Leave of Absence

I haven't posted for a long time (perhaps you noticed?), but it's not for lack of material. The truth is, I have recently taken on more responsibility at work and with the summer holidays (i.e. double overtime) here, my mommy duties have also increased.

Which means I'm all work and no play now, but thank goodness I tend towards dullness in my downtime anyway. A good time in Mama's house means Seinfeld reruns and Brie with crackers. I fall comatose into bed each night and wake reluctantly to the sounds of my kids squabbling over the remote control in the morning. So blogging has unfortunately been the extra weight I've had to shed (although I really wish it was that last bit of muffin top from my last pregnancy instead, but that would've been yet another task on my overloaded schedule), and I'm thinking it'll be until the start of school before I can make regular appearances here again.

I'll check in from time to time, though, and you can always find my comments - both informative and irreverent - over in the other blog I co-author. Plus (and here's my shameless plug) it's a pretty good site.

'Til then, my dears, adieu.

The Beginning of Something ... (insert adjective here)

And yes, those goggles are upside down

"Your brother is sooooo cute!" squealed Tweenie's friend.

We threw a "School's Out!" pool party for Tweenie's Girl Scout troop - eight giggling 9 to 11-year old preteens. Husband dutifully passed on his usual Saturday morning office run to look after Rascal and Kye while I handled the pizza and lifeguarding assignments.

Rascal and Kye were supposed to play nicely in the sandbox or playroom far from the girls as per Tweenie's express request, but apparently they didn't get that memo. Instead, they batted their long lashes (as only little boys have) at the girls and acted uncharacteristically sweet and well-behaved.

At some point, Kye got hold of a pair of swim goggles and wore them for the rest of the afternoon. Swimming. Eating pizza. Watching SpongeBob. It didn't matter. Eventually I had to confiscate them because they were grooving red marks into my baby's tender skin-- it didn't go over very well.

The sight of a diapered boy wearing goggles and eating watermelon prompted Tweenie's friend's comment, and I realized that eventually such a comment will lead to similar, less welcome breathy announcements.

"Oh my gosh, your brother is so cute!" As in date bait.

This hits a little close to home, because you see, I married my best friend's brother. I know where this is going. My then-BFF constantly waffled between 3 trains of thought:

1. Ew! Like, he's my brother! Don't tell me about how he kisses, seriously.

2. Thank God-- I guess we don't have to compete over Dale anymore :)

3. Well, if my bro has to date somebody, it may as well be someone I trust and actually get along with...

Geez, it starts earlier than I thought.

Other People's Children

An open letter to 80% of parents out there (or at least, living in the southeast US)--

To Whom it May Concern,

I'm writing this letter to voice my frustration with your current practice of parenting my children, particularly in my presence. While I completely agree with your intentions of protecting your own brood and the general public, I must take offense at the excessiveness of your paranoid concerns.

The following recent events may give context to my comments:

1. Splish splashing with Rascal in the shallow end of a swimming pool while your child is safely wrapped in a padded life vest-style Diego swimsuit plus arm swimmy things AND seated in an inflatable is not dangerous. Especially while I'm standing within arm's reach. And let's be clear: both our sons were splashing (even though Rascal started it - I can admit that much).

2. Running around the playground at a public park should be an automatic invitation for my children to holler like cowboys. That is what a playground is for, so if you're looking for a quiet place to play, allow me to give you directions to the library.

3. Children have a tendency to weave around on the road while learning to ride a bicycle. Since the stretch of road in question is within 100 feet of my driveway and a dead-end cul de sac, maybe you should rethink your speed while traveling said road to allow for more stopping room. Our street has maybe a dozen homes and at least half of those house kids aged 2-14.

4. When kids play together, they will give each other bad ideas. This is (a) part of growing and learning, (b) a teachable moment for you, and (c) inevitable. If your kid starts wanting to use the slide all by himself or maybe even say "stupid" (which I agree is not a good word), is it wholly my kids' fault? I will also take this opportunity to mention that time my son learned about Doritos from your son. Before that, he was perfectly happy eating Wheat Thins.

In any event, most of these problems stem from (1) kids being kids and (2) our slightly more relaxed parenting style. If anything, the fault is mine. Please direct all future bitching to the source, not at my children.

Actually, please feel free to bitch about it with your friends behind my back instead. You will not only have the satisfaction of voicing your complaints, you will also have a receptive audience. I will simply stare blankly at you as you list off all the non-life threatening issues you have and then promptly forget them. What I will remember, however, is to not arrange any more play dates with you.

I appreciate your prompt attention to these concerns, y'all.

Regards,

Mama

It's Gettin' Hot in Here

Whew! It's the dog days in southeastern US and we are broiling. Husband set up our aboveground pool and it's the only thing that makes this weather bearable.

It's also time for my kids to display never-before-seen levels of silliness as they all turn another year older this season.

Tweenie starts to worry about her physique when confronted with her bikini-clad bod. "Oh my gosh, mom! I'm fat!" She totally isn't, but it horrifies me to see she's picked up on what goes for societally acceptable body image these days (despite the Dove ads).

"I'm gonna run 1 hour on the treadmill, plus half an hour biking, plus 15 minutes of soccer drills every day!"

Five minutes later: "What? We're having grilled veggie kabobs? I want chicken nuggets!" And that exercise regime was in place for ... 20 minutes. It's never been spoken of since.

Now, I must say that I've seen the obesity issue much more prevalent in the south. No one can accuse me of being bone thin, and I would personally love to lose 5 pounds especially in the spare tire area. In comparison to many around me now, though, I am the thinnest by at least 50 pounds.

How did we get here? For starters, it's the fast food - driving down the interstate, every exit has signs for Wendy's, McDonald's, and Bojangles (fried chicken). Second, there are no sidewalks or large shoulders on the roads except in downtown, and with the speed limit on country roads set at 50mph, it is not remotely safe to go for a family bike ride or a jog. Our bikes have lain dormant in the garage since we moved in almost 3 years ago, except for the occasional ride around our backyard or up and down our short residential street. Third (and this really ticks me off), it is cheaper to eat Kraft Dinner or Hamburger Helper than to cook something half-decent from scratch. My grocery budget is at least 25% more than most of my friends because I cook almost everything we eat myself.

(ok, now I'm done with ranting and raving)

Rascal is turning into textbook boy, even more than he already was. His main source of hilarity is farting on purpose and mooning his sister. "Did it again!" he crows with delight. Did any of you read the Judy Blume "Fudge" series? Soooo worth it. We just bought it from the Scholastic book order and Tweenie is eating it up. She comments constantly on how she identifies with fourth-grade Peter suffering the existence of rascally little brother Fudge.

Kye is transitioning from being my baby to a real little person. He started speaking in full sentences suddenly about 2 months ago, and yesterday counted to 10 without prompting (I didn't even know he knew how). He's also decided to start defending his rights and personal property with respect to Rascal's attempted appropriations.

Discipline gets complicated now, because until recently I could safely assume that Rascal "started it", pushed, bit, yanked, stole, etc. Now, if I'm not present during the altercation, I have to try to sort it out by relying on this supposed inability of a young child to lie.

"Did you spill Kye's Cheerios?"

"No. He did it hisself."

Kye turns his huge blue eyes on me, welling tears shimmering. I'm stuck because I want to believe Rascal, but who can punish that little sweetie? They've both got my number, that much is certain.

This hot weather is getting to us all. With my baby growing up and bio clock ticking, I am oohing and aahing far too much over my friends' babies. Starting to think dangerous thoughts. Husband had at one point wanted 6 kids, but now we're outnumbered has rethought that strategy. We've now swapped positions on the family planning issue, and the debate on permanent (though presumably reversible) birth control is on.

I mean, I know it's probably a bad idea. But still.

Still.

Maybe when the weather changes I'll come to my senses...

A Certain Eventuality

I'm not one to send around email forwards. On occasion, I have even deleted them without reading, especially since the ongoing epidemic of "send this email to your 15 closest friends to show them you care-- right now".

Either I really don't care, or I choose not to associate myself with such mushy gushy sentiments. I'm figuring my friends already know that I love them and don't need a chain email to tell them so.

However, this morning my cousin sent me a pretty funny one that rang all too true for me. It highlighted the difference between a first-time mom and a hardened professional like myself... check it out.

The First Kiss

It's your First Kiss and several questions might come to mind:

Is it the right time?

Is anyone watching?

Does your partner even want to?

Is your breath fresh?

AND,---Should you use some tongue?

Then you say . . .

'What the heck!' and Just Go for it!!!



This must be a 2nd or 3rd child... because Mom grabbed the camera and not the kid

My bad

I do apologize for my extended absence from this blog. I have been lurking more than usual at my day job at ChickAdvisor and writing all my wisdom (or prattling on to fill cyberspace, depending on my mood) at ChickLit, our site blog. You should go for a visit sometime. It's wickedawesome!

In other news, I feel like I'm still recovering from 3 weeks of family fun. We had such a fabulous time but for some reason it's taking me forever to bounce back. Like I've had a month of PMS or something (just as long as I'm not pregnant again, I say!).

Because of this and the fact that soccer season is in full swing, school's drawing to a close, and my flower beds have taken on a life of their own, I find myself with precious little spare time to rant and rave over here. I'm sad about that, and I hope to start finding more time soon. In the meantime let me leave you with yet another classic Rascal moment...

(in the van going home from preschool)
Mama: What d'you got there, buddy?
Rascal: It's my craft. I maked it all all all myself! It's soooooo pretty.
M: Tell me about it. Is that Noah's Ark and the animals?
R (angrily): It's not Noah's! It's mine! MINE!
M: I don't mean your friend Noah, I mean the other one... from the story.
R (emphatically): I maked it! I did! It's not Noah's! It's my boat, and that's Elmo in it! OK??

Gotcha.

Inconceivable!

Lessons learned while hosting guests for 3 weeks in a row:

1. I can function on 4 or less hours of sleep. However, I cannot hold my liquor whatsoever in this sleep-deprived state.

2. My brother-in-law could care less if my legs are hairy. Hiding in my bathroom for 2 hours trying to wax various body parts while my little boys are emptying my makeup bag is an exercise in futility.

3. I am a much worse parent than I thought. My nephew does not act like Tarzan, and it is - apparently - possible to put babies on a schedule that is not interrupted by vacations. My sister-in-law is a freakin' genius.

4. I am a much better parent than I thought. My kids are not afraid of heights, dogs, Costco, or stairs because the Law of the Jungle employed by Husband and I (i.e. "I warned you 4 times not to touch that. You can stop crying now.").

5. That thing under my nose was not a zit. It was a cold sore.

6. Cold sores should not be fiddled with, as it may lead to a growth of ginormous proportions.

7. Cover-up makeup only goes so far, and then you have to walk around casually holding your hand against your nose. I find a contemplative facial expression helps with the illusion.

8. Getting out of a guest-filled house at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to take Tweenie to soccer is actually pretty awesome. Especially since we have to pass by Starbucks on the way to the field.

9. There is nothing wrong with letting Uncle or Auntie take a 3 a.m. shift. It makes no difference to Kye who fetches his bottle of warmed milk and rummages under the bed looking for Birdie.

10. I love my family and I think I need a vacation.

Relativity

Rascal: "Mamaaaaaaaa! Come play cars wif me."
Mama: "In a few minutes." (clickety click on Spider Solitaire)
Rascal: "Mamaaaaaaaaa! Coooooooome!"

and then last night...

Rascal: "Mama, you sleep wif me."
Mama: "I have to go tidy up the kitchen. I'll check on you soon."
Rascal: "You stay a feeeeewwwww minutes. And den da sunshine comes and you can go."

*oops* He's on to me.

Headless Chickens

It becomes increasingly clear to me what the phrase "running around like a chicken with it's head chopped off" actually means.

We have long-awaited guests in the house, and they'll be staying for 2 weeks. Immediately upon their departure, another couple will arrive and stay for a week.

Disclaimer: this is freakin' awesome! We are very excited to have family come down and we haven't seen the first set of guests in almost 3 years. It's all good.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch-- this means planning sleeping arrangements, trips to Costco, and a few odd presents for my nephew, in addition to dealing with the yearly scheduled Spring Cleaning and the unfortunately unscheduled leaking of our septic tank. It just so happens to be situated near our front walkway and the spillage sheets over the path every time a toilet is flushed. It's gross.

And of course, there are the daily chores and commitments that still need to be addressed.

The End Result: nothing gets accomplished, soccer practice and Girl Scout meetings are forgotten, personal hygiene falls by the wayside, and my on-again off-again adult acne goes into overdrive.

Yet by the time Husband delivered Brother, Sis-in-Law, and Nephew from the airport, I had a warm snack prepared, a house tidied to 95% cleanliness, and cover-up smeared in all the right places. This chicken pulled it all together at the last minute, but I'm tellin' ya I needed a glass of Chardonnay when all was said and done.

Update on the hyperlinked story above: it turns out my friends were not impressed by my boozing and reported me to the mom's group coordinator at church. Apparently this was an official church function and they did not appreciate my behavior. I was called in for a sit-down meeting and everything. Sheesh.

Girly Geek meets Girly Chic

"Mom, what travels farther? If you throw a ball really high in the air, or if you go more slanty?"

"Well..." I began to gush excitedly. I was one of the only kids my age who actually enjoyed high school physics. I started waving my arms around wildly, explaining about vectors and gravity. Tweenie followed along, interested for the moment (remember, she's my genius child).

"...and so, the ball stays in the air only as long as it takes for gravity to bring it back down again, but travels at an equal rate in a forward direction until it hits the ground!" I finished with a flourish.

"But what if you threw it off the cliff?"

"I'm glad you asked!" I ran for a sketchbook, tingling with excitement at this learning opportunity.

She must have figured out where this was going, because--

"Um, can we go to Target now? I need new Sunday shoes and my lip gloss ran out."

"But we're not finished here..." I whined.

"Yah, but I'd rather go shopping now."

Hmm. Just the two of us in the van for 20 minutes? That'll work.

Another Family Holiday Survived

What luck for me that Spring Break falls right after Easter this year! I'm being ironic.

Whereas I might have had a half-day of alone time to clean up the blotches of chocolate ground into the carpet and such while the kiddies were off at (pre)school, instead I find myself running around changing junk food-charged nappies that would otherwise have fallen to Kye's wonderful teachers and trying to amuse a bored Tweenie who can't seem to connect with any friends for a quick playdate today. Rascal is the only one who remains more or less at status quo, which is to say that yesterday's chocolate rush did not affect him like the others since he has a naturally high temperament.

I'm exhausted. Kye won't take a nap but I think I might have to. Just lock the door and let them deal with each other, I'm thinking.

This weekend was filled with one Easter Egg hunt after another, and at our house it could hardly be different. The only exception is that I'm a serious chocolate snob and won't spring for Tootsie Rolls or Dollar Store chocolate bunnies. Also, if I'm going to snag the odd treat, it may as well be Ferrero Rocher or Lindt truffles, y'know?

Another project I undertook was to make my grandmother's Paska recipe. This Ukrainian Easter staple is a wonderful sweet bread that you slather with icing and eat with homemade jam. It was my first try and I must say I did my Oma proud.

It only took 5 hours with rising time and it was a challenge convincing the kids they shouldn't help with the kneading...

...but here's the finished product! I was so proud of myself I cut some up and handed it out to our neighbors. That seems to be another trait of my cultural heritage sneaking through: the fobbing-off of baked goods to friends (in lieu of gifts? Yeah, we do tend toward cheapskate-ness also) whether they want it or not.

At the end of the day, we confiscate the goodies to the least accessible place in the house. Also up on that shelf: the BBQ lighter, Jolly Jumper (don't ask), and a Fruit Snack maker from Christmas. The Jack 'o Lantern bucket is not up there from Halloween; within 2 hours of buying 3 Easter buckets, one was lost. Sadly, this is not atypical.

Recent goings-on at Mama's house (and it's not even lunchtime yet)

Nemo Band-Aids: 100% ketchup-soaking guarantee

Rascal: "Mama, dere's ketchup on my footie."

Mama: "You have a boo-boo, and that's not ketchup. It's... um... oh, right. That's ketchup."

It occurred to me (belatedly) that I had made such comments in the past like It doesn't hurt that badly, right? It's not even bleeding!

Thus, pointing out a bloody scrape will almost certainly lead to unnecessary screeching. In this case, he had been picking at a ragged toenail. I reached over and quickly snatched it off, wanting to prevent the drama and pain of a more gradual removal.

Later, on the phone to Husband: "Mama breaked my footie, and now dere's ketchup on it."

Husband: "Can I speak to Mama real quick?"

Just now I was trying to load a CD-ROM on my laptop when I noticed Kye's half-disintegrated Flintstone vitamin jammed inside. The boys have been rebelling against my switch from Gummy Vites to Flintstones since the last Costco coupon book came out. (Hey, they're the #1 Pediatricians' Choice! And who am I to argue with authority, or at least the stuff that those marketing folks wrote on the box?)

Maybe it would help if they knew who the Flintstones are, but we are cheapskates and only have crappy basic cable. Their TV choices are limited to whatever PBS is running (which is in my opinion probably a good problem to have).

Let's review: Flintstones bad, Gummy Vites gooooooood.

So now it's 10 am and we have an Easter egg hunt to attend. Toodles!

When in Rome, sit on your ass

Tweenie's school held the All American Fun Run last week to raise funds for their school. It's your basic Thon, and brought back memories for me of the events I participated in at that age.

Here's the thing - I remember these events as following a basic pattern:

(1) publicize your participation among family and friends,

(2) raise funds based on performance (i.e. 25¢ per lap around the gym, or $5 per 100 skips),

(3) a 1-2 hour commitment on the day of the Thon, featuring a cheering section filled with the kids who packed it in early,

(4) and crappy freebies based on your level of achievement

But this is how Tweenie's event went down:

(1) sent out a preprinted letter provided by the school asking for sponsors; it was a fill-in-the-blank form (I just love that personal touch, don't you?).

(2) "...and they said all we have to do is send out the letters. Raising the money is not our concern," Tweenie stressed. "So it doesn't matter if no one responds?" I wondered. "Raising the actual money is not our concern," Tweenie repeated slowly, as if I was dimwitted.

(3) a 10-minute walk inside the gymnasium. Apparently there were too many participants this year so running was deemed unsafe. Even though it's technically The All-American Fun Run, the moniker clearly holds little sway over the actual proceedings.

(4) Awards ceremony recognizes those over-achievers who managed to mail out the most letters. Tweenie made it to the second highest tier and is now the proud owner of a wind-up bird. This high-quality Made In Timbuktu toy is advertised to fly "up to 50 yards!", but I think we have air quality problems at our house because it only manages to stay aloft as long as it takes for gravity to yank it earthward. In retrospect, my super awesome idea to throw it out of an upstairs window might not have been the brightest. But I was so enthralled with the idea of !50 yards! that I got carried away. I guess I should have said that Tweenie was the proud owner of a wind-up bird.

Introducing: The All-American Sit-On-Your-Ass-a-Thon (sponsorships welcome)

My Dog Ate My Homework

This Ebola got somewhat out of control. I am pleased to say, that after roughly 3 weeks of slapdown fight (winner TBA), we have cycled through the sickness in our house.

Our final holdout, Kye, had his first Advil-free night last night and so far shows no sign of relapse (knock on wood). What little time I had for work and blogging was spent with a screaming 1-year-old on my arm and my 3-year-old taking advantage where one could be found, hammering on the keyboard and yanking cables.

The path of least resistance here was to leave All Dogs Go To Heaven running in a continuous loop and keep the pantry fully stocked with alcohol I mean Diet Coke. Much whining to Husband and manic calls to Tantie later, I eased out of this illness psychosis and straight into P.M.S.

Yeah, it's been a fun few weeks. Which is why I haven't been blogging, and quite frankly, you should be glad of it.

Now that we are hopefully in the clear, I hope to be bringing you more tales of mischief and mayhem from a lighter note as per the old Mama (at least, once the P.M.S. phases through).

Someone call the CDC

I think I'm dying of Bubonic Plague.

This week has seen it's ups and downs, and my relapse into illness (and seemingly certain death) has been the anti-highlight.

I called Tantie this morning to gripe. As soon as she heard my shivery raspy voice, she demanded I call Husband at once to take me to the doctor.

"You could have pneumonia, or worse!" she worried.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's Ebola," I teased. My joints and kidneys ache, my face is throbbing, and I'm shaking violently from fever. This little cold is seriously kicking my ass.

I summoned Husband home from important meetings and such to take me to the Urgent Care clinic. He made sure to remind me just how inconvenient all this was. "Shall I cough on you now?" I threatened. There was no more backtalk after that.

Of course, my diagnosis was merely a bad cold with possible sinusitis. "Plenty of rest and fluids," Doctor recited. I left with a scrip for nasal spray. Satisfied that the love of his life was in fact not dying from tuberculosis, Husband headed back to work.

Darn it. I should have milked it a little more.

Incapacitated... and the results thereof

We had a nasty stomach bug

**Update: ... and sinus thingy...**

run rampant through our family this week, which is why I haven't posted in a while. We're on the rebound now but dealing with the fallout: 18 loads of laundry, 46 doorknobs and light switches to Clorox, and planning a trip to Costco for more Kleenex (on the upside, we were able to collect a lot of BoxTop$ this week).

Husband took off on Friday for a Guys' Weekend Away to watch ACC Basketball's March Madness and drink beer away from wives' watchful eyes. That morning, Rascal started off our run with the flu.

It took 24 hours for the rest of us to catch up, and in that time Kye, Tweenie, and I were sick together while Rascal was well on his way to recovery. A recipe for disaster. Luckily/unluckily, Husband arrived home refreshed and plunged into the maelstrom with vigor. The next day, he was fighting me for the best porcelain in the house.

As I shlumped weakly around the house cleaning up accident after accident, Rascal's return burst of energy was more than I was willing to deal with. I rationalized every lack of response with the thought that I didn't have the strength or even desire to bother with discipline. I should have anticipated that this would yank us back to Square One.

I could go into detail about all the ways Rota and Rhino (the viruses, people) made our lives miserable, but frankly most of those details would involve various bodily fluids, scents, and sound effects better left undescribed. As we pull out of this week-long drama, Rascal is the only one in perfect health (convenient, no?) while Tweenie's just achy enough to squeeze a few days away from school. I have that cough where you know you'd better not start because it'll keep going for at least 5 minutes, leaving you with a red, teary face and suspicions of incontinence.

Have I said too much? I'll just leave it at that, then.

Various comments heard around Mama's house

Rascal (brandishing a whisk): "I keel you! I keel you! You keel my favver, prepare to dieeeeee!" We need to hide The Princess Bride for a little while I think.

Actually, we all love that movie. Unfortunately, we may be more like Miracle Max and Valerie than Westley and Buttercup (although arguably, Valerie is much smarter - so there). As in:

Husband: "I'm not eating that." Referring to the Cashew Chicken I made last night. I may have gone a little heavy on the veggie component.

Mama: "That'll be one 'No Thank-You helping' for Daddy."

Other comments that could be really interesting, when taken out of context...

Kye (who up until about 2 weeks ago could barely speak at all): "Come, Mama. We be 'aked." Think naked, without the 'n'. This is how he asks to go in the shower with me.

Tweenie: "I would rather walk around stark naked." Referring to a very cute sweater given by a loving friend last Christmas. It's warm, and as a mom this is my only criterion. So what if she looks like Strawberry Shortcake?

Remember this the next time you're at Wal-Mart and hear some outrageous comment. There's always a back story.

The times are a'changin'

My grandparents, so the story goes, walked to school through neck-deep snow uphill in both directions. They had to wake up at 4am to milk the cows and their only toys were whatever they could fashion from hay and loose twigs, fastened with bits of cloth pulled off their raggedy clothes.

My parents had it a little better. They lived in the city and only had to walk 17 blocks to school on a level sidewalk. There were plenty of trees to escape into when the bullies came around, and after school they were permitted a half hour of listening to Sunday School records before taking a crack at their mountain of homework. They didn't play on Saturdays because they had 8 hours of chores and a paper route.

I tell my kids that I rode the stinky bus to school. I played with Cabbage Patch knockoffs and collected Strawberry Shortcake scratch 'n sniff stickers that I bought with my allowance. This allowance was earned through daily chores plus yard duty on Saturdays. We had a TV with rabbit ears that beamed 3 fuzzy channels on a good day. I remember when my dad bought our first VCR and standard tape deck.

My kids moan and groan under the load of making their beds and putting dirty clothes in the hamper each day. Their 2-hour TV limit can be selected from a range of programs (but we only have basic cable, so we're in the Dark Ages), and on the weekends they are expected to help out here and there as requested. With all the griping that usually follows, the path of least resistance is to not ask very often. I know this is not the right way to do things, but it might be the sane way. We have high-speed internet, 3 computers, a full entertainment center with all the gizmos, and an Xbox system. Heck, even our van has a DVD player.

Yeah, we're really slumming.

Many things have changed "since we were young". This post was precipitated by a recent article by WebMD on tooth fairy inflation. The going rate in our house is a shiny new quarter. According to friends and family, we are the biggest cheapskates on the block by a huge margin.

I'm just curious--what do you pay for those little bits of enamel that your child's body rejects on its path to adolescence?

Drive Yourself to Drink in 5 Easy Steps

Redecorating Tweenie's room has turned into an epic saga--unfortunately minus the half naked warriors, mythic beasties, and squabbling of bored deities. The paint fumes have made things interesting though.

Yesterday was a miserable damp day, and with little else to amuse ourselves since we downgraded to peasant vision (read here: basic cable), I decided it was finally time to tackle the beanbag chair. Remember that one? I've been trying not to, but some recent pointed remarks on Husband's part have motivated me.

It quickly became clear I was headed down a dark path. Here's how I drove myself to drink - in 5 easy steps....

1. On an idle Sunday afternoon, browse through your local big box furniture store for home decorating ideas. Allow your tweenaged daughter to lead the way through armoires and bunk beds directly to the PlayStation section, featuring beanbag chairs and other themed accessories.

To discourage any possibility of begging, prep for a full eye roll and snort when you flip the price tag. Convince yourself that your 'A' in 8th grade Home Ec is a more than sufficient qualification for reproducing something as basic as a beanbag chair.

2. Procrastinate for a few weeks under the guise of having to finish up other outstanding projects until the pleading forces the issue. Make another Sunday afternoon outing to the fabric store, congratulating yourself on the money you've saved so far. Try not to dwell on the fact that this is a considerably more expensive project than you originally assumed.

3. Select a dull, wet day to begin your project. You'll belatedly realize that you can't send the kids outside in such weather when they're pawing through your notions, but note the title of this post is not "How to Whiz Your Way Through a Simplicity Pattern in 15 minutes or less".

Since your preschooler will be eager to participate, enlist his help in (what you assume to be) an age-appropriate manner. Sound really convincing when you explain that his cutting of the remnants into teeny pieces and gluing them on construction paper is the same as making the actual beanbag chair. Try not to feel guilty when he realizes the truth and begins to sob. To be true to this process of driving yourself batty as quickly as possible, plant him on your lap and attempt to cut the slippery fabric at the same time. Thank your lucky stars that you had the foresight to buy extra yardage.

P.S. If you're stupid enough to ask your kids to take some action shots for your blog, don't be embarrassed about the result.

4. As you assemble the pieces, ignore those suspicious crashing noises the baby is making in the kitchen. Until you hear crying or samurai shouts, assume that the situation is not yet dire enough to warrant stepping away from your sewing. Later, conscript all children into stuffing duty. Maintain a vague idea of the geographical spread of project supplies for quick and easy clean-up when finished.

When all attempts to enforce group tidying have failed, herd all children into playroom. Instruct them to not exit the area upon pain of death or revocation of all WebKinz privileges. Call Husband to remind him that you have plans this evening and he was supposed to be home already. Clean up alone, secretly glad for a few moments of peace. Take some extra strength Tylenol. Admire finished product (minus the hole for stuffing that you'll hand sew shut... eventually).

5. Realize you are going to be late meeting your friends. Rush through your beauty routine (or at least, removing traces of packing peanuts from your hair and changing your shirt) and head out for the evening. Forget to check the address, then call Husband in a panic asking him to MapQuest the location for you.

Show up at the restaurant 30 minutes late. Order a glass of chardonnay before realizing your friends are all drinking virgin Margaritas. Laugh it off and order an extra large portion of garlic bread. Your friends are busy moms too and won't judge you for it. Have a fabulous time and stay out late enough to guarantee that all the kids will be asleep by the time you get home.

Since it all ended so well, I think I'm up for the next project.

A little Retail Therapy

Tweenie's BFF is an only child. As a result, we receive at least 4 or 5 phone calls a week for the sole purpose of gushing about this or that new toy. Tweenie is, as you can imagine, devastated each time.

She puts up a really good show. Some expected comments like "Oh cool!" or "I can hardly wait to see it!", then a speedy effort to get off the phone so she can have a good consoling cry in Mama's arms. She's been so good, understanding that a young family of 5 can't compete. And it's not like we don't spoil our kids either - we were just in Florida!

Still, as BFF's collection has now burst the confines of her bedroom and is rapidly filling the guest room plus every available corner of the living room and den, Tweenie's 8-year-old heart overwhelms her more mature mind. I too was a first-born child in a large family, with several wealthy friends. There was only so much vicarious suffering I could endure before the specters of my childhood demanded a response.

On the excuse of having to quickly stop by Linens 'n Things, we decided to pop into Target next door. Normally I would never do this on a Saturday, especially since I also had both boys with us, but it was convenient and I was in a rare mood to shop.

There were a few necessities to get out of the way first: some new pants for Rascal (I really should look for those clothes with the wear-out guarantee because we'd claim it at least once a month) and sneakers for Tweenie. That opened the floodgates.

In the changeroom...

Tweenie: "I really don't know what to pick! It all looks so fabulous on me!"
Mama: "Let's limit it to three things. You really don't need new stuff, this is just for fun."
Rascal: "Pink! Pink!"
T: "The blue one looks really sophisticated... What do you think?"
R: "PINKKKKK!"
M: "You're the one who'll be wearing it, so you decide."
R: "You take PINKKKK!"
M: "Shh, sweetie. Be a good boy and we'll get some snacks later."
Kye: "Food? Oh YUM!"
T: "BFF has one just like this, only in yellow."
R: "PINKKKK!"
K: "EAT!"
M: "Please pick quickly. The boys are getting restless."
R: "PINKKK!"
K: "FOOD!"
T: "I just look so great in all of it, I can hardly decide!"
M: "Executive decision--the pink bathing suit, red sundress, and tan pants."
T: "Maybe we could take one more quick check through the racks..."
M: "If you are happy with these choices, we're leaving. We can always come back."
T: "Yeah, like next week! BFF's sure to have a bunch of new toys by then!"

I have to admit, it served it's purpose. I'm just scared about this precedent I've set.

Unintended Poetry

Husband is washing some unidentified dirt off our son in the ocean. I don't even want to know what it is...

As our lives get fuller and busier, certain things automatically decrease. Like the criteria of 'cleanliness', 'what we can afford', or what qualifies as 'laundry-ready'.

Another casualty of Becoming Parents is a steady decline in quality conversations. I was once the person who would never shut up, given the right topic (now, my brother would argue that this is still true, but only after 9pm when the kids are in bed or preferably, at Grandma's house).

Lately I have noticed I speak in haiku.

Let's go, we're late now!
Please stop hitting your sister!
I'm the parent here!

What did the cat eat?
What is that disgusting mess?
I'm not cleaning that!

Behave in the store,
or I'll tell Dad about this.
He will not be pleased.

You're eating that now.
I worked on that for hours--
it tastes delicious!

You all be quiet!
I don't care who started it,
because I'll end it.

And then...

You made that for me?
All by yourself? That's so sweet!
Mama loves you, my monkeys.

It always amazes me that I can go from crotchety irritableness to weepy sentimentality in 0.4 seconds. Are my kids using some sort of crazy psychology to get their way or is it love? Most days, I think it might be both!

The logistics of a family trip is no vacation

I was thinking over our recent trip and certain things keep passing through my mind, many of the "how did we survive it all?" variety. It's funny how you look back on your time away and quickly forget all the crazy hoops you jump through in order to enjoy yourself.

So, for example:

1. Realizing that one's struggle with road rage does not diminish over time. It gets worse.

It is also very difficult to deal with when you're trying to be very quiet because the children, who until half an hour before had been little rapscallions who refused to remain buckled in and fought for hours over some ridiculous Happy Meal toy, have finally conked out and you desperately hope to get a few miles behind you before the next wave of irritating behavior.

So when the moron in front of you is driving below speed limit, and an equally annoying driver in the passing lane is creeping ahead at a snail's pace... plus the big rig sitting on your back fender with his high beams searing your retinas, you realize just how many curses you can scrounge up and hiss under your breath before your repertoire gives out. This might just be the point where you suddenly realize just how reasonable airfare can be if you were to book well in advance.

2. Realizing that road rage can easily transfer to other situations, such as suffering through a timeshare presentation or standing in line for an hour with tired kids. The former happened during our first trip to Disney, the latter was this time.

Having spent around $350 on admission, parking and food, we were determined to milk this outing for all it was worth. We dutifully consulted the park brochures and showed up for as many parades, meet-n-greets, and rides as we possibly could. The park was set to close early for a Princess and Pirate party that we couldn't justify paying for, so when the witching hour of 7pm arrived, we along with all the other cheapskates who weren't sticking around began a Pamplonian stampede for the exit.

Considering that our parking spot was probably no more than a 15-minute walk from the main gate, we made the silly mistake of waiting for the parking shuttle (along with everybody else). At the time, our decision was heavily influenced by tired kids whining that they couldn't go one step further, and the line really didn't seem that long. This was before we realized that the shuttle capacity was so small that we ended up waiting for about an hour. 45 minutes in, our kids suddenly decided that they did have enough energy to walk the half-mile or so, but we were tantalizingly close to the head of the line and decided to wait it out.

By the time we actually hit the road for the 10 minute drive back to our hotel, I was not in the mood to tolerate any adverse driving conditions. Husband insisted that he would drive and that I should tilt my seat back and relax. I guess he saw the dangerous glint in my eye and could see I was raring to screech at someone.

3. Never underestimate the tween. Last time we only managed to meet one of the Princesses, but this time we caught up with all of them. In each case, as soon as the book had been autographed and pictures taken, Tweenie started screaming with delight. Literally.

It reminded me of the time my friend met Drake Hogestyn at a car show (?) and screamed while she was meeting him. She later confessed that he actually staggered backward while she clutched him in her arms, squealing in his ear. That summer, she went to Boston to track down the New Kids On The Block. I never heard the whole story, but she remained a fan long after they split so it must have worked out.

Luckily for Ariel & co, Tweenie waited until she was further away before she started up with the fist-pumping air punches and various noises only audible to canines.

...

And yet, even as I write these memories down I find myself forgetting a thousand details that irked me at the time.

Instead, I think of riding the carousel with Tweenie and Rascal, who whooped like a cowboy (despite the fact that his steed was bedecked with pink roses); running after Rascal and Kye who spotted Tigger and tried to chase him down; sitting on a Naples beach in the middle of February getting the barest hint of a tan.

Good times!

Florida or Bust!!

Husband's friends are snowbirding in Florida. We haven't seen them in about 5 years, so when they called and asked if we'd like to join them last minute it was a no-brainer. Partially also because we are impulse travelers.

You've heard of impulse shopping? Well, we are tightwads at the grocery store but have no conflicts about blowing the budget on a mini-break. And since Florida is right around the corner (ok, so a 10-hour drive but whatev) and our region has been sitting under a dense damp cloud hovering just above freezing, the Florida beaches sounded mighty tempting. I told you it was a no-brainer!

We started out driving through the night to Orlando. Rascal is old enough to take in the Magic Kingdom and as we all know, he's a fan. Husband made some vague noises about shopping for a plasma TV, but then shocked me by deciding to join us after all. He "wanted to see what all the fuss was about". Riiiiiiight. I suddenly understood Rascal a lot better. Interestingly, Rascal didn't want to meet the princesses, but had a jolly time chasing after Captain Hook. Husband approved.

After a few days in Orlando, we headed over to Naples to visit our friends. Although the kids had slept through 90% of the first leg of our trip, the 3 hour drive during the day was torturous. Then Kye surprised us. He's been picking up an enormous amount of vocabulary lately. He started out complaining, "I out! I out!"

He realized he wasn't getting anywhere when we attempted to placate him with granola bars, gummy bears, and pretzel sticks. Shortly afterward, his tune changed: "I stuck! I stuck!" We pulled over and I got out to examine his seat. As I unbuckled him to get a closer look, he squirmed away and shouted with delight. Frowning, I manhandled him back into his chair to his protests of "Hey! HEY!"

As we pulled back into traffic, he was so furious that he filled his pants. Now we had to stop, just a few miles short of our destination. Crap.

Once in Naples, we had a fabulous time. Our friends' children are around the same age as ours, and they got along famously. We stopped for dinner in a pedestrian zone, perched at the closest table to the thoroughfare. We enjoyed our fish 'n chips while the kids ran around like wild apes, hooting and hollering. We endured the stares of fellow diners imagining to ourselves the quiet ride home as the monkeys zonk out in the back seat.

Following in brother's footsteps...

We hit the interstate later that evening, intending to power through the night and crash at home. While the big kids fell asleep almost immediately, Kye was wired from overexcitement, disorientation, and too much soda. We had to stop at least once every hour because he was stuck (and subsequently, full of poo).

Eventually we made it home, where Husband and I lay comatose in various locations around the house. Kye was so thrilled to be back in familiarity that he eagerly accepted a long nap, while Tweenie caught up with BFF and wistfully reread her Princess autographs. Rascal spent most of the time trashing the house unimpeded since Husband and I weren't up to parenting properly. Eventually he got bored and pounced on us. Once fully awakened, he announced:

"Let's go back to the beach now!"

This impulse traveler is glad to be grounded, at least until we recover from our last vacation.

Talking to Your Kids About Sex... Or Not

"Mom, can I have a Bratz doll?"

"No."

"Why? Everyone else has--"

"No."

Exaggerated sigh.

"I don't think they are appropriate for you."

"'Appropriate'?"

"Right. They have too much makeup on and their clothing is far too promiscuous."

"'Promiscuous'?"

"You know, hootchie gear."

"'Hootchie'?"

"If you dressed like that, the boys would get... ideas."

"'Ideas'?"

"They'd want to do... things with you."

"'Things'?"

I sat there with my head in hands, searching for the right words to communicate my concerns. I come from a very conservative Mennonite background and must blush whenever naughty words are used. Unfortunately, using vague ideas and euphemisms doesn't quite capture the message.

Recently I had decided to get over my heebie-jeebies and start using proper names for certain body parts. I quickly learned my lesson, and publicly. It turns out that when one is in Costco and one's son is calling his brother a "penis head", one wishes one would have stuck with "winkie".

I had The Talk with Tweenie last summer. It took a good hour to get through the main points with plenty of awkward silences and beating around the bush, but I managed to muscle my way flame-faced past all the terminology and whatnot. I had prepped for this little chat by reading up on another mommy blog who clearly is much more comfortable with such things than I, but yet I still found myself struggling. It was a lot less embarrassing for Tweenie - is that weird?

Still, talking girl to girl is one thing. I told Husband that the boys are his department. He agreed, and yet I feel uneasy. Will he actually talk it all out with them? Or will it be more like: "Dudes, don't get into trouble with the ladies."

"'Trouble'?"

Will they choose to interpret this as "don't get caught" or "don't do anything I wouldn't" - neither of these choices is acceptable to me. I dated him, remember? I know what went on; I was there.

When I was that age, my mom sat me down on the sofa with the B volume of the World Book Encyclopedia. She turned to Body and showed me the various transparencies.

"Let me know if you have any questions," she called over her shoulder as she got the heck outta there. And so I received a very clinical education, peppered with words like "scrotum", "urethra", "fallopian tubes", "glands", and "coitus".

Would it have been a more educationally satisfying conversation if we had resorted to "boobies" and "willies"? Hard to say.

Gettin' my geek on

So I decided that my blog with its cookie-cutter Blogger template just isn't real sexy. I'm gonna try something.

Something.... something awesome. Something... insane.

Having learned how to speak German as an adult has empowered me. I figure, how hard can HTML really be? If anything, I am more worried about how to come up with compelling illustrations that encompass my blog's feel than how to code it.

This is my inner (and let's face it - dominant) geekish tendency that is also a die-hard optimist. How could this fail? It has the wonderful marriage of ultimate control over creative efforts and budgetary concerns. The latter which, if you haven't noticed, is pretty influential seeing as how my ship is still somewhere way beyond the horizon and who knows when or if it'll actually arrive at my dock.

It should be interesting. After all, it took me six months to figure how to go from a 2-column template to 3. Anyway, I only needed about 3-6 months to learn German (ok, so I was living there and it was a crash-course immersion thing, but still...) so I figure a techy language written in English can't be that difficult. Right??

I also think of this as yet another attempt to stave off the increasingly persistent ravages of mommy-brain on my Self. I had a dream last night about comparative shopping for car snacks. I read labels in this dream. I knew I was in trouble. However, the idea of starting up with a new foreign language seems too intimidating for me at this stage, so we'll go with HTML and see where it takes me.

I'd like to apologize in advance for any weirdness you may encounter over the next few weeks when you stop by. I have a dummy blog to test with until I have a finished product, but you just never know.

Why did I think to mention all of this to you on a Friday night when I should be doing something more valuable with my time (like watching Ghost Whisperer perhaps?)? Maybe it's because I just finished the final touches on Tweenie's room (I'll post a pic soon, when I'm done with the beanbag chair) last weekend and am still riding out the after-effects of paint fumes. Good thing that like the tree-hugger control freak I am, I chose VOC-free paints. But still....

...feeling the effects.

What did you do all day? Let me tell you...

Husband has often commented that he does not enjoy coming home to a steam-snorting frazzled wife and a hastily prepared Tuna Helper with salad (still in the bag) dinner.

Ha, say I. Pardon monsieur, that I don't have the kids dressed, pressed, washed and brushed, lined up at the door to calmly and politely chorus, "Welcome home, dear Father." I will meet him halfway, though, and at least make a super good impression of a busy but upbeat mom with a pot roast and baked potato supper on the table and ready to eat.

As for the children, that is my slacking point. Tweenie will be doing her homework spread all over the living room, Rascal will be in some state of undress, and Kye will have unidentified food (?? let's hope it's food) remnants on his face and shirt. I try to leave my tales of frustration until after dinner is eaten, because bad news usually sits better on a satisfied stomach.

So now that I've done my best to compromise, you might well assume I'd have little patience for snarky comments, such as: "What did you do all day?" Previous indignant assertions that the house is spic and span at least once per 24 hours fall on deaf ears. The gradual repigmentation of my skin from peachy to mottled red is only noticed somewhere just shy of crimson.

I decide to track my waking hours for a few days and present him with evidence that I don't wile away my time gabbing on the phone and watching TV. Not that I actually believe any of this nonsense should be necessary, but I want some sort of proof so that he can't claim my heated rebuttals as excuses invented on the fly.

The First Day
6:30am - Wake up Tweenie, get her fed and off to the school bus
6:45 - Kye up, interferes with the above, fills his pants
6:50 - Try to change diaper quietly so Rascal doesn't wake up, but Kye isn't cooperating
7:00 - Frantically look for lost homework while putting final touches on school lunch
7:10 - Tweenie out the door in the nick of time
7:11 - Rascal up, woken by the slam of the front door
7:15 - Breakfast with the boys (although I don't actually get around to eating)
7:45 - change boys into day clothes, throw breakfast-stained pajamas in the wash
8:15 - bring boys into playroom, I plan to work on my laptop while they play
8:45 - first Time Out
9:15 - second Time Out
9:25 - third Time Out
9:30 - put on a movie for the boys, I try to work again
9:45 - realize Rascal sneaked away
9:55 - find Rascal with hair full of diaper cream
10:00 - realize Kye sneaked away
10:05 - find Kye eating cat food in the closet
10:10 - shower with the boys
10:30 - dress the boys in outfit #2 and jackets, go outside
10:45 - Time Out #4
11:00 - go for a drive... it doesn't matter where
11:30 - end up at McDonald's. They don't deserve to have this treat, but I'll do anything to make the screeching stop
12:30pm - come home, Kye goes for a nap
12:45 - quiet activities with Rascal
2:00 - Kye gets up, back into the playroom
2:30 - sneak away while boys are distracted and frantically start tidying up (notice this is the first moment I have had for this)
2:40 - hear suspicious sounds from playroom, go to investigate
2:45 - Time Out #5
3:00 - Tweenie home, make snack
3:30 - help Tweenie with homework, try to tidy up here and there at the same time
4:00 - business related phone call
4:15 - draft kids into housework
5:00 - some semblance of cleanliness in the house, start dinner prep
6:00 - finish making dinner
6:05 - while setting the table, notice that the whole house is a disaster once again
6:15 - Husband strolls in. Takes stock. "What did you do all day, honey?"

I inhale, ready for a tongue-lashing.

"I called you 'Honey'," Husband lamely notes. Realizing he's still in deep trouble, he hastily apologizes.

"Would you like to see my time card?" I ask sarcastically.

"How 'bout you just sit down and enjoy this really nice supper, and then afterwards I'll put the kids to bed and we can watch a movie together?" he attempts.

He salvages the evening, barely. The next day, he calls from work in the early afternoon and suggests we eat out for dinner. It seems he got the message.

An E-Mail Forward that made me laugh

I got this e-mail forward from a friend who hates forwards almost as much as I do. So when I saw it in my inbox I knew it had to be a good one...

Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's Christmas Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn't taste like alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got home from the party.

As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong. Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose!

Jack sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed. He looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly clean. So is the rest of the house. He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick:

'Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get groceries to make you your favorite dinner tonight. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian'

He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating.

Jack asks, 'Son... What happened last night?' 'Well Dad, you came home after 3 A.M., drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door.'

Confused, he asked his son, 'So, why is everything in such perfect order and so clean? I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me??'

His son replies, 'Oh THAT!... Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed,

'LEAVE ME ALONE, I'M MARRIED!!'

Broken Coffee Table $239.99
Hot Breakfast $4.20
Two Aspirins $.38
Saying the right thing, at the right time: PRICELESS

4 Ideas for a Fun Family Night In

It's impossible for me to plan anything with my friends on Friday evenings. Somehow, this night was universally reserved for Family Night Out - a concept I cannot fathom.

Not in the sense of "Why would I want to spend Friday nights with my kids?", but rather "Go out??" You see, my children behave like complete hooligans whenever we leave the house. Well actually, they behave like hooligans at home too, but at least I'm not publicly humiliated by the goings-on.

The only place my kids can be counted on to set aside the 98% of the DNA we share with chimpanzees and use higher reasoning with the other 2% is at MacDonald's. The simple reason their behavior seems to blend in with public expectation at McD's is because the other children at the restaurant are also behaving like hooligans.

So, when the rest of the world is enjoying a quality meal at the local Chuck E. Cheese's, we stay home. Another hidden benefit of hugging home base is the magical moment when you see them begin to crash, you can pop them into bed immediately and they'll actually accept it.

In our experience, there are 4 sure wins for a great family night in.

1. Movie Night

With the age range in our family, it has to be something we can all enjoy. One of our big favorites is The Swiss Family Robinson - action, romance, ostrich racing, and dueling with pirates. What more could you want?

Unless, of course, it's The Princess Bride. I really shouldn't think it so funny, but I get a kick out of Rascal's Inigo impression as he brandishes his Dark Bayder lightsaber: "You keel my favver. Prepare to die!"

A recent addition to our DVD library is Ratatouille. We've watched it many times already and love to pick up the little nuances those clever Pixar folks include. We're also big fans of Cars.

2. Games Night

Candy Land is one of those classic games you should have around. Rascal's been playing it since his 3rd birthday and can go several rounds before he's bored. Every Christmas we expand our game selection, particularly the classics.

Carcassone is better for older kids because it requires some basic strategy, yet it's a quick game to play (especially compared to, say, Monopoly). You can buy expansion sets to make the game more complex.

Uno is a must-have in our house. We actually own 3 different sets (Princess for Tweenie, Sesame Street for Rascal, and an aged classic version from who-knows-when), and nothing gives our kids more pleasure than when they can wallop Husband or I with a Pick-Up-4 Wild Card.

3. Book Night

Sometimes we're in a more mellow mood, have the fire going and are drinking tea or hot chocolate. The kids love when I read them a book (with character voices, obviously). We've been reading the Narnia series, which has just enough adventure but not too scary to give nightmares later on. The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is undoubtedly the best of the bunch.

A friend recommended The Polar Express to us one year. It's a sweet story, but I love it for the amazing illustrations. It's Christmassy though, so we don't usually pull it out any other time.

I started collecting Dr. Seuss after some unscrupulous marketer called me during my Tweenie postpartum days. I had the opposite of PPD; I was so elated to be a new mom that I was unusually friendly to telemarketers and ended up signing on for several children's book collections. I don't regret the Dr. Seuss club though, and our copy of Green Eggs and Ham is in desperate need of replacement. Not only are the books humorous enough, but they are fabulous for new readers.

4. Baking (and eating!)

This can happen on its own or together with another activity. With Tweenie I can bake something special from scratch, but once Rascal was old enough to figure out something fun was going down without his participation, we have had to change our strategy some. Now Kye is at the right age to join in, and so we have defected to Pillsbury. The pre-cut cookies are the easiest for everyone to help with, and you can usually find a generic brand (although not in the variety of flavors).

Another idea we like is to take a cake mix and make cupcakes. I buy the most outrageous muffin cups I can find (after-season is great) and always have icing and food coloring on hand. Depending on how elaborate the creations get, the kids may be distracted for a few hours.

5. Crafts Night. . . NOT

This post is labeled "4 Ideas for a Fun Family Night In", not 5. That's because there is nothing fun about doing crafts with my children. There is only so much tidying up I am willing to do after everyone's in bed, so we leave the craft stuff for the community center. Or if I'm at my wit's end and wiping glue and glitter off of baseboards seems more appealing than any other alternative.

Any more ideas out there? I always like to have a few alternates planned, in case my evening goes horribly horribly haywire.

A Special Night Out

It's that time of year again.

As a child, you eagerly count down the days starting months in advance; as an adult (especially women), you duck your head and hope no one notices the date (although secretly hope that your special someone will make a big hoopla about it).

I'm talking about birthdays. Yesterday was mine.

My good friend informed me that she was coming over at 6 to babysit and expected us to be on our way for a rare evening out by no later than 6:02. I dropped a few hints to Husband that this is one occasion he needs to plan without my help. He obediently obliged.

However, the night didn't exactly go as planned. I'll tell you the story in chronological order, although I only heard the details well after the fact!

Husband (at the office): "Hey guys, need to take the wifey out for her birthday. Some place classy."
Friend: "mumble mumble mumble High Point mumble mumble mumble swanky mumble..."
Husband: "Thanks, dude."

Later, on our way to the restaurant...
Mama: "So, where are you taking me?"
Husband: "I can't remember the name - Marceau's? Marcella? It's in High Point."
M: "As in the city of High Point? Do you have an address?"
H: "We'll find it, I'm sure."
M: "What time is our reservation? Y'know, in case it takes us a little longer to get there?"
H: (with a withering look) "I didn't make one. What's the worst that could happen?"
M: "Uh, they'll send us away!"
H: "No they won't. I'm persuasive."

Still later, as we drove through town for an hour...
M: "Would you please text your friend?"
H: "It's the supper hour, that would be rude."
M: "I'm hungry and it's my birthday! That's rude."
H: "Yes, dear."

Even later, having not received a response yet from his friend...
M: "Let's just go to that Italian place we went to last time."
H: "I'll humor you, since it's your birthday."
M: (sarcastically) "Yes, dear."

Finally at the Italian place, about 1½ hours after leaving our house...
H: "Oh look, got a text from my friend. 'Marisol - 5800 block of High Point Road'." (High Point Road does lead to High Point but it's a very long stretch.)
M: "Maybe we'll try that next time we go out."
H: "Sure, if you'll take care of the arrangements."
M: "That's the plan, my love."

After a satisfying meal of all things cheesy and garlicky, we talked about going to a movie. It was a difficult conversation because we were so overfull and I was tipsy besides. We sat there glassy-eyed and bloated, then finally agreed we were too tired from eating to sit through a movie.

However, it was only 8:30 and I worried that we'd arrive home too early and have to put the kids to bed ourselves (this is a huge ordeal). Plus, I'm pretty sure it's pathetic to come home from a date at that hour.

We debated in the car for a few more minutes about what to do, but then concluded that we'd just go home after all.

"Drive really slowly," I advised. "The later we arrive, the better chances the kids are asleep when we get there.

Suggesting that Husband drive slowly is a ludicrous proposal, as our insurance premiums make clear. In honor of my birthday though, I was able to convince Husband to squeeze it back to 75 mph (the posted limit was 65). We returned home in record time and the noise of the opening garage door easily woke the kids and brought them thundering down the stairs. The frazzled sitter gave us a pitying look and then escaped to her car.

As my sister-in-law pointed out to me this morning, this date was memorable. I was laughing as I related the story to her, so you might also say that the date was a success.

Warning: Creativity requires Chaos

This is what the back seat of the van looked like when we got home. The trunk area was full with... other stuff. I take the Fifth Amendment on that one.

We've been remodeling Tweenie's room, as I've mentioned before. After 5 coats of primer and 3 of lilac and wild rose, I need only touch up the goobs of paint carelessly brushed against the stuccoed ceiling.

I was at this point 2 weeks ago already. Shouldn't I have finished by now? So you'd think.

Instead, Tweenie and I have already planned for the next project, which is a beanbag chair (except it will be stuffed with packing peanuts - I can't even find beans, go figure). We saw a gorgeous one at Rooms To Go Kids for $150, and of course I assumed I could make one for way less. So far, material costs are $75 and I haven't even started yet. This is also assuming I don't make mistakes and have to back for more material.

Wow, it's been an awfully long time since Home Ec in 9th grade.

Husband was quite annoyed when we burst through the door yesterday laden with huge bags of fabric and 8 cubic feet of styro peanuts.

"What are you thinking? Finish the painting first!"

I was affronted, since he has been reluctant at best to help with any of the renovation efforts. I searched around to find a place to store our materials. My closet has gotten quite full, I saw.

I shoved aside 3 poster frames plus wrapped posters and another gallon of paint (intended for artistic swirly things on Tweenie's walls). I huffed and puffed as I restacked the 2 Rubbermaid totes full of scrapbooking supplies and 4 years worth of photos. A half-finished summer top for Tweenie (that no longer fits, and I'm out of material), dumbbells and an exercise ball I bought last January in an inspired moment of fitness resolutions yet to be fulfilled, a Porsche model still in its box and shrinkwrapped (bought for Husband 10 years ago), plus a few other odds and ends that I totally plan to get finished one of these days.

Like I said, I have no idea why Husband was pulling such an attitude.

Back when we were dating, my borderline OCD tendencies demanded that I not even consider beginning something (even urgently required) until all outstanding projects were complete. He said I had a pole up my butt. Now I have obviously overcome this attitude - why isn't he pleased?

In the meantime, Tweenie shares Kye and Rascal's room. They have a fabulous time in there, goofing around when they should be sleeping. It makes for difficult school mornings for her, but glorious early hours for me - the boys are zonked out until at least 9 am. Maybe that's why I still procrastinate.

I love this positive reinforcement thing!

An onorous task turns odorous

This is what this post will be about. Read on, at your peril.

I was washing the dishes - easily my least favorite chore- and Rascal was helping.

"Helping": a.k.a. explaining loudly how to wash and sort each item to the minutest detail. Adding extra soap (it's concentrated, so four squirts really goes a long way), elaborating on the general yuckiness of steamed veggies, and insisting on rinsing each item personally.

Kye was doodling around in the background, pushing random buttons on the computer (QuickTime doesn't work anymore but everything else is fine) and emptying pencil shavings from Tweenie's sharpener onto the floor.

Suddenly, Rascal cracks off a really loud fart. Kye's head whips around, momentarily confused. He trots over to where Rascal is leaning over the sink and lifts his shirt, looking for the source of the strange noise.

Kye is no stranger to farting; more often than not, he is the author of such outbursts. Apparently it's much more interesting when someone else does it, though.

Rascal is oblivious to the goings-on at the back end of his digestive system, engrossed in scratching meatball crud off a dutch oven. As Kye peeks under his shirt, he lets another one loose. Like other aftershocks, this second explosion is a good deal louder and smellier than the first.

Kye drops the shirt hem and staggers back, blinking. "OOH!" he exclaims. Then he retreats to the living room and relative safety. Husband and I crack up. Rascal has noticed none of this. The stench begins to spread through the kitchen and we all escape.

The dishes can wait until later, I reason. This chemical warfare is simply not worth the fight. Now imagine he had eaten those steamed veggies? I guess he was right to turn his nose up at them.