People Are Good and Colby is Six

21 12 2012

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This is the third time I’ve written this post.

WordPress, what’s happening to us? We used to get along so well . . . now you’re eating my posts and I don’t have time for it. I should be packing right now, or at least doing the dishes so they don’t grow stuff while I’m gone.

Instead, we’re fighting.

I hate it.

Okay. Here’s the plan. Call it a compromise. I will write really fast without touching my touch pad thingy. I will try really hard not to push any of the wrong buttons. (But, c’mon–you can’t have a post about Colby without pictures. Of Colby. Srsly.)

The dolphins you see above are from many kind people who reached out to our family after our car break-in and subsequent dolphin crisis. None of them are Stinky, and so none of them are loved quite like Stinky, but they have all been slept with and loved. Thank you so much.

People are good.

Colby is good, too. Surprisingly so. I guess he’s proving what they say (although I’m still not quite sure who “they” are): kids are resilient.

Also, this happened yesterday:

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This is the first time he has “gotten” what a birthday is. It was a blast seeing him be so excited about blowing out the candles and opening his presents.

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I was talking to a friend who is an OT (occupational therapist) one time about how exciting his milestones are. I said something like, “It’s not that I love him more . . .”

“It’s that it’s taken him so much longer to get there, so you have a reason to celebrate.”

I’m glad she knew what I was trying to say and said it for me.

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Dude.

Most kids have a “big” bike by age six–some even ride without training wheels. Colby’s small, though, and doesn’t have the greatest sense of balance. This is perfect for him (especially when you consider he’s been riding his big sisters’ Barbie big wheel for two years). (Except that’s one thing I totally love about him–he doesn’t notice stuff like that so it doesn’t bother him. Still, this bike is definitely faster and sturdier than Barbie.)

Love, love, love that kid.

P.S. Hate, hate, hate the new WordPress media loader. Hopefully the pictures won’t be all squishy when you look at this. But if they are, you should be able to see them by clicking on them. I don’t have time to try and fix it right now, so sorry for the extra step.





My Pet Hoodie

5 12 2012

It has been an interesting blogging year for me.

I have had lots of ideas and lots of thoughts, but not many of those have made it onto my screen, and, in turn, onto yours.

At times I feel like I’m swimming in a giant sea of pork and beans. For the most part, I slog along, trying to keep my head above “water,” and avoiding those slimy pork pieces to the best of my ability. Occasionally, though, I’ll look around and think, “How in the heck did I end up in a giant sea of pork and beans in the first place?”

Anyway, to anyone still out there, who has lasted through my year of pork and bean swimming, I say thank you. I still haven’t figured things out. The older I get the more I wonder if I ever will get things figured out. But you just keep going anyway . . . or, as Dory would say, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming . . .” (That really dovetails nicely into my pork and beans analogy, and I didn’t even plan it. I love it when that happens.)

When I started writing this post, though, it was to tell you the story of this:

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(It’s accompanied by puffy sleep-in Saturday eyes and air-dried hair).

I’d been looking for a new hoodie. My old one is lavender (any guesses on the year? I have no clue) and has a hole in the cuff and a stain on the sleeve. I longed for the warmth and convenience of a zip-up sweatshirt without the attending trashy-looking ambiance I was getting from the pastel.

I did not think finding a hoodie would be difficult: every teenager I know has at least one. And I was right; finding a hoodie wasn’t difficult, but finding an inexpensive hoodie turned out to be a sort of quest. $50, $45, and (bless me) $70 are just way, way too much. I couldn’t believe how expensive they’d gotten. I had one in high school with velux on the inside that I bought at CAL Ranch for only $20! Have I really been out of high school that long? (Don’t answer that.)

Remembering CAL Ranch gave me an idea. I headed to my local farm and ranch store to check out their selection. Again, disappointment awaited me. What kind of a farm store WAS this, anyway? I didn’t need a designer Western hoodie, just a regular ol’ sweatshirt I didn’t have to pull over my head. One I could wear outside to garden. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

I finally made my way over to the children’s section, where I found exactly what I was looking for: a Jerzee’s hoodie for $15. Sadly, the only one they had in my size was a bright royal blue. I was looking for something a little more neutral (see note about owning a lavender hoodie, above).

[Insert sigh of resignation here.]

A hoodie and me. Was it not to be?

Of course, there’s a picture up there. Kind of a spoiler for this story of distress. I found it in the most unlikely of places. Sam’s Club!

Now, before arguing about Sam’s Club being the “most unlikely” of places, let me first say that I have never bought an item of clothing for myself at Sam’s Club. For my kids, yes, for baby showers, all the time. There is nothing wrong with Sam’s Club clothes; there is just something wrong with my size. And apparently I’m old enough and finally wise enough to realize that I shouldn’t buy clothes that aren’t my size because when I do that, I don’t wear the clothes. I will not buy clothes that I haven’t tried on. And Sam’s Club, bless them, does not have a fitting room.

BUT–hoodies don’t require a fitting room. Hoodies, by their very nature, are meant to be worn on top of clothing. Brilliant.

I tried it on in the middle of Sam’s Club.

It fit.

It was so soft inside, I didn’t want to take it off.

It was gray (which is the new brown, which was the new black).

And it was $15.

Sold! To the cheap lady with the tired eyes.

I hardly ever take it off. (Even to swim in pork and beans.)

(I’m still not quite sold on that analogy . . .)

Thanks for reading, even when I’m going on about hoodie crises. Bless you. If you’re nice, I’ll even let you stroke my pet hoodie. Believe me, it’s worth it.