Happy Socks

Dear Granny,
You sent us socks.
They're WONDERFUL!

 A big pile of colors and sizes - a special pair for each person!

I first fell in love this kind of socks the year I was 15.  I met a girl who wore bright, colorful, happy socks
 all summer long - even in sandals.  I liked this happy girl, and ever since I have had a fondness for
"Happy Socks"!  How HAPPY is our home this cool Autumn day as our feet stay cozy and our hearts
certain that our dearest Granny loves us!

Indian-Summer Evening

There must be few pleasures greater 

than living in in "the good ol' days"

and knowing that's what they are.

No Title Necessary

I do not see the dirty socks.

Dirty socks in pairs draped over leather boot tops
are not a bother.
They are a sign of life.
They are evidence of a man who comes home.
Who understands me:
a mom who needs a break
a wife who needs a cry
a girl who needs a laugh
a friend who needs a hug.
A man who understands kids who need to wrestle with their dad. 
All at the same time.
A man - living and breathing, an every-day hero
who puts chains on tires in the snow
takes on the compost toilet maintenance
carries in the groceries
hauls trash to the dump
keeps the fire lit in winter
and takes us to the lake hot and dusty in the summer.

Socks beside the green recliner mean
there is a man with feet up, eyes shut resting there
confident he can relax in his own home after a day full of
meetings
emails
spreadsheets
phone calls
research
numbers crunching
putting out fires
reinventing the wheel
or
felling trees
stacking logs
bucking up firewood
pounding rebar
pouring cement
building a porch
a closet
a crib
a bunk bed
a shed.
Moving dirt with a shovel
moving it with a tractor
moving mountains.
He needs his rest.  He earns it.

Big smelly socks laying neatly in pairs on the floor
mean something the casual observer wouldn't know;
the pair of feet which those socks protect
and warm
and cushion
hold up a man
who carries the weight of the world
and holds the heart of his beloved.
When I see them there.  Or here.  Or here and there
I know he doesn't wish to add to my dirty laundry
protest when I pick them up
grimaces when I do
smiles when I tell him I don't mind.
I know he intends to wear them another time before sending them to the wash
even if he never does.

Dirty socks on the floor are nothing romantic
unless you can see beyond what the eye presents
to what those large gray woolen things mean.
They are signs of life.
They are evidence of a man who comes home
to me
he comes home.

And has comfortable feet :-)

*Written for my man.  That man who comes home to me,

in honor and celebration of our 14th anniversary this week.

I am so grateful to be picking up YOUR socks!  I love you.

    

1000th post to proclaim to the world...

Bryce Endurance turns 2!

Which is an occasion to celebrate.
With presents of course.

Which meant good stuff.  To be inspected.

And played with.

And we can't forget singing "Happy Birthday"!
It's tradition to sing the Happy Birthday song as many times as we can throughout the day,
and by evening, after the example of his sister Sue, he was adding the finale
"And many mooooorrre"

We were sickies today and daddy wasn't here, but it was a grand birthday anyway!
We read Bryce's new book over and over again.  The Cow Loves Cookies by Karma Wilson.
My new favorite right up there with her book Bear Snores On.

We played Twister. 

My boy can twist, eh?

I don't think he won, but he sure gets points for effort!

Birthday was culminated with a bubble bath - while roaring at the mom behind the camera.

Last week I had a good heart-rending sob about giving up my baby to the ripe age of  2.
I've never done that.  Each age is so full of wonder and delight.  With each child of mine
I love to anticipate all the glory in the year to come, and every year has lived up to its promise.

From the day he was born, I have managed to savor the living being of my son Bryce in a different way.
I couldn't tell you why.  It's not that I love him more, and it could be that my own life circumstances
at that time caused me to focus more on the all-consuming-ness of him.  Whatever the reason, these
last two years have been more colorful, more tasty, more funny, more soft and hard, more loud,
and definitely, most definitely more entertaining.

This man-cub entered the world with an extra dose of the male hormone.  He is full-bore into everything
he does.  He barrels into you for a hug, he growls, he holds a fascination for all things mechanical, he bully's
his big sister and bosses the even-bigger one.  He stands on the arms of his highchair.
He talks.  BOY does he talk!  I should catalogue all the things he says, but it would take forever.
Among the things I often hear are:
"I do-it"
"Pease stop."
"Lookit DAT!"
"BIG'ol truck"
"I'm HUNgry"
"I wan-it"
and as he strokes dear Lori-bugs hair:  "Hi Fweet Honey!"

He can say anything, mimics most of what he hears, and generally keeps us in stitches.
I realize in my loathing to let this stage go, that what makes it so wonderful is the rate at
which he is learning new things.  If he continues at this pace, he can't help but grow up.
The world had better watch out!

Yep.
Watch out world.  Here comes my Bryce!

I'm running low on PATIENCE, but ENDURANCE is on the up-swing.

"Can I get into the bath now?"  she says.

"No. You forgot something."   I say.

"Oh."  she says.

"What did you forget?" say I.

"I don't know"  she says

"Look at yourself."  I say.

(she looks)

"What do you see?"  I ask.

"Nothing" she says.

"What are you wearing?"  I ask.

"Nothing"  she says.
"
You ARE wearing something.  
That's why you can't get into the bath"  Say I.

"Look at your body.  Look at all your parts"  I say again.

(she peers down at herself)

---------silence-----------

"What do you see?" I ask.

"Nothing" she says again.

(exasperated, I sigh. Loudly)

"Caro-LIE-NAH!"  I say.

"Look at your arms.  What do you see?"  I ask.

"Nothing" she replies.

"Look at your tummy.  What do you see?"  I ask

"Nothing"  she says.

"Look at your legs.  What do you see?"  I ask

"Nothing" she says.

"Look at your feet Carolina.  What do you see?" say I.

"Nothing."  She says once more.

"Why?"  I ask "WHY do you see nothing?"

"Because I have my socks on"  she says.

"YES.  
Right. 
You can't see your feet because your socks are on them.  
Do you think that might be a problem for getting into the bath?"

"Oh."  she says.

Sheesh......................... Thinks I.

I love them.

Somebody makes pillow cases for my children every year.
They are flannel.
They are so cozy to lay your head on.
She carefully chooses each fabric to custom tailor cases for each child.
My Bugletts love them so much,
they can't part with the last one she gave.
I was jealous.
I never get new flannel pillowcases.
I said as much.
Today...
I opened a love-gift from that person.
This is what I found.

Two perfectly custom-tailored colorful cozy NEW flannel pillow cases!
I love them.

Thank you Mom.

Olivia... That smile just keeps getting prettier!

* Tooth #1.
* Eagerly anticipated for years probably.
* Loosened on an apple (of course).
* Pulled out by big brother Clayton.
* Exchanged for a dollar (only, she got the money and I got nothing in return).
* Perfect for a picture (and she posed quite willingly)!
* Making me feel a bit older myself.
* Darling.

When you didn't know I was watching....

What works for me... Notebook

 I like lists.

I am not a schedule person.
I am not type A
I am not organized.  At least, I can't seem to keep organized.

I have often watched the clean, thoughtful, meticulous methods of others
thinking things like:

"I should"

"I could"

"I want to"

and

"A guy really oughta"

And maybe as my seasons change, so will the things that work for me.
I might get really bold and set a schedule I stick to, but in this season
- actually for all my married life of 14 years -
there has been one little thing that has served me faithfully.

My notebook.

My notebook is the place I plan for tomorrow.
The evening before, I write a list of things I want to accomplish on the morrow.
I often write specific assignments for the Bugletts, along with what I plan for dinner
(including a reminder to get X out of the freezer to thaw),
and always a running grocery list.
It holds the things I want to check off in the short term,
and how I want to celebrate Christmas.
No list is too trivial, no thought unallowed in my notebook.

My notebook is completely random.
Sometimes I throw down things to order off amazon.
Birthday gift lists.
Appointments.
Phone calls to return.
An address to remember.

When I get ready to go into town, I designate a whole new page to a list of places
I need to go, and what I need to buy at each place, attempting to list my groceries
in the order I shop through the store..
Sometimes there's a reminder to get fuel.  Or a Mocha Coconut Frappucino. 
One mustn't forget!

My notebook has a place on a shelf behind the dinner/school table,
but it usually follows me around the house throughout the day.
I tuck my notebook into my purse/diaper bag when I go out
and in this way it takes some abuse.

But for me?
A few crinkled corners are totally worth it.

At first I used a blank pad of note paper, and in recent years
I've switched to a spiral bound notebook so I can depend on pages being there
when I hunt down phone numbers I copied weeks before. 

It is my brain on paper.

Many of you can relate possibly, to the feeling of relief one feels when one
knows they can retrieve a piece of information even if the little gray cells
are not pulling through!

The only thing that could possibly make this method better
is  the Pilot G-2 ball point pen.  My favorite in the world!  And did you know they
come in a couple girl-ish colors besides the usual black and blue ink?
If you ever meet my notebook, you will know it by the G-2 pen stick in its spiral.

My secret is out, and an explanation for why I still forget certain birthdays.
Perhaps there could be a page marked just for that.  Birthdays Not to Forget.
Or maybe just a reminder I can check off saying: "go look at the calendar Lady!"



I love my notebook.  <3 <3 <3
(and a new one all ready for me to muff up the corners!)