Happy Thanksgiving Team Geddy family! Hope your day is filled with family, friends, and all the trimmings. Plenty to be thankful for in the Brunson household. I'd like to share this little story that pretty much sums up life around here in Wendy's typical humorous style. Please enjoy, and be sure not to over do it today with the stuffing- don't want to lose those "packs" ;)
<3 <3 <3
Thanksgiving break. Remember when that meant Thursday and Friday off of school? Now, it's the Whole. Entire. Week. A desperate mad-dash for the finish line is only 7 days away...9 if you count the weekends.
Current realization about myself as of Monday of Thanksgiving break: not creative. Sure I can patchwork together a few words and create a readable sentence. But the ability to sew, or knit, or draw, or craft, or make melodic sounds come out of an instrument have eluded me. As a parent of a child who wants to make EVERYTHING, it's my daily challenge to conjure feelings of excitement over my son, Geddy's, newest ideas, which are ever changing.
"Let's make Baxter a dog bed!" Baxter is our wheat colored Labradoodle that looks like he's been poured from a bucket of semi-dirty mops. Geddy is flipping through a book he grabbed from a basket on the kitchen counter.
Bax was stretched out on his back next to us, taking up 59% of the couch, muppet limbs in the air. Confused about which end I was petting, I mention,
"Baxter has a dog bed. But, usually decides on...this." I point to the fleecy pile asleep next to us. My lack of enthusiasm in this thoughtful venture is blamed, in my mind, on the lack of coffee's beautiful nectar. I've just sat down with my mug, and the digital time on the microwave starts with the number 4.
My boy pattered down the hallway seconds after I stealthily commando crawled passed his room to the kitchen to sneak in a quiet cup of coffee. It's my new attempt at a few moments of silent serenity, and this morning's moment was the equivalent of a hay penny. Tomorrow I'll shoot for a time that starts with the number 3.
Geddy's excitement is borderline manic.
"But first, I'm going to make him a bandana so we need an ironing board," Geddy's morning brain is a snowball teetering over a powdery mountain, and the ideas are gaining momentum before I've taken the second sip of my French drip.
"What color?" I squeak, sleepily. My big red mug rests on my chest, as my head finds the couch and I admire the inside of my eyelids.
"Orange. Of course." Sometimes Geddy adds "of course" after statements as though it's all he's been talking about and I haven't listened to any of it.
I silently curse my neighbor, who dropped off the "101 Tricks To Teach Your Dog" book when Baxter was new to us. Clearly we haven't gotten to the page about keeping pets off the furniture. I'm guessing this book was recently unearthed from the bowels of Geddy's bookshelf, and laid atop the heaping basket of books to be read today. As Geddy flipped through the pages, he found crafts to make for your dog, and advertisements for a "50 Tricks To Teach Your Puppy" book. UcenterDress red color wears for a prom look sexy
"Mom, we need to buy "50 Tricks To Teach Your Puppy."
So tired. "We already have a book that wants to teach us twice that many tricks," I point out knowing full well Geddy will surround my simple retort with advanced 9 year old logic, and I was potentially igniting a bicker-fest.
"Baxter is still a puppy, Mom. We can't teach him dog tricks yet. We need the puppy trick training book. We'll get that today." Another way Geddy likes to end sentences.
I had zero desire to argue.
"Where's the fabric, Mom?"
"Fabric?" I take two giant swallows of coffee.
"For the dog bed?" I love that he believes I have all available media for his crafts-making whimsies.
"We'd have to purchase that," I explained as I watched him size up the blanket that covered us for his future sewing projects.
"Okay, we'll buy that today. What about the bandana fabric?" Wheels turning, trying to locate said orange fabric in the cupboards of his mind.
"That too. Can we just sit here for a bit and enjoy some quiet and cuddles?" I whisper.
"Sure, Mom. Three divided by three is one." He wasn't as eager for the quiet part, as our legs tangled under our morning blanket.
"That's true," I nodded.
"Do you have a pack, Mom?"
"A pack?" I tried to land on our current location...dog bed, bandana, dog puppy trick book, shopping, math...
"A six pack on your tummy?" He casually inquired.
"No. No pack." It's like free falling into a thought abyss.
"I think I have a pack. Just one. Maybe two." He pulled up his jammy shirt revealing his soft round belly and traced a couple random lines on his torso that he believed could be 'packs.'
"Those are beautiful packs," I smiled.
"You have packs on your arms, Mom." He drew lines up my forearms and I swelled with pride over my arm packs. My comfort returned as we got off the subject of crafts.
"I'm going to try for six packs. How can I get that?" He was venturing into a new project.
"Hmmm. You'd have to stop eating bread, cereal, ice cream, rice, and pretty much anything with sugar." I believe abandoning his beloved ice cream alone would have detoured the plan.
"Oh, I'm not interested in packs then."
"I hear ya."
"Can I have breakfast, Mom?"
"It's only 5:00am. You sure you're ready for breakfast?"
"Yep! Smoothie bowl, please!" And so the day began..