MB is sick. Can't you tell? The doctor says it's probably just a random virus. Her fever is down, but she is still covered in red spots. It's hard for me to see my baby with spots all over, but it hasn't slowed her down a bit. Proof:
In my heart of hearts, I know that one day I will walk into the bathroom and see my iphone taking a bath. I just know. So to prepare for this inevitability, I have started an iphone replacement fund.
It was originally for MB's college, but that's years and years away.
There's no time like nap time to get totally absorbed in shopping for something I won't need for several more months, I think. I could be napping, or eating, or [dramatic gasp] cleaning up this mess. But how ridiculous would that be? And I think we can all agree that I'm nothing if not completely ridiculous.
Anyway. Today I'm shopping school bags for MB, who will be starting play school in the fall. Well, really August, which is technically summer, but summer really lasts until mid-November around here, so what's the difference?
The designs are simple and colorful, and I'm not going to lie: the fact that they're not covered in Dora the Explorer or the entire range of Disney princesses is a major plus in my book. [Even though I did have MAJOR love for my Sesame Street lunchbox when I was in elementary school, if I can delay the cartoon character obsession for a few more years, I would love to.]
Every night when Lee and I finally sit down on the couch to unwind, one or both of us will be laughing and shaking our heads, remembering.
What did she do now? one or the other of us will say.
And then we'll relate whatever hilarious or ridiculous thing MB has done that day. There's always something. Always.
Today I'm going to beat him to the couch with my story.
We get home from a sweaty playdate at the park and have a little playtime before nap. I sit on the couch while MB flits around me, putting chalk and her toy keys in and out of her tiny purse. My eyelids are heavy, and soon my head is heavy, so I lean over onto a pillow.
MB pops up from the floor. Night Night! she says. And disappears into the den.
Half a minute later she comes back with a blanket and heaves it on top of my legs. Night Night! she says again.
Oh, Mary Bullock! You are so sweet. That was so nice of you to get Mommy a blanket! I say. Can I have a kiss?
Maybe you're the type of person who never loses anything, but I'm going to tell you this story anyway, because maybe it applies to you in some other way.
So, right: Last Friday night we attended a Wine/Golf outing that was a ton of fun. And, of course, since I wasn't drinking, I was the sober one. If there were other sober people there, I didn't see them. Yet, somehow, I managed to be the only one [to my knowledge] to wake up the next morning with no car keys. [We used Lee's keys to get home, in case you are very confused right now.]
And this really upset me. Do you get upset when you lose things? I'll even say I was beyond upset. I was frustrated and angry. I tore the house apart, called everywhere I'd been, accused Lee of being the one to lose them, everything.
But I also prayed about it.
Now, there have been times in my life that praying over lost car keys would have been something I'd roll my eyes about: Yeah. Good luck with that. God reeeeeally cares about your stupid car keys.
But I've learned in recent years that God cares about all sorts of things, and it's really not up to me to decide what may or may not be worthy of God's care. So, I prayed about it.
Dear God, Please please please please please let my keys turn up somehow. If anyone can make it happen, I know you can.
PS. If you can't make my keys turn up, could you take away my anger and show me the lesson here?
PPS. I wasn't even DRINKING.
Love,
Suz
And then I let it go. One or the other of those two outcomes would occur, and I was content to wait and see which one it was.
On Thursday night, the YMCA called. A lawn service man had found my keys in the street, called the number on the back of the membership card attached to my key chain, and would like to return them.
On Friday night, I had my keys in my palm and tears in my eyes. And I got my lesson, too.
Wait. Don't I already have one child, and therefore at least one [let's just round it down to three, shall we?] diaper bag?
Well, technically yes. However, since I'm now going to have two children, my diaper bag needs have changed. Now I need something precise. Lots of specialized pockets, easily wipe-able...yeah. Totally different than the ones I already have.
Remember this post? At the time I regretted that I didn't get a picture of Mary Bullock with the bucket on her head, so today my never-a-dull-moment baby granted me a do-over. She's special that way.
And don't bother scouring the internet for a replica of her bubble. It's vintage, circa 1985, via her Aunt Day-Day [or Kaylan, if you pronounce your k's].
If this next baby provides us with half the entertainment of our first born, our family is going to be in stitches for years.
