27 December 2006

Christmas Dinner

My lower back decided to go out before Christmas. I know, fun, right?

This is about as much fun as debating politics but with less POTUS hate and more pain killers involved. I will get my grove back but I'll be a slow mover for a while.

Hey, Mr. Roboto called and wants his parachute pants back.

Christmas dinner was fabulous. Aside from the odd fact that my Dad, sitting a mere two seats away, missed my step mom turning from gray to shades of dusky blue from lack of oxygen. She's okay, now.

A cherry tomato skin going down the wrong pipe. Everyone else noticed her peril, including my uncle who is a doctor


Most everyone at the table sprang into action. My uncle performed the Heimlich several times over while everyone looked on in shock. Mr. Coffee was poised ready bolt and take her to the ER. Grandma looked anxiously on. My aunt was out of her seat and running to the phone. The kids and my sisters, shocked, motionless, not knowing what to do.

And then there was my Dad, quite obliviously eating from his plate.

The stuffing could not have been that good. 29 years of marriage competing with stuffing? I don't think so.

I was really scared hearing my uncle telling his wife in his calm doctor voice to call 911 after a third and fourth attempt to dislodge the object. They must teach this exact calm tone in Medical School because I have rarely heard it used and when I do, it's solely by doctors.

I watch Scrubs and Grey's Anatomy.

It was only after my step mom dislodged it, and could breathe that we managed to be able to take our fingernails out of the dining room table. She even joked, "At least I didn't catch myself on fire!". That one was a couple years ago, also Christmas Day.

I had my laugh but I have to say in my Dad's defense, (love you Dad!) he told my sister later that he didn't know what was happening until well into the ordeal. I know he can't hear as well as he used to with the ringing in his ears.

So, it can be explained, but it paints one memorable Christmas dinner that turned out more Peg Bundy than Norman Rockwell.

I just have to get that stuffing recipe from my Aunt. It must be pretty darn good.

~Bee says pass the gravy

02 December 2006

Max

Max is 8 today! 

Mr. Coffee bounced on his toes as the doctor delivered our first son and second child. The boy was my easiest, drug-free with only 2 hours of labor and then, 20 minutes of work.  The delivery was so fast, no one got to the hospital in time to greet his cute face, only me and Mr. Coffee. He was came into this world a tad bit overdue, a little over 9lbs with blond hair to boot.

He was a super baby, sleeping through the night by 4 months. We also nicknamed him Baby Hoover, for his eating abilities. That boy could eat like no other. In fact, he can still eat more than a football team.



I think the most amazing thing about Max was the fact that he didn't talk but a few words until he was 3½, then it all came out in full sentences. He's a thinker, loves Star Wars and entomology (bugs!).

Contemplating always, figuring, and theorizing. He was reading by the time he was 4 and tested the highest score ever in school district history for reading comp and speed as a first grader. Even now, my little etymologist is in 2nd grade and trying to explain to me the concept of centrifugal force.

He comes off with these ideas that surprise me or just plain crack me up, "I rest my case" and my favorite "Why can't I make a Star Wars land speeder?" My answer is the usual, "You just can't. Now, go help Jaina with her long division."


I've been blessed by his 8 little years. Here is to many, many more...