Saturday, September 5, 2009


Being sick is such a waste of time. I tried to ignore it. I tried to push through it. I only stalled the inevitable. By yesterday evening I was running a fever and pretty much sat on the couch watching Househunters. I had taken an hour and a half nap earlier that day and worried that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep that night. Not only was it not a problem, but I slept 10 hours thanks to a lovely husband who guided me back to bed the first time I tried to get up. I'd like to think I'm on the mend now, but it could still be the advil and afrin coursing through my body. Another couple hours will tell.

I mentioned that Joel's camping trip with the kids ended abruptly with Ainsleigh spewing chunks, right? Joel told me later that as he laid there looking up at the gorgeous expanse of stars only viewable in remote areas far from light pollution, he was in awe. So when Ainsleigh started saying she wasn't feeling well, he basically threw her out of the tent hoping that fresh air would help. And then, to distract her, he said, "Look at all the stars." Ainsleigh wouldn't be distracted. But, also one for appreciating beauty, proceeded to hurl and in one fluid (pardon the pun) motion, then leaned her head back and without even wiping her mouth, said, "Oh wow. It's so beautiful out here!" She's a mess, but she has fun doing it. Kind of like how she looks when she runs. When I watch her, I am both cringing and laughing as she comes flying down the sidewalk, arms almost straight out in front of her, wobbling back and forth like a zombie. Her legs appear to almost blur into that wheel of cartoon speed. Her hair flying. A grin spread from ear to ear. She laughs all the way to meet me at the corner after school. I have no idea how such disarray can be so quick. And I shake my head a little and hope that the coordination will come. But if not, at least she's having fun.

The highlight of a trip to Costco with Donovan is the purchase of a churro as we exit the store. I was telling Joel that the past few times we've left with one and I've had a bite (or six), I have thought, "THIS is the best churro I've ever had." And then the next time, "No THIS, is the best churro I've ever had." Clearly, whichever churro I'm eating is the best one. But anyway, Donovan shares my passion for deep-fried cinnamon-sugar-coated pastries. Yesterday he announced that HE would buy his own because he had his own "dah-wers." Cool. I told him that if he bought his own, he wouldn't have to share. He asked, "Will dey give me a chur-woe AND some money?" He doesn't quite understand the concept of change. Yes, I told him, if you give them a dollar and a dime, they will give you a churro and some pennies. Small fist pump and a whispered "yuss" as he went to retrieve his wallet.

At first he wanted to bring it in a bag and I wasn't really paying attention until we were about to get in the car and I noticed he was carrying Ainsleigh's leopard-print purse. Um...hmm. Maybe you should bring your wallet in your backpack? Thankfully, he did not argue (not like the time he begged and begged that Ainsleigh's pink basket be put on the front of his scooter). He even offered to carry my keys and wallet in his bag and I took him up on it ("It's wike I'm your servant!") He was very excited to stand in line, clutching the dollar in one hand, the dime in the other (he got it all out of his wallet so as to be ready) and clearly requested, "One chur-woe pweez!" as he practically threw the dollar and plunked down the dime, which I can only imagine was lava-hot after being nestled in his fist, at the cashier who laughed and said, "One churro for the little dude, coming up!" As we got to the car, Donovan broke of a sizeable chunk of the churro. I was unloading our purchases into the car but stopped to ask why he was making a mess. "I was getting some to share wif you!" Aww, buddy! That's so nice! But you don't have to share - it's all yours! He shrugged with a half-grin, extended his arm holding the chunk and said, "But I wike to share. It's what mans do. Share." I love that he can be loud and stinky and obnoxious and frustrating and sweet and gentle and sensitive and loving. I love the mans in my life.

And Gemma. Someone recently said, "Well she certainly has a strong personality!" kind of funny since it's taken her a year, really, to come out of her shell. But the lady has definite likes and dislikes and she'll let you know. We hadn't been at Costco for very long when she decided that our time there had expired. She began whine-crying, which is that tearless fake-crying that slowly drives me crazy. I was toy/snackless since I hadn't thought to make my servant bring those as well ("Saw-wee, Gemma, I don't have snacks for you in my bag. Just money and keys.") so even though Dono and I sang quietly to keep her moans at bay, by the time we reached the cashier she would not be consoled. She began making her pathetic face where her eyes disappear into a sea of wrinkles, her mouth contorts in the shape of agony, and her mouth emits very despondent wails. The cashier began to express sympathy and I shrugged and said, "It's an act. She's very dramatic." As if she understood, Gemma threw back her head, raised her arms, and then dropped her hands to her face as her shoulders heaved. "See. Dramatic," I replied. The cashier began laughing. No, guffawing. Loudly and uncontrollably laughing, while watching Gemma in disbelief. "But she's so small!" he said, wiping tears from his eyes. With his first laughs, Gemma's cries ceased immediately. Her hands dropped to her lap, her eyes slightly narrowed, and she stared at the man as if to say, "That was NOT the reaction I was going for." Oh, little lady, we're in for it.


Tennille said...

Maybe it's a small baby/big dramatics thing, because N is exactly the same way. And she will totally ham it up more if she has an audience.

Lisa said...

Awwww, that's what mans do. I hope to teach my son that that's what mans do :) :)

Jazzy Cher said...

Lisa told me about Dono sharing, so I had to share this with you--I was babysitting you once when you were about 2 1/2--I was cutting out a pair of maternity pants (I was pregnant with Matt) and I had a big huge strawberry pin cushion I was using. You asked if you could play with it, but I was using it to pin the pattern on, plus it had pins in it, and you were 2. So I said, "No, I need to use it right now." You looked at me very seriously, and said, "Aunt Cheryl, my mom says we need to share." After stuttering and stammering a little, I pulled all of the pins out and handed you the pin-cushion! So, apparently, that's what aunts do, too!