What Parker Taught Me Today

Today was the first beach day of the season for Pfunk and me. He loves loves loves the beach. Last summer he loved it even more than the pool. Actually, this was not his first trip to the beach this year.


On May 1 he was at my parent's house and they took him to the beach to play in the sand. He got in the water. It was cold, I'm told. My parents did not get in. Parker did not seem to mind the water temperature. It was water and that is all he needs for a good time.

On to the lessons for the day:

1. Collecting sea glass with a 2 year old is super fun. I started a collection of sea glass today. There are no plans for these weathered pieces of odd shaped glass, but for now I will put them in a clear glass jar. Once I buy a clear glass jar.

2. Seashells make a yummy beach snack. They are crunchy like potato chips. AND salty like potato chips. Are you sure these aren't potato chips?

3. When collecting seashells or sea glass or gravel, the top of your mom's bathing suit is a good place to store them. If only she would stop squirming and pulling them out. Does she know how long it took me to get that specific handful of gravel?

4. It is apparently Parker's job to put every piece of sand on the beach, back into the ocean. Grainy bit by grainy bit.

5. Pman and I spotted at least 6 dead baby crabs on the beach. I picked up the first one and put it with our stuff so we could take it home. Then I saw another one and another and another. It became less interesting and more sad. I hope they perished because of natural baby crab causes and not because of some twisted off shoot from the wretched oil spoil in the Gulf. Double damn you BP!

6. My son does not care what I look like in a bathing suit. He loves me and wants me to roll in the sand and then parade down the beach with him in all our sandy glory. He wants me to join him while he is in the water and then as he sits directly on the dry, hot sand. Living my life with a toddler in tow has made me less self conscience, more aware of the world around me, determined to be a better person and happier.

Question of the Day: How is it SweetP, that I am almost 30 years old, but I feel like my life just began nearly 2 years ago?

Wordless Wednesday: Phillips Endorsements

Just a boy and his nips

They're gRRRRReat!

Gold Star

Confession: We do not have one single band-aid in our house. Not one. How a house with a toddler boy functions without the aid of bandages is a mystery, but there you are.

Confession #2: I am a picker, popper, and poker. I CAN NOT leave zits, scabs, in-grown hairs, hang nails etc. etc. etc. alone. I must pick and pick and pick until they bleed or puss or get worse or something.

About a week ago I jacked up my thumb something awful. It started as a little...I don't know...skin hang nail(?) (eww) and because of my horrible picking habit, I turned it into a bloody groove in the middle of my thumb. On my right hand. I am right handed. This is not the first time I have done this to myself.

I had to ask a friend for a band-aid. She pulled one out of a first aid kit.

Not only did she have a band-aid, she had a whole first aid kit. Needless to say, I do not have a first aid kit.

Flash to this afternoon. While P napped I organized the garage- who knew!? I'm not sure what I did, but at one point I looked down and my foot was bleeding. A lot.

I think I may have run over my own foot with one of P's car things, but who knows? Maybe a bat spider bit me or maybe we have rats and my dirty garage-floor foot looked yummo to them.

All I know was my foot was bleeding and I was (still) without band-aids.

Josh was out running errands, so I called him, informed him of the happenings since his departure and asked him to bring home gauze and tape.

WHY DIDN'T I ASK FOR BAND-AIDS?!!?

When he got home he tended to my foot and changed P’s poo pants as I could not possibly walk around and track blood through the house…(yes he fell for that line).

Since he played rugby and sustained many an injury, he thinks he can wrap my foot. I left the house after a bit, with Pman headed to a birthday party.

Though the cut is near my big toe, the wrap would lead you to believe I had some sort of ankle injury.
*****
P was not feeling the bath/bed routine this evening.

He cried- well fake cried, so really it was just wailing- through most of the bath.

Then I dropped a squishy rubber tub toy (read: one step up from a wash cloth) on his head sending him into a shrilly tantrum that could be heard from planets yet discovered.

I was about to join P in the no tears screaming fit. Just as I was about to curl up in a ball in the foyer and rock back and forth until the bad stopped, Josh came into the bathroom with a (clean) diaper on his head, like a hat.

Pman started to giggle.

No, he was all out laughing.

What a faker!

How did Josh come up with that? How did he know a diaper as a hat would be the trick to turn it all around? These questions will never really have an answer. Or maybe it a guy thing.

Either way you earned a gold star today Josh.

On the Up-Swing

While Josh fights to battle that is a Geico insurance claim and my sister, dad and mom work on getting their store up and running again, I take pictures.

These pictures serve as proof (read: reminders) that this past weekend was not all crashes and fire.

Thanks to Grammy and Pop Pop, who live mere minutes away from a beach front boardwalk which includes several ARCADES, Sweet P has discovered a love for all things video games and flashing lights and loud whistling noises.  Josh and I don't have any sort of video terminal in our house and we are trying to keep it that way for as long as possible.  We know though that it is inevitable that at some point in his life, P will want the newest version of Atari or whatever.  You may remember I mentioned that Josh bought me a Wii for Christmas- well actually he bought the Wii Fit board. 

We do not actually have the main Wii video gaming device thing. 

Anyway, his squeals of delight are just the best.  Boardwalk arcades must seem like some mini versions of Vegas to these toddlers.

Recently on Thursday's I have been watching a little boy who is about a month or so younger than P.  His mom is between sitters and about to go on maternity leave.  Last week it was raining outside so I invited another little boy and his mama over to play. 

Few things can tear up a house quicker than 3 toddler boys.  Even with 2 moms right there.

Today it was nice out, so I asked the little boy's mom to pack his bathing suit so I could let the boys run around in the sprinkler to kill time...err...I mean for fun.

Both Parker and the other little boy were seemingly afraid, no terrified, of the sprinkler. 

It was the type where the water shoots out of about two dozen little holes in steady even streams.  The little water shoots rotate from right to left hovering a bit in the middle creating a rain-like affect.

The boys ran away and had looks of horror on their faces like the sprinkler was shooting out pure acid on their sweet little toddler faces.

So, this was my solution:

I filled up two over sized tupperware containers.

They did this- stood in the containers- for about 30 minutes, screaming every time the deadly, threatening, scary sprinkler came their way.

Is The Coast Clear?

Is the weekend over? Please tell me it is Monday morning.

Josh’s college rugby reunion was this past weekend, but since his knee injury, he mostly goes as a spectator. They play veteran verse current team matches, old guys (over 30) verse young guys (under 30) and other variations that I'm not really sure about because well frankly, I don't care.

On these weekends, Josh splits off to hang out with his Neanderthal ruggers, while P, Abs and I go to my parents to gorge on whipped cream (P), steak fat scraps (Abs), and beer/wine.

While P napped on Saturday I ran past the field to say hi to Josh and some of the players I know. In the 20 minutes I was there I saw one guys' nose break against the forehead of another player who I later found out needed stitches because of the impact.

One my way back from the battlefield that is a rugby pitch, I got a call from my sister, the store she owns and runs with our father, More Space Place- was slow so she was closing the store early- woot woot! We made a plan to go to her house to further our R&R for the day.

We sat on her deck. The day was warm. The breeze was blowing off the bay. We each had a beer in our hands and were crunching down on some cheese balls. Andrew- the sister's bf- was fishing off the pier below us. He noted that there was smoke coming from somewhere in west OC. We heard fire trucks. We ignored the fire trucks, finished our beers and made dinner plans.

As I was driving back to my parents’ house to pick up P since I had the car seat, I saw smoke. Like a magnet to metal, my hand flew up to my mouth and I said, out loud the single word, "NO!" I said it over and over and over. Like by saying "no" by saying it a mysterious number of times, I would be able to will the dark smoke and flames away and the world would be safe and happy again.

However, as I drove by, this is what I saw:

Actually, what I saw were the devilish fingers of the fire shooting out of the roof of the building where my family’s business is located. The fire arched and stretched trying desperately to grasp the trees surrounding the structure.

There are only 5 stores in this strip. My family's store is on the right side. The fire was on the left.

I called my sister- hysterical- and kept trying to tell her what was happening, but she thought I was laughing (I was crying) and kept saying she could not understand me. When I called my dad to tell him, it was the same thing.

My family has worked hard- my sister has worked really hard- to get this business going and there I was driving by, watching it burn, being hysterical.

Thankfully, it looks like there was no major damage done to their store. It smells like a combination of smoke and the metallic smell that is the calling card of an electrical fire, and there is some water damage.

Somewhere between talking to the firefighters and trying to figure out what to do about dinner at this point, I found out Josh got in a car accident.

In a parking lot. A Jeep T-boned Josh's VW.

The same VW that, you loyal reader will note, was just purchased about a year ago. Again, thankfully, the car is not totaled and Josh is fine. He takes the car in on Tuesday to get fixed and will be getting a rental. I'm hoping for something in the minivan variety.

As if all this were not enough. As if all this is not causing enough stress within a 48 hour period to send my whole family into drunken fits of rage mixed with sorrow, I also made 2 unnerving discoveries about myself this weekend:

1. While I have always known I have a fear of fire, I had no idea I would be so incredibly useless when faced with an actual fire. I was screeching like a distressed bird of some sort into my cell phone and then just stood there in a parking lot like a deer in the middle of the road. My eyes darting around, mouth agape. I was frozen.

2. I like brussels sprouts. I had them for the first time this weekend. My mom thought she did not like them, so growing up we were never forced to eat them. NEVER. I had them on Friday- I like them. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this discovery.

A cool thing did happen though this weekend.  Every time I call Pman honey he calls me honey right back.  His little toddler voice is magical.

Wordless Wednesday

I call it: Breakfast- A Story of Giving Up

Applesauce and cheez-its.

Chocolaty Goodness

The other day I tried to make fudge.

There was no real reason. I had some time and semi sweet baking chocolate. I got the flavor exactly like I wanted it by adding a bit of cinnamon, vanilla and powdered sugar.

The texture however was bit off. Sort of like a thin fudge or a think ganache. You could not cut it and hold it like square of fudge al a Candy Kitchen style.


I was telling some friends about this bowl of chocolate in my fridge. Well, P must have overheard and made some sort of toddler mental note. For that very afternoon when I was trying to figure out what to make his highness for lunch, I hear sounds of delight. Lip smacking, finger sucking, giggling delight.

I glance down and see this:

                                  

Close up on the chocolatey goodness.  You will notice the clean scrapes that only a spoon can make.  I cannot tell a lie.  This chocolate goo I made was damn good on vanilla ice cream.  Damn. Good. (I'm only slightly ashamed of myself for eating more than my fair share.)

Parker on the other hand is clearly not ashamed of himself. 

He would like a second order and this time, less flash photography please.