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Malcolm Monkey Mouth

It’s nearly time for fireworks and ticker-tape parades —  Macalicious is turning 1 in a few weeks. His mother and all his grandmothers are beside themselves with birthday excitement. Lucky little bugger, being an only “grand” for several of us.

Today my daughter, MacMama, sent me a link for a “birthday shirt.” Which I had never considered buying a special shirt that is just for that golden moment, but I raised my kids before Etsy and Pinterest, so how was I to know?

The shirt has a large appliqued “1″ on the front, next to a sock monkey face. And that’s where this gets fun.

Before our boy was ever born, he had a built-in community. My daughter told us one and all that monkeys were off the table. No sleepers, no shirts, toys, nothing with a monkey was to come close to the Awaited One.

Do you have any idea how many baby boy outfits that took off the table? When Auntie Sue and I went shopping for the baby shower, monkeys practically grew out of the wall of every baby department.

Then, one day, it happened. MacMama discovered that packages of sleepers were darn reasonable at Costco. That option, however, offers no chance of selection. There it was, hiding behind the sleeper on the top — jammies with little grinning monkeys dancing on bananas, or something like that.

MacMama admitted defeat to Auntie Sue in a Facebook post. Game on, Auntie Sue responded. I believe she had the first sock monkey in a store cart in about 20 minutes.

When the MacFamily came to Walla Walla for a visit, Auntie Sue presented the young mister with his new toy.

That was that. From the minute — no, SECOND — on, Macadoodle was not without the soft primate between his gums. So much so that his parents have been forced to buy back ups so one can be sanitized in the wash, another lost in the car and the third in the mouth. So much so that Granny C, a musician by career, created “The Icky Stinky Monkey Song.” So much so that we call the tot “Monkey Mouth,” while delighting that he has fine-tuned just how far he can grin and keep Sock Monkey in place.

His mom and dad recently tried subbing in a fuzzy version of a Beanie Baby monkey. Silly parents. It never even made it through the teeth.

For Christmas, they acknowledged the inevitable and bought a sock monkey ornament for the tree.

I imagine there’s no hope for his birthday. We’ll be wading through a jungle of Sock Monkey paraphernalia. And when Malcolm looks back at the inevitable video, he’s ask MacMama why all the monkeys.

She’ll sigh and tell him, “Someday you’ll be a daddy and you’ll understand. Just don’t tell people ‘no monkeys’ or anything else.”

 

 

Filed under: back to basics, Family, Happy!, Love, Macalicious, My house, too good to be true, baby's first birthday, Home Place, Macalicious, Milton-Freewater, Sheila Hagar, Sock Monkey, Walla Walla, Walla Walla Union-Bulletin

24 years ago

I’m beginning to write this post at 9:30 a.m., relaxed and comfy in my office chair. A far cry from 24 years ago at this time, when my body was trying to expel 10 pounds, 11 ounces of baby.
At home without drugs, which I am apt to remember every time this child needs any sort of reminding of HOW I SUFFERED TO BRING HER INTO THIS WORLD.
Two hours later the task was accomplished and we welcomed the little girl who came along as an unexpected surprise at just the right moment in our lives. A time we most desperately needed to be reminded of the sweetness of life and the promise of never being forsaken by God.
And Director/Artist Girl has continued to surprise me for two dozen years. Her brain did not develop speech at the appropriate milestone — her first real words did not come until age 3, when I was driving in the middle of Anchorage and singing, “I’ve got a joy, joy, joy down in my heart, down in my heart, …” Belting it out as I drive my toddler to her speech class, planning my Sunday school lesson in my head.
From the backseat came a tiny little “joy, joy, joy” that so shocked me, I had to pull off Northern Lights Boulevard and sob. I literally could not believe my ears, but there she was, my curly-haired cherub, her lips in a perfect “O” on “joy.” She could not have chosen a better word to start talking with.
It became obvious that her little mind had been way too busy growing creative wrinkles and crevices. From singing pitch-perfect to winning prizes for trombone playing, to comedic thespian timing to an incredible ability to express herself through many mediums of art.
It makes my head spin, frankly, all this talent from a human springing forth from me.
But I guess I knew Birthday Girl would throw me for a loop, the minute I saw the pink “+” where I expected to see the blue “-” sign. Which just went to show me who was really in charge.
Thank God.
Happiest, Artist Girl.

Filed under: back to basics, Child approved, Family, Happy!, My Man, too good to be true, Artist Girl, children, Home Place, Sheila Hagar, Walla Walla life, Walla Walla Union-Bulletin

Please help me torture Camo Man

It’s his birthday today.

I’ve discovered my man is VERY uncomfortable with being given presents or any sort of acknowledgement of a personal occasion.

I find it aggravating and adorable at the same time. I love that Camo Man is shy about being fawned over — the party I threw for him last year about put him over the top — but hate that he’s a lousy gift receiver. When I got him a giant birthday gift a little earlier this year, it sat in the living room for a few days before he could even look at full on. Even then, he could barely speak of it’s existence. Still can’t. “I don’t want you doing that,” is all he will say.

His son, Techno Dude, came over last night with a fancy-schmancy filtering water bottle that, basically, promises sparking water from the nastiest sources. My man visibly fidgeted about being the receiver of such a fine birthday gift. He changed the subject right away, stuffed his new toy back in the box, then averted his eyes.

Later, as we prepared for sleep, I told him his gift-getting sucks. He doesn’t see it exactly the same way.

So I have decided to alert the universe that today is when the world welcomed a baby boy who would someday be Camo Man. I hope those of you with his phone number fill his voice mail to the brim with birthday greetings. I hope others will leave comments here or on Facebook. I hope those of you working with him today (you know who you are) will appropriately torture him with happy wishes.

I know, it’s not nice. I never said I was nice. Just over the moon in love.

Filed under: A new love, Camo Man, Family, Happy!, My house, My Man, our traditions, what you can do to help, Camo Man, Home Place, Milton-Freewater, Sheila Hagar, Walla Walla, Walla Walla Union-Bulletin

It was just lovely

Thank you to those who have inquired. Thanksgiving turned out to be very relaxing and enjoyable, and I am as astonished as those who know my holiday history.

Our troupe of five arrived at Camo Mom’s house bearing side dishes and hungry tummies. Once we got in the door I hugged a few family members, then looked out a small sea … maybe a pond … of new faces. Squaring my shoulders, I adopted my reporter persona and did a quick tour of the great room, shaking hands, smiling just so and moving on, trying to memorize names in order to later win points.

My teen daughters emerged from the Honda already — don’t judge — playing their electronic games. In the house, they seamlessly blended with other kids playing their electronic games. I know they all spoke, but mostly they imitated some of the adults who were strengthening their own relationships with their tablet or iPhones.

In other words, they all looked related. They acted as such within minutes.

gathered together …

My lady in-laws cooked and orchestrated the placement of food in the new kitchen, while I hovered around the edges, unsure of what to do once I had stuck serving spoons in my own offerings. My men-in-law did as predicted, sitting side by side on the comfy sectional and discussing manly things.

Camo Man was in his element. He had his sisters and their husbands, one son and his family, nieces and nephews and their assorted offspring, plus his mom and dad.

I watched him closely. As of now, I have no childhood pictures of my husband, so I can only try to imagine him as a boy. But seeing him fully relax into his family brought me closer to knowing. My husband laughed and joked and ate and talked to kids and ate some more. His face creased a hundred times with a smile or chuckle, not a worry on the menu for the day.

Camo Man, however, did not forget about me. He knows I can get overwhelmed around folks I don’t know well, that my confident facade easily crumbles. We had set up a signal system before arriving and he did the eye-to-eye checking in … can you see why I love him so?

But I was fine. Dandy. Lovely. Calm. I had delicious food on my plate and great company. I had no real responsibilities and my kids were not embarrassing me or their dad, so I was totally chill. I was even happy, which has never been the case at my own Thanksgivings — my obsessive-compulsive disorder kicks in so fiercely that I start lining up place settings with a ruler and wiping every dot of food off the counter the second it lands.

It’s hard to be around that much bizarre.

Fortunately, no one had to get a helping of that dish of crazy this time. To my new family I say, you’re welcome and thank you. You may not realize what a gift you gave me — aside from Camo Man, of course — but a delicious-in-every-sense Thanksgiving is huge.

 

 

 

Filed under: Camo Man, Family, Food!, Happy!, My house, My Man, our traditions, Camo Man, Camo Mom, Home Place, Milton-Freewater, moving forward, Sheila Hagar, Thanksgiving 2012, Walla Walla, Walla Walla life, Walla Walla Union-Bulletin

What did I do today? Just a little window smashing.

You know how when you were a kid, you had funny little career goals that made adults smile? Like being an astronaut (very big in my day, with the Gemini and Apollo missions) or maybe a you planned too be a giraffe when you grew up.
I had a few, myself. Lucky me, I get to write for a living, after all. That one started when I was six and creating stories in crayon on the white cardboard pieces that came from Granddad’s new dress shirts.
I also, inexplicably, wanted to operate heavy equipment.  Maybe because such machines were a part of my life — Granddad worked for Rogers Canning Company and most every Sunday my brothers and I would go along on country drives that took us past the giant combines and powerful tractors as he went to visit growers.
Later we learned about earthmovers like bulldozers, backhoe loaders and excavators. The sheer power was hypnotic to our trio. We eventually moved on to be obsessed with small-engine planes, but I never lost my fascination with machines that could destroy ANYTHING.
However, it didn’t look like anything would ever come of that. I work in a building with forklifts and I can’t get up the gumption to ask to drive one, so …
That all changed Friday morning. That’s when I went to report on the YMCA’s demolition of an aged building. It’s removal opens up nearly three acres to new possibilities and a chance to provide something the community really needs that may not otherwise exist.
When I pulled up, I was met by Rachelle Flanik, the Y’s facility director. She was dressed in rain boots with bright polka dots and a hard hat covered in pretty decals. There was the excavator, waiting to have it’s glass-and-plywood breakfast.
“Are you going to drive that,” I joked with Rachelle.
“We all do!” she chirped. Rachelle is endlessly energetic and cheerful, I’ve come to learn. “You do, too!”
I think my voice squeaked. “Me?”
Indeed, it came to pass that I was eventually in the seat of that bad boy and being instructed by Jay Richardson of Richardson Excavation how to control the machine. In minutes, that claw was ready to push through a multi-paned glass window that must have seen thousands and thousands of faces passing by.

I pushed, the glass bowed inward. I adjusted the claw and pushed harder.
As the glass shattered inward, I exploded with a war whoop and raised my hands in Rocky fashion.

“You have the best job in the world,” I shouted in Jay’s ear above the roar of the equipment.
Right after me, I should have added.

Filed under: Child approved, Happy!, too good to be true, YMCA, heavy euipment, Home Place, Jay Richardon, Richardson Excavation, Rogers Walla Walla, Sheila Hagar, Walla Walla, Walla Walla Union-Bulletin, YMCA