Call It What You Want...

This afternoon (after Daddy got done dropping off his photography entries in the Indiana State Fair, I heard Mark say to Daddy, "Poopy's coming!"

Off they went to the bathroom, and Daddy managed to get Mark onto the potty, pants off, in time! Hurray for two things:
1. He went #2 on the potty; and
2. He told us it was coming before it was already there (and was right).

He got a nice new forklift (no, it's a skid steer with a forklift on it) and a dump truck.

Hurray!

No, we're not the latest in a series of "wrong person receives a credit card" stories...

We were at Grandma Skelly's house the other day and she had made a card for Mark and Adam. Later that evening, Mark got out the card and showed it to Grandma Sarah, who was visiting.

"I got a new card," he told her, showing it to her. "It's a MASTER CARD!"

Don't ask me who's paying the bills.

I saw this last week, and I've been so angry about it I thought I'd better wait a few days before I rant about it, but here it is a few days later and I'm still hot about it so here I go (and I'm going to take a breath now, too).

I'm sitting on the porch, enjoying a beautiful afternoon with two little boys in their naps. It was a gorgeous day in my neighborhood -- people walking their dogs, riding bikes, jogging. And then I saw it.

A golf cart.

Not just a golf cart, though its presence in the neighborhood is stupid enough. We do not border a golf course. We are not a resort town. People are not on vacation here. But no. It wasn't just that some schmoe has a golf cart to get him around the neighborhood that got me all in a huff.

It was the three overweight kids -- one of whom, no more than 12 years old, was driving the thing, on city streets no less -- who were clearly riding the golf cart back home from the community pool.

When I was a kid (yes, it's going to be one of those) and we wanted to go to the pool -- in our day it was the Seashore -- we got our swim stuff and got on our bikes and rode the 3.592 miles (I checked on Google map pedometer) and locked our bikes and had our great time and then got back on our bikes and rode the same 3.592 miles home.

Granted, nowadays it's not quite as safe as it used to be. There are scary people out there, and between our old house and the Seashore might not be the safest place in the whole world. But. This is not that 3.5 miles. This is a mile, maybe a mile and a half, and it's in a neighborhood with sidewalks and stopsigns and no stoplights and no (or very little) through traffic.

Let's start with the fact that the golf cart is not "street legal" -- it has no license plates.
Add to it the fact that the kid driving (who I saw driving yesterday with a FREAKIN' CAT IN HER LAP!!!!) is most certainly not of age to be driving anything.
Then we get to the laziness factor that these kids aren't even using self-propelled scooters on which they're at least standing up.
AND I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED IN ON THE FACT THAT THEY WERE FAT KIDS!

I mean, I am all about taking the easy way. Yes, I too have weight issues. But if we're so up in arms about our obese kids... TAKE AWAY THE STUPID GOLF CART! MAKE THEM RIDE BIKES OR WALK TO THE DARN POOL!

The worst thing about it is, I will keep seeing those lazy kids and keep getting mad about it.

Hmm, what are those things the police throw in front of cars they're trying to stop? The ones that pop the tires?

Mark pointed out to me that a nice lawn chair had been left outside in the rain, so I went to bring it in.
When I returned, he asked, "Are you a good helper, Mommy?"
I think I was.

Last night we were all happily sleeping when a really HUGE crash of thunder woke us. It woke Mark too, who screamed "DAAAAAAAA-DEEEEEEE! The thunder scared me!" I was proud of him for clearly articulating what the trouble was, especially in light of the other times he wakes up screaming and is incoherent.
Immediately upon Daddy's arrival in his room, he said, "Toy?"
I followed Daddy into the room. He was holding the trembling little guy (the thunder was really loud), who told me also that the thunder had scared him, and then he asked me for a toy. I thought he wanted a toy on his shelf or under his bed. "What toy do you want?" I asked, expecting the typical "Mommy pick" or whining.
"James," he answered without hesitation.
Here it's the middle of the night, he's just been scared out of his wits, and he knows exactly which toy he wants.

Now, mind you, the little brother slept through all the hubbub -- the lightning and thunder and accompanying screaming and shouting. Good little sleeper (this time). Actually, he'd already been up twice in the night before this happened. So it was all good.

Speaking of the little brother, Adam can now walk by himself with his little walking toy. He loves it, and loves to go back and forth across the living room with it. He just laughs and laughs. He walks until he crashes into something immovable, and then (usually) waits until I turn him and the toy around, then goes back. Back and forth, back and forth. There are lines in the carpet, sort of like the ones the vacuum cleaner or Roomba leave, except without the benefit of it being clean now. Oh well. (This toy we got free from a neighbor when Mark was learning to walk. He loved it, too.)

I also am the hero as I cleaned out the Noblesvillian's car last night. He was worn out, so I took on one task. In cleaning, I found a few lost items and put a few other things back into useful places (the car registration, not just sitting in the back seat, for example). AND -- the Noblesvillian is such a hero, because he managed to repair the gas-tank door, which has been broken since winter! I am always nervous when he takes apart things that a factory put together (like a car), but he popped off a few pieces of trim and got the piece out that opens the trunk and the gas tank door, and fixed it! Hurray! Now if only that jerk at his work hadn't dinged his door (he knows which car is yours...), it would be as good as new. :)

Oh. The other random story I sent to some of you already.

A few weeks ago, Mark and I were playing outside and he kept talking about the tractor coming to our field (behind our house) to harvest the wheat. I kept telling him, "No, not yet, but soon."
Actually, the tractor was in the neighboring fields; by the end of the day, our field was harvested.
Some days later, Mark and Daddy were at home and Mark informed Daddy that the tractor was in the field with the seed drill.
"Okay, buddy, whatever you say..." (You hate to contradict the boy who is certain.)
Yesterday I noticed green growing in between the rows of harvested wheat. I went to check. Soybeans. Darn if he wasn't right.
According to our friend Greg, who is a big-brain for Pioneer, "The wheat harvest was earlier than normal this year so lots of the farmers around here are trying to 'double-crop' soybeans this summer. This rain is just what they needed too, so with more heat this summer, they should get a good second crop by October."

Greg also complimented him, saying he was a smart kid, and most people wouldn't have a clue about such things...I have to admit that the kid's MOTHER would be among those who wouldn't have a clue... (And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what you get when you let your kid read books, the darn things!)

First of all, it's happened. I've threated for several years to do this in some form or another (at one point threatening to get it for Big Mama and then ask to use it a lot) but now it's happened...

Gertie has become a part of my home. A lady in town had a whim and bought her a couple years ago and hasn't used her. She's advertised her in the paper a few times; finally, today, I saw her in the classifieds. $30 beats regular prices of close to $200, I think. So if it's just a whim for me, well, I'm not out that much...

And. Just when you thought it was safe to ask questions...

The other night I called Mark in for supper. As he came in from the family room, where he'd been playing with trains, he said, "I need a new diaper." (sort of like Grandpa disappearing into the bathroom when Grandma called us all for supper when we were kids and they were "dad" and "mom".)
"You do?" I asked, surprised that he'd even mention it. Usually he doesn't care.

"I can't sit in my chair with a nasty ol' yucky diaper while I eat," he replied. Duh.

Oh. Yeah. And Adam can go up the stairs.

Yup. Up the stairs. All the way up. (I'm not that bad of a mom -- I was right behind him. After about three stairs.)

Can you imagine my surprise at hearing those words, just out of the blue? Perhaps you can imagine that I could imagine why I was hearing them.

A few moments earlier, Mark pointed out that some of his trucks weren't put away. This morning was not a good morning. Many things got put away when he went on a rude spree, disobeying the Mom, ignoring her, not taking turns with Adam, and, finally, kicking Adam in the face when he tried to use his brother to stand up. Like I said, many things got put away.

So when he pointed out that some of his trucks didn't get put away, I reminded him of why the others were. And that he needed to do things when Mommy tells him to.

So I checked a couple of blogs, went in to stir supper (Chef Jenny conquers Hamburger Helper), and came back, and, with angelic eyes and voice, he approached me.

"I'm sorry, Mommy."
"For what?" I asked.
"For being dis-'bedient," he replied.
"Thank you."
"I want the trucks back."

What? You mean that wasn't just a heart-felt apology brought on by true remorse and that's all?

"May I have the dump truck?"

"May I have the bucket truck?"

He gets Doggy back if he's nice the rest of the evening.

Pastor Mom tagged me on this a couple days ago. After the computer ate my first work-in-progress, I finally finished it.

Enjoy...

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

So… My random things…

1.      I love to write when my brain lets me. My novels, all hard to categorize except under the heading “Jenny’s”, will probably never be published, but I write them for my own amusement. And they’re all better than The Enigmatic Fugue, the grand piece of literary brilliance several of us started many years ago, inspired by, well, a "great" author. (I still have it, in case anyone wants to resurrect it.)

2.      I have a compulsion to finish books once I start reading them. I almost never put one down without finishing it. But this week I did. I found this book so dreary, depressing, and dull that I gave up. I didn’t care what happened to these down-on-their-luck characters. Sorry Oprah.

3.      When I can’t sleep, I organize my thoughts alphabetically… verses and sayings, songs and song lyrics, names and adjectives. Most of the time I don’t get past the middle of the alphabet.

4.      Anyone who knows me very well already knows this, but I have a serious mistrust of the telephone. I don’t call people. It doesn’t even cross my mind to call people. If I think of it, I might do it, but I don’t. Is it because Big Mama has always hated the phone? Is it because The Dad carefully itemized the phone bill and charged us for any calls (plus tax and fees), meaning we had to admit when we’d called someone, which was more embarrassing if it was a boy (egads!)? Is it just because I’m a freak? Only the phone knows, and it’s not telling. (And this is why the pay-as-you-go mobile is a good idea for me. Except for the weird text messaging issue.)

5.      Yes, it’s true, my favorite stuffed animal that I had to sleep with every night for many many years was named after my brother (the Thief). Baby Brian was actually a series of stuffed animals, originally dogs (sans plastic collars and ears, which I immediately ripped off), but ultimately a ratty bear-ish animal that lasted some eight years.

6.      My favorite ice cream is raspberry fudge cordial. It is yummy. The Thief can attest to that, too, as can Mrs. Thief, and now that Big Mama can eat ice cream again, I’ll take her to Alexander’s and get her some, too.

7.      My favorite sound is hearing Mark and Adam laughing in the car, usually when we’re driving on a hilly road. The benefit of one facing front in his carseat and the other facing the rear is that, in effect, they sort of face each other and egg each other on. Fortunately for now, that’s to laugh more. When they’re up to no good, they won’t be in baby seats anymore (I hope).

8.      No thanks to sandy beaches; I like shores strewn with boulders. Preferably with woods along them, too. And water that’s doing something, not just sitting there. (Sandy beaches just have sand that sticks to your feet – a nod to the Thief and his opinions – and creepy things living in them. Don’t tell me anything about rocks; I have already imagined the things living in the crevasses.)

Okay. Who do I tag? I don’t usually have eight people to send on these errands. Repressed Librarian is already doing this over at her place. I’m fake-tagging her because my list is short. J
Big Mama, of course, gives you a reason to gratuitously talk about yourself. 
Thief, if you have nothing better to do
Andrea, who is still in hiding – I mean, your 2-year-old is out of the country right now! Stop the partying and do this one! J
Baby J! Your mom tagged me!
(Add yourself to the list if you want to do this! Just leave me a comment so I know to keep an eye on you…)

is what I asked Mark this morning.

He suggested (as if expecting me to say, "oh, not today, but sometime...") "Go the Children's Museum?"

I said, "Okay!"

Adam played with some blocks and stuff.

Mark drove the skid steer (which he was looking forward to before we even got there. "'Member the skid steer, Mommy?").

We all rode giraffes on the carousel. (Well, two of us. The third held the smaller one on and tried to convince him it was fun.)

And Mark played pretend, making an ice cream treat at the soda fountain and fishing in the water.

Adam the mighty crawler has discovered that he can open the cabinet doors. This one is the one we let him get into.

Hmm. He reaches in.

and in...

and in.

He closes the door.

He opens it again, and then looks to make sure I'm still watching.

Pretty soon there's a nice array of Gladware spread across the floor. And the enameled bowls that Mrs. Dunce so wishes I had found again so she'd have some now.

and finally, he comes over to check in and make sure I'm still enthralled.