Thursday, April 10, 2008

Don't let this non-title fool you . . . there is a point in here somewhere


Somewhere under all the html codes and Google Image searches is my life. I am sure I saw it right here when I was looking for something else. I KNOW I left it right here, where could it have gone?


That was me. Not too long ago. And whatever you're looking for is always in a place that you'd never thought you'd have to look for it. I know the traditional saying is "It's always in the last place you look." But, can I just respectfully comment, that is one of the most ridiculous sayings I've ever heard? Am I the only child of the eighties who thinks, "Uh, yeah, duh!" whenever someone says that? Of course it's in the last place you look because you stop looking after you find it. I understand the sentiment behind the words and concur, but the phrase is silly, you've got to admit.

Anyway, it seems that my blogging life had taken over my real life there for awhile and my laptop occupied my lap more often than my children. And since two of them still like to sit on my lap, I'll gladly take advantage while I can.

******

And speaking of children, the point of today's post: When our children were very small and The Calm One and I were out and about with them we'd always hear nice compliments about how cute and well behaved our children were. Five years of such compliments evidently went to my sassily ("sassfully?" How do you say that?) coiffed head.

(If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time -- or you have children of your own -- you know what's coming, don't you, dear reader?!)

I think I've figured out why people have stopped giving us such nice compliments. Now, the "Oh, your little one is so cute!" compliments were bound to end. My kids are still cute (no bias here), but they since they are no longer babies, they don't garner the same kind of attention. People's eyes just kind of glaze over when children over the age of thirty six months cross their path. If I were longing for such attention from complete strangers, I'd have to have another baby and . . . oh let's just screw the lid to that can of worms back on, shall we?!




Anyway, as far as receiving good reports on their behavior, well, that was bound to end also. Especially when I happen upon the kind of scene I witnessed last night.

At church.

Again.

Cherie and Mark had been asking to bring in a treat for their Wed. night class at church. While at the store, I found a good deal on fresh bakery cookies and decided that that was the night to fulfill my children's pleas to peddle sugar directly to the grubby little hands of the eager noisemakers in their three and four year old class. Hey, I thought about carrot sticks and grapes for about 3 and 1/2 seconds. Oh, no, it was time to return the favor to the other parents who have been the primary suspects in my children's dramatically elevated glucose levels each and every Wed night. Cookies it was. I have fully embraced the "share and share alike" philosophy.

After church, I entered their room to corral my children and wrangle them into the mommy mobile. When what did my eye fall upon? Children sitting calmly eating cookies. Every child except my youngest.

He was on the floor.

Rolling around.

As if being attacked by thousands of ants.

Fire ants.

Fire ants that bite.

To his credit, he was using his inside voice to call for imaginary help. His teachers were calmly ignoring his pleas for immediate medical attention. As was probably the best way to handle the situation.

And they thoughtfully refrained from comment as I gathered up coloring papers and feather encrusted white paper bag puppets. I did, however, get the same tentative smiles that are always sent my direction when I pick up the kids. Which I'd like to think must be smiles of sympathy or understanding.

But are probably smiles of relief that the extremely active child's mother has finally arrived. Is it no wonder we call him Whirling Dervish? I'm just sayin'.

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