Delicious disease

Today I went to the eye doctor for my regular glaucoma screening -- ahhh, genetics.  When I was finished my appointment, I picked the boys up from camp.  "I thought you'd be here earlier," said Cameron.

"Oh," I replied, "remember?  I had to go to the eye doctor?"

"Oh yeah," piped up Matthew.  "So, do you have guacamola?"

Guacamola = a delicious Italian twist on a classic Mexican dip

Glaucoma = an insidious eye disease that slowly steals your vision.

I'll take the guacamola, please!

Incentives

Matthew's birthday is quickly approaching and he has been thinking BIG in terms of presents.  He has suggested that a moped would be a great gift for a 7-year-old.  I disagree.  He feels that seven is plenty old enough for his own cell phone.  I disagree.  He then proposed that a pet rabbit would be fun.  "Yes," I said, "a rabbit would be fun.  But I can't even get anybody to help take care of the aquarium snails.  So, who would take care of this rabbit?"

"ME!" shouted Matthew.  "Except the poop.  Cameron could take care of the poop.  But I would hold it and feed it carrots and take it for walks!"

At this point, Cameron broke in, "I'm not taking care of the poop.  And rabbits don't go on walks."

Matthew rolled his eyes at Cameron and replied, "Uhhh, they do if you show them the carrot!"

Random assortment of pictures/commentary

People, moving is tough.  I mean, TOUGH.  But we are coming up on our one year anniversary of The Move, and it is getting easier.  One habit I've developed is noticing that we are having fun and then saying to myself, "Hey!  This is fun!"  And more specifically, I try to notice when we are having fun doing something that we are only doing BECAUSE we moved and saying, "Hey!  This is fun!  This is one of the reasons we moved!"  It doesn't take away the missing-our-friends-and-everything-we-left-behind.  But it helps me to realize that with all the missing, there is new wonderfulness that we are experiencing every day.

 

We went to a Detroit Tigers game with my parents.  We see our families ALOT more know, and the boys are getting to know and be so much more comfortable with their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

We love our house and the weather has been soooo beautiful lately.  We eat outside almost every night.  Earlier this week, I surprised the boys with a rootbeer tasting on the deck, which made me feel like Mom Of The Year.

Speaking of Mom Of The Year . . . the boys are both very busy with sports right now.  Matthew is playing hockey -- which he has dreamed of for practically always.  He's amazing and scored 12 -- TWELVE -- goals at his last game.  Cameron is playing baseball and pitched today, which about gave me a heart attack but he did great!  And Matthew is anxiously awaiting the start of his baseball season.  We live just a short walk from a ballpark and every afternoon this week, Matthew has begged me to go there and practice.  Matthew is not one to do anything halfway, so when he goes to practice, he goes in full gear.  He can go for HOURS.  I had ten miles on my pedometer on Thursday just from playing with him.   You guys, I'm so tired.  And still, he wants to play.

But in between the "I'm so tired" thoughts I try to think, "This is awesome.  This is fun.  I'm at the ballpark, playing with my kid." 

American

A friend of mine recently encouraged me to start blogging again and I was reminded of what a handy way this is to keep track of stories that I all too soon forget.  So, here goes.

The other day, Matthew was singing a song he learned at school.  "We are American, every DAY. Living the American, American WAY!"  he belted out.  Then he stopped and looked at me very seriously.  "I am American," he said.

"Yes," I agreed.  "You are."

"But not you," he said.  "I'm the only American in our family."

"What?" I replied.  "I'm American!  Matthew, our whole family is American!  We LIVE in America!"

"Uh, Mooommmm," Matthew said, "you're NOT black."

"Ohhhhhhhh, African American!  Matthew, you mean that I'm not African American."

"Oh.  Right," he said.  "I forgot that African part."

Vocabulary

The other day, another car cut me off as I was driving with the boys.  "What a jerk!" I fumed.

"What's a jerk?" asked Matthew from the back.

"Ohhhh," I said.  "Uh, I shouldn't have said that.  A 'jerk' means somebody who made a bad decision or did something that they shouldn't have.  But it really isn't a nice word.  I didn't like how that man was driving but I shouldn't have called him a jerk."


The next day, Matthew was sitting at the table when he said, "Man, I just peed my pants.  I feel like such a jerk."

Prepared

The other day, I took Cameron to the orthodontist -- again.  I think this year is pretty much going to be spent driving to and from school and driving to and from the orthodontist.  That, and paying the bills.  *sigh*

Anyhoo, there is a free coffee machine at the orthodontist.  Not just coffee, but a small version of the hospital coffee machine where you can select "mochaccino" and press start.  Except that hospital machines drop the cup down and fill it.  This little version has you put the cup down and it fills it.  As I did, I thought, "Hmmm, it isn't very clear where you should put the cup . . ." and then the assistant called, "Cameron," and I turned for a moment just as the scalding hot coffee came shooting out of the machine and all over my hand.  (Hazardous!  I mean, shouldn't there be a label or something? 'Warning:  Coffee is Hot?')  So Cameron went back for his appointment and by the time I had mopped up the coffee I'd spilled all over and run my hand under cool water he was nearly done. 

As we left I said, "Oh, Cameron, I really burned my hand!  It really hurts!"

And Cameron pulled out a first aid kit and said, "Would you like some burn ointment for it?"

Yes.  Yes, I would, and if mothering involved merit badges you would have just earned one.

Relations

A few days ago, Matthew asked if Uncle Zack had a mom.  "Yes," I answered a bit incredulously.  "Uncle Zack is my brother!  He has the same mom as me!" 

"Who's your mom?" Matthew responded.

"Grandma Linda!  Grandma Linda is my mom and Uncle Zack's mom and Aunt Stephanie's mom!"

"Oh.  Who was Uncle Zack's mom when he was little?"
"Grandma  Linda!  Who do you think your mom will be when you're a grown up?" I asked, thinking that this would finally get through and Matthew would realize, oh, OF COURSE, but . . .

Matthew looked at me completely seriously and said, "I have no idea."