Mr. Incredible: What are you waiting for?
Kid: I don’t know…Something AMAZING…I guess…
Mr. Incredible: <sigh> Me too, kid.
My coffee pot clicks on at 5 am every day. I’ve matured into a reluctant morning person, awake only to steal a precious, quiet hour before our normal life takes over.
The Incredibles. [We speak fluent Pixar around here.]
Downstairs, two pillows retain their stubborn, prone positions in the exact center of the couch; a blanket (tossed, never folded) lies at one end.
Later in the morning, my son will make sure the pantry door is closed – and the laundry room door is open – before he sits down to breakfast. He will complete a multitude of other “fixes,” interrupted only by his mother’s proclivity toward her own often contradictory routines. Read the full post »
Posted by stayquirkymyfriends on October 16, 2014
“Hi, is that your son? The one with the orange earplugs?”
I don’t even have to look to know that she’s talking about my kid. Earplugs are a standard part of his attire, especially here, at an echoing indoor soccer field filled with special needs athletes and their aides and coaches.
The other mom gestures towards our kids who are gathering at the center of the field for their closing circle. “Sorry, but my son seems to be pretty fascinated by your son’s earplugs.”
Her child sits as close as he can to mine, ignoring the coaches and instead staring intently at the side of my kid’s head. Read the full post »
Posted by stayquirkymyfriends on June 10, 2014
Standing on my back patio, I watch my five-year-old son through the sliding glass door. He bounces around the kitchen on his large blue exercise ball, happily unaware that he has just locked his mother out of the house.
He didn’t mean to lock me out. I stepped out—just for a moment—to throw something away, and I left the door open. Read the full post »
Posted by stayquirkymyfriends on May 6, 2014
His words, barely audible in the crowded grocery store, demand my attention. I pull my cart over by the frozen chicken and turn to face him. I can see immediately that we are about to have a problem.
“Snake, please,” he says, holding out a red rubber snake in his left hand. One snake. That’s not right. I shouldn’t have let him carry them in here today – and on the rare day I forgot to stash a couple of spare snakes in my purse.
Read the full post »
Posted by stayquirkymyfriends on April 29, 2014