In transition

Having lived in the area, most of life and having spent the other five years in Minnesota, where one experiences Hell of both extremes. I have yet to experience a summer so hot that I couldn’t bear straps on my feet.

Are foot tan lines that scary?

Wouldn’t dog hair stick to these things?

And why do they have a picture of a man’s feet as though he’s about to play soccer?
Topless Sandal

I just don’t get it.

I’ve got a friend who sent me a teaser, this morning. It is absolutely cheating to use Google or any of its brethren.

The idea is to express the values from 0 to 100, inclusive, by only using mathematical symbols and four numeral fours.

An example: 0 can be written as 44 – 44

You must use all four fours, even if you only need three.

In the big scheme of things these two things aren’t much. However, if you know me and I mean really know me, you’d understand.

Today I entered a photography contest and I contacted someone about attending a my highschool reunion.

Both open up the possibility of rejection. You see, I didn’t graduate in ’96, I skipped my junior year and graduated in ’95. However, everyone I grew up with will be attending the reunion this year and I’d like to attend.

My oldest son is probably lucky we had him first. He cried most of every day for many months. His babyhood passed in a blur of frustration. Thankfully, we didn’t know that babies weren’t supposed to cry so many hours of every day. I chalked it up to being high strung and mentioned to each of three pediatricians that he cried a lot. I was told it was normal.
I didn’t mention his tendency to scream with his back arched and his limbs stiff. I didn’t say that he hated eye contact and would strain every muscle he could to avoid it. I was scared he would be labeled autistic.

He isn’t.

He was what some people call a “high needs baby.” He wouldn’t sleep unless we gently held his limbs still and patted his back until he gave up. For the first ten months of his life he wouldn’t sleep unless he was touching one of us.

I love him and I always have, but there was a lot of time in that first year that he was hard to like. The day we were checking out of the hospital a nurse angrily asked me, “Can’t you make that baby stop crying?”

No, I couldn’t. So, he screamed. He screamed because the sky was blue and the grass was green. He screamed because he didn’t want to be in the car or he screamed because he did.

He cried if other people held him.

I cried because I was at a loss.

So, in light of my experience, do I find this surprising?

Colicky Babies Boost Postpartum Depression Risk in Moms

No, I don’t. Not one little bit.

There is just something so perfect about a mason jar of icy sweet tea on the beach.

So, the weather was absolutely beautiful, yesterday. I took the boys to Wannamaker County Park. For a change of pace I took the boys for a walk. OK, it was really a walk and a carry, but I digress.

Sir Thousand Hands had a blast. He’d lag behind, he’d run ahead, and most of all he hit trees with sticks. I am pretty sure that last one is what two year olds do best. He walked a mile with only a little bit of complaining at the end. I was quite proud.

Let’s fast forward to naptime. I was helping him use the potty when I saw it. It was a nasty ole tick. UGH There are few things I hate more than ticks. I called a friend to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt him by removing it. She assured me you just grasp as close to the head as you possibly can with tweezers and yank. So, we survived that little adventure with no permanent harm. He was a brave little guy.

I figured it was over. I did a quick check, didn’t see any more.

Well, I was wrong, quite wrong. Anyone remember that scene in Stand By Me with the leeches? Yes, I’m going there.

I remember reading an article or maybe it was a blog entry pondering the question, “When does a person go from new mom to veteran mom?” Well, I have a feeling it is different for everyone, but I know I earned my badge, this morning. I don’t know if there is an experience quite like having to kneel on a two year-old, pull a tick off with tweezers, and pray the neighbors can’t hear him screeching, “Don’t pinch my penis!”*

The little guy was a trooper, though.

I did warn the nursery workers at the Y that he might have a fixation this morning. It’s a weird day when you have to worry about your kid telling someone, “Mama pinched my penis!”

I know there is a lot in store for the coming years, but I think this event will forever be seared into my memory. I’ll file it under stories for when he’s married.

*If that doesn’t get some weird hits, I don’t know what will.

Now, I’ve been out of the convenient snackfood loop for quite some time. First, it was due to poverty, but when I finally could afford the garbage I’d learned a lot about nutrition* and haven’t purchased it since. I was clipping coupons the other day** and noticed an ad for “Go Tarts.” They were for Poptarts “on the go.” Or was it a size “issue?” Perhaps even a frosting*** to pasty ratio problem? Were there really that many people in the world who found it too much of a hassle to shove a convenient foil packet in a purse or bookbag?

*Says the woman eating a doughnut. In my defense, Tim bought these last night and I’m going to the gym, later.

**This is probably one of my least favorite activities.

***For the record, I hesitate to call it frosting. It’s more of a High Frutcose Corn Syrup crust. My teeth hurt thinking about it.

So, I was doing the blog round-up, yesterday. While doing so I ran across this blog entry about a possible pyramid in Bosnia. Way back in my freshman year of highschool, I had a friend from Bosnia. He attended Burke Magnet. Anyhow, I thought the article was interesting, so I did a little more research on the possible pyramid. Surprisingly, I ran across my friend’s name. Now, I didn’t know if his unique-for-America last name was like Smith in Bosnia. So, I e-mailed and asked. Sure enough, the geophysicist working on the project is my old friend.

How cool!

1) I fixed my blog; it’s back in English. *whew*

2) Pics of the kids

I heard about this conversation secondhand. It amused the heck out of me.

Worker: Boss, can we have the day off on Monday?
Boss: Sure, you know if there’s something you need to do it’s OK.
Worker: Good, we want to boycott and go to the protests on Monday.

Somehow, I think the word boycott wasn’t clearly translated.