Murrayisms-Update

Murray's latest vocabulary:

"Oh man!" (when something is just unbelievable)

"Oh DARN IT!" (if he has made a mess)

"Daddy, light is green, you can go." (pretty obvious)

"Stupid Daddy!" (he said it once and I guarantee, he'll never say it again)

"Don't forget the M&M's, Mama." (very nonchalantly while Craig and I were making a grocery list and we assumed he wasn't paying attention)

"I wanna go back to Duwuth, pwease?" (big crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks while driving away from the big "yake")

"I'm going swimming!" (this, at 7am; Murray walking out the hotel room door wearing only underwear and shoes; Craig and I still in bed)

"Hey, what's that?" (every five seconds)

"Nawa, kenn up!" (asking Nala to stop barking "kennel up" is her command to stop, but it rarely works)

"Mama, sing garage song, pwease? "(he is referring to Bed of Roses by Bon Jovi; yes, I do sing rock, country, classics as well as nursery rhymes, i.e. Winken, Blinken and Nod - I like to mix it up, even though every one I know other than Murray begs me to sing "SoLo")

We hear so many new words, phrases, and confusing sentences from Murray every day that we are amazed at the ability of a soon-to-be three to think, act and speak as we do. Of course, we think he's a genius, but when all is said and done, we know how completely conceited we are.

Here's to celebrating children. What better gift could God bless us with?

The Noisiest Birds On the Block

Lately, every morning, just before dawn, we are greeted by the very noisy call of some obnoxious birds. In fact, these so-called feathered friends are so loud that one day Murray woke up, climbed on his bed to look out the window and cried, "What's going on out there?!" This rude awakening prompted me to do some Googling. Here's what I found:

The bird in question is known as the Common Grackle. They are longer than a blackbird and smaller than the American Crow. They eat anything and love to congregate in trees and make people's lives miserable with their early morning parties.

After several crack-of-dawn observations, I've come to the conclusion that the Grackles are holding a sort of religious ceremony. The leader begins with a long, solo, cackle which includes variation in tone, pitch and timbre. When he/she is finished, hundreds of others reply by screeching as loud as they can; each seem to have a different call. If the leader goes on too long, his/her "congregation" cuts him/her off, only to cause a cacophony of very angered birds. I've noticed that they'll retreat only when you've finally managed to fall asleep again and just a few seconds before the alarm goes off.

Sheesh, and I thought the cat was annoying in the morning.

Has anyone else experienced the attack of the Grackles?

Dear Mom, It's Me, Marie

Warning: This is a pretty maudlin post, so if you aren't in the mood to feel down or cry, don't read it. Some may say that it's inappropriate, but it's my blog, and my blog is my therapy, so I'm posting it anyway.


Dear Mom, it's me, Ree,

I woke up this morning thinking of you; wishing that I could feel your arms around me just one more time. Oh, how I would give anything for a hug and a conversation. Since I couldn't speak to you, I did what you've always told us to do when we're far apart: I wrapped my arms around myself and pretended it was you. And then I pondered how things would be different if you were still here. If Heaven had an airline, I would be on the next flight. I pose the following questions knowing that you can't answer me in person, but with the faith that you are answering in spirit.

What would you have done when Murray woke up at 5:30am this morning demanding to watch a movie? (we said no)

How would you have reacted when he threw an enormous temper tantrum when I said "no"? Lord knows, you've dealt with more than your fair share of tantrums when Maggie was Murray's age and when I was Maggie's (current) age. Ha! (we took the dvd player away and let him cry it out)


What would you say if I asked you how to make french dips for the millionth time? We're craving them and although you wrote the recipe for me, it would be so much easier just to call you. (You'd laugh and patiently explain every step and detail)

Did you know that our phone bill has decreased by 50% since November 3, 2007? I miss our multiple daily chats more than I could ever have imagined. (although Craig used to complain, even he wishes our phone bill was high again)


What would you tell me to do if I called and said that I'm sad? (you would probably tell me to look around and find something, anything, to be happy about, even if it's the dead of winter)

What would you say to Murray if you could speak to him? (my guess is that you would tell him how much you love him and you would teach him things that only Grandma's can)


What would you say to Craig if you could speak to him? (I think you'd tell him that he's doing a fine job as a husband and father and that you are proud of him)

What would you say if you could speak to Mags? (OH, so many things, but mostly how proud of her you are and that she's turned into a fabulous woman)


Do you visit us in our dreams? (I think so)

What's Heaven like? How's God? How's Mary? (I don't have an answer for this one, but my guess is that everyone up there is watching out for you, for us, for our loved ones)

I have so many more questions, but I think you get the idea, Mom. How would we all be different if you hadn't gotten sick? I heard a quote the other day: "God makes no mistakes." It struck me dumb because even though I'm horrified that you're gone, I have to keep reminding myself that you really aren't gone, that you are with Him.

In a conversation with Grandma Kate while I was in labor with Murray, I started to cry and asked how I could possibly be a good mom without your help. Her answer was simple. She said, "Marie, she's already taught you to be a mom; by raising you!" So though your life was infinitely too short, I am so blessed to have had you for the time that I did. We all are.

I love you mom.

Murray's Big Dip

When I heard how hot the weekend was going to be, my first thought was "lake". Despite the fact that Craig had a departmental party to attend, there was no way I was going to sit around in the heat. So on Saturday morning, Maggie, myself and Murray hopped in the car and hit the road. Forty-five minutes later, we were reveling in the beauty that is the lake. With the dogs, Murray and I all away, Craig was happy to enjoy 24 hours of solitude.

It turned out to be one of those "golden days" (as my mom would say). The August-warmed water looked like a sheet of glass, the sunnies were loving their "free" corn dinner from Murray's hook, and I enjoyed a good book and a long nap in the sun.

After nap, Murray wanted to take a boat ride. Grandpa and Grandma were on the pontoon with friends and it's been years since I've driven the fishing boat, so we opted for the paddle boat. The two of us had a great ride; Rudy followed us on shore while Maggie relaxed in the waning sun in a lounge chair. When we returned, I unloaded Murray and began to crank the lift up. I turned around, ran into Murray and the next thing I knew, he was in the lake. Maggie almost had a stroke. No worries here - the kid loves the water - he was wearing his life jacket. I calmly leaned over, pulled him up and after he caught his breath, he giggled. I made light of the situation so as not to scare him for future swimming and lake activities. It worked; he wanted go swimming about 10 minutes later. Poor Maggie; she was scared out of her mind. Hence the reason Murray is not allowed on the dock without his life jacket, which has been our rule since day one. He's been having a blast telling his story of how he "fell in the lake deep!". After all, he is a lake kid.

The Case of the Missing Bike

It all started on Tuesday, August 3rd. I left work at 4:30, eager to ride my bike to Weight Watchers and then get home to my family. As I headed for the bike rack, I noticed that something was missing. You guessed it: my bike. SOMEONE STOLE MY BIKE!!! In the middle of the day, no less. I was so mad I literally stomped over to the security office to report it missing. They said that they would file a report with Moorhead PD. I felt pretty violated.


After my meeting, I walked home, and when I got to the driveway, Craig asked me where my bike was. When I told him the story, he looked at me and said, "I KNEW you wouldn't lock your bike up correctly". That comment was just enough to send me over the edge. I went from mad to steaming mad.


Days go by. Friday morning, I wake up feeling like someone had stabbed me in the chest. I went to work anyway, figuring that it was Friday and soon, I'd be able to rest. At 9am, my two bosses lectured me about taking care of myself, while shoving me out the door with commands to go to the doctor. If I wouldn't have acquiesced, I think President Edna herself would have handcuffed me and taken me in. Anyway, I did as told and was diagnosed with bronchitis. I left the clinic with intentions to sleep the rest of the day away.

Ten minutes after I returned from the clinic, the office calls. "So much for rest", I thought. But it turned out to be good news: my bike had been recovered! A detective with the Fargo Police Department found my treasured Trek 3400 in Fargo at a pawn shop. The men who cut the lock (yes, cut the lock, Craig) were arrested on felony charges due to the value of the bike. It turned out that the morons had stolen a total of 14 bikes all over the city, and were pawning them for drug money. The best part? Craig finally believed that it wasn't my fault. Sheesh. I wonder if I'll always have to get the police involved to prove myself?

As I write this, my bike is safely stowed in our garage. Until I can get a U-lock, that's where it will stay. I'm not taking any more chances.

Dum Dum or Sucker?

Last week, Murray decided that his bed was not as comfortable as ours. We let it slide when he climbed in at 5:00 am; after all, we only had one more hour to sleep (we've been getting a bit lazy regarding this situation). HUGE mistake. We quickly learned that that one extra hour was not worth the pain involved with Mur-Man in our bed. You would think we would have learned by now.

We changed tactics. We explained that he was a big boy and his big boy bed "wanted" him to sleep in it. This idea coaxed him to go to sleep, but sure enough, at 1:30am, little man was crying - make that screeching -to sleep in "mamadaddy" bed. We let him cry it out for three nights. Finally, I was so tired I resorted to bribery (Mama Stubborn + Daddy Stubborn + Murray Stubborn = Sleepless Nights) .

The next part of this story goes completely against my grain: On the fourth morning, I explained to Murray that if he went to his bed with "no crying, no whining and no getting up in the night", he could have a treat in the morning. Worked like a charm.

But (and a big but here), it worked for three nights. The first day, I didn't expect him to remember, so I didn't have a anything special on hand. At a very early hour, Murray was tapping me and asking for his "teet". We ended up letting him pick out something from the gas station (candy corn is his favorite) on the way to Lynsay's.

This brilliant bribe of mine worked until last night. Craig and Murray went grocery shopping and came home with a bag of dum-dums. The problem lies in this: Murray feels he should get a sucker every time he uses manners, washes his hands, or whatever he deems good behavior (in his world, that means a whole lot of things).

Last night we were back at square one. When Murray finally exhausted himself with the stomping/crying/screaming/begging routine, he fell asleep. But lo and behold, the witching hour arrived (midnight), and he woke up and demanded a sucker and TV.

So here we are: the TV is unplugged and the dum-dum supply is stashed.

We try so hard to raise our son with a firm hand, but I'm afraid that we are the "suckers". Who's the dum-dum? That would be us, too.