Picture This

Inspired by Gibby over at LOST in Suburban Bliss, I took this picture a couple weeks ago, where my car bakes outside the garage, where my husband’s car basks in the coolness.

Welcome to Hell.  But at least there's no humidity.

Welcome to Hell. But at least there's no humidity.

I took this after five minutes of driving to my parents’ house.  I think we found the solution to global warming.  Now if the governments of the world would just pay for gas, car upkeep, and time, I’ll be happy to drive around, cooling the earth.  Don’t thank me; just build many statues in my honor and pay me a comfortable salary when I erase a hundred years of warming.

Wow.  Now it's so much cooler.  Almost enjoyable.

Wow. Now it's so much cooler. Almost enjoyable.

So, Gibby, a 100?  I feel so sorry for you.

 

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Ham and Sausage

I have noticed in the last few months that whenever I have the camera out, Tornado S must be in the picture.  No matter what I’m taking a picture of, Tornado S sneaks in.  Last week he was in the middle of throwing a temper tantrum when I was trying to take a picture of Tornado E.  Looking through the lens, there was Tornado S crying right in front of Tornado E.  Of course, I snapped a few pictures.

Today I was taking pictures of our new crafts, when Tornado S’s little head poked up in the center of the picture.

Me: Tornado S, you’re such a ham.

Tornado E: Why’s Tornado S a ham?

Me: Because he likes being the center of attention.  He likes to get his picture taken.

Tornado E: Oh.  If Tornado S’s a ham, then I’m a sausage.

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Is there a Disney Store Involved?: Or a Tale of a Mall

Like most American teenagers, I hung out at the mall with my friends, but as soon as I got a cool place of my own and a car, the mall was something to be avoided at all costs.  I mean who can stand teeny-boppers and teenagers for more than an hour.  So when I go to the mall now it’s because I absolutely NEED to and there are several NEED-TO’s to attend.

 

Last year I had the brilliant idea of getting a picture of both boys done for Christmas as Sean had his half-birthday in November.  So I wrestled the boys in their new clothes.  (Sean’s outfit had taken several stores to find because I realized after my first baby Christmas nice overalls are a brilliant and practical fashion statement.)  I dropped them into the car and dragged them to the mall to get my pictures done at Sears.  (The Sears I go to is farther away, but it has the best photographers.)  After twenty minutes of trying to sit Sean up and keep Evan on the mat, much less in the room and smiling, I gave up and set a different date in which I could persuade my best friend to come with me and help.  When I came the next week, with sweet, saving best friend in tow, it took forty-five minutes to get ONE decent picture of the boys, which also included my fingers on Sean, trying to hold him up.  And the picture is totally random because the only way to keep Evan still was to put him on the rocking horse.

 

This year I thought it would be easier because Evan follows directions and Sean can sit and smile on command.  (Much easier than the family portrait eight months ago when it took TWO photographers to get ONE decent photo.) 

 

Because I was looking for something semi-formal (because I bought a beautiful impulse dress the day after Christmas that I have worked down to fit in to for the last year) and no sweaters (because I hate them from the years of wearing sweaters to Catholic school {Note: I hate plaid.}), it took four stores to find the perfect outfits.  That is twice as many stores as it has ever taken for me to find something for Evan and half the stores that it took me to find something for Sean last year.  I settled on a vest and tie combo.  Sean has a red shirt with black pants and black and gray patterned vest and tie.  Evan has a white shirt, black pants and vest, and a red tie. 

 

After refusing to let them out of the house because the hell they were going to get dirty before the pictures, I wrestled Sean and Evan into their clothes.  I had forgotten how tight they made the sleeves and necks to those button-up shirts.  Sean hated it.  Realizing he was looking quite similar to his father, minus the vest, Evan was beside himself with joy.

 

Evan: I’m wearing a daddy shirt!  I’m wearing a daddy tie!  I’m wearing daddy pants!  Can I wear my daddy shoes?  I look like Daddy!  All right, I’m to work now!

 

Wait!  Your hair!  Evan has horrible cowlicks, and Sean has perfect hair.  Using gel for the first time (I’m wearing daddy gel!), I combed his hair into an acceptable boy’s haircut.  This way I did not have to worry about trying to explain to my husband why Evan’s hair is messed up in the picture.  You try to keep a two year standing still and smiling and worry about his hair.  Ha.

 

Evan: I’m going to work!  Wait!  I need my cell phone!  I’ll call K! (his soon-to-be aunt) No, I’ll call, Grandma!  Mommy, where’s my cell phone?  (Just like his dad)  Here it is!  Hi, Grandma!  I gotta go to work and get my picture taken!

 

Ok.  Ok.  Ok.  Into the car.  Let’s go.  Let’s go.  Let’s go.  Come on.  We’re late.

 

And wouldn’t you know, half way there I remembered I had left the dual stroller at home.  What was I thinking?  A stroller!  A stroller!  My kingdom for a stroller!

 

Shake it off.  I can do this.  I can do this.  I can do this.

 

So I shepherded Evan into Sears, carrying Sean, a purse, the diaper bag, and a backpack with juice, a brush, a comb, extra clothes.  We waved hi to the Christmas decorations and moved on to the studio where I got my favorite photographer.  Then came the dancing and moving to keep the boys in frame and smiling, but this time did not have the bribes and threats of the previous times.  Surprisingly with all the moving and grooving that Sean does when he’s happy and all the dancing the photographer did to make my teenage-pre-schooler smile, we got a couple of good shots.

 

So as we waited the twenty minutes for them to process the pictures for viewing, I herded the boys into the mall to get a pretzel.  They ate and ran around until I called them.  I shepherded them to the bathroom where Evan went “pee like Daddy.”  When I washed my hands and looked into the mirror, I noticed that my shirt was buttoned wrong.  Great, it’s not like I have a breastfeeding baby to blame it on.  I walked them back to the studio where they became fast friends with two sisters dressed in their Christmas dresses and matching dolls.  (Yes, the girls were adorable.)  I was prepared with my amazing coupon and how many pictures I wanted.  I changed the boy’s shirts, and we were off to the food court.

 

And it was amazing.  Evan held my hand as we went up the dreaded escalator as I wondered if he would get caught and how would I save him with my arms full of Sean and bags.  We passed the Disney store with not a complaint when I explained we were going to eat lunch first.  Hear that.  Let’s repeat.  We passed the Disney store WITHOUT a complaint.  Evan carried the lemonade to the table as I balanced a tray with pizza for the boys and a salad for me.  Sean didn’t eat because he turned eighteen months and decided to go on a fast.  We returned to the Disney store where Evan was happy to watch some TV and Sean held the little hamster from Bolt.  I guess we might have to buy him one for Christmas.  As I dragged the hamster out of Sean’s arms to put away, I looked over to see that Evan had pulled down his pants.  WHAT!?  Apparently he needed a diaper.  Ok, that’s it; time to go NOW.

 

Then I dragged Evan along as he said goodbye to every one of those stupid Christmas decorations.  I pulled him as he lost his shoe, and I forced it on even though he didn’t want it.  I changed him, and Sean climbed over the bench and into his seat head first.  As I sighed, I raised my hand to my ear for some reason, noticing that I was missing a hoop earring because Sean had knocked it out of my ear the night before and I had forgotten all about it.  How many times did I see myself in the mirror?  Thank God, the boys looked so cute that no one noticed their mommy misbuttoned and missing an earring.  By the time, I had Evan taken care of, Sean was twiddling his thumbs as he waited in his seat for his seat belt and pacifier. 

As we returned home, I realized this wasn’t a bad day, and then why were they throwing fits Saturday when we went with their father?

 

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