The day my parents hoped would arrive sooner; well, it's here.

I made homemade pesto the other night and now I pretty much feel like a grown up. I thought being married and having two kids would have given me that badge. But nope. I’ve learned you don’t need to be mature to get married OR have kids. I submit me as Exhibit A:

{Don't worry. This was take pre-transformation.}



But if it’s maturity you desire, just go make some pesto. Pesto is the key here.

The only way I could feel more grown up right now is if I had actually grown the basil for the pesto myself, which could happen soon enough since we started a freaking square foot garden this summer!

{Look at it! It’s alive! And I really don’t know why!}

If all goes well, soon I’m going to be the pinnacle of all things mature, so much so that I’ll have to stop sprinkling my sentences with ‘freaking’ so freaking often.

And I’m prolly not gonna post again before the wondrous day of July 4th so, Happy Independence Day to all you Americans out there, and to anyone else who wants to celebrate some random day with fireworks and a BBQ. Cele-brey-sheee-own! Shamone!

Thoughts for a Tuesday

First, this was supposed to be thoughts for a Monday, but you know how in my book Mondays are not super fantastic for following through on well-intentioned plans. This Monday is no different.

Second, (and I can only speak for myself here) rarely is it a good idea to change ANYONE’S diaper before I have put in my eyes, be that contacts or glasses, especially if that diaper is loaded to the brim with nastiness. Ignorance is not bliss in this case.

Third, a child that screams real loud while their mouth is one inch away from your ear CAN lead to a burst eardrum, or some sort of wiggity wackness.

Fourth, since I prefer that my affinity for napping be kept a secret, I really need to remember to not fall asleep on that one specific pillow.

{This beauty lasted a good solid hour.}

Fifth, Toy Story 3 made me cry. Gosh. So typical of me. Toy Story 3 also made Bosco get teary, but that was entirely because he only blinked two times while watching it.

If I could mess with the space and time continuum

A note to (from?) my future self:

 

Hey there fantastic.

Listen. You will buy these hairclips one day and they will be perfect for you. They will be large enough to pull back your hair, but small enough to be comfortable during naps, and discreet enough to wear without looking like there is a plastic banana in your hair. You know how long you've searched for something like this. Well, self, you will forget where you bought these. Perhaps they don’t even exist anymore. So it’s pretty unfortunate that you will lose all but one of them and you will hold onto that one for dear life, despite the fact that it is barely operational anymore.

But this will serve as a glowing example of how thrifty you are. Wear that sucker out, and use this experience as reference when certain persons say you spend too much money on things.

Chin up girl. I mean chin down. I keep forgetting how pointy that thing is.

Can I ever wear this shirt again? I'm in a quandary.

Nothing can quite describe the feeling a gal gets when she has taken extra care to feel and look fun and feminine (while avoiding the skank look) by going out and buying a new blouse that she feels expresses herself, but then one day when she is perusing StarTracks on people.com, like many people are apt to do when they have done absolutely everything else they needed and could possibly think of doing plus a lot of things that matter and will probably change the world for the better, yes, after those things are done she looks at celebrities on the internet and discovers that her fancy feminine clothes can also be worn by men. Particularly celebrity men like Ashton Kutcher.

source

Flattered? Insulted? Pukey? Curious? Insecure? Does he fill it out better? Disgusted? Happy? Bothered? Soulmate? Kindred spirits? A mistake? Does he know those are flowers? Are they flowers or abstract warthogs? Identity crisis? Sweaty? What the?

Nope. Nothing can quite describe it.

Portraits of Yesteryear: I always wonder how nudists deal with mosquitoes

Have you ever been in a situation and found yourself in a particular place that just seemed like the perfect picture taking opportunity, at the time, and believed with your whole heart that not taking a snapshot to record the moment for the eternities would be a major travesty, an utter sin?

{Circa 2003. We're the humans wearing clothes. All other questions I will answer with: I DON'T KNOW.}

Then fast forward eight years into the future, have you stumbled across that very same photo, the one you just knew would forever be a gem . . . and YES. YES. You were right. Not having this picture would have broken many hearts?

And simply having it in your possession is evidence that you are awesome. And you need all the help you can get?

So you plan on framing it?

Something this super hero didn't see coming

Currently this little guy is at a crossroads.

The time has come for him to either accept or deny the fact that his younger brother is now a worthy opponent, capable of causing bodily injury.

And by accept I mean realize it to be so and smartly act accordingly, meaning do not pick fights with said younger brother.

And by deny I mean pretend like it just isn’t so and pick fights anyway in the hopes that maybe it’s all just a bad dream.

I think it’s pretty clear which option Bosco has chosen.

And all I can do is give him a quiet little shout out, “Here’s to trying son!” and a disapproving yet understanding side glance. 'Tis hard for an eldest child to choke back the pride and embrace the knowledge that they are no longer in control of their younger siblings, I know. Oh I know first-hand, being the first born of five girls.

Would it please you to see the scar I have on my right hand from the wickedest pinch ever burned into the flesh of a first-born child such as myself, courtesy of a sibling eighteen months my junior?

Well it’s not showing up super impressive on photograph, but it’s a show stopper in real life if you squint your eyes just so. Trust.

But for all my battle wounds I cannot force Bosco into submission. He will have to learn the hard way, or at least the dumb way. Or maybe he will never learn, just like me. Maybe that is the stubborn destiny of an eldest child, prideful, slightly deluded, confident, and covered in scratches. But still oldest! Neener, neener!

You might care about some of this.

There comes a time in every human’s life when they have to freely admit that they and their nasal passages and their tear ducts and pretty much their entire body are no match for Mother Nature.

I am admitting this now, even though I’ve admitted it as far back as age eight, when poison ivy and I got acquainted with each other.

But a person needs reminding of Mother Nature's superiority every once in awhile. That’s why I had to hunker down in a basement during a tornado warning. That’s why wind literally knocked me on my bum. That’s why there was that flash downpour whilst I was wearing a white shirt. That’s why yesterday happened.

The shadowy objects in the back are mountains, which can usually be seen crystal clear. But yesterday something obstructed that view. Twas not a misty fog, clouds, or smoke from a fire. No. Twas all the dirt and other particles within a twenty mile radius, including but not limited to pollen, seeds, weeds, poop molecules I’m sure, hair, lots of different sorts of hair, and probably a little bit of that horse herpes that’s going around. All swirled together by tremendous wind and sent straight to my sinuses and eyeballs. Signed Mother Nature.

P.S. Random disturbing FACT. Poop molecules exist and we breathe them in all the time. So right this second you could have these molecules in your nose if you are near a restroom, animal, baby, or gassy McGassaton. No one is safe. This knowledge made yesterday particularly horrifying and uncomfortable for me as previous boundaries became nonexistent.

Did I just admit I would have no problem manipulating a tourist?

Sometimes I feel like this bird I met in Hawaii.

Only one little bird claw on each foot to hold him up, when he is supposed to have at least three toesies I think like his friends do or maybe four? Who knows these random facts about bird appendages anyway? All I know is that it didn’t look or feel right for this bird to exist like this, and it was a little sad but funny of course.

What happened to birdie that allowed almost all of his toes/claws to be removed down to a stump? Born that way? Lawnmower? Cannibalistic birds? Bad landing? Really truly mean tourists? Plastic surgery gone bad? Did it hurt? Or did he rather enjoy that it made him a one of kind fowl? Is he a he or a she?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But I do know that he visited our balcony every morning at the same exact time in hopes of a handout or maybe even just some attention. I endearingly called him Creature and Gimpy Friend. I couldn’t decide which one fit him better. But I liked him. And I would have fed him if there hadn’t been a sign that said DON’T FEED THE BIRDS. I tend to be one of those people who read and obey signs. I just am (Unless I'm totally spacey and fail to even see a sign. That happens a lot too).

But if I had been able to feed the birds I would have given all of my food to Gimpy Friend. The other birds could just sit and watch for all I care. They’ve got all their toes. Go make your own casserole guys. But my Creature had way more things on his mind to worry about besides where he would get his next meal. I could just tell. He sure was in a fix, but trying to make the best of it by manipulating soft hearted tourists (that would be me).

Well of course he still has his wings to carry him through so he has something going for him. Not to mention he lives in Hawaii. Der.

But sometimes I wonder how these freakishly small feet of mine, even with all their toes intact, are strong enough to keep me upright ya know?

Kindred spirits. Me and this bird.

Forging ahead despite our feet.

Serving soup would just be insanity

Let me tell you a little something about this guy.

He looks sweet and cuddly (which he is), but beware. Behind those soulful eyes, he has a very disturbing affinity for . . . throwing food. This may not seem like something caution worthy, but you'll understand my worry if ever you find yourself near him while he's eating. He will smile at you, mumble some endearing jargon, lift some food to his mouth, and then throw it, right on you if you haven't been smart enough to keep a four foot perimeter of safety about. And special attention should be paid when he's eating lasagna or anything with rice. Rice will go the distance. Trust.

It will be even more bothersome if for some reason you find yourself having to clean up after him. This gets old after the third time.

Now imagine the state of MY mind as I've been cleaning up after him roughly three times a day, seven days a week, ever since he was able to get food in those chubby baby hands of his. So about twelve months and counting.

A year of me crouched down on the floor. A year washing down walls and other things. A year trying to curb his appetite to throw instead of eat (all in vain by the way). A year arguing with the Husband over who he inherited this from.

And all that's come about is Bubba's wicked curve ball. He can throw better than most four year olds, or eight year olds. Heck. He throws better than I can. But of course that's not really saying much.

And why should all this food throwing bother me so greatly anyway? I mean I save bacon grease in a jar by the stove and reuse it! How's that for gross, unsavory (but oh so savory) behavior!

But this is neither here nor there.

Bottom-line: I don't see this stopping anytime soon, unless we just stop feeding him. And while I've considered it for about thirty seconds (fine! Thirty minutes) I just can't halt food service. He might actually surprise us one day and consume more than he chucks.

Until that day comes, beware the Bubba.