Egg-Cam

So, after much thought and speculation and research into what tablet I should get for myself (since everyone else in the family has one), I finally decided what to buy with my little stash. 

A Go Pro. 

Yeah, a Go Pro, one of those wearable cameras. No, I don't jump off of buildings or race cars or surf or do anything cool like that. But... well... see.... I've wanted one for a REALLY LONG TIME. And there's real potential here! Seriously!

Well, that's what I'm telling my husband. And to prove that it has real use, I give you The Easter Egg Hunt. I figured if my thirteen year old was beginning to find himself too fabulous to hunt for free candy I could at least strap a camera to his head for some fun. 

Because that's what Moms do. You'll hunt for that candy and you'll LIKE it, and you'll 

produce "top quality" entertainment while you're at it. 

Happy Easter!

Soft Kitty, Psycho Kitty, Purr, Purr, Purr

When your kitten has ears the size of satellite dishes, that does not mean they'll "grow out of it".
It means they'll grow INTO them. 

And when your 25lb Maine Coon cat looks at you like this, he is not 

searching your eyes for signs of your love. He is trying to figure out

how to kill you and make it look like an accident. 

The quick look away is a sure sign. 

Doesn't matter. I still adore the punk. Now, can someone

hand me a bandaid? I'm sure he didn't mean it....

Tulsa

4 hours, 256 miles, three bad cups of coffee, and a raging snowstorm awaiting me

for the drive back tomorrow. 

TOTALLY worth it. 

March Madness

Your brackets mean nothing to me. I'm fairly confident I've got the inside scoop

on "March Madness"....

In the first round, the hallway clock will try to hang on, but will be knocked out in the end. 

The second round will find the ceiling smoke detector being demolished by a last minute 

jump shot from the line. 

No wall art will be safe as we move deeper into the tournament. 

And the walls can expect a sure beatdown in the final push to victory.

Final: Monkey-children- 329; House structure- -32

Cheese Negotiations

Some nights I like to be that fun, spur-of-the moment Mom that marches in the door and announces "We're going out for dinner!" Usually this is because I am either A- too lazy to cook; B- realizing I forgot to go to the grocery store, or (most likely) C- a combination of both.

Tonight was one of those nights. So we went to Minsky's Pizza.

Even though we've lived here just over five years, we still hadn't made it to the pizzeria just down the road. Which is odd, because we're kind of a pizza lovin' family. Well, mostly. 

Sometimes it's hard to try new places with the Z in tow. Not because he's a terror, and it's not like he has allergy issues. He has major food aversions. Not "I'm going to throw a fit because all I want are nuggets!" We're talking hyper-ventilating, absolute terror over.... say.... a hamburger. But he likes pizza. Correction- he likes cheese breadsticks, or cheese pizza, no sauce. 

He was still pretty nervous, though. He's old enough to realize that different places do even the simplest of things, like cheese breadsticks, differently.  "What if it's too different?" 

"It smells different in here." "What if the cheese isn't right?" "Are they bringing sauce? 

Will you take it away if they do, please?" It's a lot of worry and tension over some bread and cheese. 

In the end it worked out just fine, even if he was a little nervous about it all. 

So that's one small step for Z, one giant leap for our dining options. 

Don't sweat the small stuff... cherish it.

Sometimes, no matter how much I adore those two boys of mine, I end the day wanting to pull my hair out. 

It's simple, really. All I asked was that they pick up the living room while I folded the laundry. Such a simple task, especially divided between the two of them. So is it any wonder that I felt my frustration grow, little by little when I walked down the stairs...

It's little stuff, but it drives me nuts. Was it really easier to step over the monkey rather than pick it up and put it away? 

And are we going to take bets now on the frantic shoe search that will occur just minutes before the bus arrives tomorrow morning? 

I suppose I should be grateful that at least ONE shoe made it over by his saxophone case. 

One. No clue where the other one is. I suppose that could be his jazz musician name. 

One Shoe Tupin. Has a nice ring to it. 

Pretty sure the water jug isn't the dog's, that is,

unless she's laying off the more understated "whine until 

they fill my water dish" method and is going with 

the time honored "guilt and manipulation" method. 

Don't get me started about laundry. Please. 

And I know we're all super excited that we're getting the Imagination 

Movers episodes again, but did we really need to leave the TV on? Who's

listening, the cat? 

It just wears on you, you know? I walked through the house, the frustration building, reaching a resounding crescendo as I walked into the basement and heard the video games. Sure, I thought, do as little as you can and then run downstairs and turn on the XBox. Not likely, kids. 

And then I stopped. I stopped when I saw this:

It doesn't look like anything... just two boys, on the sofa together, hanging out. For me, though, it was a reminder that there are more important things in life than making sure each sock made it into the basket. There's almost six years of age difference between my boys, six years that seem even farther apart with each day. When those quiet moments of togetherness come.... I'm not going to stop it. 

Sure, maybe they should have double checked their work before heading downstairs. And no, it isn't anything life altering that they're doing- just talking together while one plays and the other watches. It's those kind of quiet moments, though, that I want them to look back on someday. I want them to look back and smile. Because they're special, and they grow more special every day. They can pick up their shoes on their way back upstairs, after all. Moments like these don't come back. 

And neon green vampire teeth trump putting socks away any day, I suppose.