School pictures

Yesterday when I picked up my son from school picture proofs were waiting for me in his cubby. All three poses made me laugh out loud. How long did he sit still? How did the photographer get him to smile so big? Did his teacher really slick his hair to one side?

I'm pretty sure if random people happened to see these pictures they would wonder why my two year old has a comb-over. One may assume I have a sick obsession with Donald Trump. Seriously, did Ms. Lippy lick her hand (ewww) or use paste for that side swipe?

Although I don't necessarily want at 8 x 10 of him standing on a mini-ladder in front of Spring flowers hanging anywhere in my house, I do want several to stick in an album or mail to grandparents for bribery purposes. Can you imagine his embarrassment when he's in his early teens?

"Oh, Mama, will you please tell Mimi to take down that awful picture...especially when all my cousins are over? They keep saying, 'Seacrest, out!' whenever I leave the room."

(Yes, Ryan Seacrest will be mostly bald by then, unless he get plugs which is even scarier.)

Dream #2

I dream that I am a college professor. I dream that I am teaching future teachers. I dream of reading and researching and preparing lessons and writing articles. I dream of being among other professors and learning their visions and theories.

I dream of inspiring that one student who will in turn reach many. I dream of reading about him/her and smiling because he/she was once in my office passionately defending the arts within the public school system.

I dream of never really retiring, maybe hanging around the college library in hopes of someone asking for my help or inviting me for coffee.

An Affair to Reconsider

Hello. May I speak with Mini Robin Eggs, please.

How dare you jump into my shopping cart! Then you make your way from my trunk to my kitchen. Ugh, the disgust! Wrangling your way into my lap while I watch mindless tv is just repulsive. Who would do such a thing? Even your popcorn-coattail-riding brother, plain 'ol Whoppers, would not take advantage of a woman with child. Just because you have a delusional pastel outer shell and a hint of chocolate doesn't mean you are not that bad for me. Your are much, much worse!

Although you are only half eaten I have every intention of tossing you in the trash...or giving you to the neighbor kids. How would you like that, huh? Yeah, didn't think so.

What? Whats that? American Idol is on tonight? At 8:00? Oh, and you want to watch it with me? Snuggling? Yes, that sounds nice, but... You promise, not too many? I don't know.... That's sweet. O.k. Hmmm hm, see you then.

Dammit.

Spring Fever

Warm breeze
Short sleeves
Bare feet

Long days
with
Orange sunsets

Salty air
and
Sandy toes

Pink cheeks
need
Sunscreen

Warm breeze
Short sleeves
Bare feet

Vacation over.

Pinching myself has not been needed the past few days, especially last night. My son decided it was a grand idea to poopy in the bathtub. Twice.

This morning he lost it when Boyfriend left for work. He usually tells his daddy to go to "yurk" and points to the door because The Wiggles are way more interesting that goodbye kisses.

This afternoon he refused to leave the gym. He wasn't even phased that I walked out the front door towards our car waving, "Bye-bye." I had to carry him out sideways on my hip because my preggie belly is too big to carry him in both arms.

Love, love, looooooove the grandparents. Hate, hate, hate the damage control.

Islamorada

Sometimes I pinch myself to know that my life is real.

Boyfriend and I are on vacation. (Boyfriend a.k.a. my husband.) We are celebrating our 5 year anniversary. Remember when 5 years seemed like an eternity? These years have passed like lightening and looking back I realize how very lucky I am. He loves me. I love him.

My in-laws are keeping my son and as I passed Jo Jo's Circus on tv this morning I had a small pang of missing him. He's having the time of his life eating too many cookies and staying up past bedtime, I know, but I wonder if he misses me, too.

The poolside is calling and I must fullfill my vacation duty. More later....

Pink

Yesterday I learned that I am having a little girl. This means pink. I don't even really like pink. Purple is nice but I know pink will take over. Pink blankets, pink onesies, pink bows, pink dresses, pink socks, pink pacies, pink everything. Pink gives me vertigo.

So, I'm a little nervous about having a girl. Sugar and spice and everything nice is not always the case...I remember my early teens. What if she wants to be in beauty pagents? Help me. What if she falls in love too early and leaves home with some cute, quiet artsy guy? What if she hates me because I'm to blame for all of her hang-ups? What if I really turn out to be the unhappiness in her heart?

I am honestly jittery about meeting this little love. Relationships between mothers and daughters are so delicate. Body image, self-esteem, respect...thinking about all of this leaves a huge lump in my throat.

These feelings were not present when my son was born...or is it that whole mommy-amnesia people speak of?

Dream #1

I dream that I am a true writer. One that actually sends in works with hopes of getting published. I dream of attending writer workshops and discussing the greats. I dream of writing rituals and routines and following them. These rituals often include too much coffee causing an obnoxious amount of pacing and erratic hand guestures. I dream of sitting by an old trusty typewritter slowly pulling my written pages only to ball and shoot into a full wastebasket. After an inspirational phone conversation or people watching during a parade I dig for that special ball of trash. I dream of that hopeful feeling that must accompany placing manuscripts into large manilla envelopes and walking to a post office. I dream of smiling at the post office worker and explaining that I just finished my first book.

Hey Blogger Monsters! Um, just ignore this post.

After being an avid blog reader for several years I decided to take the plunge. This is no big deal, right? I mean, I'm here typing away like I often do...only with the possibility of a much wider audience. Where did the butterflies in my stomach come from? Its as if a mean blogger monster is going to pop up any minute to tell me I'm unworthy of such expression and attempt to eat my fingers until she notices that my right thumb has been attacked by a cheese grater and gets disqusted at that, too.

I'm here and I plan/hope/want to stay, so, back off blogger monsters...um, please.