The Cost of Expensive Taste

I'm participating with Write on Edge for their Red Writing Hood prompt this week. It is a picture prompt:

I decided to have a little fun.


The Cost of Expensive Taste

“Do you think there’s too much beige?” she asked, cocking her head and staring at the newly hung paintings in her front room.

“Oh god no, darling, it’s chic. It’s very chic. Besides, we offset it with the muted claret. It’s all the rage, you’ll see, but don’t get me wrong, you are unique. No one has a home like you, I promise you that,” the designer trailed off, chuckling nervously.

“And, is that wrought iron?”

“Well,” he guffawed, “with Brazilian Rosewood accent!” He whispered conspiratorially and leaned in. “You can’t even get that legally anymore,” then looked in her eyes with a knowing look.

She slit her eyes and stared back at him in silence, appraising what he had just said.

“Hm,” she said.

They both turned and looked again at the room.

“You know, it’s important to me to be…understated,” she started.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“The rosewood accent. I like that. I was afraid it was all a little…overdone.”

He held his chin, intent on her words. He looked down, shook his head, “No, no. It’s not overdone. I know you have superior taste. I have been sure to –“

“That’s enough. Send me the bill and I’ll have Jaques take care of it.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

The assistant approached the designer.

“Brazilian Rosewood?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t believe you. How do you think of this stuff?”

“Come on, let’s go celebrate and have dinner at Terzo Piano. I hear they are showcasing some new beige art!”

They walked out and just laughed.

Proud - Wordless Wednesday

I just love that my fridge is now covered with stuff like this:

I love the work my boy brings home from preschool. (Yes, I know a magnet holding it up is about wine - would you expect anything else from me?)

Brought to you by:


I'm linking up with Kristi from Live and Love Out Loud for Wordless Wednesday.

Suburban Friendship

Through the slats of the fence in our backyard, we could hear, “Hey, psst! Hey, buddy!”

Another little boy was trying to communicate with my son. It was cute. This other boy lives on the opposite side of us, not next door, so my son can’t just pop on over and see him. They have talked with each other before. I have no idea what this boy looks like or what his family is like, so it’s hard to know how to continue with a possible friendship.

It was getting close for dinner time, so I called my son in to the table.

Then we could hear again in a loud whisper, “Hey! Buddy! Come back to this spot when you’re done with dinner, K?”

“OK!” My son shouted and ran inside.

Then, my husband and I couldn’t help but have fun with it.

“Psst, hey, buddy! What do they feed you over there?”

“Hey, psst. Do they ever let you out over there?”

“Psst, hey, buddy! How much time you got left?”

This must be the budding of a suburban friendship through the slats of a backyard fence.

Google images

I Will Even Let You Have the Last Cookie

Google images

In the time of pre-child, if I saw a mother having to share her food with her child, I would think, “That sucks.”

I didn’t ever want to share my food. ESPECIALLY at a restaurant. It was ALL mine.

I was the type that would slit my eyes suspiciously if anyone wanted to “share” or “taste” each other’s plates. I ordered what I ordered because I wanted it, and I wasn’t sharing anything.

I love food.

The poor mothers who would say, “Oh, I’ll just let him eat off my plate,” or the poor mothers who offered up their food to their children because it would make them so happy, so happy if their child could eat a little more. Poor mothers.

I guess I won’t make a very good mother because my child’s going to have to eat their own damn food, is what I thought.

Of course, I was wrong.

It bothers me not one bit to share my food with the little bird by my side. I am pleased and proud if he will just try something new off my plate! I have no hesitation in giving myself less or sharing whatever I have so that he can have more.

I am a good mother. I’ll share my food with you, my bub.

The Splinter Obsession (Wordless Wednesday)

My boy has always been obsessed with Cars. Now we have The Splinter Obsession.

Monster Trucks

Sandbox is turned into a monster truck arena.

I am linking up with Kristi at Live and Love Out Loud for Wordless Wednesday!

Funny Kids

I'm bringing you some small delights today, inspired by Sunday Snippets at Pure Unadulterated Softthistle. She doesn't usually do the link for it anymore, but I like to give her a shout-out for it anyhow!

Google Images

Out of the blue, my boy provided me some philosophical advice, showing him to be wise beyond his years...

"Mommy, sometimes things don't work out."

"That's right, Parker, sometimes they don't," I said as I wondered where this had come from.

He continued, "Yep. Sometimes there's cat puke, and sometimes there's cat POOP!"

"Yes," I laughed, "Sometimes there is cat puke and cat poop."

..........................

We were in the backyard, and Parker came running over to me at the garden.

"Mommy!" He shouted, "Steven's* mommy is outside in her UNDERWEAR!"

I laughed and said quietly, "No, honey, she is in a bathing suit," hoping she hadn't heard.

I had seen her through the slats of our fence, putting up a trampoline in a bikini. My son has never seen me in a bikini. I prefer the maximum coverage type of bathing suit these days.

I had to resist telling Parker, "Why don't you go tell her to put some clothes on?"

...........................

I am a school psychologist. I have been working with an eight year old boy who has difficulty taking responsibility for himself without throwing fits, crying, and whining. He tends to have instant, huge reactions to small problems. He also is quick to be aggressive with other kids as a way of solving simple play problems.

There he stood at the doorway of my office, speaking in the sometimes cute manner of mispronouncing his "r" sounds.

"Hi, Mrs. Lorenzen," he gave me a toothy smile and waved his hand a little.

"Hi, Billy*," I said.

"Kevin* cut in front of me in line today, and I wanted to give him a bloody nose, but I didn't. I told the teacher," he said and then smiled.

Oh boy, we still have some work to do, I thought. I said, "Well, thank you, Billy. That's a start."

*All names of people outside of my family have been changed.

Have any funny kids around making you smile?

Happy Birthday!

A big Happy Birthday goes out to this crazy guy today.

My husband

Richard and I met in the summer of 1997, and what he doesn't know is that 14 years later, sometimes I still look at him when he doesn't know it, and I really, really like what I see.

He's an athletic type, and I'm jealous of his legs.

I won't dare embarrass him by telling you all just how awfully old he is, but please, do not feel sorry for him. The man will forever look like he is in his 20's - he's got such a youthful glow about him.

I'm a quirky type, and I went to a psychic once, about 4 years ago. I hadn't asked her anything about my husband. I wanted to know if I would get pregnant. She exclaimed, "Your husband is still a child!" I laughed and said, "I know!" And then, being the psychic that she is, she said, "I know you know!"

What she meant by that was, my husband is still child-like. He chases new adventures, never stops learning, and loves to have FUN, FUN, FUN.

Of course, we are opposites in many ways, and I like my quiet time a little bit more, so he teaches me a lot. He is the ying to my yang. He keeps things positive and fresh for me when I would rather withdraw into myself.

My poor, dear husband is still waiting for a raging, kegger party on his birthday that has been put on hold since the birth of our son. (Yes, the psychic predicted it.) Although there will be no chilling keg in the backyard, there will be us. Our little family. And my husband's favorite home-made pizza. And ice cream cake (shhh, it's a surprise).

I love you, hunny.