I have a short story to share with you, my dear reader
Connor had soccer practice this evening.
His coach asked the kids to line up after getting a drink.
Connor burped (loudly).
Because of his noisy outburst, Coach Maule let the team know they could run around the end goal and back.
When they got back, he was giving him a hard time and so Connor responded with what I’m sure was something he heard on TV … or on the radio … or from Siri. He said, “Well, my mom has gas.”
I started dying inside so all I could do was laugh.
I laughed uncomfortably for what felt like ten minutes while his coach also shared that moms don’t fart … they burp out of their butts.
More uncomfortable laughter.
Tonight at the football game, I learned the story had gone viral and now everyone thinks I have gas.
Well, Connor James, at least (if I really did have gas) I keep it to myself.
P.S. I’m only sharing this story because 1.) I believe in transparency with my reader
s and you already promised you wouldn’t judge me. Ever. And 2.) I never, ever want to forget how funny my kid is.
… for Christmas, that is. That’s two teeth in two days, people (he lost one on the bottom row Friday morning). At this rate, I’ll have to purée his food by September.
and then he changed again
p.s. I hope that icky hangy-down thing falls out soon; but he’s super proud of it.
p.p.s. Yes, I know his bangs are un-even.
p.p.p.s. He’s still the cutest.
The 2012 kindergarten field trip is in the books.
We started with this:
And, as per usual, Connor played the part of a rock star scoring two spares and the ever-elusive-except-when-gutters-are-present strike.
The zoo was our next stop. We ate, played, raced through the exhibits (certain children do not understand what it means to stop and appreciate the animals) and stopped at the preferred destination … the gift shop.
Connor said his favorite exhibit was the snakes. We didn’t see the snakes but one found it’s way home with us:
And now, I feel like this guy:
That boy. Oh, how he melts my heart.
Yesterday, he was simply too excited to share his gifts with me so I he gave me a blue dolphin he’d cut-out and stickered; a card that he made in the shape of a heart with the words, “be (by) connor/for mom/i heart u mom” on the outside and, “mom yes/mother’s happy day/32/mother’s day/smiley/mom i heart u”; another store-bought card he picked out with his dad; a flower bookmark he’d made at school with his hand print in the middle (adorable) and a picture frame and school picture. I felt so special. I don’t think there is a better gift than one made by a child. Continue reading
I follow quite a few bloggers. And, quite a few of them post out lists of randomness every now and again. I like reading them and I feel like I know the blogger a bit more personally when I get to the end. With that said, and because I’ve always been slightly odd, here’s my list of twenty-one random tidbits (in no particular order). Continue reading
I grew up watching baseball. Well, mostly I grew up watching Mickey Tettleton (catcher and ball-crusher for the Tigers) but, I really, really liked the game, too. I promise.
courtesy: the daily fungo
I’ve been mulling over what I’m going to share when it comes to my self-esteem/self-image/body issues nonsense I’ve been dealing with for pretty much … well, as long as I can remember.
For now, let me just say that its a little bit like the first time you ride a bicycle. I know, I know – that makes no sense.
Here’s my train of thought: Connor and I went for a ride last night, albeit brief (and slightly painful), but it reminded me of how young he is and how he is still fairly immature when it comes to pedaling a bike on his own. I still feel much the same when I consider my own issues.
Connor didn’t believe he could ride his bike until I shoved him down the yard a couple times last year. He had what he needed (including his helmet, goshdarnit), but the confidence just wasn’t there … without the push.
I need that push. I have everything I need to do to get better. Its not about a diet, or an exercise regimen, or feeling comfortable enough to wear
Spandex tight-fitting workout clothes; its about believing that I am healthy and strong as a result of all the work I’ve done and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed because my body doesn’t fit some perfect mold. It was carefully created for really big things and I need to believe that and let it propel me … right for where I’m headed.