"Maaaaa-ooooomm!" Ethan bellowed from the back seat.
Turning the music on the car radio down, I answered impatiently, "What?"
"Is this country music?" he asked.
Wondering where he was headed I answered, "Yes. So?"
"Well," he paused, "can you turn on the city music?"
"City music?" I repeated.
"Yes. City music. You know, the good stuff."
Apparently my hopes for having a future Tim McGraw are all for naught.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Goodbye Uncle Chucky
When I was a kid, I always loved to visit with my Uncle Chucky.
You see, even though Uncle Chucky was my dad's baby brother, he was definitely the coolest of all the uncles. He was one of the first people I knew to have a gigantic boom box in the eighties, and he listened to the kind of music that I liked too which was a major bonus. In fact, when Kool and the Gang would belt out "Celebration", you could usually find Uncle Chucky doing his famous half strut/ half dance move and encouraging the rest of us to join in with him.
In short, Uncle Chucky was an enormous kid . . .an enormous kid with a giant heart.
I remember when my grandfather, Cap, died, I was just shy of my 12th birthday. It was Halloween time, and all of the adults were mourning the loss of their dad. And even though Chucky had just lost his dad, he would have no part of me or my cousin's missing Halloween or my birthday. We pieced together costumes from our cousin's house and we assembled in my grandparents' front living room.
"Everyone ready?" Chucky asked.
We all nodded eagerly, and then Chucky looked pointedly at me.
"Annie, WHAT is that?"
Not knowing what he could be talking about, I answered with a blank stare and a shrug of my shoulders. He walked over to me with purpose and grabbed the plastic grocery bag I was planning to use to collect candy.
"This! What's this? THIS will never do!" Chucky explained, and then he was off. He ran up my grandmother's stairs two at a time, and when he returned he carried pillows from her bed. He stripped those pillows of their cases and handed them out to me and to the other pillow-case-less cousins.
"NOW we are ready!" he declared when he finished, and then he led us through my first experience with sprinting during trick-or-treating.
That night I came home completely out of breath and exhausted, but I had an enviable mound of candy in my pillowcase that was probably almost as tall as I was, and I had a memory of my 12th birthday that is still etched on my heart. . . all because of Chucky.
Of course, Chucky was always up for a good time, and he loved a good game of cards. He especially loved to hold all of his cards until he was just about to go out. And when he did go out on you, he inevitably left you holding a fist full of face cards. It was exasperating. I swear, the man was part "Rainman" in his ability to count cards. And the worst part? He would sit there smiling that sly smile of his while his eyes would dare you to try him again. It was a challenge that I fell for many a time.
One Memorial Day Chucky loaded all of the kids into his car to take us to a parade. Even though we were quite scrunched in the back seat and there was no air conditioning, even though our legs stuck to the leather of his seats, and even though his car over-heated on the highway on the way home, it didn't matter to us. Uncle Chucky spoiled us that day. He cranked the music loud in the car, he bought us every imaginable piece of junk food that the parade vendors hocked, and he took turns putting each of us on his shoulders so that we could see the parade better. It was a great day.
And there were many great days. I will always remember when Chuck sang and danced to Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" during our Mardi Gras family reunion. I will remember his visits to my Florida childhood home and especially his stories about the not one, but two tickets he received on his drive down there. I will remember his hearty laugh that bent him over at the waist when something tickled him, and I will remember the way that he liked his tea, "just so", with milk and sugar. I will always remember Uncle Chuck the eternal kid splashing with my kids in the pool, just like he had splashed me oh so many years ago.
My, Uncle Chucky . . . he was one of kind.
And there is a hole in my heart today as I learned of his death.
But I am going to make myself a cup of his tea,
and crank up the music loudly,
and play rummy with my kids. . .
All in the hopes that Uncle Chucky is out there smiling.
*************************************************************
Love to all of my family.~Annie
You see, even though Uncle Chucky was my dad's baby brother, he was definitely the coolest of all the uncles. He was one of the first people I knew to have a gigantic boom box in the eighties, and he listened to the kind of music that I liked too which was a major bonus. In fact, when Kool and the Gang would belt out "Celebration", you could usually find Uncle Chucky doing his famous half strut/ half dance move and encouraging the rest of us to join in with him.
In short, Uncle Chucky was an enormous kid . . .an enormous kid with a giant heart.
I remember when my grandfather, Cap, died, I was just shy of my 12th birthday. It was Halloween time, and all of the adults were mourning the loss of their dad. And even though Chucky had just lost his dad, he would have no part of me or my cousin's missing Halloween or my birthday. We pieced together costumes from our cousin's house and we assembled in my grandparents' front living room.
"Everyone ready?" Chucky asked.
We all nodded eagerly, and then Chucky looked pointedly at me.
"Annie, WHAT is that?"
Not knowing what he could be talking about, I answered with a blank stare and a shrug of my shoulders. He walked over to me with purpose and grabbed the plastic grocery bag I was planning to use to collect candy.
"This! What's this? THIS will never do!" Chucky explained, and then he was off. He ran up my grandmother's stairs two at a time, and when he returned he carried pillows from her bed. He stripped those pillows of their cases and handed them out to me and to the other pillow-case-less cousins.
"NOW we are ready!" he declared when he finished, and then he led us through my first experience with sprinting during trick-or-treating.
That night I came home completely out of breath and exhausted, but I had an enviable mound of candy in my pillowcase that was probably almost as tall as I was, and I had a memory of my 12th birthday that is still etched on my heart. . . all because of Chucky.
Of course, Chucky was always up for a good time, and he loved a good game of cards. He especially loved to hold all of his cards until he was just about to go out. And when he did go out on you, he inevitably left you holding a fist full of face cards. It was exasperating. I swear, the man was part "Rainman" in his ability to count cards. And the worst part? He would sit there smiling that sly smile of his while his eyes would dare you to try him again. It was a challenge that I fell for many a time.
One Memorial Day Chucky loaded all of the kids into his car to take us to a parade. Even though we were quite scrunched in the back seat and there was no air conditioning, even though our legs stuck to the leather of his seats, and even though his car over-heated on the highway on the way home, it didn't matter to us. Uncle Chucky spoiled us that day. He cranked the music loud in the car, he bought us every imaginable piece of junk food that the parade vendors hocked, and he took turns putting each of us on his shoulders so that we could see the parade better. It was a great day.
And there were many great days. I will always remember when Chuck sang and danced to Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" during our Mardi Gras family reunion. I will remember his visits to my Florida childhood home and especially his stories about the not one, but two tickets he received on his drive down there. I will remember his hearty laugh that bent him over at the waist when something tickled him, and I will remember the way that he liked his tea, "just so", with milk and sugar. I will always remember Uncle Chuck the eternal kid splashing with my kids in the pool, just like he had splashed me oh so many years ago.
My, Uncle Chucky . . . he was one of kind.
And there is a hole in my heart today as I learned of his death.
But I am going to make myself a cup of his tea,
and crank up the music loudly,
and play rummy with my kids. . .
All in the hopes that Uncle Chucky is out there smiling.
*************************************************************
Love to all of my family.~Annie
Friday, October 14, 2011
Pooping Out Babies . . .
It all started with one particularly memorable conversation.
"Mom, do ladies just poop out babies?" Ethan asked after watching a commercial for TLC's A Baby Story.
"Poop them out?! What? NO!" I stammered quickly. When I recovered, my curiosity got the best of me and I asked, "Why would you think that ladies pooped out babies anyway?"
He rolled his little seven year old eyes at me and slowly, and a bit impatiently explained, "Well, on TV the ladies get all scrunched up and pull on their legs and then grunt like they are pooping a really BIG poop."
Aha! (If only he knew how closely labor resembled a really BIG poop, but I digress. . .)
I went on to explain that ladies were specially made to have babies, and then for further clarification, I added, "Ladies have one hole that is ONLY for pooping, one hole that is ONLY for peeing, and one hole that is called a vagina that is made ONLY to have babies."
And since at seven I didn't think that he needed to know how babies actually came to be using THAT same baby hole, I ended the conversation there. He seemed content with his new knowledge.
This morning, however, it became clear that I needed to go over Ethan's new vocabulary, yet again. The conversation revolved around a friend of ours that had just delivered a baby. Not wanting to be left out, Ethan smiled his jack-o-latern grin, nodded knowingly, and piped in his two cents, ". . .And . . . the baby came right out of her baby shooting hole!"
Yes.
I am so proud.
"Mom, do ladies just poop out babies?" Ethan asked after watching a commercial for TLC's A Baby Story.
"Poop them out?! What? NO!" I stammered quickly. When I recovered, my curiosity got the best of me and I asked, "Why would you think that ladies pooped out babies anyway?"
He rolled his little seven year old eyes at me and slowly, and a bit impatiently explained, "Well, on TV the ladies get all scrunched up and pull on their legs and then grunt like they are pooping a really BIG poop."
Aha! (If only he knew how closely labor resembled a really BIG poop, but I digress. . .)
I went on to explain that ladies were specially made to have babies, and then for further clarification, I added, "Ladies have one hole that is ONLY for pooping, one hole that is ONLY for peeing, and one hole that is called a vagina that is made ONLY to have babies."
And since at seven I didn't think that he needed to know how babies actually came to be using THAT same baby hole, I ended the conversation there. He seemed content with his new knowledge.
This morning, however, it became clear that I needed to go over Ethan's new vocabulary, yet again. The conversation revolved around a friend of ours that had just delivered a baby. Not wanting to be left out, Ethan smiled his jack-o-latern grin, nodded knowingly, and piped in his two cents, ". . .And . . . the baby came right out of her baby shooting hole!"
Yes.
I am so proud.
Friday, October 7, 2011
. . . Only if He Shares His Manolos!
As I leaned over to tie my tennis shoes, I noticed that I had forgotten to shave my legs, yet again.
"Will one of you guys PLEASE remind me to shave my legs?" I said to none of the kiddies in particular.
Ethan, of course, piped up.
"No problem mom, " and then he added, "oh, by the way, I shaved my legs."
I stopped my tying and looked at him.
"You did what?"
"I shaved. . . with the razor in the shower."
"Ethan!" I screeched, "For the love of god . . .Why?!?!"
He looked at me innocently and answered, "What? Am I not supposed to do that?" I stared at him with my mouth open while he finished, "And . . . my legs WERE hairy."
Sigh.
I fear that someday in my future I may have a son that comes to me and says that he likes to wear heels.
Which, of course, I will be OK with . . . as long as he lets me share his manolos.
 |
| These manolo blahnik leopard peep toes were found at gignoelleeventplanner.com. Aren't they gorge???? |
"Will one of you guys PLEASE remind me to shave my legs?" I said to none of the kiddies in particular.
Ethan, of course, piped up.
"No problem mom, " and then he added, "oh, by the way, I shaved my legs."
I stopped my tying and looked at him.
"You did what?"
"I shaved. . . with the razor in the shower."
"Ethan!" I screeched, "For the love of god . . .Why?!?!"
He looked at me innocently and answered, "What? Am I not supposed to do that?" I stared at him with my mouth open while he finished, "And . . . my legs WERE hairy."
Sigh.
I fear that someday in my future I may have a son that comes to me and says that he likes to wear heels.
Which, of course, I will be OK with . . . as long as he lets me share his manolos.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Chatty Cathy Lives Again
After preschool yesterday, Ellerie explained how things work in her classroom.
"You have to raise your hand quietly and go like this." She put her right hand in the air and then put her index finger of her left hand over her closed lips to indicate quiet. "Then, you get to be the one that picks the song for song time."
"Oh," I answered. Then I thought for a moment and followed up with one question. "So Ellerie, have YOU ever gotten to choose the song for song time?"
She smiled and replied, "Nope!"
Classic.
Chatty Cathy lives again.
It is going to be a long road to graduation.
"You have to raise your hand quietly and go like this." She put her right hand in the air and then put her index finger of her left hand over her closed lips to indicate quiet. "Then, you get to be the one that picks the song for song time."
"Oh," I answered. Then I thought for a moment and followed up with one question. "So Ellerie, have YOU ever gotten to choose the song for song time?"
She smiled and replied, "Nope!"
Classic.
Chatty Cathy lives again.
It is going to be a long road to graduation.
Friday, September 23, 2011
When There Are No Words . . .
As our friend Kelly spoke about her son, I clutched Paul's hand and tried to focus on holding myself together.
She spoke about his belly laughs and his love of uniforms. She even laughed as she detailed how he had dressed as a cowboy or a policeman to pretend and to play grown up. She related his love of sports and of the outdoors. Finally, she finished with the simple words, "Tommy, you will always be my baby boy."
And, I lost it.
I sobbed.
I cried for my friends, Kelly and Randy, who had lost their 20 year old son and were now speaking at his funeral. It is a reality that I am sure that they had never prepared for or conceived. And even though both Kelly and Randy were composed and spoke beautifully, I could only imagine the pain that they would feel when they went back to their home without their baby boy, Tommy.
I cried for all the red eyed young adults that sat zombie-like in the church pews. And, even though they weren't kids anymore, when I looked at them, I pictured them as they used to be when they were my students. I could remember this one's braces and crooked smile and that one's penchant for wearing his ball cap backwards. They were adults today, but they were also still babies when it came to life's lessons, and their shocked eyes gave away their very raw grief. They were stunned that one of them, one of their own, was gone.
And despite the fact that I knew it was selfish, I cried at the thought that I could lose my son. My baby boy.
It was just too much to hold inside.
My tears spilled down my cheeks, unchecked. My mascara made rivers that tracked down my face and dripped off my chin. With one hand, I dabbed at them with my ball of wadded up tissues, and with the other hand, I clung to Paul in a vise-like grip.
I am hanging on.
I am hanging on.
______________________________________________________________
If you are of the praying sort, please keep this family in your hearts. They need lots of love and support.
~Annie
She spoke about his belly laughs and his love of uniforms. She even laughed as she detailed how he had dressed as a cowboy or a policeman to pretend and to play grown up. She related his love of sports and of the outdoors. Finally, she finished with the simple words, "Tommy, you will always be my baby boy."
And, I lost it.
I sobbed.
I cried for my friends, Kelly and Randy, who had lost their 20 year old son and were now speaking at his funeral. It is a reality that I am sure that they had never prepared for or conceived. And even though both Kelly and Randy were composed and spoke beautifully, I could only imagine the pain that they would feel when they went back to their home without their baby boy, Tommy.
I cried for all the red eyed young adults that sat zombie-like in the church pews. And, even though they weren't kids anymore, when I looked at them, I pictured them as they used to be when they were my students. I could remember this one's braces and crooked smile and that one's penchant for wearing his ball cap backwards. They were adults today, but they were also still babies when it came to life's lessons, and their shocked eyes gave away their very raw grief. They were stunned that one of them, one of their own, was gone.
And despite the fact that I knew it was selfish, I cried at the thought that I could lose my son. My baby boy.
It was just too much to hold inside.
My tears spilled down my cheeks, unchecked. My mascara made rivers that tracked down my face and dripped off my chin. With one hand, I dabbed at them with my ball of wadded up tissues, and with the other hand, I clung to Paul in a vise-like grip.
I am hanging on.
I am hanging on.
______________________________________________________________
If you are of the praying sort, please keep this family in your hearts. They need lots of love and support.
~Annie
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A Bad Ass And A Booger Picker
Yesterday I had the pleasure of taking my kids to get their influenza immunizations.
I know.
I know.
You are jealous.
While in the office, the nurse explained that the kids would be getting the flu "sniff". The sniff vaccine is a mist that is sprayed in the kids' nostrils one at a time, and after it is sprayed, the kids must sniff heartily. Easy peasy.
When the nurse was finally done with her explanation, Ab asked her, "Is this the one that drips down your throat for a bit afterwards?"
The nurse indicated that it was, and that's when my first surprise of the day occurred.
"Then give me the shot!" Abbie stated emphatically.
The nurse raised her eyebrow in disbelief. Clearly, not many kids requested a shot instead of the sniff.
I confronted Ab. "What? You would rather have a shot? Are you sure you are my kid?" I asked not believing it could be true.
She explained simply, "I hate that feeling of the stuff running down my throat."
Well OK.
I could understand that, and let's face it.
My kid was a bad ass.
Who knew?
Ethan, however, opted for the sniff vaccine. After snorting mightily to his own delight, the nurse chuckled and instructed Ethan, "Now, don't blow your nose for at least 30 minutes. We want the medicine to take effect."
He nodded, and we were on our way.
Later, as I picked up the kids from school I got surprise number two.
"How was your day E?" I asked as we walked home together.
His smile filled his entire face, and he replied, "Great! I picked my nose three times!"
He stopped too and continued grinning. "I said . . . I picked my nose three times!" He enunciated slowly to show that he wasn't kidding.
As his mother and a registered germ-a-phobe, I was completely grossed out. "Why Ethan? Why would you pick your nose? You are old enough to know how to use a tissue!" I scolded.
He looked a little perplexed when he answered, "But the nurse said not to blow my nose, " he paused and then finished, proud of his own ingenuity, "so I picked it instead."
Nice.
I have a bad ass and a booger picker.
What other mom can have claim to that?
And . . . on Aunt Crazy's recommendation . . . I am linking up to Kmama's Proud Mommy Moments . . .
Bad Asses and Booger Pickers apparently qualify.
:)
*************************************************************************
Come join me on twitter . . . @annieinsanity
I know.
I know.
You are jealous.
While in the office, the nurse explained that the kids would be getting the flu "sniff". The sniff vaccine is a mist that is sprayed in the kids' nostrils one at a time, and after it is sprayed, the kids must sniff heartily. Easy peasy.
When the nurse was finally done with her explanation, Ab asked her, "Is this the one that drips down your throat for a bit afterwards?"
The nurse indicated that it was, and that's when my first surprise of the day occurred.
"Then give me the shot!" Abbie stated emphatically.
The nurse raised her eyebrow in disbelief. Clearly, not many kids requested a shot instead of the sniff.
I confronted Ab. "What? You would rather have a shot? Are you sure you are my kid?" I asked not believing it could be true.
She explained simply, "I hate that feeling of the stuff running down my throat."
Well OK.
I could understand that, and let's face it.
My kid was a bad ass.
Who knew?
So, Ab bared her arm and was shot up.
 |
| picture compliments of newsofworld.com |
He nodded, and we were on our way.
Later, as I picked up the kids from school I got surprise number two.
"How was your day E?" I asked as we walked home together.
His smile filled his entire face, and he replied, "Great! I picked my nose three times!"
 |
| picture from kidzworld.com |
I stopped mid stride and looked at him. "What?"
As his mother and a registered germ-a-phobe, I was completely grossed out. "Why Ethan? Why would you pick your nose? You are old enough to know how to use a tissue!" I scolded.
He looked a little perplexed when he answered, "But the nurse said not to blow my nose, " he paused and then finished, proud of his own ingenuity, "so I picked it instead."
Nice.
I have a bad ass and a booger picker.
What other mom can have claim to that?
And . . . on Aunt Crazy's recommendation . . . I am linking up to Kmama's Proud Mommy Moments . . .
Bad Asses and Booger Pickers apparently qualify.
:)
*************************************************************************
Come join me on twitter . . . @annieinsanity
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