Today
Today was glorious. It was warm. There was no snow. (I saw snow yesterday. I am not even kidding. Ask Becky, she saw it, too.) There was a lot of sunshine, and I spent time in it.
Today, I got to witness Micah trying to sled ride in the grass. Today, Micah learned that even a running jump onto the sled will not galvanize it into action if there is no snow on the ground.
Today I played with puppies. Lots of puppies. It was blissful.
Today I had a free venti peppermint mocha because the barista at Starbucks knows that we love them, and "accidentally" made one yesterday while I was there buying a cheap(er) hot tea. I put it in the fridge to enjoy another day. Today was another day.
Today I worked outside in the sunshine and fresh air. Today was glorious. It was sunny and warm. And there was no snow.
He Said "Cheese!"
Apparently the hair wasn't the worst thing in his school photos this spring. It was the fact that he couldn't keep from talking about something. And let me just add that the photo really added 10 pounds to the boy. I'm glad that I have it just for the memento. That was the only time in his entire 7 years of life that he could pass for ever-so-slightly-chubby. That was the beginning of (yet another) growth spurt. He's now another inch taller and a good bit thinner.
He just keeps growing...
Ewwwww, New Skills
Micah has learned (yet another) new skill. He can blow his nose.
Kind of.
Since he is currently sporting a cold, he has a lot of material to practice with. His newfound skill involves blowing. (Of course.) But he lacks a tissue. Or anything, really. He just blows. And let me tell you, he is incredibly proud of himself for learning this awesome life skill. If he produces something on a particularly hard blow, his grin just stretches from sea to shining sea. As I run for a kleenex, his river of snot slides down his upper lip like a yellow mudslide. (Yeh, I KNOW it's gross. It's even more gross to actually see it happen.) By the time I get back to him, armed with a tissue, he is literally giggling with pride.
I won't tell you about the time both nostrils produced a hefty bounty, and in the fifteen seconds it took for me to get a tissue his tongue decided to take a lick. I just wanted to wretch.
Boys are really, really gross. And they're so proud of it.
I have no pictures. YOU'RE WELCOME.
Time. It Just Keeps Marching On.
Just before Micah started preschool, I made him a corduroy backpack to carry. It was toddler-sized, and fit him just right. He has carried that backpack to preschool for 2 years, to kindergarten, and now to first grade. It holds his daily folder, his extra change of clothes, and his Voice. His backpack has held up fabulously for all the abuse it's gotten. I'm not sure why I love that backpack so much, but I do. Maybe it's the color combination of fabrics, or the durability, but I love it.
Today, Micah came downstairs with his Cars backpack that he uses as an overnight bag for grandparents. He insisted that I put his change of clothes, his daily folder, and his Voice into his Cars pack. Today, he grew up a little bit more as he shunned the toddler sized pack for a big boy, store-bought, everyone-else-carries-these backpack.
Today, I realized that I loved that little pack that I made him because my little boy carried it. That little boy is no longer. My baby gets on the bus every day by himself now, and carries a big boy backpack. He has choosen to wear underwear for almost a week now. He has a loose tooth.
My baby is all grown up. You'd think I'd be more okay with this than I am, being that my baby is 7. Turns out, there is no preparing yourself for this day. It's just hard no matter what. If anyone has a formula to stop time, I'd be interesting in cutting a deal with you for the secret.
Winners
This past week, I lost an entire night's sleep with a sick puppy, had an emergency vet run, lost a puppy that I nursed through 3 nights and 2 days, almost broke a toe when Micah fell off a stool and hit his head on my foot, baked cookies with half the amount of flour I needed, and ruined Waterfall Attempt #3.
I was so sleep deprived by the end of the week that I found myself driving on a street that I had no business being on. I just had a lucid moment and realized I was lost and wandering. I put on makeup thinking that I looked really good for the week I'd had, then saw a picture of myself and realized that Death looked like a beauty queen in comparison. I realized that I'm getting way too old for such prolonged sleep deprivation. I cannot function.
Over the weekend, our church hosted a grand-scale kids event called The Olympian Games. The kids have loved this carnival-type event for years. This was Micah's first time attending. He won a ribbon in dart guns. (The plastic suction ones, of course.) With every award announced there is a smattering of applause that ranges between courteous and overt. When Micah's name was announced, the congratulatory cheers that erupted from every corner of the gym were humbling. It was so much more than was given for other kids.
Maybe it was the exhaustion making me all verklempt, but it was all I could do to fight back the tears. I am always humbled when the world takes on the role of Micah's cheerleader. Thank you, everyone who cheers for my son. You have no idea how much that means to me. It was just the ending that I needed to a really bad week.
And That's Why I Could Never Homeschool The Boy
It's no secret that Micah hates school work. School work, in his world, constitutes anything that requires learning and books and pencils. And general application of oneself. I've never been able to sit down and read books with him. I have tried using picture books to point out Dog! or Elephant! but I always end up sitting alone, talking to myself. As far as I know, the boy knows nothing. And homeschooling him was never in the game plan.
I had to stop by the school to give his teacher a message today, and while there she said, "hey, Micah! Let's show your mommy what you can do!"
She was working on a paper that had the letters E and R and S and M and a picture of a dog and various other random letters. She would point to one, and he would say an approximation of the sound as well as sign a meaning. He did one, then covered his eyes and turned his head. Clearly he wasn't going to let mom know that he knew something. After much coaxing on his teacher's part, and much grumbling and dawdling on his, he finished the paper, then promptly pointed to the door and told me to Go!
Obviously he can't take the chance that I'll make him perform at home. It's better that I think he knows nothing. Except now he's totally busted.
So when he got home I said, "I saw you reading in school! Good job!" He replied by putting his thumbs in his ears and sticking his tongue out at me.
If You've Never Seen the Movie, You'll be a Little Lost
Micah is a fan of the film industry. My goal is to keep my local Starbucks in business; his is to be sure that the classic films aren't forgotten. The boy loves Mary Poppins like I love a peppermint mocha. He dances with Burt on the rooftops almost daily. Except he dances from the couch to the coffee table. If he ever figures out how to reach our rooftop, we're in big trouble.
The Sound of Music is another daily must-see. Because of that film, he is in love with twirly skirts and ballroom dancing. We have all gotten roped into his dramatic recreations. Even Daddy, who had to play Liesl one day.
Knowing what a fan Micah is of the wonderfully timeless classics, I bought him a copy of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I knew that he'd love it, but I had no idea that it was destined to become an instant favorite.
Micah chooses favorite parts of a film, and after the particular action is over he'll rewind, rewatch, lather, rinse, repeat. The Dancing Dolls is where we got stuck the very first night he watched Chitty. We watched the dolls interact with each other, and the king and queen get hijacked, and the children get rescued. And then it all started again.
Micah's bedtime came and I made him turn off his new classic love and head upstairs. After getting dressed, he stood in front of the mirror and sneezed, insisted that I wipe his nose, and sneezed again. After three repeats of this scene, it finally dawned on me that he was a dancing doll.
Pinch his nose, he sneezes, he dances all over the place.
My boy is a living, walking movie clip. He can recreate just about any scene from dozens of films at the drop of a hat. If he could talk, he'd astound the world. As it is, he astounds us when we figure out the mad memorization skills he displays.
Walking To The Bus
For two years of preschool, and two years of big-boy school, a special van has come to the door to pick Micah up. It's my responsibility to walk him out and strap him into his carseat. At the end of the day, I reverse the procedure. For those same four years, I've fought Micah tooth and nail to get him to willingly get on the bus each morning.
Micah considers himself in training for the workforce, and has decided to take seriously the whole "I hate going to work" part. The boy hides his clothes so that I can't dress him, he'll undress himself, he'll melt into a puddle of uncooperative boyness when I ask him to get his shoes on. And then he'll insist that I carry him, his bookbag, and anything else that needs to go to school with him that day out to the van. Winter is especially fun because MY WORD, MY ROYAL FEET CAN'T TOUCH SNOW. This is interesting when I have stuffed my slipper-clad feet into crocs and am navigating slushy, icy steps. It's made even more fun by the fact that Micah feels unsure of his escort's footing, so wraps his arms around my head for security, blocking my sight.
His van driver gets no end of amusement from that boy.
On days that he's being uber cooperative in the Let's Go To School department, I still have to walk him out and strap him into the van, but at least he walks on his own two feet and isn't grumbling.
So last week the boy decided that he'd go to school all by himself, thankyouverymuch. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, opened the door, stepped outside, blew me a kiss, and closed the door in my face. (Don't get all "awwww" over the kiss. That's his distinct way of saying, "you stay here, I'm going alone.") And away he went to the van without mama. I still needed to strap him in, so I waited until I heard him go down the steps, then followed him outside. The van driver was laughing.
The next day was a repeat performance, which was rather shocking, because his spurts of cooperation are usually short lived. And that day when I opened the door to follow him he turned around, waggled his little pointer finger at me, yelled for me to get back into the house, blew me a kiss, and turned his back on me. The van driver was out of the van, had his door opened, and was laughing heartily. The third day I simply waved from the door, yelled a thanks to the driver, and blew a kiss to my all grown up boy.
I was feeling rather sad-ish that my baby is getting so independent, when the possiblities of my situation opened up to me. I may not have to get dressed in the mornings. I could wear my bathrobe as I peeked my head through a crack in the door. I wouldn't really even have to brush my hair on the worst of days if I just wanted to throw an arm out and wave with a good hearty yell behind it. Gosh, the depths I could fall to in the lazy housewife department would be astounding.
This morning Micah walked to the bus all by himself, insisting that he hold my hand the whole way. He's lucky that he's not big in the hand holding department, because that sweetness of his hand in mine was a balm to my lazy housewife soul.
That boy knows how to manipulate.
Why yes, the boy did get a haircut. He's looking rather rakish, no?
Meet The Nephew
Since my sister lives just across the road, the nephew has grown up here as much as he's grown up at home. When I talk about The Boys, half the time he's included in the count. He sleeps here when the mood strikes, does as many chores as my kids do, and is considered one of the family. Mostly because he is. I seriously thought about including him on my census forms this year.
Don't worry, I didn't.
So we're talking about Becky's prom gown the other day, and how friends are giving me flack because it's completely strapless and she'll be practically naked on the top. (Which, whatever. I'm the parent. See me care?) I asked my friend if she was going to show up on prom night with a tank top to wear underneath it. This led from one laughable option to another, and ended with the Dickie Discussion. Could you even imagine a strapless prom gown with a dickie under it? Or over it? How would you wear a dickie with a strapless gown?
And then The Nephew asked what a dickie was. Even after referencing Eddie on Christmas Vacation, he wasn't sure. So today I ran to Salvation Army to make a 49 cent purchase. The Nephew owns a dickie, and you know what he said? "It's something the Mexicans wear." Seriously, he did. We finally figured out that he was thinking of the poncho, despite the fact that it's lacking a lot of length, and sports a neck in place of a hood, and is knit instead of wool.
Behold, The Nephew. This picture, and blog post, is shared with the express permission - nay, insistence - of the one in the photo himself. Truly, life here is NEVER dull.
The Truth Comes Out
So last week I rushed the pregnant dog to the vet in an emergency visit. She woke up covered in wet and my first thought was "holy freak, she's leaking fluids. She's not due for a week and a half (puppies won't survive that early) and they've all died inside her and she's going toxic. I've lost the entire litter, and it'll be a miracle if the poor mom-dog survives this. WHY DO I RAISE DOGS?!"
So going in with that mindset, and knowing that I was in a hurry, I still made time to stop at Starbucks on the way. Knowing what I did, I needed the extra something to bolster me through the visit.
Once I got there, I realized that a corgi isn't exactly a tuck it under your arm and go kind of dog, and a hugely pregnant one that's oozing wet is even more awkward to carry. I wrapped a blanket around her and hoisted her into my arms, but that left zero hands available for my purse and drink. I'd need that drink. I asked Becky if she could bring my things for me, and we walked into the office. She opened doors for me as best as she could with a coffee in each hand (one for her), my purse hanging from the crook of one elbow, and her bag hanging from the other, and I marched on ahead of her with my dog in my arms.
I sternly reminded myself that no matter what happened, I wasn't going to lose my shiz and cry. And that's when the vet grinned and said, "I just have to say that with you walking in with the dog, and Becky following behind with the coffee, it looks like she's your personal assistant."
Even in a horrid situation, I'm glad that I can see the funny in things. "Yeh, that's actually the reason we kept her home from school this year."
And the day suddenly got a lot better. I wasn't way off in my initial assesment, because that's the first thought the vet had as well. Fortunately, after a panel of tests and probes, it was discovered that, among other things, the puppies were alive and well, and that mama peed in the crate and laid in it.
Stop laughing, it could happen to anyone.
He Makes Bad Hair Days Look Good
To say that The Boy needs a haircut is like saying Lake Erie is a little bit of water. I love the long hair look on boys that's all vogue now, but the fact that my boys have uber thick hair takes that vogue and makes it rogue. Behold.
We learned recently that one should never wash long, thick hair and send The Boy to bed with it wet. He'll wake up looking like the spawn of Cousin It and Garnier. You know what's even worse? He'll love the look. Micah has very distinct tastes in hair styles, and this one was everything he'd been trying to achieve for a very long time.
Does his face not tell you how happy he is to be sporting mane like that?
I didn't realize exactly how happy he was with his look until I got a brush and tried taming that living thing down. He does not like having his hair brushed, so I put up with the usual fussing and hand flailing, but when I was done he shook his head like a dog after a bath, ran his fingers through it from the bottom up trying to fluff it again, and was happy only when it looked like a white 'fro again.
I'll bet his teachers had a grand time with his style that day. I'm really hoping it wasn't the day he mooned the entire playground. I just found out about that little tidbit through a third party. I'll bet you all wish you were involved in Micah's inner circle.
Weathering the Storm
Becky has PSSA testing this week, and since she's cyber schooled it's conducted at a hotel in town. If you know anything about state-mandated testing, you know that it takes hours out of a day. Today it was only 2.5 hours, so I loaded up some books and my laptop and chose to spend the afternoon in quiet bliss in the hotel lobby.
So there I sat, in the lobby of the hotel, in my Walt Disney World sweatshirt and denim capris, with Calvin & Hobbes stickers boldly dancing on the back of my laptop, with an open book on the sofa beside me. For all practical purposes, I looked rather juvenile, I'm sure. The fact that I was reading The Brain That Can't Hear, and researching things on the internet like Nonverbal Learning Disorder, aphasia, right-hemisphere disorder, and auditory processing disorder was noticed by nobody, but probably makes me a major dork.
The good news is that after plowing through a whole chapter, I'm pretty sure that Micah does not suffer from much more than Down syndrome and apraxia. The bad news is that I was having a pity party. I don't wallow often, but today I wallowed. I was grateful that I was in public because the pity was kept to a minimum.
Today I was struck with the unfairness of the fact that Micah cannot talk. Isn't it enough that he's saddled with a lifelong disability that is visibly stamped on his face for all the world to see? Why is it that some kids just get the bum rap, when others seem to be gifted in so many areas?
Today I was desperately trying to find yet another reason for Micah's lack of speech, because somewhere deep inside of me is this little flicker of Hope that says eventually we'll come across something that's fixable.
Today self-pity kicked me in the gut. And today I had to remind myself that no matter what hand life deals me, it's my lot to accept it. Some days will be better than others, and it's okay to get discouraged, but in the end I'm responsible for accepting the bad as graciously as I do the good and move on so that tomorrow may bring a rainbow over the storm of today.
Let's Talk About Our Feelings, Shall We?
At the ENT today it was confirmed that not one, but both of Micah's ear tubes are out. These are the T-type ones that were virtually guaranteed to stay in 4-5 years. Apparently a virtual guarantee is worth diddly. It's been 4 months since their installation. Frustrated is a mild word to describe how I'm feeling.
Micah is in touch with his feelings, too. I took his Voice to the appointment with us and he ignored it while he used me for a jungle gym. After royally failing the hearing test, we were sent to the Doc for a check inside his ears. Micah is game for the testing and waiting portions of the appointment, but the actual looking in the ears part makes him stabby. That's why we don't allow him to carry pocket knives.
I was alone at the appointment today, and there was only one nurse available. It was touch and go with the flailing and wailing but the Doc finally succeeded. She is a gem of a woman, let me tell you. She smiles kindly the entire time we're wrestling the boy down like a calf at a rodeo. There's no rattling that woman.
At the end of the 5 minute procedure that should have taken 30 seconds, Micah ran for his Voice to say:
HELP ALL DONE ALL GONE FEEL MAD FEEL MAD
People, I didn't even know the boy knew how to talk about his feelings. When did he learn to access that page? And the ALL DONE and ALL GONE are new in his vocabulary as well. And for the record, it's the longest sentence he's ever said on his Voice. Ever. We'll ignore the fact that it's nowhere near being grammatically correct.
But everything was relevant to the situation. And he found it all on his Voice with no problems at all. The Boy never ceases to amaze me.
Anger is a huge motivator. And I know how he feels. I am not looking forward to surgery again any more than he is. For that reason, we're taking the wait and see approach.
Hello!
We installed updates on Micah's Voice. One of the fun new things that we discovered was the Crazy Hello button. You know how pull string toys have different sayings with each pull of the string? It's the same concept. There is a loop of 5 annoying hello's from the film industry.
Raise your hand if you remember the infamous Seinfeld Hell-looooooooo! Yep, that's one of them.
Mrs. Doubtfire's man-woman voice saying Heeellllooooo? There.
"Well hello, Mr. Fancypants" said in an incredibly sarcastic voice is part of the loop.
You know, all these things that kids with a sense of humor will love, and probably shouldn't use in greeting when meeting new people. Or in school.
Guess what Micah loves? The boy pushes that button 54875 per hour. I'm about to break the Voice. And yet, how can you give a non-verbal kid a voice with humor, and then take his humor away because it's annoying?
I Am An Incurable Pollyanna
For the dog that figures a way out of it's kennel in a thunderstorm to come inside the house and shake off just because I mopped the floor, there is a kid that belly laughs at stupid jokes. Or nothing at all.
For the ear tube that comes out after four months, when it was supposed to stay in place for several years, there is a nature trail just waiting to be hiked. With an awesome waterfall at the end of it.
For the speech therapist that messes up Micah's Voice in ways unimaginable and reverts things right back to factory originals despite the customization that we've done to it over the course of a year, there is a God-sent representative at Prentke-Romich and a technologically inclined husband that can fix it in 30 minutes over the phone.
For the night that you rub cleanser into your face instead of moisturizer, then go to bed and wear it all the next day before realizing what you've done, there is a bluebird the color of nothing you've seen before making a nest in the box your son made in the back yard.
For the pregnant dog that needs rushed to the vet because she's on the verge of collapse with low blood sugar and anemia that was heretofore nonexistent, there is a pond and waterfall in the back yard that is coming along beautifully. And Starbucks peppermint mochas.
For the two week old computer that has a fit of insolent stubbornness and won't turn off or reboot or do anything other than beep for hours on end until the battery dies, there is a whole lot of Easter chocolate in the pantry.
For the refrigerator that is just three months old and needs the cooling fan replaced, there is springtime.
This week I'm grateful for sunshine, for warranties on new products, for puppies going to new homes that pay for unexpected vet bills, for state parks located in my back yard, and for kids that are healthy despite medical inconveniences.
That right there is the best therapy ever. It makes my soul sigh in restful quiet just looking at it.
Next He'll Be Doing a Drive-By Fruiting
Micah is getting much better at shopping. I'm grateful for this. There was a time when he'd throw a fit (like any toddler) when he didn't get exactly what he wanted. Now he calmly accepts that sometimes he doesn't get what he desperately needs, and moves on with life. Mostly in search of something else that he needs.
So the other day we were at the grocery store and Micah needed strawberries. Daddy told him to put them back (they weren't on our list) and he complied with a cheerful attitude. He'd moved on to the bakery because he obviously wasn't getting strawberries and wasn't going to stress over it. Except that I decided that we needed strawberries because the ones in our fridge had mysteriously disappeared. I like to make the boy happy any time that I can (what parent doesn't) so I called him over to hand him a box of fruit so that he could have the joy of putting it in the cart.
Micah saw me hold out the strawberries and the grin on his face was huge. He then made sure that he caught daddy's eye after taking the box from my hand because "Hey! Mom let me get strawberries!" I needed two boxes so I handed him the second one. He loves putting things in the cart. Daddy had walked over to the carrots by now, so Micah had to turn around and hunt him down to show him the second box of fruit.
So there. In.Your.Face.
Little stinker.
Peep Jousting
With all the Easter clearance going on, I urge you to go buy some marshmallow peeps. I know they're not edible and are the grossest things ever created, but they're not to eat so stand down. Peep jousting is definitely worth the ninety nine cents you're going to spend on those nasty things. Behold.
You'll want two peeps, two toothpicks, and a paper plate. I recommend paper based on our experiment with plastic. Trust me. Set things up like so:
It's important that the toothpicks won't come out of the peeps, but not touch the other one. Close, obviously, but not touching. This is important. Then you'll pop that plateful of marshmallow nastiness in the microwave for about 3 minutes. STAND BY. If you've ever nuked a marshmallow you know the importance of this. If you haven't, you're about to learn. Plus, the whole point of this game is in the watching.
The first peep to explode and thrust it's spear into the heart of the other is the winner. Having a clean microwave door is of utmost importance. Taking pictures through even a clean door obviously leaves a lot to be desired. The beauty of a paper plate is that it's completely disposable when you're done with that round. Plastic plates will melt right along with the marshmallows. Trust me. I know whereof I speak.
Peep Jousting. The first real use for marshmallow peeps I've found. Go, have yourself some fun.
It's Picture Day!
I write things like school portraits on my calendar. I can't forget things like this because I would be the one to send kids to school on picture day in a tie dye tee that's two sizes too big, unwashed hair, and a crusty nose. Yes, I have days like that, and if you don't you're either fibbing or don't have enough kids.
So tomorrow is Micah's picture day. I know this. I am contemplating what outfit I'll dress him in because things like that matter. I'm aware. I'm on top of things. I'm organized.
His school sent a note home last week reminding me that picture day is coming. They also sent a note home today telling me that picture day is tomorrow. I know I've sometimes forgotten things in the past, so I guess they're just trying to keep me in the know. But really, I do dress the boy in presentable clothes 99.9% of the time so I'm not sure what they're worried about. All those notes are a tad excessive, no?
And then it dawned on me. The boy is in dire need of a haircut. Dire. As in diiiiii-uuuuuuurrrr. We've managed to keep his bangs trim so that he can mostly see out of the massive forelock hanging over his brows, but the rest of it is way out of control. He has a mullet ready to party like it's 1989. The mopsy top is a hot mess no matter if it's freshly washed, in need of a washing, brushed or wind blown. The boy looks ragged 24/7 and it's not so endearing as it could be.
This all occurred to me tonight at 9 PM, when it's too late to get into a hair salon anywhere, and the boy is in bed. I am now the parent that sends the well dressed child to school on picture day, despite several notes sent home to remind me, with a hot mess of mullety forelock growing on his head. His pictures will be awesome, provided you can find him under the Cousin It thing he has going on.
Lime Green Covers More Than Easter Eggs
Micah is a typical kid. Even though he likes school, he isn't exactly get excited about going daily. When I present him with his school clothes, he fusses and grumps and makes is known that he'd rather not go to school today thankyouverymuch. I have learned to dress him just before his van comes so as to avoid having to re-dress him in the course of the morning.
The other morning I chose a lime green polo shirt and jeans, and laid them on the couch until Fight Time. But the unexpected happened; Micah saw them, became excited about the prospect of wearing that lime green polo, and dressed himself. Who would have ever thought? He dug that polo out of the laundry the next day, and since there was no school I let him wear it. The boy likes polos. And twirly skirts. And going fancy free. He's a complicated man.
Unfortunately, the third day when we were headed to Old Navy to buy him more polos for $5, I couldn't allow him to wear the now really, really dirty lime green one that he dug out of the laundry yet again. He was hacked. I presented him with other polos in the colors of brown and orange, but they just didn't speak to him. And then I realized that maybe it's not the polo that he's in love with, but the lime green color.
We stopped at a thrift store on the way to look for some cheap jeans, and I found him a lime green tee. When I went to show him, I realized that he'd locked himself into a dressing room. He came out holding a pair of yellow old man shorts onto himself. He loved them. He hated the lime green tee. I really worry about that boy's sense of style. We won't even talk about the red pumps he insisted on getting to go with his yellow old man shorts.
At Old Navy, he chose the lime green striped polo over the pink, orange, or blue one. He wore it Easter Sunday with pride. Even when he came home and changed into a twirly poodle skirt, he left on the lime green striped polo. This is progress. Normally twirly skirts are worn with Hawaiian shirts in his world.
So I guess it's all about lime green polos. And twirly skirts. And going fancy free. Life here is fun. He did strip out of the lime green stupor over the weekend to don swim trunks for the Easter egg hunt hosted here. He makes us proud every day.
A Day of Family Fun
So in honor of Spring Break (that is only a myth here in We Get Too Much Snow And The Kids Have Snow Make-Up Days Land) I have decided that it would be fun to do something out of the ordinary with the kids in the 1.5 days they have off for Easter. This idea was inspired by the coupons for Chuck E. Cheese's I found in the newspapers that I was lining the puppy kennel with. They were still valid, even.
And then I realized that Diary of a Wimpy Kid is in theaters. Luke is a huge Wimpy Kid fan. He's been anxiously awaiting the feature of that film. He'd love to see it on the big screen. So I gave him a choice, and said he got to decide what the family did for fun on Easter break.
You'd think I asked him if he would rather go to Disney or own a candy store of his very own. That boy deliberated (quite seriously, I might add) for days. DAYS. It was such a monumental decision. What if he chose wrong? Josh offhandedly told him that we'll rent the movie when it comes out. The look of relief on Luke's face was priceless. Suddenly there was no deciding because he could obviously have his cake and eat it, too. The giant cheesy mouse had won out.
The place was nearly empty, which is exactly the way we like it. The bigger boys were asked by the staff to help move a ride (we took the nephew along) and were each given a handful of token for their efforts. Total score.
As Luke used all his tokens and was walking around looking for more under games, a friend from school came in and was quite generous with both her tokens and tickets toward Luke. Methinks the boy may have a girl interested in him. Methinks the boy is also clueless about that. I find it amusing.
One of the bored employees was riding in a virtual race car and Micah noticed that the seat beside her was empty. He made himself at home upon her invitation and then charmed her over enough to coerce her into feeding the machine token after token for another ten minutes. Little mooch.
All in all it was a grand day. With the temperatures hitting 80 and the sun shining brightly, it was a fabulous start to a holiday weekend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)