Look What Hannah Did Today

Her reason?

"I wanted to be a different girl."

And here is "The Save" :

You're OUT!!

Thursday was the Annual Applebee's Summer Picnic. It was held at a park about ten minutes from where we live, and we had good weather for it. The park had a playground (with an ENORMOUS pile of mulch in the middle!!!), baseball diamond, volleyball area, and picnic area with grills all over. It was nicely wooded, and the kids were lucky enough to find a salamander and two frogs (more on the frogs later, if I can remember to get back to it.)

There was another couple there with an adorable little girl, almost three years old. We were all over at the playground equipment, watching the kids play and chatting. The little girl's father talked about how active she is, and how much she likes to move. He told us he is enrolling her in dance classes. Jeff responded, "We're enrolling Hannah in Anger Management classes."

The boys got to be pinch runners in the softball game, and apparently Hannah was the umpire, because she threw Jeff out of the game in true in-your-face umpire fashion. I don't think I've ever seen an umpire pull the crocodile tears card, though. Sheer genius. I think if more umps tried that, they wouldn't be so universally detested and maligned. "No, I'm NOT blind... the tears were blurring my vision!"

At the end of the evening, the kids had managed to hold on to one of the thumbprint-sized frogs they had found, and begged me to let them take him home. Okay, so we make it home with Kermit intact, but the kids were covered from head to toe in -- naturally -- mulch. They needed to be hosed off and bathed, pronto. I don't know what I was thinking, but they managed to talk me into letting them take a cool bath so that Kermit could join them. Yup. That little bugger was really a great swimmer, but after such an exciting evening, he really just preferred to hang out on dry hand.

The kids all learned a bunch that day about tadpoles, frogs, and amphibians in general. Before bedtime, we released Kermit into our backyard, as I explained to the kids that some animals simply cannot survive away from their natural habitat. I answered a lot of questions about frogs that evening, and discovered that "because he's a frog" is a perfectly acceptable answer to most of those questions.

I wonder if this is how it all started for Lois Lane? If you haven't read her blog, Home Fires, you are missing some really good stuff. Thanks to my good friend Z for helping me link her in this post!

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Yesterday was a busy day -- lots of running around, in 100 degree heat, no less. Hannah had her check-up at the pediatrician. You may recall, the boys had their check-up just two weeks ago, so their vaccination shots were still fresh in their memory. I did my best all morning not to mention to any of the kids that Hannah was going to the doctor that morning, but the second word got out, every other word out of the boys' mouths was "shot" or "poke." Hannah was not happy about this at all, and when Hannah is not happy, we all look into a witness relocation program.

So I pull the boys aside and explain to them that they need to be good big brothers and help Hannah feel more comfortable about her visit to the doctor. They immediately shift their focus, recalling other parts of their own doctor visit. John said "You might not get any shots. Maybe they'll just squeeze your bones." Chris chimed in with, "You know what they want you to do? You have to pee in a cup! Hannah can't pee in a cup, she's a girl!"

As it turns out, Hannah was having a ball at her examination. The doctor has a hopscotch mat in the room that Hannah couldn't get enough of. She laughed as it tickled when the doctor put the otoscope in her ears. She loved singing the alphabet with her, counting to ten, and answering questions about numbers. She thought it was great when she was asked to draw pictures. Now, Hannah isn't much into drawing. She mostly scribbles, so when she was asked to draw a man, I was not surprised to see her alien-dog-man creature with arms and legs sticking out all over the place. She drew hair on him, telling the doctor that he is bald, and then drew a treat in his hand.

Then the party was over. In came the nurse. They make the parent sit the child in their lap, and give them a bear-hug. This sounds like perhaps it is to comfort the child while she is getting shots (four of them!), but in reality, it's to prevent the child from kicking and swinging at the nurse. By shot number three, I was ready to take a swing at her myself.

No, seriously, the nurse was great, and she did it all so quickly and kept the banter going to help distract Hannah, it was over in no time. That didn't stop Hannah from wringing every last drop of drama from the situation as possible, though. When we got back in the car, she told the boys, "She sucked my blood, and I love my blood!!"

After that, it was off to LabCorp to have blood drawn from all three kids. Chris went first. First is important -- it sets the tone for the two that follow. We didn't tell the kids exactly what was going to be done at this visit. So, once again, I have Chris seated on my lap, and they fold down this tray in front of us, effectively eliminating our escape plan. I explain to Chris that we are going to give them a little bit of his blood so they can test it and see if he has any radioactive Spider Powers. It was all over very quickly, and Chris did great. I asked him to keep it our secret about the needle poke when we went back to see John and Hannah. He told me that he thought the blood drawing was easy, and I encouraged him to say "It was easy" when he came out. Plus I let him choose who the next victim would be. He flip-flopped a few times, and finally settled on John.

John's turn passed without event, and we returned to the waiting area to collect Hannah. I had to chase her around a row of chairs a couple of times, to the amusement of the few other people waiting, carried her into the examination room, and proceeded to give her the bear hug. Hannah, always trying to be in charge of every situation, told the nurse when she thought she had enough blood. I swear Hannah could probably will her vein closed to cut off the nurse when she deemed it appropriate.

So, when all was said and done, back in the car, John asked Chris why he chose him to go next. "Why did you pick me? You want me to get poked with shots? You want me to get hurt??" Then a discussion arose about why the shots hurt some of them more than it hurt others. Rather than go into a lengthy explanation on varying levels of pain threshholds, I replied,

"Different pokes for different folks."

Tara Sanathanan

I came across a really great idea reading Dr. Zhivago's blog! I have been searching for my very best friend ever from high school, and coming up with pretty much nothing. Doc Z brought up the propensity of many people to Google their own names to see what might be floating around in cyberland about them. So, Tara Sanathanan, if you are checking yourself out, and come across your name here, Tara Sanathanan, check in! I'm looking for yoooooou! Maybe I should throw in a few extra keywords? Lake Forest. Lake Bluff. Illinois. Rutgers. Boston. A Chevy Chevette with a horn that sounds like a wounded seacow. Remington Steele. Diana Steele. Daniel. Bath towel. You out there, Tara Sanathanan?

Southern Living

Decorating. I never did get it. Southern women, I have noticed since we moved to Virginia, have this whole home decorating thing down pat. It's as if they were born with a gene for it, and I was born with the anti-gene. They grow beautiful cottage gardens and prize-winning long-stemmed roses. I grow onion grass and mushrooms. Their windows are gracefully adorned with lacy panels, draping valances and luxurious curtains that set off the colors of their settee. My windows are covered by dusty mini-blinds that bend at odd angles and cover little handprints on the window panes. They retile the floors in their kitchens themselves every year, reflecting their latest whimsy. I replace the area rug, now a commemorative tapestry, honoring the ravioli, Froot Loops, and Kool-Aid that sacrified themselves at the altar of our kitchen table.

These ladies paint and wallpaper every room of their house in dramatic, kitschy, and subtle fashions. For the last five years, paint is something I made an effort to protect my walls from, and if something was affixed to the wall, you can be sure it was done with about eighteen strips of Scotch tape. Their dining room tables are perpetually laid with their finest china and silver, anticipating another dinner party. Our dining room table is shoved off into a corner, covered with drawing paper, boxes of crayons, and the latest artistic creations, laid out to dry. The kitchen table has vinyl placemats adorned with maps of the world, flags of the world, and the states and their capitols.

If you drop by to visit one of your neighbors, you're immediately offered fresh-brewed sun tea and a tray of delectable morsels. I have a pot of coffee that I brewed three hours ago, juice boxes, and apple slices with peanut butter. They always have that inviting, spicy aroma of something sweet that just came out of the oven. I have the constant whoosh and rumble of the washer and dryer.

But when the day comes that we move again, I won't have to leave behind all the effort and love I put into my most prized possessions. They'll be right behind me, watching Popeye from their carseats, and right beside me, at the wheel.

Beety

A couple of days ago, the boys found a bug crawling across the living room floor. To me, a bug is a bug is a creepy crawly little thing to squish and flush. To them, it is a newfound pet. They asked what it was, I looked it over, and told them (as I do with any bug with a hard shell type thing) that it was a beetle. He was adopted immediately, and henceforth named "Beety."

First off, they made Beety a home. Chris got a giant piece of heavy paper and proceded to draw and cut out a castle. They got a fresh leaf for him to dine on, and a bottlecap of water for when he thirsted. Chris made him a paper bed and paper pillow.

Beety headed for the vent, where the boys intervened and saved him from freezing to death at the grip of the steady flow of arctic air.

Time for lessons. The boys, knowing that swimming is an important skill that everyone should learn, next filled six or seven bowls and jar tops of varying sizes with varying levels of water. Chris built paper ladders to help Beety climb in and out of the water, and fashioned a towel out of the same paper for when Beety's lesson was finished. He actually rolled that little bug up in the tiny piece of paper and carried him around that way.

What we learned: "beetles" actually can swim -- pretty fast. They also must have at least four lives, because I was pretty sure he had drowned a few times, only to dry out and scuttle into his castle. They are also very hard to find when dropped on an oriental rug.

Lightening Strikes

One of our ginormous pine trees close to the house got struck by lightening last Friday. It fried our computer along with a bunch of other appliances, so don't expect to see much of me for the next week. This stinks!! Dial-up connections stink. Insurance companies stink. Brussels sprouts stink.

Catch ya next week.

Happy Birthday, Hannah!

(This is Hannah one year ago)




Today Hannah turned four! At a quarter to two in the morning! After about one hour of labor!


Typical.

Uber Kinder

Yesterday the boys had an appointment with their new pediatrician to make sure everything was in order for their enrollment in kindergarden. We started by going into the bathroom, John, Chris and I, with little plastic cups and a marker. It was the first time they had ever had to pee into a cup. Chris went first and had no problem, but John was a bit shy. I turned the faucet on, talked about waterfalls, reminded him about all the orange juice he just had, nothing worked. We moved on.

In the hallway, Chris spied the doctor and nurse and proceeded to chat them up, inventing a story about how the fact that he had the hiccups somehow meant he did not need any shots. He really worked this angle hard, negotiating for no shots today. I didn't hear much of his reasoning, but the doctor was impressed by it (more on that later.)

John, meanwhile, was very concerned about whether the doctor would be checking out his privates. The doctor examined both the boys together, routine stuff - eyes, ears, heart, lungs, tummy, and a peek inside their shorts so fast that if you blinked, you'd miss it. John didn't miss it. He shot her a quick look, but was okay with it because nobody else saw.

Then the doctor moved on to the part of the exam to determine if they are ready for kindergarden. She asked both of them to say the alphabet. John was kind of shy throughout the whole appointment, but he really clammed up now. Chris said the whole thing right down to "next time won't you sing with me" (but he skipped the n), but John went from LMNOP to QRX....Y and Z, then looked kind of confused when his song didn't work out the way it usually does. I knew he knew his alphabet, but didn't say anything, so as not to interfere. She asked the colors of various things around the room. Then she gave them each a lined piece of paper and a pen, and asked them to draw a circle. She asked them not to make it too big (I guess so they would have room for the other things she was going to ask them to draw.) I couldn't see their drawings from my vantage point. Next, she asked them to draw a square. Chris apologized to her, because "One of my lines went outside the line."

Next came the triangle. Easily Chris' favorite shape. As John drew his triangle, Chris explained to the doctor that he would draw her a "Tri-Force. It's a triangle with triangles inside" yadda yadda yadda, Tri-Force of Power this and that. Then she asked the boys to write their names, and asked how old they are. They both answered, in turn, five and a half. She asked if they could write a five. Chris wrote his number five, but John said he couldn't (huh??? Yes you can!), so the doctor asked him to draw a man instead. Then Chris drew his man. I know if she hadn't moved on so quickly, Chris would have drawn her a picture of Link, with his angry eyebrows, sword and shield, but we moved on too soon. He told her he was drawing hair on his man.



















She asked me if I thought they were ready for kindergarden, several other questions, then she hit me with the whammy.

"Have you noticed any developmental differences between Chris and John?" This is when I prepared to jump into Defensive Mommy Mode, to tell her that John knows his alphabet, counts all the keys on the piano, can add, subtract and multiply (to an extent), asks tons of questions, and explores them to their fullest depth. Before I have much of a chance to say anything, she shows me Chris' paper. Everything she asked him to draw/write is all lined up on the first row. Tiny, but clear. CirclesquareTri-ForceChris5ManWithHair. She told me I definitely should look into enrolling him in the gifted student program. He's a perfectionist. His mind is thinking beyond the simple questions presented. A regular curriculum will not be sufficient to stimulate him, he will crave more. He wants to think more broadly, beyond the basics. I wish I could remember all the things she said, but I was too steeped in Beaming Mommy Mode.

She said John is also very bright, and has reached all the milestones to be ready for kindergarden. She said it's possible he may also qualify for the program, but because of his personality, it may not be as immediately apparent as it is with Chris. I am inclined to believe this, as I think John is an excellent thinker - he just isn't as expressive outside of his family.

Anyway, this story is getting kind of long, and I got to brag about my smart kids, which was the main point, so here's the closer:

They had to get three shots and a finger prick each (Chris went first, then walked out into the waiting room and told John it really hurt A LOT), and John managed to pee in the cup before we left.

Did I mention what smart kids I have?

As for Hannah, she just walked up to me, put her hands on her hips, and declared "Oh, for Heaven's Grapes!"

To Make a Short Story Long...

Hannah said something really cute today at the pool, but to get the full effect, you have to have some background. Well, truth be told, you really don't, but I'm going to give it to you anyway.

My kids love cats. They really, really, really love cats. Unfortunately, they don't have the greatest track record with them, which is, at least initially, our own doing. We brought a kitten into our family when the children were simply too young to have a pet. I won't go into details; it is too painful to relive. But you can imagine what a kitten might have experienced with two boys aged not quite four years, and a girl just turned two. I will say that the kitten survived, and has grown big and healthy and happy under the care of my sister.

Then there was the mulch incident, here, last summer. My neighbor had a large pile of mulch on her driveway, and she was letting my kids help her with her gardening. During a break from landscaping, my neighbor and I stepped inside and allowed the kids to continue playing on the pile of mulch. When we went back out to check on them, we both had to suppress laughter at the sight of the mulch monsters. I was going to get my camera when we realized that the kids had not been throwing mulch at each other, but rather at Momma Kitty, who was sitting atop my neighbor's white Blazer.

Now, when you add in the bathroom fire from the winter before that, you can see why "serial killers" kept ringing through my head. Meanwhile, my other neighbor's dad is selling his house and moving into a condo. He won't be able to keep his cat anymore. So our neighbors, in a roundabout way inquired whether we would be able to take the cat. I hemmed and hawed, kind of sort of telling them the kids aren't really ready for live animals, too young, blah blah blah. Bottom line, there was nowhere else for the cat to go, we'd give it a shot, if there was even the slightest indication it would not work out, the neighbors would take the cat in their own home.

Back on topic. They love kitties. They just have earned a bad reputation. So we gave them cute little stuffed animal kitties. They take those kitties with them everywhere, even to swim lessons, and after the lessons, into the pool with them.

One day they were playing with their toy kitties, pulling them around behind their bikes in a kitty carrier. Our neighbor (looking to find a home for the cat) saw the kids playing through the trees. The kids called out to him, "We have a kitty in there!" Skip, our neighbor, watched as the carrier was whizzing around, whipping this way and that, rolling and thumping and bumping. He quickly came over to further investigate, finding, to his great relief, that the kitty in the carrier was just a toy. However, I wish to add at this juncture that we have not heard from him again about the possibility of fostering that cat.

ANYway, Skip has his own cat, named Buddy, and my kids love him, and Buddy has warmed up to them pretty well. Buddy wanders over every now and then, and the kids feed him special kitty snacks, and they treat him gently. Buddy is a great cat.

Fast forward to the whole reason I'm telling you all this: it was basically to introduce the character of Buddy the Cat. I suppose I could have just told you that our neighbors have a cat named Buddy, but I haven't been writing much lately, so I thought I'd really drag this one out.

At swim lessons, the first thing they do each morning is review safety rules. Miss Julie asks all the little kids if it's a good idea to swim with a buddy, to which all the kids but Hannah answer with a resounding "yes." And every morning Hannah shouts out, "No! Buddy is a cat! He doesn't like to swim!!"

I did notice this morning Miss Julie changed her question to "Is it a good idea to swim with a friend?"

Colonial Williamsburg

Yesterday we went to Colonial Williamsburg. And the end of our visit, we passed by this fountain. I gave each of the kids a penny, and told them to throw their pennies in the fountain, make a wish, sit down and smile. This would ensure their best shot at having their wish come true. John's wish has changed from wanting to be a kitty...



















...to wanting to be a lizard.

Ahem.

Okay, who's the wiseguy that found my blog by googling "Hannah shaking her booty?" Fess up. You got some 'splaining to do.

Whoops! I Did It Again.

Well, I've done it again. The digital camera was being enjoyed a little too much by my photo bugs over here, so I took it away and hid it. Unfortunately, I hid it so well -- you guessed it. I can't find it. I looked in all the usual places -- top of the fridge, purse, little-used drawers. Behind the photographs on the mantle. Piano bench. Tops of every tall piece of furniture in the house. Both cars. It is nowhere to be found. So, I am looking for suggestions. For anyone who can correctly guess where I have hidden my camera, I will take a picture of your choosing (within the boundaries of good taste and ability, please) and post it on my blog. Ideas?