Old Faithfull

It's been a while since A) I've gotten 'compose' to work and B) since Squareboy truly surprised me with his ability to discombulate me. Let's see if A) works while I tell you about B).

Friday night, and again, it's been awhile since A) has worked so I'm starting fairly recently and everything inbetween can best be guessed, I broke down and went to Cheapalot. It being the week before Christmas, and the week we moved, and the week love-of-my-life was gone, I felt the need to take Squareboy and daughter. For bonding time. I also took Eldest and the Girlfriend, yes a new character, primarily because I felt uncomfortable leaving them alone under just the supervision of Middle Child and Number Two. Hickies, you see, are also new characters to my neverending saga. Sigh.

Anyway, as I should've known, the day before Christmas Eve, Cheapalot was packed. Wow. Really, really packed. But I needed some crab for the crab cocktail, some jalapeno jelly for the h'orsdeuvres, some cream for the bavarois, etc. etc. By the time I fought my way through the masses for each ingredient, save the jalapeno jelly, which, oddly, Cheapalot carries but was inconveniently out of, I felt I deserved the treat of an ice-cold, full-price, right-by-the-cashier, coke. That first sip went down soooooooo smooth. Soooo cool, so perfect. The second sip just about hit the ceiling.

Squareboy jumped on me right as I took that second sip. The bottle, plastic but hard, split my lip. Coke hit me in the eye. In the hair. Geyser up about 20 feet, seriously, not exaggerating. My red Christmas sweater got soaked, a puddle appeared at my feet and the poor newborn baby in front of us got his first taste of coke. I don't think I have ever, ever been more mortified in public. I felt every eye in Cheapalot turn to me, every brain thinking the same thought "how will she punish that boy." And in that lay the real issue.

How do you properly punish a child who made a grievous error in public? Whip of the belt and beat him in public? I felt like it, what with a split lip and coke dripping from my hair and eyelashes. A serious cursing? I felt like that too, except the moment had truly taken my breath, and hence my words, away long enough to forget to curse and collect my thoughts. I had one of two choices really: laugh or cry. I turned to the Eldest and told him to take Squareboy to the car. Now.

Three seconds after they left I made eye contact with another customer and then with the Girlfriend and I choose option One. I laughed. Of course I apologize profusely, to everyone around me, the cashier, the parents of the newborn baby, the Girlfriend. And I frantically mopped up as much coke as I could with the remaining dry spots on my sweater and my jacket until the cashier rescued me with paper towels. The most impressive part? The very next day the Girlfriend came back for another visit anyway.

Instructions

About once a week I take a nice, hot bath. I fill 'er on up, grab a good book & lay on down. I put my ears under the water & tune out my world and become absorbed in someone else's world. This is what I was doing when daughter came bursting in, breathing heavily, throwing the curtain aside with such force three of the holes came out of the rings. I zoomed up, got the book wet & overflowed the bathtub as if I were Keiko splashing a crowd.

"He's really bleeding! ALL down his leg!" Followed by more, totally exaggerated, heavy breathing. Turns out eldest hurt his leg. Also turns out he's still breathing. I tell her I'm not getting out of the bath until I'm done w/my chapter. She looks at me, announces that she can handle it... and runs off again. If I were to run everywhere the way she does I'd be 105 lbs in no time. I wonder why she doesn't sleep more?

I have the baby again this morning, it was her brothers first day of school and Paw-Paw is still struggling getting three kids into carseats, and then out again to walk them to their classrooms. I said I'd take her, I just drop squareboy off so it's not in-n-out of carseats quite so much. Then he sheepishly asked if he could swing by the archery shop. Not a problem for me the baby is the easiest baby ever, leave her longer. I picked her up at 7:30 this morning and she was bathed, fed, freshly diapered, happy and gurgling. My respect for these two men raising these three small children keeps rising.

Daughter still finds the baby annoying. She's watching her "shows", including this new Peppa Pig show that is more annoying than Caillou. Seriously. Baby is rolling around on her blankie and coo'ing. Daughter stomps over; "I can hear her. I have ears you know. Anything you can do about that." Um, no. The baby is making happy noises, nothing to be done. I appease daughter by promising to make lemon bars during baby's nap. This works for about two minutes. Then she's back to the "she's so annoying" routine.

I'm seriously worried I've spoiled her too much. Loved her too much? Knowing she's my last baby. I don't remember the brothers being quite this jealous around new babies. Maybe it's a girl thing and I'm doing everything right. Urgh, kids need to come with instructions and a crystal ball.

The baby came with instructions. Paw-paw said so. The dad had been eating a bowl of cereal and the baby tried so hard to grab his spoon and get a bite. That little mouth opened and closed over & over just like a baby bird's, but all we had to offer her was a bottle. So I asked Paw-paw when I can start feeding her rice cereal. He promptly answered "at 6 months. She came with instructions." Apparently the instructions run out at a year. This worries him some.

Stupid.

Daughter called me stupid. I asked her "What did you say?" she looked me straight in the eye and said "I called you stupid." I didn't know if I should be happy that she had the confidence to stand by the power of her convictions at the risk of adverse consequences, upset that my baby called me stupid, or angry that she was using inappropriate language. I choose to threaten that should she say stupid again she was getting a time out on her bed. She looked at me as if I was stupid, flipped her hair and flounced away.

There, that is out of the way. I had all these warm & fuzzy feelings towards my kids last night and this morning and that "stupid", no matter how minor it is to so many, was sticking to my mind. Now it's out and I feel better. Really. Yesterday was a good day. Quiet, no chores, relaxing kind of day. The dad was home, his one day this week, his one day before leaving for a week. The boys were all home. The kind of day I dreamed of when I dreamed of having a family. I ran errands with eldest, daughter and Ms. J. , she's a trooper doing remarkably well after saying goodbye to her husband for a year. We came home just in time for me to make dinner and the dad, boys and daughter went out front to play football. There are some definite upsides to living in an apartment community. One of the best being that there are always enough players for any last minute game... football/hide-n-seek/tag/manhunt/etc.

After a quick dinner the boys ran out again for more football, the dad sat down to paint his warhammer guys. I got squareboy & daughter ready for a night swim so they'd sleep better. I've found swimming to be a better part of the bedtime routine than a bedtime story. We were at the pool all of two minutes before the football players jumped in too

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

"Can you watch me" *splash*

No one waited to hear if I would watch them, the rule being that anyone under 18 needs an adult to watch them. They all assumed I would watch them, which is true... the more the merrier. Poor daughter was once again surrounded by boys. I hope this stops before she's teenager. Think I can get squareboy out the door and into college early?

We had an hour and a half of splashing, screaming and fun. Me winding up in the water in my jeans and tee's. Beats me why I thought I could get away with sitting on the sidelines and playing lifeguard without a swimsuit. I thanked God that I didn't live in one of the apartments overlooking the pool. Man we are l-o-u-d. Once again I wondered why no one ever complains about the noise we make. Our next door neighbor had come out to play football with the boys and then swim, I asked him why. He's under the impression that he, his wife, their daughter and baby son make as much noise as the 7 of us. Hokay. I let him think that.

Daughter and squareboy fell asleep immediately after swimming, much faster than after a story. Try it. Middle child and number two sat down to paint their warhammer guys with the dad, eldest got on my bed with me and we watched an incredibly cheesey late-night horror movie on the SciFi channel. Who knew that a love of cheesey late-night horror movie's is genetic?

553, 27, 11

I got an "A" in anatomy & physiology. Yet I am wondering exactly how many muscles I have in my shoulders, neck, back, arms, body. It feels like I have 553 in my right arm & shoulder alone. It hurts to hug even daughter, all whopping 27 pounds of her. Unfortunately they are all interested in hugs. Maybe because they missed me yesterday (11 hours of work!), maybe because they know I hurt so they are hugging me because they are secretly sadistic torturers.

I mentioned I was hurting, very early this morning, while I was trying to get out of bed, I had to pee. Daughter was tucked in tight, hum0ngous heavy head on my arm, on my right and squareboy was at my left zuburting my stomach making my need to pee even greater. I explained that, while I love them, they needed to STOP. "Why?" they asked in unison. I'm thinking I'm too soft on them. Still, true to my parenting style, I explain about how muscles lose their strength when all you do is cook, laundry, mop, sweep, vacuum, pick-up and hug. And then they hurt when you go back to work moving fine china (fine!?! my a-money-money. that stuff is heavy as hell) and crystal. Daughters head stayed on the 553 muscles of my right arm, squareboy zuburted my stomach again. I need to find a new parenting style.

Luckily the dad got up (probably something to do with me yelling STOP) and made me coffee. They paraded after him squawking like newly-hatched chicks. Hungry. Feed us. Thirsty. Juice. Milk. I rolled over & dangled my legs over the side of the bed & finally got up to pee. Aaaaaaaaaah. By the time I hobbled out of the bathroom (having discovered 392 new muscles in my legs & feet) he met me at the couch w/a fresh, hot cup of absolutely perfect Peet's coffee.

Occasionally I have a funny story to relate that has nothing to do with my kids. Just with me. Yesterday, on my dinner/lunch break from work, I came home made some Peet's and was running out the door, drinking the Peet's, running instructions by the sitter and the coffee went up my nose and out my right nostril. In a very long stream. I bent over trying to keep the coffeesnot off my snowwhite workshirt and let it waterfall all over my not-so-snowwhite carpet. The sitter was very alarmed "Are you all right Ma'am?" Once he realized I was all right and what had happened, he burst out laughing. I had fulfilled my daily mission to inadvertently spread happiness wherever I go.

Back to today, one of my pet peeves is sitting on the couch while one of my children bounces on it and I wind up wearing my coffee. As of this morning I have a new pet peeve. Daughter jumped in my lap, did some twisty-thing w/her body and dipped her hair in my coffee, spun her head (think Exorcist) and flicked coffee everywhere. Thank God we live in an apartment and not our own home. These kids are destructive.

Oh! Have I mentioned that somehow, magically, there is applesauce on the ceiling?

Toupé

Squareboy has a big neck. I washed his Angus Young get-up last night and this morning we both struggled to get the slightly shrunk dress shirt buttoned-up to the top button. I apologized and told him I would move the button over the weekend. He panicked and informed me that was against school rules. I explained I was only moving it half a centimeter to the right, so he could breath better. He panicked some more. I volunteered to clear it with his teacher. He continued panicking. I lied and told him it wasn't moving. Crap. Now I have to wait until I know he is sleeping to move the dang button.

Coming home from Catholic school a lady was walking an adorable pug in front of our apartment. Daughter and I stopped her and asked to pet him. It was a nice little two minute visit. Afterwards we walked into the apartment chatting about dogs. I said I liked black & white dogs best. She said she liked pink dogs best. I said they didn't have pink dogs. She said "Awww man!" And the lady, who wasn't much further away, laughed out loud. I choose to think we spread happiness wherever we go.

This is true even in our less than stellar moments. We have these a lot. Yesterday's winner was at daughters back-to-school night. The dad worked late so it was just me, her and squareboy (big boys playing in a tournament down the street). I even remembered to bring squareboy a snack. To no avail. Good behavior out the door, both of them wild, ill-mannered, whining and not listening. I gave them a little bit of free reign prior to the meeting praying it would calm them down enough so I can sit through the announcements & figure out what it is daughter will be learning this year. The principal calls the group to attention. Everyone sits, turns a quiet listening ear, and watches daughter do a stage dive right behind the principals back.

The whole flippin' gym ("a small gym" middle child consoled me later) laughs! The principal keeps his cool and sternly scolds daughter. What he says I have no idea. I'm blushing so hard the blood is pounding in my ears. Doesn't really matter, daughter seems to take no heed as she skips back to me, sits on the chair next to me with her feet over the top of the seat and her head dangling off the other end. That was the first five minutes. I'll leave you to imagine the other 40.

I am now going to impart a little piece of wisdom... do not start a new job at the same time as the kids go back to school. It's a bad idea. I came home exhausted last night after my first 8-hr shift, football practice for middle child, gamestore tournament for the big boys, and back to school night for daughter. So of course I zoned out for 15 minutes in front of my computer. Daughter has to go and chooses my bathroom, chatting away at me while I'm desperately trying to tune her out. She realizes this "HEY! MOM! I growed up." It does get my attention. "I got hair on my butt" two second pause "but mine comes off."

I'm rolling. The dad heard her from the other room, so did eldest and number two, and they are almost hysterical. Maybe it was the tone, the pride in finally having hair down there, maybe it was that hers was a toupé. No matter, it was just what I needed to get my final wind last night & get everything else done.

goodbye's

Today's blog is going to be short. I am feeling sad, our friend Mr. F. (also mentioned in A-Money-Money) stopped by the apartment this morning as I was on my way out the door to work. He came to say goodbye.

Goodbye for a whole, long, long, long year. I realize this is not as big a deal for me as it is for his wife, but I am sad anyway. We spent five long, long, long years in Minnesota and made one friend. We were barely here and made tons of friends... and out of those tons of friends I feel closest to Mr. F and his wife.

While it is fantastic to live in a military town, military people know how to make friends fast LOL, it is also true that goodbye's are a fact of life. I can handle the making friends part, it's a little tougher to learn to say goodbye easily. At least I didn't cry this morning, and hopefully I didn't hug him embarrassingly long or tight. Or maybe I did, and that is okay.

My prayers will be with him and his unit, not just for their physical safety but for their emotional well-being. And for the well-being of their loved ones left behind. Sometimes I feel I am one of the few who truly support the hard work our soldiers are performing overseas. I don't understand why people are against this war. Let alone why they feel the need to be nasty to those of us serving in the military, or governing our country. I cherish this country, my freedom, my right to say what I feel without fear of reprecussion.

I also believe the rest of the world deserves these freedoms and rights. I don't believe we, the US and our Allies, should be alone in this endeavor, I think everyone should pitch in. I admit it is a tough balance, the one between fairness and bullying, but if it obtains the freedom of just one starfish... I believe it is worth it.

So thank you Mr. F. May God watch over you and return you to us safe and sound. I love you.

HOME!

I saved this catch-up blog for last, though in the scheme of things it should've gone first. Last Saturday, after the longest summer ever, the boys flew home. I was a PITA all day. I threw up my morning coffee. I called my parents, I called the dad's parents, I called eldest (he has a cell phone, spoiled kid), I was a pest. I had two windows open on my desktop, both set to Southwest Airlines, one for the flight(s) squareboy & eldest were on from CA and one for the flight(s) number two and middle child were on from NM.

Panic settled in my stomach the minute I popped up window number two. The second plane transporting number two and middle child had delays. And their stopover was in Chicago no less! Nothing against Chicago but that is a horrific airport to lose two kids in. And Southwest Airlines does not do escorts for kids over 12! Personally I think that's completely nuts. Daughter, the dad and I wound up leaving the house for the airport before number two and middle child had even boarded their second plane. We had no choice, eldest and squareboy were landing in an hour and a half. Until my dad called, he happily refreshing his screen in California tracking the flights on Southwest Airlines for me, to tell me that number two and middle child were in the air, I sat next to the dad fists clenched, teeth clenched, throat clenched, trying not to throw up from worry.

Once I knew the boys were airbound, I lightened up and starting happily anticipating their return. I bounced in my seat, think squareboyesque energy, pointing out the way to the dad. I bounded from the car, urging him and daughter to "hurry, hurry!" and practically shoved all the other anxious parents, relatives and friends out of the way to get the first spot by the passenger exit. And waited. And waited. And heard my cell phone ring. Missed the call, but got a voicemail. From eldest. He was in baggage... um, I was in baggage. Raleigh is not a big city, not a big airport. Where were eldest and squareboy!?!?!

The dad started laughing. A-Money-Money. "Honey? What airline did they fly with?" Southwest, A-Money-Money. Apparently, while not a big airport, RDU does have two terminals. And Southwest Airlines' baggage claim was in the other terminal. Great. Just great. Ever see me run? I got big boobs. I made peoples night. I got to the other terminal and there were squareboy and eldest! Thank God squareboy ran into my arms and hugged & kissed me like no tomorrow, because THE MAN eldest has become was busy being cool. I got a head nod and a "hey".

Still, I swear I saw a twinkle in his eye and smile at the corners of his mouth that oozed happiness to be home. Both boys starting unzipping zippers and unsnapping snaps on bags & backpacks almost immediately. "Look. Look. Look." New toys, for daughter too, Peet's Coffee for me, etc. etc. Just lovely to have all their stuff unpacked all over the airport. We took up enough room for a family twice our size and we weren't even all together yet.

Squareboy and daughter started showing each other who could do the best flips on the hard, vinyl, dirty airport floor. Followed by racing matchbox cars and trying to trip every other person there. That no one broke a leg over them, or one of the cars, is still amazing me four days later. Luckily number two and middle child's pilot picked up some lost time and they wound up flying in only 45 minutes late. Squareboy and I ran to the passenger exit to greet them. Daughter, the dad and eldest guarding the stuff and trying to repack the unpacked mess... quick aside, while the stuff unpacked real quick at the airport, here, today, the bags are still packed and parked in the living room. Hmmmmm.

Squareboy hid behind a 1X2 pole holding up a big Stop Passengers Only sign. Then he was mad when number two and middle child didn't immediately spot him hiding there. Sometimes you just can't win with him. Neither number two or middle child had turned into men who are embarassed to hug & kiss their mom in front of an audience. Woooooohooooooooo! I hugged & kissed away. Sadly, middle child had also outgrown me over the summer. Only squareboy and daughter are now shorter than me.

It took an hour and a half to drive home. It was the fastest hour and a half ever. All four boys told stories at once. The noise in the car was fantastic! Daughter tried to talk too and was drowned out. She gave up and fell asleep. Eldest had gotten a new cell phone with cool ringtones and flashing ringlights. He played every ring for us while number two relayed the whole plotline of War of the Worlds. Squareboy and middle child happily discussed gameboy strategies and I just soaked it all up.

My boys are home.

I Am A Robot

Squareboy, daughter and I made it to the doctors office with a plan. The second we walked into the office the plan flew out the other door. Daughter was distraught to see another girl riding on her rocking elephant. Squareboy insisted our deal was good for in the presence of the doctor only, the rest of the time he was free to whine and fling his body all over the waiting room. Peachy.

I don't know if the staff hoped we'd just leave or if they were popping valium in the back getting ready for us, but we waited for an hour before we were finally seen. Squareboy getting increasingly lower blood sugar while my blood was reaching the boiling point. Once in the 2X4 cell in the back, without any valium in sight, we waited some more. Daughter raided the doctors supplies "but the brothers need stuff so they know I didn't forget about them at the doctors." Yeah, that's it, a bunch of bandaids, alcohol wipes and tongue depressors will thrill three teenage boys.

Squareboy rolled around on the floor some more. At least this time away from the disapproving eyes of the rest of the waiting room. Amazingly, when the doctor did walk in still 10 minutes later, with an apology no less, both kids snapped to and had decent behavior. Squareboy followed directions perfectly, albeit a little too enthusiastically while breathing for the stethoscope, and the doctor declared him a healthy boy. Daughter hopped right up for her turn and also did super. However. While doing the neuro-check/spine-check she was asked to walk the length of the room, which she did fine, and to walk back. She walked back to the doctor like a robot. Marching stiff & straight, arms swinging without a bend at the elbow, chanting "I am a robot." Our very serious, very quiet, doctor actually burst out into a laugh.

After that it was a free-for-all. I can't say they misbehaved, but the angelic behavior did go out the door. Mostly, after the robot moment, they were frogs. Leapfrogging over each other in the 2X4 space while the doctor and I discussed nutrition, developmental milestones, Squareboys still-too-red scar, and my enthusiasm at the start of the school year... which this year includes full days for all five kids.

While he praised me for my patience! Doc was also able to celebrate my ability to foist all the kids off on teachers. Yeah me!

Angus Young

Aaack! Seven days later! The worst part is, it's all bursting out of the seams of my brain. One warning about blogging, once you start it easily becomes an obsession. I've been walking around, sitting, sleeping, composing blogs. By now I've lost at least 5 good ones. Dammit that was so not my intention when I started this. Hopefully, once the big boys start school tomorrow, life will slow down enough for me and my three morning cups of coffee to return to the blogging life.

I ended the last blog prematurely... work. Yep, I got a job. A lot of the response I got from friends & neighbors was either a stunned expression or a verbal "You're nuts!" While that may be true, it has nothing to do with getting a job. A job will actually keep me saner than spending 24/7 at home. Besides, all the kids are in school this year. Even daughter, all-day preschool no less. I don't know who is more excited, me, her or the dad. Since we got home from summer vacation she has dressed for "church school" every day. Backpack, dress, teeth sparkly, hair brushed; "let's go mamma."

It was especially bad this past Monday. Squareboy started Catholic school two weeks before daughter. It's the same school, their classes separated by two doors, but he started earlier. Despite his jet lag, which I'll mention in the next blog even though it really should go first, Squareboy jumped out of bed, blinked his eyes at cartoons, shoveled a bowl of cereal in, and put on his Angus Young get-up. Can I just say I am so bummed I cleaned and organized the house and I can't find the memory card to my camera anywhere?

With most kids getting them to wear a tie would be a headache, with Squareboy the headache came because there was no jacket (read blazer) to go with the shirt and tie. The kid's a born Catholic. He also had to wear the "Sunday" shoes, ie, the shiny black shoes not the everyday nonshiny black shoes. He went to school without a protest, for the first time since his school career, proud as a peacock. When I picked him up he was still a happy camper and his teacher beckoned me over, making my heart skip a beat, and told me "It is just wonderful to have such a lovely boy in my class." Squareboy.

A-Money-Money

I know I said this would be about jetlag, so I lied. Yesterday was a very long day. It started the day before, Squareboys first day of school, my first day getting up before 8:00 a.m. in a very long time. Daughter is a big fan of sleeping in. But Squareboy and I got up early & he got off to school. That was followed by two extra's coming over for the day while their Mom went to set up her classroom, she's a teacher, and me going to work for three hours to train while eldest watched daughter, two of his brothers and the extra two. When I finally got home with Squareboy, home from school, I was already tired.

However, it was cake time, and, frankly, I wasn't in the mood for my kids to finish off the cake I'd made to celebrate number two's birthday. So I went and got the baby & her two brothers. Those of you keeping track, that's now 10 kids in my 8X14 living room. And I fed all 10 cake. With chocolate frosting. Okay, the baby just got a teeny-tiny taste so we had some entertainment after the candles were blown out. Anyway, by the time that was all done. All extras home. Dinner served. Uniform washed. Our friends came over & begged me and the dad to go out for a late dinner and beer. Exhausted as I was I accepted, heck when someone is deploying for a year the least I can do is share his last beer with him. Right?

Back to the point of the story. I did mention my brain has been bursting at the seams trying to get all this out? This was about yesterday, not Monday. I woke up tired, went through the routine with Squareboy and then in to work for five hours. Rushed home, shoved a sandwich in, picked up Squareboy and took him and daughter for their annual physicals. I forgot a snack for Squareboy. He gets low blood sugar or something and he was a pain in the A-Money-Money.

A-Money-Money is Ass. I found this out trying to find another way to bribe Squareboy into good behavior at the Doctors since I was out of food. He wanted a new PS2 game. He's recently discovered video games & is fast on his way to addiction. He wants Up Your Arsenal, Aka Ratchet & Clank 3. Then he wanted to know if I knew what that meant. I thought he seriously didn't know what Arsenal meant and went into a long explanation and definition of the word. He patiently, extremely patiently for low blood sugar, listened to me ramble and then said "Noooo, ARSEnal. Get it?" Looking at me serious and expectantly. So I said "you mean Arse as in Ass" and he laughed and congratulated me for getting that it was A-Money-Money. He's not allowed to swear or spell swear words.

Scooby Doo

I'm sitting at the computer, reading my morning blogs, and I hear a sleepy voice behind me. Daughter is awake and telling me about her dreams. This time she dreamed about Scooby Doo and Velma. I'm imagining a dream scene the way Roger Rabbit was filmed and I'm amazed that at four she's having ground-breaking dreams. Maybe she'll be a cinematic genius someday.

I hop into bed with her and she scoots into my arms, all warm and cuddly. I love morning moments like this. She is too warm though, her fever is back. For the last couple of days she's complaining about an ear ache. While bouncing on my couch she said "my ear hurts". While standing on her head she said "my ear hurts". While riding her bike she said "my ear hurts". I finally took her in to see the doctor and she was as sweet and charming as she can be. Telling him all about her summer and how she misses her brothers. He looked at me as if to wonder why I brought such a happy, healthy, child in.

Two seconds later, as he looks in her right ear he does a double take. Now he's wondering how such a happy, healthy child can have such a severe ear infection. He puts her on two antibiotics, one oral and one topical, aka ear drops. Then he compliments her on what an adorable sweetie she is. She cocks her head to side, squishes up her faces & gives him her most "adorable" grin. Ham.

We go pick up her drugs at Cheapalot. Cheapalot being my only choice in this town. Daughter is happy we are going to cheapalot and wants a toy. Um, no. We do not buy toys everytime we go. But, but, but "I went to the doctor." she tries. Sorry Charlie, toys after the doctor are only on shot days. No shot, no toy. I let her pick out the tylenol flavor instead. The choices are crazy! Bubblegum, grape, berry, orange. Wow!

Oh! Argh! I've got a job!!! More later.

Fifteen!

Yesterday for the first time I didn't blog. It was bound to happen, no one can get to the 'puter every day. Right? Right?!? Actually, I was on the computer but I just couldn't make the words come out. I was sad. Yesterday was number two's 15th birthday. And I missed it.

I fully understand how blessed my kids are, how blessed we all are, to have grandparents so involved. So loving. Still, this has been a tough couple of weeks as they are whooping it up with the grandparents. Especially missing two of their birthdays. I seriously moped yesterday. I looked through old pictures, luckily daughter was very interested and I had a willing ear to share all the stories that went with the old pictures.

Daughter misses number two very much. She misses all her brothers but sometimes I think she misses number two the mostest. He was the first to hold her. My intention had been for eldest and number two to be at her birth, however when the real contractions hit and I started screaming the godfather took them for ice cream till I got control of myself. Ice cream only took 45 minutes, unfortunately so did labor & birth with daughter and when they came back they'd missed the birth and had a sister!

Number two is notoriously un-coordinated. He has that from me. We both have issues walking down stairs without slipping down one or two, without bumping into a wall, bending a toe under a foot, etc. etc. Yet he was so excited to see the new sister, just one of those whole face-glowing exciteds, so eager to hold her that I wrapped up my precious newborn and put her in his arms. I will remember the look of love on his face as he looked in her eyes that first time the rest of my life.

Then he got up and walked across the room with her. My heart just about stopped seeing my coordination king marching my newborn away from me. Of course he made it to the rocking chair, he had a goal in mind, just fine but I will also remember that heartstopping terror for the rest of my life.

I called him, to wish him a happy birthday and to just hear his voice. It is still a shock when a man answers the phone and says "Hi mom." Where did my little boy go? His voice is now so deep, so manly, though, thank God, he still likes "guys". I don't know what I'll do when he doesn't like "guys" anymore. Then again, his dad still has "guys" though now he calls them "collectibles" not "guys". Number two sounded a little forlorn on his birthday. I choose to believe it's because he misses me. He misses the big deal I make about each birthday. He was very excited to hear that next sunday, SIX MORE DAYS, I'm cooking his favorite dinner, baking his favorite cake and celebrating his birthday with him, his brothers, his sister and the dad.

ETA: Hmmmm.... did I spell fifteen right? Spellcheck says yes. But that is the funniest looking word I've seen in a while. Maybe it's just because I want to be in denial that my kids are fifteen? Maybe it's just truly a funny looking word.

The Bucket

I woke up at 8:00 a.m. this morning. Early for a saturday. Daughter waving a very loud, very crinkly package of fruit snacks in my eyes; "Are shrek snacks fruit?" Um, no. The funny thing is she's asking so she can have a bowl of ice cream. Last night I told her she had to eat a fruit or a veggie before she could have a bowl of cookies & cream. She took an apple & came back two minutes later. The apple was "all gone" she had only the stem left to prove it to me. I'm still looking for where she hid the rest of the apple. She's still waiting for a bowl of ice cream.

Four is a funny age. Sometimes I wish I could look in her brain and figure it out a little better than she can explain. Today she's been parading around in her Cinderella dress and her "hooker" shoes. Hooker shoes are really just plastic dress up shoes w/heels. So named because Santa gave her a pair the Christmas she was two. The dad didn't know that Santa had bought these shoes and when daughter unwrapped them he burst out laughing that she had gotten "hooker shoes". Great. The name stuck. The weird part, today, is that she's wearing the get-up so she can marry Cody. She and Cody do NOT get along. They are like oil & water, as his dad says. Yet she is insistent on marrying the boy.

Yesterday she insisted on using a bucket for a purse. She raided my wallet while I blogged and took "just the little head money Mamma." Little head money being George Washington on the $1 bill. All the other bills have much bigger heads (Franklin, Jefferson, etc.). I really wonder why our first president has the smallest head. I also wonder why I never noticed it until daughter decided that big head money was much better than little head money. The only reason she took just the little head money this time is because; A) I had more little head money than big head money (so it seemed like more to her), and B) I always yell when she takes my big head money.

Anyway, she stored her three dollars, and one quarter for the gumball machine, in her bucket then dogged me about going to Walmart until I caved. I needed milk anyway. By the way, I hate Walmart so I'm not giving you a link. Walmart sucks. But it's all we have in this backwater town. A huge super Walmart. Pretty much nothing else. Probably because there is a huge super Walmart. Again, Walmart sucks. When we get to Walmart daughter jumps out of the minivan bucket & all. I stop her and tell her she canNOT bring the bucket into Walmart. A fit ensues in the parking lot of Walmart. Hmmm don't like to use that word quite so much. How about Cheapalot? I finally convince daughter that the money will either fall out of the bucket, someone will reach in the bucket and take the money, or the people at Cheapalot will take the bucket back because it is a Cheapalot bucket.

At this point I'm tired already and we haven't even walked the acres of aisles in Cheapalot yet. From past experience I've learned that daughter behaves better if we do her errands first. It doesn't work to promise her a reward in exchange for good behavior, like it did for the boys, she must see the reward in order to reward me. You'd think that by #5 I'd have this child-rearing gig pat. So we shop the toy aisle. She quickly, amazingly quickly, starts recognizing the dollar amounts that are too much for what she has in my wallet, previously in the bucket. We wind up in the $.88 aisle. I happen to know, thanks to my father-in-law, that 88 is a good luck number in Chinese. That's why he prices all his shirts, he makes Tshirts, ending in .88. Daughter picks out a Princess Paddleball, two fake My Little Pony ponies and a mini-slinky. She happily pays ALL BY HERSELF at the check-out counter, we go home and she breaks the paddleball and the mini-slinky in two minutes flat. Then she takes the big head money out of my wallet. Then I yell. Thank God for Friday SciFi night.

Visiting

We have friends. Hard to believe, I know, who would be friends with people with 5 kids? Certainly close to no one in Minnesota. At least, I choose to think that it's because of the 5 kids that we were never invited anywhere, regardless of how many times, how many people, I invited into our home. Turns out all those weenie-Minnesotans really missed out. We went visiting last night.

True, it was just me, the dad and daughter. However we have gone over in the past with all 5. Daughter was in rare form last night. Exacerbated by the fact that Mr. F. immediately pulled out his bag of tricks, not having kids of his own quite yet, and fed daughter fruity-snack-things, a popsicle, a pudding-with-whip-cream-on-top and Ben & Jerry's. Not that she ate every bite, but she got sugared up all the same.

Partially it was that daughter loves getting all the attention from not just two, but four adults. She pulled out her own bag of tricks, saying all the things she thinks are cute:

"Oh man, check out what's-his-face!" About the dog.

"Who do you think you are talking to?" In response to Mr. F.'s question if she wanted whipped cream.

"No way Jose." Several times, sometimes not the right answer.

"Dude, that's mine." To the dog.

"Yeah, I didn't crack my head open!" Upon missing the edge of the wine rack while running past.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing!" Again, to the dog.

"What's your problem?" To the dad. That went over big.

It didn't help that our friends burst out laughing with every little thing she uttered. It just stoked her fires. If I'd had a camera I'd post pictures of her antics, which were funnier than the words coming out of her mouth. Besides a dog our friends have a cat. With the cat comes one of those super-deluxe scratching posts. A scratching post that's really a series of ledges, boxes, etc. halfway to the ceiling. Daughter pretended to be a cat and managed to get all the way up to the top of the scratching post, miauwing loudly while the dog ran circles underneath. By the way, I won that hand of domino's.

The funniest, to me, was when she figured out that Ms. J.'s exercise ball could be used as a trampoline. She placed it between the loveseat and the couch, then jumped from the loveseat to the ball to be bounced, for the most part, onto the couch. I though Mr. F., while 10 years younger than us, was going to have a heart attack. Those of you that don't have young children can't really understand the rubberness of a four-year-old's neck. It can seriously twist two different directions, with the full weight of the body on it, and still be fine. Mr. F., not having a young child, freaked out several times seeing daughter twist on landing. I say it's his own fault for shoving sugar down her throat.

Luckily, or maybe unluckily because at this point I started to lose at our domino's game, her favorite show came on and she parked it on the footstool thingy. We were still interrupted occasionally, primarily because the dog parked it by her feet with his squeaky toy. In order for the squeaky toy to squeak the dog must push on the squeaky toy with both front paws. Why he can't chew on it like a normal dog to produce a squeak is beyond me. Anyway, every time he pushed on his squeaky toy, he'd make her footstool shake, which made it hard for her to watch her favorite show and caused one outburst after another from her directed at the dog (see above for a partial list). He ignored her.

Loosey-Goosey

No more Blue's Clues! Stupid Steve, Joe, whoever. I've gone through a box of 50 white envelopes in the last week. The " We just got a letter" segment has become waaaaaaaay too popular in our household. Though I do take a small share in the blame department. I thought it was cute the first time daughter wrote a letter and wanted to mail it to her Oma. So I put a stamp on it & we mailed it together, regardless of the huge bug on the mailbox. Of course Oma called & ooh'd and aah'd over the letter. Now we are up to, on average, 10 letters a day. My saving grace being: 1) free "stamps" from the local save-the-animals charity, and 2) an understanding mailman about all her illegible, illegally-stamped letters.

Speaking of stupid things. I also hate those stupid rub-on tattoos. Daughter went to the dentist yesterday and the dentist does not hand out lollipops post-visit. Nope, the dentist hands out rub-on tattoos. Which I rubbed-on daughter's arms. One Boots and one Dora The Explorer. Since then, true only yesterday, she will not wear sleeves, won't take a bath and has had one crying fit because Boots' tail was rubbing off. It's been less than 24 hours and I've already vowed to never, ever get rub-on tattoos again. Next time I'll just tell her the dentist is out. Those are stickers.

She did do a fantastic, amazing job at the dentist. She hopped right into the chair and opened her mouth. Wide. Sat still through the whole exam. Unfortunately she does have two, small, sugar cavities on her back two molars. The dentist said fillings were in order because it will be so many years before those fall out & the grown ones move in. Both of us think daughter will sit still for the shot, drill & fill. The dentist is planning to do just one, a quick in & out, to test that theory. I've got my fingers crossed and I'm thinking of lighting a candle the day before. Eldest had a cavity to fill at age four too and it was no fun.

While eldest wasn't a horrible patient, he didn't cooperate quite as well as daughter has so far. His dentist decided to give him some "loosey-goosey" medicine before even attempting the shot, let alone the drill & fill. The medicine did it's job. Eldest was loosey-goosey, giggly-wiggly, flat-out annoying for a whole afternoon. The fill & drill went just fine. But then my mom & I took him home. Urgggggh! We finally stuck him in the stroller hoping to walk off the drugs. He sat in the stroller, rather peacefully thankfully, to downtown, a mile away. On the way home he realized he was four. And four-year-olds do not sit in strollers. He insisted on getting out and then cried, and screamed, and had a fit because his legs wouldn't work. The loosey-goosey medicine had made his legs all loosey-goosey and not under his control.

So I've got my fingers crossed that daughter will continue the exemplary behavior at the dentist. I'm saying my prayers that we'll never have to use loosey-goosey medicine again. Heck, I'm even swinging by St. Anthony's and lighting a candle. Please let that work.

Mini Frogs

I had a baby yesterday. Just for a visit, of course, while her daddy took her brothers to the dentist. Daughter was so excited that the baby was coming! Until the baby got here, or to be honest, until five minutes after she got here. It started off subtle, she had to have a sippy cup (a sippy cup! she outgrew those a while ago) filled with warm milk. As soon as that was gone, and it was gone quick, she started stamping around, tossing her hair, arms akimbo "THAT baby is so annoying", "Isn't she annoying Mom?", etc. etc... while the baby just sat in my arms and gurgled and cooed.

We brought the baby back home together and daughter brightened considerably to see the boys, she's right in between the two agewise. It's a single dad household so jumping on the furniture is okay. It's so okay that at one point that dad jumped on his own furniture, daughter riding along, barely holding on, hanging off his shoulders. I continued to hold the baby, who, as far as I know, guffawed her first guffaw watching the antics of her brothers and daughter.

Fifteen minutes into their wild & crazy play that dad looked at me, slightly demented gleam to his eye, and stated he didn't like it with three. He was getting blind-sided. I immediately thought of the raptors in Jurassic Park and how they hunt in packs, very similar to kids under 6. I laughed and pointed out that he had three kids, and he looked at his daughter in my lap and the light dawned.

I remember when my boys were little. They were a pack of raptors too. The things they'd do. I could fill page after page after page. I'm wondering how I survived, just like I'm sure that dad is wondering how he will survive. I've woken up to snakes curled up next to me; "look what I found!" I've fished slugs & snails out of pockets before washing clothes. I've found dead mini-frogs, or are they baby frogs, under the couch when I finally moved said couch to vacuum under it.

Just so you know, I do usually move the couch more frequently but that was the first time moving it after giving birth to squareboy so it had been awhile. Where did the dead mini-frog come from? Well, it's tiring having a baby. One day I was extra tired. I asked the boys if they could please play quietly, and not get into trouble, so I could nap with squareboy... just "the baby" way back then. They solemnly nodded their little raptor heads and I went to nap. I had a great nap! They were quiet. I came down, so proud of my little men, squareboy tucked in my arm. I came down the stairs, through the hall and stepped into the family room, mouth open ready to praise.

Only to witness the eldest angrily shaking his Chevron Car and yelling: "Get out of the backseat! You can't drive the car from the backseat!" Before I could ask who he was yelling at. Who would fit in the backseat of a Chevron Car? Some random movement caught my eye. Believe me, I lost my cool when I realized that the random movement was at least 12 mini-frogs hopping around my family room! My lovely trio had gone outside, it had recently rained, and collected all the mini-frogs gathering on our patio. And brought them in to chauffeur their Chevron Cars.

While at the time I thought I yelled enough, and they worked diligently enough, to rid my house of mini-frogs, obviously, weeks later, it turned out that wasn't true. Hence the dead mini-frog under my couch. I'm sitting here reminiscing and my heart goes out to that dad. Hmmmm, gonna have to borrow that baby more.

Boundless Energy

Daughter has boundless energy. Yesterday we ran errands, I stopped by my boss' house for a couple of minutes, ran into the ubiquitous Wal*mart, the fabric store, and she was very good. I took her to Chick-Fil-A for lunch. Not so much for the delicious, nutritious, lunch but for the play structure. Chick-Fil-A has the only indoor play structure around... and the humidity is killing me here. 'Course we weren't the first ones there. There was a brother/sister duo happily playing inside. However, after five minutes daughter had scared them away.

It might have been her insistence on playing with them, and them playing her game by her rules, or if it might have been the Charlie Manson mark still prominently displayed on her forehead. Most likely it was the high-pitched whale song she warbled going down the slide. Five minutes after they left the whole restaurant had emptied. It had been two-thirds full. I don't know if it was coincidence, we did eat lunch late, or if that glass surrounding the playstructure wasn't sound proof.

Finally more people show-up, one of them looked quite Mansonish, so I decided to let those people eat in peace and that we'd leave. Not without fanfare. Daughter is a robot duck on the way out. I have to explain this one, as much as it is possible explain a child's decision that they are a robot duck, when I was pregnant with squareboy (#4), the other boys were quite young. I was constantly counting noses whenever we went anywhere, desperate I'd lose one the way I'd lost number two... twice. Anyway, I found that making them walk single file served two purposes; 1) we didn't take up quite so much space & other people had room to walk too, and 2) I could put eldest, or the dad, in the rear to keep the other "ducks" in line.

I would yell "walk like a duck" and they would single file it neatly behind me. Eldest happily bossing them into the straightest line possible. Unfortunately, pregnant with squareboy, I waddled like a duck. The boys got into the habit of waddling like ducks as they single-filed behind me... much to the amusement of passerby's. I stopped doing it for a while but then squareboy started walking, and then daughter came along, we began walking like ducks again. So we are ducks a lot. No idea though why daughter had to be a robot duck. However, once again passerby's were laughing.

It was great to be home from errands and Chick-Fil-A ! The daddy was home too, after a 4-day trip away, and I happily deposited daughter with him and went straight to my sewing project. Only to have my own boundless energy snap my favorite ruler in half. No other ruler will do you know. Double unfortunately the fabric store here is woefully inadequate. So the dad and I packed up daughter and drove to "town". An hour away. With daughter singing along to The Offspring, no Baby Beluga for her.

While I perused rulers, the daddy kept an eye on daughter, only briefly losing her behind the fabric bins. Not really losing her, but the space was so small he couldn't fit and when he went to one end, she'd crawl real fast to the other end. And over and over and over again. They had a job opening, and I need a job, but I don't think I'll be applying there.

Charlie Manson

I don't know what overcomes daughter sometimes. I'm happily laying on the bed, fairly late last night, watching The 4400 and she jumps into the doorway in a Power Ranger-esque stance. However, something seems not quite normal. So I call her over & she does her special skipping/hopping/jumping walk and winds up next to my bed. Again in the Power Ranger-esque stance. Except now I can see that she's got pushpins tucked in between her fingers so that the spikey ends point out.

"Where did you get those?" I ask.

"I found them." She says.

"Where?" Sweartagod it's like pulling teeth.

"In the wall." She helpfully replies. At least she's not a liar, or rather a good liar, yet. I have her show me. The wall being the Eldest's bedroom wall & the pushpins recently being responsible for holding up his teenage treasures. I am briefly thankful he's still in California & can't see the havoc she's wreaking on his stuff. I take the pins, only to find them not much later stuck into my mattress... luckily not on my side.

Apparently just thinking about the eldest transmitts some kind of intercontinental thought wave because he calls at almost that exact minute. Harry Potter is on TV, am I watching it? I quickly flip to the Disney channel and it turns out the East coast is about 20 seconds behind the West coast. He takes great joy in telling me what's about to happen. Like he's got wizard skills, not like he's seen the movie, read the book or anything. Anyone else listening in on this conversation would be really confused why this grown man thinks he's this funny. Fifteen really is a funky age. His voice is all grown-up, he's much taller than me and yet he takes such enormous pleasure in kid things still. Secretly I hope he never outgrows this completely.

In the meantime daughter is jumping up & down on the bed. On me. Excitely begging to speak to her brother. I put her on speakerphone, to her delight & his dismay. Another psychic connection occurs as squareboy starts screaming on the eldest end that he wants to talk to his sister. Eldest puts squareboy on speakerphone too. Daughter & squareboy spend at least a minute (trust me a minute is really, really long) screaming at each other. Think whale "song". It's possible the whole country heard this over the speakerphones.

After the screaming daughter starts telling squareboy all about her new favorite movie with the bloody worms. She lisps a little, and it's over speakerphone, so it takes both squareboy & the eldest a good 4X to understand the bloody worm part. Eldest is incredulous that I let her watch Tremors. Until I remind him it's one of his favorite movies as well and that he, and his brothers, all saw that at way too early an age. Besides, it's not like I meant for her to see it. I was watching the SciFi channel and she walked in right at the part where the jackhammer guy jackhammers into the Graboid. Hence the bloody worm reference. It's really more of a comedy than a horror flick. Really.

Daughter & squareboy finally have enough and the eldest & I chat until I remind him that he's got The Count of Monte Cristo and Kon-Tiki to read by the time school starts in three weeks. Each book is over a thousand pages. He grumbles something about Clift Notes, I grumble something about honor & integrity and he hands the phone to my mom. Great. Second time today I have had to argue with a grandmother about the joys of summer reading. Number two also has summer reading he hasn't really started. While I'm firmly on the boys side, summer is summer, I also don't want either of them starting the school year off with F's.

I hang up the phone to find that daughter has become Charles Manson. Quick digression... can you believe there's a Charles Manson website? Anyway, she's gotten into the pens, again, and her forehead is one big, black tattoo. I'm not in the mood for bath #3, and I'm not in the mood to describe bath's #1 and #2, I turn off the lights and we go to sleep.

test

did it work?

The Antics of Squareboy

I woke up early today missing my boys. Daughter snuggled close one small arm wrapped tight around my neck, her head numbing my right arm and I remembered snuggling early mornings like this when squareboy was smaller. Of course squareboy, like middle child, was and is a sweater. It wasn't the numbing arm that would wake me then but the incredible itch a boy head leaves behind when it's been sweating for hours on your arm.

My mom has called daily, multiple times daily, with news and updates of the boys. Frequently I can hear one or the other hollering in the background, and if I'm lucky I actually get to talk to one or the other. The other day I had the eldest on the phone, and he was actually in a talkative mood. Unusual for a just turned 15-year-old. Normally, if he comes to the phone at all, it's all grunts & "yes" and "no"s, a lot like his Opa actually. As the eldest is talking about camp, he's a counselor, I can hear squareboy whooping & hollering in the background... suddenly followed by screaming. Eldest stops speaking for a second and then bursts into uncontrolled laughter, but squareboy is still screaming. Damn the antiquity of our times! He won't stop laughing, squareboy won't stop screaming and I have no videophone to see what the hell is going on. Finally, in between hiccups as he swallows laughter, eldest relayed that squareboy had been riding his bike. And fell off the bike, into my mom's rose bushes.

Turned out he's fine, but really pissed off at the rose bushes, who, squareboy insisted, reached out & grabbed him off his bike. Once he finally untangled himself from the thorns he ran into the house, grabbed his tennis racket & beat the crap out of the poor rose bushes. He only stopped when my mom finally heard the ruckus and came out & pulled him off her rose bushes. They are now trimmed & short and squareboy, according to the eldest, rides his bike past them smirking the whole time.

My mom called, not long after the rose bush incident; "everything is okay." Urgh. I hate that. While those words reassure me the boys aren't dead, I also know something broke. I know these phone calls aren't easy for her to make so I pretend, and I pretend I'm a good pretender, that I'm calm. Squareboy had been in the ER. The good news is that he was still fully registered from the last time last summer, so insurance was not a hassle. Great. Thanks mom. Good to know. And????

He'd been at camp, doing a tennis drill, ran up a little too soon for his ball & the girl in front of him finished her backswing into his head. Blood everywhere. Panic. Squareboy stayed very calm, pretty amazing given his normal high-energy state. My mom was nearby & took him to the ER, he surprised her & the Doc's by rattling off his height, weight, allergies & medications. Squareboy is a genius. Really. Luckily his calm wore off quickly & the ER Doc witnessed his high-energy squirming & constant motion. They decided to glue his wound, right next to his eye! instead of stitches. The bad news being he can't swim for 5 days. It might melt the glue. Poor squareboy. He'd worked so hard to pass the swimtest to be allowed into the big pool, and not the baby pool.

Yesterday was 5 days. He jumped out of bed ran to the mirror and had a fit. The glue was still there. The ER Doc had told him it would peel off on day 5. It was day 5 and it was still there. My poor mom had quite a time calming him down before her first cup of coffee. While she's making breakfast (and again, this is just her, we do cereal from a box here at home), she realizes it's much too quiet. Squareboy is missing. She looks all over the house, no squareboy. Finally she looks in the backyard, there's squareboy. Head first in the spa (hot tub, my mom's all fancy), trying to soak off the glue because it's day 5 and he's done. The doctor said so.

Dead Fish

Turns out writing a blog is not so easy. I started #2 here several times, but my daughter, the only one home for now, is very creative. And self-sufficient. She has made herself sandwiches, and salads, and crackers with cheese. She spilled said items all over the living room carpet, and then vacuumed up the crumbs. The noise of the vacuum alerting me each time to another mess. By the time I heard the vacuum rev-up the third time, my stomach twisted & turned & heartburn raced up my esophagus. Where's the purple pill when daughter is growing independent?

I decided I needed something to occupy her time while I blogged. She obviously missed the brothers too much and the 'toon channel wasn't doing it. For months now I've been promising her a pet fish. The time seemed ripe to get promised fish. I have to digress here for a moment. I watched the first episode of 30 Days called "Minimum Wage" several weeks ago. I thought it was very well done, however, I took offense at a brief scene. Morgan and his fiancee, Alex, had a day off work & wanted to find some free stuff to do with his brothers kids. Online, at the library they found a list of free, fun stuff to do with kids. This was all great stuff, until they broke into laughter at visiting an animal shelter to see animals. Um, I take my kids to the pet store, animal shelter, etc. all the time; 1) because it's free and 2) because they like animals. Weeks later this reaction to free things to do bugs me.



Back to daughter. Off to the pet store we went. She ran to the birds first to say "hi" to her friends (like I said, we go there a lot. It's free). Tried to talk me into a bird, but knew better, and was excited to get a fish anyway. Amazingly she picked out the cheapest fish in the store. Baby goldfish, $.011 each... provided you got a PetSmart/big-brother-is-watching-you-membership. Since they were $.012 without the card, I got one. With 5 kids saving three cents on every purchase quickly adds up to hundreds. Seriously. Yeah, math geniuses, I got her three fish... even though she has four brothers. Guess she doesn't miss one of them, not sure which one.

We bought a cheap, round! glass bowl & some goldfish pellets. Daughter skipped out of the store, me holding the fish and walking a little more sedately. The whole way home we talked about names, originally the fish was going to be "bunny", after her favorite stuffed animal, but now there were three. Since I couldn't discern if they were boy fish or girl fish they wound up being a collective called "boys & girls". Fine. Once home I put them, in their baggy still, into the prepared pitcher of room temperature water. I explained to her that they needed to get used to our water temperature so they didn't get too surprised. I spent the next two hours fending her off, finally capitulating even though I wasn't sure exactly how long fish need to acclimate. We transfered the fish, fed them some pellets, I hid the food and I explained fish care. Off to blog I went.

Five minutes into blog #2, yep this very blog, she's standing next to my chair. Guilty look, fingers in mouth, "my fish bowl has dirty water". Up I jump, she helpfully turns off my computer, there goes my first blog #2. I find the fish at the bottom of the bowl hiding from all the soap bubbles at the top of the bowl. She'd tried to give her new pets a bath, complete with soap & a wash cloth to scrub them. I frantically start saving the fish. Giving them clean, after clean water. None of it at room temperature. They seem to live. My heart is pounding. I realize they are fish, and I happily eat fish, but these are also our pets and when I paid for them I took responsibility. I'm responsible for their lives.

This morning the collective was floating at the top of their bowl. Daughter said "we can go to the store and buy new ones". I'm thinking the whole pet experiment failed miserably.

Peer Pressure

All my friends have blogs. Maybe not all. But close. I've been happily reading them for the last couple of weeks/months. First with my morning cup of coffee, now with my two morning cups of coffee. I finally realized that what attracts me is not so much reading them as envying the almost daily chronicling of their lives. Their kids lives. What a wonderful gift to give my daughter, or my sons for that matter, on their wedding day.

So, now, I'm a joiner.