****WARNING*****
Sexually Explicit Content!
Last week we got Busted!! by the CAPS (Children Against Parents having Sex).
We've been busted before...but the other times we have been able to quickly pull up the covers to shield our darling's innocent eyes from the nastiness.
This time was different.
It was a very awkward moment, to say the least.
Before I go into explicit detail as to the state we were in, let me just say that it had been 5 days since we last saw each other (the incident happened the night after Dan got back from his trip to LA).
So here are the nasty details.
We had just put the boys to bed...I mean literally...like a minute had passed.
Typically, after we put the boys to bed they fool around...we have to go back into their room several times to tell them to stop fooling around...eventually we have to threaten them in some way...usually we threaten to send them up to the dark attic to play with the bats (you know...because bats are the only ones that are allowed to play at night). Sometimes one of the boys will come out their room to pee or ask for a glass of water or tell us that the other is fooling around. We usually hear them coming out of their room...we usually hear them pitter patter down the hall...they usually knock on the door and wait until we invite them into our room.
I was in the process of folding laundry. I was standing there, minding my own business, bent over the side of the bed organizing freshly folded clothes into neat piles of who, what and where they belonged.
I guess Dan saw me bent over and couldn't resist (he's a butt man). I guess he couldn't wait until he was absolutly sure the boys were truly sleeping.
Dan swooped around behind me and started kissing my neck (my weakness...makes me trembly and weak in the knees). He reached around my waist and pulled me in close. I could feel how much he missed me...and I missed him too. So, despite my better judgement, I didn't stop him.
I thought for a moment that we should lock the door...but then I thought, we won't actually go at it until after the kids are asleep...or if we do get into it, we will hear them if they come out of their rooms and we will have time to do something about it.
I don't want to bore you with the play-by-play...so I will just get to the actual bust.
There I was, standing, leaning against the side of the bed, panties still slung around my ankle. Dan was on top of me...behind me...his pants and undies were still on...down near his knees. He was shirtless as I had all but torn it from his body moments prior. My own shirt was still on but pushed up high above my breasts. His hand was cupping my right breast...the other around my waist and on my hip...and then it happened.
We did not hear their bedroom door open.
We did not hear the pitter patter of little feet scurrying down the hall.
We did not hear a knock on the door.
We just heard a little voice...very clearly NOT on the other side of the door.
We both froze mid-thrust and turned around.
Alex was standing in our doorway.
I said, "Oh...hghhh...Hi Alex."
He timidly said, "Uhmmm. Brandon is fooling around."
Dan said, "Ok...Go back to bed."
I thought Dan would extract himself and go deal with the boys.
He didn't. He just went back to work.
I fully expected the boys to continue fooling around.
They didn't. They went dead silent and fell asleep without further intervention.
As a matter of fact, every night since that night has been a breeze to put them to bed. Noone has dared to screw around at bedtime...hehe except Dan and myself.
So. If you are having trouble getting your kids off to bed quickly and quietly...try this somewhat unorthodox method. It worked for us.
**Bear in mind, the position you are caught in needs to be very precarious. Otherwise, it might not work. For example, had we been actually on the bed, the child might have decided we were just about to go to sleep and maybe it was just too hot to wear jammies...or maybe our jammies were all in the laundry. Had we both been completely naked, the boy might have assumed that we had both just taken a bath and were simply helping each other dry off...or put lotion on...or something. The fact that we were both half clothed was indeed awkward enough to send the child scurrying back to his room without hesitation and off to sleep without further ado.
There you have it. BUSTED!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
The Glass Box
When I hopped off the school bus I was greeted by the faint sound of music wafting up the road. It was classical music so I knew it was coming from my home.
It was like a gentle messenger, drifting to me on a silent breeze.
It told me, “Father is resting on the couch.”
It said to me, “Father is immersed in his music and his thoughts.”
It cautioned me, “Be careful and be quiet when you enter the house.”
I shuffled my feet along the sandy street, slowly making my way home.
The music was growing nearer. I could here it well now. It was Beethovan…it was Symphony No. 5.
I lingered on the side of the road, listening to the powerful message that the symphony relayed, “Father is feeling frustrated. Father is feeling powerless. Father is feeling defeated. Be very cautious and go directly to your room…silently, very silently.”
My father was a man full of contradictions. He was handsome and charming but beastly and violent. He was powerful, passionate and volatile yet incredibly delicate, sensitive and predictably unpredictable. He was extremely loyal but did not trust anyone. He was a visionary with enormous amounts of energy but he lacked the stamina and discipline to see his visions through. He was admirable and despicable.
His dichotomous personality made for a capricious life. We lived from moment to moment, never knowing which direction to walk. One moment he would be jovial and as brilliant as the sun…then the breeze would shift unpredictably and he would whip into a furious tornado of rage.
I spent my childhood desperately trying to capture that ever elusive ray of sunshine found in the eye of the storm. I would do anything to persuade the rays to part the clouds so that I could bask in my father’s happy moments, however transient.
I wanted to have a stable, peaceful life. But even more than that, I wanted my father to feel content and peaceful in his life. You see, from an early age, I recognized that my father was a terribly frustrated man. I knew that he was dissatisfied with what he was able to achieve in his life and I accepted that he was an idealist looking for perfection as well as a romantic disillusioned by reality.
I noticed that other parents seemed to find great satisfaction and personal achievement in the accomplishments of their children. There they seemed to find much gratification, satisfaction and inner peace. So, I tried to materialize my father’s failed ambitions through my own achievements. In this manner I hoped to effect his cheerful disposition.
I was bright, talented, charming and polite. I was mindful, obedient and respectful of authority. I strove to make him proud with my accomplishments by always achieving top marks in school and competition. I tried to amuse him with intelligent conversation and wit. I aimed to please him by conscientiously heeding instructions, rules and manners.
But, as far as he was concerned, I was a horrible disappointment. I was an awkward duckling, an underachieving idiot, and a scandalous embarrassment to his name.
Nonetheless, I was the most faithful and dedicated of his three children. I was the one who ran to greet him with open arms even when he came home in a frightful mood. I was the one who bent willingly to his tyranny. I was the one who forgave him every time he beat us needlessly, terrorized us insanely or accused us unfairly. I was the one he lashed out at in the most frequency and with the most vehemence (my sister and brother will concur).
The beatings that my father bestowed on our delicate bodies were the least scarring of his maltreatments. The psychological terrorism of never knowing where to tread, what to say, or how to behave was far more damaging, to be sure. We never knew if a napkin left haphazardly on the dining table would send him barreling through the bedroom door with a rod in his hand, or if a mistimed chuckle would pluck a string in his nerves whose vibrations would rock the house. We would void quickly so as to avoid being kicked out of the bathroom before we were finished and scurry down the halls to deter confrontations in small spaces where we might be shoved aside or worse. Years of unfair treatments and sub-humanizations left cataclysmic wounds that will never quite heal completely.
The funny thing is that he treated everyone else quite lavishly. He could make the pimpliest pauper feel like a princess and the dumbest dude feel like Einstein. Everyone thought he was the most charming, intelligent, interesting person they ever met…and he was…for them.
My father was an amazing illusion…A disillusioned illusion.
Things are a lot different now. In the past few years he has started taking anti-depressant medication. That and his age have helped to tame his temperament. He is much more at peace with himself and life now…and I am glad for him. But the turbulent years living in his murky shadow left an indelible mark on tender psyches.
Although these years cannot be retracted or erased they can be stored away for future reference. These memories have been placed carefully within plain view. They reside in a glass box. They are constant reminders to me of the important life lessons that my father taught me over the years.
The glass box reminds me to be patient and forgiving. It insists that I be understanding and compassionate – that I give everyone the benefit of a doubt. It propels me to defend the weak and pity the meek. And most of all, it compels me to give everyone the respect that they deserve simply by being alive.
I am my father’s daughter.
His blood runs undeniably through my veins.
I look like him.
I think like him.
I share his passion for music, art, the written word and beauty…
And I inherited his natural sociability and quirkily comical personality…
But I will not act like him.
I am a better person for having lived with him.
It was like a gentle messenger, drifting to me on a silent breeze.
It told me, “Father is resting on the couch.”
It said to me, “Father is immersed in his music and his thoughts.”
It cautioned me, “Be careful and be quiet when you enter the house.”
I shuffled my feet along the sandy street, slowly making my way home.
The music was growing nearer. I could here it well now. It was Beethovan…it was Symphony No. 5.
I lingered on the side of the road, listening to the powerful message that the symphony relayed, “Father is feeling frustrated. Father is feeling powerless. Father is feeling defeated. Be very cautious and go directly to your room…silently, very silently.”
My father was a man full of contradictions. He was handsome and charming but beastly and violent. He was powerful, passionate and volatile yet incredibly delicate, sensitive and predictably unpredictable. He was extremely loyal but did not trust anyone. He was a visionary with enormous amounts of energy but he lacked the stamina and discipline to see his visions through. He was admirable and despicable.
His dichotomous personality made for a capricious life. We lived from moment to moment, never knowing which direction to walk. One moment he would be jovial and as brilliant as the sun…then the breeze would shift unpredictably and he would whip into a furious tornado of rage.
I spent my childhood desperately trying to capture that ever elusive ray of sunshine found in the eye of the storm. I would do anything to persuade the rays to part the clouds so that I could bask in my father’s happy moments, however transient.
I wanted to have a stable, peaceful life. But even more than that, I wanted my father to feel content and peaceful in his life. You see, from an early age, I recognized that my father was a terribly frustrated man. I knew that he was dissatisfied with what he was able to achieve in his life and I accepted that he was an idealist looking for perfection as well as a romantic disillusioned by reality.
I noticed that other parents seemed to find great satisfaction and personal achievement in the accomplishments of their children. There they seemed to find much gratification, satisfaction and inner peace. So, I tried to materialize my father’s failed ambitions through my own achievements. In this manner I hoped to effect his cheerful disposition.
I was bright, talented, charming and polite. I was mindful, obedient and respectful of authority. I strove to make him proud with my accomplishments by always achieving top marks in school and competition. I tried to amuse him with intelligent conversation and wit. I aimed to please him by conscientiously heeding instructions, rules and manners.
But, as far as he was concerned, I was a horrible disappointment. I was an awkward duckling, an underachieving idiot, and a scandalous embarrassment to his name.
Nonetheless, I was the most faithful and dedicated of his three children. I was the one who ran to greet him with open arms even when he came home in a frightful mood. I was the one who bent willingly to his tyranny. I was the one who forgave him every time he beat us needlessly, terrorized us insanely or accused us unfairly. I was the one he lashed out at in the most frequency and with the most vehemence (my sister and brother will concur).
The beatings that my father bestowed on our delicate bodies were the least scarring of his maltreatments. The psychological terrorism of never knowing where to tread, what to say, or how to behave was far more damaging, to be sure. We never knew if a napkin left haphazardly on the dining table would send him barreling through the bedroom door with a rod in his hand, or if a mistimed chuckle would pluck a string in his nerves whose vibrations would rock the house. We would void quickly so as to avoid being kicked out of the bathroom before we were finished and scurry down the halls to deter confrontations in small spaces where we might be shoved aside or worse. Years of unfair treatments and sub-humanizations left cataclysmic wounds that will never quite heal completely.
The funny thing is that he treated everyone else quite lavishly. He could make the pimpliest pauper feel like a princess and the dumbest dude feel like Einstein. Everyone thought he was the most charming, intelligent, interesting person they ever met…and he was…for them.
My father was an amazing illusion…A disillusioned illusion.
Things are a lot different now. In the past few years he has started taking anti-depressant medication. That and his age have helped to tame his temperament. He is much more at peace with himself and life now…and I am glad for him. But the turbulent years living in his murky shadow left an indelible mark on tender psyches.
Although these years cannot be retracted or erased they can be stored away for future reference. These memories have been placed carefully within plain view. They reside in a glass box. They are constant reminders to me of the important life lessons that my father taught me over the years.
The glass box reminds me to be patient and forgiving. It insists that I be understanding and compassionate – that I give everyone the benefit of a doubt. It propels me to defend the weak and pity the meek. And most of all, it compels me to give everyone the respect that they deserve simply by being alive.
I am my father’s daughter.
His blood runs undeniably through my veins.
I look like him.
I think like him.
I share his passion for music, art, the written word and beauty…
And I inherited his natural sociability and quirkily comical personality…
But I will not act like him.
I am a better person for having lived with him.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Bizarre, bizarre
The most bizarre thing happened to me today.
I went to the grocery store to get a few quick things late this afternoon. The kids were home with the babysitter.
I got the items I needed, loaded them in the minivan and looked in the rear view mirror to back out of my parking spot.
All clear. No other cars were pulling in or pulling out. Noone was standing behind my car and there appeared to be no obstacles behind me (my ninivan has one of those little tv screens that let you see what is behind your car and it beeps if there is something there, beeping faster the closer you get).
I put the car into reverse and proceeded to back out of my spot. All of a sudden the sensor starts beeping alarmingly fast (which means you are millimeters from hitting something). I glance at the sceen - nothing there, glance in the rear view mirror - nothing there, and of course slam on my breaks...but it was too late. I felt my car bump something...heard my car hit something. Alarmed and startled I slammed the minivan into park an jumped out of it. I ran around to the back of the minivan to see what happened.
There was no car behind me, there was noone and nothing laying on the ground behind my car. So I looked up and down the row to see if whatever I hit was stopped just away from me. No car was anywhere in sight (other than the cars that were safely parked, unharmed, in their parking spots). I looked to see if perhaps there may be a shoping cart that rolled away upon impact from my minivan. There were no shopping carts other than the ones that were tucked in the shopping cart corral. Puzzled I knelt down to look under my car to see if, perhaps, whatever I had hit had rolled under my car. There was nothing under my car.
Still puzzled I looked up to the person who was parked in front of me and was loading her groceries when I was. I said to her, "Did I hit something?" She said, "It sounded like you did." I said, "I felt myself and heard myself hit something...and my car even went beep, beep, beep...you know, I have one of those reverse sensors that beeps when you are reversing into something - but I don't see what I hit." Puzzled we both looked around, looked under the car and looked at each other."
After soe further investigation and discussion, we decided that it was safe for me to pull away because there appeared to be nothing harmed.
We both hear me hit something. I felt myself hit something but nothing apeared to be hit.
What do you think happened?
Do you think I hit a ghost or a ghost car?!
Bizarre, bizarre...
I went to the grocery store to get a few quick things late this afternoon. The kids were home with the babysitter.
I got the items I needed, loaded them in the minivan and looked in the rear view mirror to back out of my parking spot.
All clear. No other cars were pulling in or pulling out. Noone was standing behind my car and there appeared to be no obstacles behind me (my ninivan has one of those little tv screens that let you see what is behind your car and it beeps if there is something there, beeping faster the closer you get).
I put the car into reverse and proceeded to back out of my spot. All of a sudden the sensor starts beeping alarmingly fast (which means you are millimeters from hitting something). I glance at the sceen - nothing there, glance in the rear view mirror - nothing there, and of course slam on my breaks...but it was too late. I felt my car bump something...heard my car hit something. Alarmed and startled I slammed the minivan into park an jumped out of it. I ran around to the back of the minivan to see what happened.
There was no car behind me, there was noone and nothing laying on the ground behind my car. So I looked up and down the row to see if whatever I hit was stopped just away from me. No car was anywhere in sight (other than the cars that were safely parked, unharmed, in their parking spots). I looked to see if perhaps there may be a shoping cart that rolled away upon impact from my minivan. There were no shopping carts other than the ones that were tucked in the shopping cart corral. Puzzled I knelt down to look under my car to see if, perhaps, whatever I had hit had rolled under my car. There was nothing under my car.
Still puzzled I looked up to the person who was parked in front of me and was loading her groceries when I was. I said to her, "Did I hit something?" She said, "It sounded like you did." I said, "I felt myself and heard myself hit something...and my car even went beep, beep, beep...you know, I have one of those reverse sensors that beeps when you are reversing into something - but I don't see what I hit." Puzzled we both looked around, looked under the car and looked at each other."
After soe further investigation and discussion, we decided that it was safe for me to pull away because there appeared to be nothing harmed.
We both hear me hit something. I felt myself hit something but nothing apeared to be hit.
What do you think happened?
Do you think I hit a ghost or a ghost car?!
Bizarre, bizarre...
Detering JDs
This morning as I drank my morning coffee I perused some of my preious posts. Istumbled upon a piece called, "Path to Salvation". It was a piece I wrote about the Jehovah's Witnesses that persist in coming to my door every couple of months. I believe they are about due for another visit, especially since the nice weather is returning.
So, in anticipation of their next visit, the topic for today was:
Ways to Deter the JDs:
1. Answer the door naked: I'm altogether sure if this will be effective...it might just make them horny.
2. Fake being a non-English speaking foreigner...or better yet invent an alien tongue.
3. Simply don't answer the door...but I think they will just come back another time.
4. Fake being Deaf. This will be an excellent course of action if they don't have anyone in their congregation that knows sign language. If they do then I'm screwed because they will return with that person.
5. Fake being retarded. For some reason retardation causes a lot of discomfort for people, so this might keep them away.
6. Don't let them leave. Make them stay all day but dont offer them anything to eat or drink. It wil be a very long day, but next time they think about stopping by your home they will remember how long they were here last time and probably pass.
7. Answer the door yielding a butcher knife and a strange look. Scare tactic.
8. Swat non-existent flies and babble jibberish.
9. Meow in repsonse to all of their questions but if anyone else speaks to you it is ok to speak English. Just a touch of strange behavior does wonders in detering future interactions.
10. Stand at the door and bark like a dog...a vicious dog.
11. Tell them they can stay and talk as long as they help with the housework...after all, they are chewing up valuable time that you should be doing other things.
12. Tell them they can stay and talk but they have to help dig these holes...as many holes as there are them...and you should make it obvious that you are counting how many of them there are. Tell them that the holes nees to be approximtely 6' deep, 7' long and 3'wide.
13. Ask them for their addresses so you can visit them at their homes try to enlighten them about your faith - Satanism, Wickery, Nymphomanism...some good choices
14. Just join JD. Sometimes I think the only way to deter their future return is to join them. If you can't beat them, join them. I will go door to door with them and say and behave embarrassingly so that they will pray to be released from my company.
That's what I came up with in 30 Minutes on the Machine (which by the way seems to be paying off).
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Pee Pee
Last night we went out to dinner. Nothing fancy, just a chain restaurant.
While we waited for our meals to arrive I decided to give Colin a fresh diaper.
Brandon needed to go to the bathroom too so he followed us to the Ladies Room.
When we got into the ladies room it appeared that one of two stalls was occupied (it turns out that both stalls were empty). I noticed there was a generous counter space between the two sinks, so, I sent Brandon into the empty stall and proceeded to wipe down the counter. All the while Colin was pointing at the stall yelling, "Peeepee, peeeeee peee."
I know you know where this is going...but just let me put it down for posterity.
I balanced Colin's squirming body on my hip and ignored his cries, thinking that he just wanted to go where Brandon went.
Finally I stood Colin up on the counter. I took off his shoes and tugged down his pants. I unsnapped his Onesie and pulled down his Pull-up diaper. All the while he was crying, "Peee Peee....Peeeeee Pee". Only when his bottom was naked did he stop his squirming and wailing. He looked down and his chajee (korean word for penis) amused, looked up at me and said, in a sweet, calm voice, "pee pee" and began to squirt a thin stream of urine on the counter.
In shock I gasped, "Huh!"
He instantly stopped the flow, looked up at my face and laughed gleefully at his accomplishment.
I grabbed his old diaper and held it up to his chajee and said, "you need to go more pee?" He reached down and knocked my hand away, dropping the diaper to the floor.
At this point Brandon emerged from the stall and pointed at Colin, laughing hysterically and said, "Coli...Did u do pee pee?!" Yay Coli!" I said, "Brandon. Don't encourage him to pee on the counter! Wash your hands...use soap."
I fumbled with the new diaper, trying to decide whether to 1) scoop him up and run to the open stall, 2) try to pull on the Pull-up before he pee'd again, or 3) lean him over the sink and let him pee in there (noone else was in the bathroom at the time).
I took too long to decide what to do.
Colin stood up straight, picked up his onesie and let a thick, long, arching stream of urine loose - all the while laughing merrily at what fun peeing turned out to be.
I put my cupped hand out to catch the urine but it overflowed and spilled through my fingers. So I reached over and tried to yank off a long stream of paper towels. The towel dispenser turned out to be one of those automatic sensory deals that only spits out one sheet at a time and takes a second to gear up for the next reading....So, I couldn't get the mass of paper towels that I was hoping for. In reaching over to get the paper towels, urine sprayed onto my arm. When I tried to re-position myself, urine sprayed onto my shirt and pants.
Of course, now women were piling into the bathroom. Now I was really in an embarressing position.
First of all, I was the stupid lady that changes her kid on the bathroom counter instead of in the changing station. Secondly, I know they were thinking, "She deserves to get pee'd on". And thirdly, now the ladies have to wash up on a urine soaked sink."
In the end, Colin had created a large puddle of urine on the floor and he had dropped his Onesie so it was wet with urine. He was dancing in the palmful of urine I had released on the counter-top so now his socks were soaked as well. Brandon was laughing hysterically and praising Colin for doing pee pee...and I was covered in it.
Ladies were glaring at me in disgust.
I hastened to clean up the mess (making sure the ladies saw that I was using plenty of soap and water and drying the areas thoroughly) while apologizing profusly and telling them that the stalls were both occupied when we first came in.
I gathered up my boys, and emerged from the bathroom wet, sweaty and red.
As soon as we returned to our table, Brandon announced to everyone, very clearly and very loudly, "Colin pee'd all over the bathroom and all over Mommy!" and Colin proclaimed proudly, "Pee Pee! Pee Pee!"
I looked at Dan and said, "We need to stop by Babies R Us on the way home and buy a potty seat. Did they bring my wine yet?"
While we waited for our meals to arrive I decided to give Colin a fresh diaper.
Brandon needed to go to the bathroom too so he followed us to the Ladies Room.
When we got into the ladies room it appeared that one of two stalls was occupied (it turns out that both stalls were empty). I noticed there was a generous counter space between the two sinks, so, I sent Brandon into the empty stall and proceeded to wipe down the counter. All the while Colin was pointing at the stall yelling, "Peeepee, peeeeee peee."
I know you know where this is going...but just let me put it down for posterity.
I balanced Colin's squirming body on my hip and ignored his cries, thinking that he just wanted to go where Brandon went.
Finally I stood Colin up on the counter. I took off his shoes and tugged down his pants. I unsnapped his Onesie and pulled down his Pull-up diaper. All the while he was crying, "Peee Peee....Peeeeee Pee". Only when his bottom was naked did he stop his squirming and wailing. He looked down and his chajee (korean word for penis) amused, looked up at me and said, in a sweet, calm voice, "pee pee" and began to squirt a thin stream of urine on the counter.
In shock I gasped, "Huh!"
He instantly stopped the flow, looked up at my face and laughed gleefully at his accomplishment.
I grabbed his old diaper and held it up to his chajee and said, "you need to go more pee?" He reached down and knocked my hand away, dropping the diaper to the floor.
At this point Brandon emerged from the stall and pointed at Colin, laughing hysterically and said, "Coli...Did u do pee pee?!" Yay Coli!" I said, "Brandon. Don't encourage him to pee on the counter! Wash your hands...use soap."
I fumbled with the new diaper, trying to decide whether to 1) scoop him up and run to the open stall, 2) try to pull on the Pull-up before he pee'd again, or 3) lean him over the sink and let him pee in there (noone else was in the bathroom at the time).
I took too long to decide what to do.
Colin stood up straight, picked up his onesie and let a thick, long, arching stream of urine loose - all the while laughing merrily at what fun peeing turned out to be.
I put my cupped hand out to catch the urine but it overflowed and spilled through my fingers. So I reached over and tried to yank off a long stream of paper towels. The towel dispenser turned out to be one of those automatic sensory deals that only spits out one sheet at a time and takes a second to gear up for the next reading....So, I couldn't get the mass of paper towels that I was hoping for. In reaching over to get the paper towels, urine sprayed onto my arm. When I tried to re-position myself, urine sprayed onto my shirt and pants.
Of course, now women were piling into the bathroom. Now I was really in an embarressing position.
First of all, I was the stupid lady that changes her kid on the bathroom counter instead of in the changing station. Secondly, I know they were thinking, "She deserves to get pee'd on". And thirdly, now the ladies have to wash up on a urine soaked sink."
In the end, Colin had created a large puddle of urine on the floor and he had dropped his Onesie so it was wet with urine. He was dancing in the palmful of urine I had released on the counter-top so now his socks were soaked as well. Brandon was laughing hysterically and praising Colin for doing pee pee...and I was covered in it.
Ladies were glaring at me in disgust.
I hastened to clean up the mess (making sure the ladies saw that I was using plenty of soap and water and drying the areas thoroughly) while apologizing profusly and telling them that the stalls were both occupied when we first came in.
I gathered up my boys, and emerged from the bathroom wet, sweaty and red.
As soon as we returned to our table, Brandon announced to everyone, very clearly and very loudly, "Colin pee'd all over the bathroom and all over Mommy!" and Colin proclaimed proudly, "Pee Pee! Pee Pee!"
I looked at Dan and said, "We need to stop by Babies R Us on the way home and buy a potty seat. Did they bring my wine yet?"
Monday, June 05, 2006
Buttercups
I was feeling lazy tonight so instead of taking my usual Monday evening riding lesson, Cody and I went out on the trail.
It was a really nice evening for a ride since it wasn't too hot and the bugs were not bad.
We set off to do the loop (a scenic trail I ride that takes us through the grounds of New England Bio, across some hilly meadows, through Appleton Farms, through a couple of estates, through the polo field, along the Ipswich River, and around the schooling field) at 7:15. That gave us about an hour before the sun would set...possibly less since it was a cloudy evening.
At a casual pace, the loop takes about an hour and 45 minutes. At a moderatly bright pace the trail would take about an hour and 15 minutes. We did the loop in 45 minutes.
Needless to say, we held a very brisk pace. Only when we cleared the woody sections and entered the schooling field did we relax. When we got to the schooling field I let Cody linger to munch on the tall grass growing at the far end of the field.
The sun was hanging low in the sky and the sound of Cody munching eagerly on the sweet fragant grass mingled deliciously with chirping crickets and birds. It was so peaceful. After a long, harrowing day with the boys, this was just what I needed...Just where I wanted to be...In a country field, among wild lupine and buttercup flowers with my loyal stead, Cody.
I climbed down from Cody to pick some lupine but instead found myself plucking a buttercup and smiling at the tender memory it released.
As a girl, Eric (the boy next door) and I would walk through tall fields of grass, picking buttercups and holding them under each other's chins. We were looking to see if the flower cast a yellow shadow on each other's skin. If the flower cast a shadow that meant you liked butter. Of course, it always cast a shadow, but the game was a good excuse to get close to each other.
I also remembered spending afternoons laying in the grass with him, deeply immersed in the activity of looking for four leaf clovers and leprechans and making bracelets and rings out of clover flowers.
And the best memory I had tonight was when I heard the birds calling. The chirping was such that it sounded manufactured...and that jogged the memory of Eric's wake up calls to me. He would stand below my bedroom window, early on summer mornings and throw pebbles at my open window while chirping cheerfully to wake me up. I would sit up giddily, lean on the window sill and whisper to Eric that I would be out in a few minutes.
He was the boy next door.
He was my first kiss.
He is a distant memory from a different life.
It was a really nice evening for a ride since it wasn't too hot and the bugs were not bad.
We set off to do the loop (a scenic trail I ride that takes us through the grounds of New England Bio, across some hilly meadows, through Appleton Farms, through a couple of estates, through the polo field, along the Ipswich River, and around the schooling field) at 7:15. That gave us about an hour before the sun would set...possibly less since it was a cloudy evening.
At a casual pace, the loop takes about an hour and 45 minutes. At a moderatly bright pace the trail would take about an hour and 15 minutes. We did the loop in 45 minutes.
Needless to say, we held a very brisk pace. Only when we cleared the woody sections and entered the schooling field did we relax. When we got to the schooling field I let Cody linger to munch on the tall grass growing at the far end of the field.
The sun was hanging low in the sky and the sound of Cody munching eagerly on the sweet fragant grass mingled deliciously with chirping crickets and birds. It was so peaceful. After a long, harrowing day with the boys, this was just what I needed...Just where I wanted to be...In a country field, among wild lupine and buttercup flowers with my loyal stead, Cody.
I climbed down from Cody to pick some lupine but instead found myself plucking a buttercup and smiling at the tender memory it released.
As a girl, Eric (the boy next door) and I would walk through tall fields of grass, picking buttercups and holding them under each other's chins. We were looking to see if the flower cast a yellow shadow on each other's skin. If the flower cast a shadow that meant you liked butter. Of course, it always cast a shadow, but the game was a good excuse to get close to each other.
I also remembered spending afternoons laying in the grass with him, deeply immersed in the activity of looking for four leaf clovers and leprechans and making bracelets and rings out of clover flowers.
And the best memory I had tonight was when I heard the birds calling. The chirping was such that it sounded manufactured...and that jogged the memory of Eric's wake up calls to me. He would stand below my bedroom window, early on summer mornings and throw pebbles at my open window while chirping cheerfully to wake me up. I would sit up giddily, lean on the window sill and whisper to Eric that I would be out in a few minutes.
He was the boy next door.
He was my first kiss.
He is a distant memory from a different life.
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