Ethan loves us. He likes to tell us this in a variety of ways. His favorite, is the measuring of love. There are a variety of measurements.

By bigness,

“I love you bigger than a HOUSE! I love you bigger than the WHOLE WORLD!”

By speed,

“I love you THIS FAST!” (He takes off running.)

Comparatively,

“I love you! I love you even more than the SANDBOX!”
“Even more than legos?”
(he has to think this one over, but only for a teeny second.
“Even more than LEGOS!”

And on a scale of one to ten,

“I love you TEN!”

I love the comparative and scale of one to ten ways, because you can kind of mess with his head a little bit:

“What about Daddy?”
“I love Daddy TEN TOO!”
“How about Pookie Bear?”

See, now he’s torn. Because Pookie Bear is his most beloved object in all the world. (even more than the sandbox. Even more than legos. Even more than *gasp* GARBAGE TRUCKS!)

“I love Pookie Bear a 10 too!”
“How about the sandbox.”

Now he’ll start to get all introspective and thoughtful. It’s terribly amusing.

“I think I like the sandbox an eight. And legos too.”

And as he gets all introspective he’ll lose track of where certain things rate.

“And I love garbage trucks ALL THE WAY TO TWENTY!!”
“But hey, I thought you loved me to ten!?”
“Well, I can love you to A HUNDRED!”

One last way he likes to show his love is to run at you with roughly the speed of a bullet newly escaped from the chamber and plow into you like a linebacker. You see, in his mind, speed is equivalent to his love. So it doesn’t matter how much I tell him to slow down and be gentle with his mommy lest she fall backwards and smack her head on the pavement, he is unable to slow down. Because that would mean he loves me less. And he just couldn’t have that, now could he?

The very cute thing about Ethan is these eloquent profusions of his love, which can come at any time, right in the middle of any conversation.

So it was especially cute when we sat down to Papa John’s pizza on Sunday night.

“I LOVE PAPA JOHN’S PIZZA! I LOVE IT A TEN!!”
“What do you love us?”
“Oh, you’re a 9.”

(James and I had to try to control the cracking up.)

“Only a NINE?”
“Yes! Because PAPA JOHN’S is the BEST PIZZA IN THE WOOOOORRRRLD!”

A minute later,

“You know what makes me grow?”
“What?”
“Pizza.”

Ahh, to be five.

I have a lot of news from the weekend, cute things the kids did, tales from the soccer games and lots of crafty activity to report on.

But last night we got some terrible news. A friend of James and I, was expecting a baby girl very soon. She was born and died after just a few hours. I just can’t stop the tears. I’m so, so terribly sorry. My heart goes out to them and their wee little lady. May they have strength to face the days to come.

(I wrote this yesterday. I’m too lazy to change any of the tenses. So here you go:)

Not only a soccer mom, but the TEAM MANAGER of our team.

When I registered the kids in soccer late last spring, there was a checkbox for if you’re interested in being a team manager. I hovered over the checkbox, and I swear to GOD I did not check it, but I did think about checking it. In the end, I’m pretty sure I left it unchecked and said to myself, “If they need team managers, they’ll send out an email, and maybe THEN I’ll volunteer.”

So I was shocked & stunned when the weekend before soccer started (we’re on week 2 now), an email came from Jocelyn’s team coach saying hi and mentioned that I’m the team manager.

I emailed him back and said there must have been a mistake.

There wasn’t any, and it certainly wasn’t his fault if there was, so after he reassured me that yes, my name was listed on teh list they gave him, I just went with it.

I mean, all I have to do is organize the snack schedule, right? And plan the end of season party (very low key, bring donuts, head to a pavillion, take up a collection for the coaches, no big deal).. and hand out the picture packets to the parents the week before pictures.

This is easy. I can totally do this, I thought. Sure, I totally wandered around the field last spring searching for the field for Ethan’s first soccer game like an EEDIOT, but that was then. This is now. I can do it. I can be a soccer mom.

Fast forward (or backwards i guess) to the first soccer practice last week.

Unfortunately for us, Ethan’s practice is at a different school then Jocelyn’s. They are both at 6pm, but in different places. So we arranged for James to take Ethan to his, and I would take Jocelyn to hers. I was going to pick them up from school, get them home, fed, changed, and ready to go.

At about 5:37 as I was still en route to home, both kids in the car, and James called me to ask where the hell I was, I replied that he’d better get all their stuff and meet us at the school where Ethan’s practice was being held (closer to me than Jocelyn’s.) He did, and we did, and it wasn’t until 5:55 that I pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the school where Jocelyn’s practice was being held. We arrived at about 6:02 and I hurriedly changed her out of her school clothes and into her soccer gear (including cleats!) and then headed off to find her field.

Now this field is nothing like the game day field. That field is huge, and has like.. oh, 117 fields on it. The school practice fields only had 5ish fields, and it was the same field that Ethan had practiced on in the spring, so I was pretty confident that we’d find her field easily.

Which did not happen. I had a vivid flashback of Ethan’s first game in the spring, as I walked up to the various groups and asked, “which field is this? What team are you? Who’s your coach’s name?” and drew a blank for each one. Time was ticking along and I was still in my nice work clothes, trotting around a school field feeling like an idiot. Someone finally filled me in that our field was on the OTHER SIDE OF THE SCHOOL… a fact that our coach had actually emailed the entire team and I ignored, thinking, “oh i know that field, i’ll know where to go.”

So finally, we trot off across the field, backt hrough the parking lot across another field to the backside of teh school where finally we arrived at our team’s practice. at 6:15.

Some soccer mom/team manager I am, eh? 🙂

Ahh well. Today I’m leaving in plenty of time, and I’ve dutifully printed out schedules with each week’s game time, what side our kids’ jersey’s are supposed to be on (blue or gold), who’s in charge of the snack, and what field we’ll be playing on.

It only takes away some of the stupid.

I always feel odd being a “soccer mom,” (and I obviously like to make fun of myself as such,) but the truth is, when you’re at soccer practice or a game and you’re watching your kid run around trying to kick the ball, you forget all about the surburban soccer mom stereotypes that caused you to want to dye your hair pink in the first place just to FEEL A LITTLE DIFFERENT OH MY GOD WTFBBQ… (ahem) and you just watch your kid having fun…

and you start to have fun to 🙂

– amy (you’ll still never see me with a soccer mom bumper sticker)

As you know, I have my wallet back in my possession. Despite my earlier statements that I’m purchasing some sort of device that will aid me in it’s recovery when it goes missing, after giving my vehement thanks to whatever gods there may be, I’ve pretty much gone back to normal in it’s regard.

When I first got it back, the lady who handed it to me said casually, “I broke your zipper, I’m afraid..” and I had a brief moment of heart palpitation as I took it from her and quickly inspected it. My mom bought me this wallet from Nordstrom probably over 10 years ago, and no other wallet has ever fit so perfectly into my hand and my lifestyle as well. In short, I LOVE this wallet, and whenever it goes missing, my first lament after the fact that, you know, all my money-getting-cards and info are now in the hands of who knows who, is that it is the PERFECT WALLET, and NOW IT’S GONE, WAAAAHHHH!

Now, I say that it’s perfect, but technically, this is not true. “Perfect” denotes that it is without any flaws or imperfections. That I find absolutely no fault with it. And sadly, I do have one minor complaint that makes it a teeny tiny bit less than perfect – it zips up from the wrong side. It really is a minor thing, and one would wonder how any “side” could be the “wrong” side to zip up from, but all I know is when I pick it up and unzip it I always then have to turn it around to get at the money/cards slots thing. Always. Unzip, flip. It’s always on the wrong side. It’s the way I unzip. But as you now know, this really is a petty little complaint. I love my wallet, love love love it. Even though it isn’t truly correct to say so, it’s perfect and none other have ever suited me as much as this one.

So the thought of the zipper being broken really did grab my heart with the icy grip of fear. Oh my god! What would I do if this wallet had finally gone kaput?! Even before the soft black leather touched my skin I had run through all the possible scenarios how bad it could be and even if it really was broken, I could always have the zipper replaced (and they could put it in the opposite way too!).. I checked it out and saw that the zipper was fine, though some bits of paper from a receipt had gotten zipped into the threads and had caused it to pucker open. This has happened to me countless times (because I keep way too much shit in my wallet) and is easily remedied. You merely grab the zipper handle thingee and yank it over the caught paper really hard. Then pick out the paper bits and zip it up normally. Relief. My wallet was fine. Oh happy day! Oh, and of course, it was found and not lost and all that jazz, yadda yadda yadda.

As I mentioned, after the initial elation, I have largely forgotten about my wallet. Today, I took a moment to open it up, sort through all the receipts and paper bits therein and toss anything that needed tossing. While I had everything out, I careful looked at the zipper, and seeing there were still itty bitty paper bits stuck in the zipper, unzipped it as far as it could go and picked them all out. For the first time in 10 years, I realized that while the zipper is sewed quite firmly to the wallet .. the end isn’t sewed down to anything. THe wallet makers simply stuck the extra 2 inches of zipper length into a (non-sewed shut) opening in the middle where the zipper begun on one side, and ended on the other. I pulled the end of the zipper out and contemplated. I pulled the other end out and pondered some more.

Could this be this easy? To just switch the zipper head thingee (what ARE those things called??) around and have it go the other way? After ten years I could have the PERFECT WALLET in 1 minute of work? What if after I pulled the zipper head thingee off, I couldn’t get it back on the zipper again? I did a little testing and then tossed in the towel and just did it.

Now my zipper zips up the opposite way. Now when I unzip it, the correct side (with the money and the cards) is facing me and I don’t have to flip it around.

I truly have THE PERFECT WALLET!!!

Now that this has been accomplished, I REALLY don’t want to lose it. So I wrote a little message on the back of my business card to any would-be-finder of the wallet.

And I put it where I think it’ll be seen. After they dig through all the receipts that I’m sure will be occupying the center space.

I should still look into wallet finder thingees though.

Ethan came home from kindergarten one day last week and confided in me,

“Mommy, we’re not allowed to kiss other people.”

I thought that over, and how when kids are very young, hugs and kisses are wonderful, of course, but as they get older, they need to learn to respect other people’s personal space. Kindergarten is probably the right time for this sort of rule.. though I do remember the “kissing” games played when I was in K and 1st grades on the playground.

I was thinking all this over and remembering my “first kiss” and my little “boyfriend” from 1st grade as I started telling Ethan how kisses are personal and it’s a good rule because as you get older, some people might not want to be kissed, when Ethan interupted my thoughts.

“But I kiss Jeni sometimes.”

This took me off guard a bit.

“You do?”

“Yes. In the sandbox. Sometimes we get married.”

“You do.”

“Yup.”

James also wrote about these glad tidings over on his blog.

Sometimes you walk around all happy.

Like a big happy beachy bouncey ball. Things are fun and it’s fun to be excited about things. The very act of being excited is fun. Like the way a child can be so excited about the world around them – It’s fun to have that kind of excitement. Like a happy bouncey ball.

And then something happens to puncture the happy ball.

The ball deflates. It’s not happy. The thought of being excited about anything is stupid and depressing. It doesn’t matter what. Things no longer are fun. Being excited is no longer fun.

It can happen quickly, without any warning. And then the ball loses it’s happy bounce. It deflates until it’s a sad, flat, weird looking piece of rubber just laying on the floor.

Sometimes it’s not quickly. Sometimes there’s just a teeny pin sized hole in the happy bouncy ball. And the ball can be bouncy for a long time. Never noticing that it doesn’t bounce just quite so high and doesn’t feel quite so happy. UNtil one day, it’s a sad piece of plastic laying on the floor wondering why it would rather lay there than bounce. And look weird.

I feel deflated.

It would be nice to just lay on the floor and look weird.

Don’t you think?

… the prodigal wallet has (been) returned. All was intact, including $15 bucks in cash.

We killed the fatted calf and made merry. The wallet that never strayed sulked and wondered what outrageous thing he should do to get some attention around here. We ignored it and slathered more attention on the wayward-but-now-has-returned-to-the-path wallet.

OK, not really, but I did stop on my way home from picking it up for ice cream. Please, everyone, come attend my seminar on How-To-Save-Your-Marriage-With-Extra-Thick-Chocolate-Shakes. It’s a winner. The jist of it is, bring ice cream. DO NOT say ANYTHING along the lines of, “See, I told you it would turn up, all that screaming until you were hoarse was for NAUGHT,” if you really want the effects of the ice cream to take effect.

I need to get that keyringer thingee.

the summation:

• we left thursday for jellystone park, a campground (with cabins! that have AC! and showers! they also have tent campsites too. But guess which one we picked!) with all sorts of fun things to do like a humgous waterslide, 2 pools, mini golf, paddle boats (on a very small, and somewhat swampy pond) and a huge field and play ground. Oh, and it’s by Luray, with all that has to offer. We camped (cabin-style!) swam, golfed, swam, went underground to gaze at huge stalactites/malagnicryptonitites, mini golfed, wandered and got lost in hedge mazes*, saw animals, petted animals, swam, ate ice cream, mini golfed and swam. And went on a wagon ride with Boo Boo. We left for home on Sunday.

*ok there was just one, and i was the only one to get lost, but i got out eventually. see? here i am, writing this. proof.

• swam at our own pool
• lost my wallet. AGAIN. Those of you who have been following our heroine for some time will know that she is notorious for this activity. Usually, she confines it to wallets. But she has been known to lose her keys as well (if you’re going to just read one of those links, choose the keys one, because it’s funny. the wallet one is just depressing). She has been known to take Losing Things to epic proportions. She also seems to think that talking about herself in the third person will somehow take away the shame of the latest loss, which is STILL ONGOING. That’s right folks. It’s still lost. Constant monitoring of the bank activity is ongoing, but other than ordering a replacement driver’s license (which can be done online, thank GOD) and carrying her husband’s credit card around, the wait to see if it turns up continues. Please cross your fingers for her. And your toes. And by the way, go look around manassass for it would you please because our heroine is looking at imminent divorce for this “habit” of hers and despite her insistence that “it ALWAYS TURNS UP!” her husband is not buying it and is growing quite bored distraught shrill interested in divorce lawyers… let’s just say he’s not happy.
• took the kids to their first day of school. not too big a deal for jocelyn, as she moves across the hall from her old class, and her old teacher was in the classroom when we arrived. Much bigger deal to Ethan, who….

  STARTED KINDERGARTEN TODAY.

  I actually wondered if he realized if this was a big deal, as he is still at the same school he’s always been for the last 2 years, just in their private kindergarten now. I was a big dumb dumb, because he has pointed out the ways he knows this is a big difference in several ways this morning:

  “Daddy, I’m going to learn how to READ and WRITE AND SPELL!”
  “Mommy, Kindergarteners go on FIELD TRIPS! I’M GOING TO GO ON FIELD TRIPS!”
  “Mommy I’m five! I’M A KINDERGARTENER! I CAN’T WAIT! I’M FIVE!”

  A couple of kids were naturally squeamish on leaving their parents’ arms to venture into the classroom, but Ethan leaned way back, made a “pweeeeeooohhhhh!” sound, ran in place for a few steps and then took off into the room. That is my son. The epitome of my son. The kindergartener. HE’S FIVE.

• Just in case you missed it, my wallet is out there. Just longing to be returned to me. Do your duty and go find it, would you? I’ve already tried, TRUST ME. I am looking into this keyringer device that may perhaps save my marriage one day, as it is now hanging by a thread.

More pictures of cryptonitites, goats, mini golf, first day of school to come this week. No hedge mazes though. Or wallets.

hey guess what!

I got some pictures off my camera! And even uploaded them to flickr!

So to finish off a previous post, Here are my kids on last month’s story book dress up day at school:

Ethan went as the woodsman/hunter from Little Red Riding Hood, and Jocelyn went as a Princess.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take a picture of Ethan straight on – his costume was a simple plain shirt with suspenders and jeans, and his robin hood style hat.

Jocelyn was more than ready to pose, however.

Jocelyn is wearing a princess hat I made for her out of posterboard and ribbon, and one of her dress up dresses. The dress has an upside down V opening on the front that opens to reveal white lacy underskirt. However, Jocelyn doesn’t like this. She likes the purple skirt better and therefore wears this dress backwards so that only the purple shows to her eyes.

Another little project I tackled one Saturday long long ago (probably 3 weeks ago) was a super girl shirt for Jocelyn.

You see, Ethan has these Batman pajamas. Complete with CAPE. He LOVES wearing them, and after he gets them on, will take a running flying leap onto his bed and then instantly turn to me and say, “Did my cape fly?” (He means flutter.) “Did I fly?” Then he does it all again, except he tries to watch his cape as he does so. Unfortunately the cape doesnt’ flutter that well because it’s a flannely type of material that is thin and tends to stick to his jammie shirt. He still loves it.

Well, as soon as Ethan starts “flying” Jocelyn joins in, and I thought how sad it was that there are no super hero jammies in her life. (Says the woman who when she was 6 wore Wonder Woman under-roos until they fell apart!) Target however has batman and superman t-shirts in the boys dept, so I thought I’d get her some of those and then narrow the shirt down a bit. Maybe add a cape!

So that’s what I did.

The first day, she wouldn’t let me touch it. It hung on her and bunched around her hips and generally looked awful. She loved it.

The next day, she finally consented to let me tweak it to fit her better. I turned it inside out, laid one of her shirts over the top, and drew lines up the sides and out off the sleeves for where to sew. I sewed it up, but it was still incredibly long, and the sleeves reached practically to her elbows. I was planning on chopping them off and hemming, until I remembered the fun we used to have with old tshirts when I was young. THey don’t fray, so you can cut strips in it to make fringe, which is what I did with hers.

She was closely supervising my every move, so at first she protested, until I pointed out that this would make the shirt “twirly.” Then she was eager to see the results.

Super girl!

The cape I planned to attach with velcro, so we could take it on and off, but I didn’t have any when I thought I had, so I just sewed the cape on, lest Super Girl be powerless against her foes for the day.

This is her self-proclaimed: “SUPER FACE!”

She posed for quite a few pictures, but when she was done, she looked like this the rest of the day:

Ethan has a super man t-shirt too, which I think I will attach a cape too as well. Then he’ll have a cape he can wear during the day, instead of just at night. I’ll get to it someday. And I should get velcro first.

Tonight: packing for our not-really-camping trip over the long weekend. Fun fun!

-amy