Meaty Feet? More Like Side of Beef with a Slab of Bacon Feet.

So, yesterday we made our biannual trip to Coggins, the local shoe store.  Ellie's fitting and selecting went well.  Size 10.5, foot on the narrow side, plenty of choices in her size.  For the record, hot pink clogs are the absolute must have this season.  Harry's appointment with the "sizer" was an entirely different matter.

First, his foot has grown a full size since May...in length.  He is now a 5.5/6, not all that unusual for his age.  Here's where the problem comes in.  Our helper checks Harry's foot size with the stick and then says "uh...I think I need the other one.  We might have a width issue."  Sure enough, when he gets the metal device with the little slide on the side, Harry's foot fell about an inch west of EEE.  Thinking maybe I didn't know how to read it I asked the guy what it meant.  He says "lady, this kid's at least a quadruple E, maybe a quintuple, never seen anything like it.  He's going to need to special order."  Only shoes in the store that fit him were extra wide New Balance.  The adorable navy blue Keds with the rubber toe I had picked out?  He'd need a 7.5 to fit him in the width.  Yeah, looked like flippers, because I tried it. 

So, you might ask, just what does a special order, extra wide, saddle oxford in a child's size 6.0 cost you?  You do not want to know.  Even I was shocked.  I actually contemplated sending him to church in New Balance, but...no, I'm lying, I did not contemplate sending him to church in New Balance.  So I look at Harry and say "dude, you need to get a job...maybe as a plus sized baby model," to which he responded "Max...EIEIEI...NO, NO, ma ma."  You have to admit, he does have a way with words.

Snozzberries Taste Like Snozzberries

Have you ever seen a blue rasberry?  I'm pretty sure I haven't.  Nevertheless, until I was about 15 years old I thought rasberries were not just blue, but all out electric, not quite smurfy not quite Florida (of course that would be inedible-blech), glowing blue.  I assumed rasberry bushes must be one of the coolest fruit bearing objects on earth.  Bear in mind that raspberries weren't all that plentiful in beautiful downtown Appling, Georgia.  I'm quite certain I didn't see a real raspberry until cheerleading camp my sophomore year of high school where they had the exotic little morsels for sale at the Bolton Hall cafeteria at UGA.  I did not let on that I had no clue what those bumpy little maroon colored yummies were.

My confusion is understandable.  I first encountered "rasberry" flavor in the AstroPops they sold at the ball parks where my mom played softball (don't judge).  Otter Pops boasted a super yummy turquoise version of the flavor that was hawked by Monsieur Louie Bloo.  I think the vaunted Popsicle brand may have flirted with a blue pop at some point as well.  While a cool memory of childhood, I assumed that with all the focus on getting the additives and weird dyes out of our food the mythical blue raspberry would be a thing of the past.  Au contraire mon frere.

Blue, arguably raspberry flavored, frozen water is still alive and well and Harry is addicted.  He loves the things.  Last night he ate 2 whole pops by himself.  He squeezed every last bit of synthetic blue goodness out of those tubes and then reached over to yank approximately half of Ellie's Louie Bloo away from her. 

When all the blue yummy was consumed he sat there in his artifical dye stained clothes with his electric blue hands, mouth and thighs (that's right) and bemoaned the demise of Louie Bloo.

Ahhhhh, childhood.  Sunshine, playgrounds, and Blue Dye #1.  Good times.

And You Are...?

After living with an incredibly (I mean INCREDIBLY) verbal little girl for the past few years, I was warned to not expect such verbosity from the dude as it is apparently not in their natures to begin prattling on about everything they see as soon as they can string a couple of syllables together.  Therefore, I did not panic when he began uttering something very similar to da-da a few months ago.  I didn't get real upset when he began grunting EH-EE everytime his sister took yet another toddler toy away from him.  I even bragged about his prolific use of the word "ball" and his insistence on loudly and repeatedly indentifying every spherical object as a "ball" whenever one came into sight and shouting "ball" whenever one needed to be had right then and there--which is always.

So what that he hasn't said mama yet?  "M" is a hard letter to form; I mean much more difficult than a stupid "D" or "B".  Plus, why does he need to say it?  I pick him up before he really feels the need to get my attention anyway.  I mean, the "M" will come to him and then I won't get him to stop saying "mama", right?  Of course, he could decide instead to learn a few other words...like, maybe, Max.  Yeah, that's right.  Instead of saying "mama", instead of recognizing the woman that gave birth to you, dotes on you, changes your diapers and makes sure you have a never ending supply of sippy cup cocktails and chocolate goldfish crackers, maybe it'd be good to start talking to the freaking dog whose name sounds a whole lot like "ma" except with a freaking X on the end.  AN X!!!! Let's call for him first thing in the morning.  Maybe bang on the back door to get his attention and say his name over and over again.  Or even call him over to feed him a few of those crackers that woman whose name you forget keeps bringing you.  When she tries to get you to say "mama" for the bazillionth time just act like you don't hear her...she'll go away, or maybe she'll get you some more milk.

Or, what would be awesome would be to grab her dress sleeve while sitting at the restaurant after church on Sunday and tug really hard to get her attention, and when she turns to see what you want this time just grin and say "MAMA."

 

Are Sneaky Snakes Fundamentally Evil? Discuss.

Theological conversation as we are heading to school this morning:

E: Do we know any bad people?

Me: What do you mean?

E: I mean, do we know any people that are mean to other people or hurt other people?

Me: We make it a rule not to be friends with bad people.

E: (30 second pause)...We're friends with Mr. Darrell.

Me: (What I wanted to say) Touché.
(What I actually said) You think Mr. Darrell is bad?

E: He's a sneaky snake and he steals my french fries. He's been stealing my french fries for a long time and I know this because I remember him stealing my french fries when I was just a baby and I don't remember anything else from when I was a baby, but I remember that because he IS STILL STEALING MY FRENCH FRIES!

Me: So him stealing your french fries makes him bad?

E: Jesus said not to take things from other people, and all those french fries were mine and he took them. But, I don't think Jesus had french fries, so maybe he didn't mean you couldn't take french fries, and even if he did I don't think Mr. Darrell can help it. I think he just has to be a sneaky snake because he doesn't know any better. Like when Harry does something wrong and you tell me he can't get in trouble because he's too little and he doesn't know any better. If someone does something that's bad but they don't know any better then they can't get in trouble, so maybe sneaky snakes aren't bad, they're just sneaky because they can't help it.

Me: Yep.

Personally, I'm way more impressed with the sneaky snake capacity argument than the Chewbacca defense.

Even Bowheads Play Soccer...Sort of

Our first soccer season has come to a close, and in true 21st century fashion, everyone got a trophy, even those teammates that spent more time sobbing uncontrollably on the bench than actually playing soccer. And, it's not just any trophy, mind you, but a trophy engraved with each player's name sporting a squishy, rotating soccer ball dead center. See for yourselves:

That would be Ellie and BFF Mary Riley. For those of you not up on your anagrams/text message coding (I'm looking at you Grandpa), BFF means Best Friend Forever, although "forever" is a little strong as that best friend title can be stripped at anytime for offenses such as boyfriend stealing, inappropriate sharing skills, lunch table snubbing, and general "she's being mean to me" behavior. And, before you have to ask, bows are indeed part of the uniform. The bigger the better; therefore, Ellie wins, even though Mary Riley scored far more goals this season. Of course, it isn't hard to score more than zero*, but we learned early on that the game was a success if Ellie actually kicked the ball as opposed to merely twirling in circles somewhere near the goal. We got a recount of the actual "kicks" after every match, and by the end she was up to five an outing! Woo hoo! Most "playing time" was spent like this:

Nothing is more important than comparing monkey bar injuries, right? "Hey, 5...7... there's a soccer match going on behind you!" And by "match" I actually mean "magnet ball," wherein a mass of 3 and 4 year olds converge pell mell on one unsuspecting soccer ball en masse and proceed to kick the crap out of it in no discernible direction; ankles, shins, and field twirlers be darned.

In any event, Ellie was the recipient of the MVCP trophy, (Most Valuable Clover Picker, preferably done at mid-field while the rest of the game is raging on around you). All in all, worthy of the excellent naked dog from the Varsity lunch truck and an hour long romp in the bounce house. Go Red Rhinos!

*In all seriousness, MR kicked butt and seemed to at least understand that the goal was to, well, score a GOAL--no points deducted for scoring on your own goalie.

Ehhee, da-DEE and Whatshername

Blindside is talking. Well, more like pointing and grunting, but if you listen really, really hard and turn your head slightly to the left, the grunts become words. First thing in the morning Harry points at the stairs and grunts "da-DEE" (his voice is very deep which is unnerving after listening to Ellie's staccato vocals for three years). My guess is he mastered this particular skill set because Wes is head-breakfast-maker and chief-sippy-cup-filler, and is always downstairs fulfilling said duties when the chunky monkey wakes up. Combine this with the fact that I've been trying to teach him "Daddy" since he was four weeks old, as should every mother who would rather their child screech "DAAAAAA-DEEEEE" at four a.m. as opposed to the alternative, and I guess I shouldn't have my feelings hurt that the letter "m" is a nonexistent part of his guttural language.

Of course, he picked up sissy's name much quicker than that. On a whim earlier this week I pointed at Ellie and asked him "who's that?" He points and grunts. I say "that's Ellie." Immediately he says "Ehhee, Ehhee, Ehhee, Ehhee"! At first it was just excited recognition, now he's got the intonation down. For example, this morning Ellie pushes him out of the way to play his piano. He grunts, slams his hands down on the keyboard, shouts "EHHEEE" in his Meanest Joe Greenest voice and shoves it away from her. She starts crying, pulls it back, he starts wailing, mass hysteria, cats and dogs living together, and I finish drying my hair. Where's the mute button?

The Birds and the Bees and Cowgirl Boots

Conversation with Ellie du jour for your reading pleasure--

Me: Ellie, you need to stop drawing and let’s get dressed. We’re going to be late.
Ellie: But mommy, I need to finish this picture. It’s VERY important (super serious face)
Me: You can finish it this afternoon, let’s go.
Ellie: Uh, but mommy, I have to take it to school TODAY. It’s for my (wait for it) boyfriend!
Me: (30 second pause where we stare at each other)
Me: What’s a boyfriend?
Ellie: You know, a friend, but not like a friend that’s a girl.
Me: How is a boyfriend different than a girlfriend?
Ellie: Mommy, girls can’t have GIRLFRIENDS, they have friends that are girls.
Me: Ok, well how is a boyfriend different from that?
Ellie: They don’t wear bows in their hair.
Me: (whew, I can handle that) Ok, let’s put your picture in your bag, and….
Ellie: Oh, and I LOVE Nicholas; I only LIKE my friends that are girls.
Me: (crap)

She tells me in the car that she is sooooo happy she's wearing her cowboy boots because Nicholas really likes them. I've asked Wes to have a "chat" with this Nicholas during pick-up this afternoon.