My mom and sister gave me a new camera for my burfday so I have to post a few recent pictures.
Did I tell you all that I got a pair of computer glasses? Yup. I now look like the computer nerd that I apparently am. So here’s two pictures of me with glasses… A sight that is as new to me as it is to you.
Look I have a cute Canadian baby who knows nothing of California winters, who thinks warm is when you can go outside and don’t fear frostbite, who has been sucking on icicles from the time he exited the womb and who thinks he is a close relative of Rudolf the ever famous reindeer, so oft is his nose an unearthly shade of red.
Look! More of my cute spawn. Speaking of my cute spawn, do you think I ought to take it as an insult when people look at my children and then ask me how I just so happen to have four such cute progeny? Do you think they know that it could be taken to mean that I am a hideous beast and therefore there is no natural explanation for the state of my offsprings rampant cuteness? The dental hygienest today looked at my oldest son and said, “My goodness, but you’re cute. How did you end up that way?!” I quickly told him that he was allowed to blame it all on me.
Look! I have a sweet little Canadian preschooler who says things like “Sure Mom!” and “You’re the bestest Mom in the whole entire world!” and answers questions like “Why did you say that to your brother?” with answers like, “Thlat’s just because I’m so angry Mom.” Yes, he actually says, “thLat.” I have wondered at the reasoning behind a childhood speech impediment that actually makes words harder to pronounce. I can understand simplifying words like “that” to something like “dat” but my very verbose preschooler whose enunciation is largely second to none, makes words like “that” and “there” and “this” into difficult to pronounce words like “Thlat” and “thlere” and “thlis.” It’s almost as funny as another of my children who says, “Mom, look at my thinger” to which I reply, “What is a thinger?” He then says, “Oops, I mean finger.”
Look at him! During this particular skating outing I helped him make his way across the ice pond to a fire pit surrounded by the coveted benches. He started out with much protestation, fervently reminding me that he simply does not skate, that it’s not a sport which he finds to be any fun whatsoever and that it’s not something he does. After falling the first few times he loudly asserted, “Oh Mom. I told you I don’t skate! See? I knew it. Mom, you didn’t listen when I told you I don’t skate.” I helped him up and he began skating on his own with the little red trainer you see him holding onto. I shouted praise and laud and made a general ruckus about his abilities saying, “Look at you!! You’re doing it! You’re skating by yourself” to which he very non-chalantly responded, “I know. I am. I can skate.” I then said, “You are awesome!! You are doing so well!!” and he simply nodded in agreement saying, “Yeah, I’m a great skater Mom.” He then fell and began the loud insistance that he does not skate and that I am a cruel woman for bringing him out onto the godforsaken ice.
Looky here… a cuter than can be little puppy named Suki. I can’t take any credit for how cute she is (no matter what kind of bad names you might call me… she’s not my offspring!) She’s a drama queen but I love her. What I have learned about Suki is that she will do just about anything for a piece of cheese. She sits, stays, comes, rolls over, goes under chair rungs on command, goes over chair rungs on command, plays peek-a-boo and is in the process of learning to ring a desk bell (you know the little silver kind with the button on top that you ring for service when someone is away from their desk) when she needs to go out to potty. That’s still a work in progress but considering how fast she has learned all of her other tricks I think we will begin to experience success in the coming weeks.
Ahhh, so there’s a few random slices of my life in pictures. What do you think of me in glasses (and a 50’s style plastic leopard print head band?) My husband says he looks at me wearing it and has to call me Madge. For some reason he can’t look at me with it on and think I look like I’m from the current decade. I must be named Madge and play tennis and golf frequently at the local country club with my best friend Buffy (said with a nasally English butler type voice).