Not too long ago my MIL took Drake to Disneyland. A very excited Drake, who counted down the days every five minutes as if things would suddenly change if he just counted ONE MORE TIME. They did not. But finally the big day came, and we all piled into the car and drove them to the airport. It did things to my heart I didn't think I could handle watching her take his little hand and lead him off to the big bad airport. He turned back once to wave goodbye and then disappeared behind the automatic doors. I fought back tears as the hubby drove off, valiantly concentrating on my knitting, one row at a time on my sock.
He called three times the first day, twice the second, and none at all the third. Well, except to call and ask if it would be okay to get a Star Wars "blaster" because grandmama made him. He knows me well, that I've never really seen Star Wars, and thus had no idea what a "blaster" was. It's a gun. I figured it out too late to object.
Before he left I was working on the striped sweater for Declan and he told me he wanted an EXACT copy of that sweater, with a few changes. He sketched what he had in mind on this trip and came home with a pretty good drawing. It was totally different from Dec's. I had already bought the yarn. A design conference ensued, tears were shed, but we worked out our differences, making the most of the yarn I had bought. Pictures coming soon. (Hint: His most pressing concern was that it had both a Nike & Umbro logo)
Drake & his grandmama came home with lots of pictures and stories of their trip, but I heard about it all mostly from Drake. My MIL stopped by this weekend on her way to a birthday party and I got to hear more stores.
They spent the first two days in Disneyland & California Adventure, but on their third day decided to head to Legoland. It was, according to Drake, a very long bus ride. Three days it took to get there. They climbed on and settled into their seats right behind the driver. Drake turned to look at grandmama and proclaimed:
"You know, if it wasn't for Martin Luther King Jr., you'd have to be sitting waaaay back in the back of the bus right now. And I'd be sitting here."
For those of you who haven't seen my MIL, she does indeed have very dark skin, she's from Jamaica after all. I'm sure she handled it all very well, as every eye on the bus stared at her to see how she reacted.
We had a great laugh about it....I knew it would come up at some point, just not so publicly.
Yesterday, in a valiant attempt to burn our beloved house to ashes, I left my straightening iron plugged in and turned on. All day. 16 hours. Everytime I walked up into my room I thought I smelled burning, but because I've had sinus problems for the past five months I thought it was the smell of my own snot. The hubby was the one to finally sniff around enough to figure it out. I am left with a straightening iron whose plates are permanently branded with old hair gel & straightening goop. Yes, I've given up on being a curly girl. No, not with having the occasional curly day, but to be a true curly girl you have to commit to curly hair. Every damn day. I'm just not there yet. Yesterday was my first straight day in two weeks and Declan did a double take when I came out of the bathroom. He reached one little hand up and carefully stroked my hair. I think he likes it.
He has been loving life lately, four teeth came in all at once and he is back to his happy smiley self. With a bit more bite. His favorite activity now is to stealthily crawl across the the room to the hapless victim sitting on the floor. In one quick motion he pulls the shirt up, hunches over, and takes a bite. Yum. He thinks it's hysterical to watch us scream and wriggle, trying to get away from those sharp choppers. I try so hard to look at him very serious like and tell him in a firm voice - NO! He sees right through it though and dares to laugh in my face. He knows I'm a sucker for that smile.
He's also walking.....with a little help.
Sing it with me "We all need a little help from our friends....we get by with a little help from our friends.....we get high with a little help from our friends." Ahem. Right. Anyway, except for when Drake accidentally ran over his finger with the thing, he is loving it. He hasn't quite figured out how to turn yet, so he does straight shots across the living room, running into something, and waiting patiently for one of us to come and turn him around.
I have finished this:
Drake immediately ordered one for himself. Not, I believe, because he likes it that much, but because Dec has one he thinks he deserves one also.
And so it begins.
It's my own raglan pattern knit in Dale of Norway Baby Ull, size 2 needles. Yes, I am crazy.
Holy mother of god. I left the curling iron on again. Maybe I should rethink the curly girl.
Only half a day late, not bad for me. And I even have a great excuse. I couldn't find the necessary black shirt. The one that glides over my chest and hides the mummy tummy. I even did laundry in my desperate search only to discover it on the floor in my closet hiding among the yarn. When we decided Declan needed to move into his own room because everytime we breathed he'd wake up I had to give up my yarn stash space. But it had do go somewhere, so I stuffed it into my closet. And by stuffed, I mean it holds up my shirts. Who need hangers & a rod when you can just lay them on top of piles of yarn? Very cushy.
But anyway, back to my Pink Fling. I love it. It's tight, but not too tight, the sleeves hit in the right spot and it has just the perfect curve to it. I'm still debating adding a button to the front. I keep hearing Stacy & Clinton's voice in my head...."Lock & Load." And god knows I've got a chest that needs locked & loaded. What do you think? Lock & load or hang loose?
It gets two thumbs up from Drake.
Before you make any harsh judgements about the hair, let me explain. I've fought the curly hair my entire life. I forced my mom to blowdry it straight from the time I could talk. I have vivid memories of poor mom hunched over me trying to get my masses of curls straight, while I screamed because I saw a kink. I had the book "Curly Girl" recommended to me, and I wasn't sure whether to be offended because they thought I needed a serious hair intervention, or be happy because they thought I had great possibility. I'm seriously hoping it was the latter. That's what I'm telling myself. The book says give it three weeks before making any judgements and I'm on week 1.5. Halfway there. I'm still not sure about it, but let me tell you, my mornings are much better. I've always hated taking a shower knowing the next half hour will be consumed with a loud dryer blasting at my head. And the thing scared the crap out of poor Declan. The first time I turned it on with him in the room his eyes got wide & round, the lip dropped and he screamed like a banshee. I think he thought it was going to eat him. Or at least have a little nibble.
It's a personal thing though, getting over my fear of the curls. Letting myself believe that curly can be just as sophisticated and pretty as straight. I can have 100 people tell me my hair looks great curly, but inside I keep thinking "Yes, but wouldn't it look better straight?"
After my last post, I thought long and hard about what I was missing. And I realized what I'm missing is me. ME. It is so easy to get caught up in being a mom, a friend, a wife, a housekeeper extraordinare, and life gets to be all about working, and cooking and making sure there's the extra gallon of milk in the fridge so we don't run out. Because that would be terrible, wouldn't it? Running out of milk = end of the world. Just ask Drake.
It's so easy to let all those things catch up to me in one big ball and envelop me, take me captive. It's so easy to let my life revolve around everyone else, making sure Drake has his organic peanut butter so he doesn't have to buy that terrible school lunch. Making sure the hubby has clean gym clothes, even if it means I don't have a bra to wear because I didn't put a load of my own clothes in. I'm running in circles for other people and I don't know where to find myself in that circle. It scares me.
It's so hard to find the balance though. When I do leave the kids with the hubby for a fifteen minute shopping trip to buy the precious milk I feel guilty. Why? I don't know. I need to figure it out though, because it's going to eat me alive. So I took my first step today and told the hubby I want to join the gym. I'll go when the kids are still in dreamland and the hubby hasn't gone to work yet. I need to make some "me" time, and that's the best way I know how right now. Put on some spandex and go pass out on a treadmill. I figure the worst thing that could come out of it is that I'll finally loose the last five pounds of Declan weight.