Tag Archives: motherhood

The boy called Iron

By Stasha | Published September 21, 2012

Last time I fell off my horse,husband said we should look into a good life insurance for me. Not just any, but a 30 year term life insurance.

Life insurance is very important and for anyone who needs a physical exam in order to qualify for it 30 year plan is an ideal solution. Particularly if you have mortgage and want to secure an income once you pass away for the ones left behind. Mozdex is your one stop resource for an easy online quotes to find the best solution for you. It takes less time then brewing a cup of tea to fill out a form online and receive comparison quotes from leading insurance companies. And if like me you are young, the premiums are low and set for the duration of the 30 year plan.

But seeing how I am younger then my husband I can only assume he thinks I am going to die before him. Other then riding a warmblood there are many reasons why one would think I will not live to be hundred. I call a scone from drive through coffee shop lunch. The last time I went to the gym we still wrote 1999 on checks. Well we still wrote checks period! I sleep less hours a night then expected wait at the queue in DMV and I am convinced that cocoa is fruit and therefor chocolate is one of my five a day. At 2AM. Let’s be honest cocoa does grow on trees and has seeds right?

But the main reason I am possibly going to have a heart attack soon is my son. He never stops talking. EVER. Most of the time I listen. Or at least I try. His stories are very elaborate and long. We pull out of the garage and he will say: mommy, did you know? 35 minutes later he is still deep into his monologue as we arrive at our destination. Sometimes, not on purpose, I tune him out. I find myself thinking about what needs to be done and traffic and the prices of fuel and Presidential candidates and cupcakes. Then I randomly hear:

“…we would be doing it in the hotel and concert and I would unchain them after.”

I learned after that never to miss any of the details of his stories of course. Because I am sure that would have made sense otherwise. So yesterday as we are driving to Deception pass park Little J says:

” Mommy I think it is a big mistake you only have me. When I am a grown up I will have many babies. They will come from my church. All the women will be inside the church and they will bring me babies. I think I will call all my boys Iron.”

This as you can see will be the end of me. My son will probably move to Utah and support all his Iron Men with my life insurance.
I better sign up, there will be a lot of mouths to feed.

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Just like me

By Stasha | Published May 24, 2012

As you all know I grew up with my grandparents.

On the weekends they often had their friends over, Mr. and Mrs. Kavcic. My grandma used to work with the lady and her husband was a farmer. Good, honest people. They usually arrived after dinner and I would sit at the table while they had coffee and played catch up. I loved eavesdropping on their discussions about politics and economy. Then I would say my goodnights and be send to bed. The game of cards was about to begin.

They would play tarok. It is a very interactive and competitive game and because teams are made up differently each time the banter between players is brilliant. It was at least in our house. I used to sneak out of bed, walk across the long hallway of our old apartment and hide behind the closed kitchen door. And listen. They were so funny and full of life. Not the kind of people I knew, serious and old-fashioned, with strict rules and all around adult and responsible behavior. They laughed and shouted, they teased each other and banged on the table as cards fell down on the antique wood.

It was a very rare time for me to peak into lives of my parents. Sure I lived with them and after my grandfather retired when I was six the three of us were always together. But it was old school parenting. They never played with me tea parties or did crafts. I followed my grandpa around doing things he did or liked. I played by myself. Or went outside to the playground and played with other children. It was different. And sometimes I think that it might have been better.

I often wonder if my son really thinks of me as an adult. Sure he says I am old, a lot. But does he understand the difference between adults and children? Like the other day when he said to me we should punish daddy for being late. Or ignoring my plea to put his socks on for the 13th time. Was I like that? I doubt I would have gotten away with it.

A few weeks ago my husband invited his colleague and old friend whom he has not seen in years over for dinner while he was visiting town. It was close to Little J’s bed time so after we ate I excused us and went upstairs to get him ready for the night. He brushed his teeth and put his PJ’s on and I asked if he wants to go down to say good bye to Daddy’s friend.

From the top of the stairs I heard him say:

“It was nice meeting you. Hope you come back to visit us soon. Good night.”

He pinched some popcorn and came back up. I tucked him in and kissed him good night.

I think my grandpa would be proud.

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Fancy that

By Stasha | Published March 22, 2012

Earlier this morning.

Little J, sitting on the couch: Mommy, I spilled tea on your fancy pillow.

What should follow is me rushing out of the kitchen with my perfectly fluffed up hair and make up, in high heels and apron, armed with a cloth and homemade cleaning solution. Scrubbing off the stain from my designer pillow while saying something like “Gosh Darn it child. I cannot leave you alone even for a minute”. Then returning to the kitchen to finish making home made scones.

Instead I continued to type comments on a blog I was admiring at that moment and without even looking up I calculated the damage. One IKEA pillow purchased because Little J wanted it and I was too tired to argue after an epic trip to Seattle and hours spend in the kingdom of self serve furniture. One cup of tea. One comment that if I don’t finish typing in next five seconds I will never remember what I was about to say.

So I said: Don’t worry about it, it will dry.

Guess the only thing fancy in my house is my tea drinking son’s vocabulary.

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