Sprite's Keeper

Because I don't have much time to write anything else this week and still trying to play catch up and get ready for this weekend and the stress! I can't take the stress!!!!!

 

I will be checking back in on this site from time to time just to stare at this picture and remember the reasons I gladly pull my hair out.

Oh, yeah. They're worth it.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone. Mine is going to be magical..

(Am I the only one who can't believe how big she's gotten? And I SEE her every day!)

(Oh, and don't notice the fact that John is a Dol-fan wearing a Patriots hat. Actually, notice it. Mention it. To him directly. Friend him on Facebook just to say it. Okay, now I'm getting carried away..)

 

RTT: Let me entertain you...

Making you smile is optional.

No, my child is not stomping her foot in anger. She just loves her light up shoes. In fact, the bonus cool factor is the only reason she'll wear sneakers. I take my wins where I can get them.

(I used to be one of those parents that proclaimed I would never let my daughter wear light up sneakers, thinking they were obnoxious. I can admit this. I was a schmuck then. Now, I'm just a pushover.)

John and I had a date night on Saturday, leaving Sprite with my parents for the evening as we took in dinner at a nice restaurant (Reservation, yo!) and a highly acclaimed movie. As payment for babysitting, I made a complete dinner (meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans), dessert (homemade flat apple pie courtesy of The Pioneer Woman's cookbook along with storebought vanilla ice cream) (just being honest) and set up a screening of Despicable Me, a feature my parents hadn't seen yet and Sprite hadn't memorized yet, so it was still kind of new to her. (Okay, she does know how to imitate "It's so FLUFFY!", but I could easily blame that on playground gossip.)

While we enjoyed our time out, and only called home once to make sure everyone was still on speaking terms, I did mention to John during our dinner that I would have preferred what I had made for my parents in lieu of the salty mess I abandoned after a few bites.

We did love the movie though! The King's Speech was wonderful, made brilliant by the actors and the story. John noted the next morning when we were discussing movies that he wasn't interested in seeing The Black Swan. I asked why, considering the action that was drawing most men to the movie. It seems John was one of the few remaining males on this planet that was not aware of Mila Kunis and Natalie Portman's "friendship". Now that he is aware, he is currently making plans for another date night very soon, this time to join ranks.

 Imprompu Facebook Status Filler:

As written on January 12th: Jennifer‎'s daughter is looking forward to being a "princess in distress" at this weekend's superhero birthday party, but the way she's been behaving lately, I may just have her re-cast as an evil villian.

I even broached the subject with the party's hostess, my friend Tracy. I don't think she quite believes me when I tell her my daughter has a vicious snark level, but then again, she has twin five year old boys. I think she may be somewhat numb by now.

 Unfortunately, due to Sprite's sick day and a half last week, I am doing double time (and double portions of tea for the caffeine kick) to catch up, so it's a short one this week. Longer than last week though. And hopefully shorter than next week. What can I say? It's perfect for snacking.

Now go see Keely and complete your Tuesday obligations..

Even though it's a sick day, SOMEONE'S getting schooled..

Happy Blogoversary to ME!

Three years of Sprite's Keeper and while I'm 3 years older, the wiser thing is still in review, considering I still have a post from Christmas I need to put up and upload the freaking pictures from my camera so I can illustrate my bloggy play date. So no cupcake to commerate this achievement except for a pitiful "yay me".

Thanks to my being sick last weekend, John caught the bug on Monday, staying home on Tuesday, (Why can't I be sick on a weekday? Why must my weekend suffer, but come bright and early on Monday, I'm physically, if not emotionally, ready to face the world? Stupid auto-immune system running on a Monday through Friday schedule..) and made the difficult decision to drag his still somewhat horky self back to work on Wednesday.

Then Thursday came.

Immediately upon wake up, Sprite offered her two cents: "my throat hurts."

Now here's where the issue usually rears its head. With kids, you just can't tell sometimes when they're sick or faking it if the thermometer claims they're normal, even if it's only temperature wise. If I say I have a headache, Sprite will usually pop up within the next twenty minutes claiming to succumb to the vapors herself. If John sneezes a few times in quick succession, Sprite will usually follow that up with a loud juicy verbal sneeze. Talk about wanting to be included..

So, when Sprite claimed her throat was hurting her, we brushed it off and shoved a pancake into her hand. (Homemade, no preservatives. Judge me for my time management, not what I feed her.) I left for work, letting John take on the rush hour duties of getting her off to school. Once at work, I got the typical 9 AM call which always means they're late, but on their way to school.

"Sprite threw out." (Yes, even we say it this way now. And your comments are right. Technically, she's correct. It is coming out, even if it has to come UP first.)

They hadn't even left yet.

"She did?"

"Projectile."

Ugh, that description never goes down well with the school system.

Since John had already been off due to his own illness and was behind the eight ball with his duties, it was up to me to come home and stay with her. (Plus, for some reason, when you're sick, you just want your mom, right? There are days when I'm under the weather that I consider calling my own mom to make a two hour drive to take care of my covers and whatnot.)

Did you ever have any comfort routines you turned to as a kid to help you feel better? Soup? An afternoon of cartoons and orange juice? Maybe a blankie fresh from the dryer? My kid likes baths, especially after throwing out. She claims they make her feel better, and forgive us for wasting water, she will take up to four in a day depending on how many times she gets sick. It was during one of these baths that I got my own lesson on the subjects my daughter has learned in her Pre-K program.

"Mommy, I have a small peepee."

"Yes."

"And JackJack has a big peepee."

(JackJack is a friend from school.)

"Okayyyy.."

"He stands up to pee."

"Um..."

"He only sits down when he goes poopy!"

"Shouldn't he have privacy?"

"No, Mommy, it's called a penis."

(Yes, the bathrooms in her classroom have doors. They just don't use them. While I understand the teachers' perspective of a potential catastrophe when leaving kids alone in a room with a working faucet and handsoap, the teachers should maybe do a better job of crowd control when the opposite sex gathers at the doorway to gawk at the cool trick the boys can do.)

For the record, she's fine now. We kept her home on Friday as well since her Thursday evening still spelled fever and a possible after dinner show of, well, dinner, but she was back to good early that morning and had a grand time playing in her room while I scoured the entire house to within an inch of its germs to discourage any more sickness for a while.

How's your Monday working out for you?

Sunday Comics shot on a Super Hero Saturday and posted on a Wednesday

...and all because John was sick on a Tuesday and therefore had some time to play with Photoshop:

 

So, in essence, I could insinuate that it took me four days to write this post.

No wonder I'm spent.

RTT: And other sayings...

Judge not by one's virtue, but by one's Lean Cuisine:

When bringing chicken with roasted red pepper sausage (oh, yes, it's good) to work, you should probably cut the links up at home instead of prompting a game of "Guess what Jen's eating for lunch and should we call John to make sure he's okay."

Results may vary:

Just because it looks easy enough to maintain a "simple" hairstyle when watching the stylist in the mirror, it doesn't mean you've suddenly absorbed the same capabilities that have been eluding you for 34 years to actually keep the style looking beautiful semi-decent less than atrocious like you haven't been electrocuted lately.

Patience is as patience does:

A four year old may tell you she's being patient when asking to get dressed in costume for a birthday party that's still hours away, but her understanding of "patient" is further diluted every five minutes when she asks yet again if it's time.

This may take some adjusting:

Thanks for yesterday's chiro comments. I think Carol nailed it when she said to expect soreness after the treatment. As of 8 PM, yes, I am still sore, but I do feel encouraged to try the treadmill again since the "pain" is less.

"Try the treadmill" should be read: if the kid goes to bed and stays in bed.

Kids say the darndest things:

"Mommy!"

"Go to bed!"

"I already went to bed! Now I want to get OUT of bed!"

Thank goodness those monitors are one way only or she would have busted me for laughing at her.

Quality over quantity:

That means this week's RTT is a short one. My shortest yet.

And here's my shortest segue ever:

Keely. Go. Now.

Straw + Back + Co-pay - Out of Network = Seriously? (variable is X-pensive)

Not much from me so far this year, huh?

What can I say? I've been busy, way too busy to stop and sit down to write Sprite stories. Especially with the movie premiere I attended, the sitcom pilot I shot, and the book I published, and that was all before the end of last week.

(By the way, Hollywood? All the pregnancies at once? You couldn't pick a new purse design to trend? It had to be babies?)

Okay, so really. I have been busy with Sprite, and work, and my Nook, and a bloggy playdate which went A-MAY-ZING, and other things that have happened since Christmas, but the time has been nil to actually catch a moment to capture it, or even dissect what I WANTED to tell you about it. My life isn't all cute Sprite stories and We went to Disney World again, let me shove a picture down your throat!, and even though I love my geek conversations, there are the moments one should never be subject to, the political arguments my husband and I sometimes have, he likes Glenn Beck, I think the guy would make a better throw rug, he's decidedly right, I lean left of center with the mind to change my opinion based on which evil is lesser at the polls.

 But, yes, January has been eventful so far.

And today, I'm about to add another first to the year, something that I hope will fix years of discomfort and increasing pain.

I'm going to see a chiropractor.

I've never been to one before, mostly because I don't understand the science behind someone who is getting paid to crack your bones and probably isn't named Two Finger Tony, but also because I'm a firm fan of "if it's not broke, just deal with it". (Unless it's my master bathroom, which isn't broke, but I am planning to re-design the hell out of it.)

I can remember being sixteen, sitting in the stylist's chair at a hair salon while my tresses were being trimmed, squirming in my seat while the woman walked around me.

"Stop fidgeting, please."

"Sorry."

Two minutes later: "Please sit up."

"Okay."

Two minutes later: "Sit STILL."

"Sorry."

And on it went. While she refrained from asking me how old I really was since the ants in my pants seemed to be on high alert, by the end of our session, she was extremely irritated. But I couldn't help it. My tailbone was killing me.

That may be my earliest memory of this pain. And it's been a constant companion since, increasing or decreasing depending on weight loss (or gain), pregnancy, or just life.

I can't seem to sit still too long before I have to reposition. I actually "cringe" when standing because it hurts to do so. (If you want an anatomical definition of where the pain is, I believe it's the coccyx where my problem lies, but holistically, it's my ass. My entire problem is a pain in my ass. Literally.) Once the pain abates, I'm fine and it feels like nothing's wrong. Until I sit down to work again and you find me (in my noisy chair) fidgeting once more. Twice more. Thrice more. I wonder why people actually like to sit near me. (Maybe it's because they're assigned there...)

AND on top of all that, and I mean years of all that, in just the last two weeks, I've been introduced to the awesome debilitating power of the sciatic nerve. I had to give up the treadmill and stepper thanks to that performance.

Which is why I texted my friend Trevor and promised him a demi-God status if he would forward me his chiro's info, whom he swears by.

John's response when I told him about my upcoming appointment?

"Finally."

He loves me.

And this morning, I will see why people like the chiropractor. (I promise not to make any Dr. Bobby Bobby a la "Friends" references. Unless he tries to twist my neck. Dude, how on earth do they learn how to do that without killing someone? I mean, how many Godfather movies do you need to watch before saying, "Got it. Don't pull up. Righty tighty, lefty loosey."?)

If I'm on the treadmill tonight, it worked.

If I'm in traction, well, I probably needed vacation anyway.

Anyone else swear by the chiropractor? Any horror stories? I'll be reading after my appointment anyway, so don't worry about scaring me..

 

Judging by the photos, you'd think we spent our vacation in a Benetton ad..

I should confess now. Hell, I should have confessed back in June when John bought the damn thing, but I think you can tell by the quality of the pictures that have been appearing on this site. John has gotten himself a fancy schmancy high quality costs as much as an actual cannon complete with cannon balls, hehe, I wrote "balls", Canon camera.

He's been playing with it ever since, testing out speeds, settings, even the holy "manual" setting in which you actually need an eye for that sort of thing, or patience and an updated eye perscription. He's even let me practice, and I've shown some of the results here on this site.

I still have my point and shoot, which sits dutifully in my purse, ready to use at a moment's notice since his requires more effort, and storage space, but I admit it! John's equipment is a lot more fun to play with.

(If you think I'm oblivious to what I just wrote there, I've been smirking for two whole minutes over it. I wonder if John will notice...)

So, okay, here it is, in all it's (late) glory, our Disney World vacation photos, the nicest ones picked out of the thousands (yes, I said thousands) we took, here for your viewing pleasure. And captions to boot! If you could care less about the back story, then just scan through the pictures and have yourself a good day. If you have time to spare, enjoy. It's not like you have anything to do today anyway..)

Major disclosure: I have almost no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to photography. I just know what I like and asked a lot of questions while John was editing. Right over his shoulder. Repeatedly. Thinking back, that could have been annoying.

 

We took this picture near the "falls" at Wilderness Lodge. The afternoon sun had created a lot of shade for the pool area so while direct sunlight is missing, the colors really seem to pop. Also, the color blends were a complete accident. I had shrugged Sprite into her sweater since Sprite's honorary great-grandmother "Mama Elli" had knitted her the sweater but fretted that it wasn't the right length, so I wanted a picture of her in it for proof that all was well. Thanks to that picture, Sprite scored herself another Mama Elli original for Christmas in beautiful pastels.

  

This picture is practically untouched. I call it the "happy surprise", which happens once in a while when you take hundreds of pictures, and while scanning through them, you come upon one which is absolutely perfect, right focus, right light, right everything to give the photo personality and warmth. John only toned down the color a bit as the sun had faded the overall image just a little too much.

 

I love what Photoshop does for the skin. John took this picture while we were waiting on line to meet Donald Duck near the Mexico pavilion at Epcot. He softened my skin with a retouching tool, re-cropped it to take out the rest of the background, and added a halo effect to the mouse ears on my beret. (I know. I wasn't aware you could do that either. It kind of killed my admiration for a lot of professional pictures in which I thought the photographer had captured EVERYTHING just right.) And this has become his favorite picture of me. (Really. I'm already framed and on the wall.) I'm not telling you he retouched the picture to make myself look humble. I'm telling you to keep myself honest.

 

Ah, yes. The magical morning. It had been raining most of Sunday morning as we puddled our way over to The Grand Floridian Resort for breakfast with my folks. After our meal though, the clouds broke apart and the most beautiful sky presented itself. And with the shower the area had received, everything was fresh and clean, as if the rainstorm had been sponsored by Zest. So we took advantage of it, ignoring the "implied" instructions to stay off the grass (that would be why they built sidewalks, right?) and John and I sent the grandparents out onto the lawn to chase Sprite a bit. John added a slight vignette to this one just to round it out some.

 

Now, this one has a pronounced vignette, meant to spotlight the special bond between Sprite and my mom, who seems to think Sprite is a complete angel despite my protests (with charts and everything!) otherwise. Sprite had just run to her and in a swoosh, Baba grabbed her and brought her high for some love. And John captured it. I think this is my mom's favorite.

 

John didn't do much to this one after he took the picture on our sunset ferry ride to the Magic Kingdom. So he tells me. And I'll believe him considering he didn't bother to erase the circles under my eyes or clean up my eyebrows. But he loves this photo for the simple reason that it's a common look for me. On a good hair day. When I'm not breaking out. I'll shut up now.

 

There is so much I love about this photo. John had shown me both the original color and the black and white. At first, I preferred the color, but then, when he cropped it, (and did nothing else) I was immediately enthralled with the black and white since the action is so much more pronounced. Her shadow, her mouse ears, even her clothes become timeless. Plus, Minnie's bloomers are showing. A little tarnish on the old gold for added cheekiness.

 

John named this picture "In a world of her own", a tongue in cheek reference to Alice in Wonderland, one of Sprite's favorite movies. (The cartoon, not Johhny Depp. While I would actually encourage a healthy obsession with Johnny Depp, I don't think beheadings as depicted in the film are in her near future.) He took this photo in Epcot down one of the garden paths, while we were waiting for one (or both) of my parents to use the restroom. Once in editing, he simply boosted the colors of the flowers and added a vignette around the border. Lots of vignettes going around, there may be an epidemic..

 

I don't know why I didn't include this picture in Sprite's birthday rehash since it's clearly a favorite. All I know is that I took the shot and then John turned it into something better. I think he darkened the colors a little and added a small vignette for the borders and it now speaks so much of the little boy who only shows his goofy side to those who know him and the fun we had. Thank goodness we're good friends with his parents or they would surely question why this is framed in our home.

 

This picture came very close to being a throw-away. While going through the preliminary round, John didn't think the focus was very good and trashed it. I immediately stopped him (and instated the three second rule to let me concur before his finger does the knee-jerk toggle over the delete key) and asked him to play with the settings on it since I really liked Sprite's expression in it. So he whitened the edges and the result made me happy.

 

Don't let the picture fool you. It was very cold outside when this was taken at Wilderness Lodge. This picture is actually a re-crop (and warmth added to make it seem like the summer) of another picture in which Sprite was in my arms and doing something weird with her face (the same face which accounts for 500,000 other unused photos) and John decided to crop her completely out. I know, it's mean, but she's still in the will..

 

And of course, John's parting shot of her princess transformation, whitened around the edges to give it a touch of purity, the colorful Mickey barrette a stamp of approval on our vacation.

These aren't the only photos we took, but with all the pictures and captions I've thrown at you, you probably need a break. Go on. Stretch your legs. Grab a drink. Take a nap if you're so inclined. And I promise these are the last ones.

Huh, I just noticed that there aren't any pictures of Sprite with the characters. It turns out I do have one more to share with you.

On another day..

Looking for Stupid

Have you seen Blue?

We've been looking, but she may have left Southwest Florida by now.

Damn dog dug a hole under the fence and scooted out to follow her nose. Unfortunately, as we've witnessed many times over the last ten years, her nose does not know how to lead her home. We usually end up tracking her with Harry leading the way.

Last night, I thought this would be the case as I peered into the back yard and saw only Harry waiting to come inside. Yelling for Sprite to put on some shoes and grabbing flashlights to point into the setting twilight, we ran outside and yelled for her. Nothing. No sound.

Maybe she had run down a few blocks, although it was highly unlikely since 1. she's fat, 2. she's lazy, and 3. she's pretty stupid. Hustling Sprite and an increasingly irritated Harry (his bitch was missing, he was moody) into the van, I toured through the neighborhood, my high beams on, a metal container of milkbones shaken by my free hand since she usually responds to the noise.

Not this time.

Frustrated, and a little worried, I called John, who was still making his way home from work. "Blue got out again."

"Damn it! Did you check the brush next to Dan's house? That's where she was last time."

I immediately turned around and drove back down our street, past our house and to the end of the road where wild bushes, thick weeds, and overgrown trees dominated the space between our neighbors and the canal.

Parking, I instructed Sprite to stay in the van while I brought Harry out with me to be my nose and the can of noisemakers to get Blue's attention.

"Blue!"

"Clang! Clang!"

"BLUE!"

"Clang! Clang!"

"Found her!" Sprite's voice chirped from inside the van.

I spun to see her face and which direction she was looking in. Which was straight back at me. "You said you found her? Where?"

She smiled cheekily. "No, I said louder."

Oh.

I peered down at Harry, who was not interested in finding his companion anymore but in my flashlight beam which he was trying to eat off the ground. I moved the flashlight and he pounced on the traveling spot. Oy.

"BLUUUUUEEEEE!"

"Louder!"

"Enough, Sprite. I'm trying to find Blue."

"She's not here. She's far far away."

My stomach surged, knowing that might be true, the longer we stood here without a hint.

Night having fully fallen, we had to give up and wait for John to come home as it didn't make sense to drag a four year old all over the dark neighborhood.

"Mommy, is Blue coming back?"

"I hope so, hon."

"She's my best friend. I call her chickee-poo."

"You do?"

"Yes, and I hug her ALL the time. She's my best friend in the WHOLE world."

Way to load up the guilt, kid.

************************************

John came home twenty minutes later to find Sprite drinking some hot cocoa (I've tried for the last two years to introduce the stuff and it took her friend Brennon telling her it was his favorite drink for her to adopt it as HER favorite drink and demand it suddenly.) and me wringing my hands in worry.

 "Did you find her?"

"Daddy! Blue is missing and she's long gone and look! I have cocoa!"

He smiled at Sprite before meeting my eyes. "I'll go out, but don't expect me to find her too easily."

I understood why, Blue is mostly black with the typical beagle brown and white patches, and the trademark white tipped tail, but it didn't bring down my concern any.

Blue's been diagnosed with epilepsy for many years now. Her siezures, while mostly minor and intermittent in her puppy days, have been growing in intensity and frequency. About two months back, she had an episode while my parents were visiting, scaring them and Sprite, who was now at an age where she could see something was definitely wrong with her faithful friend. I corralled the careening dog into one spot, trying to calm her down, her heart racing, I could feel it beneath my hand as I tried to keep her still, I knew SHE was afraid of what was happening, why she couldn't control her legs, why her front paws weren't holding her steady anymore. She slid down in front of me, salivating heavily, her head falling, as if getting all of her bulk as close to the ground as she could would stop her body from disobeying.

John, seeing my reaction at the possibility that this was it for our ten year old dog, picked her up and closed himself in with her within our bedroom to give her some more calm and stop Sprite from screaming.

About fifteen minutes later, he let her out, and she acted as if nothing had happened, bee-lining for the water bowl to rehydrate.

They've happened since, some not as bad, some making us wonder if she was actually in pain. The vet has told us she's not. It just freaks everyone out, including Blue, when it happens.

Knowing this issue could be a detriment to a wandering dog with a willful nose, I stayed back with Sprite and hoped for a miracle while John nuked some chicken nuggets to entice her and took off in our van again with his own flashlight.

******************************************

"Mommy, is Blue coming back?"

"I hope so, Sprite."

"She's my best friend."

"I know."

*****************************************

By now, three hours had passed since we'd last seen Blue running into the backyard. Getting Sprite ready for bed, and fielding the constant questions of where Blue was and why would Blue leave us and will Blue be back in time to sleep in Sprite's room and why don't rainbows have the color black, (looks like not ALL of her thoughts were focused on our missing dog), the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"I'm hot on her trail. I can hear her!"

"John?"

"I'm three streets over, I just have to- I have to go."

The line went dead.

 *************************************

The garage door opened and John walked in, Blue stumbling in ahead of him.

Sprite and I rushed them, happy to have our dog home, happy that Daddy was the hero of the night.

"Where was she?"

"Deep in the brambles. Some smell in there keeps drawing her over and she tried to push through. I knocked on a few doors to be allowed in their backyards and could hear her caught in the brush."

Blue was head down in the water bowl, replenishing, not listening to us as her tail wagged wildly due to Sprite's fawning attention.

"Did you get her out of it?"

"No, she was too deep. I just kept calling her, and stood there for about ten minutes listening to her fight her way through. Finally, she came out."

 We both looked down at the dog who had eaten up our entire evening. And the child who was exclaiming excitedly over her and asking question after question about her adventure, knowing she wouldn't get an answer, her imagination would fill in those details.

Stupid dog.

 

 

They probably thought we'd forget.

 

(taken at Disney's Grand Floridian Resort)

What year do you have to hit before people stop getting you gifts on your birthday? For the holidays? For an anniversary?

As an adult, I've hit my stride long ago with birthdays, meriting only a phone call from my friends (who remember), a giftcard from my folks and in-laws, and a token from John, if he can eek out a hint of something I'd like other than my usual request, "nothing, thank you."

They don't hand out receipts for nothing, do they?

As for the holidays, I am more than happy to participate in the "oh, it's for the kids anyway" rule and focus solely on those whom are waiting for Jolly Ole' St. Nick to arrive, thereby decreasing the incoming gifts to one or two, again from the parents.

Anniversaries? Meh. Those are private affairs, undeserving of more than a Facebook shout out, should the honoree actually use their status to declare for one and all, "Yes! I am still in a relationship! I still <3 the person I am married to! Celebrate me! Celebrate US, but on MY page. (LOL)."

Anniversaries are trumpeted more when the marriage is new anyway. Once the patina starts to hit around the fifth year, well wishes are usually limited to the immediate family and, and again, those Facebook friends who will graciously take half a second to "like" your announcement.

Of course, your kids are not immune to this rule. They must celebrate you every year. Because their existence can only be traced back to you. (Certain limitations and exemptions apply on the Maury Povich show.)

Back when I was a wee little keeper, didn't have a Sprite to my name, my sister and I used to try to come up with ideas to honor our parents on their anniversary. These thoughts usually ran from the obligatory mug, the handmade cards, and attempts at baking a cake, (like the time Lee tried to make them a pineapple upside down cake, but in the process of de-panning, turned it more into a pineapple inside-out cake) (we ate it anyway) (dude, I've been waiting YEARS for the opportunity to work that memory into a post..) to the more often than not less thought out gifts purchased at Things Remembered. "Hey, it's engraved therefore personal! They HAVE to keep it! Score one for us!"

One year, on their 16th anniversary, we actually came up with a plan that wasn't half bad, we would buy a photo album (yes, I know it's not unique, but run with my tangent a second here, okay?) and fill it with our choice of photos, providing a caption beneath each of them, sort of their history as seen through our eyes. One problem though. My dad was a stickler for his pictures. They were kept under pretty tight guard in their bedroom closet, you know, the closet you have no business being in unless personally escorted by an adult, and no matter how many times you try to convince them the dog you dragged along with you is technically an adult in canine years, you're sent straight to your room to sit and think about what you've done, even if it was nothing. Yeah, that closet. And they always knew when you were even thinking about the closet. Kind of the same way my dad always knew when one of us kids was getting too close to the record player.

I swear, my dad's ears must have been manufactured by Dolby.

So, yeah, that anniversary took us several weeks to plan for, sneaking into their room during Christmas break when neither one was home, relying on our young, albeit selective memories to make sure nothing was out of place when done, as we picked through hundreds of meticulously maintained photos.

Sure, we ruined a few, I'd hate to see the state of that album now seeing as we used the wrong type of pen to write our captions directly onto the paper, attaching the pictures with masking tape to keep them in place under the plastic sheeting.

Scrapbookers are shuddering as I type this.

When that fateful day came to present our gift, we were uncertain if it would be well-received, given that we did basically damage the original pictures. (This was before scanners. Or duplicates. Or digital. In fact, I believe the only digital things in our house at the time were the microwave clock and the flashing 12:00 on the VCR..)

They loved it.

They loved the pictures we chose, the captions we wrote, the snark that I couldn't keep out of the descriptions even at the tender age of thirteen. Now, being a mom, and being gifted with handprints and scribbles from my own child, I understand that while it wasn't perfect, the time and energy we spent on this project made it gleam as such in their eyes.

I've been trying for years to trump that gift.

 

I think we did it by giving them their grandkids. Actually SMILING. AT THE SAME TIME!

Mom and Dad, you can thank us all later. (And tell us what size you want the prints to be.)

(And if this doesn't top the 16th anniversary gift, lie through your teeth.)

Happy 37th Anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Love,

Lee, John, Jenny, Bryan, and Sprite

 

Starting the year off right.

"Achoo!"

"Bless you."

"Mommy, I'm sneezing and coughing. I think I'm sick."

"No, not sick. Just getting rid of the nighttime stuff. Here, put on your shoes."

"Achoo!"

"Bless you. Good job on covering your nose. Next time, use a tissue though."

"I don't feel good."

"You don't feel warm."

"Because I'm cold."

"Right and it's six am. You're not sick, Sprite. And we're going to be late for school if you don't get your shoes on."

"I AM sick. Kayla B. is sick and Byron is sick. Now, I'm sick. I'm going to throw out."

"Sigh. Honey, you're not sick and please don't tell your teachers you are unless you are about to throw out. In fact, wait until after you throw out and then lick every other child in the room so you all get it at the same time and wipe out the germs completely."

"Ew!"

"Hey, we'll do all the other parents a big favor by getting it out of the way early. You'll be the star of the class. Flag holder every day."

"Mommy, you're silly."

"And up for parent of year if your teachers get wind of it."

Oh, please. It's not like she'll do it. Four year olds are a lot faster than people think..