Momma's Chair

Ignore the mess on the floor.  This is how it's been for the past 8+ years now, more so since our youngest, Gabe, came along.

But look at the chair.  It's a glider.  It came with the crib, dresser, and changing table we bought from a family out in Franklin a few months before Hubby and I welcomed our oldest, Zeke, into the world.

The parents who sold it to us said it was bittersweet.  They had so many wonderful memories of their little girl and that chair.  She was about 3 then, and they were ready to move her up to "big girl furniture."  So we bought it for cash and set it up in the yellow nursery that we'd painted and decorated that last month or so of my pregnancy.

I sat in that chair that first week he was home, feeding him bottles every 2 hours throughtout the night.

I sat in that chair while he was a toddler, and he'd be in my lap looking at board books and learning his shapes and colors.

I sat in that chair and laughed as I watched him do the moves in his Wiggles book over and over and over...

I sat in that chair and rocked him to sleep on those nights he'd wake up from a bad dream or had a boo boo and was just being pitiful.

I sat in that chair and cried some times, when I was so frustrated with parenting that I didn't know what to say or do, or if I should scream or just be quiet for a while.

I sat in that chair and fed his baby brother, while he looked on and patted him gently on the head.

I sat in that chair and sung my boys to sleep most nights of the week.

I sat in that chair and nodded off many times, when they insisted I stay with them because they were scared of the dark and wanted me there for "just one more minute."

I sat in that chair and read countless stories, sometimes while they were in their beds, other times with both of them in my lap.  (That got increasingly harder to do as the years went by.)

I sat in that chair and folded clothes...lots of clothes, and a gazillion little pairs of socks...while Zeke would sometimes read to me, and Gabe would be napping in the crib.

I sat in that chair and had long talks with each of them on my lap if they were having a bad day or had trouble in school, sometimes to console them, sometimes to give them a good telling off.

I sat in that chair.

Memories...lots of my own memories...in that chair.  And now, this chair is on its way to someone else's home, a friend of a friend, someone who's expecting their first baby.  I don't know who she is or where she lives, but I hope she has just as many fond memories in that chair as I did.

I see now why it was so bittersweet for that Franklin family.  It's when you finally admit that your kids do grow up, and things do change.

But for 8 years, that was momma's chair.  My chair.  And I'm so glad I get to pass it along.  :)

"Mom! I have a BRILLIANT idea!!"

So my now-8-year-old son just came up with an idea for making life easier:  Clothes that wash off in the shower.

"Say, if I'm wearing long sleeves and gloves, I could just stick my arm in the shower, and the clothes come right off!"

"That's great," I said, "but what about those times when you're out and about on the street, and it starts raining?"

*long pause*

"Well," he says, "except my underwear.  That will have to be regular material, so it won't come off."

Oh good.  I was wondering about that.  However, I'm not sure I want to be walking around in public in just my underwear, I don't care how hard it's raining!

But you never know.  If he keeps at it, he might come up with an idea some day that people could actually use.  And Hubby and I won't have to worry about saving for retirement.  :-D

Don't worry...we will still save for retirement.

*sigh!*

Zeke turns 8!

I can't believe my firstborn is 8 now.  It just can't be possible!  And he's in 3rd grade...wha???  It wasn't that long ago that his dad nearly ran the truck off the road on the way home from the hospital because he kept gazing at the newborn in the car seat between us!  (I think I've told that story before, but I'm never letting him live that one down.  Ever.)

And now he's EIGHT?!?!

Yep, we're just 10 more years away from this one becoming independent.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.

So, he had been asking for a Chuck-E-Cheese birthday party since the day after his 7th birthday party.  But when Chuck-E finally came out, all dressed up in his furry suit, Zeke wouldn't have anything to do with him!  He didn't want to go up and be a rock star, he didn't want to dance, he didn't want to be on their little TV screen...and he was on the verge of tears!

Go figure.  *I* still don't get it.

But in the end, he chose his Uncle Frog to go into the Ticket Blaster for 60 seconds to catch as many tickets as they could, and he seemed to cheer up.  I have no idea what came over him, but I'm glad he snapped out of it.

Anyway, he and his friends, brother, and cousin had a good time.  I don't know any kid that doesn't like going to Chuck-E-Cheese, so I guess it was money well spent.

Incidentally, he never got around to writing out thank you cards to everyone who came, so if you're reading this now, THANK YOU FOR COMING TO THE PARTY - FROM ZEKE!!

Happy 8th birthday to you, son.  You make your mom and dad so proud.  :)

Writing to the Stars...(or just "A" star in particular, Michael Crawford!)

I'm a bit befuddled.  The one time in my entire life I felt moved enough to try and write a fan letter to a famous person, and I'm being told I can't do that unless I pay money to the official fan club for an opportunity to sign a private guest book that they MIGHT see but will definitely NOT respond to.  Eh?

Let me back up a bit.  A few weeks ago, I got accidentally caught up in an old Britcom from my childhood called "Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em."  If you're not familiar with it, look it up on Youtube.  That's where I found it when searching for something else.  Anyway, the title was familiar, so I started to watch it.  Then I watched the next episode, and the next...well, you get the idea.

Crawford as Frank Spencer in "Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em," ca. 1972.

The main character is played by British actor and singer Michael Crawford.  I'd heard of him when I was younger, never really gave it much thought, and then all of a sudden, I discover I'm a huge fan of his work.

Sometimes, culture doesn't really slap us in the face until we're much older.  Much, much older.

I didn't go and see him perform in the first musical production of "Phantom of the Opera" in London (while I lived there...gah!), and I didn't really keep up with his singing career or see him in any of his other shows stateside.  But now I have an appreciation for his work and thought I might try and write a letter of thanks to send to him wherever he may be now.  From news articles, it looks like that would be somewhere in New Zealand.

Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman in the original London production of "Phantom of the Opera" in 1986.

Ok, so the fan association that he endorses is shut up like Fort Knox.  The only way in is to pay, and then they have recently (as in just in the last few months) discontinued allowing personal mail to Mr. Crawford.  Like I said, you have access to a private guest book, and there's no way of knowing if your fan message has gotten through or who reads it or anything!

Excuse me, but didn't Mr. Crawford perform for the world?  Isn't he a star that everyone can admire?  Why, then, must I pay a membership fee just to have this privilege of signing an electronic guest book, instead of sending a letter the good old fashioned way?  Are these folks so special that they're the only ones who can have access (so they claim) to his fan mailing address??

It's discouraging.  The man himself seems so attentive to his fans, so thankful for their support in his musical career and now charity work, and yet the one "official" group representing his fan base is being all militant about what information you can have as the general public and what's considered "member only news."  They even have a "member only hotline newsletter."

WTF??!?

I guess what that means for people like me is that we'll just be able to admire him from afar and never get to say, "Thank you" and "Well done!" directly.  If we do, it will be through the fan club police for a nominal fee.

That's just wrong.  There aren't many quality stars out there these days, and Michael Crawford, for one, is getting on in years.  Why shouldn't fans be given the satisfaction of sending them letters of gratitude, whether they read them or not, if nothing more than to give is the comfort of knowing we made our thoughts known (hopefully) and can go on living and admiring the artist in question?

Give me the satisfaction of writing a thank you letter to someone I think is the greatest thing to have happened to the musical showbiz industry!!  Andrew Lloyd Webber wouldn't be the household name he is today, if it weren't for Mr. Michael Crawford.

Michael Crawford, OBE

There, I've said it.  And now, I'll go on with my day feeling a little better for venting, as I give the "Association" the ol' two-finger salute.

Good day.

Humdrum

Nothing particularly exciting is going on right now.  We're getting ready for Zeke's 8th birthday, but other than that, it's just work, home, scouts, soccer, and very little else.  Hubby's work is progressing nicely, albeit a little slowly for our liking, but moving up the ladder takes time.  My work hasn't changed much lately, still doing the same ol' same ol' day in and day out.

It's only been 2 months since our family vacation, but I'm about ready to get up and go somewhere exciting.

On the other hand, it's Friday the 13th today, and those are generally good days for me!  Still waiting for something spectacular to happen...and waiting...and waiting...

*Sigh!*  Just ready for a little excitement, that's all.  Not anything bad or dramatic, just some good old excitement to break up the humdrum that we're in at the moment.  I want to meet a celebrity or something.  lol

I did make a buttermilk pie last night, which turned out really good.  Umm...yeah, that's about it.  Nothing else going on.

Absolutely.  Nothing.  Else.

Oh well, back to work...