Pre-post Fantabulous

When the ability to write blog posts and arrange to have them posted later came out on blogger, I was glad. Because that gives me a little more flexibility. If I go on vacation I can write posts ahead of time and the evil stalkers of the internet won't know that my house is vacant. Or, I can use it to pre-post things like Holiday posts or Birthdays (and I still never mentioned Winston's Birthday - there is no cure for human error.)

So overall I like the function. But now... well, I used to just post whenever, but then I started posting more regularly, each morning. And then it became routine. Every morning. But with this post-ahead deal I've started writing my posts at night. But arranging to have them posted in the morning. Every evening. Every morning. You see the issue? It's created an extra step. For no reason except that I'm a lunatic. It's night. I am posting at night. But this will not actually be visible on my blog until 6am tomorrow morning. Because I said.

On a different note... Steve told me he read somewhere that when a woman gets married, it adds an extra six to seven hours of housework to her week. The same article mentioned that getting married only saves men one hour of housework a week. Steve told me. So it must be true.

Tire Swing

We used to have a tire swing in our backyard, when I was a kid. It was a million times more fun than THIS tire swing.

But this tire swing, this yellow one in the video, is still fun. When I was in school, one of the parks we visited during recess had two swings like this, and they were ALWAYS in high demand. But your class had to get to the park first, or they would be taken. Also, you had to be one of the lucky three or four to get ON the swing.

Nick was very taken with the swing. He ends up drooling. And you should check out Nate's trick at the very end. He came out unharmed.

Day Off

Three day Weekends really throw me off. I used to look forward to them with gleeful anticipation, imagining all the things I would do with my day off. But these days three day weekends are just torture. Because our entire routine is thrown off. Nick doesn't have school. The mail doesn't come. Any trip to the store means fighting the billions of shoppers that have a day off. Steve is around, and even though that's supposed to help, it doesn't because the kids will sense he is not working, and will run back and forth from him to me, making it impossible to know which one of us will be responsible when one of them breaks an arm or punches a hole in the floor.

The worst part of it is, everyone else in the world is on Day Off mentality, and I am not. I am working. I am doing exactly what I usually do, except my support staff, the teachers and the postal workers and the TV schedules, have all decided to play hooky.

By the way, I have no idea who "Michael" is. I think it was one of the other kids at the park Nick just decided to play with.

Yesterday we had mulch delivered and we spread it in the front of the house. We also (with Lillian's help) painted the swing set. And I finished raking up leaves from the front of the house, and did a load of laundry while Steve mowed the lawn.

What makes each of these things so difficult is that the kids refuse to just let you DO them. Before I could begin working on the swing set, the boys, who had planned on helping, had each grabbed a paint brush and were slopping paint... on the seats of the swings. Well... I guess that's what the swing set IS to them. I don't imagine they even SEE the beams and supports. They also, while I was raking the leaves in the front, alternated between running inside the house to let out the cat, and scooping up the mulch Steve had just spread to sprinkle it on the walkway. Oh, and ALL of this was done in seven minute spurts, because Andrew will let me put him down for two minutes before he begins crying, and after about five I need to pick him up or go mad from the screaming.

But Steve says the swing set now looks much safer, and I for think that the work in the front makes our house look much neater.

Calling Dr. Jones

Today we took Nate to Burger King... not because we always do, but because my lust for fast food fats and fries hadn't been entirely satiated four or five times during our travels. (that's sarcasm, folks.)

We ordered Nate a kid's meal, because he's a kid. And each kid's meal comes with a toy. Usually the toy is a crummy plastic thing that either looks like it's supposed to do something, but does nothing, or says it does something, then brakes. And usually the toy has some connection to some sort of movie, because THAT is MARKETING, Ladies and Gentlemen! It's how the MONEY is MADE. By BRAINWASHING YOUR CHILDREN!

Anyhow, the toys that come in these things are usually for ages three and up, but if you don't specify, they just throw whatever in there. And that's what they did in this case.

These days, the movie Burger King is pushing is the Indiana Jones movie, which I am excited about despite the fact that THAT BOY is in it. The one from Transformers and Disturbia, and if you don't know why that worries me you probably haven't seen either of those movies.

The toys in the kids meals were based on that new movie. And that irritates me because Indiana Jones is not, strictly speaking, for kids. I mean, I've seen the other movies. There were EYEBALLS in SOUP! And ROTTING CORPSES! And FACES MELTED RIGHT OFF PEOPLE just because they didn't know they were supposed to CLOSE THEIR EYES! I mean... they were kind of scary. Unless this movie is vastly different, I'm assuming that I wouldn't want my kids to see it unless they were, oh, thirty. So the fact that my two year old was suddenly aware of the movie and pointing to Indie's hat and the rolling boulder... well... I wasn't happy.

But then I saw the toy. Know what it was? A WHIP! IT WAS A WHIP! OK, so it wasn't a real one, it was a fake one with paper, and I couldn't even work it, and Nate promptly unrolled the paper and went around pretending it was a pressure washer (except he called it his 'special washer') But the point is... THE WHIP? Why not just put a rock in there and tell the kids it's the boulder? Or a stick? As long as we're giving them things to hit things with!

I just don't get it.

The Boxes Came!

I sent myself two boxes of stuff from Tennessee. I sent one of them media rate. It was supposed to take weeks for them to get here. But I left my garage door open today and when I went to close it, there were the boxes!

So now I have lots of dolls and a box of fabric my Aunt embroidered, and the complete leather bound collection of the Anne Of Green Gables series - all eight books. And also a bunch of journals that used to be my gramma's. And that's cool.

Southern Fried Cleaning

The news on my Aunt Betty is that - get ready for this - she has a fractured vertebrae. She broke her back moving furniture, and we then dragged her halfway across the state and back. And made her go to the park. And pull the boys in the wagon.

Not true - the dragging part. Betty is stubborn and did all of that of her own free will, crazy as it is. But she also spent a lot of time resting in bed. And while she was in bed, we did the following:

packed up over a hundred dolls and gave then to goodwill

cleared out a cupboard full of canned goods that expired in 2001

moved bound copies of Awake and Watchtower magazines from one set of shelves to another

threw out all of Mary's old prescription medications

cleaned a fish tank which was full of water, but no fish (and was really gross, by the way)

looked at a bunch of old family photos of people I am related to

did three loads of laundry, just to make myself feel at home

The house there still seems full of stuff, but it's a bit better, I guess. Not that it really matters, one way or another, beyond Betty being able to use the space. I suppose, when someone dies, we're torn between wanting to keep all of their things exactly as they were, or getting rid of anything that might remind us of them. All I can say is, after that week, I started wondering who would be going through my personal items when I died. Would someone read my journals, or just throw them away? What would happen to my unfinished quilts? My dolls? The letters and photos I've saved over the years? Who would go through my cabinets and my useless stuff? Who would use the rest of my shampoo? Would anyone keep a shirt of mine to remind them of me?

From Nashville To Memphis

Actually, it was from not-quite Nashville to not-quite Memphis. In Tennessee, we took the three hour drive out to our family cemetery to visit the graves of my family members, including my Aunt Frances.

It's a strange thing, having a family cemetery. In a regular cemetery you don't know anyone, or you know only a few people. And the dates seem to progress in some sort of order... in THIS cemetery... well, I still knew only a few people. Two of them, actually. The other family members whose names I recognize died before I was born. But still, I know that I am somehow related to every single person buried there. Including the young man with a giant cowboy boot full of flowers on his grave, and the plaque honoring his achievements as a hunter.

It was rough trip out, mainly because Betty had decided to move heavy furniture herself just before we arrived, and hurt her back. So after visiting Frances we had to find a motel so she could lie down. This meant that we were kind of stuck there, with nothing for the boys to do, until the next morning.

Anyway, next time I go I might actually take some pictures. It just never occurs to me while I'm there. A bit morbid and I'm usually distracted...

Kathleen's Curse

I took a lot of time and care selecting out flights to Tennessee. It was frustrating because there are no direct flights from Manchester to Nashville, and there are certain airports I would prefer to avoid, and certain airlines I also prefer to avoid. I also wanted to make sure we wouldn't have too little or too much time waiting for our second flight, because the boys would be with me. After much thought and discussion with my Mom, who was flying with me, I chose to fly Continental, and chose to stop over in Newark.

I wish I could tell you what it was like to fly Continental, or even describe the Newark airport. But I can't. Because in all our travels we did not step foot on a Continental plane.

The first woman I spoke to quickly informed me that one of our flights had been canceled due to weather. She then quickly called a different airline and told us we could fly to Laguardia and then to Nashville if we hurried over to that counter. So we did. But the ladies THERE told us the second of those flights were already oversold, so we ended up flying to DC, waiting there for five hours for our departure time, waited an additional hour and a half for the delay, saw John Kerry in a tete-a-tete with a bunch of suits, and made it to Nashville about three hours after we were scheduled to.

What really got to me, though, was that the Continental lady? The one who quickly shooed us over to the other airline to get us on one of their grossly overbooked flights? That one? Well, she erased our return reservation.

That's right. I really hate her.

So we showed up to get on a plane to fly home, hoping that whatever bad luck I had flying in the past would let up and we could just get on a plane and go where we were supposed to go when we were supposed to go there. But instead this man, who was as helpful as he could be and very nice and apologetic, told us our reservation had been erased. And there was no more room on the flights. In fact, there were no more room on ANY flights, not even from other airlines. Not four tickets together, anyway. So we would have to split up. And we would have enormous layovers. But we got meal vouchers, so... whatever.

What I want to know is... what are those people DOING ON THOSE COMPUTERS? This nice Continental guy types for twenty minutes, then sends us over to the other airline counter, where we repeat our story, and over the printed sheet of paper, and then answer the same series of questions while THIS guy types for twenty minutes.

The security lady sent me back because my ticket failed to specify Andy as a lap child. At the counter, one of the airline folks picked up a pen, wrote Andy's name and birth date on it, and sent me back. How high tech. But this time security let me through. I should have just asked to borrow her pen.

Then we were informed that we won a million dollars! Well, no. We were informed that our party had been randomly selected for the special security search, but the tone of voice suggested that we should be thrilled. I know, I know, I should be thankful our country is keeping us safe. But I can't tell you what it's like watching someone pat down your two year old... your FIVE MONTH OLD. The security people should feel stupid. I hope they feel stupid. Honestly, what are they proving by putting people through this? Babies. They are patting down babies. The people with weapons are sneaking them onto the planes along with the luggage. I don't feel any more safe. I feel a lot more hassled and inconvenienced and bossed around.

I know this is long, and I'm complaining and I've said it all before, etc. I just wish I could have one trip without this nonsense. Steve flies all the time on regularly scheduled, non-delayed flights. I think it's me. I don't know why I bother buying a ticket at all. I may as well just show up and say "send me there however you like." Seriously, you can't do it, though. They make you choose your own flights, your own layover... and then it doesn't matter because they change it anyway. It's the illusion of choice.

Home Now

In case you didn't know it, last week I was in Tennessee with the boys visiting my Aunt Betty. And just in case you haven't heard, as in my voice wasn't actually loud enough to carry, we had nightmare travel times both getting there and coming home. I will detail these in later posts because you WOULD NOT BELIEVE ME if I just spat it out, and the telling requires attention and care so that nothing is left out.

I will say that, despite the travel, the airlines, etc, and despite the fact that parts of this visit were sad, IT WAS WORTH IT. To see Aunt Betty, and to visit Frances's gravesite, and my Grandmother's. Not to mention the super duper playground we visited twice.

Details in later posts. Today I have too much catch up work to do, not to mention planning for Nick's birthday party.

Taa Daaa!

So... Blogger has come out with this new function: pre-publishing. Or maybe it's officially called something else. In any case, it allows me to write a post and arrange to have it published at a specific date and time. So I can, for example, write something in the evening and have it published the next morning. Or even, say, write a bunch of posts and have one published each morning, even if I happen to be in Tennessee all week long! Now no one from the internet world needs to know I'm not at home!

Sunhat

I can't tell if he's eating the fabric or looking at his reflection in the little mirror.

He Sleeps Like This

Really. He pulls the blanket up right over his head.

So, really...

How

Do

They

Move

The

Rug

?

Brotherly Love

The other day I finally felt as though I were getting some stuff done around the house. Making it look better. We bought paint for one of the rooms, stain for the swingset, I hemmed a bunch of curtains that have been too long for years, and I ended by raking up leaves from the front bushes and trimming the hedges.

Then I picked up Andy and walked around to the back of the house where Steve was sitting on the hammock with the boys. I had just reached them when Nicholas, who was bouncing up and down, gave a particularly enthusiastic bounce. And the hammock went right to the ground with all three of them in it.

No one was hurt - not seriously. But I do have to say it is a little depressing how, when you get one thing fixed, another thing breaks. Even if it is just a hammock.

Itsy Bitsy... you know

Stay Cool

Nick likes to pretend he's the Fonz. But instead of saying "Aaaayyy!" he says "EEeeeeeeeee!"

WANT AD

Job Opportunity

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Friday

I need underwear with the days of the week on them.

Not because I need more underwear.

Because every morning I have at least one moment where I'm staring into space wondering what day it is.

The underwear would help. Maybe.

How To Start Your Day

I know I talk about poop a lot on this site. More than people would like, in any case. But you have to understand that I have two kids in different stages of potty training, and one two years away from it. I end up thinking about poop a lot.

Yesterday morning I changed the boys' diapers when they woke up as usual. Then we went down to eat breakfast. About an hour after I changed them the first time I walked up the stairs with a crying Andy in my arms. Nick and Nate were upstairs running around. I walked into their room to find Nate with no pants on. And no diaper. And a poopy bottom. "I changed Nate's diaper, Mom!" Nick said proudly. "But now he wants to wear underwear!" He held up a pair of Bob The Builder underpants.

But before I could address the underpants issue I realized Nate was climbing onto his bed. "Stay off the bed!" I shouted. I then tried to corral Nate back to the bathroom with one arm, Andy in the other, while trying to get Nick to tell me where he put the poopy diaper. Nick was not interested in the diaper, and was intent on telling me that he already wiped Nate's bottom.

In the bathroom the first thing I did was put Andy down on the bath mat. It was then that I realized he had also pooped. Because most of the poop had gone right up the back of his diaper - the rest of it down his leg. It had soaked right through his jammies and was all over the arm of my sweatshirt. And now all over the bathmat and - oh, he rolled over - the floor. Nate was also sitting on the floor. I no longer wanted to be standing on the floor.I had no idea where to even start cleaning up the boys, the mess... and they were still moving around.

So, seven am. I had to give the boys a bath and wash the bathroom floor. And the toilet. And the tub.

Note to self - it only seems like a good idea to let Nathan eat as many blueberries as he wants.
It

Special Storytime

Yesterday the library had a special storytime. It was held at the elementary school, giving the kids a chance to go inside, to meet the librarians, and to hear stories and do a craft in a different setting.

The mothers got a chance to hear one of the teachers talk about reading, the steps kids usually take to learn to read, things parents can do to encourage learning to read, and what they look for in first graders.

It was interesting, even if it was a little muddled. Because there is no public Kindergarten in our town. But there will be. In fact, Nick's age group will be the first to have the option of public Kindergarten. So it isn't clear how testing and screening will go for his class, let alone where they are going to put the around 250 extra kindergarten kids.

The whole screening process is interesting - even if it is a bit intimidating. But I think our kids are doing a great job.

Now if I could just get them to go to sleep at bedtime and pick up their toys.

Andy

Once again, I have no pictures. I am too lazy to recharge my camera battery.

But I just have to say that Andy has the best toes, and I love to put them in my mouth.

Two Faced

Yesterday Nick went to a birthday party which specified "Dropping Your Child Off" at a specific time. He hasn't been going to parties long, but this was the first time I ever dropped him off anywhere that wasn't, say, school, at least without a family member.

And suddenly I didn't want to leave him. I mean, I had never been to the party location. I hardly knew the parents of the birthday kid. They hardly knew my son. What if something happened?

At the same time, I was thrilled to have a whole 90 minutes to myself.

I went to the bookstore, and kept checking the time. I wondered if I would look suspicious sitting in the car reading outside the party location.

Then I got into the car and realized I would be late if I didn't move. I was sad my ME time was over.

But I was so happy to see Nick.

Forbidden Subject

Today I wanted to link to THIS POST and say a few words about it. It is rather long, so I understand if you don't want to read it. But yesterday, as I went through it, I found myself nodding and shaking my head.

See, it's about blogging, and specifically, blogging about one's child. Because the internet is dangerous. Monsters, real ones, might actually be able to see pictures and videos of my children, might gain information about our lives. Strictly speaking, it isn't a wise thing to do. Not to mention the fact that some topics might be embarrassing to my kids. They might not appreciate my posting information about potty training, or videos of them playing with dolls, or dancing, or whatever.

And I just want to say that I know this, and I do it anyway.

Why? Well, I read the article I linked to above, and I share some of the same reasons. Not the one about supporting my family, because I do not make a red cent off this site. But the part about linking to people? Well, yes. Quite honestly I don't know a lot of people up here, and posting gives me the illusion of making contact. Being a mom is a hard job, harder than I could have imagined, and that's with all of the information I gathered over years of taking education and child development classes, babysitting, and working with kids in child care, etc. I was talking to my sister yesterday and we were joking that they should make you sign a contract at the hospital, a disclaimer, wherein you here and forevermore waive your rights to ever get an uninterrupted hour of sleep, to use the bathroom alone, to do anything without being interrupted, to speak on the phone without kids fighting about who gets to stir the pudding... my point is that the actual TASKS of feeding and clothing and watching a child are simple. But the emotional toll that kids actually take on you is huge. At least the toll they take on ME is. I imagine that parents who find parenting a breeze either have someone else doing it for them or aren't doing it right.

As much as I like to think I am inspirational and share this information with a number of mothers, in reality I know only a handful of people read this site. So why do I do this? Put my kids in danger my posting their most sensitive moments ONLINE? Well... I do it for me. Might sound selfish. But it keeps me from throwing the baby out the window at 4am. And I AM actually selective and careful about what I post. I did NOT, for example, post the photo of Nick's bum in his cute Diego underpants, or of Andy in the onesie that says "My Social Security Number is 002-56-3489." (This is not actually his social security number, but it IS made up of digits that can be found in the social security numbers of his family members, in no particular order.)

And finally, I do this to keep in touch with my family. Because I AM alone up here, and my family doesn't get to see the boys very often. They get to see them grow in pictures and videos. And I think that is a wonderful thing. I don't think I am doing anything groundbreaking. I just feel like I need someone to talk to. And you, internet, are it.

Deer oh deer

It's kind og like the photo that Steve took of that moose in the woods... the one where it looks like a fuzzy bunch of trees, but he swore that the branch right there, that was part of the moose. Well, the deer are there, walking through my backyard, if you can find the fuzzy little brown spots. They are more impressive in person. But for some reasmn every time I point a camera at them they end up looking like ants.

Fancy Nancy

We take many books out of the library each week. This past week we ended up taking out a book called "Fancy Nancy: Bonjour Butterfly" It turns out this book is part of the Fancy Nancy series. Fancy Nancy, apparently, is a little girly girl who likes frilly things. She constantly overdresses, over reacts, and uses large vocabulary words like "exquisite" and "gorgeous." So you can see the draw this character would have on my two boys. I picked this book because it was closest to my hand.

But the truth is, Nick and Nate both LOVE this book. I think, at first, they liked the occasional French words and the dresses or the butterflies... but then.. well, then, at the end of the book, during the very exciting part where the butterfly flies right up to Nancy and flutters there, right in front of her, while I was using my most excited quiet voice... Nate farted. Loudly. And all three of us dissolved in a fit of inappropriate giggles.

And now, in our house, this is the sound butterflies make. Which is too bad, because I really have a thing for butterflies.

Winter Again

It is no longer raining.

But it is 29 degrees outside. My tulips are frozen.

Happy First Day Of May.

Deepest Desire

Here is a video of Andrew demonstrating his readiness for solid foods. As you can see, he is obviously hungry, and is frustrated that he cannot get his whole sock in his mouth.



As for me... well... I simply never knew that parenting meant devoting so much time and energy to the bodily functions of others. At least three times a day I feel like shouting out loud because it is SO ridiculous. I don't spend a fraction of this time thinking abotu my OWN bodily functions. The time I devote to coaxing kids to use the toilet, to guiding them in HOW to use the toilet, to pull ups and diapers and sitting on the bathroom floor just waiting when I know full well NOTHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN. I have also taken to waking the boys up to use the bathroom before I go to sleep myself. They are still in pull-ups, but this way the pull-ups do not leak and I haven't had to change the sheets ONCE since I've started. (well, once, but it was not because they were soaked in pee.) Even Andy will not make things simple. Because as annoying as poop is, you begin to notice when, well, when there is no poop. For days. Especially when the non-pooper is getting crankier and crankier. I simply can't shove any more prunes into that baby's body unless something comes out of him first.

A List

Here's a list of things we are out of:

Milk
Bread
Bananas
Tomatoes
Juice Boxes
Cat Food
Pull ups for Nathan
Chocolate chip cookies
Pie

It is raining for the third day in a row. And obviously we need to go grocery shopping.

School Vacation Week

It is school vacation week in New Hampshire. My kids aren't old enough for school, but somehow this has a big impact. Nick still goes to school, but the classes are much smaller. My point of view is, well, I PAID for this week, and isn't as though Nick is sitting at a desk he needs a break from, so why not just send him?

Library storytimes do not take place this week. But Gymnastics does. The classes themselves are smaller, but older brothers and sisters will tag along and make the watching area crowded and unbearable.

And finally, going shopping will be a crowded mess.
Which leads me to the question... how old do you think a child needs to be before you can leave him or her home alone? I'm thinking at least five.

.

king of the world

I really don't want to take the time to post today.

But in the interest of posting daily, I am giving way to a little mushy-ness. I love my kids. They are so funny. And devastatingly good looking.

real incident

the other day we went to lunch at the 99, a place near us we feel more than comfortable taking the kids, where we can get more than burgers.

During lunch I, of course, had to drag Nate into the bathroom. Nicholas had laready been with Steve, but insisted on coming with us. It wasn't until I opened the door that I realized he was excited and telling Nate about the urinals. "You pee standing up!" he was saying. He was very surprised, and I had to explain the difference between men's rooms and women's rooms.

I then dragged the three of us into the disabled stall at the end, because it's the biggest. Nicholas watched Nate go, then I said it was my turn. No sooner do I sit down than Nathan says "I'm done" and reached for the door lock so he can go play with the sink. "NO!" I shouted. "Not when Mommy's going!" I reached out and grabbed his shirt, yanking him away from the door.

"Why?" Nate asks.
Just then Nicholas practically shouts "You peed, Mommy! Good Job!"

I could hear shuffling and the opening and closing of doors.

See, you never value using a public restroom on your own until you have an announcer and a foil.

No New Photos

My friend Miranda came over for a sleepover, which is so cool. I can't even begin to tell you how good it is to spend time with a grow up who is MY friend. Steve watched Nick and Nate while we went out for sushi. I was intoxicated with liberty and raw fish. It was awesome.

But I did not take any pictures.

Exaustified

Between running, working to eradicate the Thorny Brush, and waking up three times a night with Andrew, I am completely exhausted. Not to mention the fact that by body aches. My muscles hurt a little, but it's more the bending / reaching that really drive it home. Not to mention the scratches and puncture wounds all over my arms.

With all this going on, is it any wonder I haven't had time for new photos?

Going Buggy

Yesterday I found a tick behind my ear. It hadn't bitten me, yet. It was just crawling along looking for a good spot when I happened to scrape it off with my finger.

Also, the Ladybugs are returning. The other morning there was one in my coffee. I hate those things.

Only on the Paper

This is why you've got to keep an eye on a two year old with a marker. Because "only on the paper" can somehow translate into "only on the paper, but it's OK if I get some on the skin of my hands or my arms, and probably my baby brother."

Saturday

I gave Nicholas one of my old dolls just before Nathan was born. He pretty much ignored it until Andrew came along. For the record, he has named her Shane, and he has already spent more hours playing with her than I have during my entire childhood.

Turn up the volume to listen to this one.

a moment of ARGH

Steve is finally home from a business trip he left for Sunday morning. Which is great because I was about to sell Nate to the gypsies.

While he was gone I encountered a problem with my I-pod, which decided it wasn't going to turn OFF. I tried turning it off and the screen would show the "charging" symbol, only I knew it wasn't charging, unless somehow the energy from my workout was seeping into the small machine through the skin on my hand. Anyway, I did the best I could, but the next time I went to work out the machine wouldn't turn ON. At all. Now when I plug it in it isn't even charging, the screen just keeps asking me to wait because the battery is very low, only after 16 hours I think something should have changed.

Anyway, I decided to watch a video during my run, but Steve had changed the TV around so that the TV now gets... well... TV, and my old VCR was no longer hooked up. The cable I had hooked it up with is now being used to get TV. And I didn't WANT to watch TV. I wanted to watch a tape so old I know it by heart. I ran to the sight of Home Improvement anyway, at least until Nick woke up crying. Since Andy was also crying, only in his carrier next to the TV, I gave up in a fit of frustration.

Running Out Of Battery

My battery is about to run out, so I need to just post this quickly and get to where I can plug my computer in.

Tired

Andy caught Nathan's cold. It's so much worse when a baby has a cold. He can't sleep, and I can't give him decongestant because he's too small. He wants to nurse but can't breathe so he can't really nurse. He's grown uncomfortable in his carseat, but can't sit up so keeping his head elevated is a challenge, especially at night. So I am exhausted, because if he's awake... Well, I'm awake.

Book Recommendation: The Used World, by Haven Kimmel. I'm reading it now, and it breaks my heart at least once every three to five pages.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Please notice that Nathan is wearing his Halloween costume, which he does every other day. Also, the red thing on the table is a whole tomato. The boys steal them from the fruit bowl and eat them whole.

Just a Little Patience...

Nate likes to do things himself. The thing is, it takes him five times longer to do them. This wouldn't be so bad, and is expected. But the thing is... say we're leaving to pick Nick up from school. I can start getting ready a half hour early, but it takes times because Nate runs away instead of letting me change his diaper, then when I finally catch him and drag him to the bathroom he insists on sitting on the potty. Which is great! He might pee, but he then refuses to get OFF. Then he has to flush by himself, a task which should not even take enough time to mention, unless you are Nate and it stretches out to five minutes of staring and grasping the handle while I try to explain that he's wasting water and WE HAVE TO GO.

Then Nate will try to put on his own pants, which again is great but he starts by putting his feet into the leg holes... the ones his feet should come OUT. He will run away when I try to put on his shoes or coat, then insist on putting on his coat himself.

When we finally get to the car he climbs in and immediately begins vaulting over the seats. I will give him warnings, then I'll pick him up and try to place him in his own carseat.

And this is where I fail. Because I've given him warnings, I should be able to pick him up and place him in the carseat himself. The rule is, if you want to do it yourself, you have to do it the first time (second or third times are also allowed.) The thing is, Nate fights me. And if you think it's hard putting a kid into a carseat, you should try when he's actively trying to GET OUT. He wants to climb in himself. I, of course, am out of time. We have zero minutes left before we need to be at school, and I am fed up and in a hurry. The thing is... it might take less time to let Nate do it himself than it would to take the time to wrestle him in. I just need to stand there... and wait... until... arggh!

I know it's good to let him do things himself. But when he runs away and fights doing the things we need to do, EVERY thing we need to do, until the last second... ugh.

Thorny Brush

Here are a couple of photos of the horrible, evil, thorny plant life that I have been battling all week. In the close up you can see the big huge thorns. But the smaller, newer branches also have thorns, and they are smaller and closer together and cling more to the clothing, hair, and skin.And in this picture you can see how far out these things have crept - there are several clumps along the side of the lawn, going all the way down to the brook. I'm starting off with just one clump and then I'll decide if it's worth moving on to the next.

Rain Rain

It is raining.

I have no time to post. I am going to go get my hair cut.

Extra Special SLeepy

Andrew used to be this little squishy infant who smiled at me and slept almost all night, waking up only to eat two or three times.

Andrew is now a squishy infant who smiles and laughs and cries all the time, especially if I am looking away from him, or if I try to get into my own bed.

Nicholas had a lot of trouble learning to sleep through the night. I remember going through the process of letting him learn how to fall asleep on his own. I remember doing the same for Nate. And now, unfortunately, I think I need to do the same thing for Andrew. Because last night I was awake more than I was asleep. Besides making me very very tired, it lowers my resistance to hostess cupcakes and pop tarts. Not to mention brownies.

But last night when I tried to wait it out for ten minutes, that's ten minutes of his screeching at midnight which translates to about three hours "reel feel," he sounded like he was choking and I was afraid he was going to seriously hurt himself. Not to mention the fact that the other boys started making "about to wake up" noises in response to the screaming. (Actually, it's a miracle neither of them have woken up before.)

However, something must be done. And if you are me, you know this begins with a list.

The weather up here has improved dramatically. Which is to say that I have been outside with the boys every afternoon, and they sometimes can take their coats off. Most of our expansive lawn is actually mud. Grass grown through it to give the illusion of solid ground, but when I go down to prune the thorny bushes I need to wear boots.

The thorny bushes are impossible, and all of my frustrations go into ripping them up. These things... they are alive, in that they attack you and cling to you. I try to throw one away and it end up wrapped around my arm. Each cut with the big pruning shears brings a number of thorns tumbling on top of me, tangling in my clothes and hair. They snake through the grass and also reach out high, tangling themselves in the branches of the overhead trees. I am trying to find their roots, so I can clear out as much as I can from the source, but I get the feeling I may as well be filling the Grand Canyon with a bucket. I have been working out there all week, and even though it's only maybe 30 minutes a day, it should at least LOOK A LITTLE DIFFERENT. But it doesn't. It looks exactly the same.

Gruel

I've dragged the High Chair up from the basement, and actually fed Andrew Rice Cereal a few times now. He's kind of big, and I thought his belly might appreciate the solid food. But to be honest with you, I'm not sure any cereal has actually made it that far, yet. Whenever I spoon anything into his mouth, Andrew gives me this look as if to say, "What am I supposed to DO with this?" And then he spits it right out.

Don't think I don't hear how irritating my voice is on this video.

You know what's REALLY annoying? Waking up in the rocking chair with the baby in your arms and not remembering waking up or walking down the hall... and having no idea how long you've been in there. And what's MORE annoying is having that stretch of sleep be the longest stretch of sleep you get all night.

Andy is going through this... this THING where he cries whenever I, you know, try to DO anything that doesn't define me as a human pacifier. It is not a fun time.

Connect The Dots

Yesterday we went to the mall as a family outing. Nate fell asleep on the way home. Then he didn't take a nap.

I wore my regular jeans! OK, so there was a significant amount of overspill, and they were probably tighter than they were meant to be, but I could move around in them just fine.

I started pruning the thorny bushes that are slowly taking over the lawn from the sides. They attack you as you cut them down - not kidding. And the thorns dig into you and they hurt. I cut my face, and had to get Steve to take a look at the thorn in my side. (He asked if I wanted him to look in the mirror.)

Today is busy. As usual.

Saturday

Yesterday it was snowing when we woke up. Then in turned to rain. It is still raining. Our backyard is a lake.

I have decided that I am tired all the time, mostly because I am always moving and always getting things for people, and perpetually doing laundry, dishes, and making meals. And people always want something from me - they need me to get something, fix something, find something, and then they wonder why dinner isn't ready yet.

To cheer myself up I have started making lists. I have one of things I need to bring to Tennessee, one of rides we will go on when we go to Disney World (a trip that is months away), and lists of things I need to get done around the house - what rooms need painting? What needs fixing? What do I need to buy? Somehow making lists gives me a feeling of control and accomplishment, even though nothing actually gets DONE.

Brainwashed

Yesterday instead of working out during naptime I climbed into bed and slept. The clock said 1:25 when I climbed in, and 1:55 when I climbed in a second time with Andrew (who just isn't getting the whole naptime thing.) When I opened my eyes again the clock said 3:55. The boys were awake and playing quietly - Nick without any pants on. I usually wake them up at 3pm, no matter what, just so they will sleep at night. And here it was, almost 4, and I was just getting up myself!

I have to admit, I felt wonderful. I felt as though my brain had been rinsed and squeezed and all the impurities washed right out.

My Own Episode of HOUSE

I'm looking for opinions, suggestions... ideas... help.... Because this thing happened to me last night, and I can't figure out what it was.

The light shines in through our kitchen doors and hits anyone facing them full on in the face. Only during dinner, and only during the sunny part of the year.

Last night, as I was leading the boys up the stairs to take a bath, I suddenly got a headache. I also noticed that my face was hot, as though I were embarassed about something. I helped the kids get undressed and into the tub, and I glanced in the mirror. My face was RED. It looked like I had spent the day in the sun with no sunscreen. Every part of my face was bright red, like my cheeks after a run. My lips were red. My ears were bright red. And my head was killing me.

My first thought was that I was turning red because I was sitting with my face to the sun during dinner. But the redder my face got... well, dinner wasn't THAT long, and this is New Hampshire, not Jamaica. And I just couldn't figure out what was going ON.

Now, dinner had been a bit stressful, I had decided to make something different (tuna steaks) and I had to go about cooking with Andrew screaming in the background (because I was not holding him). Then dinner was less than pleasant (three year olds do not like tuna steaks) (I over cooked the tuna steaks). I DID eat some tuna. I ate onions and garlic and a salad with sunflower seeds and poppyseed dressing. And all of these things I have had before. In abundance. So I couldn't reason it out to being an allergic reaction.

At one point I had myself convinced I was having a stroke. My heart was beating like mad, but that's when I realized I was tense and stressing myself out. So I reclined in my bed, pretended I wasn't breastfeeding Andrew, and took deep breaths while Steve put the boys to bed. And by 7:30 I was my regular, pale and pasty self once more.

Any ideas what the heck happened to me? Because it kind of scared me.

More

Last night Nathan dislocated his elbow. Remember when Nick did that? And then did it again? Well, I'm happy to share that this time I was not involved. Nathan was playing one of his games with Steve - one of the screaming, hanging, climbing ones - when suddenly he started crying.

I knew something was wrong because, besides not using his arm, during bath time he just SAT there. He didn't splash. He didn't play. He didn't pretend the back of the bathub was a slide, or dump a bucket of water on his brother's head. He just SAT there.

We tried everything to get him to use his arm. Steve let him play Wii. Nate played, but he would only move his fingers. Not his arm.

So I took him to the emergency room. Nate appeared very small, about the height of the trash cans on the room. He was also very brave. He didn't even cry when the doctor popped his arm back.

Steve, of course, was horrified. And I know he was because I remember the feeling - twice - when I did it to Nick.

Parenting Problems

Sunday night Steve woke me up after I fell asleep to tell me that Gunther had disappeared. We spent ten minutes calling for him in the dark of our backyard, until finally Steve put on his boots and went out to find him. I was picturing his flattened body in the street, and wondering if I should start working on posters when Gunther ran up the back porch steps. Yesterday morning, instead of sitting right outside the door staring at us as we ate breakfast, he was nowhere to be found. Until I took a peek out and saw him lounging in the neighbor's yard.

See, we have this electric fence, which beeps when Gunther gets too close to the property line. And it works very, very well for him. The thing is, you have to remember to replace the batteries.

Yesterday the Oil Man came to deliver the eleven gallons of oil (which will cost us a thousand dollars) and Gunther started barking at him. I was working out, and after a halfhearted attempt to get him to stop, I just let him keep barking and going crazy, thinking "he's inside - what's the worst thing that can happen?" Well, one of the worst things is that Gunther would throw his body into the window and BREAK IT. Which, of course happened.

Add to this the fact that Nicholas gave himself a fat lip doing a flying leap to get his pillow into his school cubby (think lots of blood, lots of tears). Add to all this the fact that I made Nicholas cry this morning because I refused to give him the last two, stale, cold toaster waffles because he had already had three french toasts and the waffles were supposed to be MINE. And Nate is crying and choking next to me at this very moment shouting "Gimme MILK Gimme MILK" but I have developed a deafness to anything that does not contain the word "PLEASE"

And I just pulled the syrup bottle from out of Nick's mouth, and I'm this far from putting the baby's swing outside because kids are always sitting in it and playing the stupid tinny music, and it's not Andrew!...

I have to go yell some more, now.

Clutter

I have been trying, for about a year now, to reduce the clutter in my home. I have done this by packing away things I don't use, throwing away things that cannot be used, and finding homes for everything that we insist on keeping.

Somehow, though, I am unable to actually make a dent. Yesterday I was cleaning out some drawers and Nick kept rummaging through the piles I was making. "What are these cards? Can I have these cards? Are these stickers? I'm gonna use them right now. What do these keys go to? Can I use them in my airplane car right now?"

And of course anything new we buy comes with three times as much packaging as it should , not to mention that I have to figure out what to do with the item being replaced.

Sunday Solutions

When Nate gets older he will grocery shop from other people's baskets.



And yes, I know how completely irritating my voice sounds on this clip.

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Let Me Explain the Ties

A few weeks ago I mentioned (out loud) that we might have to go shopping for some Easter clothes for the boys. Almost as soon as I said this, Nicholas asked if he could wear a tie. I was surprised. But I was willing to get him his own tie. Because, let's face it, little boys are cute in ties. I looked around for one when I was at Target, but even though I saw jackets and white shirts, I couldn't find little clip ons.

That was when Steve suggested one of HIS ties. And then of course, there were MY ties. With Winnie-The-Pooh on them. Someone gave them to me because I love Pooh, but sadly I do not often get the opportunity to wear them. And those ties are SO much more fun than the old dull ones with no cartoon characters.

So we gave them to the boys for the day. Once Nick was going to wear one, Nathan had to do the same. And the boys looked fabulous. They were also very good with them. Except for the fact that, as I was leading them upstairs to change, Nick mentioned that he had peed on his just a little, but not to worry. It had dried off just fine.

In Like A Lion, Out Like A Lion.

I woke up and it was snowing. It is still snowing.

And even though Nate's diapers haven't leaked at night for weeks, they leaked last night because I changed and washed sheets yesterday.

Why Say Anything?

Especially when you've got a smile like this.


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This Is Not Complaining

On Sunday Morning, Bill Geist did a piece about a group of people who started a "no complaining" movement. The goal for these people is to not complain about anything for 21 days.

And not surprisingly, this whole idea touched a nerve for me.

First of all I should mention that I didn't get to actually HEAR a lot of what was being said on the TV because the boys were running around like... oh, like maniacs. Which brings me to my first point, or question. When is it complaining? If I say something like "Nathan can't speak unless he's yelling," is that a complaint, or an observation? Because it's true. It's also FUNNY, or at least I think it is, in a way. Probably not when I'm trying to hear what people are saying on television. Or when I'm trying to hear the tax guy on the phone. But afterwards, when I'm thinking about it, it does make me giggle, which is why I relay the information to YOU, the reader.

My second comment is... well, isn't complaining sometimes useful? I mean, if someone brings you the wrong drink when you're out to dinner, or someone is standing on your foot... is bringing it up complaining? Or, if they do it on a regular basis and you just want to talk about it to resolve the problem, is bringing it up complaining? nothing would ever get resolved if we just swallowed our objections. I would still be making steaks the way Steve hates them, and he would still be leaving his jacket on the kitchen counter.

I understand that complaining isn't always useful, the same way gossip isn't useful. But I'm here to stick up for the useful kind of complaining. Especially the kind that is funny. Because without that dark, twisted side of humor that goes along with some of the things I complain about... well, I'm not sure I would have THAT much more to say.

Sleep Deprived

I don't have pictures for today. I still haven't unloaded my camera. Because to do that I need to recharge my camera battery. See, nothing is simple.

And I don't really have time to write much because today is the day I sign Nick up for Storytime at the library. We skipped last session to do gymnastics. And he loves Gymnastics (or at least has a crush on the teacher.) But he has also mentioned that he misses Storytime. So I must go stand outside the library with the other crazy parents, at about 8:15. So that when the library opens at 9am I can be sure to get Nick signed up for the RIGHT TIME. Which is Tuesday morning. Because the other days he's in school, or at gymnastics, and afternoons are just no good.

Also, Andy is still waking up every hour because he can't breathe. I am starting to think he might be allergic to our cats. Which would be so awful - I have to stop thinking about it before the panic creeps in.

A few Random Thoughts

There is so much candy in our house right now.

I will probably be the one to eat most of the candy.

Nathan and Nick wore ties yesterday and looked SO CUTE.

Nate went around yesterday morning wishing everyone a 'Happy Pizza."

Storytime registration is this week - Toddler Story Time is TODAY, so I better get my act together.

What am I going to do with the 2 dozen hard boiled eggs in our fridge?

Should I take Andy to the doctor? He probably just has a cold, but that's what I said the LAST time.

Whatever happens, Andy must start sleeping better. Because I can't get up every twenty minutes. I'm tired. And I need some COFFEE.

Good Friday

Since tomorrow is Easter, that means that yesterday was Good Friday. I didn't know what Good Friday was until I was in high school. But it's the Friday before Easter. Steve told me last night it is supposed to be the darkest day of the year, to mark 24 hours without Jesus ( and then asked me not to ask about time zones.) For some reason this translates into not eating meat.

I celebrated Good Friday by going on a date with my husband to Boston, eating lamb (which I just do not ever eat, so please don't ask what got into me) and watching a stage production of Avenue Q! It was SO GREAT. I had a lot of fun and enjoyed myself immensely. In fact, Nick and Nate were at their Grammy's all night, so I'm still reeling with liberation.

TGIF

Yesterday we colored Easter Eggs. I didn't take pictures. I was too busy helping kids remember that these were EGGS and not bouncy balls. The boys are very excited for Easter. As for me, I'm remembering Easter Sundays from being a little girl. I remember a lavender dress with a white hat and gloves. I remember looking for eggs outdoors, among daffodils. So far all of our Easter Egg hunts have been indoors. Because otherwise the Easter Bunny would have to go lolloping through snow and ice and a whole lot of mud.

Text and Video Not Related

To me, dieting means waiting until the kids are in bed before eating cookies.


Calories consumed after bedtime do not count.
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It's Snowing Again

Yesterday I took the boys to an indoor playplace. They like it there are usually have a great time, and I get to spend times rushing back and forth between the boys because they absolutely refuse to play in the same area at the same time. This time I got to lug Andy around in the baby seat, too.

I came over to Nick and told him we were leaving in two minutes, and that's when a pregnant lady asked me about the age difference between my kids. I had noticed her because she was wearing a white sweatshirt without a stain on it, and she also looked very attractive in her sweatshirt. I looked at her and thought "why the heck couldn't I have looked like THAT when I was pregnant?"

"This one's three months and the big guy will be four in a couple of months," I said. "But I also have a two year old running around here somewhere."

The look of shock on the woman's face was priceless. "Oh my God," she said. "I'm so afraid to deal with two. I can't even deal with ONE. How do you do it?" she gave a little laugh, then her face froze. "Seriously, are you an alcoholic?"

Getting Used To Things

Nate likes to relax with Andy. In one of his chairs

Over the past week this blog has gotten a lot of SPAM comments, asking people to CLICK HERE or with other links. Please, if you ever see anything like that in a comment on this site DO NOT CLICK on it. Don't go there. I may actually choose to upgrade my comments section so that each person commenting would have to type in a code. But I figure it's hard enough for my mother as it is. So I'll wait and see. Maybe they will go away, like they did before.

Why do my English Muffins now come with a label that says NOW WITH NO HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP! There was high fructose corn syrup in my english muffins? But it's BREAD! How do you put corn syrup in BREAD? Doesn't it, you know, interfere with the whole bread rising, yeast system that makes bread BREAD? And why would anyone DO that? It's bread. You toast it and put butter on it. It doesn't need to be SWEET. It's a gosh darn ENGLISH MUFFIN!

Now that it isn't in there any more, I'm freaking out because it once WAS in there. Or is this some sort of clever marketing ploy.

Getting There

Andy is gradually returning to his old schedule at night. Which is to say, he only wakes up about four times, and I'm only feeding his three. And eventually, he will go back to sleeping five hours at a stretch, right?

Not Today

I made a bunch of lists and charts and put them up all over the house. They are supposed to help "direct" the kids so there is less chaos while getting ready.

Sometimes, they work.

Sometimes they don't.

A New Day

Yesterday Steve offered to watch the boys in the afternoon while I went to buy a new pair of running shoes... He OFFERED! But instead of buying new running shoes (I need to go to a special place to get fitted and I don't know where yet) I went to Target. And I completely lost track of time, and got a whole bunch of cute easter stuff. For the Easter Bunny. Who needs to be careful because last year he came too early and I ended up having to visit him for a few more chocolate bunnies. Because I ate the first ones.

But FIRST I took a nap. See, Andy hasn't been sleeping as well as he used to. In fact, the night before last he was waking up every hour. And apparently it affected my mood a LOT more than I thought it had. Yesterday I put the boys in bed, and then crawled into my own. Two and a half hours later I realized that it was three thirty, and I had been dreaming, and I had no idea if the boys were awake or asleep or what.

It turned out they were asleep, which alarmed me a bit because I usually wake everyone up at 3pm no matter what, so that they can fall asleep at 7:30 with no problem. But there it was, 3:30, and I was just getting up myself and I felt more rested then than I had in DAYS. Maybe years.

Thanks to all who offered words of encouragement yesterday. Being a mother can be difficult, and there is very often no feedback. Unless you count people telling you what you SHOULD be doing. Or until the kids get to be teenagers and they tell you they hate you. I guess every parent has a few moments of feeling unequipped and overwhelmed. I feel MUCH better today.

Who's This Girl?

When I picture myself as a mother I like to think of someone who is bright and thoughtful, expressive, gentle, and overall HAPPY. Someone who smiles a lot.

The thing is, I know that, more often than not, I am not this person. I can tell because, most of the time, when I hear my own voice, it is yelling or screeching or lecturing.

Yesterday I got so tired of hearing my own voice that I just stopped talking. It didn't matter. The boys were going to keep on doing what they were doing ANYWAY, so what was the point?

And the thing is, I feel defeated. I don't know what to do. I love my kids. I happen to think they are the best kids in the world. But they can be out of control, and yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when I just wanted five minutes to figure out how to trim videos - so that I could just post the parts of the video that MATTER and not the gobblety gook in between... and I ended up with a screaming, sobbing Nate - because I wasn't sharing the videos with HIM because when he sits on my lap at the computer he tens to - I don't know - PRESS EVERY KEY AND MESS EVERYTHING UP! Five minutes later every single blanket from the living room - including the basket they belong in - were in the middle of my kitchen floor. WHen I pointed to the living room (as in "take these back where they belong RIGHT NOW) I noticed something funny about the living room rug. Which is to say that it had been folded up like a sheet of paper. THEY REMOVED MY RUG!

Seriously. My house. My furniture. They move it, wreck it, climb on it. They hide things. They talk to themselves without stopping. The other day I realized Nicholas was still talking a mile a minute in the bathroom. By himself.

And yesterday after bath, a time when they are supposed to be at their most calm, both boys ended up with pull-ups on their heads, otherwise naked, trying to sit on each other and stab each other with toothbrushes.

I feel like I have to say something because I am dreading today. I love my boys, but I don't want to play with them anymore for awhile. It may sound childish, but they hurt my feelings. And they are driving me insane. And the more I try to give them choices and to find ways for them to work out their energy, the more insane they become. And the more I yell. And the more I hate myself for sounding like a crazy lunatic of a woman.

Sorry. I guess I could use a vacation from motherhood and a good dose of spring.

A Few March Birthdays

Here is a picture of Andy in the little bouncer we got him, thanks to some very generous relatives. We weren't going to get him anything new, but we didn't have anything quite like this, and it looks like fun. Once he grows into it. It is, after all, the size of our kitchen table. Nate, on the other hand, is enjoying it now, despite my shrieking "Get Out!" each time I catch him in there.

I never posted anything on my sister Emily's birthday about it actually being her birthday. I usually mention all of my siblings on their special days. I just want everyone to know I didn't forget it. I did call her. We mailed her cards. I just forgot to post it. And while we're on the topic of birthdays I'm not posting about, I probably won't mention Miranda's birthday, which is this weekend, or Larissa's which is later next week. But that doesn't mean I won't CALL them. It doesn't mean I don't LOVE them, or that I'm not THINKING about them. It just means that I spend too much time complaining about poopy diapers and crazy three year olds, and that I don't think my friends necessarily want to be mixed in with such company.

Insanity of youth

"Three kids?" people used to say. "you're going to have your hands full!" And I would smile and nod and wonder "why?"

I honestly couldn't tell you why three kids would be crazier than two. How could it be that much different? Well, it's not. It's the same, just intensified.

Even when they are all behaving, it's crazy. For example, last night as we were getting ready for bed I thought I would loose my mind. Nicholas was putting on his pull-up. The way he did this was to wave it around and every once and awhile give a half hearted step up to put a leg in, but he missed. Instead he was intent on telling me a story about how he and Mario were going to go to the beach with Jackie's Dad and Salty (also imaginary people), and how they would have to drive a long, long time, and how they might have to stay the night, Nick should pack a bag. He should bring his Lamby, and a blanket, and maybe some other clothes.

I listened to this with half an ear, because Nathan was sitting in my lap and I was trying to help him put on his pj's. But Nate likes to do things by himself, even if he has never done it before, even if it will take him hours to master the skill. Which sucks because the boy is VERY impatient. "Help me!" he says. Then immediately "No! Me! No! Me!" and he screams because I reached out my hand to pull a shirt down or to help a shoe on. So while Nicholas was telling his story, Nathan was "Uh oh! Uh oh! No! Me!" and using my head to balance himself as he tried putting his shirt on his feet.

While all this was going on, Andy was neglected. He had started fussing, but I was getting the boys dressed for bed, and so he didn't get the attention he needed. Somewhere along the line his fussing because crying, which became wailing. Neither of the boys seemed to notice. They didn't speed up or turn their attention away from me. They just kept talking and crying and asking for help and crying because I was helping.

So you see, it's the volume. THAT is what is crazy. The noise. The stuff that prompts me to yell when everyone is actually doing exactly what I told them.

Open Gym

I took the boys to a special class at the Gym on Friday. Nicholas immediately began crying because he couldn't see his teacher there. Nate joined the class.

After fifteen minutes of Nick crying and refusing to join in, I pointed out how Nate was cutting in front of the other kids. "Who will show him how to wait in line." Nick didn't even blink before running off to the class.

He won't go for fun, to join in, but offer him the chance to boss his little brother around, and he's in.

Time Warp - Again

Anyone with young children can tell you that daylight savings is just an excuse for torturing people who have decided to procreate. I wake up and go to sleep in the dark no matter what the season is. Are you telling me there are people this actually makes a difference to?

My children woke up this morning at 5:30. There is a lot of strong wind at the moment, and you can hear it whistling through the windows. We also had a power outage during the night which meant I had to deal with a 2am panic from Nick, who woke up in pitch dark, and I also had to bumble my way down the hall to feed the baby. I did manage to find a couple of flashlights, which is amazing considering the state of half-sleep I was in...

In any case, my body clock was all messed up. So when I the sound of pitter pattering feet... OK, of stomping feet... woke me up and I saw that the clock said 5:30am, it didn't immediately register. I lurched down the hall in my usual grumpy state, upset because yesterday, when Steve got up with them, the boys slept past 6am. But this morning my kids wake at 5:30, because I only got up four times during the night.

It was after I fed Andy and convinced the boys to pick up some toys that I realized the clocks had changed. And we hadn't gone back, we'd gone FORWARD. So, according to their little body clocks, my boys actually got up at 4:30 AM! FOUR FREAKIN THIRTY IN THE MORNING! I'm asking you, what is it about me? They'll sleep forever when Steve gets up, but the one morning I should be allowed to sleep until the clocks say 7 they cheat me of ninety dream minutes.

It is so unfair, I tell you.

Oh My Gosh!

She's Taking My Picture!

Every Button Pushed

There are times around here when things runs smoothly. The boys find their shoes and hop into the car without fussing. They get out of the tub and put on their PJ's with no fuss. They let me tuck then into bed and kiss them good night and then walk right out the door.

But other times... the boys go nuts. I'm not sure what it is. It isn't misbehavior exactly, although sometimes the boys fight more and bonk each other over the head more. But mostly it's just... somehow Nick slips seven times while I'm making dinner and Nathan manages to hit his head five times on something ordinary, like the wall.

Last night I had the hardest time giving the boys their bath. Nicholas suggested they take turns so that Nate wouldn't splash him - something that happens EVERY NIGHT because Nate loves the water and Nicholas happens to be allergic and screams whenever a drop of water hits him on the face. So I thought taking turns might be reasonable.

Then I ended up with Nick peeing on the bath mat, Nate throwing a fit because we're out of his pull ups, and both boys eating toothpaste off the floor.

I don't know if it's the baby, or just Nate's age, but it seems these out of control moments are happening more and more often. I need a PLAN.

Skip a Day

OK, OK, so I didn't post yesterday. I skipped ONE DAY. But I don't feel bad about it because I am really very good at posting each day, so I'm allowed a day off.

Especially when I have nothing much to say and no new photos. And I'm busy with other things.

One of the many things I had to do yesterday was go to the doctor for my annual physical. I hadn't had one in three years. So I was about due. My doctor was very nice. He didn't say anything about my weight, which is still on the high side due to Andrew. He told me I looked healthy, which is always good to hear. Now as long as my bloodwork comes back clean, I'm all set. THAT is the part that makes me nervous. Fasting all night and then having the lab tell me I'm eating too many pop-tarts.

Hey, has anyone ever been fitted for running shoes?

Like Mommy

When I was small, and occasionally when I was in college, I used to wake up and find that I had fallen asleep with an open book on my face. I fell asleep reading, and couldn't even make myself stop to put away the book.

I am constantly finding Nate asleep with open books covering his entire head.

One day I might even take a picture.

Take a look at this video clip.

Not only does Nate bump himself on something invisible, but he insists on being kissed on the exact spot he bumped. Also, take a look at the pants Nick is wearing. They are size 18 months, I think. Nate still wears them sometimes, but Nick apparently found them and put them on. Please don't think this is because he doesn't have clothing that fits him. He simply puts on the most inappropriate clothing he can find.

Cross, Cranky, and Crummy

It's not even 7am... on a SUNDAY... and I have already been awake for over two hours. Nicholas was awake at 4:30 with a dream and a cold, and spent the next 90 minutes trying to wake up the house by letting out a noise every two or three minutes, a screeching, yelling noise, as though he had just seem a wildebeest crawl out from under his bed. He woke up Andrew, who went back to sleep with a little nursing. He woke up Nathan, who climbed back into bed and pretended to sleep. I was sure everyone was actually awake and just pretending to sleep, until Steve started snoring in my ear.

The cats were awake. I could hear Frank meowing so loudly it sounded as though the wildebeest had migrated to the kitchen. Nicholas was still moaning. Steve snoring. I was in bed with my eyes clenched shut until I realized that I would probably feel better and less grumpy if I just GOT UP. For the record, I didn't feel less grumpy. I am not snippy and grumpy and simply thankful that the dog lady left us this HUGE mug the size of Montana the last time she was here. I have filled it up with coffee, which is too strong today. And now I am watching The Wiggles.

It's a kind of torture, I swear. If these weren't my children it would be cruel and unusual.

Dr. Nick

I have actually started running on my treadmill again. It's a bit harder this time around, because I was doing so well before I stopped, and I am anxious to get back to that point. I am not really a patient person. But my body keeps reminding me that, no, I can't just hop up and start running five miles in thirty minutes Just Like That. I need to warm up and then build up to it. Because I am, after all, in my thirties, and I am still not sleeping through the night, and am still kind of recovering from being pregnant, and my lungs and my muscles, and my JOINTS just can't take it.

The other day I was feeling really good about my run, until I hopped off the treadmill and realized my knee was hurting. So much, in fact, that I couldn't walk up the stairs using that leg. I had to walk sideways and use my right leg each time.

Nicholas noticed this, and asked about it.
"Did you bump your knee?"
"No, I just hurt it."
"Did you cut it?"
"No, it wasn't like that. My knee just hurts when I walk. That's all."
Nick thought about this for awhile. Then his face lit up as he found an answer.
"Maybe you could just hop on one foot!"