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.

Why didn't you mention this before?

My life is Tantie's very best birth control solution. I love my life and my kids, but there are so many things my mom and aunts never mentioned about the realities of life with children.

"Surely my kids never did that!" they'll exclaim. Or: "I only remember the good times. You'll forget your trials soon enough."

Yeah, conveniently forget. Just in time for when Tweenie starts having her own family I suppose. However, it's one thing to glam things up when you're hankering to become a Grandma, but another when you're in the trenches. And so, new moms and moms-to-be, this post is dedicated to you.

5 Things They Really Should've Mentioned Earlier

1. Newborn poop doesn't smell... compared to a toddler's jobbie. Enjoy those months while they are still breastfeeding because it truly is the best time of your diapering days. Delay introducing solid foods as long as possible. Seriously.

2. There is no such thing as too many toys. You can try to convince your 8-year-old that she doesn't need any more Barbies or WebKinz, but you will lose that battle. If you are concerned that she won't play with everything she has because it's too much, take a tour through her bedroom after a sleepover and prepare to be proven wrong.

3. Potty training will probably take a good year from start to finish. Just when you think you're in the clear, they'll hide behind a curtain and fill their Diego underpants. You don't want to deal with this, so just chuck the whole mess into the outdoor trashcan. You can always buy more underwear later. Also, don't bother with licensed stuff. Plain white Hanes can be bleached if necessary and costs much less to replace.

4. There is nothing wrong with using babyish names for private parts. Do you want to be standing in line at Costco when your little guy starts calling his brother "Mr. Penis"? Didn't think so.

5. Children can survive for years on apple juice and Ritz crackers. Don't take it personally, they will grow out of it. You can't force them to eat their veggies, because they might store it in some corner of their cheek and spit it out after dinner. I know this because I did it when I was little. My parents definitely remembered that one.

There are at least 50 zillion other tips I could give you, but as I write this I realize why such things are kept so quiet. I'm pretty sure it's inappropriate for parents to take revenge on their children for all the gross and naughty things they do, so they take a nasty delight in watching new parents flounder about. That's why you'll only get five from me today.

p.s. You may think I'm being overly negative here. Let me assure you that I love being a mom and absolutely would not change a thing, but mushy chirpy posts don't read nearly as well as brink-of-disaster tales and anyway, I'm just trying to keep it real :)

5 Great Distractions when your kids are driving you bonkers

This Christmas we stayed home and relaxed. Two weeks of intense family time with few social events to fill the calendar sure sounds great, but eventually all of the pancake breakfasts, loads of presents, and nonexistent bedtimes will turn 3 angelic children into 3 complete psychos.

It tends to wear on a Mama's nerves.

I started with an oldie but goodie: "Go play outside with your brothers." Tweenie looked at me with a face that billboarded I'm-pretty-sure-that's-the-stupidest-idea-I've-ever-heard.

"Why don't you guys go help Dad with some yard work," I hinted in Husband's direction.

"Who wants to go grocery shopping with Mama?" he shot back.

OK, fine. So we were going nowhere. It was time to rely on Google for some help. I had to be creative because I had banned certain sites for various reasons ranging from age-inappropriateness to characters or songs that annoy the crap out of me. Thankfully, we came up with some winners.

1. Check out Puke the Pirate. He uses fart power to fly and kills monsters with - what else - puke. Rascal mastered Level 1 while the rest of us giggled at every burp and flatulent outburst. The background music is tolerable too.

Puke the Pirate hurls on an unsuspecting crab interfering with his treasure.

2. As much as I hate the whole WebKinz hype, the site has impressed me with the number of educational games it has. Tweenie is well entertained by several nerdy time killers that manage to sneak some math or science skills under the radar. Rascal and Kye love to watch and shout random suggestions at the monitor.

3. Another wonderful site for preschoolers is FunSchool. Rascal can handle all of the preschool games and Tweenie squeezes in one or two older kids' games between WebKinz sessions. There is a certain snowman game that Rascal plays over and over again until Internet Explorer crashes. He shrieks in rage and pounds like a wild ape on the keyboard until I restart the same game in Firefox.


4. I am a huge fan of pretty much everything on the PBS Kids site. Tweenie loves Cyberchase (a math-based show) and Rascal is all about Super Why (a learn-to-read show). The PBS station runs almost all day anyway, and since I can tolerate most of the shows I must say I am happy to sell out in this particular case.

5. When all else fails, nothing distracts quite like Michael Jackson's History album. We just pop that CD into the stereo, turn up the volume and dance like a couple of maniacs. I can't dance at all, but my efforts burn a lot of calories which in the post-Christmas season is a particularly good idea. It never fails to amaze me how much the kids like this music. Before I realized they thought our music was cool, I used to put on Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker or Swan Lake for Tweenie. Husband was not impressed with the "sissy" music and threatened to haul out his old Def Leppard stuff. I caved.

Now all I have to do is figure out 5 fab suggestions for distracting kids that are driving you bonkers while on a road trip. So far the only suggestion I have is to not go on one. I'll keep you posted, though.

A chip off the ole blockhead

Kye is my "easy" child. Supposedly. Tweenie was too, until she turned 8 and found her inner diva.

It seems that the hero worship Kye extends to big brother Rascal has led to some completely foreseeable, though no less unfortunate, naughtiness.

Am I indirectly calling my boys naughty?

In a word, yes. But in their defense, it's not continuous and rarely do their shenanigans converge.

I guess I've been distracted by Rascal's antics, and so only just now clued into what was likely a slow escalation of rascally behavior. Being a toddler still, Kye is fortunately too young to get really inventive. The kind of imagination that keeps me awake at night in a mother's paranoid fear has to mature first before it can hope to compete with his big brother.

The scene of the "crime". Note the proximity to the fridge (at left).

Because of this, Kye only really does one dangerous thing, and does it repeatedly. He opens the dishwasher door and climbs aboard. With his vantage point thus improved, he reaches into the cutlery basket and selects with great purpose 2 steak knives. If such are not available, paring or bread knives will serve as adequate substitutes.

He then stands up, a knife in each fist (blades pointed upward) and begins to bounce with the springiness of the door. Unable to contain his joy, he will at some point begin to shriek with delight and in doing so alert me to his activity.

The moment comes to a screeching halt, Kye is placed out of harm's way and watches regretfully as Mama stacks whatever large objects may be close at hand to barricade the dishwasher from future attempts. While Mama is distracted, Kye sneaks into the fridge, removes the French's mustard (not the dijon--only made that mistake once), and races off to a safe location where he can pry the lid open and jam the bottle into his mouth.

The knife block. Note the missing utensils. We continue our search for the stash.

The completion of a diaper cycle brings the whole episode to a close, and Mama slinks off to watch the Young and the Restless for some brain-numbing moments of relative peace.

Cluck away, you mothers-of-none. You have no idea what you're in for.

Another Christmas season survived

A little less insanity this year. That was the plan, and we actually managed to follow it this time.

Usually Christmas means 7 or 8 family shindigs, at least two Christmas concerts, running ragged from event to event and overeating at every one.

Ok, so we still did the last thing. Aside from 2 elaborate dinners and 1 sumptuous brunch, our diet was basically gingerbread and Lindt chocolate. However, I decided it didn't count when you're wearing your pajama pants and ratty old Bon Jovi T-shirt two days running. We watched syrupy-sweet classic Christmas movies, played Battleship and Connect4 for hours, and I even was roped into an hour or two of Webkinz World (and that's saying a lot).

Rascal was in charge of Christmas spirit. He decided when the candles would be lit, the tree lights put on, the proper removal of gift wrap, the distribution of cookies and eggnog, and enforced the in-house caroling. We all had to sing all the "Jingle Bell" parts, and he belted out the "one-horse open sleigh, hey!" for hours. Any deviation from his plan was strenuously opposed, with most of us sent to corners for Time Out or having privileges revoked at some point.

Laughing at his attempts to enforce the meted punishments was answered with an extension of said punishment. Looks like someone was paying attention after all.

For the most part, though, the children were wonderfully behaved. Who knew that plying them with gifts, unlimited Sprite and gingerbread, and allowing them to crash in our bed each night would produce such agreeable results? The challenge, I'm already seeing, is weaning them back off.

Now all we have to do is survive New Year's Eve. Husband promised Tweenie a few years ago that on this one night each year, she may stay up as late as she wants without restriction. She's been enjoying the special privilege and this time is looking forward to including Rascal in the tradition.

Needless to say, I'm not really looking forward to that.

It's not beginning to look a lot like Christmas

This entire blog could be about Rascal. I recently realized that the majority of the posts are inspired by his antics.

Well, he's the middle child - with all the stereotypes that the moniker implies.

About six months ago, I lost all my neighborhood credibility during a certain embarrassing episode that I must, in truth, take personal blame for. Now, visitors announce themselves with a phone call first (one from his cell phone while in my driveway - !!!). The mail guy is the exception - he winks and flirts outrageously. I thought I knew what to expect.

Yesterday, the DHL lady dropped off the last of the Christmas packages sent from the grandparents. Rascal saw a big truck coming down the drive and was terribly excited. He immediately devised the appropriate response, which was to strip down to his undies, stand on the sofa frame against the front window, and dance crazily while beating on the window and singing the alphabet.

Good thing the delivery lady has a sense of humor! She peeked past the door into the living room where the show continued in front of the Christmas tree (now decorated with a Barrel Of Monkeys - grr, where is my camera?).

"I think I've delivered here before," she commented.

I certainly don't remember her. But then, I think we are the ones who make the biggest impressions.

Looking Fab for the Holidays

All the mags are talking about the must-haves outfits for the season. Unfortunately, I have noticed a distinct slant in fashion tastes tending toward conformity and without a speck of imagination.

We'll set that all straight right now.

Husband and I put off setting up and decorating our Christmas tree as long as possible. It's crazy, I know - why would we delay putting out a tall object on a feeble-looking stand and decorate it with a variety of breakable objects and electric components? Somewhere between Tweenie's extravagant dancing to Barbie of Swan Lake and Rascal's Buzz Lightyear routine (sidekick Kye in tow, naturally), we wondered if we could possibly get away without decorating at all this year.

We were wrong. I suppose we should get used to that idea, since Tweenie is growing so fast. We'll hear all about that soon enough.

Last weekend the tree went up. 24 hours, 10 decorations, and 2 attempted electrocutions later, we stripped it down to the bare branches. I am really starting to warm up to this artificial tree thing. So much more convenient and less mess.

We found some sad-looking stockings to hang and put out the tree skirt my mother had lovingly quilted for us a few years ago. This was enough, no invitation necessary.

Rascal snatched down the stockings and pulled them over his pants (they fit like hip waders), then hung the tree skirt around his neck like a cape. "To 'finny and yond!" he shouted, as he vaulted himself off the coffee table in the general direction of the tree. Good thing we had removed the decorations, because that pathetic tree stand was no match for a 35-pound Space Ranger.


He wasn't hurt, just jumped right back up and started hollering for his Dark Bayder mask. I grabbed Kye just in time as he was about to duplicate Rascal's maneuver.

Remember this? I think Husband used it for kindling after this little episode.

I wish I had a picture the whole fabulous ensemble. All I have are the components, but I think you can see where this is going.

All I want for Christmas is...

I have never procrastinated with Christmas shopping this badly before. Here we are, a spare week or so before the holiday and I have gotten about half of the gifts I planned for. And that half basically consists of a variety of gift cards for my nieces and nephews, which I'm sure you can imagine required tons of forethought.

Earlier this week I was out with the boys buying groceries and grabbed a few free car sales mags from the rack on the way out. When we arrived home, we saw that a package from Amazon had been delivered. Christmas has officially arrived.

Add to this mix a RoomsToGo Kids brochure that Tweenie loves to browse and we're all done.

Kye spent the entire afternoon in the box. Rascal helped. He was in charge of cramming the packing material on top of his brother and closing the lid, then pushing the box around the house until Kye pops out like a Jack-in-the-Box screeching with delight. Thank you, fine folks at Amazon, for not using those foam peanut thingys.

My ideal Christmas present would be to go 24 hours without having to clean anything or anyone, and the house still look - well, if not immaculate, then at least - presentable. Instead, I learned last week that I have a dental cavity which is scheduled to be filled early next week.

Husband's Christmas list for the past 10 years or so has featured such items as a big ass TV, quad, and Jet ski. He's been spending a lot of time on eBay these days. Instead, we have come to a completely mutual decision to tighten our belts a little this year, pay off the remainder of our student loans and then revisit the question in a year or two.

In truth, I think what we all want this year is to spend 2 or 3 days lounging around in our bathrobes eating Lindt truffles and waffles in the morning. Playing Clue and lazing in the hot tub (hopefully minus the applesauce this time) in the afternoon. Sipping Merlot in front of the fire in the evenings.

My sister and brother-in-law decided to not give or receive presents this year. Instead, they have donated the sum they usually spend to a charity and have encouraged the rest of our family to be more charitable, too. Every year (including this one) I have been really careful to spend equally on my children, even to the point of buying extra crap just to remain fair. How ridiculous!

Tweenie and I have decided to go through all our toys and donate everything that's not being regularly played with to Goodwill. Then, we'll assemble kits for 3rd-world countries (see the MCC website, there are some fabulous ideas) with the money I was planning to use on filler presents. It will be a fun activity to do together and will teach her to think of others at this time of year - isn't that the point?

As for the boys, they are happy enough with their cardboard box and magazines. They found out recently about the Punchbuggy Rule and enjoy pounding on each other whenever they find a Beetle listing. Husband is delighted with this manly behavior.

What more could I want?