White Christmas (Weekend)

We moved to the beach a little over three years ago.  In our time here, we've experienced no hurricanes and three snows with accumulation.  There are others who would complain, but this works for me.

We didn't have a white Christmas, but we woke up to very cold rain the morning after Christmas.  By 8:00 there was snow mixed in the rain and by 9:00 there was heavy snow coming down.  The kids spent a lot of time kneeling on the couch, looking out the windows into the backyard.  Of course they did not pose for any adorable photos this time!

We had precipitation nearly all day, and by evening, there was a decent dusting of snow on the grass.  The roads were dry, though, so on Sunday night we finally took the kids out to look at Christmas lights in the neighborhood.  There were a lot of dark houses, but the kids enjoyed the lights they did see.  I had to giggle when Leon was the first to point and wave at one house, shouting, "Mickey Mouse!  Mickey Mouse!" when he spied a giant inflatable Mickey dressed as Santa.  Michael is our Mickey Mouse buff, and he seemed to take it in his stride.

The dogs got a little extra outside time in the snow, just because we are mean like that.  Max saw it as true torture.  Pru was more carefully optimistic.  She loves snow, but I think she also knows it doesn't last around here.

Merry Christmas!

We've enjoyed a lovely Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  How that happened, we'll never know.  (It's a Festivus miracle!)  But here are a few pics from our fun.  I hope yours was just as wonderful!

Cookies!

With the icing and sprinkles, these cookies were taller than they were wide.  We can only hope Santa isn't diabetic.

 Presents!

Ree took a turn behind the camera...

...with "interesting" results.

 The Aftermath

Outside!

The bambina was not forgotten.  That is one gigantic shadow!

Petite Diplomat

Last night Jeff and I sat down and finally wrapped presents.  As with most things, we were totally unprepared and decided to wing it, and things turned out relatively okay.  In this case, rather than purchasing gift wrap this year, I decided to just use up what we had, which was a decent assortment of started rolls of wrapping paper and gift bags left from prior years.  I just underestimated the number and physical size of some of the presents for the kids.  (Don't get me wrong.  We are still incredibly cheap and aren't into going overboard for Christmas.  The kids are each getting one gift from Santa and one gift from us.  But we also have wrapping duty for presents from the extended family, and there are quite a few people who love our little snotty monsters.)  Anyway our, um, eco-friendly frugalness resulted in some rather creatively covered packages as wrapping paper was pieced together to cover them.  Jeff had wrapping duty while I did the embellishing and tagging.  As he handed me one of the crazy looking parcels, he mentioned that earlier this week Ree had watched him wrapping presents for me.  She studied his work for a minute and then said as gently as she could, without a trace of sarcasm in her voice, "I didn't know you could wrap presents like THAT."  As he finished, he inquired if the package looked good.  She replied with far more tact than one would expect from a four-year-old, "It's...interesting."

Saturday

So to continue with my weekend rambling...

After the kids went to bed on Friday night, I had planned to get Christmas presents ready for mailing since I was running out of time to get presents to extended family members before Christmas.  Unfortunately, I did not plan on Michael getting the flu on Friday.  And Michael is just, um, annoying needy when he is sick.  I don't know if he has a low threshold for pain or if his body is just super sensitive (he did run at least a 103 degree temp EVERY TIME he cut a tooth), but when he doesn't feel well, he pretty much requires one-on-one attention around the clock.

I knew this, but I still tried to get stuff done.  Silly me.  By 10:00, after having spent more of my evening holding Michael than boxing and bubble wrapping, I decided to call it a night and get some rest while I could.  I love it when I actually have these moments of clarity!  I relaxed, read, and headed off to sleep.

It wasn't a fabulous night, but it was much better than expected.  Michael slept in hour long stretches, which is phenomenal for him when he is sick.  He's often up every 20-30 minutes.  We even had a two hour stretch of sleep.  And despite the fever and the fact that he was miserable, he still had the best manners.  (No idea where they came from, but  I will enjoy them while they last!)  Each time I tucked him back in, I gave him water.  And each time he would briefly perk up to say, "Thanks, Mom!"  It was adorable.  Even at 3:15 in the morning.

I had planned to get up uber-early on Saturday to take care of the presents before the kids woke up, but I had another insightful moment in the wee hours of Saturday where I remembered the kids have crazy bat-like hearing and would be up the second they heard me moving around.  So I scrapped that plan and slept til 7:00.  But that meant I was going to have to try to work on a project with the kids up. 

That turned out okay too.  For some reason, they actually let me work for over an hour, with Leon only turning into monkey boy at the end.  Ree sat at the table and ate breakfast while I worked.  My favorite moment of the weekend was when she read a book to Michael so I could keep working.  I have no idea if she had memorized the sight words in the book or she had memorized the book itself, but she read Dinosaur, Danger! to Michael, and they were both blissfully happy with the situation.

Then it was time to actually go to the post office.  On the last Saturday before Christmas.  With six packages to mail.  I had expected the line to be long.  I hadn't expected there to be a good 20 - 30 people in front of me.  Nor had I expected there to be only two counters open.  But I miraculously thought to bring a book with me (I'm currently lacking in techie gadgets, so no entertaining myself that way.  And I am absolutely no good at just waiting), so I got some reading done.  And I was surrounded by the nicest people ever in line who went out of their way to help me with my packages.  The line actually moved pretty steadily, and after about 35 minutes, it was time for the lady in front of me to go to the counter.  She actually let me go first so she could help carry my packages.  She was so dang nice I almost hugged her.

As I was leaving the post office, I realized that the zip code on the receipt for one of the packages was wrong, so I went back inside to talk to the clerk so the right bar code would go on the package.  She was really nice about it, was joking and apologetic, and fixed it right then.  Huh.

After that I had to head to Barnes and Noble at Mayfaire, which is one of those big outdoor shopping centers.  Doom!  But it occurred to me that I had a Chick-Fil-A gift card just sitting in my wallet, so I headed there first.  And rather than just grabbing food to go, I decided to sit there, enjoy my peppermint milkshake and read some more of my book.  And, as always, the staff there was fabulous.

Feeling totally refreshed, I was ready to actually venture to the bookstore, where I needed to pick up a book I ordered.  Because I was coming from lunch, I actually went in the back way, and I discovered a parking lot I had never seen before - and it had parking spaces - and it was halfway between Barnes and Noble and my next stop.  Weirdly, I wasn't getting freaked out by how things were falling into place.  It was more of a felix felicis kinda thing.  I just knew what to do.

As I was walking to the store I realized I needed to use the restroom because all of that peppermint and chocolate yumminess was making someone use my bladder as a trampoline.  It was raining, and I was mostly looking down to avoid puddles, but I happened to glance up and see a sign for a public restroom.  Um, okay.  Went in and discovered it was totally clean and safe, if somewhat hidden.  Who knew.

Got to the bookstore and had no idea where to go to pick up the book.  Looked up and saw an employee.  Ask her, and she said I needed to go to the counter.  Then she volunteered to get the book for me.  She ask if I wanted to look through it first, and I told her no, I would definitely be purchasing Stop That Pickle (Michael is obsessed with the book), so she offered to ring it up for me.  I totally avoided the line snaking through the ropes and stepped up to the register closest to the door where she was working.  She rang me up and I was on my way.  It occurred to me that I forgot to use my coupon for 15% off, but I was okay with that.

I stopped at the car to put that book away, and headed to a sushi restaurant to get Jeff lunch.  I had a great experience there too.  It was weird.  But nice.

Last Friday

I don't know if I just had exceedingly low expectations, if I somehow morphed into a "glass half full" type of person, or people just took pity on the short woman with the belly the size of a double-wide trailer, but everything I did over the weekend went better than expected.

On Friday, I aided at Ree's preschool.  When I signed up for this back in September, I had no idea it was the last day of preschool before Christmas and the big holiday party.  When I found out, I had visions of kids bouncing off the walls.  What's worse, when I got to school, I found out the party was an hour later than was originally planned, which meant the kids were going to have nearly a full day of school (9:00 - 12:30) before the party.  Yikes.  I was just hoping to survive.

But it turns out, the kids were great. They did have a lot of energy, but the teachers were still able to redirect them when they (quickly) grew bored of each activity.

But even more worrisome to my lazy, pregnant self was what would happen after the party.  The school is called Parents Community Preschool, and the title actually is self-explanatory.  It is a Montessori-style school based on around the theory that parents, as a community, run the school.  This creates a great environment, and it keeps tuition costs really low.  This also means the only employees are the two teachers, so when parents aide, which every family does at least six times per year, there is quite a bit to do.  The aide sets up in the classroom in the morning, serves as principal and secretary throughout the day, plans and leads one of the activities for centers, and serves as the cook and custodian.  For me, working with kids is great.  It's the custodial duties that are killer.  It's nothing insanely strenuous.  It's wiping down tables, chairs, and cabinets; sweeping, mopping, and vacuuming floors; cleaning the bathroom; taking out trash, recycling, and compost; and picking up the school and playground.  It's just time consuming, and a lot to do after spending four hours with the kiddos.  And when I heard the party had been pushed back an hour, I feared I would never leave.

The parents take the community thing seriously, and after a regular day of school, there are typically kids playing on the playground while their moms chat for a good hour after the school day ends.  And in playing that long someone always has a potty emergency (and those someones also always seem to have the dirtiest shoes) and they need to come back in to school, usually right after I finish cleaning the floors and bathroom.  I figured the whole party atmosphere, not to mention a day with a high in the 50s after having highs in the 30s all week, would lead to even more lingering than usual.

And it may have happened, but I never knew.  A whole team of moms assembled and began helping me clean.  We were still there until 2:45, but the school was REALLY clean.  Definitely the cleanest it had ever been on my watch.  And I got to move at a merciful snail's pace the entire time.  That experience was definitely better than expected.  And that was just the beginning of the weekend.

Yes, the rambling is to be continued...

Fly!

Last Monday I woke up and didn't want to go to work.  It was more than a case of the Mondays.  I was feeling overwhelmed and just wanted a day to knock out all the Christmas-related errand running.  I am also lucky in that I have a fabulous boss and a flexible work schedule, so I even had the possibility of just working a half day from home on Monday and making up the time on Friday.  (I usually do it the other way around.)  Unfortunately, we were already booked for Friday, so I drug myself to work.

Tuesday I woke up and I still didn't want to go to work.  And I was feeling nauseous as an added bonus.  Still, I made myself go to work (I'm saving what little sick and vacation time I have to cover my time off for maternity leave, and I don't want to use them unless I really, really have to), and by 9:00 a.m. I was feeling like a functional human being.

Wednesday morning I woke up really and truly sick with a stomach bug.  I think it was my body's way of forcing me to take some time off.  The morning was rough, but once my stomach settled down, it was actually a decent day.  I hid in the bedroom and did actually work a half day, and I read most of a novel too.

But I didn't learn.  I felt run down the rest of the week, and by Sunday morning I was nice and sick again.  As I was sitting on the bathroom floor thinking I should've at least had a crazy night out that involved tequila shots to be so miserable, it occurred to me that I needed to stop.  Christmas would happen when it happened.  Santa had already confirmed his visit to our house, complete with stocking stuffers, and Ree and I had agreed on an easy coffee cake recipe for Christmas morning.  (Well, actually, we're still debating.  I want a honey bun cake with pecans and she wants a peach thing that looks like a dessert pizza.  We'll see who wins in the end.)  But I realized, do we really need anything more than Santa and breakfast pastries to have a good holiday?

So I took the day to actually enjoy the season with my kids.  Crazy, huh?  We had fun.  I looked at the newspaper ads with Ree and realized we both like shiny and sparkly things.  (Probably no big surprise there.)  Ree and I also made Christmas cards.  We didn't get too many done, but it was a fun process.  I sat with Leon and Michael while they colored pictures of Charlie Brown and Snoopy from a new Christmas coloring book.  Actually, Leon colored, and Michael talked.  All Michael ever does is talk.  I actually had a few minutes to myself, and was in the middle of looking at an ad for World Market, totally amazed that the front page featured a set of Russian Leaders Vodka Shooters, when I realized Michael had stopped with his stream of consciousness babble and was actually addressing me.

Michael: Hep!  Hep!  (That would be "Help! Help!" in regular English.)
Me: Do you need help?
Michael: Hep wall!
Me: You need help with the wall?
Michael: Reach top.
Me: You want to reach the top of the wall?

Michael then starts frantically waving his arms over his head indicating that is EXACTLY what he wants to do.  I check out the wall.  It is divider between the kitchen and dining area.  It runs floor to ceiling.  It's about four feet wide.  There is a framed picture in the middle of it.  Otherwise, it is a pretty boring wall.  There is nothing I could see of interest near the ceiling.

Me: Mikey, we can't reach the top of the wall.  It's too tall.
Michael: Wall too tall?
Me: Yeah, I'm sorry.  We just aren't big enough to reach up there.

Michael stops to think for a second.

Michael: FLY!
Me: No, sweetie.  We can't fly there.  People can't fly.  Just birds.

He spends a few seconds flapping his arms trying to fly anyway.  All the arm swinging makes him think.  Arm swinging is what he does when he tries to jump.  So he starts working on jumping to reach the top of the wall.  Unfortunately, he hasn't quite mastered the leaving the ground thing, so it's mostly a lot of grunting, arm swinging, and standing on tiptoes.  I can't help but just stare at him throughout this process.  Finally, he wanders off.  And it occurs to me that wow, I just had this conversation with a sober person.

Do Good Things and Good Things Happen

I really enjoy volunteering and helping people, I just seem to be short on time and motivation these days.  So I love it when I find ways to feel like I am bettering the world (at least a little) but can be totally lazy about it.

I joined MomsRising a couple of years ago.  It's a fabulous bipartisan organization that is working to build a more family-friendly country.  They focus on topics impacting moms, children, and families, and basic involvement is simple.  They send out emails on hot topics, which are often items in pending legislation.  If, after reading the summary, you want to take action, you click on a link and it sends letters to the appropriate state and federal officials.  If you want to learn more, there are links for that too.  So simple.

Yesterday, I learned about another site that helps you improve the world (at least an itty-bitty bit) in 30 seconds or less.  Xerox is sponsoring a site called Let's Say Thanks.  The website gives you the opportunity to send a free printed postcard to U.S. military personnel stationed overseas.  You pick a design, enter a message, and add your name and hometown.  Xerox prints it and sends it to someone.  No providing your email address or contact information.  Just an easy way to say thanks.

Yesterday must have just been a help people day in general, because one of my favorite blogs also had information on helping others.  Cake Wrecks, a blog featuring professional cakes gone oh-so-wrong, began their second annual Christmas Charity Countdown.  The premise is simple.  Small gifts add up, so they ask readers who want to participate to give a $1 a day to charity for 12 days.  That's it.  A buck.  Yesterday's charity, Give Kids the World, has already received $3,137 just from readers contributing.  Today's charity, Doctors Without Borders, has raised $1,925 from loyal wreckerators so far.  It's nice to know I'm not the only person who wants to make the world a better place.  Or that there are innovative people willing to help us do so easily.

Away in a Manger

Sunday morning Jeff and I headed out to the garage to get the Christmas decorations while the kids ate breakfast.  We keep the decorations in plastic tubs on overhead shelves, and it's just easier to get them down when we don't have an audience of toddlers, preschoolers, and dogs around to "help."

Leon watched, his eyes growing wider and wider, as we brought the tubs into the house.  The kid was squirming with anticipation as he sat in his booster seat.  There were new latches to master and so many potential goodies inside.  It was a Leon dream come true!

I can't remember if I even attempted to flat out tell him "no."  Whatever happened, it wasn't long before I said, "These are Mommy's boxes and THIS is Leon, Michael, and Ree's box," and I handed him the box with our nativity set.

We happen to have a Little People nativity set, and I just love the dang thing.  I am a dork and think it is the cutest thing in the world.  I may actually enjoy playing with it more than the kids do.  I also love that Little People are virtually indestructible (so far) and the dogs understand that they are neither treats nor chew toys (so far). 

While I cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast, I heard Leon busily playing in the sunroom.  Since everything is an ingredient to Leon, I figured he was stirring the poor shepherds and sheep in a bowl and calling it "soup."  Much to my surprise, as I walked out to the living room, I found the people and critters scattered all over the floor.  Baby Jesus was face down on the rug with the manger still stuck to his back.  (Must resist the urge to add a "plight of the Jews" joke here.)  But the stable was missing.

I found the stable sitting on the kids' train table in the sunroom.  It was void of living creatures.  Instead, it was filled with little Tonka trucks.  The stable had become a garage.  I can only imagine the angel on the roof was the parking attendant.

Norman Rockwell, Eat Your Heart Out

 

I love this picture Jeff took of the kids last week.  With a bit of editing, it could be totally Christmas card worthy with a nice "Waiting for Santa" caption.  As it is, it captures the suburban reality of "watching the garbage man."

They Start Young

Not too surprisingly, the Bengals game was not on TV locally last Sunday, so while Jeff went to a neighborhood bar to watch it, I gamecasted it on the computer while Ree and I decorated for Christmas.

For those of you not familiar with gamecasting, it pretty much involves watching arrows representing the teams move back and forth on a drawing of a football field.  Not exactly an HD broadcast.  Still, somehow, when Michael woke up from his nap, he saw the computer and immediately exclaimed, "Football!"  Um, yeah.  At one point he apparently noticed the arrows moving fast or something, because we had the following conversation.

Michael: (Excitedly) Touchdown Bengals?
Me: No, not touchdown Bengals.  The other team scored.  Touchdown Saints.
Michael: (Pausing to think and then sadly) I'm sorry, Daddy.
Me: Yeah, I bet Daddy is sorry too.

The Great Christmas Tree Disaster of 2010

Last night I made perfect peppermint frosting.  Seriously.  It was phenomenal.  I think it was my redemption moment for the evening.  For the boys' birthdays, I made bright yellow and blue cakes shaped like Legos, and I had frozen the leftover frosting for an emergency dessert moment.  (Hey, mock me if you will, but these moments obviously happen to me.)  I thawed the two cans of frosting, and when I combined them, they actually blended into a lovely shade of light green.  (Purists be damned.  Mint things need to be green.)  Then I slowly added peppermint extract and the result was amazing.  Peppermint frosting, made from the canned stuff, that wasn't overwhelming in mint flavor and didn't taste like chemicals.  Tonight it will be added to a pan of brownies that didn't work out quite right.  I tried a sample frosted brownie last night, and the result was heavenly.  Not only great frosting, but totally salvaged brownies.  Some melted chocolate might be drizzled over the top as an added bonus.
 
I call the frosting creation my redemption moment because the afternoon was marked by the Great Christmas Tree Disaster of 2010.  (I'm a realist.  I am a totally klutz.  We have two dogs and 3.34 kids.  I know we are not done with Christmas tree disasters.  I am just hoping this is the only one in 2010.)  In short, yesterday we learned that glass Christmas ornament balls and ceramic floors don't mix.

In the ten years that Jeff and I have been together, we have never had a full-sized Christmas tree.  I briefly contemplated purchasing one this year, then I realized that Leon would just spend the holidays trying to scale the thing.  Next year is probably out since we will have a ten-ish month old, but maybe the next year.  Last year, since the boys were busy pulling up on things, in lieu of having any sort of Christmas tree at child height, we put out what we refer to as the Christmas tree village on our bar.  It is collection of three little artificial Christmas trees that individually each look like Charlie Brown Christmas trees, but when lit and decorated, you can practically hear Linus saying, "I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really."  But, as "not bad" as they may be, I really liked the idea of having a tree that the kids could sit around and find presents under, and we have also have a four-foot tall fake tree that I acquired my first Christmas out of college.  I figured it was low enough that Leon wouldn't see it as a new jungle gym and felt sure the kids could handle having it out in our living room.  I didn't know that our floors were plotting against us.

Yesterday while the boys were napping and Jeff was busy watching the Bengals, Ree and I decided to put up the tree.  She did a fabulous job of entertaining herself by emptying out the plastic bins of Christmas stuff and reading all the Christmas books while I put it together.  Then I went to put on the lights and realized that the only Christmas lights we had were a strand of all purple lights leftover from my college days and a monstrously long strand of colored lights we used to outline our entire garage last year.  Neither was quite what I was looking for, but amazingly, Ree and I happened to stop at Target on Friday afternoon and we happened to browse the Christmas section and we happened to pick up a set of retro globe lights.  Perfect.  I put them on, and while the tree was a bit dark, I figured it would look better with ornaments, and I could always add other lights later.

Then it was time to decorate.  Ree was very excited, and she and I started hanging ornaments.  About three ornaments in, Ree accidentally dropped a snow globe ornament.  It only fell about six inches, but it shattered.  She was okay with it, and while warning bells were starting to go off, I just cleaned it up without too much thought.  Although we normally put the tree skirt on last, I went ahead and put it around the tree, with a fleece blanket under it for extra padding, just in case of other ornament disasters.  Thankfully, we got through the tree trimming without any of those, and we even finished before Leon and Michael woke up from naps.

When the boys woke up, they were very excited about seeing all the Christmas stuff.  Since I hadn't cleaned up yet, Leon was especially excited to see all the bins with their lids off, and he busily ran around the living room putting all of the sorted decorations back into the bins and slamming the lids on.  (Ahh, my little "helper".)  The boys and I had a chat that the tree was for looking at, not for touching, and they seemed pretty respectful.  Michael walked around it, naming every ornament, with his hands neatly clasped behind his back in parade rest.  Leon wasn't quite so respectful, but he at least limited himself to poking at ornaments rather than pulling them off the tree.

Then dinner time rolled around.  I'm not sure who or what was the cause, but I suddenly found myself having to abandon my lo mein to clean up a Bengals ornament ball that had shattered in the middle of the living room.  It wasn't too much later that I heard Michael delightfully exclaim, "Ball!  Then I heard the tinkling sound of another ornament crumbling upon impact with the floor.  Michael was remorseful, and I was contemplative.  Had he really learned his lesson?  Could this work?  And I felt bad undoing all of Ree's hard work.  Since we have been married, each year I have made ornaments for everyone in our family.  Ree, a chip off the ol' block and a true math geek, had made it a point to find each year's set and arrange them together on the tree.  She must've read my mind, because that's when she spoke up and said, "Mom, maybe we should just put up the little trees up high."  The kid was so right.


So while the kids ate dinner, I went to the garage, got out the other trees, and started setting them up on the bar in a back corner of our dining room.  I also made the kids stay in their seats a little longer than they needed to so I could transfer most of the ornaments to the tree village.  Shortly after dinner, I once again heard Michael say, "Ball!" and then heard the distinctive sound of another ornament shattering.  And I, again, found a remorseful Michael.  Apparently he either forgot the incident before dinner or figured it couldn't possibly happy again.  But at least I knew we really needed to limit Christmas decorations to those at least four feet in the air.  The kids clearly aren't ready for a tree at their level.

After the kids went to bed, I finished decorating the tree village and put away the additional ornaments from the other tree.  Just as I was finishing, I too dropped an ornament, and it shattered.  Doh!  Apparently I too am not ready for a tree at my level.

So after I got that mess squared away, I made the peppermint frosting.  And when all was said and done, and I was munching on my delightful dessert, the little Christmas tree village looked nice.  And the lessons for the day are, when in doubt, head to the kitchen.  Also, install wrestling mats throughout the living area before putting up a Christmas tree.  Either that, or only use Kevlar ornaments.

From The Baby Blues Archive

Me, Me, Me

So about three weeks ago I was plodding along, minding my own business, when Ka-Blammo!  My body decided to tell me in no uncertain terms that I had reached the third trimester of this pregnancy.  I am lucky and have gotten through many years on few hours of sleep each day, catching up on sleep in the years in which life is a little less insane.  (Yes, I know normal people catch up on weekends, and I'm weird.  Does this really surprise you?)  I've been scraping by on 6.5 hours a night since Leon and Michael have been born, but my body is now scoffing at that.  Nope, I need more sleep, at least on the weekends.  And since the kids prefer to get up earlier than usual on the weekends and sleep "in" during the week, that means I now have to nap (read: I pass out randomly) on more weekend days than not.  (The good news - the kids have actually been sleeping or at least staying in bed until 7:00 a.m. most week day mornings lately.)  And the hormones!  Holy cow, the hormones!  I've had mood swings this whole pregnancy, but the crazy, angry pregnant lady is leaking out more and more.  I am fairly good at repressing her at work (as the breadwinner in the family, remaining employed is kinda important), but then I take it out on my whole family by being mean wife and mean mommy with no patience.

Right after a good workout (have you ever seen a woman who's 30 weeks pregnant workout?  I almost wish I could see myself.  It has to be hilarious!) when the crazy is somewhat at bay, I can put it in perspective.  At any time I can recognize that I have much easier pregnancies than many women, but in those moments of exhaustion and a clear head, I can also be grateful that my body gave me a free pass to enjoy "regular" life for a good seven months even while pregnant again.  But the rest of the time, it's hard not to be at least a little annoyed that my body would just have to finally succumb to pregnant madness during the holidays.  As though there isn't enough crap to do, I now have to stop to take care of me and this hyper little being (and wow is this one a wiggler!) in my belly?  For real?

So this year, more than ever, I am working to find balance during the holidays.  I'll let you know how that all works out.

Thankful

I love the fact that the kids are still young enough to be completely honest.  It's refreshing and can be highly amusing.  We got to witness it at dinner tonight.

Ree:  Mama, the word of the day on Super Why was "thankful."

Me: Do you know what that means?

Ree: No.  (Which actually probably meant yes, but she didn't want to admit she wasn't COMPLETELY sure.)

Me: "Thankful" means you're really glad for something.  You're happy that you got it or it's part of your life.  I'm thankful for my three fantastic children.

Jeff: I'm thankful for my wonderful wife and my terrific daughter.  (Pause, stare from me.)  And for my two stinky boys.  (Okay, good enough.  This is from the gender that considers "bonding" inflicting bruises upon each other and "sharing" indulging in a belching contest.)

Ree: I'm thankful for my two parents.

Me: Ahh.  Thanks.  Are you thankful for your brothers?

Ree: Noooo! (As though I had just asked the silliest question in the world.)

Die-nah-sore Vie-ta-men!

It's funny what kids can become obsessed with.  A few weeks ago we were at Target on a Saturday afternoon.  The kids were running low on vitamins, so we stopped in the drug section to get some.  We just started everyone on vitamins this fall, mostly because I was waiting until they could all eat the same kind, and they are still a pretty big deal with the kids.  (As for waiting on vitamins, yes, yes, I know.  Horrible parenting, but I didn't want to have to deal with sneaking vitamins to Ree or daily tantrums from the boys.  I'm lazy and selfish like that.)  We had previously only purchased vitamins at Walmart, and they only had teddy bear shaped gummy vitamins.  It turns out Target carries both the teddy bears AND dinosaurs.  So, thinking the boys wouldn't care one way or the other, I let Ree pick.  She picked the dinosaurs, and apparently that was the right choice. 

Michael immediately began chanting, "Die-nah-sore vie-ta-men!  Die-nah-sore vie-ta-men!"  He was a little excited.  I gave him the jar to hold.  He is typically not a great shopper (translation: he is that annoying screaming, whining kid in the store), and I figured it wouldn't be long before he launched the vitamins.  I just hoped they didn't collide with another shopper on the way down.  He surprised me and clutched them to his chest the entire time we were in the store, and he was actually pretty content to just ride in the cart.  He wasn't too thrilled about giving them to the lady at the check out (this would be the screaming, whining part), and when I handed the vitamins back to him after they had been very quickly scanned, he hugged them even harder than before.  In fact, he hugged them all the way home.  (On a side note, Leon was clutching a potty seat to his chest and hugging it this entire time.  I think Ree was reading a book and was holding it RIGHT in front of her face.  And they were all riding in one of those giant carts that seat 3 kids.  My gigantic belly and I were pushing the cart.  I bet we were quite the spectacle.)

The kids eat their vitamins with dinner, and I wasn't too surprised when Michael resumed his "Die-nah-sore vie-ta-men!" chant as we sat down to eat.  What I didn't realize was that the chant would continue at ALL meals in the weeks to come.  He also occasionally threw in the chant when things were boring or when he needed attention or when he just wanted the wonderful little kick only a dinosaur vitamin could provide.

Of course last night when my parents were here for dinner and we actually asked him to say "dinosaur vitamin," he refused.  He just kept saying, "Please!" to apparently demonstrate his fabulous manners.  I hate it when they are polite in front of company.

My World

This morning I put on lotion while I was getting ready for work.  This may not sound like anything important, but for me, this is monumental.  Many things have to be perfectly aligned in the cosmos in order for this to happen.  It helps tremendously that my parents are in town.  Because of this, I was able to take a real shower AND do my hair (in the same day!) yesterday, so I wasn't frantically trying to tame my hair this morning.  Also because of their help, we were able to get the kids to bed on time last night, so I was able to get both Ree's lunch and my own made before bed, so I wasn't rushing to take care of that this morning.  My mom was also kind enough to do my ironing (love you, Mom!), so I also didn't have to spend precious moments kneeling on the bathroom floor trying to make a pair of maternity pants look remotely presentable by ironing them from approximately the knees down.  Finally, and this is the most important part, because the kids are getting extra attention and going on adventures, the KIDS WERE ALL ASLEEP this morning.  Yes, I got ready without ANY "help."  Miraculous!

Despite this, I wouldn't trade my home life for anything.  I pretty much love it, despite the insanity.  And I'm oddly used to it.  I had to giggle this morning when I realized I felt guilty putting on lotion.  Seriously, when did moisturizing one's skin in dry weather become a guilty pleasure?  But it made me smile, and gave me a sense of perspective.

Every now and then I get a glimpse of what other people think of our lives, and that makes me smile as well.  Last week I stumbled upon a blog entry written by a friend who came to visit in August.  She and her husband are our age, but in a very different phase of life.  She is finishing her PhD and is just starting her career.  Kids just aren't on the radar yet.  She commented that although we have great kids (her words, not mine, really!) I never get any personal space, let alone a moment to think.  Hmm.  Something to ponder if I had a moment... :)

But if that didn't bring it home, actually observing someone else in our environment did.  On Saturday afternoon, my mom offered to clean the bathroom and sweep and mop while the kids took a nap.  To me, that sounds like an insane amount to accomplish in a single day, but I suppose a normal person would see it as feasible, especially given that Leon and Michael often nap for at least 2.5 hours.  She got the boys all tucked in while I cleaned up the kitchen.  The kids were ALL sick last week (woohoo for preschool!) and I went four days in a row on five hours of interrupted sleep a night.  The last thing I told her before I stumbled off to nap was to spend some time doing crafts with Ree and not worry about the cleaning.  I also told Ree that after craft time, she needed to leave Gran alone.  (Ree is more than capable of playing by herself, especially when she is avoiding actually taking a nap.)

So they did crafts, and that lasted for about 20 minutes.  Then Ree wanted to watch a movie while my mom cleaned.  So my mom started Aladdin for her, which Ree was dying to watch again.  But Ree wanted Grant to sit with her and fast forward through the scary part at the beginning.  So my mom did.  They were just past that part, and my mom was walking toward the bathroom, determined to clean it, when Michael woke up.  He was still sick and all congested and woke up because he couldn't breathe.  So she then spent half an hour sitting outside on the porch swing with him so that he could rest and to keep him from making noise and waking anyone else up.  About that time I got up.  I had planned on decorating the boys' birthday cake, but I realized I didn't have the food coloring I needed.  (More on their birthday, part one, soon.)  So Ree and I headed for the grocery store.

About that time Jeff woke up.  He had also been napping, in an attempt to recover from taking care of 3 sick kids for 6 days.  With Ree out of the picture, and Jeff in charge of watching the boys (Leon, of course, woke up just as Ree and I were leaving), my mom resumed her mission to at least get one bathroom clean.  She got it mostly done before Jeff accidentally broke a glass and she needed to go watch the boys so he could clean up the shards.  Ree and I returned while he was cleaning.  Of course by that time it was time to make dinner and begin the insane spiral toward bedtime.  Any further cleaning before the kids went to bed was out of the question.  While my mom shared her story with me, all I could think to say was, "Welcome to our wold!"

Two Boys, Two Perspectives

There was a moment yesterday that just seemed to sum up the boys' personalities nicely.  My parents were in town, and they were watching the kids at their apartment while I was at work and Jeff ran errands.  The kids were starting to get bored, so my mom went to the kitchen and got a plastic mixing bowl and a large spoon for each of them. 

Leon took his, headed to the bin of toys, and started adding "ingredients" to the recipe he was making in his bowl.

Michael used the spoon to hit the bowl and said, "Tennis!"

Mother's Little Helper

When we don't channel his energy for good, Leon is one crazy little dude.  The child is just filled with nervous energy, and he has to always be tinkering or climbing or disassembling a car or something.  I am learning to take advantage of him, at least while he's young enough to be willing to help.  Each night in the bathtub, I ask the boys who wants to get out first.  And the response is always the same.  Leon ignores me completely and Michael points at the other kid in the tub and says, "Lon," which would be his name for his brother.  I've discovered though, that if I get Michael out first, Leon will pick up the tub while I dress Michael.  For the past two nights Leon has cleaned the tub, dumping all water out of cups, wringing out washcloths, and stacking everything in the toy bowl.  Considering that it's getting more and more challenging for me to bend down and clean the tub (and, honestly, I'm caring less and less), this is fabulous.

Another area we've been struggling with is teeth brushing time.  Leon brushes his teeth first, and then he proceeds to stand and jump on the toilet while Michael brushes his teeth.  So Leon is now responsible for gathering all the dirty laundry in the bathroom and taking it to the hamper in our room while Michael brushes his teeth.  And amazingly, Leon is happy to comply.

I am so going to enjoy this while it lasts.  It would be great if he makes it through the tween years and is still this helpful.  But I will still be ecstatic if we make it to next week.

Michael the Mynah Bird

Michael repeats everything we say.  Everything.  Yesterday he asked a question, and my response was something like, "No, not right now, sweetie."  He then spent ten minutes wandering around saying "Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie."  And he does this regularly.  It's like we live with Rain Man.

But it's more than just repeating words.  He gets how to use them.  Last week he came up to me, a ball in his arms, and said, "Catch!" as he threw it at me.  When I caught it, he was delightfully surprised and said, "Niiiice!"

It's entertaining, but this could be dangerous.  I suppose I should refrain from referring to anyone as a "shit ass ho" in his presence.

I'm Still a Little Bit Sleepy

Jeff has always sworn the reason our children get up hours before the sun is to spend time with me before I go to work.  I've had my doubts.  Then yesterday morning, as I was getting ready to walk out the door around 7:00, I heard Ree calling me from her room.  Our conversation:

Ree: Mom?
Me: Yes?
Ree: Can I get up?
Me: Um, yes.  (Why was she asking?  She normally just shows up in the living room carrying her blanket, pillow, and Abby doll.)

I walk over to her room and meet her as she's coming out.

Ree: Why are you in your work clothes?
Me: I have to go to work.  I have one more day of work this week.
Ree: I'm still a little bit sleepy.
Me: Do you want to go back to bed?
Ree: Yes.

And she went back to bed and slept for another hour.

Score one for Jeff.

Stimulating Dinner Conversation

It's funny the things you promise your children.  Other parents promise their kids toys, trips to the zoo, movie nights.  I promised Leon a kitchen table.

For weeks he had been bugging us to let him sit at the big table.  At first when we said it was time to eat he would run and get Ree's old booster seat, bring it to the table, and show us which chair we should put it in so that he could sit in it.  (He had already been sitting in it when we cook.)  When that didn't work, he started running to the table, pulling out a chair, and sitting down in it, hoping we would serve him there.

And it's not like we were trying to deny him the milestone of moving to the big table.  The problem was just our big table wasn't big enough.  When we left Athens, we sold most of our furniture since it was mostly well used when we got it.  We figured we could at least upgrade to newer second-hand stuff and then we wouldn't have the expense of renting and buying gas for a bigger U-Haul to get the stuff from Ohio to North Carolina.  This theory worked out pretty well, and when we got here we were able to get a cheap little wooden table and two chairs from Goodwill.  We found two additional chairs in the same style at a local discount store, and we painted everything to match.  For us, we were pretty dang coordinated.  But if you do the math, this only gave us four chairs, and we have five people.  And of course we would have to move Michael to the big table too so that it's FAIR.  We could've just purchased another chair, but the table wasn't that big, and there is no way to put 5 or 6 people at it without everyone touching. If you've ever had children or been a child, you know that touching is BAD.

But last week I got paid, and so the first thing I did was go on Craigslist to search for a table.  (We are slowly upgrading!)  I was actually able to find something that we could afford that didn't look like someone's grandmother had died and her relatives were trying to unload it as quickly as possible, and the owners were even kind enough to deliver it to us.  Once the table was purchased, the next step was to buy a second booster seat, and we took care of that on Saturday morning.  Since then, we have been enjoying true family meals.

I have to admit, these make me insanely happy.  I'm sure the pregnancy hormones are partly to blame, but I'll take the good with the bad.  I love that we are all sitting in one place interacting.  And the table is a giant square, so the kids aren't even touching each other.  The best part, though, has to be the dinner conversation.

Ree loves knock-knock jokes, and the old one about the banana and the orange comes up regularly.  Last week Leon tried to tell it.

Leon: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Leon: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Leon: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
We repeated this about 15 times before I declared it was the last time he got to say "Knock, knock."

It came up again tonight.  This attempt was a little closer.

Leon: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Leon: Orange.
Me: Orange who?
Leon: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Leon: Banana.
Me: Banana who?
Leon: Knock, knock...
...and then he repeated the banana part 15 times before I cut him off.  It's much harder to get to the punchline when you already used it.

Michael was dying to get into the conversation and he decided to jump in at this point.  He was going to correctly tell the joke.

Michael: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Michael: Orange.
Me: (cringing) Orange who?
Michael: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Michael: Banana.
Me: (Seriously cringing) Banana who?
Michael: BANANA!

And then he almost fell out of his chair he was laughing so hard.  And then we repeated this about 5 times before I cut him off from his joke telling too.

Now that I read this, it just sounds annoying, and maybe it was a little annoying at the time.  But it's a good annoying.

We Are Not Alone!

We are not the only ones with crazy, death-defying children.  I may have read this at work and I may have laughed out loud in a completely inappropriate way.  Maybe.

http://dooce.com/2010/10/28/danger-ahead

Sleeeeep

One of the last things the kids do at night before bed is brush their teeth.  Last night, as Ree was standing at the sink barely able to hold up her toothbrush, she looked at me and said, "Mom, I have no energy."  Rather than pointing out the obvious, I thought I'd lead her there.  I asked if she ate healthy foods all day.  Yes.  (At least in her mind.)  I told her I knew she had taken her vitamin. Then I asked if she had taken a nap.  Nope.  I then gently pointed out that she was probably just tired.  Oh.

Getting the kids to sleep enough is something I struggle with, especially with Ree.  Her bedtime is 8:00, but it's not unusual for her to stay up until 8:30 or 8:45.  Sometimes it's because we have to much going on and just don't get her to bed that quickly.  Other nights she just stalls and stalls and stalls.  And on the stalling nights, it's hard to be too mean about enforcing bedtime since it's obvious she's stalling in order to spend more time with us.  If we just made her go to bed, she wouldn't get any more sleep, because she would just lay awake in bed angry, frustrated, and disappointed.  She is such a girl.  And Ree will sleep in until 8:00 or 8:30 in the morning to catch up on sleep.  The problem is her brothers, especially Michael.

Michael is the kid who doesn't sleep.  I was just reading that toddlers need 12 - 14 hours of sleep a day.  Some days we feel like Michael sleeps 2 - 4 hours a day.  The kid just doesn't want to sleep.  And it doesn't help that when he wakes up, he is WIDE awake.  He is my child.

He was actually doing a little better with sleeping in the mornings.  He had started sleeping until 6:30 - 6:45, so two weeks ago I got the silly idea of working out in the morning.  The first week, it went great.  Last week he must've sensed I was up, even though I work out in the dark with the TV on mute (I do workout DVDs), and I am careful not to do any normal person morning stuff like flush a toilet or wash my face.  So last week he started waking up between 6:15 and 6:20.  I still worked out, I just had to listen to him moan (it's his version of whining) for the last few minutes. 

But this week he apparently decided enough was enough. At Monday, he was up at 5:45.  I listened to him moan for 5 minutes, then went in to try to tuck him back in bed thinking that it was early enough and dark enough that I had a chance.  I calmly told him it was still night-night time and tried to put a blanket over him.  That so didn't work.  He started SCREAMING, which, of course, woke up his brother.  Leon is a more normal person and wakes up groggy, especially when awoken at 5:45 when he would also prefer to sleep until 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning.  So Leon started crying.  I told them night-night again and left the room.  They quieted down for a few minutes, but they were up for the day.  And, of course, it wasn't long before they made enough noise to wake up their sister.

The boys were so exhausted on Monday that they fell asleep in the car at 9:15 in the morning on the way home from dropping off Ree at preschool.  They slept until 11:00, but that was it for naps that day.  They were not going to make their 12 - 14 hours.

Being the Pollyanna I am, I thought for sure they would sleep on Tuesday morning to catch up.  On Tuesday morning, my alarm went off at 6:00.  My first thought was, "Wow!  I get to work out!"  Before I could even turn it off, I heard Michael moan.  Doh.  And I would like to point out that my alarm is my cell phone on vibrate on the nightstand next to my bed.  Michael sleeps at the other end of the house with a box fan next to his bed.  There is no possible way he could've heard it.  He could just sense the change in energy in the house. 

Given my failing efforts on Monday morning, I decided to take a different approach.  I walked in and found him sitting up in bed facing the door.  He waved and said, "Hi, Mama!"  Leon was still passed out.  So I quietly ASKED this time if he wanted to go back to sleep.  He stood up, smiled, and said, "No, silly!" 

I hate it when he uses my own phrases (correctly!) against me.

Leon

The other kids got their turns in the spotlight (for me to mock them horribly) so it's only FAIR that I torture Leon in the same way.  But it's hard to know where to start with Leon.  I don't know how it's possible for one kid to be so hard to describe, but it's something I struggle with.

I do know that Leon wants to be big.  As part of that, he wants to be independent.  He has always figured out ways to get what he wants.  Before he could talk, he would save the last bite of the food he was really enjoying.  Then he would point to that food and use the sign language signal for "more" to tell us he wanted more of that tasty thing.  As he got a little bigger, he would run to the pantry and hit the door.  As soon as we opened the door, the little weasel would wiggle past us, go into the pantry, and pull out what he wanted to eat.  A few weeks ago the kids were eating breakfast, and Leon clearly wanted something else.  He kept saying something about cereal and milk, and he had both.  And it was the same kind of cereal and milk that Michael and Ree were eating.  I had no clue what he wanted.  Leon finally said he was done, so I got him down from his high chair and forgot all about his frustration.  While the kids finished eating, I worked on cleaning up the kitchen which was probably a disaster from the night before.  (Much to the horror of most women, we are morning cleaning people.  Dinner dishes often go untouched until 7:00 a.m.) 

As I was cleaning, I suddenly realized it was quiet.  Uh-oh.  I glanced up and saw Leon and Michael standing at the train table in the sunroom.  The good news is that they were standing at the table, not on it for once, and they didn't appear to be doing anything too dangerous.  But I really had no idea what they were doing.  So I went to investigate.  Leon was finishing up his real breakfast.  Once Ree was done with her bowl of cereal with milk, her bowl of noodles, and her bowl of soy sauce for dipping the noodles (long story, don't ask), Leon had apparently taken each bowl off the table, carefully transported it around the corner and down the step into the sunroom, and had made himself the breakfast he wanted.  When I got there, he was finishing his meal.  There were no spills other than a few splashes of milk around the cereal bowl on the table.  That's when I realized he had been trying to tell me he wanted a bowl of cereal with milk on it like a big kid, not dry cereal with a cup of milk.  Ahhhh.  Got it.

Leon just takes care of things in other areas as well.  At the beginning of the summer I apparently had a hard time remembering to take drinks and toys for the kids in the car.  Not a problem.  Leon took care of both.  If we were leaving, I would find him standing by the front door, sippy cup in one hand, toy in the other.  He would make sure he was hydrated and entertained in the car.  Easy enough.

In some areas, Leon actually is a good helper.  He will clean up all the dirty laundry after baths and put it in the hamper.  He puts away the dog dishes each time they eat.  He picks up random trash to the floor and brings it to me.  (And he always seems to find the food crumbs that are so disgusting even the dogs have been avoiding them.)  These are good things.

Unfortunately, Leon also has boy energy and is constantly on the move.  So when he runs out of ways to be helpful, that's when he starts exploring and discovering.  I don't think the child ever does things to intentionally be bad or to get attention.  He's just curious and wants to learn.  He LOVES books, almost as much as his siblings, but anything other than a plain board book is typically not safe in his hands.  If there is a slight rip, he is going to pull on the page to see what happens.  If the book has flaps to lift, he is going to bend them as far as he can to see what they'll do (and he always manages to bend them right off).  If there is something on a shelf or otherwise out of reach, he will take matters into his own hands and find a way to get it.  Chairs will be moved.  Toys will be stacked.  Leon is a great climber, but Michael struggles in that area.  One day we discovered that Leon had built Michael a ramp out of blankets so that Michael could also climb on our bed and join Leon in standing hand having chicken fights.  Thankfully we got there before anyone was a "winner."

Leon's passion, though, is clearly the kitchen.  He just loves to to cook, whether it's for real or for pretend.  If I'm in the kitchen working, he will come to check things out and ask to be lifted up so he can see exactly what I'm doing.  He can also be entertained with a bowl, spoon, and measuring cup for hours.  This can be a wonderful thing.  It works inside, outside, and in the bathtub.  It is also letting him bond with his big sis.  They finally have something in common, and they discovered it in less than two years.  Not too bad.

Ree

I know I haven't blogged much about Ree lately.  She is old enough that I kinda feel like I am talking about her behind her back.  Also, I'd hate for her to see something embarrassing, and I'm not quite sure how much she can read. She is always surprising me on that front.  The girl spends hours each day playing alone in her room.  She may be working her way through Faulkner for all I know.  (And now that I think about it, all that stream of consciousness stuff probably makes more sense to a four-year-old than it did to me in high school.  Have you ever heard a preschooler play?)

Anywho, I am going to write about her anyway.  One thing I've noticed lately is what a GIRL she is.  Not that it is a huge surprise.  Despite my best efforts to keep everything gender neutral around her when she was a baby (I was such a silly first-time parent!), she is just programmed to be a girl.  She likes pink and princesses and all things girlie.  She was only two when she and I started getting into cat fights.  (One of the hidden benefits of having a stay-at-home-dad is that she still worships her primary caregiver.  Daaaad can do no wrong!)  But there are other, apparently innate, girl traits that she has showing lately.

She is very nurturing.  There was one day at the beginning of soccer season this fall in which Jeff was gone to a game and I was alone with the kids.  The boys were napping, and Ree was busy playing.  In a perfect world, she would've been napping too, but she looked at Jeff one day last November and said, "Dad, I'm not going to take naps anymore unless I'm sick," and she has kept to that statement despite our best efforts to make her rest in the afternoons.  I was completely wiped out, so I told her that I was going to take a little nap on the couch, but she could get me if she needed anything.  As I headed to the couch, I heard her trailing behind me.  She had gotten me a sheet from her bed because she knew the ceiling fan was on and she thought I might be cold.  She then brought her toys to the living room and played quietly while I slept.  She did wake me three times during my 20-minute nap (I was REALLY tired and kept passing back out), but it was the thought that counts.

Lately, in practicing to be a big sister to the new baby, she has started being a much better big sister to Leon and Michael.  She has actually been taking care of them and helping out.


Ree is also a girl in that she is always annoyed with her hair.  (Well, maybe this doesn't apply to all women, but it certainly applies to me at times.)  On Saturday night, while I was washing her hair, I noticed the hair over her left ear looked a bit short.  I figured her bangs were just messed up.  As I brushed her hair after her bath, I realized that part of her head was clearly reminiscent of the Joan Jett shag she sported for the first day of preschool last year after the wackadoo hairstylist went to town on her hair.  So I asked her if she had cut her hair.  She said, "Yes."  I asked her why.  It was too long.  I asked her if she threw away the hair she cut off.  She said it was all in her trashcan.  (I later checked and it was.  The scissors were neatly put away too.)  I never got upset, because I figured there was no point.  It hadn't even occurred to her that cutting her own hair was wrong.  So I told her that maybe next time she should tell me and I could cut her hair or we could take her to get her hair cut.  After all, it probably isn't safe to cut your own hair (and I hoped she never witnessed me doing it!) what with the scissors around your face and all.  I briefly contemplated taking her to get her hair cut to even it out, but it's too dang short.  She is just sporting a crazy punk 'do and she seems okay with it.  I'm sure she would be a hit with the 15-year-old emo crowd.

Ree also has an insanely practical sense about her.  When we go to the grocery store, she is always allowed a treat, and I am lucky in that my daughter considers Disney Princess Campbell's soup or Goldfish crackers to be a treat.  A couple weeks ago she was looking for a big treat.  She asked if she could get fruit snacks, but she added, "Are they on sale and do you have a coupon?"  I smiled.  I could remember asking the exact same question at her age.

More of her practicality came out tonight.  As we were cleaning her room she noticed a label on the lid to a large Rubbermaid storage container.  It was a warning that babies shouldn't play in the container, and she wanted to know what it meant.  That's when she proudly expressed that's why she keeps the baby gate to her room shut - so babies like her brothers can't get in there and get hurt.  As excited as she is about the new baby, the one thing we hadn't told her yet was it means she's going to have to share a room.  I figured it was time to break the news, and I told her that when the baby got a little bigger she would also sleep in Ree's room.  Silence.  An odd look on her face.  Anger?  Fear?  Frustration?  Then she proclaimed, "Wellll, when she's a little baby, she can sleep in my [doll's] pack-and-play," and she proceeded to start cleaning the stuffed animals out of it.  Love her!

Love

There is something so endearing about the first time you hear your child say, "I love you."  Ree doesn't say it regularly, and so it still melts my heart whenever she says it to me.  Tonight, as I was tucking the boys into bed, Michael said it for the first time ever.  To his baseball glove.  At least it was sincere.

Underachiever and proud?

When I came home from my road trip for work, Michael's new talent was counting to ten.  He had been working on it before I left.  At night I would hear him practicing in bed, although the only real words I could make out were "Eight, nine, TEN.  Yay!" which he repeated over and over.  But upon my return, he proudly counted, "One, two, fee, fo' five, six, se-ben, eight, nine, ten."  Apparently it was such second nature he no longer had to cheer at the end.

Michael also surprised me last week by proving he knew the whole alphabet in both upper and lower case.  I guess the TV junkie does absorb something from watching "Ree show" on PBS (and I think Jeff might put in an awful lot of time too).

It's a good thing he has some book smarts, because the child is lacking in common sense.  Another "trick" he learned while I was gone was to make himself fall down and then say "OW!"  He did this a lot that first week I was back.  By last week he had moved on to bashing his forehead into walls, then pointing at the wall and saying, "Wall ouch."  At least he's moving on to multi-word sentences as a result.  Um, yeah.

Everyday Miracles

Every now and then you witness a little miracle.  I really thought I was witnessing one this morning.  I woke up at 6:30 to The Sound of My Alarm.  This might not strike anyone as notable, but it's been a long, long time since I heard it.  I typically wake up to Michael's morning moans, and I occasionally wake up a few minutes before the morning fun begins.  But the most remarkable parts of my waking, and what I thought was miraculous, was that not only was no one moaning, but it wasn't raining.  After a LONG dry spell, it started raining last night.  (Jeff finally got out the hose and soaked the azaleas yesterday afternoon.  After that, the rain was inevitable.)  It rained all night, and it was a really, really hard rain.  But when I woke up, it was silent.  I had just enough time to process this and think, "Wow!  I'm going to get to work on time, and maybe a little early," when Michael started crying.  And the rain started again.  Doh.

But this afternoon, I did witness a miracle, at least one based on my very low and desperate standards.  I stayed home from work due to both Jeff and me having a mild stomach bug, which was probably the result of Ree bringing home germies from school and the stress of last week.  Jeff and I decided to nap in shifts, and while he was napping, Ree asked me to play in her room.  Again, this doesn't sound like a big deal, but I was holding Michael at the time she asked.  The boys are NOT ALLOWED in her room.  Last year she requested a baby gate for her door to keep the boys out when we told her she was not allowed to play behind closed doors.  She frequently runs in there and slams the gate to ensure her toys go unharmed (unless she happens to step on them since she always has every toy she owns out at once). Her room is sacred.  And, besides, she has never really liked her brothers.

I told her that I could only play if Michael could come in too.  I also gave her the option of bringing her paper dolls out to the living room where Michael could play too.  She shocked me by saying that Michael could come in, and she even suggested activities for him.  We all played in there for awhile, and then Leon woke up from his nap.  I figured the fun was over.  Without his brother's influence, Michael is a pretty calm child.  Plus he was respectful so that he didn't get kicked out of his sister's Mecca.  But Leon is a whole other story.  So I asked if Leon could play too, and Ree said yes, and I said that I would have to go if things got too crazy.

It turns out, Leon was respectful too, and the boys magically did not encourage each other to do crazy things.  Leon was delighted to "cook" with all of Ree's play food (the boys have a much more limited selection with their toys).  Michael was bug-eyed at the thought of all the books in her closet.  Both Leon and Michael enjoyed playing with all her musical instruments.  All three kids managed to play together for an hour and a half, and they only stopped them when I offered them snacks.  In the end, the room was trashed, but the 90 minutes of peace was miraculous.

Monday

So I am surviving life without children.  For the first day I definitely felt...naked.  There were no little monkeys clinging to me.  I also felt a bit lonely.  As Ree pointed out the other night, we have seven people in our family (dogs included).  And we have an eighth member on the way.  It was weird being (almost) alone in my hotel room the other night.  I did tell the little bambina goodnight, just in case she was listening.  She has been super hyper during most of my training sessions.  I don't know if she is that fascinated by auditing or begging me to find her something more interesting to eavesdrop on. 

The weirdest part of this experience for me was figuring out where to sleep.  I have my own hotel room, and it has two double beds.  For the past four years, I've never traveled alone.  So when I've traveled, one bed has been the changing table and luggage storage rack.  I sleep in the other bed on the side closest to the pack-and-play(s).  It was weird to actually CHOOSE a place to sleep.  The pressure!  I settled for a spot directly in front of the massive flat-screen TV, just in case I got the urge to watch a little late-night TLC.  (My only vice channel they have in the hotel cable lineup.)

In case you are curious as to what I am doing, I am at the annual conference for the Association of College and University Auditors.  No wonder the bambina is bored!  In case you were wondering what a room full of said nerds looks like, here is a picture of us listening to a motivational speaker.  Do we look like we are energized and ready to take on the world or what?  Bonus points if you can find me.  (Hint:  It's not that hard.)

So, um, yeah.  The three of us from my office were some of the last to arrive for this session, so we were stuck sitting in the front.  We were late because we were talking. (For those of you who know me well, I know you are shocked!)  My boss and I got caught by the group photographer gossiping a bit later during the speech.

This group is actually pretty fun.  And like any good group of accountants, they keep the alcohol flowing at social events to ensure all members are, um, fun.  One of these years I am going to remember to not be pregnant or nursing.  One of these years!  Last night we took a dinner cruise along the harbor here in Baltimore.  Here's our lovely vessel.

 

Just kidding.  But I had to throw in a cell phone pic somewhere (the other pics are all from the group photographer and are far too high quality in my opinion).  And wouldn't it be cool to eat dinner on a sailboat like that?  After we took our cruise for our honeymoon, I found out there are actually cruises for small groups on sailboats like that.  I think that would be amazing.  I will also add that to my "Someday, really!" list.

So anyways, this is the ship we were actually on.  

It was a dinner cruise, and we ate dinner and, well, we cruised.  It was fun.  And the alcohol flowed.  I stuck to being the crazy dancing (sober) pregnant girl.  Sorry that there are no photos of that.  But we have a dinner dance tomorrow night.  Plenty of time for someone to capture the madness.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

I will never understand the boys' relationship.  How could I?  I will never be a twin anymore than either of them will ever know life as a singleton.  Not to mention I will never be a boy any more than they will ever be a girl (well, most likely...).  But they are certainly fun to watch, if challenging at times. 

For lack of comparison, watching them is like watching any set of brothers, except they are shrunken down to 21-month-old size.

They have always been jealous of each other.  Back when they were only four or five months old (or less, it's hard to remember since that was a LONG time and a lot of brain cells ago), they were already getting upset when I held the other.  At that point it was just, "But that's MY mom."  It didn't take long, however, for them to get jealous of each other.  The two redefine FAIR.  By golly, everything has to be fair from the number of beans on each plate to the time spent hugging them.

And, of course, since life isn't completely fair, they spent lots of time beating each other up.  On more than one occasion, Leon has come to us, tears streaming down his face, bite marks in his arm.  And sadly our first question is usually, "And what did you do to make Michael bite you?"  Almost every time it turns out that Leon has stolen whatever Michael was playing with, and Michael defended himself by fighting dirty since he is not as fierce as his freakishly strong, big little brother.

There is also the unintentional comedy.  Tonight before their baths, Michael was wandering around the bathroom in his diaper while I was getting Leon undressed.  Poor Leon was laying their innocently on his back when Michael got an urge to practice his words for body parts.  He walked right up to Leon, announced, "Eyes!" and proceeded to jab his brother in both eyes.  I suppose I should've calmly told Michael that yes, those are eyes, but perhaps we shouldn't gouge other people's, but I was really concentrating on not laughing hysterically.  It was such classic Stooges.

In the end, though, they have each other's backs.  Whenever Leon wants juice, he goes to the cabinet, takes out two cups, and brings them to me.  Once they are filled, he gives one to Michael, whether Michael wants it or not.  And Michael looks out for Leon too.  The other day while they were coloring, I told Michael he was doing a good job.  Rather than beaming at the praise, he immediately started pointing to Leon's page and saying "Leon!  Leon!"  He wanted to make sure I recognized Leon's hard work too.  If that's not love, at least from a toddler boy, I don't know what is.

Last Week

Sunday night always creeps up on me.  One minute it's Thursday night or Friday morning, and the next thing I know, it's Sunday night, the kids are in bed, I have a ton to do to get ready for Monday, and my to-do list for the weekend is virtually untouched.  This weekend was no exception.  So really, right now, I should be sleeping.  And if I stay up, I should be studying for a certification exam I'm taking for work in December because it's not cheap to take and it's all new material that I need to learn.  Or I should be ironing my clothes for work because I know my coworkers are already sick of seeing me in the same wrinkled maternity clothes week after week.  But I really don't feel like it.

And plus, this weekend wasn't a total loss.  I cleaned our bathroom, at least to the point that it no longer looks like it belongs in a house inhabited by a sizable number of college-aged males.  I even showered, which doesn't always happen, especially on the weekends.  And most importantly, to use a phrase from the first year or so of the boys' life, we managed to sustain life.  As far as I know, we took care of everyone's nutritional and bathroom needs this weekend, and we even threw in a few hugs for good measure.  Is that fabulous parenting, or what?  (Don't answer.) 

So that being said, instead of getting all those things done, I'm doing something I shouldn't do.  I'm sitting on the couch, farting around on the computer.  And to make it worse, I'm going to take it a step further and post some pictures of the week, even though I know better than to put both my children's pictures and names out there for the world to see.  Here's hoping I don't get caught.

Last weekend we made blueberry muffins.  My baking staff has grown.

I have no idea what they were watching, but those are some serious TV zombies.  The kids were having a bad morning today, and at some point I caught each of them chanting "TV, TV, TV."  It was both amusing and creepy.

Ree headed back to preschool this week.  It was her first week at her new preschool.  I like the new school because it is Montessori-style, they get to eat real food for snacks and lunch (her preschool last year was heavy on packaged food due to convenience and food allergies), and they make authentic, child-created art (last year was also heavy on the teacher-prepared, kids-glue-it-together-just-like-the- example art).  The verdict is still out whether Ree agrees with me that this is better.

Ree did get to bring home Blackie Midnite this week.  This stuffed animal is the class "pet" and the kids get to take turns caring for him for the night.  Each child also takes home a journal where they record what they did with Blackie Midnite.  At our house, he had a sleepover with some of the other "pets," but Ree's journal entry was mostly about Abby Cadabby.  Poor Blackie was a total afterthought.

Michael joined us in making banana muffins this weekend.  Although he looks halfway engaged in the picture, he was not much of a fan of the whole cooking process.

I caught all three kids playing together (well, sorta) in the sandbox.

Ree may have been born in Athens, but Leon definitely looks the most like a crazy, hippie kid.  Check out the hair and the sandals with knit pants.

I found a recipe for edible homemade Play-Doh.  You would never guess it from this photo, but Michael HATED the whole process.  Except for maybe eating the dough.  The other two really liked making it and playing with the dough.  And they thankfully didn't eat much of it.

Pru was an unfortunate victim of the Play-Doh making mayhem.  She was covered in flour by the end of the process, and not very happy with that fact.