Bam. Right when I least expected it.

I didn't cry the day Monsoon started Kindergarten. I fully expected to be a soggy mess. I waited all day, but the tears just never came.

The morning went nothing like I anticipated, though. The bus was twenty minutes late, and then it passed our house so we had to run down the street to catch it. I got right in my car and drove straight to school, but all the surrounding streets were packed, so I had to park two blocks away. As soon as I stepped out of the car, his bus passed me. I told him I would be waiting when he got off the bus, so what else could I do? I booked it all the way to the school, half of the path being straight up a huge hill. I couldn't feel my legs by the time I got to him, but he was just stepping onto the sidewalk. I was just in time. We walked to his room together, holding hands, and when we got there, his eyes lit up and he was ready to begin his new adventure. Such a big boy.

I still didn't cry. Probably when I could feel my legs again, I'll be able to cry, I thought. A handful of people called or texted to see how I was doing (funny, they knew I was the one the worry about, not the boy). I couldn't believe it myself, but I was completely fine. Maybe I had grown and matured, too. Maybe I could enjoy the sweetness of this day, rather than finding it just a tad bitter.

Today, I was out running errands and happened to drive by his old preschool. The one he went to for 2 1/2 years; the one he started when he was barely three.

As I drove by, a memory drifted through my head of a little boy with baby-fine hair, ears too big for his head, wearing his tiny navy winter coat that went all the way down to his knees, holding my hand as we walked into that school. I saw his big eyes taking in everything new, saw his little feet pattering down the hall, trying to keep up with my pace. I felt his gentle kiss on my cheek, his short chubby arms around my neck... I heard him squeal, "Mommy!!" in his three year old voice and remembered how he would say, "I Yike school," when he couldn't make the L sound.

So this is how it happened. This is how it finally hit me, and I cried all the way home.

Enemim King

Hello, my name is Ashley and I'm a chocoholic.

My dad gave me half of his Hershey bar when I was barely old enough to eat jarred mush. My mom once picked me up from Kindergarten with an unopened pack of M&Ms in her winter coat pocket, and the first words out of my mouth when I closed the car door were, "I smell chocolate." I can tell the difference between brands of chocolate used in homemade ice cream (FYI: the Valrhona was better than the Ghirardelli). My husband makes me brownies when I'm having a bad week - and he knows not to eat more than one. The rest of the pan is mine. I'm ashamed to admit that I have eaten an entire devil's food cake on more than one occasion. I can honestly not remember the last time I went an entire day without chocolate in some form or another.

So the other day, after Monsoon played the pretty funny joke on me, I was going to need a quick choco-fix or I was going to lose my cool. I ran to the cupboard, knowing all I had were a couple measly bags of chocolate chips. I had to reach up to get them, but when they came down, something else - something bigger - fell on my head.

It was the biggest bag of M&Ms I've ever seen, a parting gift from a coworker before we moved, and I had completely forgotten about them. It was like they were glowing under the florescent light above the kitchen sink and I could almost hear angels singing on high as I stared down at the unopened bag. Of course the boy walked in before I could regain my composure (or hide them), so I poured us a bowl and we played Rummy while we snacked.

After a while, he said, "There's only one left, Mommy. Do you want it? Or can I have it?"

"Monsoon, there are 4 M&Ms left in that bowl."

He looked at me like I was an idiot, rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah. I eat them four at a time."

Apparently this addiction is genetic.

A Good Joke, Huh Mommy?

Monsoon wasn't feeling too hot the other night, so I gave him a cool, wet compress to put on his forehead. He thought it was awesome and it helped him enough so that he could go to sleep.

The next day, I told him I was going to take a nap. "Go ahead and play, I'll just lay here on your bed and sleep for a bit." Of course I would loved to have taken a nap, but I didn't actually intend to.

I hadn't closed my eyes for an entire minute when I heard him sneak close to me to check if I was asleep yet. I kept my eyes shut. He got excited and quickly left the room, whispering, "I know what I can do for Mommy!" with a giggle. Then I heard the bathroom water running.

How sweet, I thought. He's going to give me a cool compress to help me sleep. I love that kid!

So I waited, keeping my eyes shut, barely able to suppress a grin when I heard him creep back into the room.

He lifted the sopping wet, ice cold wash cloth over me, and squeezed it as hard as he could.

Then he cackled. "That was a pretty good joke, huh Mommy?" More cackling.

I just don't know where he gets this demented sense of humor.

Guys n Bombs

It feels like only a few weeks ago we brought our screaming bundle of joy home from the hospital, swaddled and held tightly in my arms... idealistic notions of perfect parenthood still floating in our heads. We were going to kick this parenting thing's butt. Right after a quick nap...

My baby is six years old today, and has made out quite a specific birthday list.

Apparently this is what happens to children of "no guns allowed" parents... in addition to being a creative type who can turn ANYTHING into a gun (a stick, legos, his foot, even a marshmallow chewed to pistol-perfection). I don't even know how he KNEW about shooting crap, but he was figuring it out by the time he could talk.

The List:

• tank that shoots


• airplane with torpedoes


• cannon soldiers


• soldier action figures


• Lego plane with bombs


• bombs

I'm still holding out for that nap.

Geographical Anatomy

How do you explain those parts to a 5 year old? How about a 4 year old? Three year old? Two?

When he was four, Monsoon got up-close and curious as a friend breast-fed her baby in our living room. I explained by way of comparing mommy's milk to cow's milk and he assumed that women have utters. Ahem. He might still call them that...

Most everyone I know has heard the story of the first time he watched me change my niece's diaper and very seriously asked, "Girls have two butts, Mommy?" It's one of my all-time favorites.

When it comes to naming a woman's nethers, no matter how many times he asks, I just can't bring myself to say it. I imagine every name I've heard of would sound vulgar coming from my preschooler. We could go with medical terminology, since he knows he's got a penis, but every time I think of saying "vagina," the scene from Kindergarten Cop plays out in my head.

I realize this has gotten out of hand. I've been deliberating far too long, and someone finally beat me to the punch. A girl at school today gave him his first official anatomy lesson, which he relayed to me at home.

"Hey Mommy? Boys have a penis and girls have a china."

Bad Mommy Weekly, No More Toys

I know what you're thinking. This mommy hasn't shared any Bad Mommy Weekly posts in quite a while. She must have discovered the holy grail of mommy-dom. She's become the perfect mommy and no longer has any Bad Mommy stories to tell.

You're absolutely right. Just stop reading now and go find some unfit parent's blog to read. There's nothing to see here.

For those you living in reality, welcome and congratulations! You may continue skimming this post and likely feel better about yourself in the end.

Monsoon is a reallyreallyreallyreally rough kind of kid. He doesn't do anything half way. He likes to pretend, usually that he's a hero out to save the day. Lucky toy who doesn't get chosen to be his nemesis, though. The way he breaks things, you'd think we only let him play with glass toys. Most of the time, it's an accident - he just gets carried away beating the transformer into the ground or drowning the evil electronic microphone in the toilet.

It's because of this toy-torture that he doesn't have as many toys as most kids do. He has plenty - a surplus still, if you ask me - but we weed through and sell or give away toys that he doesn't play with often because if they're here, they'll surely turn into the enemy and once their beheaded, no one will want them.

He still breaks the ones he has, though, so I told him last week that if he broke another one of his toys, we would take away ALL his toys and give some of them to kids who would appreciate them and take care of them. I reminded him all week, when I saw him getting rough with them, of the consequence of breaking another toy.

After only a few days, he came to me, pieces of his bumble bee helmet in his arms, and asked me politely if I would fix it.

Well crap.

I took every toy in the house, made him help me box them up so that he could experience the full effect of what was happening, and put them all out in the garage. He cried. He tried not to cry, which is awful because then I know he isn't doing it just to get his stuff back. He was devastated. So I told him he could keep ONE toy and one toy only. He could keep the helmet he had just broken. It wasn't much of a comfort to him, but I thought it fit well with the lesson I was trying to convey.

So today I'm dusting his room, including the helmet, and I'm thinking, "Well how odd. Two of the four pieces are broken in the exact same spot. Hmmm."

You can guess where this is going, right? It took about ten minutes, but I finally figured out how to put the pieces back together. Apparently, it was made to come apart.

I have to tell him. Don't I?

A boy and his mess

What happens when a 4-year-old boy finds a giant bottle of lotion lying around the living room???

He wants to see how far it squirts, of course.
He might need some assistance from his trusty sidekick.

He figures the carpet has pretty dry skin.

He can't rub it all in, so he moves to the couch.

He knows he isn't in trouble, even while mommy uses her "teacher voice" about what a mess it is, because she's snapping away with the camera at the same time.

The perfect day

Vacations are a lot of fun. Holidays twinkle with excitement for weeks in advance. Birthdays explode with songs and smiles. But the days that stand out? The ones that count for something beyond ceremonious expectancies? Days that really matter. They usually require no planning, no anticipation, they give no remote indication of turning into a super day... until it's nearly over and you wish you could go back to that morning and tell yourself to put on your happy pants because it's gonna be one of those.

I suppose, if we knew in advance, it wouldn't be quite so spectacular. Part of the fun is in not knowing what the next moment will bring. No expectations. Just pure, unedited life.

Waking up early when I thought I was going to get to sleep late, and then getting an hour to myself, drinking coffee while Monsoon enjoyed time to his own self with a box of legos.

A Saturday shower with my husband.

A complete and utter meltdown because Monsoon changed his mind about which spoon he wanted with his yogurt, even though he doesn't like yogurt.

"I can't get my cries out, Mommy." We all feel that way, sometimes. Like maybe we're so full of tears and shudders that if we got in the bathtub, we wouldn't need to turn on the faucet. Sometimes, we just need to let it out, and we'll be better. Sometimes, we don't even know what we're crying about.

Telling the "Mommy saves the day" story. Monsoon taking a nap. A rare, once-every-4-months-or-so nap. On my lap, no less, while I read a good book.

"I'm a baby today, Mommy." That's fine, baby. I'll get the big blanket and show you how I used to swaddle you. You like it so much, you ask me to do it over and over again all day. "Tighter this time," you say. So maybe you can't wriggle free and I'll keep you close to me forever. You're a baby today, because you seem to think that big boys of 4 shouldn't need extra hugs from their Mommies. I don't mind if you want to pretend, but I wish you could let me love you freely.

An hour of preparation for 20 minutes in the snow. His first time sledding. Introducing him to the sledding hill - the one we went to as children. Letting him "steer" the sled. Turning around half way down and accidentally finishing the hill backwards. Twice.

"No, Honey Pot, I can't sit in your lap."

Candy Land, Sorry, Rhino Rampage, a game of War that lasted much longer than one might expect, considering we only used a quarter of the deck, the cards to which were a special gift with our family picture on the back. And the plumber game.

"Let's play that plumber game, Mommy." He means poker. Flushes and all that.

Family movie night, Monsoon's choice. My husband makes popcorn on the stove-top. The boy and I share a few Jr. Mints. He's unbelievably happy sitting on the couch, just the three of us and our snacks.

"When I lived in your belly, I held your heart." Sigh. You still do, son. You still do.

The Bad Mommy Weekly: Jealousy's a kick

I'm the type of bad mommy who might want to kick the waitress when we take my son and my niece out to dinner.

Yes, Prissy is adorable, but lady, if you bring 8 different members of the staff to our table to discuss how utterly beautiful she is without blinking an eye at MY son, his feelings are going to be hurt. Sure, he may be a little annoying what with all the straw sword-fighting, but if you'd just tell him he's cute, too, he'll probably stop poking you in the gut with those straws - and his mommy might not accidentally dump a glass of ice water on your shoes. Hey - I am the only person allowed to roll her eyes at my kid.

I love Monsoon to bits, but I'm not always the best example of how to cope with jealousy.

Fall photo-op

The best traditions often start out as just an ordinary thing, and become tradition because of the deep, unexpected feeling that it brings. Such is the case with our annual fall photo-op.

Monsoon was 1 the first time I showed him how to gather and toss dry, colorful leaves into the wind. I happened, as I always did then, to have my camera... and so the photo shoot at our local park began. They were some of the best pictures I'd ever taken of him. We played, we laughed, we hugged and we discovered. That first year, he was simply happy to be with me.

The second year, he was more independent. He still wanted me close, but the adventure was in discovering how far he could get before I ran after him. By then, he knew the cement lions were only statues and he wasn't afraid of climbing the gazebo steps. He hadn't yet figured out that, even if he couldn't see me, I knew where he was hiding. I can still hear the giggles emanating from behind that tree.
Last year didn't hold quite as many innocent smiles. He wasn't as excited to walk around the historic area of the park; wasn't as content to have only mommy. There were other kids playing on the playground near us, distracting him from the trees and the monuments and... well, me. At first I thought the photos didn't turn out as well as previous years, but then I realized the difference wasn't so much in my camera. He was starting to grow up, starting to look away, starting to drift...
This afternoon will be our 4th fall photo shoot. I'll be carrying tissues in my camera bag.

To participate in Wordful Wednesdays, head over to 7 Clown Circus. The theme this week is inspired by the movie MOTHERHOOD, opening this Friday.

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 7; Channeling my mother

I love my mom, and she was great at so many things - always signing up for field trips and throwing extravagant birthday parties. Patience, however, was not her forte. Maybe she owned that virtue once upon a time, but the woman had 3 children in 4 years. She could have been grappling with insanity and none of us would have noticed because she always put us first. I, on the other hand, am ordinarily very patient with Monsoon. It's not easy, but I can almost always keep my cool, or at the very least laugh it off (it helps that I have a better support system than she did, and that I only have one child).

Last fall, my sister and I took Monsoon and Prissy (my niece) to a festival. The husbands were busy cutting down a tree or some such business, and after they nearly dropped a limb on our neighbor's classic corvette, my nerves were burning on end. We finally scurried out of the house, kids in tow, and headed for the big ta-do a half hour away.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Monsoon has to pee. Did I mention this festival was in the middle of nowhere? I might also tell you that Monsoon has an irritating habit of waiting until the very last minute to tell me he has to go. There are no stores, no restaurants, not even a freaking McDonalds on the way to this place, and the road was too busy to pull over.

I told him he'd have to wait, and I wasn't nice about it. We made it to the line of cars outside the gate. We could smell the funnel cakes, we were so close. That's when I heard, "oops," and I should have just smothered myself in a plastic bag right then and there.

Instead, I screeched into the parking lot, growling and yelling and looking back every few words to give him the stink eye. He told me, "It's okay, Mommy." No! No it is most definitely NOT okay! "Take your deep breafs, Mommy," he sniffled. I was heartless. I threatened to go straight home and he could just keep sitting in his pee all the way back and if he had to pee again, he could just pee right there and warm himself back up again! I got out of the car and stomped around until my feet were numb, yelling and berating him some more. He cried, he was ashamed, he didn't know how to handle this mommy with no patience. I completely lost it. It. Was. Bad.

When I got back into the car, the look on my sister's face was indescribable. All she said was, "Whoooaaaa....." and I knew what she was thinking. Mom.

We ended up driving another ten minutes down the road to K-mart and picking up something for him to wear to the festival. He apologized all day, and so did I. The last time I peed my pants was in my mom's van. I was 14 years old. She was right to be pissed. I was out of line with Monsoon. Bad, bad mommy.

What's your bad mommy story? If it's a real doozy, write a post and leave your link in the comment section.

Never heard that question before.

Here are some answers (and thoughts) I've given to the many "why" and "but-what-if" questions I've heard lately from Monsoon. It's an effort to not just say 'I don't know.'

"Those are your testicles," followed by, "No, jellyfish have tentacles." Sorry I spewed snot on you. If you don't like it, stop making me laugh.

"Underwear are for you bottom. If you put them around your neck, they will likely get stuck. Again." Again!?

"No, my utters do not have super powers." You don't need to know about their super powers just yet.

"If everyone had a penis, there would be no girls." Stop asking what I have.

"Clifford is pretend. Sprinkles will never talk." What do you mean you don't want her, then?

"Well then the car would smell really bad, wouldn't it?" Are all kids this obsessed with poop?

Secret Cartoons

Sometimes I wonder how Monsoon's mind works - what he's thinking, how he gathers thoughts, what does he really understand... that kind of thing. On rare occasions, he allows me a glimpse into that window.

Tonight, after reading our bedtime book in the rocking chair, Monsoon told me to rest my eyes. He sat backwards on my lap and proceeded to sing "rockabye baby" and gently rock the chair back and forth. After a minute, he asked if I was asleep yet - I smiled and nodded, keeping my eyes shut, so he kissed my cheek and whispered, "goodnight mommy." He got off my lap, kissed my arm and whispered, "I'll be right back, mommy." It was so sweet, I nearly cried in my sleep.

That's when I heard him pitter-patter into the other room and whisper-yell, "Daddy! Mommy is sleeping. We have to be very quiet." Monsoon came back in to check on me, then heard daddy being loud in the other room again. He stomped in and whisper-yelled, "Didn't you hear what I said? I told you to be quiet! Mommy's sleeping." At this point, I'm trying really hard not to laugh out loud.

They both tip-toed past me to get to the living room, where Monsoon giddily requested a cartoon. At this, I snorted. Of course, he wanted me asleep so he could manipulate daddy into tv instead of bed.

Is this what he thinks we do when he goes to bed? "Quick! He's asleep, let's watch cartoons!"

Use my what!?

I always knew I was a superhero. Now I know what makes me super.

Monsoon and I went to the bounce house place the other day. I know better than to go there without a second child, but there weren't any available so I put on my big girl sports bra and prepared to sweat.

One particular bounce toy - named the spider for it's web-like climbing apparatus - is quite difficult. You can't get to the top of the really big slide if you can't climb up through the elastic webs, so I helped the boy out.

I had to stop on every level to reach down and pull him up. When I finally got to the top, I reached down to grab his hands, and noticed my boobs were most of what was keeping me from falling back through the holes. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but I certainly didn't think anyone else would notice the stretches of web stuck underneath the weight of my chest. I kept trying to pull Monsoon up; he was grunting like it was hard even though he had stopped helping by this point and it was all on me. Think Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger, scene 1 (I think).

"Come on, Mommy! Use your utter power!"

So... now he knows my super secret. It's all in the utters.

The Bad Mommy Weekly, issue 5; Not a butt-wiper

It's been two years since I stopped buying diapers, but we've been struggling for the last year with something else. Monsoon had a free pass for a while - he couldn't reach back there - but he's bigger now. So why, for the love of all that is mommy's sanity, will he not wipe his own butt?

I'll admit, as a recovering germ-a-phobe, the thought of what's underneath those fingernails when a kid does finally attempt the streak-free shine, well that just about does me in. For this purpose, we introduced "the scrubby brush." I taught Monsoon how to scrub underneath his fingernails and he knew it was a must-do after every... ahem... attempt.

The whole "wiping" thing quickly overshadowed any slight interest in the the scrubby brush, though, and somehow the little tool has disappeared. I fished it out of the trash once, but I'm pretty sure he's thrown it away again. He figures if there's no scrubby, there can't be any wiping himself. Smart, eh?

The other day while I was on the treadmill, he went to the potty. I saw him go in, and I heard him yelling for me a few minutes later. Ugh. "You'll have to wipe yourself, Monsoon. I still have twenty minutes of runninnnnggggg!" Twenty minutes later, he was still sitting, quite patiently, on the toilet. Are you kidding me?

Yesterday, I let him sit in there for half an hour. Nothing. He knew I wasn't doing anything (like running) when he went in, so he continued yelling for me at the top his lungs. For 30 minutes. "I need you, Mommeeeeeeeeee." He actually cried. I thought he was faking, but when I went in, it took several minutes for him to calm down. Plus, his legs had gone numb. (Can continuous leg numbness cause permanent damage? Just curious. I'm not saying it happens a lot, but....). Bad Mommy.

He just won't do it. It's not like I can let him go wipe-less - that causes rashes, not to mention the stink-butt. Ewww. I'm not that bad... yet.

Are you a Bad Mommy Weekly? Vent here (or at your own blog and link up), ease your guilt! Feel free to copy my BMW button at the top of this post - the old fashioned way because I haven't bothered to make an official button - and use it on your Bad Mommy Weekly post.

Fx4: Going Campin'

A while back, soon after we got Monsoon's sleeping-bag-in-a-backpack and our new tent, the boy decided he was going camping. Apparently, this is how he goes camping:

Yep, he's walking out the door with his camping gear, shoes, and... bare nekkid self. He was completely serious.

Go have more Phriday Photo Phun with Candid Carrie!

TAT: Vacation Edition

It was day 2 of vacation. We stopped about 2 hours from the beach (yes we were stiiiill on the road) for the 3rd and most whiny "I hafta potteeeeeeee" break in twenty minutes. Needless to say, the boys were getting a bit fed up with my pea-sized bladder.

When I came out of the bathroom (after a long wait), dear husband was in line for caffeine and had Monsoon in a football hold, angry thermometer face on and temp rising. Oddly, the boy seemed perfectly happy, so I took him and headed outside to stretch our legs. Before we made it to the door he pointed and said, "Look at him!" He was really really excited, but I knew right then why hubs was so red.

I, too, had noticed the little person waiting in line when we first went in, and made a mental note to work out a specific version of my "everybody is different and that's a good thing" spiel, just in case. I don't mind when Monsoon asks about people, and I try to be prepared because he does ask. A lot. Unfortunately, husband was not prepared. At all.

When they got in line behind this man, Monsoon not only asked about him but made a HUGE deal about the guy being little like him, jumping and yelling about it while my husband could only "SSSHHHHhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!" him. Monsoon was so excited about a grown-up being his size, he just couldn't stop going on about it. Really, he thought it was the coolest thing ever.

We had a discussion about it when we got to the car (which is when hubs told me what happened). Monsoon is still confused about why something so cool might embarrass someone.

If you want more awkward stories (of course you do!) or if you have some of your own awkward moments to share (of course you do!) head over to Tova Darling for her Totally Awkward Tuesdays.

TAT: Quiet Moment

Tova Darling is hosting Totally Awkward Tuesdays for the last time today... at least until she settles into a new location, finds a job and accumulates some more awkward moments.

Monsoon and I went to "big church" together on Sunday, instead of leaving him in the kid's room like usual. I had packed plenty of snacks to keep him occupied, which usually does the trick if ever we go places where he needs to be quiet. He was feeling extra clingy lovey, though and wanted me to hold him every time we stood up for a song. Fine with me, I needed the 35lb workout after trainer girl had been away all week. You know, there's always a more comfortable side to hold your purse, a child, a heavy bag... but I switched up to try and even things out a bit. It felt uncomfortable, but my left side is weaker, so I didn't think too much about it until....

In a quiet moment between songs...

"You're squishing my penis, Mommy!"

TAT: Potty Mouth

You all know by now, right? You know about Tuesdays? Totally awkward (which should be awesome) Tuesdays at Tova's? Visit The Secret Life of Tova Darling for more embarrassment fun.
***
We were recently informed by his teacher that Monsoon started a potty-mouth riot. He began shouting "poopy" because, well, it's a fun word when you're 3. And 30, but that's beside the point. The other kids (all 25 or so of them) found this to be in very good taste, and the entire class regaled the teachers with mass "poopy" screams. During lunch.

Admittedly, I wanted to laugh, but of course it wasn't funny. I'm not laughing right now, either. Even though I am. Being called out by the teacher is still quite awkward. Quite.

Since then, I've been teaching him new words for poop - words the other kids won't know, so as to avoid another "incident." Feces, scat, log - he used that one in a bathroom full of ladies at target ("that's a nice log"). At least he can't says his L's and it sounded more like, "that's a nice yog." Nobody could tell he was admiring his own handiwork. Right?

For the record, it's all my husband's fault.

TAT: First Impressions, Pastor BG

Go visit The Secret Life of Tova Darling to find (or share!) more awkwardness because it's... that's right... Totally Awkward Tuesday!

I'm having a bit of trouble revving up my brain this morning, let's hope it's just allergies, but since I can't think, I'm going to share something from Monsoon's blog. He does have a gift for turning my face from pasty to candy apple in seconds, be it with make-up or a handful of words.

So I'm sort of new to this particular church, but I really like it. I like the pastor, who is also new there. He's got 3 kids and his youngest is a boy about Monsoon's age, both of them having similar excitable personality traits - you know those kids, the ones old people call "wild" and feel the need to grumble in the grocery line about their parents. Personally, I love those kids who find joy in everything and get so happy they can't stand to be still, but I'm partial. I digress.

We stayed after church for a lunch/meeting and happened to find ourselves sitting at the same small round table as Pastor BG and his son, who Monsoon just loves (he gets so excited about seeing other kids, you'd think we kept him locked in a closet). After the initial excitement of "Yay! It's my friend! Yay!" and the kids calmed down enough to notice other people sitting at the table, Monsoon's eyes found Pastor.

"Why do you don't have any hair?"

Maybe this wouldn't have been quite so awkward in any other setting? I usually handle questions with ease, even when he asks about why that person's chair has wheels or why is she walking like that or why does that kid talks different.... I feel strongly about not making a big deal out of those questions, and answering him honestly and never making him uncomfortable with other people just because they are different from him. But the bald question to our pastor.... it got me. I was stumped. I froze.

Luckily, Pastor Bald Guy seemed almost unphased, and I think he was trying not to laugh. He answered something about shaving it (really?) but I still had trouble finding things to say the rest of the afternoon. I actually forgot to even introduce myself. What an idiot.

On a side note: you can go wish Uncle Lynn a happy birthday today over at Eat Your Veggies and enter to win some Pop'rs products. You can find the button on my top left sidebar.