Like today when I was freezing and made myself a steaming mug of hot cocoa and as I was sneaking out of the kitchen to go drink my chocolate in peace, Tommy called after me "Hey mom, you cooking?" (meaning I heard you rustling around in the kitchen and I am hoping to get in on any resulting snack action) and I replied "No, I was just doing dishes!" (said over my shoulder as I rushed off to the office at the other end of the house.)
I just really felt strongly about him not ruining his lunch....which followed about 1 1/2 hours later. Besides, it is physically impossible for my children to drink hot cocoa anyway. Without first splashing it all over the table, the floor and themselves. True story.
Sometimes I feel bad lying to my children, especially regarding things that when they do find out I know they will be really sad about, like say, the Easter Bunny. I am just waiting for my (little) kids to figure this out on their own....I mean come on. A huge bunny that delivers colored eggs!! Open your eyes! (So that I don't have to open them for you.)
I'd like to think, though, that I don't lie to my kids about really important things. Like every once in a while, Josie will ask me "Mom, do you think I am like the most adorable kid ever?" and I say "You are pretty adorable...but then again I'm your mother and so that makes me rather biased". Because while I want her to know I think she is adorable, the rest of the world probably doesn't and so she should cultivate other skill sets accordingly. People who are 99% charm and 1 % "get the job done" make pretty lousy roommates and spouses, don't you think?
Further proof that I won't lie to my kids about the really important things--tonight I told Josie and Tommy that they have hobbit feet. Pie has hobbit feet. All our children have hobbit feet. Every stinking foot. I myself have rather nice feet. Nothing to brag about, but then again I am never ashamed to go out in public in my flippers (as Tommy calls flop flops, which is much preferred to my mother calling them thongs). So Pie's feet drive me a little bit crazy. Rather wide and flat. But you will never find a pair of feet less likely to smell--I will give him that! Anyway, I don't believe in raising my children to think they have stunningly beautiful feet. It would be so unethical! Not to mention I would never be able to pull it off because I have like the world's worst poker face. I took a picture of their feet--not to highlight the hobbit-like qualities--but to show you what I consider rather noteworthy: Tommy's feet aren't that much smaller than Jos' feet, and they are four years apart. (Also, I couldn't resist showing you this picture because it is such a horrible shot. I found it breathtaking in it's badness. Composition, lighting, exposure...this may be my favorite picture I have ever posted. Don't you agree? Be honest.
4 comments:
I too am married to a man with hobbit feet... and when I say hobbit feet, I don't just mean blocks of flesh. I am talking the thick carpet of hair that goes along with hobbit feet. This trait passed down to our son, Finn (little blocks but no hair yet). It has taken me awhile to get used to it. I may wind up being the only one in the family that has an arch to their foot.
Oh Kathryn...I feel your pain. The hobbit foot gene is certainly dominant. At Tommy's ultrasound I must have announced "Oh great, he's got YOUR feet!" to my husband in a manner the tech did not appreciate because she shot me a look and got all huffy. Sure lady, give the pregnant girl with FOUR children in the ultrasound room attitude--like I'm somehow not going to bond with this baby because of his feet! People. They're the worst!
Those hobbits are quite adorable in my opinion. But I get it...and for the same reasons I too remind my kids about their flat feet they inherited from my better half and all of the other traits that won the gene battle when my genes decided to just not show up.
Matt here. Sure hobbits feet look bad but having rediculously high arches have its downside as well. I was reminded of this once again as we went skiing on Saturday. Getting on my snowboard boots practically required the jaws of life and getting them off the same. The whole reason why I snowboard is because ski boots are ten times worse. It takes me 10 minutes (I wish I was exaggerating) to get them on and before I make it out of the lodge I have already lost all feeling in them.
Oh yeah, I also got the crook-toe you so luckily avoided.
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