State of Mind

I've been a bit distracted and out of it lately.

I'm not sure what is going on, but it's seeping through my life.

Yesterday I went to Target with a list I made throughout the week prior.

I hustled, sped , slowly weaved my way through the store with Peanut Two in tow, glancing every few minutes at the next item on my list.

About half-way down, between toothpaste and diapers, I got to 'eggplant'.

I don't know what cryptic message I was trying to send myself.

Hopefully not, "yo, mama, you're losing your mind".

Marketing Genius

Peanut One struggled to understand the concept of Daylight Savings Time.

He pondered the oddness of this special day that made no sense at all to him )except that he got tons of praise from his weary parents for not waking up an hour early).

Finally, last night he asked me why we didn't have Daylight Savings Time decorations.

He decided we should make them: suns, clocks, moons and stars.

I think I need to give Hallmark a call . . .

Candy Goblin

Tonight Peanut One and I went outside to throw some stuff in the compost bin (perhaps a failed experiment, but we keep trying!).

I asked Peanut Two if she wanted to join us, as the trip to the bin is undoubtedly a favorite adventure.

She coyly snuggled under the blanket on the couch and said "no".

Peanut One and I did our duty and came back, no less than four minutes later, to find Peanut Two on the couch, under the blanket, with a handful of chocolate candies in her lap.

The little urchin must have sprinted to the kitchen, climbed the stool, grabbed the candy and sprinted back to the couch in record time.

A girl after my own heart!

A Rose By Any Other Name

When we chose Peanut One's name (while not being super creative) we thought it was a bit different and surely wouldn't be the next Owen or Olivia or Madison.

He started at a new school this year. Whose cubby is next to his? A girl with the same name! As she was named after her grandfather, we had a little laugh with her parents and shrugged it off.

Today though, I opened the Pottery Barn catalogue. There, on the heavily monogrammed products, was Peanut One's name emblazoned for all to see.

Just as Owen was splattered all over the pages last year.

I must admit defeat.

We should have named him Bob.

So That's How It Works

Peanut One has been increasingly interested in how babies are made. A year or so ago he questioned me and I said that Daddies and Mommies make babies.

He asked if we made them on the grill or in the oven.

About six months ago he asked how babies got out of their Mommy's bellies. I told him the Mom went to the hospital and the Doctor helped get the baby out.

That sufficed for a few months.

Now he is persistently asking how babies get into their Mommy's bellies. I try to tell him:

That is hard to explain to a 4 year old.

You just learn how to do it when you are old enough.

I can't really tell you.

Nothing works. . .

Finally tonight I whispered in his ear, because whispering seems to make any explanation better, and told him that Daddy met Mommy, he loved her, we got married and then made a baby.

He thought about it for a while and whispered back that he got it.

Then he told me he was going to get a baby, shove it in his friend's ear and push it down into her belly.

Works for me. . .

I Don't Recall

Oh how much I loathe love the: cheap plastic toys, coloring book pages, pieces of paper, 'art' projects, junk creative expressions my kids bring home from school or parties.

I admit it.

I tend to sometimes toss it.

Well . . . a lot of times.

I keep the projects that actually demonstrate some learning, that the Peanuts really love, and that touch my heart or funny-bone in some way. That still leaves about ten million tossable items a week.

As the Peanuts get more aware, I am beginning to have empathy for Roger Clemens, Bill Clinton and OJ Simpson:

Peanut: Mom, where are my two big bags full of rolled-up paper telescopes I made?

Me: hmmm

Peanut: Mom, I put them right in the middle of the living room here in my special spot!

Me: Oh, did you?

Peanut (agitated): Mom, did you throw them away?

Me: I'm not sure.

Peanut: Mom, where are they?!

Me: I don't recall.

Peanut (clamoring through the recycle bin): Maaaaahm!

Me: I can't remember.

Anyone know a good lawyer?!

Spandex Man

On a certain corner a man stands nearly every day. He is tall, carries a cane and always wears tight spandex pants. They're short in the summer and long in the winter, but Spandex Man stands there watching the cars go by and waiting for people sitting in traffic to look at him.

You see, Spandex Man has quite a large (ahem) member in his spandex pants. When I first moved to Atlanta and saw him (over a decade ago), I was taken by surprise and couldn't help staring for a moment. Spandex Man stood calmly - no leers or jeers - and proudly. Through conversations with new friends I realized that that's just what he does.

As fate would have it, the condo I used to own was right near Spandex Man's stomping grounds. I would pull up to the light in rush hour traffic and avert my eyes. "Don't look, don't look, don't feed whatever weird thing is going on in this guy's head. . . ". I saw him almost EVERY day for a few years.

One day I pulled up and, behold, Spandex Man was there. But this day he had shorts on over his spandex. I was again shocked and started to imagine what was going on in the therapy sessions I assume he had finally started.

Therapist: How does it make you feel to stand in front of traffic in your spandex?

Spandex Man: I feel great. I feel loved. I feel important. People really see me - and I've got something to show.

Therapist: Now remember your breakthrough from last week? Where you wondered if people would really love you if they couldn't see your large (ahem) member? This week I want you to try and wear shorts over your spandex. You can still go out there at the regular times and stand as you always have - just wear the shorts and see how it feels.

Spandex Man (shaking & whispering): OK. I'll try it.

I wanted to give Spandex Man confidence in his decision. I wanted to look him in the eye and give him a thumbs up. I wanted to roll down my window and say 'way to go' . . . but I didn't.

I couldn't.

It still felt weird to have him there.

Something changed around that time and I don't remember seeing much of him anymore. Maybe it is when I moved out of my condo or switched jobs and, thus, commuting patterns. Maybe Spandex Man progressed further in his therapy and stopped hanging out on the corner.

Yesterday I was rushing to meet some friends. It was raining and I was at the infamous corner. Of course there was tons of traffic. Of course I was stuck in it. I look up and something catches my eye.

It was Spandex Man.

No shorts. Just spandex.

He must have had a relapse.

Up in Smoke

For some reason, Peanut One is obsessed with smoking. We've told him how smoking is bad for our lungs and not good for our bodies and how back-in-the-day people didn't know that so they smoked.

This works, until he sees someone smoking in the here-and-now and then the questions begin . . .

Why are they smoking?

Don't they know it isn't good for them?

What does smoking do?

How do they smoke?

Why, why, why. . . ?

Fortunately, with smoking bans abounding and no one in our circle of family or friends that smokes, this doesn't happen often.

Even so, yesterday we were playing outside and he was holding a large stem to his mouth, putting it in and out and making puffing noises. I asked him what he was doing and he matter-of-factly said,

"I'm just smoking some grass, mom".

Is this how it starts?!