Puppy Love

We gave in! Can you blame us? Look how sweet . . .

Twilight and Twitter are their names -- little lab mixes; both girls.

Rescue Me

I had to go to Chick-Fil-A today. Nope. Not to eat ... although I was tempted ... but to return a cooler that belongs to this particular store. They did some catering for us at work last week, and I needed to get this item back to them. This Chick-Fil-A will live forever in my brain, and, today, that pondered memory came to the surface.

Olivia and I used to go to that Chick-Fil-A a lot. Sometimes we'd picnic on a blanket in the grassy areas of their parking lot (I keep a tablecloth in my van for such times); sometimes we'd sit inside if the harpist was playing (crazy, but true); most of the time, we ate by the windows where we could see the ultimate reward for eating a good lunch ... the outdoor Climbing Tower of Glee. She learned to scale the ropes and levels with precision and grace; it took a while, though, as she was rather rotund in those early years. She'd actually roll up onto the platforms - so cute!

I think she was not quite three when this episode occured. She ate her lunch; we went outside; she met a new friend (always); and proceeded to climb to the top. Where she stayed. For a long time. I'm enjoying the sunshine; eaves-dropping on all the other conversations; admiring the babies around me; not realizing she hadn't come down in a while. After about 30 minutes of play time, it was time for us to go.

I go to the side of the tower and in my best sing-songy mommy voice say, "Oliviaaaaaa. Time to say good-bye to Chick-Fil-A. Come down please."

She almost always came down on first request. Not this time. I wait about 15 seconds or so, and I do it again to make sure she heard me.

"Oooolliiivvviiiiaaaaaa. Come to mommy"

From the depths of the tower, I hear, "I can't."

Now, this is a control issue. She COULD come down. She'd done it plenty of times before. She just didn't WANT to come down. Her new friend of the moment sends a report, "She's stuck."

"Olivia are you stuck?" I ask.

"Uh huh. Come get me." I was NOT going to climb up there this day. I was wearing a skirt, and she knew that if I had to climb up there that I wasn't going to be happy. I'm not petite, and I'm more likely to get stuck than she was.

"Olivia, you are not stuck; I can see you. Come down, please."

"No. I don't want to come down. I'm stuck, so I have to stay."

"Olivia Grace, this is not an option. Come down now, please. Mommy does not want to climb up there."

Here come the tears. Big ones. Loud ones. The eaves-dropping tables have turned.

I let her cry for probably half a minute. Seemed like 10. I could feel the redness climbing up my neck with much more agility than I was about to display. Sweat slid down my back faster than a three-year-old on the curly-q slide.

"Olivia, mommy is not coming up there. You have got to come down to me, and come down now. Please." I was trying to use my manners in front of the mommies.

More tears. Big ones. Loud ones. At this point, the ordeal had been going on about 5 minutes. Seemed like 30.

Realizing that I needed to end this battle. I hiked up my skirt, kicked off my shoes, and proceeded to bump and grind my way to my little perched preschooler. I had done this before, and I vowed this was the ABSOLUTE LAST time.

And it was.

So today, as I pulled into that Chick-Fil-A ... where me and my Little O used to go ... I looked at the Climbing Tower of Glee, and I wanted to rescue her. I wanted her to have a full tummy of nuggets, lemonade in the corners of her lips, and little sparkly shoes stowed in the cubby of the play area.

But, I can't go backwards. And she's moving foward at warp speed. But when she needs rescuing, I'm gonna be there. Skirt and all.

Not a Sub

Hudson's teacher was out sick last week for three days. This little conversation happened yesterday:

Me: Hudson, was Mrs. Prine back in class today?
H: Yes, and boy were we glad to see her.
Me: But you had nice substitute teachers while she was out.
H: No, we had SIDE-KICK teachers, not whatever that word was you said.

Match Maker

This story just cracked me up. I hope I do it justice as I try to retell the tale ...

Tonight was the first home football game of the season at CAK ... vs. SEYMOUR (our alma mater) of all teams! There was a "new family welcome dinner" prior to kick-off, and I met Randy and the kids there so we could have dinner together. After dinner, we all went to the stands, and they sat near me (I was in the pressbox); them sitting still in one spot lasted the first half of the first quarter.

Our playgrounds are adjacent to our football stadium and are staffed so the children can play with some supervision while the adults visit & watch the game. Funny how a trip to the bathroom turned into me not seeing Randy and the kids until well after half-time! Yep, Hudson figured out the playground option. So, Randy checked the kids in at the gate and he found several of our Seymour friends to visit with along the fence line at the field.

Apparently, once in the playground area, Hudson found a friend from his class (Whitt, whom Hudson actually calls Went), and they were off and running. Olivia perched herself atop of some play equipment to scope out someone her age to play with. Most everyone, she noticed, already had a buddy. She was okay with that, but really wanted to connect with someone. She scaled down to the ground and found Hudson; she shared her dilemma with him. He said, "Don't worry, Sissy. I'll find someone just your size for you." Rememer, this is Mister Bashful we're talking about here.

Hudson has always tried to guess the age of other kids by "mentally measuring" them. If he can count to 10 as he scans them with his eyes from head to toe, then they must be 10 years old. If the scanning process ends in a count to 7, then the child must be 7 years old. Such logic! So, he scans Olivia to confirm her age (I'm serious), and he starts his search. After a few minutes, he comes back to her with this announcement: "Okay, I've found a girl who I think is your age and your grade and she looks like she'd like to play with you." He points out the girl to Olivia, and Olivia makes her move. She says: "This might sound crazy, but my brother thinks you and I might have fun playing together. My name is Olivia; I'm 10 and in the 5th grade." The girl replies, "Sure, let's play! My name is Rebecca; I'm 9 and in the 4th grade."

The little fella was just about right! Isn't that crazy? Well, it gets better. After a bit, Rebecca tells Olivia that two very nice 5th grade girls are in the playground area, and she thinks they'd like to meet her. Introductions are made, and a little 10-year-old-trio is born. The evening ends in hugs, the two CAK girls giving Olivia a balloon as a little gift, and all saying "see you at the next game" ... so sweet ... thanks to our miniature match-maker!

Kindergarten Kapers

Well, Hudson started school on Wednesday. He'll go half days through the end of this week before going all day starting next week. Here are a few tales from the back seat as we drive either to or from school:

1st Day
Me: So, what did you think of Kindergarten?
H: I can handle this, mom. All we did was color, have snack, go on the playground ... AND ... there's NO HOMEWORK!

2nd Day
H: This tucking in the shirt thing is killin' me!

3rd Day
H: Mom, there's this blue thing at the water fountain that "scans" people when they take a drink.
Me: Really? Are you sure? I can't think of what that would be for.
H: I think it's to check for villans.

4th Day
H: I had a good day, but I'm pretty sure I haven't learned to read yet.

5th Day
H: We're going to dress up as presidents one day.
Me: For President's Day?
H: Nope. Just for a regular day. My president costume will be green.
Me: Green? Why green?
H: That's the color of all the statues of the dead ones.

More to come. Stay tuned!