Metal Meredith

As usual, I am spending a good several hours of alone on Mother’s Day. Not because I am being punished, but because this is part of my gift. Hooray!

This morning, I was greeted with a gaggle of little gifts and Vivienne requesting to make me a special breakfast. Instead, Vivienne and I both cooked Coconut Encrusted French Toast. We had so much fun cooking together. She was very impressed with what she had made.

A funny thing has been happening lately. For every day that Vivienne is a turd to her little brother, there is a day when she plays with him by chasing him around, helping him slide or push his truck. She has started helping him into her baby stroller and then pushing him around the house. He loves it! Last weekend, she spent a good 20 minutes pulling him in the wagon around the back yard. I am not sure what the change is that has helped this occur, but I am not complaining.

I know better than to wish for siblings that never fight or are ridiculously close. I do hope for siblings that enjoy each other more than not. Her recent actions lead me to think that maybe there is hope that they will spend a brief period playing together before Henry gets too unruly or Vivienne gets too sophisticated. She is almost a Kindergartner, you know.

Although I am so wonderfully happy to have my kids, I am giddy at the prospect of having my computer back by the middle of this week. That is possibly the best gift of all today. Although, sitting her in the quiet would be a very close second.

It surely isn’t me. Soon you will find me sitting very still in a very air conditioned house trying not to exert any energy. I am not a good summer person. In fact, dare I say that I hate heat? My body doesn’t react well to the 72 then 100, then 75 then 90degree temperature changes that occur when one goes from Target to the car to the house in the summertime.

Today is the starting point. Most people are skipping out on school early or coming home from work with a spring in their step. Not me, BAH HUMBUG! Here I sit, waiting for Henry to get up from a nap, looking at the temperature widget at the top of my computer screen slowly rise. 82 degrees. “Brilliant Sunshine”.

Sure.

Yep. It is a whole post about my boobs. I would call them breasts, but that makes me uncomfortable. Not sure why, it just makes them seem so fancy.

Last week I shared these 11 sentences about my boobs to my good friends on the SNDM message board:

1. I love my boobs.

2. Even though they become flat and oblong when I don’t have a bra on.

3. When I do have a bra on, WATCH OUT.

4. They are high and proud, round and luscious.

5. I keep looking down at them.

6. It isn’t hard to figure out why boys like them.

7. Even gay men like them.

8. I used to get hugs from everyone because of them and I was ok with that.

9. Most people that meet me have met them.

10. I am not shy about the low cut shirts.

11. I have now completed 11 sentences about my boobs.

Wasn’t that special? Now, later that night I was in the bathroom with Vivienne while she was brushing her teeth. She was, as is the norm, trying to poke, punch or smack my chest even though I often tell her that they are a ‘private part’ that isn’t for anyone to touch but me. So she grabbed her own chest and said “Fine, I will grab my own boobies.” Then, after laying a flat hand on her tiny 4 year old chest, she proclaimed “But Mom, my boobies aren’t long like yours.”

Long. Yep, long is the word she used to describe them. Not big or huge or squishy, but long. Luckily, I am a realist and know that to be true. Thanks genetics!

Hi Me,

Please don’t be mad. I know you had big plans, didn’t you? Well, I tried, I really did. There are a few things I need to explain and I thought it best to write it all out. The 35 year old me thinks it is all cool, but I know you have got to be pissed so I want you to hear it from me.

On Friday night, I went to play Bunco with 11 other women from Vivienne’s preschool. I am sure you have no idea what I am talking about so here it goes. Remember when Mom would play Bridge with her friends? And they would all come over and sit with glasses of wine around those wood and beige vinyl folding tables with little wooden bowls of snacks on each one? Remember that it was mostly gossip and laughing and you never understood why it was fun? Well, it was so like that that I was a little nervous myself.

As I looked around I noticed that the women did have glasses of wine or a beer. There were bowls of snacks at each table. We all had green plastic beads on and a score card with own name and a little leprechaun sticker. As you could tell, I was a little scared. And don’t tell me you don’t know all of this because I could hear you giggling and guffawing at intervals throughout the night. The very scary part was that I did have a good time and I might even go back the next time I am invited. So there. Neener neener.

Let me tell you the best part before you keep judging. Even if I gave you the choice, you wouldn’t change a thing. Trust me. It is all good. Plus, look how long it takes us to figure out that playing games with church women isn’t all that bad! Now, it’s 12:15pm on a Sunday, please get out of bed. Are you going to sleep this whole day away??

Love,
Me

Me with some band:

Me with my first boyfriend and Mark Slaughter: