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The Boys and the Girl

Yesterday our family split in two, divided down the line of boys vs. girls. The five members of the blue team went to “A Day Out With Thomas” at the Colorado Railroad Museum. Lee wore Joel in the backpack carrier and scrambled after the rest of the Thomas fanatics with a bravery that takes my breath away. I wish I was there to witness my husband in action as he herded the boys around the model trains, photo-ops with Thomas and Sir Topham Hatt, and the looping ride on a train pulled by Thomas the Tank Engine himself.

My five guys

The girls team, two members strong, set off on a shopping adventure. How stereotypical. Had we thrown in tea, The Nutcracker, a manicure, and “The Princess Diaries”, our blood would turn to Pepto pink, our hair would spontaneously curl, and our voices would tighten into Betty Boop-cute. We took an aggressive approach to shopping, however–we went to Goodwill twice in our effort to find bargains. We went to “Old Maybe” (as my daughter called Old Navy when much younger) twice in an effort to find a particular shirt in a particular size. We got fattening snacks of chocolate and pop–Coke for me, Pepsi for my girl. Rejuvenated, we soldiered on and on, until it was time to meet up with the boys for lunch at McDonald’s to celebrate our nephew’s third birthday.

I am grateful for the times when I can spend time with my one, my only, my girl. She is growing up so fast–she wanted to wear her “fashion boots” yesterday, but discovered halfway through shopping that pretty shoes can lead to painful feet. She gasped at the cute clothes, the ponchos on the racks that she is “dying” to have. She wanted me to crank the music as we drove along and she danced in her booster seat. We had fun together. I know that the day of my replacement as shopping buddy is coming soon. She will have girlfriends to go shopping with. She will crank the stereo in their cars, gasp at their cute clothes, argue with them whether Coke or Pepsi is better.

It makes my heart race, pumping my ever-pink blood a bit faster.

October 17th, 2004 | Category: Life, Little Ones | Leave a comment

The Scent of Snow

Today was the first day that I could go outside and smell that winter was hovering nearby. The leaves on the trees are half-gone, revealing skeletal limbs and branches. It is almost like the trees have peeled themselves of all adornment, ready for the judgment of the cold and snow. Nature is getting serious with itself once more. My flowers in the front garden were proud-red not too many weeks ago, now their heads are hung under that weight of autumn mist–impossibly light in the air, impossibly heavy on the petals.

Now my thoughts turn to finding mittens for everyone–“mitt-mitts”, as Tommy called them last year. 10 little mittens make 5 little pairs. Hats, boots that need to be sized, snow pants and turtlenecks, sweaters that the kids hate to wear–all need to be dug out from the corners of the closet. It is ironic. The more the trees shed their leaves, the more clothing I have to pile on the protesting children. They were made for backyards with bare feet, especially Tommy who has been known to venture outside with nothing more on than a Kool-aid smile.

This year, I feel a bit of kicking and screaming going on inside me as winter approaches. We live in the foothills of the Rockies. The Great Plains come to a screeching halt, rudely interrupted by the mountains. Sometimes I look out my back door and see the fog skimming the mountains, near to the west. When it lifts, it leaves a white stain of snow behind. When it lifts, it takes more sunshine with it, like an eagle carrying away its prey.

I am not ready for boots to replace little bare feet. But it is time to pull the blanket of the year up around our shoulders and snuggle in for a few months. It is inevitable and not worth protesting too much. Winter will bring its own private delights that summer can never understand–holidays, cocoa, sleds and snow angels. The Holy Night, the stars that brightly shine. A New Year, a day for love letters, maybe a blizzard. Then that first daffodil. As the white snow marches down from the nearby mountains, the green grass will march right back up, a push-and-shove battle that I am privileged to watch in my own backyard.

October 15th, 2004 | Category: Life | One comment

The Four Hoarsemen

The well-publicized flu shot shortage sent me into a panic this past week. As an asthmatic, I know that my lungs are my body’s version of the temperamental, cranky, spoiled Diva. I have to keep them happy, or they throw a shoe at me. So I kiss my lung’s behind and get a flu shot most years.

Watching the news and the endless stories about the flu shot shortage got me into gear and on the phone with my allergy and asthma doctor’s office. I was told they were giving out shots on a walk-in only basis and only to asthmatics. The receptionist warned me that they would confirm my diagnosis of asthma by pulling my chart. They must have had people walk-in and fake asthma in an effort to get a shot. I said fine, pull my chart. It is the thickest one ya got! Okay, I didn’t really say that, but I knew I would have no worries regarding my diagnosis. My lungs suck, in both the literal and figurative senses of the word.

So yesterday afternoon, during the designated walk-in time of 1-2:30 pm, I loaded the four little boys in the minivan for a trip to my allergist’s office. Coincidentally, 1-2:30 pm is Prime nap time.

Where are we going? Why? Why are you getting a shot? Are you going to cry? Are you going to say ouch? Are they going to poke you? Can I push the stroller when we get there? No, I want to! No, I want to! No, I want to! Are you going to get a Bugs Bunny bandaid? Are you going to get a Daffy Duck bandaid? I want to push the stroller! No, me!! I want to open the door! No, me! I get to push the elevator button! No, me!!

At this point, a nice middle-aged lady got on the elevator with us and remarked that I brought all my “helpers” with me. She also told me that I-70 was a mess and that she drove over the median, down a grassy hill, and around a fence to get to the building. I thought it was odd that a stranger would admit to another stranger in an elevator that they just broke several traffic laws, but oh well. The flu shot shortage will do that to people. The elevator doors opened and we spilled out into the hallway.”To the left!” I directed my helpers.

The middle-aged woman and I were going to the same office. We both approached the front desk and announced we were there for flu shots. The receptionist was weary…weary of hearing the words “flu shot”. You could just tell. Do you have an asthma diagnosis? Yes, we replied. I need to pull your charts, she warned. Do you need a forklift? I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

We were both cleared for flu shots–and, as lucky lungs would have it–the two last doses in the office! Another shipment would arrive in a few days. I was glad I ignored nap time, and I am sure that the middle-aged off-road warrior was equally relieved that she ignored medians, fences, and landscaping to get to the allergist’s office.

Meanwhile, my four helpers were busy reading issues of Wired magazine, rearranging chairs, pushing poor, poor Joel around in the umbrella stroller like they were re-enacting Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. They discovered the bell on the counter. Ding. Don’t. Ding. Don’t! Ding. Don’t! Ding. Don’t!

The lady with the bald tires and grass wedged in her bumpers went first. She left and said goodbye to the boys on her way out the door. Then it was my turn. I said “hey boys, it’s my turn, let’s go!” thinking that I would get my shot in a normal exam room. But the nurse looked at the boys, looked at me, and said “why don’t we do your shot right here in the waiting room?” Thank God I wasn’t there for a pap smear.

Hey, mommy, are you going to cry? Look, she’s got a HOLE in her arm! It’s BLEEDING! Why don’t you have Bugs Bunny bandaids here? Are you done yet?

Seeing I was done, the boys were outta there, pronto. I said rushed goodbyes to the besieged receptionist (who probably fielded 25 calls from people seeking flu shots while I was there) and the nurse and chased after my helpers, who were already halfway down the hall to the elevator. They argued about who would get to push the buttons, who would push the stroller, and then once on the ground floor they played with the acoustic marvels of the four-story atrium. Even baby Joel got into the act, sending his voice soaring up to the ceiling and back down again.

Tommy fell down a hill covered with patchy grass once we got outside, so he began to cry. Ryley was upset because we weren’t going to go get candy, like Daddy did after his flu shot. Joel was cranky from being in the stroller. Everyone had an opinion about something.

Soon they were asleep in the minivan. The three small Sprites I bought at Sonic (to go with my chocolate cream pie shake I bought to soothe my sore arm) went untouched, sloshing around in the cup holders. All that energy, expended, sent up four stories in an atrium, rang out by the dinging desk bell, my helpers. Left hoarse by so many questions I was happy to answer. No Bugs Bunny bandaid for me. Darn!

October 13th, 2004 | Category: Laughter, Life, Little Ones | 4 comments
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