Well, Thing 2 had preschool this morning.
It’s a video-driven preschool, which some people refer to as You Tube.
Sadly, our toddler didn’t participate in the organic school lunch program today at his preschool, because he wanted French fries. Anyone worth their salt knows that the best fries are to be had at McDonald’s. This becomes an enormous family debate, because if the boy catches wind of the fact that Mama swung through the drive-thru to pick up a small fry for the younger brother while the boy was AWAY AT SCHOOL, he wants to hire an attorney to fight for the injustice of the situation.
But our preschool program is going very well. Thing 2 eats graham crackers and learns his ABCs and shapes, while Mama sips her chai tea and
finds out who took snapshots of their dinner the night before and put them on Facebook does very important work on the computer that might win her the Nobel Prize.
One of the toddler’s preschool instructors is a little train engine named Shawn. Shawn is extremely knowledgeable when it comes to squares and circles and counting, but I have heard his voice so often, it’s beginning to make me edgy. Like… the type of edgy that feels like being in a drunk tank. Thankfully, Thing 2 is more than ready to graduate from Shapes 101, because listen: My toddler, who isn’t even two yet, pointed to a stop sign on the road the other day and hollered, “Octagon!” If that doesn’t say GRADUATION CAP and YALE, I don’t know what does. Hubs and I are hoping that by passing his basic shapes class, the instructor for Advanced Parallelograms and Pre-Calculas will have a voice that we can tolerate. We’re checking in to see if Elmo teaches this course or not, but we’ve heard he’s rather difficult to get into without letters of recommendation.
Yesterday was Cousin L’s eleventh birthday. It has been eleven entire years since I stayed awake ALL. NIGHT. LONG. in the waiting room of the local hospital, hoping that she’d just GET OUT ALREADY, so that I could hold her and squeeze her and kiss her and go back home to bed.
Girlfriend wanted some Under Armour stuff for her birthday, and the birthday fairies delivered. I tried to tell the boy, “Look how excited L is about receiving CLOTHES as gifts! Why can’t you be more like her?” The boy thinks that unwrapping a box to find a shirt is about as exciting as sticking your hand into a sink drain to pull up a fourteen-pound, slimy hairball.
I also looked at my boys and said, “Look how L eats her asparagus! Why can’t the two of you eat something green once in a while and LIKE IT??!”
My boys think the only nutrients they need can be found in Ramen noodles and French fries.
This is Thing 2 VOLUNTARILY hugging Cousin H, which is a demonstration of how much he loves her.
Or maybe it’s a demonstration of, “I’ll just hug you now, and get it out of the way, because I’m probably gonna knock you down later and be ASKED to give you a make-up hug.”
Last Sunday at church, our family ended up across the wide aisle from Sister’s family, which is rare. Usually we all pile into one row, which is then roped off with a sign that says DON’T FEED THE WILD ANIMALS. During one of the quieter moments, when heads were bowed, Thing 2 looked up and saw his cousin across the aisle for the first time. He hollered, quite loudly, “Cousin H!” And she spun around in her daddy’s arms to see WHO was calling out her name in church, when they should be practicing their VERY QUIET MANNERS. But the sin of talking during prayer time got hold of Cousin H, because her face lit up when she saw who was waving at her, and she yelled back, “Thing 2!” And then they both grinned and waved at one another.
It was one of those precious, priceless Hallmark moments that I wish we could have captured on video; it was too dadgum sweet to see how excited they were to see each other.
Look! Cousin K was at the party last night:
(But do you know what happens when you’re horribly naughty and you wake up at 3:30 in the morning and refuse to go back to sleep? Well, you fall asleep in the middle of your supper, while you’re still sitting in your high chair, and then you miss dessert.)
We heard Thing 2 calmly say, “This isn’t really an EDUCATIONAL video; it’s just a bunch of blue Smurfs causing mayhem, and no one is reciting his numbers or letters.”
(And maybe y’all have family traditions, where the mom uses real cups of flour and sugar and butter and unsweetened cocoa powder for the birthday cake. Our family traditions include, “Mix 1 cup oil and two eggs with package mix.”)
There were candles, of course.
She wouldn’t tell us what she had wished for, but I’m fairly certain it was, “Please, Birthday Fairies, let Auntie get some really sweet Chevron pillows and a new rug for her living room.”
There are only eight candles on that cheesecake, because that’s all Sister found in her box of birthday candles. L wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed. She just had the boy relight the candles for her about twenty times, so that she could keep blowing them out, until she’d reached eleven. We assured her that with as many times as she asked for those candles to be ignited with the fire again, she had probably just celebrated her two hundred and seventh birthday.
Not to mention that the cheesecake had a fine layer of spit all over it.
The sauce was THAT GOOD.
Sister’s Husband made it. Usually, his specialty is I COOKED THE MEAT, but last night he expanded his cooking horizon to include, I WHIPPED THE CREAM AND ADDED BROWN SUGAR AND VANILLA. I BOILED IT ALL WITHOUT BURNING IT, AND NOW WE HAVE THIS FINE, FINE SAUCE.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Sister’s Husband starts up his own show on the cooking channel.
After our bellies were full of spaghetti and asparagus and caramel, we put our coats on and went home.
Just as long as said party wraps itself up at a reasonable hour.
And by reasonable hour, I mean just so long as it’s more of an AFTERNOON party, because our toddler is getting up at 5 AM, sharp, no matter what.
He’s got preschool to attend, people.
Y’all have a fantastic weekend.