To paint or not to paint

Guest Bathroom.  Red walls, with black and white accents.  Too old school?

'Sup Yo

Mia (from her bed): Mommy!  Daddy!  I'm awake!
Shelton (as he gets her out of bed): 'Sup Yo
Mia (enraged): I not 'Sup yo!  I'm Mia!
Shelton (laughing): You're sure you're not 'sup yo?
Mia (inconsolable): I not 'sup yo neber again! (continue inconsolable crying for 10 minutes).

Want my advice? Beware the 'sup yo.

The Latest Phrases

I'm not sure where she picked it up, but the term "silly billy" is a favorite of Mia's.  When she trips: "I'm such a silly billy."  When Shelton tickles her: "Daddy, you being a big silly billy!" Whenever I spill anything, "Mommy, that's a silly billy thing to do."

With this in mind, I was only slightly surprised when Mia told our television: "You such a silly billy TB (TV)."  Netflicks wasn't working, and I guess that qualifies as a silly billy thing to do.  She then got a puzzled look on her face.   After a moment of reflection, she announced:  "No, you not really a silly billy.  TB's don't have billy buttons."

A Special Kind of Soap Box

For the past few weeks, I've tried to involve Mia more in my daily housecleaning routine.  This has drastically increased my clean time (dirty spoons tend to find their way into the silverware drawer as often as clean ones do), but I think it's worth it.  Or, it will be some day anyway.

One of her "jobs" is to put laundry detergent into the washing machine at the appropriate time.  She is excellent at putting in the detergent, somewhat less excellent at determining the appropriate time.  We have talked about this many times, but every now and again the temptation to put soap into the washer overwhelms her.  The picture below was one such instance that I happened to come across when I had my camera in hand.

 

 When she heard the camera flash, she turned around to see what all the fuss was about.

Her body language tells me she realizes that this is not, in fact, the appropriate time.

I love this girl.

Watch the Road

A few days ago, I was running some errands in Phoenix.  I was making a right turn at a stoplight, and inched my car forward to check for openings in the oncoming traffic.  It was a busy time of day, so I ended up waiting 20-30 seconds.  At that point, knowing that I probably wouldn't find an opening for awhile longer yet, I kind of glazed.  Imagine my surprise when I heard a loud bang, and focused my eyes to find an elderly, wild looking man slamming his hands down on the front of my car.  He was dressed not so subtly in very short cut off jeans... and no more.  (Arrested Development anyone?  Imagine Tobias in 40 years.)  As soon as I made eye contact with him, he raised his arms in a gangster style "what" .  Having no idea what his problem was, I quickly arched an eyebrow at him and looked away.  Realizing he had no audience for his tirade, he eventually moved on.  A few seconds later (still no opening in the blasted traffic!) I realized that he was perhaps enraged over the front end of my car encroaching halfway into the crosswalk.

Irritating, right? I'll be the first to admit that I was in fact in his walkway. Yes, I was in the wrong.  I was halfway into a cross walk... an area that should be a safe zone. That said, did my actions justify his  response?  I think not.  By that point, I was finally able to make my right turn, and I spent the next few minutes silently fuming whilst Mia wondered "Who dat man, momma?  Who was dat?"

As I struggled to answer Mia's question, I found myself wondering who "dat" man was as well.  He looked slightly too clean to be homeless (emphasis on slightly).  Is this man someone's father?  Someone's grandfather?  Who loves him?  Whom does he love? What is he like when people like me aren't ticking him off? Does everyone in the world tick him off on a regular basis?  Will I be that cantankerous in 50 years? Will I be tempted to walk around one of the busiest cities in the world in nothing but my skivvies? (Dear reader, I will try to avoid this last thought at all costs, for your sake as well as mine).

Thankfully, this thought train was just enough to derail me from my previous funk filled attitude and carry me into a more philosophical genre.

Where do you think YOU will be in 50 years?