"Oh f*@k!"

My mother is now cringing at the sight of the title of this post. I debated even writing this post, because it seems a little trashy; however, this blog is, above anything else, a place to document the lives of my crazies. God knows I can't keep up with a baby book. Kieksy is currently going through what most call the "Language Explosion." He hit his 2nd birthday, and suddenly he's stringing words together and becoming more and more intelligible every day. Finnboo's favorite game is telling his "brudder" words to repeat. It keeps them busy for crazy lengths of time. Concurrently, Kieksy has also become VERY interested in transportation. He's obsessed with his wooden train set, we read a truck book every night, and he yells with excitement whenever an ambulance, fire truck, or motorcycle drives by our house.

However, in Kieksy's world of language & articulation development, "truck" is pronounced "f*ck!" And we stifle our laughter every single time. (That's the part that feels a bit trashy for some reason.) But, we continue to find it hilarious.

Here's an example of what I typically hear when driving around in the car. "Oh, Mommy, f*ck! Oh, a big f*ck! (silence for 2 seconds until the next one is spotted) Ooh, Mommy, more f*cks! Oh, a dumb f*ck! (dump truck)" It goes on and on, and I snicker as quietly as I can, and repeat each time in my best mommy/teacher voice, "Yes, that is a big TRUCK!"

I just know that this stage will be gone before we know it, and our baby, who unknowingly curses like a f*ck  truck driver, will be a grown up with perfect elocution and will laugh at himself one day when he hears the story of how he used to curse. (Just like his mother, who used to walk back and forth under the kitchen table at the age of 1 1/2 saying "shit" over and over.)

so innocent!

Toes

I've been missing from the "blogosphere," very wrapped up in many things including, but not limited to "May: officially the busiest month ever," the end of the school year, and the eternal quest for balance in relaxation vs. keeping 2 little crazies under 5 busy with all the wonderful things summer holds. I have also felt like I had nothing to write, but as my friend told me while lounging on the beach the other day, "Everyone has a story to tell." (She may have stolen that from somewhere.) So, I'm going to get my blogging groove back, but for now, I want to finally share this post I drafted way back in March.

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

I realized the other day that I have my father's toes. I guess it's not the first time I've had this shocking realization, and it's such a gross, random thing to have such a clear picture of. While there are many qualities that my father had that I can only hope to have to honor him, anyone who had ever glimpsed his feet knows this isn't necessarily a good thing.

Before I go on, I need to say that I HATE FEET. I spent the majority of my childhood overly self-conscious about my feet. They are freakishly narrow (I guess they may be a little wider after 2 pregnancies,) bony, and flat. Like I had to go to a place called "Ninny's" to get orthodics specially molded for my feet. When I had to have penny loafers to go with my pegged pants in the 80s, I remember my mom dragging me to several stores to find some that came in narrow width. My ballet shoes had to be special ordered because my cousin didn't carry my width in her shop. Top all these issues off with a few years of dancing in pointe shoes, and you start to get the picture as to why by the age of 13ish, I stopped going barefoot, wore sneakers in the summer, and would quickly stick my feet in the sand when I hit the beach.

I know, it's a stupid thing to get hung up on. People everywhere have serious problems. My point is, somewhere along the line, I got over it. It may have been as late as senior year of high school, or sometime in college, but I decided that I needed JCrew flip flops in every color, and feet are feet and who the hell cares. I started to spend so much time barefoot that washing them before bed became a necessity. When Jack Johnson says "her feet were all covered with tar balls and scars," I believe he was talking about me at that point in life. And I'm now accepting of my crazy long toes, which for the record, can help pick up dropped items off the floor. (This skill really impresses Finnboo...he attempts it himself now.)

****I realize that this post is totally random, but I actually started it in March, as I was dreaming of flip flop and sandal weather and thinking about shedding our shoes and getting ready to unveil our tootsies.*****

Enough gross grown up feet thoughts for now though, hopefully I haven't turned you off from reading forever....here are some piggy toes that I think are pretty cute:

*State of the Summer address coming soon....*