I should start tonight by telling you that I am, without a doubt, a real mother. It’s kind of like when Pinocchio became a real boy. Or when the Velveteen Rabbit became real.
I always just assumed that I was a real mother, because I have caught vomit in my bare hands… more than once. For some reason, THAT seemed to be the defining act that separated REAL MOTHERS from the I-STILL-HAVE-A-DAY-JOB MOTHERS. Standing in front of a small person, without the benefit of a bucket or a plastic Walmart bag or even an empty Ritz crackers box, while you cupped your hands together and WILLINGLY accepted the vomit into them, in order to KEEP IT OFF THE FLOOR ALREADY, is a terrific act of courage.
And then there was today.
While Thing 2 was snuggled in my lap to rock for his afternoon nap, I noticed that LOOK AT THAT! IT’S A LITTLE DRIED BOOGER ON THE EDGE OF YOUR NOSE. And so I did what any mother would do, real or otherwise.
I used my fingernail to grab the little dried up speck.
The only thing was…
… I had no idea that it was a comet with a five-foot tail.
Oh, yes. The dried up bit was the decoy part, while the wet and sloppy, five-feet-worth of tail was wrapped twice around the toddler’s brain.
And since we were SITTING DOWN, I was unable to actually take a step backwards to keep on pulling… so I did the next best thing.
I just started wrapping that comet tail around my index finger, until all five feet had broken free of the nasal cavity.
And then Thing 2 took an enormous breath in and yelled, “Look, Mommy!” And he started breathing like a bull dog on inhaler treatments, in and out of his nose. I think he was plum amazed at ALL THE OXYGEN AVAILABLE!
The poor darling.
And yes… for the record… there was some cleanup and some sterilization involved, and now I’m a real mother.
None of that has anything to do with tonight’s blog post, because EWWW! Who writes about barehanded vomit catches and the world’s biggest boogers? We’re just a PG place here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated.
On Thursday, we woke up to snow, because apparently we hopscotched over FALL. On Friday morning, with the thermometers shouting out that it was a balmy 31 degrees with an icy breeze, I bundled Thing 2 up so that we could GET. OUT. OF. THE HOUSE!!!
I won’t lie to you: It was COLD. And that’s saying something, because I live inside of a body that’s trying to give me a preview of how things are going to shake down when menopause actually rolls around. My doctor insists that I’m too young to be going through HOT! I’M SO HOT! I’M ROASTING! I FEEL LIKE I’M ON A ROTISSERIE ABOVE A FIRE PIT BUILT BY NATIVES WEARING LOIN CLOTHS AND BONE JEWELRY! right now, which makes me love her more than I did to begin with, but dang.
I am never cold any more, and I want to throw every pair of flannel sheets that we own into the city landfill.
And, with that said… I was cold on Friday morning, while Thing 2 stomped around in the snow.
After a while, we met up with our 4th grade friend, Daniel. He and his sister are homeschooled, and they are very possibly the sweetest children we know. Their manners are stellar; their hearts are golden. I’m pretty sure that Jesus does nothing but grin from ear to ear, all day long, at Daniel and his sister.
Daniel and Thing 2 played all over together in the snow.
This is just a confirmation to how laid back I am with my second son. Had this been the boy at age two, I would have pounced on them and tried to wash everyone’s tongues with Germ-X because PLAGUE!! PLAGUE!!!!!!
But it’s Thing 2, and he’s Number Two, and his immune system is as solid as steel.
The way I saw things on Friday… I wasn’t going to have to give our toddler a snack when we got home, because he ate his snack while we were out.
… THIS is a snapshot of what things were like on Sunday afternoon here:
On Sunday, we had the most glorious fall weather of EVER! The snow had melted, the air was warm and calm, the breeze was gentle and cooling, and we could have been in a Normal Rockwell painting. Only in Small Town, USA can you go from SNOW-AND-FREEZING on Friday to GLORIOUSLY-WARM-AND-PERFECT on Sunday.
The boy and his friend Kellen took their very first tennis lesson of ever on Sunday afternoon.
(That might have been because I was always very busy cleaning up all the boxes of crackers that Thing 2 takes out of our pantry and stomps to dust on the floor.)
(Cracker Cleanup is a full-time job at our house, and I’ve finally informed Hubs that if we DON’T GET A LOCK ON OUR LITTLE PANTRY DOOR, I’M GOING TO BE IN AN ASYLUM, ROCKING BACK AND FORTH, BECAUSE I CAN NO LONGER TAKE ALL THE CRACKER DUST AROUND HERE, BECAUSE IT NEVER, EVER, EVER STOPS!!)
(No. I’m never dramatic.)
(Why do you ask?)
But, on Sunday, we had our act together enough to join Kellen for lessons, because Kellen’s mom made the phone call and scheduled them.
(She doesn’t have a toddler at her house whose Indian name would be Walks In Cracker Crumbs.)
(And no. I never exaggerate, either.)
In fact, I have no idea HOW we are going to survive the boy’s fall soccer season, which is also upon us right now, because Thing 2 cannot understand why HE can’t be on the junior high soccer team with the big kids! He has no idea why HE must sit on the sidelines and NOT PLAY SOCCER HIMSELF!
He insists that his sneakers are actually called Soccer Shoes.
And yesterday, he played soccer by himself with a tennis ball.
We also have no doubt that he’ll probably be handed a few red cards over the season.
Well, I know that I saw it ALL OF THE STINKING TIME…
… but my boys really ARE the cutest ones this side of the Mississippi River.
The boy and Kellen both declared that YES! TENNIS IS A TOTAL BLAST! They’re booked for more lessons next weekend, in fact.
Later last night, the boy said, “Well, it wasn’t golf, and golf really is the most fun sport in the world, but I loved tennis today, Mom!”
After tennis lessons were over, we dropped by Kellen’s house to show his new goats to Thing 2.
I was in love with both of them, and so were our boys.
The big boys got some spear-throwing in, as well as some wrestling moves practiced while we were at Kellen’s house.
… this is where I feared things would start.
Kellen introduced the toddler to Goat Riding yesterday afternoon, and we know that our son won’t be satisfied until he moves up the ranks and leaves the little goats behind…
And THAT will put me in an asylum for sure, because my baby IS NOT going to be a bull rider, regardless of the fact that Hubs keeps insisting that Thing 2 is TOUGH ENOUGH to ride the big beasts at the rodeo.
Watching one of my children crawl over the chutes and get on the back of a bull will put me in the asylum faster than an entire dump truck load of cracker dust will do.
And that, people, is going to do it for tonight. We have the boy’s first soccer game here in a few minutes, and then I have to dream up something quick and easy to make for dinner, because I know that I’ll be dealing with a house filled with starving menfolk.
Y’all have a merry Monday evening.