I went to tuck J into bed.
“Is this how you want to sleep?” His covers were all untucked and completely askew. I started to straighten them out.
“Yes.” he said. “I want to sleep like a rat.”
“You want to sleep like a rat? How do rats sleep?”
“They sleep with garbage, and their bellies are too full.”
Mr. French has a favorite line, which he has been using since we came home with our third boy. (Mr. French never, in his wildest dreams, thought he would have three boys in a row.)
He says, “Forget about college, we need to start a fund for feeding teenage boys.”
If you could see how much they can pack away now, you’d think we need one too. They think you should be able to eat your age in pancakes.
I was avoiding the dishes by checking my email and the boys were asking for dessert (see what I mean?) so I told them they had to clear the table first.
“Hey, Mom. Guess what? Felicity is becoming like a teenager.” said C.
“Really?” I asked, puzzled. I imagined her preening in front of the mirror, changing her clothes for the 5th time today. (Wait, she already does that.) “How?”
He held up a bowl that used to contain caramelized onions. “‘Cause she’s eating all the food!”
It took me a second, and then I laughed. Felicity, in just a diaper, standing on a chair stuffing caramelized onions into her mouth is exactly what a teenage boy would look like.
(In the order in which they were shot by Mr. French.)
And…she’s all done with that.
Hey, at least she cleaned her “plate”.
Last week someone at work asked me how I met my husband.
“The short version or the long version?”
She looked at the clock. “I don’t care, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”
Right. So. I told her about Ireland and the “Dear John” letter and then college and then I told her about transferring to Kansas and the whole thing about my Mom being at his friend’s house and how we both knew the other was going to be there and then I said, “Yeah, he found out he got the job in Kansas City like on a Friday and he moved there and started work on Monday.”
And that’s when it happened.
I said, “You know, that should have been my first clue that I’d be moving every year for the rest of my life, huh?”
Man, I’m slow.
This morning I wanted to see if a certain store was near my old home in Ohio.
I typed in the first zip code that came to mind and realized that I’d typed in the home I lived in when I had J.
6 years ago.
I’m not a “numbers person” during the best of times so I have to work at remembering my new address every year…but…that is kind of ridiculous.
If there is a club, and I think there should be, I wanna be the president.
I was at a bookstore with all the kids. After we browsed the books, we decided to have a snack in the cafe area. Felicity was in a highchair and could not sit still. I’d never seen her so fidgety. She wiggled, got up on her feet, sat back down, wiggled around some more. Finally, I said, “What’s a matter, do you have ants in your pants?”
She was half-way up out of her seat. She looked down at her pants then looked at me and said in a high singsong voice, “Yeah!”
So, Felicity had a huge stack of books that I’m sure she was going to “request” (“Mommy! Book!”) that I read to her, when she sort of tripped and spilled the pile.
Out of her mouth comes, “Aww, Man!”
I just can’t imagine where she got that.