Some stay in our lives for awhile,
leave footprints on our hearts
and we are never, ever the same.”
At first I think Garrett
Thought the box was fun to fill
For in his sweet little head
He thought the snake was just very still
I taped the box tightly closed
A coffin I did make
Reading, "Here lies Hiss
A really a good snake."
So here lies our sweet little snake
Who joined our family last summer
He was so little, just a few days old
Three seasons later, his death is a bummer
We'll miss you, dear Hiss
We'll miss you a ton
Though no one quite as much
As my precious little son...
Here is more of Matthew "talking". First of all, beware of the phantom hand. It looks creepy and darts in and out of the shot with near lightning speed. Second, forgive the annoying sounding mommy about halfway through. He talks much better when he's being spoken to (especially when the voice sounds like a total ninny). Third, I am not gagging my son. I promise. He always talks (laughs, smiles, etc.) when his lips and/or tongue is tickled.
And yes, it is true, the now infamous white scrunchie did travel in a moving van when I moved my life from southern California to northern Utah. Utah holds no responsibility for Monday's fantastic fashion faux pas. That's on me. Though I have noticed that, in some areas, Utah is approximately 13.2 years behind the times. Or at least, the coastal times. Although again, in fairness, if it wasn't 70 degrees in California on Christmas, maybe people would still be rocking sweatshirts with puffy paint and jingly bells.
However, there is a great debate surrounding this accessory. It seems Shakespeare had it all wrong. To scrunchie or not to scrunchie, that is the real question. We all know the commenter's stance. But I did receive a call in which the person stated, "I wear them at home all the time. And I take them camping." Apparently, anonymous lady person who I will not identify lest the Internet eat you alive, you should not wear them to swimming lessons.
It should be stated that I haven't worn a scrunchie to, say, church or the mall in approximately nine years. I'm a little afraid, however, to step out of the house now for fear that I'm wearing something that went out of style when I was ten. I mean, should I get rid of my spandex pants and slouch socks? What about all my skorts and bodysuits?
I'm kidding. Please tell me you knew I was kidding.
Can you tell by his face that last night's swimming lesson was 200% better than Monday's. Garrett had no tantrums. He did everything he was asked to do. He even dared to jump off the wall into my awaiting arms which, let me tell you, is major progress. When we practiced back floating, Garrett let go of me with each and every limb! And then a chorus of Alleluias could be heard from the heavens.
Of course, the angels were singing less for the fact that The Rock Star was much less petrified and more because I had not worn a hideous scrunchie to the pool.
Yup. My son is absolutely terrified of roosters. And here's the thing, if he saw a real rooster I don't even think he'd be afraid. Wait, let me show him this picture and I'll live blog the response.
Me: (first I pause Dragon Tales) Garrett--
G: Don't pause it.
Me: Hold on. Hey, what is this?
G: (smiling) It's a rooster.
Me: Is it scary?
G: No! Turn Dragon Tales back on!
But at night, oh heavens to Betsy! (Whatever that actually means, the Internet says it is a mild exclamation of surprise. Can we please bring it back?) At night he gets out of bed two seconds after we put him in there and he declares, "I had a scary dream! There was a big rooster." Nevermind that he sleeps with a plastic sword for the very purpose of slaying big, terrifying roosters. Nevermind that his giant stuffed lion is there to protect him because, obviously, a lion can take a rooster in a fight. Nevermind that I told him if any rooster managed to penetrate the walls of his room I would punch it in the face. Nevermind that he sleeps on the second floor so the evil poultry would have to waltz through the door, not be seen by the canine or the feline, cockadoodle doo his way up the stairs and peck through the door just to get to him. He is completely convinced that a rooster "got off the farm" and has come for him.
Three years ago my husband and I laughed at a little girl who was afraid of butterflies. Unbeknownst to us, our son, the rock star, would have an irrational fear of the rooster.
If you look closely, you'll see that the center cookie, replaced perfectly in the middle of the pile, has several bites missing. Having trouble seeing it?
Is that better?
Thank you so much to the generous people who have used my Paypal button to donate to Matthew's adoption. Some of you are dear friends and others of you I have never even met. Your donations help us to realize that we are supposed to be fighting this fight. We truly could not be doing this without you. If you've been considering donating but only have five or ten dollars and don't feel like that would help us, let me assure you that it certainly would. Any donation, large or small, will help us meet our exorbitant legal fees. Again, we are blessed, humbled, and awed by those who have given any amount of money to help us fight.
Of course, above all, we are thankful to all who have prayed for our case. Please continue to lift us up in prayer.