life with this boy

Thom:  Mom! Look! Look! Look! That lady looks just like you. Like exactly. She's like your body double!

Me: Where? Who are you talking about?

Thom: That lady. Moooom. See where I'm pointing? That lady by the elevator.

Me: (looking)

Thom: Right there with the white pants.

Me: (shocked and appalled) That lady?

Thom: Yeah. Yeah. She looks just like you mom.

Me: That lady is fat. Thom, that lady is really fat!

Thom: Uh.

Me: You think I look just like her? Is that what I look like?

Thom: Uh.

Me: That's great. That's just great.

Thom: No mom her hair. See her hair? It's your color and she has a bum on the back of her head just like you.

Me: A bum?

Thom: Yeah. You always have a bum in your hair.

Me: Thanks.

Thom: You're welcome.

-----------------------------------------------

Yes, I do favor the messy bun look.

No, I do not usually point out people's weight to my children.

Yes, I have some weight to loose myself.

No, I did not buy him the Captain Underpants book he asked for shortly after this conversation.

osama bin mama

I got a phone call last Wednesday from the boy's teacher.

Phone calls from teachers are never a good sign. In fact, I think I might dread them more than a tax audit. At least if we were audited I could be sure that everything is on the up and up.

With the boy you just don't know.

It was explained to me that, evidently, my son told one of the little girls in his class that I was going to come kill everyone in the class.

Yes folks. Kill.

So.

An interrogation was preformed. Denials were made. Quite frankly, I don't think the kid could remember what he said the day before.

And then I thought to myself, you know, even if he did say those exact words, (and this is when I had to stop and think if I had in fact threatened to kill everyone around me because that is, sadly, a likely scenario these days), even if he did throw out such a heinous remark, I wouldn't punish him.

He's six.

And he's a boy which means that war and fighting and battle and weapons are just super cool right now.

So he talked a little smack. Then again, maybe he didn't do it at all. Who knows?

And who cares?

He's six.

And I find a certain sense of satisfaction in that he pulled out the big guns. Instead of threatening to have his dad beat someone up, he choose me.

He knows who means business around here.

The photo I took of my crab apples has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just like it. It makes me feel all fallish and domestic and not so much like Osama Bin Laden.

weekend

Thursday

On Thursday evening Thom came bouncing into the kitchen to show me the pocket knife that his father had given him to use for the weekend.

A pocket knife.

He's six.

At that point I decided to pray fervently that they would survive and leave it in the Lord's hands.

Friday

The boys left on Friday to search out Butch Cassidy's hidden treasure. They drove eight hours to Escalante National Park where they met up with two outlaws named Papa and Uncle David, got some lunch and then headed out into the wild.

Saturday

On Saturday, Rosie, Birdie and I went for cupcakes.


Just outside the door of my favorite Bakery, one can find this fabulous old piano and violin, languishing in the flora.

Aren't they just simply romantic?

Rosie ordered up a strawberry kiss cupcake and I had chocolate toffee. We split a "mustachio" which is a pistachio cupcake with a chocolate moustache.

For my one sweet of the week, it wasn't too shabby.

The boys got home safe and sound with no sizable wounds to speak of. They found the treasure. Pictures to follow.

For now I give you a gratuitous photo of my beautiful baby girl looking oh sooooo sweet in her new Tea tunic.

the big escape

This is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the guilty or innocent. We don't believe in crap like that.

Sugar Daddy started a new tradition. On Saturday mornings he takes the boy and the wild beast to Dog Beach. They stop at Leucadia Doughnuts on the way. Finnigan and Thom run around like banshees in the sand and surf and get all their energy out for the day.

I stay in bed and cuddle Birdie. It's wonderful.

A couple of Saturdays ago the boy came home with a pet. Now let it be known that I love animals and believe all children should be allowed to learn and grow through the responsibilities of caring for a pet.

But...

I'm not big on pets of the little variety. Mainly because they stink. Gerbils=stink. Birds=stink. Lizards, turtles and snakes=stink and creepiness.

I've never wanted my house to be a kid house. You know the type. Toys strewn about the living room. Science projects by the sink. Stinky little pets in bedrooms.

But I'm afraid it's becoming inevitable. The boy came home with a crab. His father, knowing it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission, had stopped at the pet store and bought an aquarium with all the bells and whistles.

They set it up in Thom's bathroom. "Eugene" had his new home. (Eugene, as in Eugene Crabs from Spongebob.)

Eugene stayed huddled in the corner for the first day, then he burrowed under the rocks.

Or so we thought.

On his third day at the Meeker house Eugene went on the lamb.

I was on the phone with my dad when I spotted something in the far corner of the kitchen wedged underneath the cabinets. I got closer to have a look and gasped into the receiver when it dawned on me that I was looking at Eugene's corpse.

It seems his gamble didn't pay off.

But what a display of sheer determination! People, this little crab crawled out of the tank and down the bathroom cabinets. He must have gone through Thom's room, down the hall, took a hard right, and scaled down two flights of stairs. At that point I can only imagine his excitement to see a door leading outside. Freedom at last! But he still had a ways to go, down the hall and through the kitchen. He must have been simply exhausted. I wonder what went through his mind as defeat overcame him, as he realized the door was shut tight, that he was slowly drying out with no where to go.

Poor Eugene.

"What am I going to tell him?" I asked my dad. "He's going to be so upset! He only had him a couple of days!"

I tried to break the news to Thom as gently as I possibly could. I put him on my lap. I stroked his hair and explained that Eugene was no more. I waited for the tears.

"Good." he said. "Now I can get those fish that I really wanted at the pet store."


Such sentimentality.

*******breaking news*******

LOST MAP FOUND

Just yesterday a very valuable map surfaced and was acquired by one small boy by the name of Thomas Meeker. The map is over one hundred years old and although it can't be known for sure, experts think that it is the very map said to have been hand drawn by non other than Butch Cassidy.

The map was given to Thomas Meeker by his father who declined to speak as to the map's origin.

Included with the map was a brittle old photograph of the Wild Bunch which includes, the Sundance Kid, Tall Texan, Butch Cassidy, News Carver and Kid Curry.


Thomas and his father have tentative plans to visit Escalante, Utah next month on an expedition to the Hole in the Rock area where the Wild Bunch was known to have a hideout. There has been much speculation as to what treasures the map might reveal.

In the meantime, the map is being kept safe and sound in Thomas's cigar box where all his other valuables are stored.

The National Geographic Society has been in contact with the Meeker's, but they have declined any offer to sell or reproduce this incredible find.

However, if the price is right, a certain unnamed inside source would be open to negoitations to help fund her fashion addiction.

the little professor

I took to really really missing him.

I missed my little professor. I missed the daily lessons he gives Amelie on his new chalk board. I missed his boney little body snuggled up next to me on the couch. I missed his art projects that make a huge mess.

The flip books. . .

The solar system on the ceiling in his room.

He colored each planet and then I cut them out. He made sure I put them up in order. He even insisted that although Pluto is no longer a planet, it's still a thing, out there, floating around, so we put it up in the far corner. His light, of course, serves as the sun, and the stars glow in the dark.

I slept in his bed Tuesday night. I couldn't seem to fall asleep and so I wandered down the hall and into his room. His bed seemed so inviting. I feel asleep holding his Uglydoll looking up at the night sky.

I missed the little professor. The next morning I got in the car and drove to be near him. Funny how a mother needs her children as much or more than they need her.

this boy

This child of mine is getting too big. His hair is turning lighter from the sun. He is getting more freckles.

This child of mine likes worms and superheros and he likes to call me "dude", which I think is pretty funny, except for when he is in trouble.

This child of mine, loves his little sister almost as much as I do. He spends hours drawing everyday, and sometimes he makes lists of people he wants to spy on.

This child of mine tried so very hard to be patient on the ride home from St. George yesterday, but when traffic added a couple of hours onto the drive, he cracked. Tears rolled down his freckled cheeks and it broke my heart because I couldn't do anything about it.

So I took a photo out the car window of this great sunset.

My boy finally feel asleep when we were just minutes from home. I put him to bed without brushing his teeth and whispered to him that tomorrow would be a better day. I plan to make good on that.

child labor

The boy has four chores to do every morning.

*Feed the dog

*Make his bed

*Pick-up his room

*Brush his teeth

I was accused yesterday of being bossy. I told him I must be a little bossy or his chores would never get done.

He said to Ben "Dad, do you know how hard it is for me to do my chores?"

Ben said, "No, how hard?"

"It's like a dog trying to open a soda can."

The drama.

the map

So I found this piece of paper by the computer the other day. It seems Thom had been busy drawing a map.

I was very intrigued by this creation and when I asked him to explain it to me this is what he said.

Other items on the map include a firehouse, an army tank, a beach and parking spots.

Also, today will go down in history as the day Amelie gave her first smile. Sugar Daddy is claiming the first smile happened two days ago, when he tickled her neck, but we all know that the first smile was granted to me. Nice try honey.

the thing about dogs

Are dogs a pain in the ass? Why yes they are, but just like exercise, the benefits far exceed the irritation.

variety is the spice of life

This is what it is like to be Amelie's mother.

This is what it is like to be Thom's mom.

I am finding much wonderment in the difference.

It is a delightful thing to experience.

beautiful boy

I'm not one to gush. Sure I'm a proud mom. Like everyone else, I secretly think my kid is the cutest, funniest most charming of all children. But I don't gush.

Mostly because, well, it's just not that interesting to other people, except maybe my mom.

But today, I must. I must gush. I'm in the mood and I'm going with it.

When Thom was first born he looked like a little old rabbi. He had jet black hair and a pointy nose. I thought, my word, I've given birth to a Baal Torah.

Then he puffed up into this chubby little butterball and I thought, my word, this child is fun to pinch!
Then he grew and became the skinny twig boy he is today. The only pinchable place on his entire body are his four cheeks. Even those make for meager pinching these days.

As if to make up for my disappointment in regards is his pinchabilty, Thom has become a budding artist. He always knows just the right thing to twang my heart and make me proud.

Here is his latest installation piece hanging in his class room. It was a collaborative effort with his good friend Ethan. If you can't tell, those are M&M men.

At night, before I go to bed, I sneak into his room. I kneel by his bed and listen to him breath. His rocketship nightlight glows green, then blue, then red. The stars on his ceiling are fading and seem far away.

This is where I like to say my prayers. This is where I thank the Lord for everyday I have been given with my funny, skinny, charming little boy.

humble pie

I thought I'd share my recipe for humble pie. Jenny and Julie, you're gunna love this.

Humble Pie

1 heapful of "I hope Thom doesn't want to play sports."
1 large portion of selfishness over personal time on Saturdays
372 eye rolls over parents going to their kids games instead of out to lunch with us
87 white lies told to a child as to why we haven't signed him up to play

Mix well over a period of a couple years. Pour into a dish of crusty looks of distrust when told that kids games are actually a lot of fun. Bake at a ridiculously high heat.

serves one

For all you out there that have gingerly told me for a while now that kids sports are really a great thing only to be meet with smart remarks and a hand wave, you should know something. Today I am eating my words.

Yesterday was Tommy B.'s first game. It was 80 degrees and a little windy. He had soooo much fun despite the fact that his mother refused to fall into the "Soccer Mom" profile, so she wore stylish clothes and brought no lawn chairs or water.

He scored a goal in the first half, then he decided to get a little social time in while the ball was still in play. Now, that's my boy.

happy happy me

I've learned something about myself over the last few months. In order for me to be truly happy, I must have three things in my life.

1. My Family

2. Something fun to look forward to

3. Art

There is a fourth small variable of having a clean house, but I am working to let that one go a little. Life is too short to be cleaning all the time.

If I've got the three big ones goin on, I'm as happy as a clam and last weekend I hit all three spot on. I had the girls in my family over for a big fun day of art. We broke out all our fun papers and paint and made a huge mess in my kitchen. We cut and ripped and pasted. We all love art so much that at some point each of us actually squealed with excitement. The boy sat at the counter with his own paints and I was almost overcome with all the creativity in the room.

I loved the way my little prince bird turned out. I think I will hang him in my kitchen.

Just a note regarding Friday's giveaway. In order to be entered into the drawing, you must post the Suaviloquy graphic on you site with a link. Please leave address to the blog where you have posted. Thanks.

par-tay

Considering the fact that we were partially comatose and totally out of whack due to traveling on Thom's real birthday, we are celebrating today. We've got a handful of families coming over to watch a movie on our back lawn after the sun goes down. We've got something like 15 pounds of candy for the "concessions stand". We've got popcorn, We've got snow cones. We've got glow sticks and bouncy balls. We're ready.

I made cupcakes instead of a cake this year. It is just easier when you have a lot of people to serve. Besides, I'm partial to cupcakes.

There are several huge advantages to having a boy (faster hair styling, less shoe purchasing and the whole pee factor*) however, cute birthday parties are not one of them. When you have boys, you may be able to get away with cute birthdays for the first two to three years, then things take a sharp turn to the ugly, i.e. Spiderman, Transformers, Pokemon.

I found a loop hole in cupcakes. Boys don't seem to notice if you beautify their birthday cupcakes. Don't try this with an actual birthday cake, from personal experience I can tell you, it doesn't fly.

*There isn't a day that goes by that I don't enjoy the benefits of having a boy when it comes to urinating. This is especially wonderful if you have mysophobia (fear of germs) and public restrooms seem like mine fields. I am all about peeing in the bushes, even outside of Target. Er- I mean Thom. Thom peeing in the bushes, not me. I personally brave the bathrooms with custom crafted paper towel gloves. As a general rule I don't pee outside. I think that would be against the law, right?

five

To see more Maui pics, click on the photo above. It will take you to my Flickr page.

Yesterday my little boy turned five. I haven't felt nostaglic about it yet. Once I go down that road I know I'll end up in a little town I like to call "Poor Me" wherein I lament the fact that his babyhood is gone forever and I may never have another baby again. Instead, I am just happy that I have been given five years with the child of my dreams. He is all I ever wanted and didn't know I needed. He is smart, quick witted, funny and quirky. He has so much spunk and fight in him that at times it startles me. I don't know anyone with as much self confidence as he has. Quite frankly, I marvel that he came from my genes.

I can't wait to see what kind of man he becomes. Well- actually I can wait. He is growing up at an alarming rate. I am trying everyday to mentally hold on to snippets of time we spend together so that when he is grown, I can pull up memories and recall the happiness that I feel just being his mom.

Check this out!

Wordle - Maui

in the event of my death

When I die, if my life flashes before my eyes, I hope it includes today. It was just a Tuesday, mundane in so many ways. I ran with the running club and then Thom and I headed over to the beach to meet some friends. We must have had some sort of miscommunication because we never found them. So we were alone, on the beach, just Thom and I.

We talked a little about his upcoming birthday and our trip to Hawaii. We sat on our towels with outstretched legs and ate our sandwiches and watched the Junior Lifeguards practice. He said, "Mom, we're lucky to live at the beach huh?"

We went out into the rolling surf and jumped the waves for over an hour. My face hurt from all the laughing.

At home we had reading time and he fell asleep in my arms. I can count on my fingers the number of times he has allowed me to do this. He's not much of a cuddler, never has been.

I was flying high as a kite. And then I started cutting the fabric for my Amy Butler tunic. Well- that brought me down to earth pretty fast. After cutting out the front and back panel in a size 6-8, I realized that in Amy's world I am really a size 12. Damn, the Gap for tricking me into thinking I'm on the small side with their size 4 (a.k.a. 8) jeans!

If you are an itty bitty little thing, watch my blog. I may be selling an adorable tunic pretty soon.

Oh and as long as I'm putting in requests for my life movie, please Lord, leave out the sewing part and splice in a moment of me eating a coconut cupcake at 25th and Main.

catholics got nothing on me

I've heard it said that "Catholic guilt" is as bad as it comes, but let me tell ya, Catholics- they got nothin' on me.

I find things to feel guilty about in all areas of life. Religion and house keeping keep me pretty riddled on a constant basis, but five years ago I entered a whole new realm of "mom guilt". It's always something. Either I missed a night brushing his teeth or a let him eat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese twice in one week.

A couple of months ago Thomas started talking. ALL THE TIME. Seriously, the kid can talk a blue streak and then keep going. I never realized how exhausting it is just to listen to someone. My head aches every night by the time he finally nods off to sleep and peace falls over the house like a sweet, soft blanket. And so I feel guilty.

Guilty because I should love to listen to my boy. He is my world. Thing is, right now my world has too much talking going on. Car rides are a exercise in metal control and patience. I just want to scream "Shut Up! For the love of Pete, stop talking! I can't hear myself think!" (By the way, the 'hear myself think' part I got from my own mother).

It was really only a matter of time. I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it through this phase without losing it and today I did. I was cleaning out my pantry, crouched in the crawl space under the stairs, sweating like a pig, trying to organize the cake mixes and Jell-O. Thom was sitting behind me on a bag of flour talk, talk, talking away. And as if it wasn't hot enough in there, Finnigan was panting his hot dog breath over my shoulder assuming that if he looked at me long enough, I'd give him a treat from the shelf. Thom kept asking questions and telling me to look at this or that. I tried to turn around to see what he wanted and I bumped my head hard on the ceiling. I snapped. I yelled at them both to "Get out! Get out! Get out! and don't talk to me until I say!" Thom said, "I just wanted to help you Mom."

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt and shame. So what do I always do when things aren't right in my world? Go shopping. My idea was to take Thom to get Pizza with friends (a lowly make-up gesture) and then stop by to get some jewelry supplies I need for an Etsy order. We did all that, but I also found this.

I know that someday, this boy of mine won't want to talk to me at all. I'll be very sad when that day comes. And guilty, because I complained and yelled when all he wanted was for me to listen.

rising gas, tumbling kids

Bloody Hell. It now costs me a hundred dollars to fill my gas tank. Granted, I drive an SUV (although a small one) when I probably should have bought a Civic. But I hate Civics, and anyway, I buy a lot of plants and crap that takes up space. But this is reedickuloous! I have had thoughts of riding my bike to run my errands. Thing is, where would I put the groceries? In one of those cute little baskets made to fit a chihuahua? That's a no go. And what about the boy? Am I to purchase a kid carrier and chauffeur him around like he's some sort of prince in a rickshaw? At least we wouldn't fight over his window being down. I simply can't take the thumping noise of an open back seat window.

So for now, I guess I'll just cue up my errands and take the gouge at the pump. Drat!

Thom is participating in a tumbling camp this week. I signed him up hoping that he would be returned to me in a near comatose fatigued condition but when I went to pick him up, he bounced up to me with the most absurd grin on his face and announced that he wanted to go to the pool. Drat!

roots

Sugar Daddy likes to say- you can take the girl out of Utah, but you can't take the Utah out of the girl.

We took a picnic up to North Fork Canyon. This is the place I learned to cross country ski when I was a child. This is where I went to Girl's Camp and learned how cruel girls can be to each other. This is land that my father knows like the back of his hand. Today, I took my son there and stood at the waterfall and watched him cry big crocodile tears because we wouldn't let him scale the rock wall. It seems he got a healthy dose of the Campbell gene for outdoor adventure.

I find my western roots are peculating to the surface of my life. I love that there are so many country western stations here. I love that just up the street from my parents house the Barker family still runs a small dairy farm. Although my home town has grown and is no longer the "Mayberry" I once knew, it still has a small town feel. People still smile and wave from their pastures as you drive by.

The Skipping Stone necklace was one of the first things I listed on Etsy. I have sold every one I have listed. I picked up a few stones on our little hike tonight. I can't wait to get home to my work bench to make them into jewelry.