Posts Tagged ‘Big Brother’

…before our washing machine cries MERCY and dies a soaking wet death on my laundry room floor.

Husband as my witness here’s one single week’s collection of items fished out after the wash cycle has finished.

Lord knows, I apparently don’t have it in me to check pockets before I put in the clothes.  Ever.


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I’m attending a baby shower in a few weeks and my cute, preggy friend registered for some items at Pottery Barn.  So, I went online today and ordered her something adorable and, as usual, my purchase led Pottery Barn to recommend yet another item to me.

“People who bought your product, often buy this product…”

Tulip Wall Decals for $29.99

Create a cheerful garden of colorful flowers anywhere in the room with our exclusive peel-and-stick wall decals.

  • Decals are easy to apply and remove.
  • Created from original watercolor illustrations so each bloom is unique.
  • Set of 9 tulips.
  • Tulip height ranges from 18″ to 31.5″.
  • Internet / Retail only.

And, here they are (picture from the PB website):

Like ’em?   Yeah?  Me too, I guess.

Almost as  much as I liked the work that Big Brother brought home from pre-school earlier this week.

Here’s that.

I mean, come on PB.  Really?

$29.99.   Silly.

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Awesome.  Thanks.

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I know this might make us sound like kind of bad parents but we’ve learned that Big Brother is highly motivated by money. He loves it. Offer him a penny and he’ll fetch you a cold beverage. Offer him a nickel and he’ll sing a song…loudly, in public. Offer him a quarter and, as witnessed this weekend, he’ll wade out in bone-chillingly cold ocean water to retrieve Little Brother’s beloved rubber ball.  And, if said quarter is a commemorative state quarter?  Holy cow.  Oh, I shudder to think of what he’d do.

Big Brother also has a list of daily chores for which he receives stickers. At the end of the week, his allowance is based on how many stickers he’s accumulated.  And all this has been going on for quite a long time.  He does his chores (or some random challenge) collects his booty, and then hustles to his room to squirrel it away in his piggy bank.

Piggy’s gotten too fat a few times over the years forcing us to cash in some coins for bills to make more room.  We knew Big Brother had a decent collection going but had no idea, really, what the cumulative totals were.   All we knew was that Big Brother loved Piggy.  And all that Piggy represented.  For example, when I’m asked for the nine millionth time to take them out to lunch (or buy the new Bakugan or go to the car wash even though it’s raining outside), and I respond by saying, “No.  We aren’t made of money, you know?”, Big Brother remembers Piggy.  He contemplates, pausing for a moment, and then says “It’s ok, Mommy.  I’ll pay.”


So, you can imagine my surprise when he came to us and asked if he could open his own bank account.   We had no idea that our weekly trip to the bank was anything more to Big Brother than an opportunity to score lollipops.   He told us he wanted to save his money somewhere “super safe” and that he was really hopeful they might give him his very own “secret code” to get his money when he needed it.

Husband and I thought it was a great idea but weren’t so sure how to execute it with the gigantic corporate beast where we do our banking.  So, the next morning I called our local branch to make an appointment.  Unsure of the reaction I’d get (certainly, a five-year old and his piggy bank isn’t top on their list of clients), I was delighted when they walked me through how it would all work and made us an appointment.

Big Brother was thrilled.   And, quickly got to work shaking out the piggy.

So, I gathered up the money for him, we grabbed his social security card and off we went.    To do some banking.

Ready or not.  Here we come.

We sat right down with our representative who welcomed Big Brother, had him tell her his birthday and spell his name.  She asked him to provide his address and his signature.  He took it all very seriously.

You won’t get anymore shots of Big Brother from inside the bank, though.  See, turns out they have some crazy rules against taking pictures and had no qualms telling me to PUT THAT THING AWAY RIGHT NOW.

Sheesh.  How paranoid can you be.   Haha.

But, despite his crazy, camera-happy mother, they patiently got Big Brother all set up ($101!), gave him a little bank book with their sincere congratulations and sent a very proud little boy on his way.

So, thank you, to the staff of Giant Corporate Bank in Marblehead.  Thank you for acting like a small, local bank even though I know you are, in fact, a humongous financial monster.  Thank you for making last Friday a very special day for Big Brother.  He checks his account balance daily and feels like a very big kid.

Oh, and thank you, in advance, for not sending the police to my door because I posted a photo taken from inside your bank on my blog.  I photo-shopped the heck out of it to remove any possible issues.  Swear.

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Big Brother presented me with his Mother’s Day gift this morning.  They made them in pre-school so, since he doesn’t go on Fridays, today was the big reveal.


Cute, huh?  There’s a marigold seed planted in the pot and Big Brother’s face in the center of the flower, where you see a white circle of paper.   There’s also a very sweet poem on the back of the picture about how he, too, grew from just a tiny seed but my care and love (and truckloads of mac and cheese) made him grow as big and strong as he is today.

I was touched.   Hugs, kisses, thank yous all around.

Then his teacher handed me the accompanying card and, with a smile, told me that Big Brother’s card was one of the most memorable.  Which brought his second teacher over, also smiling, to tell me (and I quote) “There are no secrets around here.”

Oh, dear Lord.   I opened it:

Let me just zoom in on a little gem for you.

What a sweetheart, no?  Ratting me out for dyeing my hair.

Good thing he’s just the kid of the blue-eyed mailman or Husband might be upset.

Gotta run.

Chores to do and dishes to sort!   Wooohooooo!!!

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We’re all happily home from a wonderful stretch of days visiting my parents in Vermont.   Beautiful weather, (mostly) happy kids, many fabulous outdoor activities, drinks with great friends and delicious meals with family.

Plus, my parents scored some cheap child labor in tending their fields.


But, seriously, how cute are they in those giant tractors?

Really, though, it was a great trip.  A perfect trip.

Well, almost perfect.

Except for a minor blip when I took the boys to a local playground and while I was running a 5K, doing a cart-wheel, rescuing my kids from a rabid dog, (oh, ok…) walking slowly along a wooden walkway, I went down like a ton of bricks.  Just fell.  For who knows what incredibly athletic reason.  (I may or may not have been reading something on my iPhone.  You can’t prove it.)  But anyway, down I went — arms splayed, legs askew, ankle rolled.  Ass over teakettle in my flip-flops.  Suddenly, on the grass looking up at a very worried Big Brother.

Mommy!  Are you ok?

Clearly, I am very graceful.   Swan-like, in fact.

Here, Mommy.   I picked up your phone.  It looks ok.

Mommy of the Year.   Yup, that’s me.   Go ahead and send my trophy to the Manchester Recreation Area c/o Grassy Area behind the tire swings.

So, anyway.   Here’s a shot of the right ankle Friday afternoon back at my parents house.  You know, shortly after I got up close and personal with the playground grass.

You like the pedicure?  You do.  Thanks.

And, here’s the stunning beauty that is my ankle (or lack thereof) today.  Sunday afternoon back at home.


It’s fine, of course.  I’m walking around on it without much trouble and, even though it’s hideous looking, it actually feels better than it did yesterday.

But, really.   Gross.

Yup, just another “sports injury” to add to my collection.

Note to self:  really must slow down.   Ha.

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Back in the Dark Ages of my youth, I would eagerly anticipate the arrival of the Sears Roebuck catalogue.  Catalogues, in general, weren’t nearly as pervasive as they are today and Sears was the Grand-Daddy of them all.  That baby was huge.  And, with its giant toy and youth chapters, I spent countless hours lying on my belly on the floor of our living room flipping through it page by page by page.

(Yeah, yeah.  Bring it.  Lonely only child?  Perhaps.)


I discovered yesterday that there’s a new “Sears Roebuck Catalogue” in town.  For modern-day children.  It’s called the Yankee Candle catalogue and it rocks.  Nearly every page has a “rub and sniff” candle for the kiddos.  I’m not kidding when I tell you that Big and Little Brother spent nearly 45 minutes with it during the horrible post-nap but pre-dinner witching hour.  Rubbing, smelling, taking turns, commenting, flipping the page, choosing favorites and….not arguing.

I’m thinking about ordering a boatload of candles I really don’t need.  In part, as thanks to and recognition for the brilliant smelly pages idea.   In part, to ensure they keep sending me catalogues!

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