(Well, you liked THIS ONE, remember?)
In case you were holding your breath wondering if anyone's put their head underwater since my last post, YOU CAN EXHALE NOW. Asher HAS graduated to walking underneath sprinklers and fountains (which is actually Very! Exciting! and has resulted in him possessing WET HAIR AT A POOL, IMAGINE THAT), and while I do not anticipate him doing it any time soon, his little sister is making up for it by practically drowning herself every six minutes, so we'll call it even. Lucy is not afraid of water. PERIOD. By our second visit to the pool this summer – two WEEKS ago – she was putting her entire head under and was enjoying herself so much that the bottom of the pool rubbed each of her toes raw. LUCY DOES NOT CARE ABOUT HER TOES. Lucy would like to get back in the pool, please, who CARES if she is leaving a trail of blood in the water! (Turns out LOTS OF PEOPLE CARE. I am one of them, and perhaps coincidentally, I also care a great deal about those random floating band-aids that are always in the pool. ICK.)
So far our summer hasn't been too painful. Some afternoons seem to drag on and on and on and ON, but for the most part, it's been okay. Asher finished his t-ball season last week and now our summer schedule has REALLY opened up, like, uh, we ain't got no plans, basically EVER (dude, we are super lame, seeing as how t-ball took up TWO WHOLE HOURS A WEEK), so I anticipate some angsty blog posts about how the children are killing me, why won't anyone ever shut up, can't I get some peace and quiet around here, can't a girl just relax and watch some Nate Berkus, etcetera etcetera. In order to combat the upcoming Season of Boredom, I am also pretty much working the Pinterest servers into a frenzy by attempting to compile the World's Longest List of Rainy Day Activities for Kids.
Not that these will ever come in handy, as my children are hardcore into coloring lately, and I am not kidding you, we are going through one of these books every two weeks or so. That's like THREE PICTURES A DAY that they are coloring. And they are coloring them THOROUGHLY, and with CARE and by doing RESEARCH (“Mom, what color are owls' bellies?”) and then – THEN! - they are giving them to me as a gift, and as guilty as it makes me feel, I am pretty much just waiting for them to go to bed that very night before I do away with them in a receptacle of sorts, if you will. I tried keeping more of them, I TRIED, but I just can't. I can't. The stack of artwork is growing exponentially by the minute. Asher will sometimes wander off without finishing a coloring page (he prefers drawing, I think) but MERCY, if you hand Lucy a coloring book or a package of stickers and a piece of blank paper, you can count on her keeping herself occupied for a good 45 to 60 minutes. On one epic afternoon last week, she spent almost FOUR HOURS on one gigantic sticker masterpiece. (It was one piece of paper, and when she was finished layering stickers all over it, it weighed, like, eight pounds, I SWEAR TO YOU.)
We had perhaps our most exciting moment of Summer 2012 (well, Asher would like to remind you that it is – TECHNICALLY – still spring) at Target this morning. Asher seemed... a little bit off in the toy aisle and asked to go home (RED FLAG! RED FLAG!) so we made our way to the front to check out and just as I got everything loaded onto the conveyor belt, he turned as white as a ghost and then barfed EVERYWHERE. Oh, man. One of those moments you never hope to have as a parent, right?
And I really don't blame the dude who was our cashier, because I know people have their things and I am pretty sure the guy's Target training program did NOT include instructions on how to react to bodily function geysers, but he was clearly VERY AVERSE to vomit (who isn't, really, but I am extending him a measure of grace here), swore loudly and then pretty much forgot how to function. I did feel bad for him, I DID, but my poor kid is drenched in vomit, and clammy and sad and embarrassed and the cashier is all, “I can't deal with this, I CAN'T” and GEEZ, DUDE, get a HOLD OF YOURSELF. I realize that puke is not something we want to see or smell or EXPERIENCE, but my kid is also a PERSON, who can HEAR YOU, and PLEASE can we not embarrass or humiliate him any more than he's already been embarrassed and humiliated? THANK YOU. P.S. YOU ARE NOT READY TO BE A PARENT, PLEASE TO BE USING PROTECTION IF YOU ARE HAVING RELATIONS WITH SOMEONE.
Everyone else at Target was super nice about it – the lady who cleaned it up, the manager who assured me that “this kind of thing just happens”, the lady who was in line behind me waiting who said, “Oh! Poor thing! I'm so sorry!” when I told her she should probably find another line so she wouldn't have to wade ankle-deep through biohazardous waste.
The cashier did apologize to me, later, after I put everything back into my cart and shuffled over to another checkout stand (my mom was there with me and had taken Asher to the bathroom) and he'd gotten a chance to collect himself. And really, I do get it. But I also could remember, with CLARITY, the moment in first grade when I, at six years old, threw up dramatically in the back of the classroom while cutting out paper snowflakes. And how someone else saw me and it started a CHAIN REACTION of barfing and OMG, the HUMILITY. Asher is a year younger than I was then and I know he will remember this until adulthood, I KNOW IT. I hope he only remembers the parts of the experience that make it into a good party story. (He's feeling much better this evening.)
