Braving Boys

My boys have been preoccupied lately with the lottery and how they’ll spend the cash when we win the big prize (oh, I hope we win the prize!). Basically, they want to buy a limo. Not sure why. But they’re not budging, even though we tell them it’s not the kind of car you actually buy. Imagine their surprise when a big honkin’ black Hummer limo pulled up in our cul-de-sac last night. It was no drive-by, though. The limo came for them. Aunt Tracy and Uncle Jack had been out for an anniversary dinner in the thing, and they invited us along for a ride. Here we are, partying like rock stars.

Rock On

The Cousin Crew

Wild Things

No. 10, Donaldson

Joey is playing fall ball now, fine-tuning the skills he started building in his summer league. He’s doing quite well — got a triple today, and his coaches are trying him out at first base — but there are a few differences between the two seasons.

No coaches pitching, just a machine that whips the ball 45-mph ball at my boy. Stinging hands are a side effect. Batting gloves help.

Cups are required. Cups are uncomfortable. Cups make Joey feel like he’s wearing a diaper.

Concessions fund this league, which means parents must take turns working, which means John will be working.  Making change is not my strong suit.

Dress code required. Well, not really, but many moms and dads were decked out in the team color to show their support. Note to self: Buy red.

Players get numbers on their shirts. Joey is No. 10.

Anyone who knows John is aware that the guy is a seasoned concert-goer. Name just about any 70s or 80s performers, and it’s likely he’s seen one (or more) of their shows.

Journey, yep.
ZZ Top, sure enough.
Ozzy, you betcha.
Styx, on more than one occasion.
Loverboy, seen ‘em too.
Air Supply — yes, even Air Supply.

And three times over, my hubby has seen his favorite band of all time: KISS. He’s about to see them again. He’s taking Joey, Danny and me along for the ride. John is over the moon. The boys are pumped to check out the guys their dad worships. Yours truly? Three words:

Heaven help me.

Visit my Breast Cancer blog (cancerspot.org) and enter to win these!

You know that cool Celebration 4 Life gear my boys modeled for this post? Well, one of those sweet caps and cooling neck wraps (pictured above) can be yours if you enter this giveaway over at my Breast Cancer blog. 12 people will win, so your chances are really quite good. Click on over now, and leave a comment (don’t leave it here on this post, though). Best wishes! Oh, and if you win, you get to choose your own colors and design, you don’t have sport the pink if it’s not your thing.

“Mom, have you ever noticed that some girls push their boobies way up high?” Joey asked out of the blue the other day. “Yes, I’ve noticed,” I told him, realizing ‘boobies’ might be a tad too juvenile for an 8-year-old boy. So I asked him, “Do you know what the actual word for ‘boobies’ is?”

“Pupils?” he responded in a question kind of statement. “You’re thinking of nipples,” I told him, then explained the difference. “They’re called breasts,” I said, “like I had breast cancer.”

“Oh, yea!” said Joey, who went on to inquire (already forgetting the proper word): “Why do some girls like their boobies so big?” I explained that some people just like them big, and some don’t. He asked for my preference, and I revealed that I don’t happen to like them big. In fact, I had mine reduced, I shared, because they were too big, and they bothered me.

End of boobie story. We moved on to Mustangs and how GTs are better than 6-cylinders.

Boobie talk resumed tonight, when Joey said to John, “Dad, did you know mom had her boobies defrosted?” This from the boy who thought not long ago that his testicles were tentacles and still can’t quite figure out how babies get in the stomach. Maybe ‘boobies’ is not so juvenile after all. He is only 8. Plenty of time to clue him in. There is plenty of time, right?

Joey, 2002

My fabulous Facebook friends answered my plea for healthy lunch and snack ideas for picky kids. Well, kid, in my case — Danny is an adventurous eater. Joey is not. And the boy reports he’s “starving” every day after school, which tells me his growing body needs more.

Armed with a new list of yummy eats (see below), I’ve been to the grocery store, shelled out $110 on nutritious grub, stocked my fridge and shelves,  and now I eagerly await a thumbs-up or down when I pick up my choosey child today after class lets out. Fingers crossed he’s happy. Fully expecting he’s not.

• Hummus/cream cheese tortilla roll-up with thinly-sliced cucumber, apple or deli meat.
• Hummus with pita bread triangles.
• Tuna or chicken salad in a pita pocket.
• Hard-boiled eggs, either peeled or chopped into a lettuce salad.
• Frozen yogurt tubes.
• Grapes and cubes of cheese threaded on a small juice-box straw, like a skewer.
• Mashed/seasoned cooked beans with spread on tortilla with cheese.
• Black bean brownies.
• Trail mix with nuts, sunflower seeds and some peanut M&Ms for a little sweetness.
• Laptop Lunches has lots of great ideas, too.

Some of the other stuff I picked up:

• Light, low-sugar yogurt.
• Low-fat cottage cheese.
• Sargento light string cheese.
• 100-percent whole wheat wraps.
• Shaved, smoked turkey breast.
• Smart Taste pasta.
• Black beans.
• Carrots, celery, cucumber.
• And we always have loads of fresh fruit.

Umm, Umm.

Model Material

Someone told me recently that Joey and Danny should be models. I don’t remember who it was, but I think it was a female person, perhaps commenting on a Facebook photo or something. I promise I’m not making this up, just so I can brag about my boys and how cute I think they are.

I was flattered by the modeling compliment, but since I have no idea who paid it (chemo brain), I can’t say I really let it sink in too much. But now that I see these guys posing for the staged shot to the right (they were showcasing some breast cancer gear for another post), maybe they could make it in the world of posing. Well, except that 8-year-old Joey, although very dramatic and animated, claims he’s too shy to get up in front of people, and 6-year-old Danny has a tendency to roll one eye and goof every chance he gets. Yea, maybe modeling isn’t in the cards.

But I do appreceiate the vote of confidence, from whoever it was who sent it my way.

Joey Drama

Fashion statement, by Danny

Being a perfectionist is sort of a stressful way to go through life. I know. I am one. But I try not to impose my structured, orderly, list-making ways on my boys, because, really, I’d much prefer it if they cruise through life never describing themselves as Type As. So far, it seems Danny has not inherited my personality (evidence in photo to the right).

Never, never, ever would I dress myself in red, white and blue plaid shorts, orange shirt adorned with giant scorpion and black shoes and socks. Nor would I choose to dress my child in such a get-up. But it’s not up to me. Joey and Danny get to make their own fashion calls (well, within reason, they must cover all their parts and wear a shirt over their wife beaters). I figure they need control over some areas of their lives, and since we make them eat our chosen meals, enforce early bedtimes, limit TV time and junk food and force them to do homework, it seems only fair they get to set their own dress codes.

It’s not easy (for me) letting my guys walk out the door all mismatched, but when Danny happily tells me he picks black socks because they “look like Daddy’s work socks,” and I see Joey confidently strut through the house with his vertical stripes paired with horizontal ones, I realize this is not a battle worth fighting. Picking out their daily costumes makes them happy. And really, I can’t argue with that.

Plus, I need to save my energy for the battles that are worth fighting. I’ve got two on my list already: Piercings and tattoos.