Polliwalks Rock!

Bird was given a chance to try out some fabulous new shoes from the clever folks at Polliwalks. I'm talking sizzlin' cool shoes. Bird slid them on as soon he ripped open the package and practically hasn't taken them off since. This is the kid who takes off his shoes and lines them up in the mud room before the door behind him is even closed. He doesn't see the need for shoes at all, which makes me wonder who his real mother is. Bird feels like a million bucks in his Polliwalks. And boy, you oughta see a four-year old strut his stuff. He picked the Gator because of the menacing teeth, so I suppose that ups the coolness factor (and his testosterone level).

The cool thing about Polliwalks is how freakin' fun they are. There are four different animal styles to choose from, Gator, Ladybug, Frog, and Duck, with more in the works. The design is adorable, the colors tasty, and the price is so great that there's no way Mac Daddy can bitch about how much I spend on shoes (wait a sec, he only bitches about how much I spend on my shoes). The coolest thing on the Polliwalks is the tread. Each animal footprint leaves a different impression.

Stomp in puddles!
Sashay through the sand!
Squish in the mud!
Strut all over the wet cement in front of the neighbor's house!

Leaving a trail of where you've been has never been so fun. I, the neatnik OCD mom that I am, even let, no, ENCOURAGED, Bird to trail through the mud yesterday. Just so we could see the Gator prints. We were cracking up at the sheer novelty of it. The best thing is how easy is was to clean up the shoes. Some water, a spritz only, and they're good as new (well, granted they are new). Bird ran downstairs this morning and put on his Polliwalks rightaway and couldn't wait to show them off to the kids at school. I have a feeling we'll be the proud owners of a shoe menagerie this summer. You too can get them at http://polliwalks.com/.

Don't think for a minute that these are Mock Crocs. Banish the thought. Polliwalks are a whole different animal (pun fully intended). I succumbed to the Crocs last year but never found them to be anything more than a utility, easy on, easy off, easy to clean. Polliwalks are all those things and cute to boot. Form, function, and fashion are not mutually exclusive in my world.

Kids shoes should promote a life of being footloose and fancy free. We'd all have a bit more whimsy in our world and spring in our instep if we sported Ladybugs on our tootsies too.

Needless to say, I hopped online and ordered Deal a pair of the Frog Polliwalks. He's gonna be one hoppy little boy.

Can you make change?

For the first time in something like 20 years, North Carolina will perhaps have a voice in this Democratic primary. I am a voice of one, but I AM LOUD.

Back in the Picture

I missed out on three days of my sons' lives.

Yes, I was here, in the same house, but totally out of the picture. Being balled up in fetal position with a fever and intermittent chills and sweating does not make for great fun-with-mommy time. Mac Daddy, along with our beloved nanny Miss Emma, held down the fort. Mac Daddy had to bear the brunt of it since he had to enterain the kids all weekend while tending to my needs: chicken noodle soup, tea with honey, water with a straw, Chapstick, Motrin, tissues, remote control, blanket, socks, more water, juice, bread ever so slightly toasted, apple sauce, tissues. Of course he tended to the kids' needs too: apple sauce, tissues, Spiderman bandaids, water with a straw, blanket, potty training, M&Ms, grilled cheese. You get the picture. Mac Daddy has been a short order cook, waiter, nurse, professional wrestler, housekeeper, and best-in-show entertainer. Somehow he managed to do it all while still keeping close tabs on the Rasmussen Reports.

The official results are in: I won the husband jackpot. Crackpot and Jackpot, we make the perfect pair.

While I was in bed for three straight days I missed out on a lot. I find that the magic is in the humdrum of our Sisyphus lives. I missed out on celebrating Deal's potty training successes and Bird's mastery of the letter B. I missed out on silly time together, nonsensical knock-knock jokes, and messy peanut butter and apple snacks. I missed out on meal time thank yous (Our dinner time tradition is to take turns saying something we're thankful for from the day. It makes for some heartwarming material.). I missed out on bath time when the boys' excrutiatingly long eyelashes are glistening with water droplets and their little bottoms and tummies are scrumptiously soft. The I-just-had-a-bubblicious-bath smell puts me over the top and makes me want to gnaw on Bird and Deal's ears. I missed out on goodnights, story books, and our ritual butterfly kisses.

Between my fits of sleep I heard the boys happy (and sometimes not so happy) noises downstairs. There was a chorus of "He hit me!" mixed with "NO! NO! NO!" peppering the pandemonium, along with some hearty laughter and giggling. All I could do was lie in bed and feel my family's presence but be totally disconnected from it all. It seemed as if I wasn't even there and I didn't even matter. Life went on without me. I've been told I have a flair for the dramatic, but work with me here. For three days I was not a caregiver to my children. I was nothing more than a feverish blob with mucus breath and a red swollen nose. Sure, Bird and Deal greeted me each day with a kiss to the forehead, but then I was out of the picture. It reminded me of the book I just read for my book club, "The Ghost a the Table."

In the book the mother is an invalid who lies in bed upstairs for pretty much the entirety of her girls' childhood. In reading the book I sympathized with the children and gave little thought to the mom. Now that I spent a few days bedridden myself, I totally sympathize with the mom. What torment she must have felt. What torture to hear her children's tears and laughter and not be available to hug away the sadness or partake in the joy. Her heart must have cracked a bit each day. Her sense of purpose was diminshed. She had no way to show her love. I feel her anguish now. It's palpable and still fresh.

Today is a gift.

We're enjoying spring temps in the middle of winter. Now if you'll excuse me, I have two delicious little boys to tickle and squeeze.

The FLU has befallen, and I can't get up.

My choice for the last four days has been to sleep or to breathe. I have chosen to breathe. Ah, to sleep perchance to dream... I am dreaming about getting out of bed. This germ infested, snot infused, cough suppressant stained platform of boredom. I promise to return soon. Cheers from the sickbed, which is a step up from the deathbed it was a day ago.

Out Sick

Mac Daddy filling in for my wife, she hopes to be back tomorrow.

Enjoy the Super Bowl!!!!