Marley: “CC is basically our sister now. A sister we only see occasionally.”
Avery: “No she is not our sister. What does basically mean?”
No whining, Mr. Crabbedy
Call it blending of the minds, the synergy of creative forces, or just plain bad hearing, but Flash and I came up with a nearly perfect way to describe Avery’s less-than-charming side.
In a word: “crabbedy.”
As I was getting breakfast ready under a fog of Benadryl and lack of sleep, Avery asked me one of his standard morning questions: “Am I staying for nap today at school?” Unfortunately for him, the answer was “yes.” So I cringed, waiting for the whining, pleading, and stomping onslaught to begin.
“I HATE NAP!!!!!” Avery screamed, only the preamble to a verbal tirade that I endure on a daily basis. Why he does this, I’m not sure. It is rare, if ever, that I give into this type of behavior.
To be fair, I know nap time is hard for Avery. He rarely falls asleep anymore and is forced to lay on his cot for at least an hour while much of the rest of the class sleeps. This is very difficult for a boy of Avery’s energy level, and I feel for him. I’m amazed that they can even get him to lie down, really. Continue reading “No whining, Mr. Crabbedy”
Spontaneous Combustion
I’ve been thinking a lot about spontaneous combustion the last couple hours.
Like at 6:45 pm while standing in line at hideous Wal-Mart where I had to make a last minute run for pullups instead of starting dinner. (Hmmm, pissy bed in the morning or hot dinner the night before? Such are the daily guilt-inducing decisions every parent without a partner makes.)
With pink pull ups in hand (for some reason my oh-so-boy boy LOVES the color pink), Avery asks through tears why I wouldn’t ask anyone that worked there whether they sold Harry Potter glasses, even after we cruised through the toy department and saw nothing Potteresque.
Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, poof! There goes mom, a smoldering pile of ashes on the floor. Somehow that image was extremely satisfying. Continue reading “Spontaneous Combustion”
Hairy Scary
“How did Flash make that hairy stuff on the floor?”
(Asking about how Flash built my office and how, specifically, he made the shag carpet; Avery has lived exclusively in houses with hardwood and tile covered floors.)
Best-Dressed Brew
“Mom! You bought a shirt for your beer bottle!”
(After observing me carrying a koozie-covered beer bottle on an evening walk with Einstien, the neighbor’s dog.)
The Gate from Hell
I would have cried had it not been so ludicrous; picture me in a downpour wearing heels and white pants while a dragging a metal gate behind the 12-foot trailer being towed by my minivan.
First sign of trouble: a disturbing grating noise coming from behind the van as I drove to see a performance of “The Nutcracker” at Samford University. My first thought; please don’t tell me I’m dragging my gate down the street. I’m already late. Continue reading “The Gate from Hell”