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Texts With a 4-yr. Old

One of my granddaughters is 4, and this is what happens when she gets a hold of her Daddy’s cell phone.

First, she figures out how to get to the text message screen, then she figures out how to find me in the Contact list, and then she starts sending me texts.   This kid is brilliant, I tell you, just brilliant.

But, I may be prejudiced.  Below is a screenshot of the actual conversation.

You be the judge.

texts with avery

I don’t know, I think it’s rather poetic.  Don’t you?  Look at how she cleverly inserted an actual word – derided – into the message, and then left me wondering…am I being derided? Did I do something that deserved such an outburst? Or is she simply pondering the condition of man, and his inhumanity to his fellows?  Or is it just ‘Ed’? And who is this Ed person anyway?

The kid is a genius.


It’s A Sad Day

My kids have suddenly discovered “organic” and “natural” and “raw” diets, and are trying desperately to raise their children like little 19th century ragamuffins.  I expect, along with all processed foods, electricity will soon be banned from their homes.   That is until it’s elebenty-hunnert degrees all up in here.  This is Texas after all.

Hey I’m all for going organic, or orgreenic, or whatever the hell the kids call it these days.  It’s just that when I was a kid we called it “go out to the garden and grab a bowlful of beans”, because that’s what we did.  And then we had to snap the beans, or shell the peas, or whatever it took to rid the vegetables of the things we weren’t going to eat.  Of course, after that the cook (my grandmothers in this case) would make wizardry out of those things and we’d eat till we thought we’d burst.

Anyway, whenever we could we’d run to the nearest store and load up on the foods kids really crave.  Like Laffy Taffy, Slo-Pokes, Jolly Ranchers, Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum, and Coke or Pepsi to wash it all down with.  Except the bubble gum.  It lost its flavor after about four chews, but we hung onto that shit all day; carrying it on the end of our index fingers as we ate or drank, then putting it back in our mouths to chew on getting every last bit of the putty-tasting goodness out of it we could.

Naturally, I figured my grandchildren would run straight to my candy or cookie jar the minute they broke free from the chains of organics their parents shackle them with when they’re not with us.

Boy, was I wrong.

I offered my 6-yr. old granddaughter an Oreo cookie.  Manna from heaven if you ask me, but not in her mind….

“Grammy, what are these?”

“Oreos, punkin.  Haven’t you ever had an Oreo?”

“Not like these. Are these the organic kind?”

“No, they’re the good kind.” I said, chuckling.

“I don’t think I should eat them.  They’re not organic, so they can’t be good for me.”

“So, are you saying that there’s an organic cookie that’s like this but it’s safe to eat because it’s organic, and this one’s not?” I asked, incredulous.

“Let me see the package.”

Mind you, she’s SIX YEARS OLD.

“Okay, “ I said, handing it over to her.

“Hmmm….see?” She said after looking over the ingredients, “It has hydrogen..something. Not good.”

She’s SIX, people.


“You shouldn’t eat them either, Grammy.”

I stared at first her and then the package of cookies.

“You’re probably right.” I said, grabbing a handful and proceeding to dunk.

What the Hell?

Has it really been over three weeks since I posted?

And now I don’t have time.

*draws deep breath*

Between now and February I have

12 holiday gifts to make

11 parties to duck attend

10 bottles of wine to (ahem) sample

9 birthdays

8 anniversaries

7 swansongs

6 geese to stuff

5 golden opportunities to place foot in mouth

4 calls to make

3 french pastries to eat

2 dove bars to inhale when no one’s looking

And a car trip to the country!

I wish I was kidding, but I’m not.

See you sometime in 2015…or sooner if something besides this happens.

I’ll leave you with this from the out-of-context theater of Thanksgiving at my house…

Hubby to 5-yr. old grandson:  Do NOT hit people with the gun.

5-yr. old grandson (after a moment’s contemplation): But, I can shoot them, right?

Hubby: Of course. Just don’t hit them.

……….aaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene…………….

Merry Chrishanukwanzaabox to all and to all a good night!!

Oh My God, MOM!!

“…I just had the most TERRIFYING experience of my ENTIRE LIFE!!”

This is not how you want to start a conversation, any conversation, with one of your grown children.

Unfortunately, you don’t always get to choose how these things go. In fact, let me just say that you never get to choose how these random phone calls go.

And now, the rest of the story…


BABY GIRL: Everything is fine….now

ME: What happened?

BABY GIRL: I locked Cutie-Pie in the car!

(It’s in the 80’s here, and the interior of a car gets really hot..really fecking fast)

ME: What??!!

BABY GIRL: I was leaving Crossfit, and I put her in her car seat and then laid the keys on the driver’s seat, and then put the backpack on the seat, and I don’t know…

(she starts crying)

ME: Is Cutie-Pie okay?

BABY GIRL: Yes, she’s fine.

ME: How long was she in there?

BABY GIRL: Ten minutes! Ten minutes, Mom!

ME: So tell me the rest.

BABY GIRL: Well, after I realized what I’d done, I ran to get “K” (K is her older sister and they Crossfit together), and then when we couldn’t find an open door we ran across the street to the Police station that happens to be there – thank God! – and they called the fire department.

ME: And how did the firemen get inside?

BABY GIRL: They took this thing that looks like a tire pump or something and put it in the door frame and pumped it up, then took a wire thing and popped the lock.  It didn’t damage the mini-van at all.

ME: Luckily…but you can replace a vehicle.

BABY GIRL: I know…

(she starts crying again)

ME: And how was Cutie-Pie?

BABY GIRL: Very hot and sweaty, but she was just grinning at everyone.  Probably wondered what all the fuss was about.

ME: Did the firemen check her over?

BABY GIRL: You know, Mom, I didn’t even let them.  The minute the door was unlocked I slammed it open and grabbed her and hugged her and she kept saying, “You okay, Mommy?”

ME: Awwwwwww…so sweet.  And she’s okay now.

BABY GIRL: Yes, now…but I’m still shaking.

ME: I can imagine, but remember some things.  You didn’t panic.  You acted fast, you knew what to do, you kept your head and Cutie-Pie is fine.

BABY GIRL: You’re’re right.

ME: And what have we learned?

BABY GIRL: NEVER put the keys ANYWHERE, except in my bra.

ME: Ummm…ooohhkay.

And that was my Wednesday.

How was yours?

Perfect Moments

Sometimes a random picture reveals so much….

Two of my precious grandchildren.

An enchanted granddaughter, and her brother the always-in-motion blur just to the left.  In one frame, my daughter captures a moment in time – or so she thinks.

What she really captured is the essence of her children, at this particular moment in time.

It’s a rare, magical, perfect moment.



jb and brookelynn 03-31-14

Rain plus Dirt equals Mud

The weather in Texas this spring has been….well, strange.

For instance, we’ve actually gotten a good bit of rain.  And it’s not nine-hunnert-elebenty degrees outside, yet.  That heat will come, and someone will remember to shut off the Texas rain…but I think all of Heaven is watching “Dancing With the Stars” or something, because no one has done it yet and it’s almost June.

We had most of the kids and grandkids over for a barbecue in the cloudy, gray, mid-80’s weather last Sunday.  This was after two days of showers and wind and clouds and cool (ish) temps.

The backyard is huge and full of trees and all manner of fun hiding places for little kids to play in.

My only stipulation was that shoes must be removed before coming back inside, as I knew if there was one place where it was muddy then every grandchild would be ankle-deep in it.

And I have (the hated) carpet in the living room, where my back door is located.   Not the best set-up, but I have a very small house and it doesn’t come with a mud room.   Usually, we don’t need one.   A dust room, yes.  But a mud room?  Not so much.

Anyway, all was going according to plan until two of my granddaughters – both of them 5-yr. olds – decided that they both had to pee..right NOW.

In they ran, muddy shoes and all, and left a trail from the door to the hall by the bathroom where I happened to be standing.   I looked down at the black tracks on the tan rug and said,  “Girls! You forgot to take off your shoes!”.

Both girls looked down at their feet, undoubtedly surprised to find shoes attached.

Both girls turned, in unison, and began to retrace their steps back to the door where they promptly removed their shoes.

And by “retrace” I mean run full speed and avoid the original tracks, making new ones.

I laughed till I cried after assuring them that carpet could be cleaned and everything was okay.

I didn’t laugh so much when later that night I spent nearly TWO hours cleaning up the mud from the (hated) carpet.  All the while loudly proclaiming how much easier this would have been if we’d had the flooring I wanted to put down in the first place.

The upside is I think I’ve finally convinced hubby that getting hardwood floors is something we should do sooner rather than later.  And, by “convinced” I mean he’s sick of hearing me bitch about how hard it is to keep the (hated) carpet clean with little kids around all the time, so he’s on the verge of cratering.

I think the final push will come when the next time it happens I make him clean up the mess.