The Met, but colder

I was on my cell phone when I went through the Sonic drive-through the other day. When I was paying for my smoothie fix, the drive-through technician had this weird look on her face as she handed me my change. She ended up keeping a few dollars and the "weird" look might have been guilt. She does work at Sonic and a girl's gotta pay the rent. I think she thought I wouldn't notice since I was on my phone. But joke's on her - I wasn't really engrossed in my conversation (don't worry it wasn't with you), I'm just horrible with simple addition/subtraction. Just ask Eric every time we play Scrabble and he has to re-count my scoring.

So, the "weird" look could have been confusion. Like the look on my face just now as Davis was pushing me around the house at ball-point (not the type of pen, he was using it like a weapon). I would really love to know what he wants, but I'm going stop wishing that he could talk. I'm sure he will be heard.


You may be wondering when van Gogh used bits of fruit in his art. Well, he didn't. That is the fabulous I Can't Believe It's Snowing Again by D.E. Livingston. A lot of "gay abandon" going on in his works. And then he can eat it 'cause it's colored tapioca pudding. Functional art.

I would post this in 3D, if I could

I took Eric to U2 3D at the IMAX theater for Valentine's Day Eve and, if you know Eric, that is the most romantic thing I could ever do next to taking him to #2 an actual U2 concert #1 Bono's secret rock star lair for a private concert. Combined, Eric and I have been to 3 U2 concerts, just never together. Walking into the theater a little late was like flashes of science fiction - the light of the massive screen reflecting off 3D glasses, everyone staring straight ahead brainwashed into thinking The Edge's 20 ft "axe" was going to land on their laps. It was awesome, if you get the chance. If my life were in movie format, I would pick U2's music for my soundtrack. But my life would have to be a lot more interesting to be in movie format. Right now it's kinda like the movie Groundhog Day for a stay-at-home mom. I guess that movie would be called Mother's Day, without the perks of the holiday but the bonus of feeling recognized once a year.

Anyway, to kick the romance up a notch at the "concert," I brought along some bottled IBC root beer (outside beverage, I know). Not so conspicuous, especially if the cup holders are almost bottomless and everyone thinks you're tipsy-clumsy. From now on we'll just save the IBC for other romantic settings. On the way home we were discussing what would have happened if my bottle had exploded, like in the beer commercial. You know, the one where the guys take the bottles of beer to the opera and they burst when the super-soprano hits that note...

Jenny - "What note is that?" (followed by trial high note)

Eric - "I think it's a high note, but also it has to be sustained for a while in order to actually crack glass..."

Jenny - (holding bottle up, longer trial high note)

Eric - "I don't-"

Jenny - (more trial high notes)

Eric - "-think you're gonna-"

Jenny - (even higher, longer trial high note)

Eric - "get there. Sometimes your voice hurts my ears."

silence

Jenny - (more trial high notes)

Eric - "Whoa, hey, I think I misspoke. It must be short, low notes..." (demonstrates, bass "eh")

That's love.

To Every Groundhog, There is Eventually a Shadow

We're all about opposites around here. It was 73 degrees (!?!) here on Monday and Wednesday Eric had a snow day from school. The kitchen was spotless yesterday morning and now looks like some food gypsies came and made a 7 course meal. Davis is content with our parenting one minute, running in place and flailing in protest the next (we hear this one is normal).

Just about every night while laying in bed, exhausted from wrangling our little cow-poke, Eric and I review how blessed we are by Davis. Right now Davis loves to build with his mega blocks. If there's anything that he wants to do that's not within the realm of "safe," usually we can dump out the block basket and he'll come running. He will start building as if he can't help himself, MUST BUILD... Davis is dissatisfied with his current height. We find him at curious levels, now that he's climbing, whether he's just getting taller or gets something to stand on, it's put us on constant alert. It actually looks like we're expecting a flood - everything is above 36 inches. He now jumps off the stairs (see K to the IWI) onto the couch and wears himself out pinballing between the pillows. Since he only speaks an obscure dialect of Oinkus Latinous (Tscha!), he will drag us by whatever he can grab (i.e. pants, fingers, collar, foot) to whatever he wants. What he usually wants is a banana. Sometimes we buy a ton in case of emergency, but they have to be a little green. Apparently, the last bunch was a little too green and never ripened. That was a harry 48 hours as Davis detoxed and I held onto the hope they would get a little more yellow. I even tested one and, nope, kinda chalky. Davis saw this test and snatched it. He wasn't impressed either. Don't buy green bananas.

But it can't get any better that being rewarded by blown kisses when we say "I love you." Then again, he blew kisses when he heard those words on the radio. davis (n.): BOY.