Stupid Stupid Stupid

After a week with no hint of grass growing on the giant dirt patch that is our lawn, I went out and bought a second huge bad of grass seed. THIS time, I thought, I would do things a little differently. First off, I would turn over the soil so that the seed would have something to grab onto and grow into.

So I took one of those hand held rakes... the tiny hand sized pitchforks... and I started poking holes into the earth. And I sprinkled the grass seed into the little holes I made. But the thing is... that rake is small, and the lawn is HUGE. And I guess I started going faster and faster and less and less careful because I STABBED MYSELF IN THE FOOT WITH IT!

Not really my foot. My toe. The side of my toe. And one of the rake tines went into the side of my toe and INTO it, and just as I realized what I had done I heard - or felt - a sick crunch. And, besides the pain, the strongest thing I felt was I AM SO SO STUPID! I mean, I couldn't have done this if I had tried. And my kids, who were being so good, were treated to me shouting out words they have only heard me use in heavy traffic.

There is now a small, tiny cut on the inside of my toe. It hardly bled. There was no need for stitches or anything. It's the smallest tear. And it's only slightly pink and a little bit swollen. But it HURTS! I feel like the biggest wimp. I'm limping all over the place and I STILL FEEL STUPID!

Ugh! Stupid lawn!

Crazy Hail Storm Footage

From a couple of weeks ago.

The Origin Of Things

Today was rainy until late afternoon, and we were all going a little stir crazy, so I put together an Alphabet Scavenger Hunt for the boys. I wrote each letter on a sheet of paper and then taped it to an object starting with that letter, writing the word underneath. The idea was to familiarize the boys with individual letters, and to get them to start thinking about the sounds each letter makes. Some of the letters are easier to remember than others.

It's harder than you think to come up with a physical object you own for each letter. I had trouble with a couple of them, so come of my choices were... original.

When it came to the letter "I" Nick found the letter on the freezer. "Great!" we said. "Now what is it that starts with 'I?'"

"Freezer!" Nick said confidently.

"Um... no, try again," we said, and I pointed to the ice dispenser, which is on the freezer. "What does that make?"

Nick raised him eyebrows. "Um, Pizza?"

The funny thing is, we were drawn to this particular model of fridge because of the huge sign saying it could fit EIGHT FROZEN PIZZAS inside!

Happy Fourth of JULY

When we were kids it was all about picnics on the beach and fireworks. But now that I'm an adult it's all about cooking on the grill and trying to have a couple of drinks and trying to keep the kids from stabbing themselves in the eyes with hot poisonous knives.

Happy Day to everyone.

news flash

I would like to take it easy today, because I don't have much to say.

But I DID feel like I had to mention the new playground we found today. In our own town. I'd never seen it before. But it looks a lot like the really cool playground in Tennessee. The only catch is that it's down a very bumpy and uneven unpaved road behind a cemetery. I wonder why I've never found it until now.

I Told

As I have mentioned before, once the kids are in bed I have FREE TIME. This means I have time which I have not allocated to anything else, although I usually have to use some of it to finish up a few things, such as putting away laundry, getting those last dishes in the dishwasher, etc. But once this happens, the night is MINE!

Or at least that's how it's supposed to work. What REALLY happens is that Nathan keeps getting out of bed and playing with his toys, and I keep having to go back in and put him back in bed. Sometimes I start watching a movie and I can hear him over the Monitor, jabbering, playing, and sometimes trying to wake up the baby. Which is when I shoot up and rush to get him back in bed because THAT IS NOT FUN!

When either Steve or I confront him in one of these out of bed moments we invariably start with "Why are you you out of bed?" And he always always ALWAYS replies "I'm cold!"

Actually, he said "I Told!" But as his parents, both Steve and I speak fluent Nathan, and we know what he is saying. "I'm Cold."

Except I think he might actually MEAN something else. Because there is no way on Earth that he can possibly be cold. Unless he has a fever. For the past three months. I mean, it's 80 degrees and I can feel the oilyness of the skin on my face. I can feel the weight of my hair on my neck. It's HOT!

But if I correct Nathan (you mean you're HOT) he corrects me back. (I'm Cold.)

Anyway, one day he'll get the hang of going to bed, I hope. And at least he will stay IN the bed. I don't mind his being awake so much, as long as he's in a place where he can, eventually, get tired and nod off.

Choices

At the end of the day, when the kids go to sleep, I have free time.

I am never sure what to do with this free time. I could do some quilting. I could work on some of my scrapbooks. I could paint the kitchen. I usually opt for watching TV because then I don't have to move, but even this required choices. Actual TV? A film from Netflix? The entire first season of LOST? There is just SO MUCH.

And it reminds me of the boys when we go to a park or to a play place. Because they want to do EVERYTHING and they want to do it all RIGHT NOW. And they end up running around from one thing to another with frantic looks on their faces. MUST DO THIS! NOW THIS! NOW THIS!

After all that... well, there's a lot to say for being so tired at the end of the day you fall right into bed.

Encyclopedia Brown and the case of the Blue Monk

OK, the title of this post is misleading, because there is no actual CASE to solve... although If I WERE cleaver enough to come up with a few I would be very pleased with myself.

No, it's just that today we went shopping for ovens - just to get an idea of what was out there. And the major chain store we visited had exactly ONE OVEN that matched our specifications (double oven, 27 inches.) But while we were there I purchased a bag of grass seed because our lawn has been attacked by grubs and these huge bare spots are all over, and over the past few days, during the heavy rain, a great deal of dirt ran down the slope and collected in our driveway because nothing was growing to hold it down, so something had to be done.

So I got this grass seed and this afternoon, in the heat of the day, I walked up and down the slope in front of our house sprinkling this seed. Now, I've been reading this book that starts off in a monastery in the 4th century, and I'm a little into it. So the whole time I'm putting my hand in the bag and sprinkling grass seed all over the dirt I'm imagining I'm a Monk at work, sewing seed in the fields out of my love for God or Food or something, a Monk who, apparently, has three small children running around. And people passing by the house were looking at me strangely and I KNEW I wasn't doing this grass planting thing properly - I didn't prepare the soil and I was just THROWING the stuff down... but they were kind of rude about it, the way they were looking... Did they know what I was thinking?

At the end of my sprinkling I was just coming out of my daydream when I looked down and saw that my hands were both blue up to my elbows... apparently this grass seed has dye in it. And my face, which had been sweating and that I had been rubbing... it was also streaked with a bright blue. My feet were blue because I was wearing flip flops. No wonder passers by were giving me odd looks.


Anyway, I went inside and washed up. Then I checked the weather for the next couple of days, to see how favorable grass growing conditions were going to me. And just in case you didn't know, this is something you should do BEFORE spreading seed. Because the forecast for TODAY said "THUNDERSTORMS AND HEAVY SHOWERS." And five minutes later buckets of water were pouring from the sky. And thirty minutes later the sun was shining again, but all the grass seed had run off, along with the loose layer of soil on top, into my driveway.

So the Mystery question is either: How long before my driveway has more grass than my lawn? Or: How much will it cost to redo our entire kitchen so we can get whatever oven we want?

Holy Fruit Crusader!

Batman Fruit Snacks should not exist.

It's not just that I don't like the idea of fruit snacks. I like them. They are yummy. Even though they are essentially trying to make you think there is actual FRUIT in the sugary gummy substance.

Diego is allowed to have fruit snacks. Cinderella. Scooby Doo. The Backyardigans. But The Caped Crusader? Batman? I don't know what he eats, but I'm pretty sure he would scoff at the fruit snacks. Especially the new Batman. Maybe the Adam West Batman would eat them once in a while.

oweKAY!

So... I guess that last post was a winner.

Either no one read my post, or no one wanted to waste 4 minutes of their time... OR people hated the video and are trying to spare my feelings.

whatever the reason, I got no comments at all. This will not discourage me. I shall keep peppering you all with videos. Next time, it will be a video of my cats.

My Video

Here's my first attempt at a "full length feature" on the web. It is four minutes long. I put clips from our trip to Tennessee - mostly from the park we went to - to music. Let me know what you think.

I already know that my voice is annoying, that I shake the camera too much... and... let me know what else.

Food For Thought

I hate it when anyone asks me "What's for dinner?" My mother used to ask us what we'd like for dinner and it would drive me crazy. Just make something! I would think. Anything! Why are you asking ME? These days I actually make up the week's menu before I go to the supermarket, but I always find myself sitting there, sifting through the depths of my brain, trying to come up with seven meals for the week. That I can cook. And that my family will eat. Try doing this. It's harder than it looks.

Steve has recently expressed the opinion that we are eating too much hamburger (ie. stop making hamburger helper every third night) so this week I decided to try something new and make lamb chops. This was really courageous of me because, not only have I never cooked lamb, I do not eat it. But it was a moot point as I discovered that A - lamb chops are really tiny B - lamb chops are kind of expensive and C - there were only three lamb chops left in the meat cooler at the store. So instead I got a pork roast. WELL, IT WASN'T HAMBURGER!

The pork roast was good! Once it cooked. But whoever wrote the cooking instructions on the wrapper should be shot. They either lied about the cooking time (25 - 30 min/ lb.) or about the temperature (325) or maybe they got the weight wrong. Because what should have taken 90 minutes to cook ended up taking almost three hours. With only adults this is an excuse to drink more wine and relax more. With small children it is a disaster.

Anyhow, Andrew was the only one who got fed and to bed on time. I have had trouble feeding him lately. I plans to gradually move him over to formula have been thwarted by his decision to now never take a bottle AT ALL! And he now refuses most baby food, simply smiling with lips together at my attempts to make him open his mouth before the mush falls completely off the spoon... which isn't really a spoon, but more like a rubber tipped stick, as nothing actually stays IN there.

But today Andrew's first tooth came in. THAT'S something, huh?

A Little Something

I am not blind, nor am I stupid. But I like to believe that, most of the time, people who are arrested are arrested because they have done something wrong. I like to think that people who are convicted of a crime are guilty. I like to think that the conviction will be just. Call me optimistic, faithful, loyal, naive, whatever. It's what I like to believe. It isn't, however, what I ACTUALLY believe. It isn't true.

There are places in this world where people are persecuted for no reason. Where they are arrested with false charges. Where they are held with no conviction, and where they are treated inhumanely. This country I live in is no exception. But I am not posting about my country. I'm posting about this one man.

This man is in Prison in Belarus, and I've met him. It was a long time ago, when I was a kid, but still, he is family of people I once considered myself very close to. I am posting a link to a website. I think the site itself is a bit thrown together, and perhaps a bit one sided and emotional. My point is, I can't claim to know the motivations of people or of governments. But I don't think it's right to deprive a person of legal counsel or of medication, let alone to mistreat them physically. This website sheds a little light on the situation, and offers information on what can be done. I think it also might be monitored by family members.

I guess I am simply writing this to raise a little awareness around this one guy's case. Because when I heard about it I wanted nothing more than to be able to DO SOMETHING. And really, what more can I do?

Here is a cut and paste of a document my brother sent me:

UANetwork Office AIUSA 600 Pennsylvania Ave SE, Washington DC 20003 T. 202.544.0200 F. 202.675.8566 E. uan@aiusa.org amnestyusa.org/urgent/

Note: Please write on behalf of these persons even though you may not have
received the original UA when issued on May 7, 2008. Thanks!

16 June 2008

Further Information on UA 121/08 - Torture and other ill-treatment/serious ill health

BELARUS Emanuel Zeltser

Emanuel Zeltser is still being refused the medication that he desperately needs to treat his diabetes and arthritis. Since his arrest on 12 March, the Belarusian authorities have denied Emanuel Zeltser the treatment he needs and he is now in a great deal of pain, is unable to walk and has difficulty talking.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION
Emanuel Zeltser was arrested and detained on 12 March as he arrived by plane in Belarus. On 21 March he was charged with “use of forged documents.” He is being held in a state security services detention facility in the capital, Minsk, where he has been interrogated, allegedly beaten and denied the medicine he needs urgently to treat his diabetes and arthritis.

RECOMMENDED ACTION: Please send appeals to arrive as quickly as possible:
- calling on the authorities to ensure that Emanuel Zeltser immediately receives the medication prescribed by his doctor, that his lawyer has provided to the detention facility;
- calling on the authorities to order an urgent, independent investigation of reports that Emanuel Zeltser has been tortured or otherwise ill-treated, and to bring those responsible to justice;
- urging the authorities to ensure that Emanuel Zeltser is protected from further torture and other ill-treatment, and given regular access to US consular representatives, lawyers of his choice and any medical attention he may require.


APPEALS TO:
Alyaksandr Lukashenka
President
Administratsia Prezidenta Respubliki Belarus
ul.Karla Marksa, 38
220016 Minsk
BELARUS
Fax: 011 375 17 226 06 10
011 375 17 222 38 72
Salutation: Dear President Lukashenka

Grigorii Vasilevich
Prosecutor General
Internatsionalnaya str., 22
220050 Minsk
BELARUS
Fax: 011 375 17 226 42 52
Salutation: Dear Prosecutor General

COPIES TO:

Vladimir Naumov
Minister of Internal Affairs
Gorodskoi Val str., 2
220050 Minsk
BELARUS
Fax: 011 375 17 203 99 18
Salutation: Dear Minister

Ambassador Mikhail Khvostov
Embassy of the Republic of Belarus
1619 New Hampshire Ave NW
Washington DC 20009
Fax: 1 202 986 1805
Email: usa@belarusembassy.org



PLEASE SEND APPEALS IMMEDIATELY.
Check with the AIUSA Urgent Action office if sending appeals after 28 July 2008.

my house is falling down

Some days I feel as though the walls to my house are crumbling, and I'm running around with a roll of scotch tape trying to fix everything before the plaster turns completely into sand and fills the hallways with sandy dunes of former house atoms.

I've already posted about the hammock snapping off. I didn't post about it, but the towel rack in the boys' bathroom fell off a few weeks ago, leaving holes in the drywall which now need to be patched and painted.

Last week I felt that I got a lot accomplished. I called people to come and fix our garage door. I called the electricians to come and fix the phone jacks, so that we can have more than one phone. I painted Steve's office, finally coving up the bare drywall that the previous owners of our house left us when they moved out their hot tub. I did a LOT. And this week I was going to bask in my home, taking pride in all I had done to fix it up.

Last night, our microwave died.

This is an inconvenience, to be sure. Because I have grown DEPENDENT on this microwave to heat things up. And replacing a microwave should be easy, right? I mean, they sell these things EVERYWHERE.

Only our microwave just happens to be part of a system built into our wall. Connected to our oven. You can see it behind Nick in today's photo.

So now we need a new oven. AND a new microwave. Unless we just buy a microwave and use our old oven and let the old microwave just sit there.

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I'm Saying Something

Last night I saw Mike Daisey's performance of "How Theatre Failed America" in New York. It was so cool. It was especially cool because, as Meg pointed out, he said my name two or three times. And it wasn't just my name, he actually meant ME! It was a great performance, a wonderful show, and I encourage everyone and anyone to see it if they ever get the chance. Only tonight was his final performance in this run, and he' s off on a tour of "If You See Something Say Something!" He's going to Santa Fe. And then to many other places. But NY people - he'll be back in the fall!

Seeing old friends makes me very nervous for some reason. I get nervous before, and I get nervous afterwards thinking that I will or I just did make a fool of myself and look stupid. I was nervous last night. And that's just dumb because Mike has already seen me make a bigger fool of myself than I ever hope to be again. But I got nervous anyway. And I don't think it's him, or any other friend I happen to get nervous around. I think it's me. I get nervous because I feel like a very different person from the girl I was when I really knew him. I am RESPONSIBLE. I have a CHILD! Heck, I have THREE. And I am BREASTFEEDING! And I'm OLD! I'm not nearly as exciting and interesting as I used to be. I mean, it's really altogether too odd. Plus, I just feel nowhere near as cool as anyone else.

And I have to laugh at myself because I know how silly it is, even as my heart is thumping a million miles an hour in my chest and my face is a billion degrees. Because I am NOT the only one who has grown up, you know? It's a process and a major sode effect of LIFE. And I end up having the BEST TIME. Which I did last night. THE BEST. The silliest and best and a lot of fun. So, besides Mike, who provided the entertainment, and his wife Jean Michelle, I have to thank all who made the night possible, including Meg, Jamie, and Anne-E. Why the heck don't I do this more often?

Internet For Kids

Nick and Nate like this game.

I like this one.

And they can spend hours watching this and this over and over... just the theme. Not the show. (Although there's a lot of punching, isn't there?)

Time in a Bottle

I have this game, the Simms, which I used to play constantly.

In case you are unfamiliar with Simms, it's kind of like this: you get to create a "family" made of of a few people. You are them responsible for each member of your family. You need to make sure each member is housed properly, is fed properly, gets enough sleep, takes showers, uses the bathroom, etc. You also have to make sure the person has a job, so that you can get money to buy food. You have to make sure other needs are met - like staying in shape, improving one's mind, having a hobby, having a social life... And the kicker was, the game kept track of time. So you had to make choices about what to do next to make sure everything got done within a certain amount of time.

I was horrible at the game. I would ignore people who needed to use the restroom because it would take them twenty minutes. I refused to socialize. I would let them oversleep and they would miss work. The house would catch on fire because my people would throw tantrums in the middle of the game because they hated their lives so much. And all I could think was that it wasn't like real life. In real life, there was enough time. It didn't take forever to do things.

Well, I was wrong again. Because these days I run around like a headless chicken doing one thing, another, three at once, and I still don't get everything done.

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No Photos

I was all set to download the photos from my camera tonight, but I just didn't get around to it. Besides, most of what's on there is footage from the boys' gymnastics recitals, which looks like ants jumping through hoops in the distance. I'm working on putting the clips together to make a short film for you all. Hope it works!

Anyway, I probably won't have pictures for a few more days. Sorry, but I'm just letting you know how lazy I am.

Remember the Time...

Larissa called me today. We spoke about our trip to Disney later this fall, and Larissa told me about her family trip, when her brother, who was very young, was terrified of every ride and character he came upon, making the trip frustrating for all involved.

I have no doubt that my boys will be able to deal with most of the rides, although they might not want to get too close to the gigantic cartoons-come-to-life. I was, however, reminded of this time we went to the circus, when Emily was about 2 years old. And there we were, having a wonderful time, when my father got the crazy idea to get us all cotton candy. He got us each our OWN cotton candy, so there he was, edging through the seats to bring us our treats... and when Emily got a look at the coton candy she took her fingers out of her mouth and started screaming. It was as though the cotton candy were the most terrifying thing she'd ever seen. SHE WOULD NOT STOP. We had to leave. I was upset.

That Emily! I sure do miss her.

Thanks where Thanks is due

This morning I had to rush the boys out the door to take the car to The Car Place, where they listened when I told them the car was making a flat tire sound even though there was no flat tire. A little over an hour later they told me they rotated the tires, charged me twenty bucks, and I drove off, the car still making that flat tire sound.

But getting the boys dressed and fed and out the door was an effort. Mostly because both Nicholas and Nathan now have a full understanding of "Free Will" and a finely developed sense of "Selective Hearing," so I have to repeat the same requests several times a day, every day. And I need to request every step. I can't just say "Get Dressed" I need to say "Take off your clothes" but even that is too much sometimes and I need to narrow it down to "Take off your pants" but many times it need to be prefaced with something like "Climb out of the clothes hamper" or "Take your finger out of your brother's ear."

This morning, as I was putting together the diaper bag and making a bottle, I was trying to get Nick and Nate to GET WITH THE PROGRAM, which was, of course, "Getting in the car", only they were confused and thought it was "Running around and spreading toys all over the house." I looked up and shouted out to the first child I saw "Put your shoes on."

Nick was talking, but he wasn't talking to me. I think he was talking to Mario. And he was walking back and forth in the dining room, very busy, but mostly very involved in ignoring me.

"Nicholas, put on your shoes!" I shouted. "Get your shoes from the shoe mat and put them on your feet!"

Nothing.

"Nick! Shoes! Now!" I yelled, picking up Andy, who was already crying, and making an attempt to strap his wriggling form into his car seat.

Nicholas kept talking, but suddenly he took a deep breath and said "Mom, Thanks for reminding me about my shoes!"

Seriously? I didn't know what to say.

40 Winks

What do people think about naps? I mean, for themselves and for kids?

Because I never napped as a kid, but as an adult I could nap every day.

And my kids nap. When I can get them to sleep, they nap very well.

But Nick has started to wake up sooner and sooner. And it's taking him longer and longer to actually sleep.

Sure, he's falling asleep before dinner...

I still think if I could just get them all to sleep 40 minutes longer in the morning, all would be well.

Imagination

Ever since I wrote about Nicholas's imaginary friend Mario, people have been telling me about their own imaginary friends. Either that, or they remind me of the children from The Shining or The Amityville Horror, because THEY had imaginary friends TOO, and LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM!

The most unsettling thing about Nick's imaginary friends, aside from the fact that he talks to them aloud sometimes, is the consistency. Oh, sure, Mario happens to be a two-year-old who drives a car and can write his own name, has a cell phone, etc. But the relationships between the people he dreams up... there is a whole cast of characters here. And they do not change. He remembers them all. He talks about them all.

First of all, there is Mario. The original.

Then, meet Jackie, Mario's little brother.

Then there is Sam, Mario's father, who drives all three of them (Mario, Jackie, and Nick) places on occasion.

Then, there is Mario's Mother, Salty. Please do not ask me about this name, because the first time he said it I collapsed into a huge fit of giggles and had to leave the lunch table.

A little over a week ago, Mario acquired a little sister. Her name is Rhonda. I have no idea where Nick heard this name, but I don't think I have ever actually met anyone named Rhonda. The Beach Boys? Was I singing the Beach Boys?

And finally, today Nicholas mentioned yet another member of this family. Jackie's younger sister (not to be confused with Mario's sister Rhonda). She is new, as of today. Her name is Tuna. Yes, Tuna, as in fish. The daughter of Salty and Sam. Tuna.

Maybe Nicholas will be a novelist.

One Of THOSE Days

You know those days. The ones that are predestined to be horrible and emotional because the baby wakes up at 3:30 am and then mistakes you for a pacifier, causing you to breastfeed for over an hour straight, dozing in and out, and when you wake up and try to dislodge the seemingly asleep baby from your breast he wakes up and screams for a whole half hour. And you never get back to sleep.

Andy has developed this habit of nursing until he falls asleep, but it's taking him longer and longer for full sleep to come upon him. And if I dare to try and "break the seal" before he is completely asleep, he wakes himself up with the screaming and the thrashing about.

Anyway, I did not have a good morning. I was tired. I couldn't get two minutes without someone crying or asking for milk or needing something. Everywhere I looked I saw things that needed to be done - appointments I need to make, decisions I need to make. Errands I have to run but can't with the kids in tow. Projects I would really like to complete but I can't without someone doing something else first. I was overwhelmed with the fact that I do laundry EVERY SINGLE DAY and that, no matter what I do, I can't get the smell of pee or milk out of certain items of clothing. I was feeling sorry for myself that I have to bend over backwards to spend a night at the theatre - and I STILL don't have a babysitter for next Saturday, by the way. Anyone know any NYC sitters?

Anyway, I ate a lot of chocolate and drank a few sodas and got mack into my groove, more or less. I just need a little vacation. A little ME time. You know. For ME.

I SCREAM etc.

As I mentioned in a few previous posts, I am now feeding Andrew "solid" food. Meaning that I feed him mush from plastic containers with pictures of real food on them. So far he likes yellow, loves orange, hates green. We've even progressed to the "Stage 2" series, the ones that actually MIX the foods together, and are supposed to be even MORE solid, but to tell you the truth I think it's the same junk in a bigger container. Which is why we get it - the bigger container.

Anyway, Andrew's appetite ranges from eating a few bites and then sputtering mush all over the place with his lips (green) to swallowing everything and crying because I have the audacity to start CLEANING UP!

But no matter what, he is always cranky when the family sits down to dinner. Now I make a habit of feeding him BEFORE dinner. I know it isn't fair, but I have this thing about wanting to eat my own dinner without getting mushed squash up to my elbow or interrupting to wrestle a spoon away from a soggy green mass of baby fist. So when we sit down to eat, Andy is in his high chair with NO FOOD! I have started giving him a few stars, little melty puffs, and he attacks them and grabs them in a soggy fist and then tries to get them into his mouth, but mostly he misses and they stick to his hand until he has ten of them there, and no more in front of him, and he starts crying because HE CAN'T FIND THEM!

But mostly Andy wants what we have. And we can't give it to him because he has no teeth.

Tonight, though, I broke a rule. I actually fed Andy a tiny, crumb sized dot of Steve's Ice Cream Birthday Cake.

And he loved it.

He loved it so much, in fact, that he began screaming and reaching for my cake, and the screaming would reach an unholy level of rage whenever the fork passed him by and took the ice cream to my mouth instead of his.

Andy is not supposed to eat dairy because he's only 6 months and too young. But somehow I have already gotten him hooked on ice cream.

Oh, yeah. I'm that good.

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Friday the 13th

In case you haven't looked at a calendar today, tomorrow is Friday the 13th.

In some places, Friday the 13th is supposed to be good luck. Or at least the number 13 is, so maybe I'm just making assumptions.

But here, in MY world, Friday the 13th is supposed to be BAD luck. Like the movies. The Friday the 13th movies. Which you settle down to watch and then you realize they are just SO BAD and you are wasting your time and your brain cells are melting, and isn't that bad luck? Picking so awful a film?

Anyway, this time around Friday the 13th just happens to me STEVE'S BIRTHDAY. The bad thing about this is... well... I never know what to get him. Or I know but they don't make it anymore, or I know because he forwarded me an email with the link to the specific item he wants. And I have, in the past, actually purchased computer stuff to give him without having the slightest idea what I am buying. I am probably on some list somewhere for people who order strange electronic equipment in an effort to build a giant machine to control the forces of the universe. Because Steve is probably building one in our basement right now.

The REALLY bad thing about Steve's birthday being on Friday is that Father's Day is on Sunday. The whole weekend becomes about Steve. But I only end up with enough soap on a rope for ONE Steve-Day. Not two.

And I guess what I am saying is that I wish I could just once come up with something so special and amazing and leave him thrilled. Something that will convey exactly how much I care and think about him and love him and appreciate him.

Happy Birthday, Steve!

Knock on WOOD

For the past week, I have had only one child in diapers.

Well, excepting nap times and night time.

But seriously... enough said.

Grocery Store

When I was a kid my mother would shop for groceries at a store twenty minutes away. There were closer stores, and I remember asking my mother why, oh WHY did we have to go so far away for groceries?

Today I tried a new grocery store. Well, the store isn't new. I just don't like going in there because the few times I've had to grab small items there it seemed... grungy. And my grocery store, the one I usually shop at, it really nice! The produce section has fake trees for ambiance, the aisles are wide enough for carts to pass each other, and I KNOW WHERE EVERYTHING IS. Seriously, you can NOT underestimate this when you're shopping with three kids.

But I tried the new store because I had heard from several people that it was so much less expensive to shop there.

It was, to say the least, a frustrating experience. The produce looked like it had been swept off the street - there was no fresh clean look about it. Dirty, in fact. And I couldn't find tomatoes or carrots. I later learned that lots of tomatoes have been pulled, which makes me wonder about the hard pink ones I eventually bought. Anyone hear anything about carrots?

Then everything was in the wrong place. I couldn't find what I needed, cereals were all jumbled together, the sweet ones with the healthy ones, which made it VERY hard to suggest good choices. They didn't have the all the brands I use, so I had to make some quick choices as the boys ran around like lunatics.

In the end I didn't spend as much as I usually do. And it's true that some items did end up being less expensive than at the store I like. But it still isn't clear to me if the overall total was lower because if the prices, or because I didn't buy everything I had set out to.

Hot N Dirty

Monday is my designated "Clean The House Day." I have to designate a day to do this on the weeks the cleaning service doesn't come. Usually, it's OK. I get as much clean as I can and then either save the rest for the next day, or the next week. Because I usually need the house to be just clean enough to function.

This morning I started cleaning before I got dressed. Why? Because I noticed the dining room table was covered in yellow pollen. So I dusted it. But this afternoon when I deposited my unfolded laundry on it... well, it was covered in pollen again.

And upstairs my nightstand is covered with pollen, also. But I didn't get to clean upstairs today because it got too hot to move. So not only are our brains baking inside our skulls and our flesh threatening to melt off our bones, but they will be nicely marinaded in yellow pollen when it happens.

Heat In The Kitchen

Lillian took this picture yesterday at the Library Festival. See how sneaky Andy is as he tries to steal my Diet Coke? But I'm on to him.


Yesterday it started getting hot. I said that. I said it yesterday.

But today it kept on being hot. The whole night was hot. At 8am I realized that the only outdoor time we'd get that day would have to happen immediately. And forty minutes later we walked out into the backyard. (It took us forty minutes to get shoes and sunscreen and hats.) Thirty minutes later I was drenched in sweat. This is 9:15 am.

So we went back inside. And the day got hotter.

The kids were cross and I was short tempered, so I tried an early nap. An hour into naptime Andy woke up, and Nick and Nate were still chatting and singing and kicking and jumping out of bed and then trying to jump right back in before I could make it to their room to see who it was. So I lost it. I dragged Nate into my bed with me and Andy. Andy immediately began smiling and laughing because to him, getting to be next to Nate is just the best thing in the world. And Nate immediately began poking his fingers into Andy's ears. I had to get in between them. And even then Nate started poking the moles on my back and running his fingers through the ends of my hair.

It was so hot.

Nate finally fell asleep for a few minutes, but Nick never did. All afternoon they fought and whined and kicked and demanded milk or juice or grapes or whatever. And I snapped at them because I was hot and tired and cranky TOO!

Honestly, it's been hotter. I guess we're just not used to it. Seeing that only on Friday we were wearing JACKETS.

Slip n Mud

Today was the first very HOT day that we've had. Nicholas, of course, wanted to ride his new bike, speaking of which... I guess I accidentally deleted the videos I made. Oh well.

Anyway, I decided that it was too hot to stand in the middle of the driveway, and instead I hooked up the new water slide I got a few weeks ago. It's something like a Slip 'n Slide. You know - a huge strip of plastic with water sprinkling on it. The idea is that a small child jumps on it and slides to the other end, into the big huge mud puddle that has formed in the grass.

Here's what I learned:

- the plastic will not propel the child all the way to the end unless the child takes a running leap

- if the child takes a running leap, then it will hurt, because the ground is hard

- if the child steps on the plastic with his foot, he'll slip and fall

- water and dirt make mud

- boys and mud make muddy boys

- just because a boy screams when he gets wet in the bathtub, with heated water, doesn't mean he won't yelp with delight and roll around in the dirty, muddy, cold hose water

The boys had a great time. It was worth the bother and the extra laundry. I have no pictures. Which is good. Because my camera would have gotten soaked.

Also, Jamie was not there. This is just a picture from when he WAS here.

Sleep Baby Sleep

Not too long ago I was under the impression that Andrew was sleeping through the night. He would sleep from 7pm until 3am-ish. And then wake up again just before five. But that's good enough for me. I'd climb into the guestroom bed with him at five and get as much sleep as I could before the older boys woke and started running up and down the halls.

Unfortunately, Andy didn't like that plan. He like the morning part just fine, the part where he was nursing in bed with me. But the rest of it, the part where he was alone and I wasn't with him? Yeah, he didn't like that as much.

So he began crying. And screaming. Many, many times a night. Sometimes he begins crying before I can fall back asleep from feeding him the last time. Sometimes he starts crying before I can get back into bed.

The daytime isn't really much better. He sleeps for hours at a time, but not during naptime! Oh, no! He'll fall asleep, but before the older boys can stop their chattering long enough to fall asleep, Andy is wailing in his crib. I try to run with him on the floor, but he cries as soon as I begin, wailing as though I were causing him pain. So working out is sporadic and frustrating. And as soon as it is over Andy goes to sleep on my bed.

Sometimes I skip working out just to nap with him, so that I can get some sleep.

I keep telling myself it's a phase. I hope it is. Because I've never been very good at letting a baby cry.

Chatter

Noise Noise Noise NOISE

And because the joys of potty training never end.

Summer Lovin

Friday is the last day of school. There are two more weeks of Gymnastics. Aside from four weeks of swim lessons in July, the boys are free... and I, apparently, am not.

There are pros and cons to having an open schedule. It's good to not have to be anywhere, and to know we can go to the beach or the park or even - if I'm motivated - into Boston or to the mountains or the REAL beach. But on the other hand... days can drag on. We can go stir crazy. And the boys can drive me bonkers when I don't get a break.

Breaking Point

That's it, I've had it! The kids are driving me crazy. Between crying and lifting Rolos from the candy display at the supermarket, to hitting each other, throwing a fit because I demand washing hands before dinner...


I'm packing the boys up and sending them to Alaska. Or Argentina. Or Las Vegas. Nick plans on visiting those places eventually, anyway.

Actually, we had a pretty good day today. But I sure am tired.

.

Let The Sun Shine

At this point I would just like to say that I appreciate the weather change. The kids and I go out almost every day. I hang clothes on the line. The boys ride bikes. As soon as Nick's out of school I plan on taking them to the beach and the park.

But I don't like sunscreen. And the fact that I have to chase the boys to put it on. And I don't like how I have to keep putting hats on heads.

And at some point I shall get more photos up here. Just haven't had the... motivation, really.

Six Years

Steve and I were married six years ago today.

Four years ago today we left Nicholas at the hospital NICU.

And yesterday Nick had his first Birthday Party with friends from school. I was nervous about it, more nervous than I should have been, because of the Moms. I had to take hold of myself and remember than other moms are people, too. And that it was 90 minutes, and a kid's party.

It went OK, I think. The kids seemed to have fun. And I got to see Betsy again and her little smooshie babies! They are pink! I mean girls! Hee hee!

Little Bear

Nathan plays rough, and he wiggles and squiggles and runs and jumps and moves even when he's standing still. Which is why going to sleep is so hard for him. He is also sometimes scary to be around, because the movement of his limbs is unpredictable, and at any moment one of them might whack you.

But yesterday while I was feeding Andy he came over and crawled up next to me. "You my Mother Bear?" he asked.

Nicholas is 4 today

This doesn't sound very fair, but somehow Nick's birthday has always been a bigger deal than Nate's. Maybe it's because Nathan has only had two of them so far, or maybe it's that Nathan's comes right after Christmas...

I'm not sure if other people feel this way. And I hope it changes in the future to make things fair for the two other boys.

But for me, personally, Nicholas's birthday will always be a little bit different than the others. Because Nicholas was the first. And when Nick was born, Steve and I became parents.

With each of the other boys we just became busier parents. More frazzled parents. Crazier parents.

Happy Birthday Nicholas. You are a very loved and cared about young man.

And you make all of our lives richer.

Feedin' Time

Andy doesn't really like to open his mouth for the spoon full of food. Instead, when I start feeding him, he starts shoving his fists in his mouth. If I give him an extra spoon he'll chew on that. But he doesn't get that the food is on the spoon and that it comes from the bowl I'm holding.

Nick used to think the food came right from the spoon and would clench his gums on it and cry while I spooned up more mush. Nate just needed to eat from his own fingers. But I think what might be confusing Andy is... his bib. See, after the first few spoonfuls there is usually a good amount of food on his bib. Instead of looking at the spoon and eating food from it, he puts the dirty bib in his mouth and starts sucking.

I guess it doesn't matter as long as he's getting it in his body.

.

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!"

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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.