Rest Well, Grandpa.

Somehow, my father’s father died yesterday.

When you’re a kid you just don’t think these big strong men will ever NOT be big and strong.

I haven’t sat in the presence of my Grandpa in years – both of us caught up in that rip current that is daily life, drifted miles apart. When I was a kid he used to spend part of his time in Florida, where I grew up, and the other part in Ohio, where my Dad’s side of the family is from. Dad and Grandpa shared a vocation, so they would mostly talk shop when we were together, but he was always kind and loving to my sister and I. I don’t remember being super close. I don’t think we had a crawl-up-in-the-lap relationship. But we laughed, we lived.

I have memories of driving to Disney in the back of his huge conversion van with my cousins (not a seat belt in sight, of course, cause that’s literally how we rolled in the nineties).

I remember he had a Cocker Spaniel named Tiffany, and he would always mix our names up, like “Tiffie, er, I mean Steffie…”, which would crack me up.

His Florida house had a little cottage apartment attached to it, which is – come on – like, the coolest thing ever. Perfect for playing house.

His voice. His hair (which had been white as long as I can remember). His laugh.

Eventually the travel took its toll, and my Grandpa sold his Florida house. I didn’t see him much after that. Then I moved to Texas, which pretty much ensured we wouldn’t be bumping into each other anytime soon.

I imagine Grandpa holding my father as a baby in his arms and looking at his face. I wonder if my Grandpa had any idea he would live to see this baby turn 60. That’s truly amazing to me. I can’t imagine what it’s like to see your child become a grandparent, though I can only pray I get the chance to see for myself.

My Grandpa never met my daughter or my son, who is in part named after him. I will regret that for the rest of my life.

You know the secrets now, Grandpa. I’m sorry we lost years – but I love you.

Recovery

So it’s been almost 2 weeks since I had Moh’s and plastic surgery. Recovery has had its ups and downs, I’ll be honest with you. The first 4 or 5 days I struggled with what I would classify as mild depression. I really didn’t want to go anywhere, definitely didn’t want to see anyone (or rather, didn’t want them to see me).  I had a lot of time to sit and think about my mortality and the fact that my body is basically a ticking time bomb. My hypochondria flared up:

Me: What else is wrong with me? 

Self: Probably something. What is this on your neck, right by the surgery site?

Me: Hmm. Feels like a swollen lymph node.

Self: Or a neck tumor. Better go to the doctor. You’re probably in big trouble.

Me (after going to the doctor): Doctor says it’s a lymph node after all, probably related to the surgery, and should go away.

Self: She’s wrong. Tumor. Plus you’re probably going to get the flu.

So it went on like that for a week or so, me obsessing about everything I could see and most of what I couldn’t. My OCD intensified. I normally keep it in check, and you would probably never notice it unless you came to my house and observed me doing something like mindlessly adjusting the kitchen faucet so that it points to the exact middle of the two sink basins, or organizing my childrens’ play kitchen so that all “hot” play food is in the stove compartment and all “cold” play food is in the refrigerator compartment (Yes, I do these things daily). Very mild OCD can be a quirky personality trait, or at the very least help with organization. Severe OCD is a debilitating life-ruiner. I have no desire to go there, or even come close, which is why I’ve been working very hard to address the signs of worsening OCD before they have a chance to completely take over.

I’m completely thankful for competent and kind doctors, for good medical insurance, and prayers from many. And honestly, the amazing feedback I got from my previous post meant the absolute world to me, I’ll just tell you. My friends and family (and even one or two strangers!) lifted me up with comments, texts, and emails. A bunch of people told me that I wasn’t alone – they’d had similar experiences, and felt the same way I did. I’m willing to bet that I’m not the only one who has struggled emotionally with the after effects, either.

So, why has it been hard?

I have a theory about why the week following my surgeries was so difficult.

I couldn’t laugh.

I could barely smile.

This was me, at my most cheery:

Maybe she’s laughing on the inside.

 

Good grief, I hated not laughing.  Toward the end of the week that I had stitches I came to dread something funny coming to my attention. The act of smiling hurt and I began obsessing that my scar wouldn’t heal correctly if I even tried.

Isn’t that sad?

Have you ever counted the number of times you smile and/or laugh in any given day? I haven’t, but I definitely took it for granted. I realize now what an astounding gift laughter is.

It’s probably no coincidence that I didn’t truly feel like myself until my stitches were removed and I could smile and laugh once more. Isn’t it amazing? Laughter has been my most effective tool in recovery.

I’m sorry this post isn’t funny. It’s anti-funny. I tried to make it at least a little humerous, but it just didn’t really work out. I’m happy to release these negative issues, though. Plus I warned you in the title that this blog wouldn’t be all sunshine. Here’s your occasional cloud cover! I’ll get back to the ray of sunshine part now.

I’ll leave you with a pic of me, 13 days post-surgery. I’m wearing no makeup, and there is no filter on the pic. Way to go, Prominent Facial Surgeon!

can’t complain!

 

xoxo

Taking the HI out of hiatus!

So…hey. It’s been awhile.

I feel like things could get a little awkward here, so I’m gonna just push through it.

Guess who joined me on my drive home from the store the other day?

“GO BLOG ABOUT THIS”

If you’re a follower of my pointless ramblings, you know that the crickets hate me and often send grasshoppers out to scare and intimidate me. So I wasn’t all that surprised to see this guy staring me down from my dashboard. Thanks for reminding me to blog, nasty thing. “Preshiate ya.

So yeah, we moved. That’s why the no blogs in like three months. It all happened so fast…….I’m still not exactly sure how. I did a lot of smiling, nodding, and signing. Oh, and packing. I would estimate about 76 miles of corrugated cardboard passed through my hands during the months of May and June. We are now 15 minutes away from our old house in a general northwesterly direction. Why did we move? It sounds so lame to say we needed more room. Our old house was about 1800 square feet. Why was this not enough room for our family of 4 (plus cat & dog)? I have no idea. Growing up in South Florida my 4 person family lived happily in 1000 square feet. And we had turtles and cats and dogs and hamsters and whatever else too. I don’t remember ever feeling cramped. Go figure. My excuse is this is Texas. The rate of square feet exchange is like 50%. Or some other math figure that makes sense.

So what else?

Since I like to show you random food I’ve made, I’m going to do it again now.

Sorry about Ariel’s “seashells” there. Crass.

This was for special breakfast and it was egg, hashbrowns, cheese, and ketchup. Food pyramid complete.

Mac ‘n Cheese Burger

I posted this one on Facebook during my blog hiatus, and told myself I would go back and do a whole post on it because it was THAT good. Well that clearly didn’t happen, but these were mindblowing anyway. MO: Stuff cooked Mac & Cheese into hamburger patties and cook. I think I slathered barbecue sauce on these. Sounds like something I would do.

Alrighty, that’s all for now. I’m rusty and all this took me like an hour. Better next time. xoxo

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

So it’s spring now, although as usual, nobody told Texas. Or they did and Texas chased them off his porch with a shotgun. Forget the groundhog. Texas decides if we’re having another six weeks of winter or not. It’s pretty nice today actually, but it’s been super cold lately, in my opinion.

Anyway, in recognition of spring’s arrival, at least on the calendar, I decided to cut my hair very short. I’m normally very bad about getting my hair cut, or even trimmed. I get a trim maybe twice a year, but more like every 8 or 9 months. Last time I did a major cut was over 5 years ago, and I was pregnant with my son. Not adorable, all belly, beginning of the third trimester pregnant. I was fat, sick, middle of the first trimester pregnant. Experienced moms will tell you that it’s a bad idea to make any huge changes to yourself in the emotionally charged first months of pregnancy. It’s hard enough to deal with basically losing control of your body, but couple that with a drastic change to your appearance and it can be a lot to handle. And it was. To me, my long hair always symbolized cool things like youth and freedom. Losing that, while trying to grasp the reality of impending parenthood, was kind of a bummer. I remember catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror one time not long after that first cut. Was that really me? Boring shoulder length hair (red at the bottom with brown roots, since I gave up hair dye), fat, squishy middle, ill-fitting maternity capri pants that came down way too low on my legs since I’m short, and socks with sensible sneakers. I almost cried. I probably did actually cry. I felt like I would never be me again. I was just gonna be this lame mom version of myself who wears elastic jeans and serves Sunny D to adolescents. It would’ve been nice to look in the mirror and still see my same old long hair. Then at least a piece of the old me would’ve been there somewhere, you know? Anyway, I was able to donate my hair at that time, which made the whole experience a little better. At least there was a purpose. Even though I was carrying and helping to create life, which is a pretty great purpose in itself, but whatever.

So except for maybe 8 or 10 trims, I haven’t done much in the hair cutting arena since the trauma of that cut. I knew better to stay away from the salon when I was pregnant with my daughter, and for the year and a half after her birth while my body was still not quite recognizable. Does anyone else cling to their hair length like I do? Am I coming off slightly crazier than the Cocoa Puffs bird? Either way, I woke up one morning recently and was just ready to have it gone. I was tired of the tangles, the pulls, the clogged shower drain (although let’s be honest, that was more my husband’s problem), rolling it up in the car window (which happened more often than you’d think). Remember what happened to that gal in Big Love when her braid got caught in the car door? That terrified me.

Yes, I did it.

ain’t she a beaut!

How come as soon as you cut off a ponytail of hair, it becomes slightly creepy? I didn’t mail this off to Locks of Love until a few days after the cut, and in the meantime I stored it in a bag in my husband’s nightstand. It was a running joke that he was a creeper who keeps human hair in a drawer next to his bed. You never know who people are until you look in their nightstand, am I right?

So, there you go. I finally cut my hair. It was fun, I was ready, and over a week later, I still love it.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Easter weekend with your loved ones! He is RISEN!!

Creativity

So, does anyone know how to get crayon out of, well, everything? My girl turned 19 months recently and is currently the resident artist of the house.

I know, I know..put the crayons out of reach. I do! Her brother gets them down for her while I’m in the bathroom and then he finds a comfy spot to settle in and watch the fun ensue. Earlier in the week she scribbled on about 5 square feet of hardwood floor in dark blue crayon. I won’t show you a picture of that because I don’t want to give you a heart attack (which is what basically happened to me when I saw it). Also I’m not one of those cool parents who, when their kids make a gargantuan mess, immediately grabs their camera to capture the whimsy of it all. No, my first instincts sent me running for the rags and cleaner and I scrubbed. Maybe I’ll regret that one day, as I’m watching them drive away to college, or walk down the aisle. But hey, it’s hard to change your natural instincts! I like a clean house. Or definitely just not crayon all over everything.

I also felt bad later because what if my baby has such a high level of creativity that she just has to get it out however she can? She must create!!! And here I am squelching that with my rags and Method bottles. People try to squelch Banksy too, but it doesn’t stop him. Drat, I’m no better than the squares who try to suppress free thinkers.

People who excel in their crafts always talk about how their parents turned themselves upside-down to give them outlets to do what made them happy as a child. I think I remember Gabby Douglas’ mom talking about being basically penniless because the gym fees were thousands of dollars per month. Plus she let Gabby move halfway across the country to train at like, what, 12? I don’t know how I would handle it if I was in her shoes, but I can imagine I would be like “Sorry hon, you can’t do gymnastics anymore. Mommy and Daddy have lost their house.” It’s got to take some incredible faith to trust your child enough to follow them into something so uncertain. Plus think about all the gymnasts who train like that but don’t win gold at the Olympics. It’s a risk.

I know ultimately, if the situation arose where either of my kids fell that much in love with something, I would do anything I could to help them grow and continue with it. I just might be around a little less on account of the three jobs I’m working.

A Fine Line

Earlier this year I ran into my OB/Gyn at the Museum. It was a little awkward, for me at least. I came this close to saying “Hey! I’m surprised you recognized me with my clothes on”.

What actually came out of my mouth was “Hey! I’m surprised —–uh— how crowded the museum is today!”.

My husband said I should’ve said it, that it would’ve been funny. But would it? What if she is completely uncomfortable with making light of the fact that 92% of our interactions take place with my clothes laying on a nearby chair in a pile. Maybe we’re not allowed to laugh at the fact that she watched me give natural childbirth, in all it’s humiliating glory. Can we talk about the fact that I swore I would never look her in the eye again?

That’s the problem with trying to be funny. It’s a fine line between a good laugh, and “you’ll be receiving a letter from my HR department”.

Hey, did anyone see Mr. Belding as one of the judges on How I Met Your Mother this week? Full disclosure, I backed the Tivo up at least 3 times to re-watch his part.

Did I ever tell you about the time I met him? It was at a Planet Hollywood restaurant in Atlanta circa 1999. He was eating with his wife and some other people. Since I didn’t have the courage to walk right up to his table, I did the classy thing and followed him to the bathroom. My grand plan was to wait by the door of the ladies’ room until he came out of the mens’, and just sort of run into him all cool like “Hey, aren’t you that guy from that TV show?” I realize this paints me with the crazy stalker brush, but it is what it is.

Amazingly, it worked like a charm. Not the keeping it cool part, I totally lost it. But he was the nicest guy and let me gush on about how I’d seen every episode of Saved by the Bell no less than 11 times. He let me walk with him back to his table and introduced me to the other people he was eating with. My memory of the whole things is fading, but I do remember him telling me that my face was as red as my hair (at that time I was pretty heavily into RR07 Intense Red Copper by L’Oreal). I told him I was pretty excited to be meeting him, and my face wasn’t normally so freakishly flushed.

Anyway, I walked on cloud 9 for a while after that encounter. I still have the pants I was wearing that night. My red Wrangler jeans. I’ve never gotten rid of them, despite the fact that from 2003 until a few months ago, they had no hope of fitting me anymore. They’re out of style, and come up way too high on the waist, but I wear them occasionally. Eh, I live in Texas now. Wranglers never go out of style here.

So anyway, maybe sometimes it pays to be slightly inappropriate and risky? Are there times when secretly following someone to the bathroom without their knowledge can result in something good? Yes.

“A building with two Beldings, one of whom is balding.” -Zack Morris upon meeting Mr. Belding’s brother. Haha, classic Zack.

 

Chocolate Wallets and Fancy Chili

Alright, I hate going so long without a post. The people around me suffer greatest when I don’t post regularly, because I jabber on even more than normal.

What’s been happening? First of all, my blog has acquired a number of new followers and “likers” whom I don’t know in real life. That’s kind of cool and scary at the same time. Though, strangers are just friends we haven’t yet met, isn’t that what they say? Course, strangers sometimes stalk and murder us too, but I’m sure that’s over-thinking it.

Let’s talk about why I haven’t been on the computer writing blog posts:

Remember when I told you our desktop computer wouldn’t turn on after the power went out? Well that was a whole thing where my incredibly computer savvy husband had to order a part and fix it, and as a result “the big computer”, as I call it, was out of service. I can blog from the WordPress app on my phone, but really, it’s a beating to work from such a small screen. With the recent death of our laptop, that leaves only the tablet. I try only to use the tablet sporadically because it hates my guts. We do not work well together, and it almost never does what I want it to. I fat-finger everything; it’s like I’m wearing oven mitts. I tried to post from the tablet once before, and when I hit “Publish”, it acted like I hit “Move to Trash”. I also learned the hard way not to try to use Facebook’s “poke” feature on the tablet (my husband and I have a fierce and long-standing Facebook poke war). Things can get awkward real fast when you accidentally poke the wrong person. Trust me.

So anyway, I haven’t really had the means to post for a couple of weeks. Here are some other reasons I’ve been away:

Life’s been busy, ok? It’s been a busy month. Plus the kids were sick. Don’t you hate how people with young kids blame everything on their kids being sick? Like at work, it’s a total get-out-of-jail-free card. Man that used to irritate me before I had kids.

A fair amount of any computer time I do get is devoted to the Etsy shop my mom and I have launched, and reading about how to operate an Etsy shop. I’m not that good at it yet.

My 15-month old has a new penchant for throwing important items away, and a good part of my life is spent cleaning trash remnants off of stuff. We are 99.3% sure she tossed the old iPhone my son uses for games sometime this summer, which was the last time any of us can remember seeing it. Last week she secretly threw away her Daddy’s wallet shortly before I decided to dump a container of old baking cocoa into the trash can. I’ve had that cocoa in the back of my pantry for the last 5 years and I chose that moment to decide to pitch it. Coincidence, Irony, or Murphy’s Law?

Chocolate Wallet

I still like to set aside time to play Draw Something.  By the way, what’s a “Zacefron”? Is he from Transformers?

Also, we’re working on getting our wills drafted. It’s a huge bummer and forces me to think about a bunch of stuff that I’d prefer not to dwell on. So that’s a downer. Looking forward to getting them done and filed away.

Anyway, that’s what’s up. Also, I made Trisha Yearwood’s Fancy Chili for dinner last night. I love her, largely because she’s married to Garth Brooks, whom I adore. I figure if I make Trisha’s chili and serve it to my family, then we are all one Kevin Bacon step closer to Garth. It was good! I couldn’t decide whether to serve it over rice or cornbread, so I made both. For the record, we all agreed we preferred the cornbread.

Fancy Chili

a baddish kind of day

Earlier this week I had kind of a bad day from start to finish. Maybe it was that post I did about how I really don’t have “bad days” since I get to spend them with my kids. Is that Murphy’s Law?
My husband and I have a game called “Murphy’s Law, Irony, or Coincidence” in which we evaluate scenarios and decide which label fits best. Some are easy, but others have gotten us into some pretty heavy debates. This game is rivaled only by our people-watching favorite “Freak or Geek?”
Anyway, so I had a bad day. It started that morning when I forgot to bring my water to the gym. I powered through because I am NOT purchasing another bottle of water for $3 from their vending machine.
Came home and threw a load of dirty diapers in the wash. Now, I can’t remember if I put this in my Cloth Diaper post or not, but it’s common knowledge within the cloth diapering community that as soon as you get your diapers most of the way through the wash process, your baby WILL have the largest, messiest poo they’ve had in days (Murphy’s Law, Irony, or Coincidence?). Only a slightly less well known adage is “15 minutes after you start a load of dirty diapers, your electricity will go out for 5 hours”. I managed to fulfill both that day. So with my baby’s diapers sitting in my washer like the world’s grossest stew, I faced no lights, no air, and that ultimate of fears – what if my phone dies and I have no way to charge it!?!?

There was this whole thing in there before I figured out it was a neighborhood outage, where I decided to flip the main switch on the fuse box to see if it was tripped or whatever. I ended up flipping it off and not being able to get it back on again. So for about 30 minutes we had double negative no electricity. Texting my husband about this, he offered to come home and help, but there was no way I was gonna let him leave work, drive home, waltz over, flip that switch in two seconds, then look at me like “really?”
I eventually had to manually lift the garage door so I could see, put on both my garden gloves, and push that switch with all my might. There are so few moments in life when you accomplish something that truly makes you feel powerful. After that switch slid into the ON position, I pranced back in the house thinking I got this.
Thankfully the children engaged in nap scenario #3, where they both sleep at the same time. After they woke up we spent the rest of the black-out in my daughter’s room with the window open, so they never really knew what was going on.

The next batch of fun came at about 5pm, when the power finally came back on. I breathed a sigh of relief as the washer full of diapers resumed where it had left off. I immediately started cooking dinner.
Yes, I was going too quickly. Yes, was using my mandolin cutter without the finger guard. Yes, I have a tendency toward injury in the kitchen. I sliced my thumb, bled profusely, and rendered my right hand completely useless for the immediate future. It wasn’t an option to call my husband and cry for help. Not after conquering the fuse box. And besides, I had already used the “come home now, and bring food…I’m cut!” plea when I julienned my index finger two weeks ago.
It took me forever, but I finished cooking one-handed. And no I didn’t bleed in the food, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Four days later we’re still suffering the effects from that day. For some reason, our desktop computer never turned back on after the outage. It currently works about as well as a painted cinder block. Also our tablet wouldn’t connect to our Wi-Fi for days. All the bookmarks on my iPhone got mysteriously erased, reappeared, and disappeared again. Weird, right?

The Hardest Job in the World?

I’m a stay-at-home mom, by the way.  My primary job responsibilities are to keep my children alive, acquire and serve food, and generally try to make sure my house doesn’t end up on Hoarders.

I’ve never done anything like this before. Ever since I was 15 years old I’ve been an employee who reported to a boss. I know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you that my first real job was sloshing mashed potatoes at Kenny Rogers Roasters. I saved enough to purchase a 1984 Dodge Omni and then quit (My parents made me go apologize to my boss and ask for my job back). I’ve had lots of jobs over the years. I’ve been a hostess, a waitress, a cashier, a receptionist, a Disney Cast Member, a telephone survey girl, a perfume seller, and 5 different kinds of customer service coordinator. I once had a job in which my title could only have been described as “envelope un-stuffer”. I’ve been embarrassingly underpaid. I’ve been the coffee runner far more than I’ve been the project manager. I’ve brought work home, I’ve stressed out, I’ve cried over cruel bosses.

But no, I’ve never done anything like this before.

People say being a stay-at-home mom is the hardest job there is. True, it’s not easy by any stretch. It’s certainly not popping kettle corn on the couch all day (not if you’re doing it right, anyway). Most days I don’t sit down until dinner is on the table. Are there frustrations and stresses in my day? Oh yea. But is it hard? Maybe it’s hard like when you’re on vacation at the beach and your sandal breaks. You’re still on vacation, man. You know what the real hardest job is? Talk to a mom who works outside of her home. Ask her if she feels like she’s doing a bang up job on either front.

No matter what my frustrations are at the end of the day, I’ve still gotten to spend it with my children. The honor of that is not lost on me.

Anyway, my children are currently on totally opposite nap schedules.

This has happened very slowly and without my consent. Not even one minute of overlap. On a good day it goes something like this:

1 year old, morning nap, 10:30 – 12:00

4 year old, nap, 1:00-3:29

1 year old, afternoon nap, 3:30-5:00

I think like this schedule most because I get to spend one-on-one time with each child while the other is napping, and each child allows me to accomplish different tasks. My 4 year old will sit still and color long enough to allow me to mop the kitchen floor, where my 1 year old would turn the entire kitchen into a Swiffer slip and slide in about 3 minutes. On the flip side, my 1 year old is perfectly content to sit in the office with me while I do computer stuff, but my 4 year old starts throwing a fit if I spend more than 15 consecutive minutes in the office.

Maybe once a month I’m granted a special freebie day that goes like this:

1 year old misses morning nap, and I try to hold her off until after lunch. She starts falling asleep in her green beans so I move her to her crib at 1:00.

4 year old falls asleep at 1:03

Both children sleep until 4 year old wakes up at 3:29 and begins shout-singing Love Shack throughout the house (not being completely sure of the lyrics to the song, what he actually sings is “Leg Shop, baby, Leeeeg Shop…”), which in turn wakes up the 1 year old.

While these days are nice for me because I get 2.5 uninterrupted hours to myself in the middle of the day, we all pay dearly around dinnertime when the 1 year old starts to get mean-sleepy.

Then there’s the occasional nightmare day where nobody naps. These are usually days in which I’m texting my husband at 4PM wondering if he could maybe please just go ahead and come home now because I’m seriously about to lock myself in the basement to hide from these monster children. Actually I wouldn’t really do that, mostly because we don’t have a basement. But seriously, those days are bad.

But then bedtime comes and my angels go to sleep, and again none of it seems so bad anymore. Anyway, if all those ladies in the grocery store lines are right, this part goes by in the blink of an eye and I’ll long for it all back. Not so hard to believe at all.

Grammy Jammys

The only good thing about living a thousand miles from your mom is that fun things show up in the mail regularly. My mom’s a master crafter, and can bang out anything her heart desires in like a day, so it’s completely exciting to see what’s going to show up on our porch.

Once these covers for my Swiffer came. They blow away anything I’ve ever bought at the store to clean my floors, and I love them. That grayish one under the red used to be a pretty lavender color but hey, it’s cleaned many miles of floor in its life.

Shopping cart covers, bibs, hats, shirts, pants, sweaters, pillows, doll clothes, cloth diapers, hair bows…

and

the World’s Most Awesome Pajamas.

It all started when my mom sent Wilson some Spider-Man Jammies. They weren’t intended to be the star of the box, they were just tucked in the corner like “hey, here’s some pajamas I threw together last night while I was waiting for the water to boil for dinner”.

Well the kid just loved them:

After a few weeks with the Spidey jammies, we were on the phone or webcam or something with my mom and Wilson comes out with “Grammy, next I want you to make me some jammies with sunglasses on them”. Background: There’s hardly anything that excites my mom quite like a craft challenge. Tell her you would like a trash can coozy that lights up and plays the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and she’ll find it or make it. It might take a week or two, but it’ll show up.

So naturally, the next week:

I wish I had gotten a picture of the boy’s face when he first saw and held these pajamas. It’s like he couldn’t believe he had thought up something in his head and then here it was, real in his hands!

Also, now it’s a game. Good luck Ma, you’re gonna wish you never started this.

Very shortly after we received the sunglasses jammies (it may have even been the same day), they are on the phone:

Grammy: “Do you like your sunglasses jammies, Wilson?”

Wilson: “Yes!”

Grammy: “Are you thinking about what you want next?”

He  looks around the room (we are in the kitchen) and lingers a little bit too long on the microwave. Oh please don’t say microwaves, I think. Or do, I kind of want to see if she can do it.

Wilson: “I want jammies with broccolis on them”

Grammy: without missing a beat “Ok! Coming right up!”

Completely random. Not much better than microwaves. But if you’ve read this far, you shouldn’t be surprised that a few days later…

Side note: A hilarious bit we like to do whenever Wilson’s wearing his broccoli jammies is “Hey Wilson, ya got a little bit of broccoli there…” or “Wilson! How are you covered in broccoli?! We didn’t even have broccoli for dinner! It’s all over your shirt and shorts! What in the world?!” Did I mention it’s hilarious?

This brings us to our most recent pair of Grammy Jammys.  It was shortly after we took Wilson to see the movie Brave. His Papa Farmer had bought him a bow & arrow set, so I just knew what would be next. Sure enough he put the order in.

“Bows and Arrows, Grammy.”

I was relieved for my poor Ma. Finally a fabric that should be available at any JoAnn’s. Oddly I believe these jammies gave her the most trouble. Because as any observer of Murphy’s Law can attest, you will see an item in a store a thousand times without needing it, but the moment you go back to buy it, it’s nowhere to be found.

What does my mother do if JoAnn’s doesn’t have what she needs? She goes underground. She calls a little old fairy woman who lives in a hollowed out tree in an enchanted forest. She gets it.

What’s next? I think the Grammy Jammys are retired for the year since the weather is starting to get cooler. Plus Wil seems to be satisfied with his collection of jammies with random objects on them. I think it’s been fun for both of them to share this project together. He dreamt it up, his Grammy turned it into a reality. One day he’ll get too big to wear them, and he will tuck them away someplace special to keep as a reminder of his amazing Grammy, and what they made together.