This morning my son woke himself up by clapping in his sleep. Loudly. He then sat straight up in bed and asked for the phone. “Call? Call?” As we began to get up, he leaned over to the nightstand and proclaimed, “Ball!”
This is how our days are going lately. He has other words (in a grand nod to his Irish roots he calls all food “potay-toe”) but for the most part, he wants to talk on the phone or play ball. All.the.time. It’s cute, though. For the first 7 hours at least. Right now? He’s dribbling a soccer ball around in the living room. He’ll do this for hours, and honestly? I expect his obsession with soccer to pay for C and I in our infirmity. Either that or he will use his grand meowing skills to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a cat. You never know.
We lived through St. Pat’s and are down to a reasonable number of shamrock plants (15.) I replaced 14 out of the 20 bought from those bastards but I think most of them were going to make it. Thank goodness that the one I took in which was not-so-great looking had new buds and thank goodness the little girl who got that one was thrilled when I showed them to her because I felt really bad taking in a straggly plant. Aside from that, it’s sprout city in here. We’re planting some wheatgrass this weekend I think and then keeping the rest of the seeds until Lucy’s spring break.
What else? Hmmmmm. I’m using my time this Spring Break (still haven’t flashed the worms) to put away all of the crap that has collected in various ‘where the eff does this go’ bins. I cleaned off my dresser and C’s dresser, have almost-completely-clean bookcases in the foyer and even cleaned out all of our old condiments from the fridge (you can’t imagine how many satay sauces and marinades we had crammed in there. Seriously.)
And this brings us to right now, which involves much less cleaning out and much more writing. Hey, any excuse to get out into the Real World–there’s a burger and cup of coffee with my name on it at the pub.
What's Your Name, Mommy? 
