an actual dinner conversation

Me: Hayden, tell me your favorite part of your day?

My 6-year-old: Oh, probably coming home and seeing my family.

Me: That's awfully nice of you to say.

Him: Yep.

Me: And did anything happen that you DIDN'T like?

Him: Not really.

Me: Even better.

Him: Yeah. That's what I said, Clark.

Me: Who is Clark?

Him: Can I be done now?

Me: Ummm, yes...you're excused.

Him: Yes! Hayden. Gone. I'm out. Peace.

*Note: I need a translator.

sort of unsettling but true

You know how it is.

You get married, have kids, and before long, babytalk takes over and nothing gets accomplished unless its's animated or stained with formula that smells so badly, you can't believe you feed it to a child. Even worse, YOUR child, the one you hope to morph into a productive citizen one day. Or at least somebody rich, so you can retire early and catch up on all those tivo'd Real Housewives episodes you never have time to watch, but somehow make you feel normal when you do.

And so I've found myself with the upside that we have a babysitter coming to our home tomorrow to do anything BUT sit with the boys. Who coined that phrase, anyway? (She's the world's best babysitter, whom I feel uber lucky to have discovered.) And with the upside, I've also run into a dilemma. Maybe it's more of a realization of just how pathetic Greg and I have become in one area of our lives: We haven't seen a movie without the kids in for, well...um...ever.

Or at least long enough that I can't remember catching a flick at the theatre without the boys in tow. Without leaving during a good part to take them to the restroom, or sitting in the front row because its fun for children, blinding for adults. I really can't. It's safe to say it's been years. Way too long, in my opinion. I'm sure we were taking the advice of Dr. Phil along the way, and purposely didn't go to a show on datenight so we could chat uninterrupted. But, years? You'd think I was talking about something really detestable, like a spinach-eating contest or a paper cut convention.

So, I'm excited.

People ask me what my plans are for the weekend, and my response is slightly giddy, and they're all like, 'Really? It's a...movie.' While I'm living on the edge, I just might get butter on my popcorn, or eat the whole box of Junior Mints. (Do they still sell those?)

I'm crazy like that.

ever wish you could take it back?

we learn something new every day

Greg and I have been married 11 years.

And for all of those eleven years, my favorite meal in our home has been taco night. I love tacos. Taco night was my favorite dinner as a child growing up, and the meal I still request for birthdays.

So last night, I did what I always do.

Thawed the meat.

Grabbed the shredded cheese, lettuce & tomatoes.

Browned the taco shells.

And like usual, the boys ate everything but their tacos, claiming they weren't 'all that hungry.' As history repeated itself, Greg ate his dinner, but didn't ask for seconds. And somehow I found myself asking if Greg had enough, and the smile that he forced told me everything.

He didn't like tacos.

How did I miss that? More importantly, how did I miss it for eleven years? E-lev-en. That's a lot of taco nights in this home. In Greg's defense, he tried to soften the blow with these words: 'It's just not my favorite.' And then he smiled with hesitation as if to say, 'Please don't be mad.'

Taco Bell, here I come.

one of these days I'll get it

A big thanks to my neighbor who gave the boys a snack after school while I attended a meeting.

Upon picking them up, they grabbed their backpacks and headed to my car, parked in the neighbor's drive, for the long and exhausting trip home...two houses down. Yet, they didn't hop in.

Me: C'mon guys...get in.

Griffin: That's okay, I'll walk.

Me: Are you sure? You don't have to.

Hayden: Yeah, I'll walk, too.

Me: Okay, whatever you wanna do.

Griffin: I mean, we're MEN, Mom. DUH.

the perfect timing of a 6-year-old

It's a new year.

New things to do, new friends to see, and new memories to make.

Funny how with each new endeavor, thoughts of my father return and I wish he was here to share it with me. To tell him about Greg's job that he loves, the kids shirtless wrestling matches, or that I found our cordless phone folded up in a blanket. And so as I watched Hayden dress in his Elvis costume, followed by a mini-performance in our living room, I wondered what Dad would have said about his grandson with the curled lip and gold sunglasses. Hayden noticed I was lost in his thought, and here's the rest:

Him: Mom, what...you're not watching!

Me: I was buddy...I just thinking about your Papaw.

Him: Yeah, I miss Papaw too. He was the best.

Me: You wanna see a photo of him? I keep it in my room. It's of me, Papaw Mike and Mamaw Charlotte on vacation.

Him: (Taking a glance) Ummm, what's up with Mamaw's hair? It looks weird.

And off he went.

weeks should start on tuesday

It's back to work today.

My first day of work in 2011 has not gone accordingly, and for no other reason than I expected it to. I'm out of sorts. Not on a routine. A bit discombobulated. And hey, how often do we get to use THAT word?

Here's the lowdown, in a nutshell, and keep in mind the day's not over:

I was awakened by one of my sons who simply couldn't sleep, about an hour before my alarm was set to blare, later arrived at work to find my keyboard and computer mouse locked up, so I scrambled to search news on my cellphone, noticed I was leaning to the left due to an uneven chair, grabbed my coffee in the drive-thru at Starbucks and was given a half-filled cup, though they certainly didn't charge me half the price, my resolution for the new year to no longer say the phrase 'Long story short' was broken during the first ten minutes of the show, as I caught myself repeating those very words to the guys, and despite the mental note at 10 pm to bring my cell phone charger to work, I forgot it.

Let's hear it for Tuesdays!

Courtesy of my 6-year-old

What every mother wants to hear: Mom, may I have a napkin, please?

What every mother doesn't: I have a booger on my finger.