri-lingual speaker, we are developing the habit of speaking to Noah in English, Spanish, and Portuguese. He loves this and will often ask me if he can hear his favorite Spanish song or Portuguese song on the radio, or ask what an object is in Spanish. After we invited our neighbor Joey to Noah's party, they became good friends and they often walk down the road to pick him up to go play at their house. One evening when they came to pick Noah up, we were waving goodbye and Helaman said,
"Adios, son!"
To which Noah relplied, "Que via bien, Daddy."
Then looking up at Gina (Joey's Mom) he said, "Yeah, I speak Spanish".
This is what I felt like doing to everyone who said to me, "Well, Dr. Pepper isn't that good for you anyway. You know, soda is bad for you."
GRRRRRRRRR!!!!! I KNOW THIS!!!
I just really, really, like Dr. Pepper. It's my most favoritist soda pop ever! And I know that it's better if I don't drink it, but I still like it for cryin' out loud.
Here's the thing that is soooo hard for me: Helaman was right. He's been after me to stop consuming the yummy bubble syrupy manna from Heaven for a few months now. But this is how he looks when he's right and I'm wrong. A little mis-construed, you say? Ha! I caught it on the camera, so it is totally and completely true! 
And my step aerobics class is a whole lot easier if I don't drink any soda. Speaking of step aerobics, we have this wonderful (horrible) energetic (awful) hispanic step instructor who started playing this dance mix Latino music while we were warming up, and I started shaking my hips and playing around and my friend Karla, who was having a bad day, was just laughing at me dancing and said that she could never do that. So I told her she just had to make a really silly face in the mirror (taht line the ENTIRE wall) and then she nobody would be looking at her body, just her silly face. It took her about 10 minutes, but she did it and the entire class laughed and she laughed and it was great fun.
Er, not that working out was fun. Cuz it wasn't. Fun, I mean. Don't get me wrong, I still hate working out, but it WAS entertaining to get out of the house and have someone else watch Noah and to be silly with the other girls and get my heart pumping. But it was not fun. Really.....
Hello all,
Just thought I'd share a cute picture with you and let you know that
I.HATE.WORKING.OUT.
The above picture is what I would like to do after working out, which of course, I cannot do. Noah can pull it off though. Nice....
I don't hate very many things, and I don't hate a single person - well, there is one exception, but we all know who it is and I'm working on it, I really am.
So I don't throw this 4 letter word out for just anything, I mean, I detest things. I loathe things. I despise things. See, no 4 letter words. But I don't hate much. Except working out.
I.HATE.WORKING.OUT.
Just in case you didn't get it the first time.
Ok, so most of the women reading this (all three of you) will understand me when I say, "HELLLOOOO?!?!?!? Where in the world did my body go?!?!?!?". You know, the body I had before I had my son? Yep, that one. Don't know where it went. But it still takes a serious health scare and one MEAN female doctor to get my booty out of bed and actually do something about it. So I did it: I signed up for the gym. The one where you have to get up @ 7 am and get your kid up and drive down and sign up and work out. Yep. For a measly $32 a month, I get a full access pass to every aerobics class offered, a full cardio room, weight room, heated pool, outdoor track, courts, and a huge jungle gym. Oh, plus a babysitter. That's actually the reason I joined.
So the first day, (Monday) I'm all ready to go and I show up, and see someone I know - Karla from the mom's group. Sweet!! I know someone! Then Robin shows up - another familiar face! Yeah!! And Robin says that she tripped over the step last time and made the instructer mess up and left the room 3 times so I can't possible do anything more embarrassing than that, right? Lest we forget, we are talking about Sarah here. Yep, just a reminder.
I know I've never worked out before but I was trying to keep up with the instructer and the 80 year old ladies in the back and "who needs a water break", and "I can do this for just a minute more" and "wow this is so much harder than it looks", and "sheesh, my back is sweaty", and "ok, I think I could use a water break", and "I'll just bend down to pick up my bottle", and huh......"this floor smells clean" and "look at all the fuzzy faces".
Oh yes, people (all three of you who I absolutely adore for reading this and calling me to laugh at me)
I
PASSED
OUT.
While trying my hardest to not look like a dork in front of everybody in the class by trying to keep up and not taking water breaks, I ended up looking like the biggest dork in front of everybody in the class while lying smack dab in the middle of the doorway on the floor. One of the amazingly fit older ladies wanted to call 911, but Robin, a former EMT, convinced them that I was not about to die, I was just a dork.
25 minutes, a lot of ice cold paper towels, and a yummy gatorade later, I was on my feet and answering horrifying questions like:
"Did you eat breakfast?" (um, nope)
"Did you drink lots of water before you started?" (Hmmmmm...nope)
"Have you ever taken step before?" (heck no!)
"Do you have any health issues?" (Well, what other reason would I have for getting up when the sun rises and coming out here and paying money to have someone tell me what to do and get all sore for it?)
And so ends my first day of working out. Or passing out. I think I'll make a list of WHAT NOT TO DO when beginning an excercise regimen and post it on the door of the club. But hey, I got a free gatorade.
