Sunday, September 18, 2011

Oh Dear

Julius got Benjamin ready for bed with a diaper and pj's after his bi-annual bath the other night.

In the morning, Benjamin let out his usual roar, informing me to come get him from his crib. Each day he longs desperately to grace the world with his presence. The room reeked of pee. He was completely soaked, and his sheets were completely soaked. I took him into the other room to change him. I looked down. His diaper was fully latched and on, but sticking out to the side were Tony and the twins. His diaper was dry as a bone.

I told Julius the story. His response was something along the lines of, "How did you manage to do that?"

Male models. Speaking of Zoolander...

"Relax don't do it
When you want to go to it..."

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Time To Say Good-Bye...

Only the most glorious song, but you already know that.  In case you need a refresher though, please knock yourself out. And even if you don't need a refresher, knock yourself out. Literally no matter how many times
I hear it, I get knocked to the floor. Goose bumps, glossy eyed and hands raised high, this is me. Many of Andrea Bocelli's songs do that to me, but this one in particular does a special thing in my heart. Listen and I'll tell you why. Go on, I'll be here waiting for you when you get back.


I had my Father translate this for me many years ago, but now unfortunately, I cannot do the same for you. Listening to the lyrics, "Time to say good-bye" and the beautiful instrumentals, I can't help but think of leaving this earth. This song plays hard on my emotions, that when listening, I think, how awesome would it be as I am taking my final breaths, to hear this song. I  imagine angels singing this, telling me to say good-bye to this world, and that I am on my way to glory. A beautiful ending, only to the start a beautiful eternity. Amen? Or Amen?

Having said that,  I love Andrea Bocelli for a few reasons. He is Italian. He is blind.  Starting long ago, my old man would give me a CD of his every Christmas. Listening to his music makes me think of my family. Whenever he sings duets, I close my eyes and pretend to be the girl he is singing with. His voice is raw and spectacular.

I went through a phase 10 years ago when I was 18 and attending UNCC, where I tried to be sophisticated. How moron can one get? I would drive in my black Nissan Altima, wear a low sleek bun,  listen to Andrea, crack my window, turn on the AC and smoke those long slender capri cigarettes. I felt...oh so classy  Seriously, I felt it. Now if you knew me in high school, you know that I was never a smoker. Although a lot of my friends smoked back then because it is so hip to do,  I never really partook, mainly because my parents spent money at the dentist getting my teeth bleached. I never wanted to yellow them, so vanity kept my lungs crystal clear. This "classy" phase lasted a good 2 weeks. As much as I wanted to continue in my sophistication, I really didn't enjoy the sticks of tobacco(or tobacal as a Sunday school teacher kept calling it, shout out to you Erin!). I now enjoy Andrea just as much, if not more, driving in the car drowning out the complaints of 2 little ones.  Jet enjoys it as well and tells me to "play it harder, mom". Meaning turn it up, probably so it drowns out his mother who is singing loud jumbles of made-up Italiano.

Speaking of, yesterday was Jet's first whole day of school. Because he is in the 2's, the first week was a transition week with half days only. Let's just say the first week didn't count and I have my act together after all. I cut the handsome boys hair the night before and got a picture the morning of. Question is, can the Joneses keep up with me?

And then what the heck, might as well throw in one of the beast.

Yes that is food matting down his hair. And no, the slight tint of orange isn't a case of the jaundice, or shall I say, jaundi. Food again. And yes, he is fat. 

I felt bad tonight because he was jumping in his jumper and I went to pick up a toy with my feet and put it on his tray and he jumped right into my toe and it scratched the crap out of his eye/nose, he screamed. I felt awful. Yesterday Jet and I were playing catch in the backyard and I threw the hard ball and it  hit him in the nose, he screamed. I felt awful.

Becasue my hands and feet have been doing more harm than good to my children, I will leave you with Sandi Patti's 1989 "Beautiful Feet", one of my jams as a child. And please, do me a favor and don't even bother reading the lyrics.

There are feet that skip and play
There are feet that run away
There are feet that love a race and win or lose
There are chubby feet and small
And strong feet to kick a ball
But beautiful are the feet that bring good news.

There are feet that sleekly swim
Through the water wearing fins
There are feet that shimmy up the tallest trees
There are happy feet and sad
There are aching feet and mad
But beautiful are the feet that publish peace.

Those are beautiful feet
Beee-uuu-ti-ful feet!
Dutiful, cute-i-ful lett!
Tried and true-ti-ful feet
Do you have beautiful feet!
Do you have beautiful feet!

Feet climb mountains, feet climb stairs
Some wear shoes, and so go bare!
There are feet of every shape and every size
But when feet run with the new
Jesus loves me and loves you
Then no matter what they look like - realize…

Beautiful feet
Beautiful feet
Beautiful, beautiful feet!
Tried and true-ti-ful feet
Do you have beauti-i-ful feet

(Walkin’ with my Jesus down a one way street - with my beautiful, beautiful feet.)

Thursday, September 8, 2011

I don't even know what to title this...

Because I am not even sure what I am going to say. I sit here disgusted after eating a dinner which consisted of me eating 6 pieces of bacon before we even sat down to eat. That only left one for my husband, and one for my firstborn. The bacon was supposed to be a garnish that was to lay upon the frittata in a somewhat crisscross pie top pattern. It ended up being a frittata accompanied with an out of place piece of bacon on each of my boys plates.

So if you are so disgusted Carey, why even sit down to write? I sit down to write because my littlest one is in bed already and my bigger one is wrestling with his father. I will do anything to avoid cleaning the kitchen right now. I usually don't mind cleaning the kitchen if the stuff in the dishwasher is dirty and I can load it up right away. But right now the stuff in the dishwasher is clean, and I do not want to even think about unloading it, just to load it up again. We will start watching Dexter at 9:30 as usual, so I will cram in the clean right before this takes place.

I also write because it's been awhile and my sweet friend Carly, who I used to live across the street from and babysit when I was 13, put on my fb wall, "I am craving a new blog post from you", so I thought I owed it to her. After all, she captured some spectacular images when Jet was a mere 9 days old. Check them out under little miracles. She takes a mean photo. But now the pressure is on and I don't want to disappoint her so I am a nervous wreck.

Having said all this nonsense, let us get down to business. Jet started preschool on Tuesday. Perhaps I am not the conventional mother. Perhaps I am. As we rolled out of bed, me not having showered since Friday night (husband was out of town for 5 days so why bother?) we (ok let's be honest even if he was here that would have still been my shower schedule)got ready (I mean seriously, who has time to shower with little kids?) and got  (ok let's be honest, I didn't shower all that much before children) in the car( but I will keep on having kids just to use that as my excuse not to shower) and drove to school. As we walked up to the building, I watched all the children in their new crisp school clothes with fresh haircuts holding new lunch boxes and wearing new backpacks. Pictures were being snapped left and right documenting this joyous occasion of the first day of school. My poor child. He shows up wearing gosh knows what(really I don't remember, something he normally wears I guess) in desperate need of a hair cut. His lunch box is one I found in my parents garage that they got free from the YMCA or something.  My 8 month old  who is with us, is covered in baby food. Just the night before, my mom saw Benjamin wearing a bib while I fed him and said, "Oh, that's good thinking Carey" praising me for something I should always put on him, but never do. Poor baby. Of course the teacher wanted a family picture. I also am wearing gosh knows what, with grease pit hair and swollen eye lids. I have not yet had coffee, my liquid crack, my boyfriend joe.

I live at peace within my soul knowing that I will never keep up with the Joneses and do not try. I can't even keep up with my own self. What this means, I don't know. Maybe I am a little too secure for my own good. Once again, I don't know what that means either. In the Bible Study I just started going to, we are studying Esther. At the beginning of the group, the leader asked, "What is so tough about being a woman?" My mother made me LOL because she said to herself, "I don't think it's tough being a woman." Which to her, is true. She just lives in peace. No matter what the circumstances are around her, she always stays laid back and calm. Yeah whatever, things are hard, but she just doesn't let things get to her and isn't concerned with nit picky crap. I know I get my carefree and secure spirit from her. I need to grab some of her humility as well. I will add though that, she is disgusted with the fact that I don't shower daily.

So you may be saying to yourself, I was reading this, waiting for a point. Truth is, it now is almost 9:30 and Mr. Dexter Morgan is waiting for me in the living room. This should have been done a long time ago but Benjamin woke up because Jet doesn't know what a quiet voice is. Then I had to angelically sing and console him. Then I had to have 2 bowls of cereal. So to make everyone out there happy, I will now close with this: Earlier, I referred to my kids as "poor child" and "poor baby" Frankly, that just is not true. Those little boys have more love than they know what to do with. After all, it is all you need... and nutritious food.

Please sing with me and The Beatles.

Love, Love, Love.
Love, Love, Love.
Love, Love, Love.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.

Nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.