My six year old got into a heap of Legos yesterday. And he created a new villain in Lego City. I finally sat down and learned the details. I wrote them down as he chattered away next to me, staring at this figure very intently.
She is not a giant but she is a SUPER evil villain. Like, really evil.
When she was first made, she smashed the whole entire Lego City. She made the electricity go out a lot.
It was bad.
Everyone is really afraid of her.
So, they had to make another super hero called Mega Dad. Mega Dad is the strongest and he defeats Mega Mom.
But, Mega Mom survived because Mega Dad got defeated in the third battle.
Mega Mom wants the jewel that is a dice. She wants to smash it and the whole city will blow up automatically.
But when the weapons fall out of her hands, she turns into a regular mom. A GOOD mom.
Fear your mother. Sure, Daddy is always a super hero. But he’ll never truly be able to overcome the evil powers of MEGA MOM.
You know, you send your kid off to school quite sure that his teacher will be amazed — AMAZED — by his sweetness and brilliance. Oh yes, and you sit down in parent-teacher meetings to be sure that they understand him and is he being challenged enough because your Kindergartner is buzzing right through his word wallet and can read the books at home, thank you very much.
You send your kid off to school waiting for that letter home acknowledging his super, oh so “I’ve-never-met-a-kid-like-this-in-my-career” specialness.
And so you search through his backpack looking for that recognition, that little ego-boosting lift affirming that (a) your child is fantabulous and (b) nope, you haven’t screwed anything up.
So you search that backpack, looking for a token, a something, anything.
So. We need some funny up in here. It’s time. I hope my Facebook friends forgive me for posting this picture twice. But it seems exactly what this blog needs. Some help. A helpful hand, if you will.
All I needed was a chin strap for a baseball helmet. I knew exactly where I would find it in Dick’s — so I marched right over to the baseball section with my kids trailing behind. I was less than five minutes into my quick shopping pit-stop when I heard my seven year old yell: “Mom!!!” I turned around to see what he was pointing at and this is how I found my youngest child:
I dredged up this oldie but a goodie to inspire some Christmas Spirit around these parts. In December of 2007, my then 18 month old was obsessed with pirates (no surprise, he was born in Tampa). Here he learns what Santa says… or not. Prepare for EXTREME Christmas cuteness.
I spent this rainy Monday browsing stores for clothes. You know, since I haven’t worked in an office in eight years and juice-box stained cargo shorts usually aren’t part of any dress-code, I thought I would consider updating my options.
It wasn’t an entirely successful day. I only found a couple things. So when I stopped at Kmart to grab a birthday present for a party and kill some time before school pick-up, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to walk through the fashion section.
But it did hurt. My eyes. Look… *gasp*… at what I found…
Of all that is holy and just, HOW did the Kmart fashion minds dream these pants up? Or, to be fair, think it was a good idea to bring them BACK. How did they ever say, “YES, this is a fanTASTIC look for our Spring line! We must manufacture many many of these and stock them in our stores! Up front! So no one will miss them when they walk in our doors!”
Are you looking closely? THE WAIST IS ELASTIC. The ankles are TAPERED! … And… STONE-WASH!!!
I am at a loss. And here I thought my shoulder-padded monstrosities from the late 90’s were horrid enough. I am looking for guidance here, people. I need to channel my inner Tim Gunn and get a clue. These? These elastic-wasited, stone-washed, taper-ankled pieces of awesomeness are NOT HELPING MY CAUSE.
Now I’m confused.
I mean maybe the throw back shoulder-pads aren’t so bad after all then IF THESE ARE OK…
This is Kmart. Not Bloomingdales. Even large retail chains, with millions spent on wooing their target audience into purchasing all varieties of mass produced treasures lovingly stamped out abroad can actually get things wrong.
Or. Maybe. (Brace yourself for a streak of brilliance now…) I am not their audience. Now there’s an idea.
This Valentine’s Day, I’m cruising Facebook. It’s my reward for having finished an article for a local magazine that was gut-wrenching to write – and I still don’t think I gave the topic justice. Regardless, I’m stalking Facebook. And, I’m just going to admit it right now, I’m having a little laugh.
Well, today is that special day when you announce to the whole wide world what your loved one did for you. It’s nothing new. I remember in college holding my breath as I walking into my dorm only to find rows and rows of delivered flowers on Valentine’s Day. What a cool thing to pick up a vase of roses (usually from my dad) and parade them down the hall.
Look at me! Someone gives a frig about ME! Ha HA!!!! I’m totally NOT a loser!
And then work. It was definitely something special to have a pile of roses and balloons and stuffed critters delivered to your office. Lots of ooohing. Lots of “Oh your husband is just SO wonderful. You are so DARN lucky!” And smugness. And positioning them so everyone walking by can see.
And now, while home most of the time and unable to flaunt my goods to peers any longer, Facebook does the job regardless. Pictures and status updates about this and that and what she got and where she is going and how she was surprised.
It’s nice. IT IS. No, I’m not posting this because I wish my husband would give me a singing bear. I just think it’s funny. Valentine’s Day is so silly, you know? And boastful. And “look at my fantabulous significant other!” and kind of all competitive and “I win for having the biggest and best and most flowery surprising thing!” And not really about the one you love at all.
While I don’t do a very good job at being private on here, I feel kind of private about Valentine’s Day.
(Not always. I TOTALLY bought into the flaunt your flowers at work thing. I did. And I’m admitting it here, shamelessly.)
I just feel kind of silly yammering on about what STUFF my husband gets me as if the size of the stuffed bear he brings home is some proportional indication of how much loves me.
Of course it’s not. And of course most people know that too.
So what do I want on this silly hallmark holiday? I just want time. Which we’ll get. Thanks to two superheros riding in out of nowhere to offer free babysitting.
Anyhoo. Just thought I’d comment about the comedy of Valentine’s Day. Which I expect will get far more comedic as my husband and I don’t actually have reservations anywhere.
But we’re getting time. And time is far more glorious than any bundle of roses or jeweled something or squeaky toy that sings “Loving you is easy because you’re beautiful…”
I dedicate this to the one I love. HOPEFULLY he will proudly crank the volume so that everyone in his office hears and sighs and thinks he has the most thoughtful, loving wife in the history of wives.
My four year found his “easy button” outside on a sidewalk this afternoon. With running, bounding leaps, hollers of “PUDDLE CANNON BALLLLLL!!!” and squealing peals of laughter – he made the sun finally slip out from behind the clouds just to watch the fun. His puddle jumping joy is enough to make any day brighter. Love, love, love that kid.
It’s been pretty busy around these parts. Well. Not these blog parts. But my real life parts. Parent teacher conferences, winding up baseball fall-ball, a weekend in Orlando, a day off school, house issues, car issues, appointments, homework, Gymnastics lessons, pushing bikes up and down the street, surviving Chuck E. Cheese, reading Harry Potter aloud, convincing my youngest to love meatballs, reviewing the benefits of potty training, just life.
But my real excuse? A deadline. You know, the paying kind. Which I have to prioritize.
So. Give me a moment here. I’ll be back. Have lots to chat about. But in the meantime, I thought you might like this little intermission.