Guess what?

…..Turns out, when the test is instrumental in Cam’s procuring his driver’s permit*, he turns into a studying machine.

Huh.

*Also a side note that Dave always, always says “driver’s per-MIT” instead of “driver’s PER-mit.”And then I tease him about it, and then he rolls his eyes but he can’t fix it: he will still say per-MIT the next time. Long live Davey and his quirky regional pronunciations.


    Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

    Right? All of my extensive training in watching CSI and reading the Scarpetta books led me to this shining success moment.

    It’s gonna be a long and fun day today, my friends. I’m typing this while sitting at a kitchen table which has leprechaun footprints all over and around a sprung leprechaun trap. The leprechaun left a note, plus Dave went out and bought candy to leave in place of the doubloons the girls had in the trap. This will thrill the J to no end and I can’t wait to wake her up.

    I am giving a midterm today, so I’ll be missing Gabby’s St. Paddy’s Day Irish dancing- Dance Mom Dave has that covered as long as I braid her hair before school. (Side note: I wonder if Dave can French braid? It’s possible. He can do pretty much anything.) But in better news: I do get to see Cammy’s first game, in which he is playing JV. I’m so happy and excited for him that I don’t even mind losing my chance to go out and celebrate the day myself.

    However: the main reason for this post– as I also explained on my Facebook page– is to brag about those teeny tiny footprints all over and around the leprechaun trap. I used a grape as a stamp and I’m really proud of myself. I’d Pinterest my craft skillz, but they’re trade secrets (also I have no craft skillz. This is just me, at 10:30 last night, wandering around the house in my bathrobe and trying to half-ass a couple of footprints before I went to bed. The odds this time were in my favor, apparently).

     


      Just a thought…

      I think the same people who thought Sarah Palin was a refreshing and intelligent person, are the ones voting for Tump now.

       


        Love wins. Twice.

        I was having a cranky day recently. Nothing major- just, nothing was going my way. And then I got an email from my friend Nancy: just catching up, this is happening, that is happening- oh and I’m getting married this summer. Boom. Better day, just like that. Nancy is awesome, and her child is funny and sweet and has a great dad too– so to add another positive to this situation just fills me with happiness.

        Then, yesterday, on Pi Day: my friend Maia– you’ll remember her from Dad’s super-fabulous knitted hat– Maia, who is a math professor— announced her surprise Pi Day marriage. I had been having another cranky day, filled with stupid logistics and dumb obligations, and I had typed so many detailed comments on a series of assignments that my pinky fingers were sore. And then I discovered that love had won a second time in as many weeks.

        Today is a fantastic day, actually. Much love to Nancy and Rob, and Maia and Jennifer. Long years of happiness to you all.


          Cameron Trivia

          Super rough-looking shot from last New Year's Eve. I think we had just been outside, shooting off misleadingly huge fireworks.

          Super rough-looking shot from last New Year’s Eve. I think we had just been outside, shooting off unexpectedly huge fireworks; we both look a little shell-shocked.

          Cam had terrible, terrible allergies as a young kid. Like, the maximum sensitivity to the allergy tests is a 6. When he was first tested, the nurse brought me his results and all I saw was, “Dogwood: 6. Cat dander: 6. Bluegrass: 6. Dust mites: 6,” and on and on. It’s been a long haul, one surgery, and years of allergy shots, to get him to the much-healthier kid he is now. And when I say “years of allergy shots,” I mean that he and I traveled weekly to the doctor to sign in for shots; wait to be called; receive the shots; wait the mandated time to make sure there is no serious reaction; and travel back home. We’ve had a lot of wait time together, Cammy and me.

          For awhile we played video games together. There were a few months when we would make miniature paper footballs and take turns trying to score goals (this could only be done out in the hallway when no one was walking by. Logistics eventually made this activity impossible). Occasionally, Cam would bring his homework and finish it up while he waited. But about a year or so ago, I dropped him at the door to sign in while I parked. When I got to the waiting room, Cam was all set up with his homework and his earbuds– with only one in his ear. “Here, Mom,” he said, offering me the other one. “Listen to this.”

          And that’s how we started listening to stand-up during allergy shots. We like Jim Gaffigan, Fluffy Iglesias, John Pinette. A couple of weeks ago we started listening to Craig Ferguson. We each use one earbud, our heads together, and sometimes we have to stifle ourselves because we’re cracking up too loudly in the waiting room. And here’s the truth: I’m not really into stand-up. But I am, most definitely, into sharing any interest my kid wants to share with me.

          Cam was recently “promoted” so that we only have to go to shots every 3 weeks. I’m almost disappointed…. and tomorrow, he’s 15.


            We interrupt your Cameron stories to bring you this text exchange….

            ….Between Gabby and my brother, Mike. Mikey, as you know, did not live nearby until not too long ago- so while he heard a lot about Gabby and her Gabbiliciousness, it’s only recently that he has been deluged with it on the regular. Likewise, I don’t think Gabby was cognizant that she had a kindred smartass in her uncle– so it’s been funny to watch her discover their similar personalities. Gabby is always in charge of my phone while I’m driving- she reads my texts out loud (or scans them and says, “…Well, can I swear? -Because if not, then you’ll have to wait to read it yourself”), then transcribes my responses. She’s like my car secretary [note to self: can “car secretary” be an actual thing? Because I feel like I need one]. So, last night, I was in the car, texting with Mike via Gabby. As far as I knew, I texted Mikey a single, joking statement about who was in charge of our respective households. This morning, though, I looked at the texts and discovered an entire second conversation had gone on:

            JULIE: Tell Mike there’s no way he’s the alpha in his house. That’s Violet.

            GABBY [texts]: My mother just said that you are the Beta of your pack. Are you gonna take that?

            MIKE [texts]: That’s erroneous. 

            GABBY [texts]: My mother also said that Violet is your Alpha, FYI

            MIKE [texts]: She knows it. Alpha as entrenched as myself does not concern himself with that stuff.

            GABBY [texts]: I see, I see.

            GABBY: Mom, if I type “whose” as a possessive, do I use an apostrophe?

            JULIE: No, but you add an ‘e’.

            GABBY [texts]: My mother said, who wipes whose butt?

            JULIE: ….Why are you asking?

            GABBY: Just curious.

            MIKE [texts]: Touche.

            JULIE: Did Mike reply to my saying Violet was the alpha?

            GABBY: He said, ‘touche.’

             

            1. I like how she cut to the chase and just told me that Mike capitulated.
            2. It kills me that she refers to me three times in this text exchange as “my mother.” I don’t think I have ever heard her actually say the word “Mother,” in reference to me, in her life.

             

             

             

             


              Cammy and the house

              My boys.

              My boys, on our trip to the East coast this Christmas break.

              One time, when Cam was four years old, we spent the afternoon at the beautiful, recently remodeled home of a friend who (unbeknownst to Cammy, of course) was in the midst of a great deal of marital trouble. Everyone was outside, all the kids were playing in the pool, it was a lovely day. Cam told me he had to go to the bathroom; I said, “Go in the kitchen door and the bathroom is right there,” but he asked me to come into the house with him. Unusual, but whatever. About an hour later, same thing. A few minutes after we came out again, Cam returned to my side. “I left one of my Ninja Turtles in the kitchen,” he said. “Okay, honey, go in and get it,” I said- and Cam asked yet again, “Will you come into the house with me?”

              I looked at him. “What’s wrong, buddy?” And Cam– who to this day has this same, otherworldly sensitivity to the feelings of others– said, “I don’t want to be in that house by myself. That’s a sad house.”

               

               


                Fifteen years ago today….

                He had already had several haircuts. SEVERAL.

                He had already had several haircuts. SEVERAL.

                …was my due date with my first child, whose gender we did not know. I grew up with an adorable little brother (he’s still cute, fyi- and now he comes with a wife and daughter, which is a bonus), so I hoped for an adorable little boy to call my own. I would wait five more days before finding out that my wish had come true, in a beautiful boy who weighed a touch more than 7 lbs and had ridiculous, amazing amounts of dark hair; who screamed continuously for four months and looked just like his beloved papa Ronnie. He brings so much light and happiness to our house, and he has since the day he was born. This week, I’ll give you some Cameron stories, as he counts down the days to when he can get a learner’s permit.

                Today, I’ll tell you the story of Cammy and the forklift. He loved construction equipment as a toddler- but he didn’t pronounce the word “forklift” quite properly– to great amusement of all. In perhaps his most famous example, he once announced excitedly to a roomful of adults, “There’s a fucklift by my house!! It likes to fuck things up! It’ll fuck you up, fuck me up, fuck up the house– it fucks everything up!!!”

                 

                 


                  The Things I Learn by Doing Laundry

                  About a month ago, Cam was struggling with something. It was nothing major, but it was a new situation, so he was new at how to deal with it. One afternoon I mentioned an idea I had, and Cam did a very teenager-y thing: he said, with great weariness in his voice, “Mom. I’ve got it. It’s fine. Okay?” I could see that he wanted to handle it himself. I could see that he wasn’t interested in having conversations about it. So, later on, I just wrote him a little note and left it on his backpack (he never mentioned the note. I didn’t expect him to mention it). He went on to handle the situation himself and do just fine.

                  Yesterday, weeks after the incident was handled, I brought Cam’s laundry into his room. His laptop was closed on his desk (normally it’s open, so I don’t see the top of it very often), and I realized: he kept my note.

                  12814661_1276541632362145_5163012790841574304_n


                    Guess What’s Coming??

                    Dave’s newest work car arrives today!!!! For those who recall Blue Steel #neverforget, I have, ever since that debacle, successfully lobbied for a car that doesn’t look like I’m driving Superman’s tights down the street. Bad news: I actually don’t know what color he chose. Good news: I’m 90% sure he went with charcoal grey. If this is the case, then the car will most likely inherit the name of its predecessor, the Grey Goose.

                    I’ll keep you posted.


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