The IncredibLees

A Big Ole Pile of Shift Work

2008-07-26T17:56:00.000-05:00

I had a totally awesome rockin' day today.

I had a ton of work waiting for me, getting back-logged, and was able to go into work today (Saturday) because Jeff had the day off. At the last minute, I asked my eight-year-old son, Chris, if he would like to go to work with me. I knew no one else would be at the shop, and I hate being there alone. I had six windows to do, which could mean up to twelve hours.

He agreed, and we got him properly outfitted with stuff to do if he got bored (Nintendo DS, stuffed animals, markers, you get the picture.)

I figured he MIGHT last until around lunch time, playing his video game most of the time.

That boy clocked almost six hours actual work time, for which I am paying him, and never even took the Nintendo DS out of his pocket. He really worked, starting with finding boxes for me to pack the windows in once they're clean. Then he actually helped me clean the windows, and he is good at it.

When it was time to break for lunch, I had hoped to take him to a regular restaurant, but he REALLY wanted to go to McDonald's (ours has recently redecorated, and looks almost like a bistro!), so I gave in. He must have thanked me eight times for taking him to McDonald's. He said next time, I can take him to any restaurant I choose, as long as it's not a pizza place, because they are Daddy's competition.

We cleaned 5 out of the 6 windows (we're going in tomorrow for another hour) in record time.

If anyone is wondering why it took so long to clean these windows, I clean stained glass and leaded windows. It takes a lot of detail work, and a lot of razors.

I'm so proud of my boy!

Welcome (back)

2008-07-08T20:42:00.005-05:00

Hello, my friends. It's been a long, long... long, long, long, long LONG long time.

Has anyone ever taken a 2-1/2 year break from blogging?

It's been a tough few years, but let's call it character-building, shall we? Here's what finally brought me back to the world of blogging. I need to talk about laundry.

This was brought about by a conversation among friends about intervention, waste, and laundry.

I need to point out at this juncture that when I talk about "conversations with friends," I am more than likely talking about discussions I have participated in on an internet message board with people I have never met, but have become familiar with the identities they put forth. You'll need to remember that for... ever.

SO. Someone asked ("Pee Jay," if you must know) what your personal episode of the TV show "Intervention" would be. "Mevin" asked what you are wasteful about. Another woman (to whom I closely identify aside from the fact that she is very, very neat, who has three children close in age to my own)asked about laundry habits.

It dawned upon me that the answer to all three questions for me was laundry. Okay, in retrospect, that doesn't answer the woman's question, but I was able to participate. Yay!

Having three young children, of course I do laundry quite often. If not every day, certainly every day. The wasteful part of my laundry problem is two-fold. The Intervention part comes in with the fabric softener. I used to abuse liquid Downy. I had a three-cup-a-load habit. When money got tight, I weaned myself off of that onto dryer sheets, but even then, I had to have a minimum of two new sheets per dryer load, added to all the previously salvaged sheets from prior loads. It's foggy, but I think at one point I had upwards of fifteen dryer sheets in the dryer.

But it didn't stop there. Here's where the wasteful part comes in. I like to fold the clothes warm out of the dryer when it buzzes so they don't have wrinkles (I don't iron, and BELIEVE ME that is an entire post on its own.) Having three young kids, the timing doesn't always work out that way. I have been known to re-dry clothes four times hoping to hit the wrinkle-less lottery. Dominion Power approves of my methods, and the neighbors never complain of the smell of fresh laundry coming from my vents!

This has been pretty wordy for a surprise re-entry into the blogosphere. I'll try to tone it down in the future.

Dang.

Gotta turn the dryer on for another half hour.

Happy 6th Birthday, John and Chris!!

2005-12-04T09:11:00.000-05:00

Sorry it took so long!

2005-09-16T08:40:00.000-05:00

Well, we have two weeks of school under our belts now, and I have to say it is going very well. I was worried there would be a lot of oversleeping and missing the bus, because our whole family is nocturnal, but we have made it every day except one, and that was the second day, when the bus driver was at the stop a full fifteen minutes early. We got there a minute after she left. The first day she was twelve minutes early. The third day she was three minutes early (yay!). The fourth day she was seven minutes late. This week, she has been pretty much on time. Woo hoo!

The boys came home from their first day of school all excited about making a new friend on the bus. Chris said her name had "something to do with Alex," and she and John exchanged phone numbers -- on the first day! And I thought Chris was the smooth operator! Each day, when they came home, they told me excitedly about seeing their new friend from the bus again (it's Alexis, by the way, and she is in Chris' class.)

A new family has moved in down at the end of the cul-de-sac, and they have a son (I'll call him "A") going to kindergarten. Naturally, I hustled over there with a lasagna on their move-in day. "A" and the boys hit it off the very first day -- they all had Spider-Man backpacks. It was adorable!

I waited much too long to blog about this, so I have already forgotten so many things I wanted to immortalize here. John doesn't have many good things to say about school. He always asks me what I did while he was in school, and I try to make it sound as boring as possible, so he doesn't think he's missing out on anything. Jeff had lunch at the school with the boys this past Monday, and told me that a little girl there was all but throwing herself at John, and John was oblivious. Dad still takes precidence over chicks. I wonder when that will change?

Chris comes home with his mouth in fifth gear from the minute he steps off the bus, telling me about the great things they did in school that day (and that he saw His New Friend On The Bus again today). They have been learning a lot of songs, and Chris enjoys singing them to us, complete with jazz hands. Where is that darned camcorder??? I have GOT to get that recorded! Chris has his mother's innate ability to mis-hear song lyrics (the girl with colitis goes by?), so he sings about fishies "splishin' and a-splashin' and a-rockin' to the bee."

There is so much more I want to tell you -- too much for one entry, really, so I think I'll just string you along.

Pamper Me

2005-09-03T09:30:00.000-05:00

I know y'all are just DYING to hear how the Kindergarten Orientation went on Thursday, but it was really quite uneventful, so instead, I bring you Diaper Day.

Child psychologists tell you it is quite common for children to regress into behaviors of their earlier years at times of great change, such as entering Kindergarten. This morning, John and Hannah decided that they were babies again. Chris, instead of regressing, has progressed into the role of their father. It is my layman's opinion that this turn of events has nothing to do with starting school next week, and everything to do with the fact that they stumbled across the long-forgotten stash of Pull-Ups and OverNights that I had tucked away on the shelf of Hannah's closet.

So, what does one do once they have rediscovered their infancy and have donned "dipies?" Why, they pee, of course! Hannah was able to accomplish this early on, before I suspected she would actually do it. Daddy Chris was responsible for changing her diaper (YES!), and once this task was done, Hannah stood next to me and I saw a far-away look in her eyes I haven't seen in about a year and a half. She was TRYING to pee in her "dipey" again. Incredulous, I said to her, "You're TRYING to pee, aren't you? I know you are, because I can see you making your trying-to-pee face!"

At this point, I took away their remaining Pull-Ups and OverNights, explaining that they can't waste them, they're very expensive. Huh? I don't know why I said that -- it's not like we need them anymore. But that started a new conversation with John. I told John when he was little, we went through thousands of diapers. He asked how we got so many diapers -- were we rich? So I told him, "Yes, back then Daddy and I both worked so that we could buy diapers."

You know, when you do the math... three kids, 2-1/2 years or so, maybe eight changes a day, that's around 25,000 diapers. Whenever someone scoffs that they are underpaid, from now on I'm going to retort, "Oh yeah? Well I was working for diapers!"

I Declared a Holiday

2005-08-30T07:54:00.000-05:00

We missed the bus.

I stayed up way too late designing adorable oversized T-shirts with glitter-glue painted artist's palettes and the kids' names on them for art session in school (picture to follow), and eating Dove Chocolates with Caramel. Word of warning -- if you ever get a bag of these, take out two or three chocolates for yourself, then hide the bag and forget where you put it, immediately. When I woke up this morning, every time I shifted, all I heard was the "crinkle crinkle crinkle" of tiny tin foil wrappers with inspirational messages like "Go ahead, eat another, you could USE a little more junk in your trunk."

Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!

2005-08-29T08:12:00.000-05:00

Well, we had our first practice run this morning for getting ready for school. Last night, putting the boys to bed, I told them that they were starting school in one week, so this would be our practice week. I told them they had better go to sleep right away, because I was going to wake them up early in the morning to get ready. They have an alarm clock in their room, so naturally they wanted it set so they could get up by themselves, then come wake me up. The conversation:

What time do we need to get up?
I'm going to wake you up at 7:00. Maybe 6:30.
What if we wake up at five o'clock?
That's too early (little did I know.)
What if we wake up at one o'clock?
I'll set your alarm for six-thirty.

The boys are adamant that they are going to wake up before me, then come wake me up. I don't know where they got this idea, as I am usually on my third cup of coffee by the time they feel their way down the stairs. Chris usually wakes up ready to catch a tiger (and sometimes dressed for it, as well.) John always needs more time to clear the cobwebs out of his head and flatten down the hair that's sticking straight out on the left side of his head.

My alarm didn't go off this morning, but Jeff caught sight of the clock at 6:38 this morning and let me know (he was visibly shocked last night when I told him of my plans to practice getting ready for school and asked him to set the alarm for six-thirty.) I hopped out of bed (this is my story -- I hopped -- practically sprang!) I went directly to the boys' room (do not pass coffee machine, do not collect 200 mg of caffeine) to see that their own alarm clock had not phased them in the least. Without turning off their alarm, I began trying to wake them (admittedly, not something I have done more than a handful of times.) Let me tell you, this was no easy feat, with thoughts of Shaken Baby Syndrome floating around in the back of my mind. I managed to get a breakfast order out of them, and told them I expected them at the breakfast table in five minutes. John came down with me immediately.

At this point, some of you may be thinking it would be more efficient for me to decide on breakfast myself and slap it on the table rather than play short order cook. Trust me when I tell you it takes much less time to prepare two breakfasts to order than to try and convince a child (let alone two!) to eat something he doesn't have a taste for. Once I had breakfast on the table I had to go upstairs and pull the old "whisk the covers off the sleeping child" on Chris.

They were at the table eating breakfast by 7:00, not too bad. Chris wanted to be graded on his breakfast eating performance, so I gave him a B+. He didn't eat a lot, but enough, and he didn't get out of his chair once. They were dressed in their "handsome clothes" and socks by around 7:30. Again, not too bad. I don't know what time the bus will be picking them up, but right now I am estimating 7:40. We just need to add brushing teeth, putting on shoes, and fixing bed head. Maybe I'm over-confident, but I think we're going to have this nailed by Wednesday. I also think it's going to be pretty easy to get the boys to sleep earlier this evening, considering I woke them up a good two hours earlier than they're used to. Bonus!

At the end of today's time trial (can't you just see me crouching next to the breakfast table, pony-tailed hair in baseball cap, stopwatch in hand?) we talked about riding the bus. Chris talked a lot about making friends and sitting with friends. I talked them into finding seats in the front of the bus, close to the driver (because the big kids always head straight for the back.) Say, why don't school busses have seat belts, anyway?

So. That's this morning's excitement. Stay tuned for tomorrow's report. John has pole position, but I don't know what's going to happen once Hannah joins the pit crew.

We're Outta Here!

2005-08-20T09:51:00.000-05:00

We're loading up the... minivan and heading off for a fabulous weekend excursion in the beautiful mountains of Northern Virginia. Hopefully, we'll get to visit with Uncle John before we leave. We'll be back Monday with tales of our trip, so...

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Here's New Stuff To Read

2005-08-12T18:46:00.000-05:00

Overheard recently:

Chris: My Spider-sense tangled, so I dumped down real quick!

Hannah: See ya later, crocodile.

John: What’s a “panty ray?”

Hannah: (Playing with her toy horsies) Run, Diarrhea! Run like the wind!

The beginning of school is getting closer and closer, faster and faster. We did our school shopping this week, for supplies and new clothes. It seems like a large enough list of things you are required to bring, but when you multiply that by twins, it’s downright daunting. Twenty-four gluesticks? A hundred Ziploc bags? Six boxes of crayons? One and a half quarts of glue? HOW many pencils? What do you mean, “Already sharpened?!?!” OK! Fine! But send my kids home ALREADY GRANTED A SCHOLARSHIP TO AN IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL!

So, we got the boys new duds for kindergarten. Their first button-up (all the way down the front) shirts. Belts. Chris is loving it. As soon as he saw his new clothes hanging in his closet, he wanted to wear them, and told me he wishes he could go to school NOW. I suggested he wait until school to wear his school clothes, so they wouldn’t get dirty. He had other plans.

Later that day, he came downstairs dressed in his new slacks, button-down shirt and belt. He had that flirty look in his eye -- the look that says, “I feel SOOOOOOOO good-lookin’!! Don‘t you wish you could marry me?” He spent a few minutes with us to let us tell him how wonderful he looked, then went into the bathroom, climbed up on the counter to reach the hairbrush, and emerged minutes later with a suave hairstyle and his collar turned up. His collar turned up!! Where did he learn that? And didn’t people stop doing that about 15 or 20 years ago? He leans in close to me and whispers, “I think I am going to wear this when I go on my first date.” The night before, after a shower and a fine job brushing his hair, he informed me that I may call him “Chris The Handsome Boy” if I like, sometimes. Today, he has decided that he would like to be called “Christopher” from now on. He was dressed in his finery again today, and had to keep “going to work” all day long.

My little boy is growing up, and soon graduating from lifeguards to teachers, I think.

Dr. Seuss, Move Over!

2005-08-07T10:06:00.000-05:00

That Mom-I-Am.
That Mom-I-Am.
I'm hungry now,
My Mom-I-Am.

Oh,no. We're out of white bread. He wants Dipping Eggs with Toast, and we are out of white bread. What to do, what to do?

Would you like Dipping Eggs with Toasted Bagel?

I do not like Toasted Bagel.
I will not eat them, you can't finagle.

Would you like them here or there?

I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do not like Toasted Bagel.
I will not eat them, you can't finagle.

Would you like them at the sink?
Would you like them next to Link?

I would not like them at the sink.
I would not like them next to Link.
I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do not like Toasted Bagel.
I will not eat them, you can't finagle.

Would you like them served on tip-toe?
Would you like them watching Krypto?

Not served on tip-toe.
Not watching Krypto.
Not at the sink.
Not next to Link.
I would not eat them here or there.
I would not eat them anywhere.
I do not like Toasted Bagel.
I will not eat them, you can't finagle.

Would you? Could you?
With Danny Phantom?
Eat them! Eat them!
Don't throw a tantrum!

I would not,
Could not,
With Danny Phantom.

You may like them.
The Hero of Time
Eats them every
Morning at nine.

Mom!
If you let me be,
I will try them.
You will see.

Say! I like this Toasted Bagel!
I do! I like it! What's a dreidel?
And I will dip them in my eggs!
And share them with Daddy Long Legs!

And I would eat them served on tip-toe.
And I would eat them watching Krypto.
And at the sink.
And next to Link.
They are so good, so good, I think!

And I will eat them here or there.
Say! I will eat them anywhere.

Mom-I-Am,
They are so yummy.
May you please
Make more for my tummy?

Look What Hannah Did Today

2005-07-31T11:57:00.000-05:00

Her reason?

"I wanted to be a different girl."

And here is "The Save" :

You're OUT!!

2005-07-30T10:14:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-28T08:49:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-26T10:31:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-23T12:41:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-23T11:14:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-18T18:07:00.000-05:00

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!

2005-07-15T08:36:00.000-05:00

(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

2005-07-14T10:56:00.000-05:00

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...

2005-07-12T18:50:00.000-05:00

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

2005-07-07T14:34:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-07-07T07:14:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-07-03T07:48:00.000-05:00

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?

TMI PSA

2005-06-30T09:58:00.000-05:00

WARNING: The following blog entry contains material of a sensitive nature. If you are uncomfortable reading about grown-up hoo-ha's and po-po's, please do not read this post. If you are my father, you are forbidden to read this post. Your mind's eye will go blind and I will die of embarassment.

For the rest of you who are still with me, this is a Public Service Announcement for the ladies. I shall relay it to you via my own personal experience.

We had run out of toilet paper. This is not a common occurence, as I put it on every shopping list. In my opinion, you can never have too much toilet paper. Toilet paper is a solid investment. It is always in demand. An abundant supply of toilet paper will never detract from the value of toilet paper. But there we were. There I was. Business done. No toilet paper in sight. I looked behind me to the top of the toilet tank, where I normally keep a box of baby wipes. Even after your babies are grown a bit, wipes are a great thing to have. Gets "things" really clean. Empty. No baby wipes.

Next to the empty wipes box is an attractive tube of pre-moistened towelettes. Spring Waterfall scent. Doesn't that sound lovely? It says "Quick - Convenient." In my current predicament, it certainly was convenient. "Oh, boy, this will get me cleaner than I have ever been, and Spring Waterfall fresh, to boot!"

Ladies: Never, ever, ever, never, never, never, ever, never EVER clean your most delicate area with Lysol (Disinfects!) Sanitizing Wipes. You don't want to be that clean. There's a delicate balance that goes on down there that you don't want to be messing with. You don't notice it right away. In fact, you don't notice it for several hours. That first night, you're thinking, "Dang, that's a bit itchy back there. Did I not clean myself thoroughly enough??" Which, of course, can't be, because you are Sanitized and Disinfected! And Spring Waterfall fresh!

The next day all hell breaks loose. And you don't know if your nether regions are turning red because there's something seriously wrong down there, or because you have scratched that itch so much, because there is something SERIOUSLY WRONG DOWN THERE. You wonder what caused it. You've been in the pool a lot. Could it be the chlorine and various chemicals? Then you remember that some little snot-nose pooped in the pool a week or so ago. That little shit (literally) infected me, you think.

You try every ointment, cream, lotion, and salve in your house. You send your husband out for products no self-respecting man should ever have to purchase. You try to move as little as possible, and when you are up and about, you hope your children don't see you and pick up on your newfound scratching habit.

I'd like to say I realized the source of my discomfort before I leapt to the wild conclusion that my awesome #1 husband in the world had brought this burning beast home. I'd like to, but by then the itch had clearly made its way to the rational thought area of my brain. Fortunately, we were able to laugh at the outlandishness of that possibility immediately.

So... three - four days later, lesson learned. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But for those of you who would, it would certainly be easy enough to.... oh dear God no! Think of the children! Like the one that pooped in the pool....

Update

2005-06-24T08:15:00.000-05:00

Hey, everybody. No stories today (unless I go off on a tangent, what are the odds of that?) It's just been a while since I put anything up, so I thought I would let you know how things have been here the past couple weeks.

I thought about doing a timeline post on the kids going to bed, noting times and events that are delaying their actual going to sleep. Aw, what the heck, I'll give you the Reader's Digest condensed version here, sans timeline. It begins when I actually get them into their beds, and continues for anywhere from half an hour to an hour:

Hannah: I have to say goodnight to Daddy.
Hannah: I have to tell you something.
Hannah: I have to tell you something else.
Chris: I'm thirsty.
John: I'm thirsty, too.
John: I have to go poopies.
Hannah: Where's John?
John: I'm done going poopies.
Chris: I have to go poopies.
Chris: I was wrong.
John: Twenty questions.
Chris: Long, rambling story.
Hannah: I need toilet paper for my peepees.
Mom: Why is Hannah in your bedroom, Boys?
Hannah: I have to tell you something.
John: I think I saw a spaceship.

So, that night, after the spaceship comment, I decided to keep pad and pen with me and write down the times and delay tactics of the kids. But the next day, the more I thought about it, the stronger my resolve got to put an end to that kind of bedtime ritual. That night, they were not only quiet, but asleep in under half an hour. They didn't call out to me thirty times, the boys didn't horse around in their rooms, Hannah didn't sneak out of her room. Since then, I have managed to shave off five minutes every night. The times, they are a' changin'.

Side anecdote: John was eating a popsicle, and I gave him a bowl to put it in when he needed his hands free for this or that. He asked me (I heard), "Mom, what's a bowl?" I said, "You know what a bowl is! You're holding it in your hands!" "No," he said, "..a (bull), you know, with the handles on his head?"

The first week of swim lessons went great. Their teacher, Miss Julie, is wonderful. Chris is a natural. After only four lessons, he is swimming with his face submerged, unsupported! All by himself!!! Hannah is right on target, as is John, with the exception that he doesn't want to put his whole face in the water.

Work is going great for Jeff, they're getting busier and busier. Uncle John came to visit us last Saturday. We are all so thrilled to have John and (soon) Melinda living so close now.

Hey, if you haven't talked to us in a while, give us a call. The pace around here is pretty hectic, and I don't often think to pick up the phone to make a call. Mornings are usually best.

A big Thank You to Marilyn for the Rose of Sharon starters she sent us! They are planted and being nurtured. We look forward to their beautiful blooms (in a few years, I know -- we're patient!)

Leisure Suit Larry, Meet Cruisin' Chris

2005-06-11T15:29:00.000-05:00

We've been going to the pool pretty much every day, sometimes twice a day. I really love going to the pool with them, because they have so much fun, and are so well-behaved. Something about the pool really brings out their sociable side. As soon as we get there, we're supposed to sign in with the lifeguard by the Gate. Chris has taken on this responsibility. Today, it went exactly like this:

C: Hello, we're the IncredibLee family. There's four of us. I'm Chris. What's your name?
M: Hi, Chris, I'm Matt.
C: I'm very pleased to meet you, Matt!
J: I'm John!
H: I'm Hannah!
J: What are those in your mouth?
M: Those are braces.
C: I knew those were braces!
J: I like your braces.
H: They're pretty!
C: Timmy's friend Chester in the Fairly OddParents has braces and that's how I knew they were braces just like Timmy's friend Chester in the Fairly OddParents!
L: Okay, kids, are you ready to go in the water?
ALL: It was a pleasure to meet you, Matt! Good-bye!

They really love all the lifeguards there. They make a point to find out each one's names and chat them up a bit. But Chris... Chris really likes the lifeguards.

About a week ago, Chris pulled me over to the side of the pool to "tell me something in my ear." He whispered, "I think I'm going to find my girlfriend here." He began scoping out all the chicks. I mean all of them. Even the middle-school girls, who were clearly out of his league. I watched him slowly drift through the water closer and closer to different girls, checking them out, like some smooth operator in a dance club. Then, he saw Bethany. Behold beautiful Bethany, in all her red-swimsuited glory. Floaty thing laying casually across her strong tanned thighs, whistle dangling languidly from her wrist. The polish on her smartly pedicured toenails even matched her swimsuit. Bethany. Sigh.

He walked right up to her and introduced himself in order to learn her name. He told her he knew a song about Bethany. My own heart melted as he proceeded to serenade her with lyrics primarily consisting of "Bethany." I can only imagine how she felt.

So, we went to the pool this afternoon, and you know what? It turns out he also knows a song about "Ashley!"

Germs, God & Google

2005-06-11T12:05:00.000-05:00

John is such a thinker. So many questions. Recently he has had a lot of questions about life, death, germs and cancer. He asked me what germs look like. I said I wasn't really certain, but I think they look like teeny tiny little blobs. To give him as accurate an answer as possible, I did a Google image search for germs.

Yesterday he asked me what God looks like. I told him I didn't know, because nobody gets to see God until they die and their spirit goes to Heaven. Of course, just out of curiosity, I did an image search for God as well.

I'll bet a lot of us kind of imagine Charleton Heston in the role of Moses towards the end of The Ten Commandments when we try to picture God. So, hesitantly, John asked, "Mommy, when you're a spirit, can you magic me back a picture of God?"

On*Star

2005-06-08T19:54:00.000-05:00

I just saw a commercial for On*Star, one of those mobile Global Satellite Positioning companies. The ad goes something along the lines of: "Some people, when involved in a collision, see their lives flash before their eyes. Some people hear voices." ((Voiceover of the On*Star guy saying he sees that this guy's airbags have deployed and he is sending help)).

If I worked for On*Star, I would have a seriously hard time refraining from sending the following message to the driver, just once: "This is the Lord Your God. We're not letting you in. Now, return to Earth and amend your ways. (muttered under breath: Jerk.)"

Heat Wave

2005-06-08T09:30:00.000-05:00

It's been around 90 degrees every day for the past week, and the kids and I have been taking advantage of the fact that the pool is only a two minute walk from our house. I've signed them up for swimming lessons -- all three in the same class. How am I going to manage that? I need four extra arms. We bought the kids those swimsuits with the built-in foam -- kind of a combination life jacket/swimsuit. The first day they hit the water wearing them, they were doggy-paddling all over the place. I was hovering over Hannah, nervous, but she was so confident she kept telling me to get out of her way!

When we were in Kentucky, their Aunt Melinda gave them these adorable towel/robes:

As a side note, I was wondering... since we're at the pool every day, is it considered gross to wear the same swimsuit every day? Should you wear something different most days, like you would normally change clothes? Are the other moms looking at me and whispering, "There she is, wearing that polka-dot swimsuit AGAIN! Poor thing. Someone should really say something to her."

Also, I realized on our trip back from Kentucky that apparently I have given birth to a mini Donald Trump. Whenever Mao was on a power trip and not getting her way, she would bellow, "You're FIRED!!" John ate one of her Cheetos, so naturally Mao fired him, to which John replied, "What?! I don't even WORK!"

Catch of the Day

2005-05-27T13:02:00.000-05:00

Fishing is a favorite activity of ours down on Mom's farm. The lake (which we can't swim in anymore due to out-of-control algae -- if we kill the algae, we kill the fish along with it) is home to bluegills and large-mouth bass, and is rumored to have a catfish or two. We were very successful our first day out, catching a couple of nice-sized large-mouth bass. John decided that this would be his new pet. Prior to catching this fish, the worms and minnows we bought for bait were his pets. After we caught this guy, he wanted to throw the bait into the bucket holding the bass, to feed his new pet.

Later, when Chris was fishing with Jeff, he told his dad he really wanted to catch a fish, and what would they do if they caught one?
"Then we would reel it in."
"What if it's as big as an Orca?"
"Then the fish will probably catch you."
"What if we catch an Orca?"
"Well, Orcas don't live in fresh water. They live in salt water."

You know what's coming next.

"What if we dump a whole lot of salt in the lake?"

Our own, personal Field of Dreams, of sorts. If you salt it, they will come.

But first...

2005-05-27T12:49:00.000-05:00

Speaking of Hannah... look who got into Mommy's "makeups" today...

Gimme an E! Gimme a G! Gimme an O!

2005-05-27T09:13:00.000-05:00

So many cute and funderful things happened down on the farm, I don't know where to start! Hannah was particularly entertaining one afternoon...

Mom brought out her tape of Curves music that she uses to get Gigi to exercise. Hannah immediately took to the "stage" (see below)

and started shaking her bootie. She was doing moves I had never seen before, wiggling that tiny little butt, and just rocking out in general. Naturally, she accessorized with a magic wand and a blue feather boa. Then she did one of those "skip-dance around the perimeter of the stage" things that performers do. Where on earth did she pick that up??

But I think by far my favorite was when she started playing cheerleader. She jumped around the step of the "stage" repeating "How about ME? How about ME?" over and over again. I thought that was a pretty good interpretation of the cheerleader mentality.

Next up: A Whale of a Tale

Lesson #1 Learned on the Farm

2005-05-25T18:38:00.000-05:00

If you squeeze a frog, it will pee on you.

Oh, dear. She looks like she has man-hands, doesn't she?

Tic-tock, tic-tock

2005-05-25T15:43:00.000-05:00

We had a really great vacation down on Mom's farm in Kentucky, and I'm going to share all sorts of stories with you as soon as I can stop scratching all over my scalp to make sure there aren't any tics on me. The darn things were so small, they looked like freckles. I feel like Howard Hughes. The "bugs crawling all over me" part, not the insanely rich part.

Such a fine line....

2005-05-16T20:51:00.000-05:00

Jeeze, when it rains, it pours! I have so much to talk about today! Most recently is my inadvertant blurring of the lines between fantasy and reality. My kids are crazy about the Zelda games. The one with young Link as the hero. They love it, because a kid is the hero in these games. Well, Chris lost another tooth and got a whopping five dollars for it (I know, I know, but we didn't have any Susan B. Anthony's). He decided to write a letter to Link and send him his five dollars. He really did! He sealed hias five dollar bill into the envelope and put a stamp on it! It's all legal!

So I thought, he's doing this in hopes that Link will write him back. And so (he) did. Chris doesn't have the pessimistic view of the United Staes Postal Service that I do. He believes that if he writes a letter Saturday night, it is entirely plausible that he receive a response Monday morning. He was thrilled to hear that Link was appreciative of his "blue rupee" and that Link thanked him for his assistance in defeating the evil Ganon.

Worlds.... colliding. Yes, I had told them that they were only games. They weren't real. Now my word has been challenged. "Does this mean Link is real? How can the mailman go to their world? What if Ganon finds out where Zelda is hiding?" Aaaahhhhh.... crap. The best answer I have been able to come up with is: "I'm not sure. What do you think?"

Any suggestions?

My Old Kentucky Home

2005-05-16T18:50:00.000-05:00

Well, I never lived there, but we're headed out tomorrow morning for a real, actual vacation. A whole week's worth. At my mom's farm in Kentucky. For a week. Seven days. About 25% of a month. The tinge of stress you see coming through the keyboard is sympathetic. I, personally, can't wait. I think my mom is fun and cool. The children will get to visit with their Gigi (G-G standing for Great Grandmother, how cool is that?) Their Aunt Susie will be there, which may be the most exciting part of it all for the kids, because they adore her with every fiber of their being. Their Uncle John and Aunt Melinda will be there, and there is just no such thing as not having a thoroughly good time with those two around.

I think it just boils down to "You're supposed to be stressed out when you visit your in-laws." I don't know why. Jeff is so laid back and friendly. I think he still harbors resentments from the time my mom, upon hearing that Jeff cooks with Adobo, "informed him" that Adobo has more salt than salt itself. Whatever. It tastes good. Let it go. To even the playing field, Jeff had a very good point when he called my mom out on thawing frozen raw chicken in a cooler filled with ice water and cans of soda.

So, wish us luck as we motor 12 hours across the country. You know what the #2 thing the kids are really excited about regarding this trip? Well, we're not going to drive the twelve hours straight through. We're going to stop over in Lexington, Kentucky and stay at a "ho-and-tell." They're totally psyched about the swimming pool, cruddy delivery pizza, and late night TV. Actually, so am I.

Now, where was I?

2005-05-16T17:38:00.000-05:00

I just love to watch and listen to Chris talking on the phone. He is quite chatty, and can go on for what must seem from the other end to be an eternity. As he talks on the cordless phone (does anybody even still have a corded phone??), he never stops moving. Usually he walks in circles. If he is in the living room, he will walk around and around the coffee table. If he is in the dining room, he just makes his own little circle. It's dizzying to watch. So, if you are talking to Chris on the phone, and every twelve seconds you hear him say "Excuse me," that means he is in the living room, stepping over me as he circles the coffee table.

ANYway, this afternoon he was talking to his aunt, and had to ask me a question mid-conversation. When he returned to talking to his aunt, he said, "Now, where was I?" It's these little things that tickle me. Where did he pick up that phrase? Apparently, one of his parents is easily distracted and forgetful. I wish I could remember which one of us that....

OH OH OH! And today, we were all looking through pictures, and found some of our wedding pictures. Then, a few minutes later, we were playing the guitar and piano. The kids asked me to play something on the piano, so I plunked out a bit of the Wedding March, and asked if anyone recognized it. The boys immediately called out "The wedding song! Is that the song you and Daddy had when you got married?" Well, no, it wasn't. Our string quartet minus one played Pachebel's Canon in D. They wanted me to play it on the piano for them, but caught on the spot, I couldn't even remember the melody. So I went to my beloved computer and Googled it. Lo and behold, dozens of MIDIs. I played a MIDI for them, and planned my ambush on Jeff.

"You know, boys, if we play this song when Daddy comes home, I'll bet you anything he will cry." I know, how evil am I, right? But it was the perfect opportunity to teach the children about tears of joy.

Well... I always assumed they were tears of joy.

BTW -- he did cry. Then he asked if he was in trouble.

Tonight, our house is filled with music. We're having a blast!

Mother's Day Comes Early

2005-05-07T20:34:00.000-05:00

I want to devote this entry explicitly to my husband. You don't hear too much about him, but tonight I am feeling especially thankful for having the great luck to have him as my husband. The kids were so loud and full of energy today that by around four in the afternoon, I felt a headache coming on. By seven o'clock, 1-1/2 uneaten dinners, a broken picture frame, a carpetful of crushed Oreo cookies, three loads of laundry, about 1,000 shrieks at 5 bajillion decibles, and a broken glass candle holder later, I was thankful only for the fact that I am not prone to migraines.

Jeff came home an hour later and immediately saw my exasperated angry face, muttering the words, "Kill the Girl" between my clenched teeth. I was presented with an early gift of Cinnabons (oh heavenly sugar-carb overload) and.... AND he is putting the children to bed all by himself as I type. I am blessed.

He cooks. A lot. Well. He cleans up the kitchen. He brings me coffee in bed EVERY morning before he leaves for work. He gets verklempt watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. He walks up the stairs with a 50 pound boy firmly gripping each leg. He joins in on Hannah's tea parties. He goes grocery shopping, often with all three children. He can bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, and never, never let me forget he's a man.

And he can stick to a diet way better than I can. And he's okay with that.

I love you, Jeff. Happy Mother's Day.

School Daze

2005-05-05T20:46:00.000-05:00

Jeff asked me this evening if I plan to get involved with the school when the boys begin kindergarden. I have no interest in politics, so I won't be joining the PTA, NEA or PLO, but I definitely want to have a hand in things -- helping out with special events -- projects, shows, storytime, Tasting Friday -- what have you. Then he brought up the fact that I am going to be home alone five days a week with That Girl. How am I going to handle that?

Simple. I am going to do girly-girl stuff with her. We're going to get manicures every week. The occasional pedicure. We'll go window shopping and try on fabulous dresses. We will get Mother-Daughter lower back tattoos -- mine will say "Juicy Mama" and hers will say "Juicy Juice."

Sticky

2005-05-03T18:10:00.000-05:00

For a brief moment, we had a family pet. His name was "Sticky," and he was an Eastern Tent caterpillar. During his brief stay with us (about an hour), much love was bestowed upon him. He was cute, he was fuzzy, he was friendly. He was stepped on.

Hannah has developed a crush on an older man. She is 3-1/2, he is 25-1/4. He can throw a tennis ball higher than anyone she's ever seen. (She has very high standards.)

Chris has written a book. The first page reads "Once upon a time there was a mad Mommy." Then there are about eight pages of me, wielding sword and shield, battling the Evil Gannon, twenty-nine pages of warps, and then I am a happy Queen. Yes, we are in touch with Dell Books.

John is using the word "mediocre." He still believes when he finds a four leaf clover, he can wish himself into a cat. Our neighbor just showed him a magic trick, where he "pulls" a ball out of his ear. John is asking Jeff to do it now. I think I had better hide all the beans.

Sorry, I know this is a lousy entry -- I just don't have much right now. But I'll keep trying. I'm registering the boys for kindergarden this week, and kind of freaking out about it.

Caption This Picture

2005-04-18T12:48:00.000-05:00

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but this is the fifth time we've been called here this month on charges of battery. I'm afraid we're going to have to take you in this time."

There's a Lot of Pressure Involved in Making a Diamond

2005-04-16T09:44:00.000-05:00

Some days are diamonds, some days are coal. Smashed up, tiny bits of coal scattered throughout the house, ground in carpets, streaking walls, and smudged on faces, peppering hair. Okay, most days are coal, but some days I am able to pull off the SuperMom act and turn them into into diamond days. Those are the days when Jeff is able to come home at ten at night to a house that shows no evidence of the day’s events.

He doesn’t see the purple Scooby-Doo toothpaste smeared all over the bathroom counter and caulked into the door moulding. The soggy Froot Loops cemented on the sides of the breakfast table. Rectangular paint outlines on the table. The remains of a piece of paper cut down with safety scissors into its original 50 million molecules. The 100+ ballpoint X’s Hannah has drawn on her legs, belly, and lower back (???) in an effort to emulate her beautiful Fairytopia dolls.

He doesn’t know about The Great Toy Migration. When toys migrate, they do it en masse. Then they spread out, staking their claims to the farthest reaches of the house. Some venture outside to the Frontier. The smaller ones often don’t survive. They either become lost in the Jungle or are trampled out on the Great Plains.

Thanks to the foam padding covering their new T-ball bat, he won’t see the evidence on Hannah’s forehead of a bat being intentionally thrown at her head. Of course, Chris explained to me that he warned her it was heading her way as it was mid-air. I was not aware that there is an “it’s okay if I tell her it’s about to bean her” disclaimer. The more I think about it, the more I think he may just be trying to collect on the tooth she owes him.

On the diamond days, you’d never know that the boys can’t hit the inside of the toilet bowl with 100% accuracy. That Hannah’s hair has ever seen a single tangle. That somebody snuck ketchup into the playroom.

On the diamond days, not only have I showered, but my legs are not “spiky,” and I may even have on make-up. Instead of hidden by a bandana, my hair has been blown dry into a semblance of a style. These are the days I feel like an IncredibLee.

But there are some days I look around, and feel IncreduLous. Some days, rhinestones will do just fine.

Finger Painting

2005-04-08T19:46:00.000-05:00

Children love to color. They love to paint. They love to create. I had long since learned my lesson to buy washable paints and washable markers.

Hannah, at times, is a girly girl. And girly girls love to have painted fingernails. Girls like Mao like to paint their own fingernails. Brothers see this and want to paint, too.

So I bought some clear fingernail polish that they could all paint their nails with. (OH God, flashback to when I was pregnant with the twins and asked Jeff to paint my toenails because I could no longer reach -- the tears, the misery... and I was pretty upset, too!)

So we thought nothing of it when the children had their washable markers and wanted to "paint" our finger- and toenails with them. They're washable, right? It'll come off in the shower!

WRONG. They'll wash out of clothes, no problem. I got lucky, because I had had a clear gloss manicure earlier in the day, and the "washable" marker wiped right off of my nails. Jeff, however, had to go to work, managing his 70+ employees sporting hot pink fingernails.

It fits right in with his fondness for the Lifetime Network. Heh.

The Story of Mao

2005-04-08T07:49:00.000-05:00

If you have read a few of my stories here, you have noticed that I often refer to my daughter as “Mao.” She was dubbed “Mao Tse Hannah” a couple of years ago, when she was around one and a half. She had become quite a talker. Her two older brothers adored her, and she knew it. She took that unfaltering devotion to her and seized its power. Hannah, on a whim, would get right up in the boys’ faces, jabbing her finger toward them, shouting out decrees in her toddlerese with such ardent resolve that she looked and sounded like some kind of angry Chinese dictator.

Now, you would think that after more than a year’s practice at speech she would lose that title. But she has retained the name Mao not because she sounds like him anymore, but because she is able to strike fear into our hearts that we will fall into disfavor with her. At any given moment, over the smallest of things.

If she does something as ordinary as asking for a cup of “milky” (oh, sure, she lulls you into a false sense of security by calling it by a cutesy name), Jeff and I nervously look at each other, determining who will bring it to her. Sometimes she makes it easy on us by addressing us directly with her request. But this – we’re flying blind. I take the milk to her, and it is as I feared. “NOOOOO!!!! I want Daddy to bring it!!!!” She will not accept that milk from me under any circumstances. I take the cup back to Daddy.

Or I bring her the milk, but I don’t deliver it in the proper fashion. I hand it to her, she wants it on the table. I put it on the table, she wants it on the floor. I put it on the floor, she wants Daddy to bring it. Dance, Monkey, dance!

The dreaded potty experience. “I’M FINISHED!” Who goes? Who does she want? Oh, God, the suspense! Toilet paper or baby wipe? Do I see her or not see her? Do I stay to help with redressing, or does she want “a privacy?” Stay by the door but not see her? Go away? JUST TELL ME!!!

Most fathers worry about when the day comes their daughter will date. Jeff doesn’t worry. He reassured me, “If somebody picked her up, I guarantee you he’d have her back in fifteen minutes with his deepest sympathies.”

Please don’t misunderstand – we try to do all the right things, ignoring tantrums, not rewarding bad behavior, praising good behavior… but we are, after all, restaurant people with a restaurant mentality. She simply wants things the way she wants them. And she tips very well.

Bee All That You Can Bee

2005-04-05T19:15:00.000-05:00

Spring has sproinged. The weather is beautiful, the back yard is now cleared of leaves so that we can see the dirt growing, the flowers are blooming, and the bees are buzzing.

The bees. The bees out here are HUGE. Like hummingbirds. Okay, hummingbirds aren’t huge, but you see a bumblebee the size of a hummingbird, you say, “Holy Moly Guacamole! That’s one HUGE bumblebee!”

The boys began the day frightened of the bees. Running away from them. Holing themselves up in their teeny-tiny “fortress” in the back yard, pressing a pretend button to repel the bees. Slowly, gradually, they grew braver. Calling out the bees, then retreating to their fortress.

Now? Now my children are Bee Hunters. Digging through their toy boxes to build up an arsenal, they fill their Scooby-Doo lunch boxes with such necessary ammunition as empty plastic Easter eggs, jacks, the Little Mermaid’s tail, Lego’s, a ball point pen, Cinderella’s wedding dress, a plastic frog and snake, Malibu Barbie’s bikini top, and an inch-and-a-half tall plastic horse show trophy.

“We’re going to catch him in this,” Chris says, holding up the plastic Easter egg, “and put this in there,” he added, pointing out the oversized yellow jack.

“Yeah!” I responded enthusiastically. “Then you can shake it up!” Okay, I shouldn’t have said that.

“We don’t want to kill the bee. We only want to hurt him. Then we will keep him in this cage to be our pet,” said John. This is actually progress. More on that some other time.

I raised an eyebrow. This is my favorite facial expression, second only to eye rolling. “Let me get this straight. You want to catch a bee, hurt him so that he is angry with you, and then keep him as a pet? You want a bee with a personal vendetta against you as a pet?”

“Well, we’re never going to let him out.” Reason #48 why we are never getting another kitten.

This little adventure kept them entertained until nightfall, and now they return to me smudge-faced, dirty-kneed and tired, but thankfully, free of stings.

I wonder if this is how Steve Irwin started out?

He's Got the "Beat"

2005-04-04T18:28:00.000-05:00

Recently, I have been doing more sewing than.... well, than I have ever done in my life. Chris' pajama pants, John's Spider-Man pants, the occasional (okay, ONE) button on Jeff's work shirt. As Jeff and I were discussing grocery lists, John came and sat on the floor between us, snuggling his "beat" against his cheek. His beat is his security blanket, a gift upon his birth from his Great Aunt and Uncle. The twins each received one with their name and year of birth embroidered on them. Chris got a teddy bear beat, John got a rocking horse beat.

They loved their beats so much, they dragged them with them everywhere they went. It wasn't long before they began to show signs of all this love, and needed mending. In time, I had sewn so many tears on their blankets, I started calling them the "FrankenBeats." This past year, my needle could not keep up with the tough love administered by the boys.

Back to John. Having grown accustomed to seeing Mom with needle and thread, he offered up his beat for repairs.

I grimaced at the Herculean chore proposed. "Oh, Honey, that has so many tears, I could never fix it."
Helpfully, John suggested, "You can work on it every day until midnight until it's done."
"Do you know how many years it would take me to fix that beat?"
"How many?" he asked.
"Ooohhh..... at least five. Probably more. A lot more," I said, hoping to dissuade him.
John thought for a moment. "How many years do you have left to live?" Always thinking ahead, that one.
"About sixty."
"So you can fix it!"
"In sixty years?"
Pensive look. "Uh huh."
"Well, John, in sixty years, you'll be sixty-five years old. Do you think you'll still want your beat?"

"Well, then can you finish fixing my Spider-Man pants?"

I don't have the heart to tell him he has already outgrown those pants.

Our First Loose Tooth!

2005-04-03T10:10:00.000-05:00

It was very exciting! Chris came to me with a confused look on his face, mouth open, decapitated chocolate Easter Bunny in hand. Chris had the very first loose tooth in our house! And it wasn't caused by rough-housing! My little boy is really growing up. He wiggled it for me, and I gushed how proud and excited I was. His twin brother, John, was not as excited. In fact, he was quite put out that he didn't get the first loose tooth. After all, he is bigger, and older by that whopping seven minutes. Daddy smoothed things over by letting John in on a secret -- John didn't get a loose tooth yet because his teeth are stronger.

There were long, involved discussions about the Tooth Fairy, and how obviously she is in cahoots with the Easter Bunny. She was running low on teeth, and told the Bunny to deliver a special chocolate bunny to Chris so she could rebuild her reserves. What happened to the teeth she had, I don't know. Maybe she lost them in a game of Texas Hold 'Em.



Well, now we were faced with a small dilemma: Chris' loose tooth was sore, and it hurt to eat. "Soup with nothing in it" (chicken broth) worked for lunch, but didn't hold its appeal. Snuggling a sad Chris, I suggested that milkshakes were the way to go. This was a winner, but now they all wanted milkshakes. Lacking enough ice cream, I gave the go-ahead to just get them from McDonald's. At this, John perked up his ears and asked for ten hamburgers (?!) and Hannah chimed in "Popeyes!" which is Mao for french fries. Sigh. Whatever, it's a special occasion. Go ahead.

Turns out that this poor little boy, who couldn't even manage to eat linguini, was able to fortify himself with french fries quite contentedly.


Fast forward to this morning. Chris was disappointed to wake up with his loose tooth still in place, but half a minute of wiggling it with his tongue produced satisfactory results. It's out! (Sorry the picture is so blurry.) An hour or so later, Chris called to me from his bedroom. I walked in to find him laying on his bed.

"Mommy, will you pretend to be the Tooth Fairy?" He wanted to practice going to bed with the tooth under his pillow. I obliged, because I needed the practice, too. I think I did well, because as I was sneaking out of his room, he said "Now you have to put the quarter under my pillow." Smooooth!

Room for Improvement

2005-04-01T19:48:00.000-05:00

I was told recently that I should increase the size of my font to make it easier to read. Is this better? Weigh in, if you have a minute. Big font, or medium font?

Thanks!

Les Miserables: Master (s) of the House

2005-03-31T17:48:00.000-05:00

So this week, Jeff had to leave town for a GM convention for several days. The evening before he left, he called the boys over, telling him he had to have a very important talk with them.

"Oh, no," I rolled my eyes -- I'm very big into eye-rolling; I think by now the strongest muscles in my body are ocular -- "not the 'Man of the House' talk."

Jeff is always amazed by my powers to predict the present: "How did you know?" A large part of prediction is based on predictability, let's let it go at that.

To be fair, since they were born only seven minutes apart, we couldn't really choose the oldest, so we decided they would take turns. They weren't really too excited about their new title, as Jeff explained to them their temporary new responsibilities helping Mommy out.

From the sidelines, I called out, "Remember boys, with great power..."

"Comes great responsibility!" they responded in unison. It's a Spider-Man thing. But still, no great enthusiasm for this great new honor, until... Jeff told them that the Man of the House gets to stay up later than the other children. With this carrot, I was promised children who would make their beds every morning, clean up after themselves, help fold laundry, take out garbage, and treat each other with nothing but the utmost love and respect. What I got was two boys who alternately threatened to send the other to bed eleventeen hours early, and the need to explain to every neighbor and Jehovah's witness that came within 300 yards of our house why my five year old son was telling them he is the Man of the House.

Next business trip, I think it's only fair that Mao gets a turn as Mistress of the House. And when that day comes, I pray that I'll be the one going on a business trip.

Leftover Leftover Leftovers

2005-03-26T19:06:00.000-05:00

I think I have achieved leftover nirvana. I hate to throw away good food, but if I couldn't sell it the first time around, I don't hold out much hope for selling out the house on an encore performance. So I get creative. This week, we had a few cups of white rice, a cup of sweet peas, and a wee bit of marinara and sloppy joe meat sauce loitering in the fridge. I grabbed a couple pounds of ground beef, a couple of eggs, mixed the whole lot of them together and made a 13x9 pan of what I expected to be meatloaf. Oh, and of course I smothered it in the obligatory family-sized can of condensed tomato soup. I realize this may be another of my throwing good money after bad experiments, but I am an optimist at heart.

I presented this meal, which didn't hold together too well due to all the rice, to a mediocre reception. I had a whole pan of it, so I offered it the next couple of days. "Not this again!!"

So, tonight, realizing too late that I didn't have as much chicken as I thought I did, I grabbed a big bowl, scooped a bunch of "meatloaf" into it, and nuked it. Then I covered the top in mustard and ketchup, stirred it up, and told the kids we were having "Hamburgers in a Bowl." You know what? It worked. The only negative comment was from John, who thought it needed more peas. Okay, John, I'll remember that the next time I make you a regular hamburger.

You know, if I just whipped up some mashed potatoes, I could probably turn the remaining leftover leftover leftovers into a shepherd's pie....

Me Time

2005-03-25T16:16:00.000-05:00

It isn't always about the kids... lately I have stolen a few moments here and there to do a little reading. Jeff was kind enough to bring me a new Nora Roberts book several weeks ago when I was feeling under the weather, and I finally got around to reading it. Romance novels are a guilty little pleasure, and I find I get more laughs reading them than reading the Sunday comics. I mean, for God's sake people, what are the odds of three sisters in their late twenties/early thirties all finding true love for the first time with their virginity still intact?

Anyway, I came across this gem, thanks to Becka, surfer extraordinairre, and had to share:

http://www.worldoflongmire.com/features/romance_novels/index.htm

Enjoy!

The Joy of Preservatives

2005-03-24T20:47:00.000-05:00

Chris and I just made a white cake from a box mix. After I made it, I noticed a little packet of coupons still in the box. I looked through them, and in the back, with an offer of a free cookbook, was the notice that the offer expires September 30, 1994. That means that this box of cake mix has been through at least three moves with me. But you know what? It was delicious. And before you cluck your tongue at me for making box cake... I did make the cream cheese frosting from scratch. Partial credit. But now I'm wondering how long that confectioners' sugar has been in the pantry. And is vanilla supposed to be fizzy?

What's in your... pocket?

2005-03-20T21:52:00.000-05:00

The weather has been so beautiful this week, we have spent most of our days outside. Digging in the dirt, racing up and down the driveway, practicing stopping within the safety zone, hunting down the elusive neighbor cat. After yesterday's adventures in raking, today John discovered a dandelion. He promptly approached all of us to test if we like butter. When he was ready to resume his super-speed bike race up and down the driveway, he gently handed me his dandelion. Not wanting to be in charge of the survival of the dandelion, I reached to put it into the chest pocket of his overalls, when I was stopped in my tracks with a screeching "NOOOO!!! That's where the WORMS are!!"

Magic

2005-03-20T15:13:00.000-05:00

My son asked me if we were going out today. "You mean outside? Sure, if you want to." "Well, I don't want to, because I want to stay in [my shark pajammies] until Easter." "Honey, you can't wear the same clothes for a week. By the time you take them off, they'll probably stand up and walk away by themselves." "How?"

He believed me. But this doesn't surprise me. This is the boy who still looks for a four-leafed clover every time he goes outside so that he can wish himself into a cat. We have long discussions about what his life will be like once he is a cat. Where he will sleep, what I will feed him, how I will be able to understand his meows. He gave me few lessons on cat-to-English. How will he brush his teeth? What will become of his favorite shark pajammies?

Mommy's Little Helpers

2005-03-19T18:03:00.000-05:00

Raking, for me, rates right up there with dusting. But when it finally reached the point I couldn't bear to look at the lawn anymore (and the snowmen the kids made were 75% leaves 25% snow), I decided it was time. Ugh. You can imagine how thrilled I was when the kids, upon seeing me gather up gloves, rake and lawn bags, came running to me with cries of "I wanna help! I wanna help!" But nothing good lasts forever, and with young children, you're lucky if you get a solid five minutes of cooperation. Everyone wants to rake (there are four of us and two rakes), and nobody (except me) wants to bag. Hannah wants to rake in reverse, from the newly made pile outward. John wants to rake in the same exact square foot I am raking. Chris wants to rake John and Hannah.

I want to rake my fingernails on a chalkboard.

Daddy's Girl

2005-03-17T19:13:00.000-05:00

Jeff has a special relationship with Mao. Basically, it boils down to, whatever she demands of him, he gives. When she gets all 42 inches of herself up in his face, he is overpowered. He has a fabulous briefcase he takes to his manager meetings adorned with her abstract artwork all over the dividers. She whispers sweet nothings in his ear that result in chocolates and soda in the evening. Here's the kicker -- she rats him out every time. As if proud of her conquest using her wiles, she comes to me immediately to show me the latest taboo thing Daddy has granted her that I would not permit.

She didn't eat a lot of her dinner tonight. Mid-meal, she snuck off to Daddy, whispered in his ear, and staggered off with three Hershey's Treasures. She made a point of walking past me, barely exposing her booty as she slowly passed by. I promptly collected the forbidden goodies, ordering her to finish her dinner. Not five minutes later she is standing in the doorway saying "I don't have anything in my hands!" as the two new Treasures melt behind her back in her manipulative hands.

Everybody else is doing it...

2005-03-17T11:35:00.000-05:00

Welcome! For a couple of years, now, I have been wanting to set up a web site to keep family and friends up to date on the latest goings-on in our little family. Frankly, I couldn't figure it out. So I got the bright idea to start a blog. Even I can figure out how to make a blog entry. Now the only problem is... what do I write?

This morning Mao Tse Hannah was painting with white paint. She dropped her paintbrush on the carpet, which I cleaned up right away, but now I have a big clean spot on it.