Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday 

I have just one thing to say.

Dove Chocolates. The Eggs. Only at Easter. Eight years ago the twins were born. Pre-mature  (8 weeks). Emergency C-section. Percoset put me over the edge, but Dove Chocolates sincerely helped me endure the month that they were in the hospital. If there was a shortage of those eggs in our city Easter 1999, I take the blame. At that time I hadn’t the palate for dark chocolates (don’t think Dove made dark ones anyway), so I devoured the milk chocolate eggs. They were in my purse constantly. When I ran out a state of panic ensued. Sal got really sick (some of you know that). Developed septicemia, blew every IV they put in (head, hand, feet…) and finally got a central line put in for the anti-biotics. Thank God that worked. They both came home within a month, on the same day.

Dove Chocolates, the eggs, will always remind me of their birth.

Lootie had his birthday last weekend. He turned 11. Two days before his birthday, he decided he’d like a party. So he started to invite people, calling them at a time when probably most of the kids were already in bed. I didn’t realize this because I was occupied. At any rate, having been sick all week I wasn’t up for much fanfare. Pizza and cake, treat bags. Those were my provisions. And shelter. Some balloons. He’s not picky. He just wants people to come over and have fun. An excuse to get sugared up and facilitate good fun for the people he enjoys. The majority of the kids I knew, but one was new to school.

“I have to let you know that (name of boy)… you have to know something. He’s big. Very chubby. You can’t say anything.”

I looked at him like he was a bit mad. “Lootie. I’m big. When have you known me to say things about people because they’re big? Or because of anything like that?”

“I’m just saying. People tease him sometimes.”

He left the room. Lootie’s like that. Matter-of-fact. Done. It was his way of saying, I’m inviting this kid and I don’t give a crap what anyone else thinks.

A day before the party, Frank picked up 2 Tres Leches cakes. Last year I made them. Didn’t have it in me this year.

The day of, two hours before the party, we went to Wal-mart to get plates and treats for the goodie bags. I bought 3 bags of balloons to blow up, figuring if I scattered them around the house, it would look festive enough, coupled with the 99 cent “Happy Birthday” plastic tablecloth.

The boys, about 13 of them (3 of which were mine — Dants was in Minnesota and Pheenie was at a friend’s house) plus one little sister… they had a blast. Lootie may have his “issues” at times (we all do) but he’s good at showing people a good time, making sure everyone is included. I didn’t have one report of teasing the big kid. He thought it was way cool that within a week of starting a new school, here he was at a party. (His mom, when she picked him up, was over the moon, said it made his week. Lootie has a very genuine way of doing things like that.)

Most of the time was spent running around, eating pizza. The stations of interest were: television (we rented a couple wrestling videos since most of the boys are wrestling freaks), computer — (which I had to remove them from because I thought they’d mess it up), video games. And then, the highlight of the night, running around with the Nerf guns, taking prisoners and evading getting hit by the foam pellets. I literally had to hide in Pheenie’s room for a breather. They found me though, and happily occupied that corner of the house as well.

All in all it was a swell gathering. We didn’t spend too much money. And Carlito didn’t notice or care that we didn’t give him a gift (although he went to a wrestling show back in Fall as an “early birthday present”). He said the party went too fast, and that he had a blast.

Frank was in charge of picture-taking.

You’d think it would come natural to a group of 11-year-old boys, but taking a “goofy picture” can be so awkward.

Opening gifts. He’s got no problem being excited about each gift. But then he’s also great at sincerely thanking people.

The Tres Leches cakes. Frank picked out one coconut and one coffee flavored. Not sure why he got a coffee flavored one for an 11-year-old’s birthday. But strangely enough, it was just what some of the kids wanted.

. . .

In answer to some of the comments… YES, momma uses a Neti pot (and to my brother — it was completely UNnecessary for you to post that hideous link to the sinus pictures, which is probably why you did it in the first place *thwack*). And I did get some relief from that. The major relief came from using the sinus spray in combination, though, just to get over that hump. My mouth pain was gone within a day. I love me a Neti pot, though. Those things are awesome. Suellen, not sure on the eye thing. Although, I wondered if flushing irritated my nasal passages. It was after I started flushing that I became inflamed.

. . .

Well, now I’m off to shovel snow. I need the darn exercise.

What would a Monday be without a Super Bowl post-game wrap-up by Sir Groovy Mom? I just don’t know. (I like “Sir” as an English title, leave me alone)

Yes, we watched the game. Me and three of the boys. Frank had to take the eldest of the boy freaks to Milwaukee for a soccer training, missing a good half of the game. Soccer training during the pinnacle of American football!!? Say it isn’t so, well it IS so, the snobbish wankers.

Me, still not feeling so well–

(I ran a temp of 102 for a day or so after my stoopid yeast-cleanse, felt like crap, mom said “Sounds like flu!!” and am still not feeling 100%. Now, though, it is more of foggy-head, sinus crapola.)

– camped out on the couch most of the day, watching Super Bowl pre-game stuff during the Mrs. Doubtfire commercial breaks. I did take Pheenie to work and made one lap around the store, picking up some photos, grabbing Hot Cheetoes for the boys (is it really CheeTOES, like feet/toes ?? I’m too lazy to check), soda, began to feel dizzy and sweaty, so I grabbed some hot-n-ready fried cheese curds (for medicinal purposes only, silly!!), and checked out.

Lootie’s been rooting for the Giants, even when they were up against the ‘Cheese, and had a not-so-good feeling that they were going to get whomped this time around. Die-hard fan he is, save for a split second where (something) happened in the game and he told the team they were “Sucky” for one reason or another. He quickly retracted, though, with an apologetic chin nod and continued his supportive cheering. At that last two minutes when that darn Moss caught the ball and Lootie’s mother (Sir Groovy Mom) declared it was OVER, she was shot daggers. We were held prisoner in our own home by a 10-year-old, forced to “Clap!!!” when NY got the ball, “CLAP!!!” to show our support (two boys did not clap, seeing as they are NE fans). It was Peter Pan for the sports fan: Do you believe in Giants ?? Then CLAP, by golly. Clap!!

(Lootie leading the clap with Sal in the background - Picasa)

A few post-game observations:

1.) I’ve enjoyed the robot that’s been warming up on the screen during these NFL games. Each time it jumped around I was entranced. Had no idea it was a Terminator.

2.) Driving while feeling fluish can be quite a silly adventure. Ask me how many times I almost raised our insurance during my drive (too many to not be ashamed of).

3.) I think I’d like to be a pro NFL player, gritty and dirty with sweat, dirt and grass, fartin’ it up on the field. Looks like fun. Just… for like an hour, or something though.

4.) I sometimes get the game play confused with a video game. It looks surreal from some of the camera angles.

5.) With a birthday in less than a week, my job is to locate a Eli Manning New York Giants Super Bowl XLII Jersey for Lootie. There’s one here
but it is for menfolk. I’m looking for one that’s a bit smaller. I bought him one that was 18/20 (bought big to last more than a day) for Christmas from that company — great service, would definitely use them again.

The boys did a wrestling tournament last weekend. Have you ever been to a wrestling tournament? They’re exhausting. They really are. Exciting, fun… but exhausting. Last year Lootie was the only one wrestling. I think we went to three or more tourneys. There was a lot of “downtime” waiting for each match, but we’d rest, eat, spectate… just waiting for his next match. This year, all four boys are wrestling. Downtime isn’t so much of a problem anymore. Being at the mat during simultaneous matches is now the big issue.

The first tournament Frank was with off and able to attend. This made things much, much easier because I knew that if I wasn’t at the mat (with one of the boys), he was. I got to see most of the matches (it worked out that way), but missed two of DT’s (the oldest). After the meet was over, Frank and I were pretty well exhausted from cheering, running and dehydration (we both forgot to drink, I guess — the upside of dehydration is the minimal potty breaks, woohoo!!).

I got a good amount of video, but not too many pictures. Here’s one, Franny (the smallest):

(click any for larger)

Franny had a super old-school singlet on for the first tournament. The club had run out of the small singlets, save this one from the 1980s. Leave it to my child to take it. And wear it. Even though his older brothers told him how pansy it looked, he stayed strong and wore that singlet like nobody’s bidness.

After the tourney was over, and all the boys had their medals, their loving father requested one more thing: group picture of coarse!! Evident in the pictures to follow, the twins were eager to pose, the elder two ready to go home.

First photo, all is well and tolerated.

Second photo, “Do a wrestling pose,” says dad. Older boys attention already waning.

Third photo, one last “Grrrrrr” for the camera now. Look at Lootie’s wide-eyed expression. Know where he got that face from? His momma. I’ve been caught doing it many, many times on family videos.

Oldest to youngest: (L-R) Tough guy. Wrestle-mania fan. Trying not to smile. Attempting some form of hand/finger coolness but not knowing what exactly to do with them.

The following weekend I was alone, Frank at work. It was chaotic but fun. I didn’t see any of DT’s matches, only parts of Looties, but all of the twins (nearly missing Sal’s last match). I felt it most important for the little guys to see me in their corner. Still, though, I felt bad for Lootie who is only 2 years older than the twins and had to face the mat alone with nobody, not even a coach. He didn’t complain, though, not once.

. . .

I started another scarf. I say “another” because now I have two going. One is green and frilly, the other is striped and not-so-frilly. Both are not holding my attention, though, and I fear I will be starting another scarf here and have three in my rotation.

They call her the Hinna-Hin.

Years ago I collected Anne Geddes dolls. Just… don’t ask. My past obsessive-collecting of these dolls and the non-existence of that collection now is a prime example of (things) that seem soooo dang important, not being important.

My collection and collecting of these dolls, sunflower baby, rabbit baby, etc., came to a screeching halt when Sal, the younger of the twins, was a toddler. He flat out wouldn’t go near them. The choice between cuddling up with a rabid animal, frothing at the mouth, and an Anne Geddes doll would have been painful.

I tried to unload them at a garage sale, practically giving them away. One kind lady fell in love with a couple remaining dolls and I gave them to her at a mercy price, thankful to her for getting them out of my house.

The rabbit/Hinna-Hin remained.

Frank threw Hinna-Hin in the trunk of his car to take to the dumpster. But time went by and he forgot to dispose of her, and one day, as we were driving, Franny (the other twin), reached into the trunk (we have back seats you can pull down and access the trunk) and laughed. “Guess what’s in here Sal?!!” He pulled her out. An older (8-year-old) Sal wasn’t scared, but had refined his reaction, now conveying repulsion. They giggled and laughed about the Hinna-Hin, setting it in the seat, mimicking Twilight Zone doll who could not be killed. Sal was a good sport, and though he laughed, I could tell he still did not like the doll.

Recently, somehow, the oil-stained creature has made it back into our home. Sal will touch her, but only to move her far away from him. He can talk and laugh about the Hinna’, but keeps a steady eye on her with that curious fear we all get sometimes with things that ook us out, but we can’t help to steal a glance.

Yesterday Lootie went to my parent’s house to help move some boxes. A pastor friend of theirs has been staying with them since early summer as she sought employment. Recently, she found a church north of here, and is in the process of moving. Knowing how Lootie likes to work (weird, huh), they called him up. The deal was that he’d help move boxes and then someone would take him to lunch.

Lootie came home sporting $5 from their thankful friend. He was thrilled. Proud, and thrilled.
Today, more work. Dad needed some help pounding nails in a project (and, apparently, was also in need of someone to watch the last half of the Packer game with). He picked up Lootie, they finished the game, went to work.

Lootie came home sporting a huge black toolbox with a few random tools inside. Proud, and thrilled.

Some good friends of ours grew up in a town between Milwaukee and Chicago. They drive back “home” to visit once a month, staying with my girlfriend’s parents. Often, they stop at a well-known Italian grocery there, picking up delicious cheeses, meats and wine and bringing them back for us to enjoy with them. We’ve always said that we wanted to go there someday to eat at some of the infamous restaurants they’ve raved about. This fall, Dants had soccer there one weekend, which just happened to be the weekend our friends were taking a trip there. So we got a hotel for the night and made the most of the opportunity.

The hotel was nothing great, but the view was outstanding. Sitting right on the harbor of Lake Michigan (upgraded for free!!), the view from the window made up for the old-people smell that permeated the entire building.

Frank, being the wonderful husband that he is, took our boys plus our friend’s kids down to the pool, while they (our friends) took me across the street to a little bar. After that, they showed us the town, took us to her parent’s house, the Italian grocer… stopped to see the meteorite that landed outside of town decades ago, and then back to the hotel. Even though it was one night, it was soooooo nice to get away. We really needed that. Pictures say it best. Click any for a larger view on Picasa.

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Our ten-year-old middle son (we call him “middle” since he lands between the two oldest and the youngest who are twins) has build a squirrel trap. Not because he’s worried about our finances and us not having enough food. Well, maybe — but in a fantasy-type way. I suppose dad could have been explaining groceries and how food costs money, not to waste, things like that, and he just ran with it. Lootie’s a hunter-gatherer type of kid.

Want a fire? He’ll comb the yard and come up with enough sticks to fill a few brown bags. He’s tried eating ants (good protein), worms and goodness knows what else.

At any rate, yesterday, for whatever reason, he went outside in the early evening and spent at least a half-hour out there. Upon entering the house, he announced he was going to catch a squirrel for us to eat for dinner. They’re all over — we can eat them!!! Nevermind we live in the city and setting squirrel traps is probably illegal. Not to mention, city squirrels don’t sound like the tastiest treat considering they are almost like rats around here. But whatever. I admire his determination.

Lootie, dad and I sat at the window, admiring the trap. Twice I “admired” what I thought was the trap, before my eyes rested on the actual rock and stick contraption. Oh yeah, that’s goooood, I told him. Patted his little head.

This morning as it was time to get backpacks, shoes and sweaters, he ran in the kitchen and opened a Ziploc of peanuts. I told him to just take the whole bag, figuring he was taking it for snack, but he took three whole nuts and put the bag back (which is more I can say for the 16-year-old who puts NOTHING back EVER). It’s for the squirrels!!!

Oh.

And it was. During the 10 minutes of waiting for the bus, he reconfigured the sticks and stone (which had been knocked down during the night).

I have to admit, I’m a little nervous that he might catch one with those peanuts out there.