For Maundy Thursday dinner, we ended up going out for Mexican food. Woo Hoo. And Thursday is $2 off burrito dinners night. And, I think sangria was on teh down-low too, so you know, maybe I had to partake in some of that, whatever.
So, Friday (Good Friday) I made salmon, broccoli, and cous cous. Was fabulous until I realized I made fish on Friday during Lent. Very funny for a heathen like me.
I have no recollection of Saturday whatsoever.
Sunday, the Easter Bunny came and brought Chuckles a puzzle. In fact, the very first thing Chuckles said to me Sunday morning was "Upside-down car on fire" and then we looked for the Easter basket. Actually, as I lay him down in his crib Sunday night he also told me that there was an upside-down car on fire and said goodnight. Odd boy.
The Easter Bunny also came to grandma and grandpa's house and brought a big wheel. Woo Hoo. Chuckles has no interest in pedaling. At all. He prefers to locomote around by pushing the ground with his feet. Whatever.
My boy is growing up. I heard him refer to his ding as bankie (like blankie) several times today. I do not want to lose ding. I think ding is cute. I call it ding. Ding is a specific blankie. All the other blankies of the world can be bankies, but I want ding to be ding (actually, truth be told, there are two dings as you know, but let's keep that between us).
Also, from the my-boy-is-growing-up file, he is referring to me as Ma-Mee about half the time and Mr. L-S is Dad-Eee about half the time. Soon we'll be mommy and daddy and then mom and dad and then mother and father, and what happens then, huh? Strippers and all-night benders, that's what.
Once upon a time, in a land far-far away (Ohio), I was a reasonably good person. I donated blood, I donated my time and energy, I didn't swear (much), I generally drove politely. Well, fast-forward four years, 350 miles, infertility, child-bearing, crumbling marriage, sleepless toddler, and you get me.
So, I had that whole Lenten resolution thing where I tried not to judge others. I did OK. I just kept telling myself that everyone was doing the best they could given their teeny-tiny pea-sized brains (or something equally generous). If they were in a rush, I assured myself they were on their way to the hospital to see their new grand-daughter for the first time. If they cut me off, I assumed they hadn't seen me. If a woman was not perfectly groomed and had a beard full of chin hair in public, I assumed she was protesting society's strict view of beauty or was too nearsighted to see it herself. If they didn't have their child in a child safety seat secured safely in the backseat, I told myself that the child unbuckled him or herself and the parent is eagerly trying to get off the road safely to rebuckle. I did OK. I judged far less than normal, but I still couldn't shake it. I assume others are judging me all the time, so I don't worry too much about my background judgements. But, I am still not the person I once was. So, I donated blood. I feel somewhat better. I saved three lives - possibly even premature infants. Maybe I saved someone's mother. Or some drunk who wrapped his car around a tree after a night of boozing. Either way. I saved lives.
I feel somewhat better. I am growing my hair out again and plan on cutting it off for the cancer patients again. I will donate blood again. I am on the bone marrow registry, and if someone needs that marrow, I'll give it up. And if my sister needs my kidney, she can have it. If she needs my liver, though, she'll have to wait until I'm done having a couple of drinks (did you know you can now donate part of your liver and it will grow back? Craziness, I know.).
Oh, And I'd like to welcome Carly to the Perfect 12 club. It's a nice place to be and I'm glad I live here.