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Here are a couple of pics of my Little Man/Firefighter tonight. He loved trick or treating and busting into the neighbors houses looking for "gai-ee" (kitty).
The amount of candy a kid gets while trick or treating is directly proportional to the size of the kid and how fast they can walk. Smaller kid = smaller steps = less candy.
Before a 2 and a half hour meeting don't do the following (especially when you're presenting):
eeech.
I'm converting to a new religion (I'm sure to the dismay of my Home Teeeachers who have been trying to suck me back into a religion I really have no desire to be a part of).
This new religion involves Sweden, furniture, tasty meatballs and truly affordable prices.
Yep, I'm converting to the religion of Ikea.
I have it on very good authority that Salt Lake will be getting our very own Ikea in the next couple of years. There is a monetary transaction involved, that's as good as done in my book.
Meanwhile, I can't wait for the monstrosity of yellow and blue to be created. It's time to rent a U-haul and make a pilgrimage.
Yeah, I'm starting to think about Christmas. Creative budgeting, don cha know?
Here's what Sebastian is getting for Christmas. You ready? It's about the most entertaining thing that a 2-year old could ever dream of...
A big ass cardboard box.
(and another Elmo beanie baby - the one we have isn't going to last through too many more baths)
As most parents will tell you there's nothing more entertaining for a kid than a big cardboard box. Forget the presents, the stick 'em bows fall off heads in 2 minutes and the candy canes are only good for one thing: hopping the kid up on enough sugar to ensure that they destroy their lovely box.
When I was about 10 or 12 my Grandmother received a very special gift...wrapped in a huge ass cardboard box (water heater or washing machine box). Inside was my cousin Jenny, shipped special all the way from Fairbanks. My Grandmother was so excited to see her, as were we all, but more importantly she came wrapped in the biggest box known to pre-teendom. The heavens opened up, the paper pulp angels began to sing and about 5 of us cousins began drooling excessively and our genetically-inherited OCD kicked in as we stood staring at the flaps of the box.
The greeting for Jenny lasted about 20 minutes and then the kids were off! We stripped that sucka down (who needs tacky wrapping paper anyway?) and hauled that mothauh of a box out into the front yard.
Fort, medevial torture device, holding chamber for the unlucky/slow/younger cousin, tickle booth, you name it, the box did it. It was the best hour of our young lives. That box died a very slow death. After the seams came undone it was still a great item with which to create a human burrito and have your cousin roll you down the grass (of course, only to rip you from the inside, replace your spot with their body and issue a command worthy of only the Hunts to move you "back up the grass, fast!").
Hold on to your diaper, Little Man, we're going Whirlpool for Christmas!
My neighbors almost lost their little boy this weekend.
They were at a hotel swimming pool with a TON of other little kids. Dave and his little girl and Sam (the little boy) were playing in the pool. Dave took his little girl into the shallow end of the pool and Sam wandered off. There were lots of kids in the pool and Dave began looking for Sam. A 12 year old girl came up to Dave holding a boy in her arms. It was Sam. He was so blue that Dave didn't even recognize him. He grabbed Sam in one arm and his little girl in the other, hands reached out and took his little girl from his arms and Dave raced for the front desk.
While waiting for the paramedics he laid Sam on the floor and began CPR. He breathed 6 or 7 times until he got any kind of reaction from Sam. Another 6 or 7 breaths and Sam threw up and started to breathe small, shallow breaths.
The paramedics came and Sam and Dave were loaded into the ambulance. Sam's mom, Jen had just been retrieved from their hotel room by their oldest son and she grabbed their little girl. In the ambulance Dave was sitting right next to Sam who was clearly dazed, not coherent and barely breathing even with an oxygen mask on his face. Dave looked at Sam and told him very sternly, "Sam, I need you to breathe. Breathe for me." The paramedic told Dave not to yell at Sam and further traumatize him. If you know Sam, he is a ball of fire. Dave continued to tell Sam to breathe and Sam closed his eyes and turned his head. At that point Dave snapped his fingers next to Sam's ears and told him to look at him. He did.
At the hospital Dave asked Sam questions to keep him alert and to make sure that he was coherent. What's your sister's name? What's your brother's name? What are your dogs' names? Sam answered all the questions correctly. Dave decided to ask tougher questions. "Sam, what do intestines do?" Sam looked at Dave and said, "They make poo." An answer only Sam could give.
I never think of Sam as "little". He has a personality that fills a large room. He's spunky and smart and full of energy and literally has no fear. Little is not a word to describe Sam. Sometimes it's hard to realize that he's only 4 years old.
As Dave recounted the story for me tonight big tears started rolling down my cheeks. Even the mere idea of losing someone like Sam is enough to make your heart just ache inside your chest. Jen said it best, "If we lost him, I don't think that I could go on."
Incidents like this make you realize just how fragile life is and how your life can change in a split second. I know my Little Man makes my life worth living. He brings me happiness and joy every day (even when he is in "tornado" mode).
Sam and his little sister are going to be taking extensive swimming lessons and the whole neighborhood is going to take a CPR class. A close call and lessons learned for everyone.
Kiss and hug your little ones and love the little (and big) ones who come into your life.
have the wish I wish tonght...
On clear nights I look out off the deck, watch the planes circle for take offs and landings and I see the big dipper.
On more than one occasion I wonder to myself, "What does the big dipper hold? Is it filled with dreams, with hope, with wishes or nothing at all but the blackness of space?". I guess one could ponder this question forever.
Yes, I do wish on stars but I won't tell you what I wish for. If I did, my wishes wouldn't come true.
Imelda Marcos was known for her rather large shoe collection. Carrie Bradshaw (of Sex and the City fame) also had a penchant for expensive footwear.
If I didn't know better, I'd say that Sebastian has something of a fetish for shoes just as Imelda and Carrie did. Every night when we get in the tub he asks for "shoooose". They're Elmo shoes with red lights in the heels that flash brightly with every step he takes.
No, he doesn't take them in the tub with him - no matter how much he protests (they're dirty enough that I would have to wash Sebastian off again, they'd be wet the next day and he just grew out of his little brown topsiders - and hasn't quite grown into his large size 7 sneakers).
Okay, maybe it's not a shoe fetish per se, maybe it's just his obsession with Elmo transferred to a pair of leather shoes that sport velcro straps. (thank God they're not Manolo Blahniks, although I would like to think that the man is a little above slapping a puppet Muppet on his creations).
Last night at bedtime Sebastian wasn't quite in the mood to roll over and go to sleep. He and I had a little conversation.
So sweet. (sniff)
