The Lucy Files

While cleaning up Lucy’s bag of papers from her desk at school, I came across her poetry notebook and must share. (Full disclosure: spelling has been corrected):

MY FAMILY

I have a mom. I have a dad.
A little brother, too. My mom is
nice. My dad is nice, too. My little
brother is annoying. He’s lovable, too.
He’s cute. He has a thousand cars.
Maybe a thousand and two. My mom
and dad are very good cooks. I
am good, too.

And from her writing notebook:

11/29/07

Dear Grandma,

Thank you for comforting me when my brother
got to watch two TV shows in a row. You gave
me a hug and comfort me. You made my
expression change from mad and sad to happy.

Love, Lucy

 

The Deal

Today it was hard to get energized. Being in NJ over the weekend definitely put me in summer vacation mode. Not good when I’m not actually on vacation.

Anyway, I thought you guys might like to read about the conversation on the way to dinner. I was in the mood for Bertucci’s (when am I ever not?). Kelley, being exhausted after spending six hours driving home last night (oh, after getting up early with Will — I’m sorry, Chick; not the best way to celebrate Father’s Day?), put me on notice that he would be very cranky if they did their misbehaving schtick.

When he ran inside the house to change, I said to them, “Here’s the deal — Daddy’s really tired and might not be in a good mood tonight. I would be really happy if you two behaved the way you did on Friday night when we went to Friendly’s.”

Here’s the conversation that followed:

Lucy (after a few seconds’ pause): If it’s a deal, what do we get?
Me: Um, it’s not really a deal, I was saying ‘Here’s the deal.’
Lucy: Right, so it’s a deal. So what do we get?
Me: You get my everlasting love?
Lucy (looking suspicious): What else would we get?
Me (incredulous): You mean you don’t want my everlasting love?
Lucy: Well, how much is that?
Me: It’s everlasting.
Will: Can we have dessert instead?
Me: You’d rather have dessert than my everlasting love?
Lucy: You love us everlasting no matter what.
Me (busted!): Well, yes, but that’s a pretty good deal.
Lucy (not buying it one bit): Can we make brownies tonight?
Me: Not tonight. But maybe tomorrow.
Lucy: Do you promise tomorrow?
Me (fine!): I promise.
Lucy (looking at Will and indicating that the negotiating is done): O.k. then. It’s a deal.

Sigh. I thought having smart kids was supposed to be a good thing.

 

Quick hits

I’m tired, and I’m trying to get through the email that came in today on my vacation day with Will. (Trying really hard not to devote to much time as, well, note that it was a vacation day, but instead to just get the quick stuff taken care of and the rest into a folder to deal with on Monday.)

Anyway, some things that are just in my head and I need to get them out…

* My TV habit has been to switch to Top Chef (as opposed to yet another CSI or Dexter or even Bones) once I hit 10:30 or 11 so as not to freak myself out. I’m noticing, however, that it is not helpful for the diet. My mouth is literally watering as I watch them cook the steaks. Oh, goodness.

* The “Best of Craigslist” is freakin’ hilarious.

* The Will story of the day:

This morning, we hung out at Dunkin Donuts for awhile, me drinking my coffee while he drank his strawberry milk (he refused both a donut and munchkins — I once again ask where he actually came from) and played with his cars. An acquaintance walked in just as he announced he had to go to the bathroom. (Yes, this is a bathroom related post. You know it’s gonna be good or else I would so not be posting it.) With all our stuff on the table and him saying “Now!” it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t sure what to do. Olive said she would watch our things while I took him.

Thanking her, I said, “It will be quick.”

Will, donut-resisting-abilities-notwithstanding, does tend to take after me in the sense that talking about bathroom activities is done in private. He waited until we were safely locked away in the bathroom to say, “I have to poop, Mommy.”

“O.k.,” I said, not thinking much of it.

He looked at me with what can only be described as an expression of ‘You idiot.’ What he actually said, though, was, “It won’t be quick.”

Oh. Well, right. Luckily, Olive is a daycare provider and not unaware of the intricacies of taking kids to the bathroom. I am not worried. I am, however, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Will. I think it will be o.k.”

He gave me the Ammirati look. (Yay, he really is related to me.)

“Are you mad?” I asked, wondering if more apologies were necessary.

“No,” he said, finally releasing me from his piercing gaze. He looked at the toilet paper roll. “I’m disappointed.”

Did I just hear that right? “Disappointed?”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his yes.

Oh, my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness… I literally had to turn to the wall, shaking with laughter. What kind of five-year-old says that?

My five-year-old. Hell, yeah.

 

The Sunday Feeling

I hate that Sunday feeling. I especially hate it when it is not a Sunday night. I’ve been sitting here for several hours, kind of checking email, kind of thinking about all the things I need to do, and kind of thinking I should just power down and relax in order to get rejuvenated. If only I didn’t have yet another day packed full of meetings…

At dinner, Will told me how Libby told him that a cow lives next door to her house. (A black baby cow, no less.) At first, he said, he didn’t believe her. He didn’t believe that there was a cow next to her house. But then, he said, “I asked my brain and my brain said that it was true. So now I believe her.”

Yes, well…

So maybe I should take a page out of Will’s book and tell my brain not to worry about all the things and instead just get them done. Hear that, brain? What are you waiting for?

 

Beware the ‘Stunk’

Will’s friend Owen was visiting today. They, along with Lucy, played outside for awhile together; then Lucy came in to ice the cupcakes she’d made. (Mini cream cheese filled cupcakes — they were quite good!) I kept my eye on them out the window, surprised at how long the two of them stood there on the platform of the swingset, nearly stockstill, but seeming as though they were having a conversation so I wasn’t too worried about it. The next time I went by, though, Will waved his hands vigorously and called out for help. “We’re trapped!”

“Trapped?” I of course ask, not seeing anything or anyone who’d be trapping them. “By what?”

“The skunk.” 

The skunk (or, ’stunk’, as Owen calls it) that seems to be living under our deck? “Why would you think the skunk is trapping you?” 

“Because,” Lucy innocently said from behind me, “I told them that if they came down the skunk would get them. I didn’t want them to take my swing.”

Oh, goodness. Ingenious, yes, but, well — we’re only eight days into official tween-ship. At the same time, when Will and Owen almost came to blow over a bad Hungry Hippos moment, she completely stepped in and distracted them like a really big big kid. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, either.

Fine Dining

Last night was a Fine Dining night. My choice — Clio’s. I’ve been wanting to go there for awhile, but had held back because every time I looked at the menu, I couldn’t find that many things that I would want to eat. I had to choose on the fly, though (these last few months feel like they’ve been tougher than usual; it was hard to think beyond the moment I was actually in), so I went with it. I did the Open Tables reservation thing — tres easy! Unlike our last place, however, they didn’t seem to register that I had pre-notified about Jeff’s allergies. And, unfortunately, when we got there, it was clear that just about everything had either seafood or poultry in it (literally — there was only a salad and the vegetarian entree for Jeff to choose from). Luckily, he seemed ok with both dishes. But, I admit, I was surprised that a restaurant as prestigious as that would be so limited in terms of options. Maybe I’ve just become a lot more sensitive to what’s available to people with allergies.

On my own part, I wasn’t overly thrilled with the salad. Sesame oil, one of my least favorite tastes, was an unadvertised major component of the dressing. The lobster entree (with fava beans and mushrooms) was quite yummy. I love it when I actually end up ordering the right thing! It doesn’t always happen, unfortunately; happily, though, I also ordered exactly the right dessert for me. Good food, plus good friends equals another excellent Fine Dining experience.

Kelley and I actually thought about going out to the movies afterwards, but the timing didn’t end up working. Sure I am still up and typing at 12:36 am, but I’ve become way too old fogey and need my downtime before bed. A 10 pm movie just doesn’t work for me. Baby Mama and Forgetting Sarah Marshall will have to come some other time. I’ll hopefully manage to catch them in the theater — next week Iron Man and Made of Honor come out, too; two more flicks I’d like to catch. Four whole movies I want to see! Yay!

 

 

 

 

 

“Listen”

We went to Target yesterday. Right into the breach, as Kelley says, late morning on a Saturday — not exactly a down time. Will, being at the age where he is by all means “not little,” is determined not to hold my hand in the parking lot. (Mommy, close your ears.) Feeling as though he is, in fact, old enough to be counted on to walk next to me without holding my hand, I let him do it. Of course, the second I let go of him, he skipped ahead, deciding that this is the point at which to race Lucy in.

Since I am no longer new at this, I had done the scan of where drivers were, etc., so he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Also, he has so far been aware that the sharp “Stop!” actually means something. So, when I yelled it with, o.k., a little bit of panic in my voice, he did manage to come to a sudden halt.

I took his hand, explaining that this is a parking lot, and, therefore, it is not safe to run ahead. Even if it looks like a car might be stopped, there might be a driver in it waiting to pull out and not be able to see a (not) little five-year-old directly behind the bumper.

“Listen,” Will said to me in an overly patient, authoritative voice. “Don’t you think I would hear the engine if the car was about to go?”

Now I know that he is smart, and I also know that he has no qualms telling me whatever is on his mind. Still, dear reader, I was nearly speechless. I tried not to laugh as I weakly responded that yes, that was true, but that he needed to be careful nevertheless because cars could come from anywhere.

Even to my ears it was lame, and Lucy immediately stepped in to say something about cars driving too fast. Before she could finish, Will gave a sharp, “Lucy! You are not part of this conversation.”

Five, I tell you.

Sigh.