It has been a stellar couple of weeks around here.  What with the potty training, the “clean everything out, we are leaving in six months” garage sale and the Middle East blowing up, causing everyone from moms in the kiss and ride line at school to my mom asking us what are plans for moving (the moving plans remain the same, unless otherwise notified or somebody bombs Iran) I’m sure you all wish you could trade places with me.

The highlights:

Dash and his cousin are classmates.  She could be his twin and they have a real sibling like love/hate relationship.  They often greet each other on the play ground with enthusiastic head locks.  So, I wasn’t too surprised when chatting with a fellow mom at a field trip (another reason you wish you were me — kindergarten field trips!) to hear that this mom had caught Dash throwing handfuls of gravel at his cousin.  She told him to knock it off and he turned and casually tossed a handful of gravel at her.  At the mom on lunch duty.  I actually said, “you just wait until your father gets home!”  I’m sure Bill Cosby would be so proud of me.

And then there is Violet.  Who began questioning her grandmother (my mother in law who lives in the apartment above our garage) why the boy kitties had to go to the vet, so they wouldn’t have babies.  Boys can’t have babies can they?  How does that work?  Grandma said, “go ask your mom.”  She did.  She kept asking questions until it came to the inevitable conclusion, “Is that how you have babies?”  And then shrieked upon hearing the answer.  Oh.dear.Lord.

And finally, there is Jack Jack.  Little man has been doing some awesome stuff recently, including climbing the stairs standing up, holding the hand rail.  It’s awesome to see him do stuff like that when, this time last year, I was despairing that he would never learn to walk.  Awesome, that is, until two mornings ago when he waved at me as he went up the stairs and then in the time it took me to glance down at my cereal bowl, came crashing all the way down.  We both screamed and cried and then called our favorite EMS/firefighter to come take a look.  Grandpa declared him concussion free and gave him a high five for the black eye that was developing.  He did not give me a high five for negligent parenting or hysterical phone calls.

It isn’t all bad, though.  This is our view right now.  Kinda hard to maintain the woe-is-me attitude when surrounded by such glory.

photo by Patty Masker

Now, if only there were a “hide all political posts” button on Facebook, all would be golden.

 

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