Playground Uprising

Sword Fighting

There are those among us who proclaim the perils of the sedative existence of a T.V. watching kiddo. These people are of course the folks who reside outside of the house of a boy who each day rolls up a legal size piece of paper and pops in Narnia in preparation for an all out epic battle of wills – likely concluding in an older boy grabbing his head and shrieking “Mom, Charlie is a sword fighting again.” And as I peak around the corner ~ the battle commences with jabs, and jolts, and leaps that could only make our one hundred and fifteen year old house feel like it just might not make it to the next century. Thus one not worry that these altercations are reserved for the T.V., I assure you that they rage at nap time as Charlie leaps upon his bed and peers into the mirrored wardrobe impressed by his dexterity, and in the grocery store as I ponder the advantages of fettuccine over rigatoni, and as one waits for our free Subaru oil change in the company of those who really just want to know the latest on the Casey Anthony trial.There are even little twinges of it as Charlie walks back down the aisle after attending children’s chapel, and though there are parts of me that are reluctant to claim the weapon wheeling bandit stalking the sanctuary ~ the one who corrected me yesterday when I said “Charlie, don’t you think it is a beautiful day?” To which he responded, “Mom that is something only princesses say ” ~but truth be known, I sure do love the gusto of boy who is willing to take on his world.


Getting Old
March 16, 2007, 12:09 pm
Filed under: Aging, diet, getting old



I am getting old.

A fact I had managed to deny until yesterday when I looked into the mirror to find crows feet and other unattractive facial creases (this just sounds better than wrinkles) heckling me.

I am not sure if they arose overnight or if I just haven’t truly “seen” myself for the past 12 months, which would explain why I tend to wear the same outfit repeatedly and it is not even particularly attractive.

These reminders of my fragile vitality seem exceptionally cruel since I always wear sunscreen; don’t drink, smoke, or engage in any other mind-altering activities (to exclude lack of sleep and cartoon overdose); and have been a vegetarian for 15 years.

Regardless of the cause, the sighting was enough to prompt me to throw in some L’Oreal wrinkle cream yesterday as I cruised down the supermarket aisle, trying to pretend I was picking it up for someone old, like my husband.

And despite the Today Show swearing off the merits of such creams, and goodness knows no one understands science better than Matt Laur, I felt just a bit younger as I greased up and no one yet has taken up calling me grandma.

GOTS any hints of your own?