Graduate's Mom

Dear Beanie,

Tonight you graduate from high school.  You've had a pretty rocky year, and through no fault of your own, have had to face down some dragons this year.  I want you to know that I have never been prouder of you and how you have handled it all.  You are a remarkable person. 

Tonight you graduate from high school.  I keep flashing back to moments from your childhood.  Aunt Carrie's wedding, when you were seven, remember?  You really, truly thought you might be Spiderman, in that you had been bitten by a spider, and you had an Uncle Ben.  You spent the entire reception jumping into a crouch and flexing your wrist, hoping for web to fly out.  You were the cutest child at the entire wedding.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  I can't believe how fast that time has gone by.  Do you remember when you were in second grade, and the World Trade Centers were attacked?  I couldn't wait to get to you, but I didn't want to pull you out of school early, because I was afraid you would be scared.  As soon as school let out, I was there.  You knew something was up, and I took you to McDonald's.  In the drive through line, buying you a McFlurry, I said, "I need to tell you something."  Do you remember?  I do.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  Remember when you were in the sixth grade talent show, and you drummed along to "We Built This City"?  Remember how the other kids went bananas over you, and how you had a moment of ultimate coolness, because, really, nobody is cooler than a drummer?  I was so glad you had that moment.  I think that might have been the only time you really understood how amazing you are, for that moment.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  Remember when you were a freshman, running Cross Country, knocking my socks off because you were so fast, so lithe, so incredibly much like a gazelle, running with strides that were literally five feet long?  I do.  Every time you left the starting line, I was fine for about ten minutes, and then I would start to panic.  What if he is hurt?  I thought.  What if you had fallen, twisted an ankle, broken your leg?  Of course, you were fine (even if you did push yourself so hard that you threw up at the finish line, pretty much every time.)  Of course you were.  You were amazing.  You inspired me.  You still do.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  Remember when you were granted the Person of Integrity Award by the Masons?  Remember how creepy/cool it was that we were invited into their Grand Poobah Room, and we got to watch the ceremony?  You were lovely with your big smile, pretty girl at your side.  I think that was the first moment when I felt like you were grown.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  You ARE grown, you are ready.  I believe in you.  I know that you are going to accomplish great things.  I know you are going to make an impact on this world, a real, live impact.  You may cure a terrible disease, or be the president that balances the budget.  Or, as you plan, you might become a very good high school history teacher, and you might inspire one kid to grow up to make a mark on the world.  And you know what?  That is enough.  More than enough.  All my life, I have learned that the only thing I have ever done that matters is parent you and your brother.  The impact you make on the next generation will carry forward forever.

Tonight you graduate from high school. You are already ready, I really don't need to give you a lot of advice.  All I can say is this:  keep doing it.  Keep being you, because you amaze me every day.  Try to be kind, try to be honest, try to do the right thing.  Look out for people who are smaller than you.  Pray.  Lean on your family, we will always be here for you.  Love with every ounce of your heart, even if it gets broken.  Dance like a white boy.  Don't drink alone.  Wear your seatbelt.

Tonight you graduate from high school.  I love you so much.  I am very proud of you.  You truly are remarkable.  Congratulations, my boy.   You are going to rock this world!

Love,
Mama

Dory from Nemo

Last night, I sent the following text to my brother:

Shit!  Yosemite Sam's real name is Sam Schultz!  I named my kid after a Loony Tunes character!

About 20 minutes later, I got the following back:

You're senile.  We've had this conversation like 3 times.

What sucks is, he's probably telling the truth.  The conversation continued as follows:

Me:  God Dammit
Him:  We just did it via text on Nov 14.
Me:  God dammit.  I haven't even been drinking.
Him:  Also, search theskinny.  The clip is posted some time back.
Him:  Senile.
Me:  Times like this, I hate myself.

My mom has this horrible habit of calling the kids the wrong thing.  She's confused my brother and Sam's names for years, to the point where they pretty much both answer if she says either name.  Now she's getting that way with the little boys.  Caleb and Kolya's names are too close.

And she also happens to tell the same story, thousands of times.  To the same people.  Oh, God, does she ever.

If you are really lucky, you can hear the same story also from my dad, and possibly my Aunt. 

But obviously, I don't have room to say a word.

Holy shit!  Did I tell you that I realized that my kid's name is exactly the same as a Loony Tunes Character??

Someone get me a beer.

Spanish Mona Lisa

So, check it.

In our town, for Cinco De Mayo, you have several options, all of which are extremely affordable.

However, my boss's people have decided that we should throw a fundraiser on that date, charging a shit-ton per head, and featuring, you know, a decent band, and some food.

So far, I think we have, like, 15 tables full.  Out of the 40 that are possible.  FUCK.  ME.

I'm not kidding, this event is a week out, and now we are trying to figure out ways to fill up the room.  I'm not kidding, the only way this will be bearable is if I drink heavily.  Before, during, and after.

I do have a hot dress.

But seriously, could you think of a more pathetic thing than throwing a party to which nobody comes?  Because that's what we are about to do.

Perhaps I am a touch more obnoxious about how much I hate this because I don't have a date, for the first time ever.  And I'm certainly glad to be single, but I'm hyper-aware of my singledom, more than usual.  Good lord.

Drink-o, for Cinco de Mayo...

Secret Shopper

Confession:  I've never been a good shopper.

I don't like to shop.  I know, that lessens the girliness of me, but it's true.  Shopping sucks it.

Especially the kind of shopping that requires you to thumb through racks and racks of clothes, in hopes that there is ONE GOD DAMN SIZE SIX PAIR OF PANTS or the like.

I don't care for shopping.

I recognize that this makes me a bit unusual, for a girl.

But then... BUT THEN, somebody introduced me to the power of online shopping.  And there really isn't one person I can blame for this, but holy crap do I wish there was because I CAN'T STOP.

In the last week, I've bought:

1. Four songs---  please note, this is iTunes shopping, and it's often under the influence of wine, because how else do you explain why I now own "Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden.  Shut up.  I like it.  This also explains the entire two albums of Wilson Phillips I purchased while in Georgia.  I'm not really very proud of myself.  Please let me keep my cool card for five more minutes.
2. A bathing suit--- now, in my defense, my old bathing suit is beyond ratty, and old, and besides, I do have another one but it's way too big, and you know.  So there's a legitimate need, and besides all of that, have you ever tried to go pee in a "head" on a sailboat when you are wearing a one-piece?  No?  It sucks, that's what.  So I bought a tankini.  Top.  And a bottom.  And a bikini top, too, because, well, what the hell?  At my beach, in Mississippi, I am far and away the thinnest girl and lots of them wear bikinis.  And besides, I can.  So there.  Shut up.
3. So yes, technically, that's 1.5 bathing suits.
4. A dress---  now I haven't talked much about the cinco de hell-o gala party that we are having at my work, but it's happening, and I have very low expectations.  You see, in the town in which I live, we have three major Mexican restaurants, all of which whom will offer beer for a quarter and free appetisers, and bands and live music.  And yet, we are asking people to pay $75 a ticket?  Pshat.  This is going to be el disastoro.  However, I have no choice in the matter, and I have to not only go, but sort of "work" at this event, but it also means I will "drink" at this event, so it could be worse.  And anyway, so, I need a dress.  So I bought one.  It's black, and strapless.  WHO THE FUCK AM I?

 

5.  And so today, Doodlebug lamented that we can't find his bedroom slippers, and target.com had some on clearance with Optimus Prime, so I mean...  that was good enough reason for me to then buy...

6.  A sweater to wear with my dress.

I HAVE TO STOP THIS.

But it's so, so fun.  I'm swearing it.

In other news, the First Lady of our town died, and my boss is fighting with the other old biddies of the town for who can be Most Important Mourner (MIM).  I love this a whole lot.  Not the loss of the Queen, I mean, I kind of wasn't crazy about her but I didn't wish her any ill will, and Mayor McCheese is a pretty good dude, so that's a shame, but still... what's funner than old lady cat fights?  NOTHING.

Beach Bunny. As per usual.

Turn your head to the left.  Like, as if you were laying down.  Unfortunately, I can't seem to edit these picturs, so you are stuck looking at them sideways.  Life's tough.  Like, for example, I am super-tan but it is chilly out today so I can't show off my tan lines.  FIRST WORLD PROBLEM.

Anyway, so this weekend, here's what we did.

Friday night.  Pizza, wine, boat.  My dad bought a new boat, a sun-something, catcher or craft or something, and it's a pontoon boat.  A party boat.  Sorry, but it is.  And yes, I am bragging. 

My mother asked me and the teens to go for a "cruise," on the boat at sunset.  Which is to say, around the canals all around her neighborhood, largely cooing over enormous houses we wouldn't mind owning.

(turn your head)

 oh, hey, look.  Blogger rotated the pictures for us.  Lucky us.  This is my mom driving.  She drove for like, ten minutes, then handed the wheel over to an eight year old boy who drove largely with his feet.  Boat is two days old.  Just saying.

 The teens were not fighting, although it looks like they were.  Boat rides at sunset with pizza and wine are nice. 

Saturday, we did nothing.  Like, I went to CVS and stuff, but mostly stayed in pajamas all day and watched Lifetime and read books and knitted.  I've got some socks under commission, and I want to finish them so I can start quilting again.  I know.  We'll see.

But seriously, very veg-out day, the kind of day where I ate an avocado for supper (and loved it, of course.)

On Sunday, the kids and I went to church, as we do, and then rushed home because the baby and I were planning to go to the beach with T-Rex.  Yes, the T-Rex from work.  So we threw a few waters and diet cokes in the cooler and put on our swimwear.

For the record, I recently purchased new swimwear, but it's not in yet, and this is a very good thing because the bathing suit I wore yesterday is seriously at least 10 years old, and so ratty you can see the elastic in it.  I have another suit, too, but it's too big.  Hah!  Bitch.

Anyway, so we were at the beach for about three hours.  During which T-Rex and I laid there, trying to not expend any more energy than necessary, while Doodlebug did this:

Not kidding, sand ended up in some really unusal places on that boy.  The kids' bathtub looked like the beach after his bath.  But so totally worth it.

I love the beach.

When we were done, T-Rex mentioned Outback, and it was on.  We went to my house, everybody cleaned up a little bit, and we went out to eat.  Shoved more food than was at all appropriate down our yaps, and then called it a night.

I went home, put on pajamas, bathed the kid, and settled in for some iPod Book Listening until it was time for Mad Men.  And then I admired my non-sunburn, and put some lotion (on it's skin, or else it gets the hose again.):  

 Sorry for the unintentionally sort of sexy shot.  Seriously.  Also, I have a lot of wrinkles in my neck.

About half way through Mad Men, I migrated to my room, where I watched the latter half before falling into the kind of sleep you can only have after a day in the sun. 

Talk about a pretty much perfect Sunday, wouldn't you say?  Not a horrible weekend, overall...

Lyrics Analyst. I should get paid for this.

Look at this.  No seriously, LOOK AT THIS.  These lyrics, y'all, holy cats, how they make me laugh:

Scene:  slightly pervy-looking, middle-aged man, in oversized, Jim-Jones-esque sunglasses, likely with a cigarette hanging out of his lips. 

"I love little baby ducks
Old pickup trucks
Slow movin' trains
And rain..."

What the fuck IS this?  You know you are intrigued.  Because, how many times do you get to hear a Jim-Jones-looking dude singing about little baby ducks?

"I love little country streams
Sleep without dreams
Sunday school in May
And hay..."

Sleep without dreams?  That's super weird.  Good dreams, yes, but... holy shit, did he say "hay"??  (yes, yes, he did.  hahahaha.)

 "And I love you too."

Um... thanks...

"I love leaves in the wind
Pictures of my friends
Birds of the world
And squirrels..."

Why not, "hanging with my friends" or something?  Why pictures of?  Because he murdered them and has them chopped up in pieces in his basement freezer?  Also, perhaps I've been watching too many episodes of Snapped.  Holy crap, who REALLY loves squirrels???

"I love coffee in a cup
Little fuzzy pups
Bourbon in a glass
And grass..."

Well.  Now it is all starting to make sense.  Because you and I both know what he is saying about 'grass,' right?  RIGHT?  Also, I love to put bourbon in my cup of coffee, so I guess this verse is where this song starts to really resonate with me...

"And I love you too."

Awww, shah.

"I love honest open smiles
Kisses from a child
Tomatos on a vine
And onions"

Told you he was pervy.  What the hell, onions?  God, you know what I love?  THIS FREAKING SONG.

"I love winners when they cry
Losers when they try
Music when it's good
And life"

Not sure he would really love this song, just saying.  But, I mean, life, well, yeah, I mean, I'm pro-living...

"And I love you too."

For what it is worth, I spent $1.30 on this song today, primarily so I can drive my kids batshit by playing it on the repeat a dozen times.  I have to admit it gets stuck in my head, though, and has for years.

I like to make up my own lyrics:

"I love monkeys in the car
Sidling up to the bar
And swimming
And I love you too!"

Future Pop Star Mama, as we all know

"Mommy, do you believe in Indians?" Asked Doodlebug, yesterday, in the car.

I'm in the car.  Beanie is driving.  Kimberlyboo, my daughter-in-faux, is in the other backseat.

We all go quiet.

"Um..." I say.

"Do you mean, like, tech support Indians, or the kind in the Old West?" Asks Beanie.

"No!"  Doodlebug says.  "The kind with spaceships and other pwanets."

"OHHHHHH!  ALIENS"  Say all three grown-ups, pretty much in perfect concert.

"No, not really," I say.

Why do babies have to grow up?  I mean, this is the fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.  And he says stuff like this all the time.  I love my little boy, my little baby, the one that is forever guaranteed to make me chuckle for a half hour every time he opens his mouth.

Additionally, if you ask him what his favorite song is, he's going to tell you it is I've got the music, Jagger*.  And then he will probably sing it for you.

I've got the music, Jagger.  You can sit this one out.

Very much unrelated, I heard this morning that Johnny Depp played Jack Sparrow as a cross between Keith Richards and Pepe Le Pew.  Don't know how true that is, but...  I've got the music, Sparrow.  Back the fuck off.

I want the baby to always stay this little.  Wittle.

*I know it is "Moves like Jagger," of course I do.  I own the song (perhaps I bought it because my baby likes it so much.  Who's to say?  I know Maroon Five don't give a shit.)