Fog At Sunset

Today was a very hard day.

There is something about these kids. It's almost as though they need me to do every little thing.

Oh, some things they do just fine on their own. Nick usually gets dressed with few issues, for example. But the other things that he does on his own aren't always things that I want him to be doing. Such as fixing his brothers' toothbrushes (toothpaste all over the counter and floor) or getting himself a drink of water (climbing on counter, water on floor) or juice (climbing in the fridge. Or getting a toy off a high place.

Nathan absolutely refuses to do anything he's asked. He doesn't say no, he just avoids it. "My name is Megatron!" And getting him to get dressed or pick up a toy usually involves a lot of crying and counting.

And Andy just says no, runs away, then cries. But he does try to be helpful. A few second ago I had to stop writing this because he was trying to clean the toilet and got water all over the floor in the process. Also, he had dragged the sit-n-spin into the bathroom. When I came out, he had opened the drawer I keep all the extra keys we might find a use for someday and was putting them in his pocket one by one.

When I do have a moment of quiet it is usually interrupted by a scream because someone took someone else's toy, but usually before I can intervene the screamer hauls off and whacks his brother anyway. And that makes me so angry. If he wanted to solve the problem by himself, why scream? Just smack your brother and give me a few extra seconds of peace!

This, and the boys seem to think I should be fetching glasses of water and juice all afternoon. Give someone a cup, and soon I'll be getting two more, unless, of course, I get them before I'm asked, and then they will request milk, or juice, or some sort of snack because they are feeling rather peckish. I do give them snacks, but they don't seem satisfied.

Anyway, Steve has been on a trip since Sunday and is finally getting home tonight, thank goodness, because I really need another adult I can send the kids to when I start thinking the best way to solve the problem is to pock them each in different rooms forever and slide pancakes and American cheese under the doors so they won't starve.

Deep breath... deep breath... calm... calm...

After all, now that Dad is sue home in two hours, they are playing nicely in the next room.

Sharing

Andy has gymnastics on Wednesdays.

He absolutely loves his class. He might cry when I leave him with Lillian or Steve, and he might wail when I leave him in the child care room at church, but at gymnastics he runs right up to the teacher and walks away without turning around. Although he does wave to me every five or ten minutes. "Hi Mom!"

I cherish this time because, I am ALL ALONE! I have no other child to watch, so I am free to pay attention to Andy's antics, to chat with other mothers, and to use the restroom without company.

Today, a woman settled in next to me and started talking. I had never seen this woman before, nor had I noticed her son who she assured me has always been in the 3-year old class. By the end of the forty five minute class, however, I knew quite a bit about her.

I know that she works in retail and would rather be in bed to sleep as much as she can before Black Friday. I know she used to have a really great job in the midwest, but the company closed, and thank goodness she was renting, not buying. I know that her mother is planning on moving in with her next year, and that she sometimes keeps her son up until ten. I know certain details about her divorce, including how much child support her husband pays and how many hours he works. I know facts about her cervical cancer, her menstrual cycle, the biopsy she's soon to have, that she's getting her tubes tied, and that she had words with the nurse who kept asking "are you sure you want to do this?"

You think I'm joking, but I'm not.

Part of me thinks this woman was totally inappropriate, and is half afraid she will track me down and insist we become best friends, because why else would you share those details?

But another part of me thinks she might not have been able to help herself. There have been times when I've found myself in the middle of some story with a person while at a class or in a line, and I think "I should not be sharing this with anyone." But another part of me thinks it feels good to talk about it. And who is this other person? Probably someone I will never see again. I don't have the time to develop a relationship slowly until we reach the level of intimacy where it would be appropriate to talk about how often I shower. I have to jump right in, or these things will remain unspoken!

I may never see this woman again. Her son also does soccer, and his father usually brings him, anyway. I know quite a bit about this woman, you see. Except her name.

Stage Whispers

I've been discussing Christmas and gifts with the boys quite a bit. My secret quest is to find out what they really want as opposed to what they think they want, or the last commercial they happened to see on TV.

All three boys were sitting in the bathtub when Nick started mouthing words at me. "What?" I asked. I bent closer, and I could hear Nick whispering, but I couldn't hear the words. Finally Nathan realized something was going on and quieted down.

"I want to get Nathan a special transformer for Christmas," Nick whispered. "It's cool, and had two different color legs."

"OK," I whispered.

"Yeah," Nate whispered. "One leg is green and the other is yellow."

"Nate, you aren't supposed to whisper. It's a surprise for you," Nick whispered.

Why We Don't Homeschool

We got this book at the library called "My First Picture Math Book" or something like that.

It's a great book, actually. It has bright and colorful pictures, and it asks the reader to do things. For example, it will ask "Which number is the pink house?" And they will be in order - 6, 7, ?, 9. And Nate took one look, placed his finger on the pink house and said "Question Mark!"

But the best part was on one of the last pages. "How many more players are needed to make a team of ten?" was the question. And underneath are six shiny soccer players. Nate's face was a blank. I could see he didn't understand the question - after all, he's three. So I tried to help him out.

"Look, Nate. We need ten players for a team. How many are there here?" We counted the six players. "Is that enough?"

"No."

"So how many do we need?"

"Ten!"

"OK, but we only have six, so let's count and my fingers will be the extra ones, OK?"

And together we counted to six, and then I placed my fingers on the page next to the picture of the shiny players as we finished counting to ten.

"So Nate, how many fingers do I have?"

"Ten!"

"Um, OK, but how many players do we have?"

"Six!"

"OK, there are six on the page, and then we counted to ten with my fingers, see?" I wiggle my four fingers. "So how many did we end up needing?"

"Ten! Mom, why are you laughing?"

.

Potty Talk

Yes, it's everyone's favorite subject!

Actually, I'm not going to go into this much, today. After all, I haven't really started potty training Andy yet, as he's not even two, and Nate's been potty trained for over a year now.

The thing is, every once and awhile there is some, um, backsliding. And Nathan will decide he doesn't really need to go use the bathroom until he really needs to use the bathroom, and then he doesn't get there in time. And this may happen three or four times in a 48 hour time frame.

The most unfortunate part of this backsliding is that there is suddenly a lot more laundry to do, especially if sheets and mattress pads are involved. Additionally, some times Nate tries to get away with not telling me, so puddles do not get cleaned up, and then they dry, and I get to walk around the house sniffing, trying to figure out what part of it to clean and disinfect to make the smell disappear.

So... yeah, I lied about not going into it. I totally did. Sorry.

Seriously?

Is there anything worse than having to share your stuff?

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Stop-The-Crazy Cure

There reaches a point every weekday morning when I've got five minutes to put my clothes on, get shoes on the kids, pants on the baby, pack a snack for Nick, and get outside so Nick can catch the bus. And when I glance at the clock I'll yell out something like " Guys! We have five minutes until the bus comes, so lets hurry!"

And as soon as I say it Nathan will launch himself down a flight of stairs head first, or Nick will bonk his head on something, and they will begin crying, and need to be held and comforted, and all that takes time. Time we don't have if we want to make the bus.

Nick's gymnastics teacher once remarked that Nick should slow himself down. "That way he won't get hurt as much," he said. And it's true, Nick does seem to injure himself in gymnastics a lot. Not seriously, or in the way you'd think, but by stepping on people's hands, or jumping into other people, and once even kneeing himself in the head.

When I was a kid I read all the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books. If you haven't read them, well... Mothers have troubles with their children they can't solve, but they call Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, a friend to all children, who gives them cures - either in advice or medicinal form. And one of these cures in one of the books was for a girl who was always running late and seemed to break everything she touched and injure herself constantly. And the cure was some sort of drug (probably illegal) that slowed her down. She couldn't move quickly if she wanted to. And oddly, she began getting everywhere on time. She no loger fell down, stumbled, forgot anything, or knocked things off tables.

Yes, I know, my mind is a maze of useless information.

Anyway, all this junk is going through my mind and I started to wonder: would the boys would hurt themselves if I never asked them to hurry? And even if we didn't, would Nick still make the bus?

Buried Lead

I had choir rehearsal, so it is later than usual, and I would like to read a little of my Margaret Atwood novel before bed. Coupled with the fact that I can't think of anything relevant or interesting to write, this means I am left with two choices.

1 - see how long a post I can make with no content whatsoever, or

2 - don't post.

As you can probably tell, I opted for #1. Why, you ask? Well, I get to tell someone I'm reading The Year Of The Flood.

Also, my cousin Hillary had a baby girl today! Her name is Charlotte. Hooray!

Thomas Off Target

I do a fair amount of shopping at Target. I like it there, as I can buy many of the things I need in the same location: clothing, school supplies, toiletries, cat litter, bacon.

Target likes me so much that they are always sending me flyers and, in some cases, actual coupons that I can use to buy even more items. And last week they were kind enough to send an entire flyer with coupons dedicated to TOYS.

The boys looked through it, and looked through it again. They pointed out what they wanted, and then pointed out other things that they wanted, and then showed me new things they never knew existed that they also wanted.

And so this morning, after Nick left for school, I clipped a few of those coupons and packed the younger two kids in the car, heading out for Target, the Big Red Dot. After all, not only is Christmas only a little over a month away, but Andy's birthday is right around the corner, and then Nate's!

(Santa, if you are reading this, I'm writing you a letter and it will go out right after Thanksgiving, OK? Don't worry, I won't leave you guessing.)

While I was there I happened to see something that I wanted to get Andy for his birthday. It's a Thomas the Tank Engine, which talks and whistles and responds to your child. Andy also saw it, and seemed to like it, and I had a coupon for it, so I tried to discreetly place it under the cart while the boys were looking in other directions.

The trouble was, it responds to movement and loud noises. And I couldn't find the off button. So every time I made to put it underneath, it started talking. "Hello! I'm Thomas! Welcome to Knappford Station!"

I manged to direct the boys to the noisy Transformers and stuck it under then, but it was hard to ignore the whistling that was coming from under the cart as we were checking out. "Choo choo?" Andy asked. I shook my head. "No!"

Lie.

And Andy knew it.

As soon as we got the the car the thing started talking and I couldn't get it to stop. "Choo choo? Choo choo?" Andy was saying over and over. And the stupid thing is saying "Let's take a trip! My name is Thomas!"

Finally I wrestled a screaming Andy into his car seat and left hi there, sobbing, as I stood in the parking lot and ripped the box apart so I could reach the stupid off button! BAD ENGINEERING! ALWAYS put the OFF switch where the people can SEE it. On the OUTSIDE of the box. At least if you are going to make a noisy toy with the words "TRY ME" on the box.

Anyway, he seemed to forget about it after awhile. I also managed to get the boys new bike helmets, and Andy was distracted by that. When I made him take a nap after lunch he sobbed and pointed to the garage. "Bike! Bike! Bike!"

A Poke In The Eye

This is Andy on Halloween. (I haven't taken any photos since then.) He's carrying one of the little glow sticks that Aunt Nancy got the boys. Nick ad Nate immediately began fighting with them and calling them "Life Savers." You know. Like Star Wars, but for kids. And Andy immediately began sticking it in his eye.

I have no idea why, but he kept doing it. Slowly, deliberately, repeatedly.

And in other news, yes, I have had a birthday, which is why I didn't post (taking the day off, you know.) This year I can no longer pretend that I am in my "early thirties" and must admit to being in my "mid-thirties."

You know, I don't feel old. I don't feel geezer-like or any more out of it than I have always felt. I attribute this to the fact that I was never that fond of popular culture or doing what young people do. OK, I'm a lot more tired. But that's the kids, right?

If I Lived In New York...

... here's what I'd be doing:
Yeah, I know, you can't read it. Me either. But you wish you could. It's tomorrow afternoon, reservations can be made right here.

Also, I'd be going to see this. If you're looking for something on Wednesday night, check it out. If you live in NY. If not, we're in the same boat.

No Dick Tracy! No Dick Tracy!

At one point the summer I was fifteen, there were eight or nine children living at our house. Maybe not all at once. But there certainly seemed to be a lot of kids there. And a lot of doing things that kids do, not bad things, just things that aren't very considerate of other people who have to cook, clean, do laundry, share the same space, etc. And my mother might have had a nervous breakdown or two, threatening to withold certain outings, one of them being the movie Dick Tracy.

We still make fun of her. "No Dick Tracy! No Dick Tracy!"

I managed to see the movie twice that summer, don't ask me how.

Really, this post has a relevant, more recent point.

In the movie Dick Tracy, there is a little boy who is constantly eating. As soon as he finishes one thing he tosses the container of his shoulder and shouts out "When do we eat?"

This is Nathan.

Five minutes after a snack or a meal, he tells me he's hungry. If I do not respond in some way, he usually manages to steal something out of the fruit bowl - a pear. A tomato. And this afternoon, a lemon.

And each time I track him down and wrestle the lemon out of his hands, or pick up a tomato to cook with and find it riddled with teeth marks, I feel like shouting. "No Dick Tracy! No Dick Tracy!"

Winter

It's winter. I have dragged humidifiers out of the closet, closed storm windows, put away the summer clothes, and set out the basket of hats and gloves. I hung the heavy curtains and banished the sunscreen and bug spray to a high shelf.

Kids are not so quick to catch on. Nick keeps trying to sleep in only his Transformers underwear, and Nathan has been asking to set the table since 4:15.

"It's not dinner time," I tell him.

"It's getting dark," he says.

The boys are ready, though. They've been trying to go out in their boots ever since I let them wear it in our "snowstorm" that one time it snowed.

About Last Night...

Last night was one of the most horrible nights of my life. As far as sleep is concerned, that is.

I fell asleep quickly enough, but I woke up an hour later feeling just terrible. I kept running to the bathroom, but this malady called for me to feel sick without actually being sick. What's more, I had this sense of panic. Whenever I would relax enough to think I was actually drifting off, I would think I had forgotten something - left a burner on, a child in the oven, one of those things.

Steve snored a bit, then coughed a lot, then had a massive nosebleed. Puck somehow got himself shut in Steve's closet and meowed loudly until I let him out.

Thank goodness the boys all took good naps this afternoon so I could catch up!

Cooking Advice

When making chili, please be advised that 2 canned chiptole peppers are not the same as 2 cans of chiptole peppers.

It's a good thing I tasted the chili before it was done, because it would have been cruel to serve something this hot to a child, and we also had time to order pizza.

Steve liked it, and kept taking bites and then rushing around trying to find things to cool down his mouth.

If I were more familiar with peppers I would have realized my error earlier. Too bad.

November

Last night was a perfectly wonderful Halloween. We went to Lillian's for dinner and Trick-or-Treated in her neighborhood, where the houses are much closer together, and there are more children. The 70 degree weather, the wind, and the leaves made it a perfect night.

Once Andy realized there was Candy, he let me put his costume on. Nick and Nate would say "Trick Or Treat!" and Andy would say "Me! Me! Me!"

Things have been a lot harder for ma lately. Not unhappy, just busy. I reach the end of the day more tired and frazzled than I feel I have been. Maybe some of that is the weather, or our busy schedule. But I attribute a lot of it to the fact that Andy can now open doors, drawers, and reach counter tops. If I turn my head for a minute to load the washer or put something away or pee, I may come back to find a running sink and a soaking floor, or broken glasses, or... well, see above.

Reverse Trick Or Treat

Happy Halloween, Everyone!

Today I would like to offer you both, a trick and a treat.

First, the trick. This year, we are practicing Reverse Trick-or-Treating. See, at church (here we go) I picked up five of these cards with little bits of chocolate attached. When the kids go from door to door with their bags of candy and their UNICEF boxes, they are supposed to hand one of these cards back as a "Thank You."

Steve hates this idea. He sees it as pushing our ideals and being "hippie dippie." But the cards say nothing about God, nothing about our church. Instead, they are about Free Trade - October is Free Trade Awareness month, among other things. It explains that many chocolate products we buy come from cocoa supplied from farms involved in Forced Child Labor, and it encourages people to consider buying Fair Trade Chocolate in the future. I like it. But I can see how it does push "hippie dippie" ideals. What do you think?

Second, the treat:

I made a jack-o-lanters a couple of weeks ago. My best, ever. It was from a kit marketed for 6-year-olds. My level, it turns out. Of ocurse, by now the teeth have turned in and it looks like a lunatic Granny-with-no-dentures. Still scary, but in a very different way.


And we are off to Trick-or-Treat. Andy refuses to wear his costume without flailing around in tears. He will have to go as "Naked Baby" or maybe as "Screaming Baby." We'll see. Maybe once the candy starts being deposited in his Elmo Bucket he'll forget he's wearing a cape?

Is There A Cream For This?

I can't tell you why, but my job has become much more difficult as of late.

This morning was chaos. The boys have been waking up earlier and earlier, despite the fact that the time change hasn't even happened yet! I don't know what we'll be doing this time next week - waking up before bedtime? Possible.

Despite the early wake time, Nick and Nate were very helpful, and even motivated, to a point. They both got themselves dressed right away, with no help from me. But then I told Nick to make his bed, and he informed me that I was supposed to change the sheets today - even at five, Nick knows Thursday is change-the-sheets day. And then Nate informed me that his pull up leaked last night. And I started stripping the beds. Andy was still in his PJ's, and I thought this would be a good time to encourage him to undress himself. So I did. And he did - he took off his pants and his wet diaper, and I sent him off to get a new one as I kept changing the sheets.

The next thing I hear, over the sound of Nick and Nate playing with Bakugan and ignoring my repeated directions to go brush teeth, is Andy shouting "Poop! Poop! Poop!"

And what can I tell you. There's a reason the kid is still in diapers. I just wish he'd have figured it out earlier so that he wasn't in his room, with the rug. He gets some points for traveling to the bathroom, but not many, as I then had to also clean up the hall.

By the time I got to the bedroom I had a choice - I could get dressed, or the kids could wear shoes, but there wasn't time for both before the bus. Thank goodness the boys have two parents. I threw on some clothes and Steve helped Nick get ready and stayed with the youger two while I walked Nick out.

I like waiting for the bus with Nick because we can talk, and Nick tends to be silly and adorable. I got down to his height and explained that I had been frustrated because I was doing all the cleaning up. "There are five people in this house," I said. "And I am cleaning up for five people, and doing laundry for five people, and cooking for five people, and picking up five people's things off the floor every single day."

Nick threw his arms around my neck. "I love you, Mom!" And I hugged him back.

Then Nick pulled away and pointed at my face. "Why do you have wrinkles in your forehead?"

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Toy Purge

I got this book called "Too Many Toys" by David Shannon. It's a bout a boy who has too many toys, and his mother decides to get rid of some of them. The boy in the book has a LOT of toys. "Does this remind you of anyone?" I ask, waiting for the obvious response.

"Logan!" Nick didn't even hesitate. Well... not the response I was hoping for. Logan has a lot of toys. And I'm not getting into a who-has-more fight. But Logan has a playroom. We do not.

Our home has gotten completely out of control. When the boys don't pick up their toys, I have a habit of boxing them up and putting them away, to be returned when they show be they can pick up their toys. We've never really gotten that far. I had four boxes stored in the basement, and every floor was scattered with spare parts. I had no more boxes to put them in.

So, knowing that birthdays and Christmas are right around the corner, I decided to go through them all.

I made two piles: one to keep, and one to give away. (Honey Bear!) But two weren't enough. I had to make one to throw away, for broken and unusable toys. And then another, for toys the boys weren't excited about anymore but that I refuse to give away, ever.

I lined up all the stuffed animals and told each boy they could pick ten. I tried not to feel hurt as they selected McDonald's give aways and left adorable bears behind. Then I let myself select ten, too. Then I selected a couple more, because I knew the boys hadn't chosen well. And still, a huge box of stuffed animals waits to be given away, some of them really cute.

I think this was harder on me that it was on the boys. I can throw away toys when they are broken, but I have a really hard time giving things away. Especially when they were given to the boys from someone other than myself. And almost all of our toys were gifts. So what if a really nice puzzle of the US is missing a few states? Do we really need Iowa?

So... we still have a lot of toys. But I have thrown out a bunch. I'm going to go through them tomorrow with the boys and we're going to find a home for everything. With any luck, it will at least be a little bit easier to pick everything up, since the toy bins won't be overflowing.

Defender of the Fridgiverse

Steve and I just managed to sit the boys down for afternoon TV (The Thomas Movie, much to Andy's delight.) We walked into the kitchen talking about grown-up things, when I stopped and screamed softly at the sight of the block boxes, I mean the containers that the blocks go into, and an empty cardboard box some diapers came in, and a small plastic wagon, all stacked in front of the fridge, blocks pouring out onto the floor.

"Nathan!" I called out calmly, pushing the wagon against the wall. "You have to clean up the mess you made."

Nick looked up from his spot in front of the TV, and to my surprise, claimed the mess. "Oh, That's Voltron!" he cried, rushing over. "Hey! Who took his lifesaving sword?"

It was very imaginative. Still, I never thought "Do not build Voltron in front of the fridge" would need to be one of our house rules.

Joke's On Me

The boys are into Knock Knock jokes. Nick is getting the hang of it, and understands that some things are funny, and some things are not. Nate just shouts out anything. Who's there? R2D2! Ha ha HA!

Today was kind of a crazy day. The house is a mess. Football on TV, so I was grumpy. The kids have been super whiny and grumpy because they've been getting up at 5am for the past week. It's reached the point where I don't know what to do because there is so much to do and even being in my house is irritating. When I do try to do something productive, like clear the kitchen counter, the boys begin smashing their fingers in drawers, bumping their heads on counters, and Andy takes that time to feed the dog, or remove the tuna steaks from the counter, or rifle through the knife drawer.

So this afternoon I decided to forget about it all. I took the boys outside and sat on the rocking swing listening to Nick cry on the hammock and yell at Nate to "Leave me ALONE! Get AWAY from me!" while Nate hit the hammock with a bat.

Andy sat next to me, eating cheesy puffed rice cakes out of the bag. Suddenly he looked up and me and said "Knock knock! They errr!"

It was the funniest joke I had heard all day.

Spitting Into The Wind

If you haven't done so already, you should go read my last post and the comments. Now.

Done?

OK.

Nobody is punching Zalewski in the face! I just needed to get that out of the way. Don't worry, Zalewski, Jamie would never punch anyone. Linda might, but not while Jamie was watching.

Zalewski read my blog post! How odd and bizarre. I have to admit, even though the internet is a huge place, I find myself thinking I'm writing letters to myself more often than I should. I can't always remember that family and friends read this blog (sometimes). So it shocks me that someone I have never met would find my rantings on his article. I am flabbergasted. But, you know, it's a small world, 6 degrees and all that. So. I should have known better.

How sad and embarrassing to not have caught the humor in the piece. Is this what I am reduced to? Someone with no sense of humor? Joyless? Like Annette Benning in "American Beauty" but with a not-as-great body, no job, and longer, rattier hair? My apologies to Zalewski for not getting it and for jumping on the defensive train. Even before reading the entire article, I might add.

I think one of the reasons I did NOT get it, is because there are people out there who judge. Simple as that. Everyone has an opinion, it is always different from yours, and the worst offenders of the "My Way Is Right" campain are other parents. When Nick was 4 months old two other mothers watched me try and calm his wailing self and asked "When is his naptime?" You should have seen the looks they gave me when I said "He doesn't have one yet." It was the same as the looks on some parent's faces when the boys mention they had McDonald's.

And, to be fair, probably the look on my face when the teacher casually mentioned that the "heathy snack" a classmate's mother had prepared was chocolate covered rice-krispie treats, or anytime we get an invitation to a birthday party at Chuck-E-Cheeze.

See, we all judge, as parents. It's really hard not to. Because every path that isn't ours is one we have elected not to take. We judge in defense of our own choices. I'm not saying it's right, I'm just saying we do it. And I've noticed, and I'm sensitive to it. And that caused me to over-react to this totally amazing article on children's books - a different subject almost entirely, which I should probably go back and re-read with these new glasses on my brain.

In conclusion, I would like to quote my sister Emily in wondering which goes best with humble pie: sheepish ice-cream or decaffeinated gratitude?

Hands To Myself

The other dayI happened to read this New Yorker Article and I have to say it hit me the wrong way.

This was the clip I read from Mike Daisey's site:

Children’s books, parents, and discipline : The New Yorker:

So what should you do when a child throws a tantrum? Many parents, determined not to be cruel or counterproductive, latch on to pre-approved language from books. Walk through a Manhattan playground and you’ll hear parents responding to their dirt-throwing, swing-stealing offspring with a studied flatness. A toddler whirling into a rage is quietly instructed, “Use your words.” A preschooler who clocks his classmate is offered the vaguely Zen incantation “Hands are not for hitting.” A kid demanding a Popsicle is given a bland demurral: “I’m sorry, but I don’t respond to whining.” (The preferred vocal inflection is that of a customer-service representative informing an irate caller that the warranty has, indeed, expired.) The brusque imperative “Say ‘please’!” has been supplanted by the mildest of queries: “Is there a nicer way to say that?” The efficacy of this clinical approach has not been confirmed by science, but it certainly feels scientific, in part because the parents conduct themselves as if their child were the subject of a peer-reviewed experiment.

I bristled immediately.

I have had a few days to cool down, reflect, and gather my thoughts. I have decided not to take the article personally. Because, actually, it's a very good article.

I disagree, however, with a lot of what the author says. I agree, children's books have changed. The characters are different. But where Zalewski finds bratty children in need of discipline, I find active and highly imaginative children who act before they think. He thinks the things these children say are cheeky. I think they are innocent comments that happen to be funny. And also, I like these books. They are not boring. The kids in the books, be they monster or pig, act more like the real children I have encountered in my life than, say, Little Bear or Caillou, both of whom I would like to banish from my home.

Zalewski is right about one thing. Walking through a park in the city, or almost anywhere, and you'll get the above scenario. He's right about the emotionless distance, the toneless quality in many parents voices as they repeat these seemlingly meaningless phrases. "Use your words." "You get what you get." "This isn't a choice." I say each of them hundreds of times a day.

But please don't judge too harshly. Perhaps Zalewski has no children, or perhaps he has one, a very calm, silent, do-as-you're-told type who never pushes limits. Or perhaps he has a child that magically eats everything he should and has a schedule that ensures she's never late for a nap. Because sooner or later every child throws a tantrum, pushes back, and expresses discontent in a way that is inappropriate for the adult world.

Maybe that woman who is staring off into space as her child screams for a popscicle is actually counting the glasses of wine she will consume once she has put her child to bed. Maybe that odd, disconnected tone of voice that mother is using as she says "we do not hit our friends" is actually a vallient effort to cover up waves of rage at her hyperactive four-year-old. Perhaps, if she didn't turn into a robot, someone would have to call social services.

My point is, parenting is hard. These tactics exist for a reason. Yes, sometimes their points are lost. But at others they really do work. No parent is perfect, and we're all, most of us, doing our best to raise our kids and not go crazy.

And if that means I can pick a story about a pig that fibs during her Summer Vacation Oral Report, then I'm going to go ahead and do that. I don't think my kids are any worse off for it.

Not Tonight

I have a headache.

I tried to write a serious post for tonight, but I got too carried away, and I didn't want my point to get lost, so I'm putting it off.

Instead, here's a photo of Andy turning off the lights.

American Girl

I don't know why I get half the catalogs I get in the mail.

For instance, for the past year we have received the American Girl magazine. If you are unfamiliar with American Girl, you need to check it out, because if I told you, you wouldn't believe me.

I consider getting American Girl magazine an insult, of a kind. Somebody rubbing it in. Not only do I not have a little girl to buy one of these dolls for, but I also never had one of my own.

My sisters did - I know Emily did. I think she got Molly, the WWII doll. But Emily was never that into dolls. I was, alas, too old to be into dolls when these first came about.

But now, we get this magazine, and I pour over it, looking at each overpriced item, at each outfit for each doll, and I wish I had a reason to get them. I don't feel I can justify buying any of it for any of my sons.

And alas, this American Girl's magazine announces that my favorite doll, Kirsten, is going to be retired. This is the last time she is featured. I don't know why she's my favorite. Probably because she's from Sweden and celebrates Christmas with one of those candle wreath thingies on her head. And has loopy braids. I was horrified. How could they do this! She was one of the original three! But then I realized that Samantha, another original, was also missing from the line-up. When did this happen? How could it?

Anyway, I considered buying myself a Kirsten doll, just because. Then I decided that I didn't really want her, I just liked the IDEA of her, and all of her cute accessories. And maybe I was sad because, when I look through that catalog, I remember what it was like to be a little girl. Maybe THAT is what I'm really missing. Being a little girl, with a new doll.

Maturing Early

If this year were a person it would be one of those really thin guys that looks young for his age. He goes to buy beer when he's thirty five and gets carded. But when he hits forty five he suddenly ages thirty years and looks like he's sixty.

Because we didn't get much of a summer this year. It was a rainy spring until August. And now it seems fall is over and we're into winter, at least judging from the snowflakes the size of dinner plates falling from the sky. It's like someone is having a massive pillow fight in the clouds.

Favorite Sweater

Nick dresses himself in the morning, sometimes before I can get a look at what he's picked out. I am not a fashionista, and frequently my own outfits are eclectic and strange, but Nick can outdo me. He looks fine in this picture, though. He loves the sweater, and would wear it every single day if I let him.

Time For

It snowed last night.
It's October.
It's not even Halloween yet.

Days Like This

This was taken a little over a week ago. It was so warm that I took the boys out to play in the backyard and I read my book in the grass.

Today was cold.

Once again I had to sort through the winter coats and snowpants and boots.

Andrew has, of course, grown out of the baby snowsuit that all three kids have used. So I boosted him into the next size up, and gave him the Thomas boots that Nate wedged his feet into last year.

Nathan got Nick's boots from last year, which fit him quite well. His jacket from last year was so tight it could hardly zip. So he got Nick's red snowpants and jacket.

Nicholas was the only one that could still fit into his things from last year. But since I had to give his things to Nate, I went ahead and got Nick a new coat, new boots, and new snowpants. But I got them one size up, figuring it would make more sense to have different sizes. Nick's boots fit. Nick's coat is kind of cool, a little big, but doable. Nick's snowpants are about a foot longer than his legs. Hmm.

I figure they'll work out. I'll just roll them up. Maybe we won't get a lot of snow this year.

Spoonfull Of Somthin'

While we were in New York we had the good fortune of being taken to see Mary Poppins, the Broadway Musical.

I could say a lot here. I have always had a soft spot for Broadway musicals, and I enjoy a love/hate relationship with all things Disney, meaning I feel I should dislike it, but usually all I can do is tamper my expressions of enjoyment. I like the movie Mary Poppins - it was the first movie I remember seeing, and we were either on vacation in Puerto Rico or on a boat. (I was very small.) I also enjoyed the Mary Poppins books by Dr. P.L. Travers - yes, there were books, and there were a few of them, and I read them all.

The musical seemed to be an odd mash of the movie and the books, with new songs, old songs in different contexts, and a few moments of baffling choreography. It included a giant parrot head umbrella, Mary flying over the audience, a man walking on the ceiling, and statues coming to life. I enjoyed myself, I have to admit, but probably not as much as I would have if I hadn't been wondering what the forces in charge had been thinking.

When Winston and I saw the movie when we were little, his favorite song was the one about the tuppin. You know, "Feed The Birds, Tuppin's a bag?" We had no idea what a tuppin was, but we liked the pigeons. That song was still in the show. I'm not sure if it was nostalgia or the song itself that made me cry.


Unfortunately, not everyone today agrees with the message of the song. Especially the Statue of Liberty Ferry folk.

Keychain

Watch this video. All of it. At the end, I ask Nick what the best part of his day was. He answers "Getting my keychain."



We went to see the Statue Of Liberty. I have been to see it before, but I was a small child, and I remember not being able to go up to see it because the line was too long and we were going to miss the ferry back and also Emily was crying.

I hadn't been down to that end of the city for years. We were a full block past the big block of cranes that I pointed out to the boys before I realized that this was the World Trade Center site.

Seeing the Statue itself was an experience. First of all, pack light, and be prepared to wait in lines. You know how you go through security at the airport? Well, you do that to get on the ferry. And again to get into the inside of the statue, should you choose to purchase the entry and stand on the line again. I had gotten the tickets to go in, but we were fooled into standing on the line outside, not realizing there was a huge line inside as well. Filled with 100 high school students on a class trip. Joy.

The security is ridiculous. Winston said there have been threats to blow it up. I'm thinking the threats were probably from someone that had gone through the security line. Not only did we have to stand on line a second time, but I had to check my bag. The locker was a dollar for two hours, which I assumed would be plenty of time, and it was done by fingerprint recognition.

The second line took us about an hour to go through. The stupid security gates were those poofy ones that blow air on you. I'm not sure why. Somehow this is supposed to find out if you've touched a bomb. I think they should be able to also let us know if we've got cancer.

After the security lines, there are 156 steps to walk up to get to the top. Of the pedestal. Not inside the statue. You can buy tickets to get to the crown, but you need to purchase them 4 months in advance. I would totally go up! But I would prefer not to be carrying Andrew next time.

Once we got up there, the view was amazing. But the wall came up to my chest, which meant that Nick and Nate were jumping up and down, seeing nothing on their own. Lillian and I had to lift them up one at a time. And each time I put Andy down he wailed, so it was quite a time.

When we finally made it down to the ground again, I went to retrieve my bag. But the fancy shmancy security system that took my fingerprint to secure my bag refused to recognize my fingerprint to open the locker and let me get my bag. It backfired. A lot. I used every single finger on both hands. I tried rolling my finger. I tried holding it further up and to the side. Lillian offered suggestions as I kept punching in the locker number and getting a "No Match Found" message. Is this the same software that matches up criminal fingerprints? Because it seems to work a lot better on "Criminal Minds."

All in all, in was a wonderful day. And we didn't even have time to see Ellis Island. It really is a pity that the security measures take so much pleasure out of the experience, and even act as a deterrent. Not to terrorists, but to tourists.

Guess Where We Went?

I went down to New York for the long weekend with Lillian and the boys. It was a good trip, which left us all exhausted. I am walking around my house like a zombie, waiting for it to be time to make dinner so that we can get it over with and head to bed, or even just sit on front of the TV with my brain on "pause."

The Bare Truth

Andrew is learning how to do more and more things.

He can push the stool from the bathroom to the light switch so that he can turn the lights off. And on. And off. And on. He can put his clothes in the hamper. He can help me put away groceries.

And he can undress himself.

The other morning he climbed into my bed, and I reluctantly got up, waving him out of my room as I blindly groped for my robe and socks.

When I got to the bedroom, he was wearing only his PJ top. He had taken off his pants, AND his diaper. He had put his diaper in the diaper bin in the bathroom. The scraping noise I had heard in my sleep wasn't Nathan getting a drink of water, it was Andy, pushing the bathroom stool over to the toilet so that he could stand on it to pee.

He never actually pees, by the way, he just stands there, aiming.

Which, I suppose, was better than what happened later that day, when I told him I'd meet him in a moment to change his diaper, but he had already removed it and was sitting on the bath mat. Which, under the circumstances, was not so great. Because his bum was not so clean.

And sometimes he just takes his clothes off because. Maybe because he knows how cute he is in a diaper, and senses that this may not always be the case.

Me-OW!

Nicholas just walked into my bedroom, an hour after I tucked him in, to tell me that Frank was in his bed and wouldn't get out.

"Just push him off!" I said.

"I tried but he won't go!" Nick replied.

So I went in to find Frank clinging to Nick's pillow, his body covering the whole thing, claws out.

Part of me wants to be angry at Nick. Be Agressive, Boy! Just shove him off!

Then again, that tactic doesn't work for me, either.

Keep Me In The Dark

On numerous occasions I have expounded on the pain and torture of having children who are early risers. Some people view this as irony, others retribution. In any case, for years I have had to make a daily choice to get out of bed and tend to my children or to ignore the sounds of screaming or my house being torn apart.

But something has changed.

More and more often I am getting out of bed at seven. SEVEN! I mean, I used to only sleep that late on weekends! The kids are sleeping later, and if they aren't they are at least quiet for a good length of time.

And I am still having trouble pulling my lazy self out of bed. I suppose I am getting spoiled, or maybe just stubborn. I shuffle along, doing exactly what we have done every morning for the past three years. We change diapers, we have breakfast, we get dressed, and there is a lot of convincing and cajoling and reminding and rushing during this whole process.

But now that we are sleeping almost an hour later each day, we are running out of time. I find myself in my nightgown with five minutes before the bus is due to arrive, the kids running around with sticky fingers and no shoes, and Andy will pick that moment to remind me he needs a diaper change.

Of course. Now that they let me sleep late, we shouldn't be, and can't.

Cleaning Up

A few years ago I hired a maid service.

At first I had them coming every week, but then I cut it back to once every other week, mostly because the weather was inconsistent and they would cancel on Monday, reschedule for Friday, and then return the following Monday, and I figured... Why?

Then I cut back again. To every three weeks. My reasoning this time was that I do not love the job that they do. I can often spot spilled coffee splotches on the floor after it has been mopped, and they never seem to wash around or outside the toilets. Since I live in a house of three small boys and a large boy (face it - does it make a difference?) this is a must. I think I do a better job.

So I have designated one day a week as "Clean The House Day!" This is the day I clean the house. These days it is Tuesday. I vacuum the whole house, mop the kitchen and the bathrooms, and clean the bathrooms. I don't always get to do it all.

It helps that Andy is obsessed with the vacuum. He loves it. He knows where it is kept, and he pulls it out whenever he can. If I leave it out, he will try to use it. A couple of times he has even managed to plug it in.

It would be more helpful if the older boys would pick up their toys. But they don't. They think about it, but usually end up fighting or deciding they don't care if you put all the toys in the trash. Today I brought out a bin and started putting toys in it. "These toys are going on the High Shelf because you did not pick them up!" I said, using my Big Voice.

The boys did not seem concerned. Nick even walked over to me. "Let me help you, Mom!" he said, and started picking up toys and placing them in the bin.

Which was right next to the toy box. Which was where I had asked him to put the toys in the first place.

Someone, please, help me to understand.

Yea! Gym!

Andrew loves gym class. Whenever we pull in the driveway he shouts "Gym!" from the his carseat. He frets until his teacher comes to fetch the class, and then he runs right up to her, less than six inches between them, his head almost at ninety degrees so he can see her face.

The class is really cute. All of the kids are under two, so the moms follow them around and point out each activity. "Climb the ladder!" "Jump! Jump! Jump!" "Walk on this red beam! This one!"

In between each circuit we sit in a circle and count to ten, clapping. It's a way to focus the kids, to transition them from one activity to the next. But they don't know that. The kids LOVE it. They run right over and clap enthusiastically, their little hands clapping two or three times per number.

I don't know which one of us is more exhausted by the end of the class.

They're BAAACK!

They were here a few years ago.

Most people call them Harmless. Still others refer to them as Practical.

And really, how could something so small be a bother?

But where one may be magical to watch crawl on your finger, hundred are cause for a breakdown.



The Ladybugs are Back.

Argh!

Stand Off

Nate is upstairs crying, loudly, in his bed.

We were all warm and cuddly, and I read stories and tucked him in, and then, moments before I left the room, he said "I want a stuffy!"

(A stuffy is a stuffed animal, folks.)

I said, "OK, get one."

He said, "No. I want YOU to get me one."

I said, "No. You need to get it yourself."

And then the wailing mess we have upstairs.

Holiday Haunting!

Last Christmas, we got one of those little cards that play music when you open them. This one played an electronic beeped version of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas." And during the post holiday clean-up, the card must has gotten stashed in the kitchen drawers, which I recently cleaned out.

Before I could throw the card away, the boys noticed it and immediately began fighting over it.

Naturally, a few days into the beeping and warbling, the card had me batty, and I snuck it into the trash. Not the usual trash, but the trash I take to the dump - It was mixed in with some bigger items.

This was last week.

Tonight I thought about putting the trash out so I wouldn't have to tomorrow, but I noticed a couple of things. 1 - the trash was really smelly, and the crows would have it all over our lawn before dawn, and 2 - the trash can must have a hole in it, and also the trash bag, because the beet soup I had thrown out has now leaked all over the garage floor in a nice, bright red puddle that looks frighteningly like blood. Smelly beet blood.

And then I realized that I was hearing it. Tiny, tinny, persistent and off tune, wishing me a Merry Christmas as I pondered the consequences of leaving the beet stain on our garage floor.

And this was when I knew I was actually insane.

.

Communication Barrier

I think they are called the "Terrible Two's" because the child get so easily frustrated at not being able to communicate. He knows what he wants, he just doesn't have the language to let you know. Especially when he gets tired, the effort is frustrating and he gets angry and inconsolable, and no one can figure out why.

Nick used to point in a general direction and say "Osh?" and then meltdown when we gave him blank looks.

Today, just before bedtime, Andy started crying. "Mine!" He was saying. "No! Mine! Mine!"

And I had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn't taken anything from him. His brothers hadn't taken anything from him. We were all just going in to read stories. "Mine!" he screamed. "Mine!"

"Your what?" I asked.

"No! MINE!" he screamed.

I tried consoling him, but over the past few days I've learned that Andy holds a grudge. He will cry loud, angry tears of vengeance, and sit under the table, refusing to let you pick him up. And he will do it for a long time.

I tried ignoring him, figuring he would get distracted by the book and hush. Instead, he cried louder, and I had to read louder, until I could hardly hear myself.

Then he took the next step and stuck his snotty, tear soaked face in between my head and the book. "Look at ME! I'm telling you something! Something upsetting! And that thing is : MINE! Mine! MINE!"

At one point I turned to him and said "OK, Andy. Go get it." And he stopped crying and left the room. I thought he would come back in with something that was his, or something that might start with the letter M. Or maybe something that ended with "Ime." But instead he just started crying again, as though he had been looking for something and someone had moved it.

This was when I turned to his brothers.

"Does anyone know why Andy is crying?"

"Yes!" Nick said. He was stretched out in Nate's bed, ignoring the whole fiasco. "He's crying because he is tired."

Oh. Yeah.

Maybe Nick should be the mom.

.

Monday, September 29th

5:45 am - Andy wakes me up

5:55 am - change sheets on Andy's crib, and on Nate's bed. Promise to look into more effective night-time diapers

6:00 am - breakfast, feed pets, dress kids, put in a load of wash.

8:00 am - go outside to wait for bus.

8:30 am - bus shows up for Nick.

8:31 am - throw other two kids in car

8:40 am - finally locate keys

8:50 am - drop Nate off at school, drive Andy to Baby Gym class

9:15 am - Baby Gym class

10:30 am - Andy's Storytime at Library

11:15 am - Pick up Nick

11:40 am - Pick up Nate. Eat lunch at the new place next door, and have the check picked up by a nearby table. Wonder how this always happens to me.

12:45 pm - get Nick and Nate to gym class.

1:45 pm - go home and try to get Andy to nap.

2:45 pm - give up on Andy napping, put laundry in dryer, go outside to rake leaves.

4:30 pm - have early dinner so Steve can go to a class.

5:00 pm - clean up

6:00 pm - start getting the kids ready for bath, story, bed.

7:20 pm - tuck the boys in and fold laundry before collapsing.

Arms Full Of Marbles

Today's post has nothing at all to do with this picture. I took it. I think it's pretty. And I don't have any good pictures of the boys to post.


Today I took the boys to the pool. We joined the pool at the Holiday Inn so that we could have a place to go to splash around and to practice swimming. It's not swanky, but it's a pool, and usually the only other people there are elderly or vastly overweight ladies, and sometimes a few other young kids.

But today a woman walked in with three bigger kids. And when I say big, I mean the biggest one probably displaced more water than I did. This wouldn't have been a big deal, except that he chose to displace it again and again and again by jumping into the pool, and the around while in the pool.

We've had issues before with kids playing wildly in the pool. There are many signs that say NO DIVING, NO JUMPING, but kids don't read signs. And many parents don't enforce the rule. Even when they do, kids are kids. They don't come there to swim laps, they splash, they kick, they move around, and the once smooth surface of the water becomes a stormy sea with waves overlapping the edges of the pool and splashing right into Andy's face as he hovers, helpless, in his water-wings.

And I understand. I UNDERSTAND.

But these boys... they were bigger. And they were throwing balls - tiny, juggling balls. And they had bad aim, I have to tell you, most of the time the balls ended up out of the pool and one of them had to splash past us to get out of the pool and retrieve it, the splash back in and hurl it to the other end of the water.

The older ladies I spoke about earlier, the ones that do not move around well in water or on land, exited the water and retreated to the hot tub, but not before one of them yelled at the largest boy "No Jumping!" after he practically landed on top of her.

This was the only time I saw the mother react. She then yelled at her son, and it was embarrassing for him, no doubt. But she never seemed to notice how they bumped into other swimmers or how many times I rescued Andy from one of their lurching bodies. She sat there and read a paperback, and at one point actually left to try out the workout room. (There is a glass wall between the rooms.)

And I rolled my eyes, and I thought about how horrible her children were, and how she was making no effort with them. No Effort.

And then Andy decided he would swim without water wings. Nick and Nate were having a go at it, so I guess he wanted to be included. And I was kind of fighting him on it, when I heard Nick start crying and spluttering, and it turned out he had been sans flotation device over his head and needed me and the the boys had been splashing and I hadn't noticed! (Later it came out that one of the boys had actually landed on top of him, but whatever.) Hooray, Mom!

This was followed quickly by Andy jumping into the shallow end of the pool sans water wings and hitting the back of his head on the concrete edge on the way down. Loud crying. Hooray, Mom!

Not to mention the fact that this morning I threw a fit after Nathan pushed Andy in the driveway (Andy has a banged up face) and Nathan also threw a fit, which the school bus driver and our neighbor leaving for work all got to see. And that Nathan himself also has a black eye due to a block being chucked at his face by a brother.

And I thought about all of this as we got dressed to leave the pool, and when we walked back out past the woman reading and her three, very active boys who were drinking gatorades in the hot tub, I realized that there was no way to keep it from happening.

I do my very best, and my kids get banged up and hurt and they hurt each other. They throw fits and they cry and they refuse to go outside because of bees and they insist they can swim when they can't. They fight over junk mail and refuse to pick up toys and then cry when I enforce our rules. And they do it all at the same time, one ofter another, never giving me time to solve one problem before another disaster strikes. It's like trying to carry marbles across the room in your arms, and they keep falling, but if you stop to pick them up, more will fall because you can't really move your arms. And all these people are sitting around watching you do this and thinking "What is her problem? Why does she keep dropping all those stupid marbles?"

A Mile In Your Shoes

Boo!

Andy still calls animals by the sounds he thinks they make.

A cat is a "Meow."

A dog is a "Wha-wha!"

And a cow is a "Booo!"

Can't Breed!

I hab a code, an I can't breed.

I spent all afternoon trying to get the kids to pick up their toys. "I will put them all on the high shelf," I said.

Nick looked thoughtful, then finally asked "For how long?"

I sighed. "For a long time. For at least a week. So are you going to pick them up, or do I have to put them on the high shelf?"

Nate looked at me, serious and wide eyed. "High shelf!"

What followed was hours of boys shoving toys under beds, getting found out, crying, blaming, hitting each other, crying some more, a little bit of picking up, and ending with Nathan shoving all the toys he picked up on top of his dresser - the highest shelf he could reach. Because that as so much easier than the toy bin. Which is right there, on the floor.

I am not feeling well. I would like to go to sleep now. But I am forced to sit here and watch the season premiere of HOUSE.

R2-D-Who?

We take a Star Wars book out of the library each time we go. They are easy ones. I try to select the ones with only a couple of sentences on each page. Nick can't get enough, and I read at least one each day, unless I manage to hide it.

Andy now points to R2-D2. He calls him "Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo!"

2 Cute 2 Handle

Nick and Nate spend last night on The Boat with Steve. We were all prepared to make it a whole-family affair, until we remembered that we had a dog, and that at some point he would have to eat, and more importantly at some point he would have to pee, and he couldn't just hang around for fourteen hours waiting.

Besides, I dislike the cold and don't feel well on the boat.

So I stayed home with Andy.

Nick and Nate had a wonderful time.

And it let me spend some time with Andy. When the boys are at school it's just us, but I'm so foolish in always dragging him shopping or cleaning the house or doing something that needs doing and is so amazingly and totally BORING to a 21 month old toddler.

But when it was just us in the house, we had some good moments. He woke up and I could hear him walking around, looking for his older brothers. I called him in to see me, and he was so enthusiastic about everything I suggested. "You want to go down and get some toast?" "YEAH!"

I need to stop taking the little guy for granted and spend some real time with him.

Ship's Ahoy!

So we got this boat. And it's a very nice boat. And Steve likes it very much. And so do the boys, although I have to say that visiting the boat with the boys is not half as relaxing as visiting the boat without the boys. Because they seem to fall and clonk themselves on land, and the boat pitches back and forth and if they fall below deck they will hit something, and if they fall above deck they are either going to land below deck or in the water. They also can't stay either up or down, they keep going up and down the ladder until I think Steve is going to have a stroke.

But the boat is very nice. Now that the end of the season is almost here I think I'm going to miss it, even just sitting on the mooring. But I have discovered a very unfortunate thing.

I get seasick.

I can't stay below deck for more than a few minutes before starting to feel ill.

This is really starting to put a damper on my dream of moving us to a boat and sailing around the world.

Catching Up

Almost two weeks ago my sister, Anne-E, came to visit. (In case you couldn't tell from the photo I posted in the last entry.) And we went to StoryLand! (In case you couldn't tell from the above photo.)

It was a lot of fun, and I only wish that I could see my sister more often.

Tell me Humpty Dumpty isn't the stuff nightmares are made of.

Feeling yucky

I am feeling rather yucky today. I didn't mean to take a nap - I was just going to rest for a few minutes, but I fell asleep anyway. I slept longer than Nathan, who came in and sat on my bed with Nick. What great kids. I hope Steve feels like pizza for dinner, because the thought of cooking is making me gag.

Join The Chorus

Church services started today, and that's not the only thing. That's right, choir rehearsals! Actually, choir rehearsals started a couple of weeks ago for me, but Sundays after service is rehearsal time for the Youth Choir. Guess who's giving it a try this year?

Yup, Nick and Nate.

Nate is really too young to be in the choir, at 3, but I didn't think there would be any way to get him to sit around and watch Nick. So both of them had their first rehearsal today. They look so small, sitting there with the big kids. The director handed them the music and the took the sheets of paper and leafed through it, as though they could read the music, let alone the words. And they sat there, listening to the music, and dividing up into parts, and sometimes even singing.

FYI - I know that singing is my interest, and not the kids, yet. But I told them they only had to try out two songs, and then they could decide if they wanted to stay in choir.

At one point the director was trying to get the kids to learn some notes. "This sounds familiar," he said. And then he sang the same notes to "Bob, the Builder!" And Nathan's face lit up like it was Christmas.

Over Extending

I think I've bitten off a little more than I can chew at the moment.

I've posted about this new blog I've started. And it's tough, even though I told myself it wasn't going to be like this one, and that I wouldn't hold myself to the same standard in terms of number of posts. But I do feel that it should have some sort of content.

At the same time, I am taking a creative writing class. This shouldn't be too time consuming, as it's online, but I still need to take time to read the lecture, to join in on the online discussion, and to actually do the assignments.

This is all happening at a time when school has just begun and our schedules are topsy turvy anyway, not to mention that church services begin tomorrow (we close for the summer) and choir rehearsals also pick-up.

Maybe normal people can juggle all this, but I can't. I can't find time to shower. And the result (besides being smelly and dirty some days) is that everything I do is less than my best.

And I guess this is my way of explaining just why I've been missing more days than usual, and why some posts have been... unfinished.

A Little Fishy

Steve was talking to Nathan about going on the boat tomorrow. "We'll go on the boat, you, Nick, and me. And we can go fishing!"

Nate turned to him, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yeah!" Pause. "And I'm gonna stay here!"

I laughed.

BotBot

We like robots here.

Wall-E is a robot. C3PO, R2D2 - robots. Voicebot - robot. Transformers - robots AND ALIENS, which is probably why they are so cool.

Nick sometimes talks about building a robot with Steve, but I think he thinks they will be building C3PO. Steve thinks they will build a box with a blinking light. Half joking I spoke to Nick about wanting a ROOMBA. Nick started asking a few questions, thought about it, then announced "I think I'd like one!"

Nathan calls everything a bot. "This is shoebot" or "This is swingbot." Tonight at dinner he started bouncing his fork off his knee. "This is forkbot. He can fly!" I told him forkbot should fly some pasta into his mouth. He did.

Any calls them all "botbots."

Breaking The Spell

Today was great, all things considered. Nick made it to school. I managed to make it to the library and get a couple of books for myself. I even worked out!

It's just Andy. We constantly have conversations like this:

Andy: Mom!
Me: Yes?
Andy: Mom!
Me: What is it?
Andy: Mommy!
Me: Andy?
Andy: MomMEE!
Me: WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Andy: MOM!

He refuses to use words to ask for things. But he will shout my name louder and louder, even if I'm right there, looking right at him. It really is infuriating.

Labor Day

My sister Anne-E came up for a visit and we went to Storyland. I shouldn't have gone - I should have waited for the boys to be 100%. But I didn't. I am incapable of not going to amusements parks. It was a great time - I'm so glad she came. The boys miss her already.

And tomorrow is the start of a new week. I'm pretending last week didn't happen. And maybe this time everything will go smoothly, naps will be taken on time, and I will actually get to work out.

one at a time

Health Care

Andy is now sporting a 103 fever. He will not eat, and refuses to let me do anything, insisting I hold him ALL THE TIME. Both Nick and Nate were out of school today. So please, understand that where I'm coming from when I write this is a place of being tired and frustrated and having watched too many Disney films back to back.

In the meantime there is all this to do about Health Care, and Reform, and how Obama is obviously bad and evil and wants to brainwash this nation's children, which, I'm sorry, but that is just BS because he's the president and presidents have always, as far as I know, visited schools and spoken to children. And as to the lesson guides, get over it and stop reading into things. Haven't we all been encouraged to think about what is being said? Or to ask what we could do for our country? Or does that only apply when the president is then shot?

The more I read, the more comments I hear, the more I am convinced that people are all selfish bastards who don't give a flying fiddle about anyone other than themselves. I'm sure everyone is brainwashed. No one wants to actually listen to what anyone else has to say. It's just jabbering back and forth and my LORD I am so tired I just want to wash my hands of all of it so that I can stop getting worked up over it all.

How It Begins

We've had a busy week. Nathan has been sick, and had to miss his first day of school. Andrew has not had a fever but has been unbelievably cranky, refusing to let me out of his sight. And today when I picked up Nick his teacher came out to the car to let me know he had been weepy and tired. Kids are getting up at 4am, naps are all over the place, screen time and reading time are distant memories. Not only is my house a mess, but nothing is where it should be during the day, either, no matter how hard I try to keep things - like lunch and dinner - where they belong.

I have been so busy and running around like a lunatic. I haven't been able to run for the last couple of days, which puts me in a bad mood in the best of times. But I've also been overwhelmingly exhausted. And this afternoon I just threw a fit because the boys refused to watch Look Who's Talking or 101 Dalmations, but insisted on Sprout, which I simply refuse to sit through any longer.

And something tells me that maybe, just maybe, this touchiness and this tiredness is the first symptom of whatever it is they've got.

Actually, I kind of hope it is, because otherwise I've got no excuse for feeling so irritated and annoyed at my own offspring.

First Day Of School

Officially, school started today. Today was full of getting used to the new schedule. Getting used to the bus (which drove by our house before turning back), getting used to pick-up (which took 20 minutes because all of the kindergarteners are in car seats), getting used to the delayed nap time (Andy fell asleep in the car and then wouldn't nap and then was Baby Crank until I forced him to nap at 2:30), and getting used to curve balls, like Nathan running a high fever on what was supposed to be his first day.

Poor guy.

Can't Talk - Busy

Nick had his first visit to school. It went well. Except for the bus ride, which took three times longer than it should have, due to the fact that they combines two routes into one for just the kindergarten visit,that every single person had to stop and take a picture, and that the driver wasn't familiar with the streets, many of which were unmarked, so she made some wrong turns, and many people weren't home because by that time it was 20 minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, and so they had driven, but little did they know that 3 out of 4 busses were still driving around.

And also the classrooms weren't ready, specifically his, which still had workers installing carpet in it, and all the toys and books and supplies were stacked in the hallway.

Nick's first real day is tomorrow, when he rides the bus with the big kids, all by himself.

I was supposed to be distracted by Nathan's first day of school. But Nathan came down with a 103 fever this afternoon, and is going nowhere.