Family Dinners

We just aren’t normal. Tonight squareboy was mad at me, and after he’d eaten his tummy full with a meal I cooked, he shot me mad looks from across the table. When that didn’t seem to faze me he started doing a mad, grunting thing. It still didn’t faze me, but it caught the dad’s attention. That’s just not proper table behavior. He dealt with it by imitating squareboy’s antics.

Last night, or was it the night before? One blends into the other, daughter had a fit because I cooked spaghetti with, gasp, mushrooms. Some screaming accompanied this fit, that’s also not proper table behavior and that also caught the dad’s attention. He dealt it with by repeatedly, and I do mean through the whole dinner scenario, placing innocent mushrooms on her plate to be screamed at. Luckily I sit on daughters other side and I got to eat all of the traumatized mushrooms. I like mushrooms.

After dinner is fairly entertaining as well. This is usually daughters cue to change. One cannot, you see, wear the same outfit for after dinner entertainment as one can for the meal itself. Sometimes this means just a new outfit, sometimes it means a dress-up princess dress, and sometimes, well, sometimes words just aren’t adequate.

Outdoor Kitties

Our kitties are now outdoor kitties. While missing the litter box with a ratio of 2:1 played a factor, it was primarily Squareboys allergies that sealed the deal. Part of me feels immensely guilty. Poor kitties having to be outside after being pampered indoor pets. I also feel guilty because I knew squareboy had allergies. Not that I specifically knew he was allergic to cats, but I should’ve, could’ve guessed.

It still wouldn’t have been that bad, being as they’re short-haired kitties, but my lovely weenie boy insisted on sleeping with Alarm Cat on his chest. Didn’t matter where I hid the cat before bed time, by morning sleepwalker boy would’ve found him, or vice versa, and Alarm Cat would be happily purring on his chest while snot galore ran out of squareboys nose.

Of course I’m secretly pleased to have outdoor kitties. Very secretly, shhhhhh! I now have certified snake terrorizers keeping my toes snake free as I garden. And, frankly, both kitties seem pretty happy with more room to roam. We have a garage that while not a carport, it has all the walls needed to be a garage, it’s not quite a garage because the big doors are missing. That sort-of garage makes great shelter for them, plus, with Danny making regular patrols none of the native wildlife bothers them. See? I can justify anything.

Relaxing

“HEY! You didn’t finish my room!” Daughter yelled as I was stirring the chicken soup. The made-from-scratch chicken soup. In all fairness I didn’t finish her room, nor did I finish the patio or the weeding through of a mountain of too small clothes. Her room, however, is the closest to finished.

Eldest tests were this Thursday. The days before, the day of, were filled with stress for me. Informative websites are simply to informative for the active mind, er imagination. Thankfully his tests were all clear. There are some biopsies outstanding, but he looks good. Which is great! What is not great is that he is still in pain. It hurts my heart to see him in pain day after day every day.

I finally sunk all my frustrations into the above mentioned projects and had myself a whirlwind three days. The patio has been tiled a quarter of the way, two big bags of clothes are ready for Goodwill and in my car and daughters room is painted, bordered, organized and cleaned. I’ve even got her quilt all sewn together in a celebration of matching colors and Dora the Explorer panels, it’s just not actually quilted yet. But I’m close.

Unfortunately early this afternoon, my muscles started charlie-horsing. Just the right side of my body, but the whole right side of my body. Arm, leg, back. The whole shebang. So I told daughter I was relaxing. She nodded solemnly, a very believable nod, and then ran off. Two minutes later she was back clutching her “You are my sunshine” singing sunflower pot thing she got from Oma. Recently rediscovered during the whole mad room makeover. She pushed the “ON” button.

“There. Now you can relax.”

Bleutiful

“I’m getting old.” Daughter says last night, “Remember yesterday when my back hurt? When your back hurts that means you are getting old.”

The dad burst out laughing from the bathroom. He’s got so many aches & pains right now that his minor back pain seems trivial, and yet, that little statement says it all. We are getting old. The fact that our not-quite-five year old daughter has noticed for the first time that she is getting old, means we actually are getting old.

But honestly, except for a sore back every now & then and some other mostly minor ailments, I still feel young. I think it’s my kids that keep me young, their perspective on life, their energy and most of all their love.

Enough sappiness, daughter is also “Bluetiful”. She told me so. She’s accomplished this by moving from black special Easter markers to blue special Easter markers. We caused quite a stir in Cheapalot with her dramatically painted face.

Unfortunately it wasn’t just her. Eldest had gotten into the markers too and painted up his left eye nice & blue. He wanted to “freak out” the girlfriend. That she’d given him a black eye. I don’t really want to know how or why. Do I?

Goth Girls

It's Spring Break. While it's been 80's and 90's for the last week or so, yesterday the sky darkened up and it came pouring down. So bad the power went out for four hours. As such I decided not to go to Myrtle Beach, SC with the kids today. Dammit.

We are, however, cleaning today. In the back of my mind my goal is to get daughters room looking picture-perfect and then swinging by the ol' hardware hell for a gallon of pink paint. Or a gallon of the perfect shade of light blue for my room. Or both. Both would be great!

Yesterday it was dark and dreary, no sense cleaning in the dark. We lit candles, played games, read books, annoyed one another. Daughter found the magic markers Oma had sent in the Easter extravaganza. Special magic markers filled with flavored food coloring for coloring rock hard cookies. Daughter and I decided to go goth with the black marker.

Really, if you think about it, since we took no pictures on Easter, and these were special magic Easter markers, this is our Easter picture this year.

Marilyn Monroe

It wasn’t us this year. Or more precisely, it wasn’t the kids. In the middle of Easter Sunday mass a loud screaming interrupted father’s homily.

“MINE”. A little voice insisted.

“THAT’S MINE!” Not once, not twice but at least five times!

The poor, poor kid’s family trapped smackdab in the middle of the church. In the middle of the pew. During Easter Sunday mass. No way to escape. The dad and I both got the giggles, especially when father lost a touch of his customary cool and threw a bit of the evil eye that family’s way when the little one piped up, again,

“I WANT THAT! THAT’S MINE!”

Perhaps I was a little too enthusiastic that it wasn’t us. That my kids were perfect angels all Easter mass. Because walking up to receive communion, Easter Sunday communion, I had a little oopsy. The church was a little overfull; “Aren’t we breaking the fire code?” eldest had whispered to me early on, and so we were in the back. As such we walked up the side aisle for communion, not the middle aisle as I’m used to doing. And with so many people, and temperatures in the high 80’s, the air conditioning was on. And I had on a pretty Easter dress. In my pretty Easter dress I walked right over the air conditioning vent and pulled a Marilyn Monroe. In church on Easter Sunday.

Anticipation

These last two nights have been hard to get to sleep. My mind is racing with possibilities. Where will we hide their baskets this year?

Since moving to the Land of Ice & Snow six Easters ago the dad and I have taken to hiding the kids baskets in the house. As they get bigger each year requires greater creativity. We’ve dangled baskets over stairwalls with fishing line, hidden them in dryers and half-filled garbage cans. This year is going to be the biggest challenge yet.

Not only are we in a big, new-to-us house filled with unexplored hiding spots but the boys are once again bigger. Eldest is almost sixteen. I now need days of thinking, plotting and planning to hide his Easter basket. Even though he’s trying to be cool about it, more than once I’ve walked in on him and middle child anticipating where the baskets might be Easter morning.

Meanwhile, daughter has been counting down the days for the last week. Quite accurately I might add. She’s also informed me on a daily basis that her basket was too easy to find last year. Last year it was in plain sight tucked away just barely under her dresser. That won’t do this year. Of course I’m worried I’ll make it too hard this year to overcompensate from the too easy last year. Hiding Easter baskets is a really big challenge.

I can’t wait till tomorrow morning. I can’t wait to hear who finds their basket first. Who will be the little jackbutt munching on chocolate, following around the others while gloating over his treasures. I can’t wait to lay in my bed giggling with the dad while one of the kids has a meltdown because their basket is too hard to find.

I can’t wait to finally see all the kids teaming together to find that one, last, hardest-to-find Easter basket. I don’t know whose it will be, but each year, without fail, there’s always one no one can find. And, after an appropriate length of time spent teasing the one poor, basket-less child, they all work together to find it. I love being the Easter pig.

Easter Eggs

I picked daughter up from school yesterday. I could sense the excitement radiating off of her, that she was jumping up & down like a Mexican Jumping Bean had nothing to do with it. Teacher shouted a quick warning at me:

“Careful! She’s going to throw an egg!” As daughter came running out of the playground, arm cocked back and rocketing an hardboiled egg at my head. I jumped out of the way just in time as both daughter and teacher burst into giggles. I was actually ticked for a little bit, what if the egg had hit me? Hard boiled eggs are not soft. Which reminds me of a family favorite…

Way back when, before I was born way back when, my mother was growing up in a small house in The Netherlands with two brothers and four sisters. And it was the first Easter that a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, attended the family Easter dinner. Ton, the eldest, had a girlfriend sitting at his side. He was dressed in his best suit, had on his best, pompous, behavior, and expected the rest of the siblings to revere him like, well, God would be blasphemous but you get the idea. Of course, as in most families celebrating Easter, cracking dyed eggs on heads is a tradition. My uncle Hans, the only one brave enough to brave Ton in his current state of pompousosity, cracked his egg on Ton’s head. Unfortunately, it was soft boiled. Everyone stared in horror, then hysterical laughter, as yellow yolk dripped down his hair, his face, onto his new suit. With his date sitting next to him.

Daughters egg wasn’t hard either. Neither was it soft. Instead of yellow yolk dripping everywhere bright, sparkly confettie burst out! She’d had a great time in art class, blowing eggs clean, stuffing and painting. Not as much fun as she had throwing them at me, eldest, the dad, but fun. I wish my uncle Hans was still around, he’d love these eggs.

Morons-R-Us

Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful to have a husband who is such a loving, involved, puts-his-kids-first kind of dad. However. There are limits to my gratitude. And coming home from an extra long day of work, the eight in a row of long days, to find eldest 20 feet off the ground holding onto a rope ready to jump, is a big gratitude killer.

Let alone watching him gleefully jump out of the tree and swinging through the air like Tarzan incarnate. Yeah I am very, very lucky to have such an involved husband.

Yellow Season

Sometimes life is less than happy, mostly I leave that stuff out & focus on the positive. Yesterday was pretty yucky though. It’s yellow season here in North Carolina. That’s where the trees puff up their pollen like peacocks puff up their feathers. The stuff gets everywhere. Oodles & oodles of yellow dust.

Middle child loves the stuff. He loves to whack trees with sticks and watch noxious yellow clouds float by in the wind. It’s an added bonus, to him, that it makes squareboy sneeze & itch & snot & turn red. However, last night it was not funny. During yellow season he needs his cingular and zyrtec on the dot, once every 24 hours. And I forgot the cingular. And middle child loves the noxious clouds. Poor squareboy got all tight and wheezy. He really needed his inhaler. The scary part was, I was at work and I could hear him wheezing over the phone.

It all turned out okay, but poor squareboy’s chest was tight for a minute there and mine along with his… but from worry. Living with boys is not easy. Eldest had been bugging me all day to take the dog out. Which is weird, he loves the dog. Loves taking him out. Now when I take him out I water my little vegetable garden too, so eldest bugged me about watering the veggies. What does he care about me watering the veggies?

I found out when daughter came home from school. She, of course, had to water the veggies. I had to get ready for work, where I would then receive the panicked phone call from squareboy. So I’m getting ready for work and daughter comes running in, sooooo excited. Dangling a snake. A dead snake, but a snake.

“Isn’t he pretty? He’s got sparkly scales!” daughter yelped excitedly while dangling a dead snake in front of me. In the house. My daughter!

Eldest & middle child had found the snake, already dead, last night. They’d kindly placed it by my garden for me to find and scream for them to laugh. I, however, hadn’t taken the bait and daughter found it in my stead. Unfortunately, her whole life I’ve worked to make snakes interesting and not frightening. With too much success it turns out. She loves snakes. They’re her favorite animal.

Ticks and Spiders Oh My!

Per my sisters request, a double blog this evening. Not that she requested a double blog, just a picture of my policedog. Tada... my police dog, with eldest.

Danny is an amazingly well-behaved shepherd. Not that I expected any less of a retired policedog, technically a retired drug dog. We told the boys that we got him to keep them out of trouble and screen their friends. We were just joking, but really, in afterthought, what a great idea! We have been blessed with wonderful kids, but, well, stuff happens. And we are prepared.

While Danny himself is a joy, the taking care part is a little tougher. Our big, new-to-us house has a decrepit dog run hidden in the back 40 (back 40 yards). Eldest and I went to dig it out, never finishing because the ticks came swarming out in droves. I was kind enough to brush all of them off of him, but he missed one off of me. I now have a beautiful Sharpie tattoo drawn under my right boob, just in case it turns into a bullseye.

My Sharpie tattoo matches daughters. Walking Danny last night a spider ran into her sandal and bit her foot. Eldest tracked the spider while Squareboy ran in and got me and the dad. I got daughter and treated the bite, the dad got the spider. The spider is currently squished and living in an envelope tucked under my monitor. It says "Spider Bite Daughter, 2 Apr 06 @ 2000 hrs" and "Spider inside". Just in case, you know.

Z is for Zoo

On Saturday teacher had the bright idea to go to the zoo. Daughter & class had finally learned all the letters of the alphabet, culminating in the letter “Z”. Z is for zoo. S is for “C”. Daughter may have been exposed to the full alphabet over the course of the year, but she still has points of confusion.

Teacher knows me. I’m not known for either my timeliness or my morningness and since she lives a block, a long rural North Carolina block, away she offered to come by and honk when it was time to go that morning. It’s a good thing she did. We weren’t quite ready but the honk and teacher being outside got us all moving. Plus, I got to ride with teacher and daughter in a boy-free car! I think I have a friend.

Once at the zoo daughter was ecstatic to see so many of her friends. I highly recommend the North Carolina zoo in Asheboro. We’ve been to many all over the country, and while the Memphis zoo remains my favorite, the Asheboro zoo is pretty darn good. Of course Chawlie’s favorite part was the monkeys. After I pointed out the red butts, much to his mother’s consternation, Chawlie was not to be swayed from my side. And every five minutes after my faux pas Chawlie would excitedly whisper: “the monkey’s have red butt’s!” Looooong after we passed the red-butted monkeys.

Personally I was in awe with the tropical birds in the aviary, most particularly the Scarlet Ibis which is extremely scarlet. All over. Way cool. The brown bear was also a favorite, mostly because I told him to get in the water and cool down and he did. Just call me Dr. Doolittle.

All & all it was a fantastic day. Made even more fantastic by all being together, including my big boys who didn’t even notice, not once, that they were the only big boys there. Just having 15 & 13 year-olds for a day at the zoo would’ve been good, that they had a great time made it that much sweeter.

Danny

All I wanted was a dog. Something warm & fuzzy. Something to sound the alarm on the nights the Dad isn’t home. Turns out kittens fill the bill quite nicely. Middle child has even discovered they come running at the call of “puppies!”

I was feeling very happy with my kitties, really learning the appeal of cats after all these years as a self-professed dog person. In fact, both kitties sleep with me and I’ve never felt safer when the dad is gone. Last night, however, I felt extra safe.

Last night the dad came back and brought a buddy with him. A big, huge, retired policedog. “He needed rescuing” the dad explained. This being the same dad who groaned & moaned & looked mean as my kitties were dropped off mere weeks ago. The dad was just beaming. The cat was steaming.

Urgh, sorry, just read Green Eggs & Ham and I can’t stop rhyming. Poor Dinghy was less than thrilled at her new companion, let alone that the new companion is now ensconced in my bedroom. Her previous roost. I’ve never seen a short-haired cat fluff up as much as Dinghy when she first laid eyes on Danny. Think cartoon cat gone wild and maybe, just maybe, you can picture the full fluffiness of my poor kitty.

Eldest took Danny on a reconnaissance mission around the yard while I rescued kitty and brought her to the other end of the house. Thank God for tons of intervening doors because I think it will be weeks, if ever, before she accepts him. Not that I blame her, he is huge. He even scared me late last night. We are finally tucked in, I’m drifting away and I feel a shift in the bed. I assume it’s the dad and turn over for a kiss… and had to stifle a scream when I saw Danny’s big moose head grinning at me.

Here I thought a retired policedog would be well-trained.

Happy St. Paddy's Day

Teacher is crazy. We arrived bright & early for the much anticipated St. Paddy’s at school. Teacher did not disappoint. Bright green glitter, yes glitter, was EVERYWHERE. All over tables, chairs and carpet. The excitement this causes 4-year-old boys and girls is quite headache-causing. Unfortunately I couldn’t help but sit down and play w/their clay myself. I soon found myself the Queen of Shamrocks as I made shamrock after shamrock for each clamoring child. Except for Aidan. Aidan wanted a four-leaf clover.

Alarm Cat is crazy. Eldest lay down at the foot of our bed again last night. Now I not only have to sleep train daughter, I have to sleep train the 15-year-old. Again. He tried, twice, to get Alarm Cat to cuddle up with him each time Alarm Cat went tearing out of the room like a bat out of hell. An earthbound bat out of hell, but a batt out of hell nonetheless. I can’t adequately describe the mad scrambling over the floors that cat does but if you picture it like a cartoon character who’s desperately trying to run but staying in place, you wouldn’t be far off. The third time Alarm Cat cozied up to eldest by choice. Then the dad walked in. Alarm Cat couldn’t get out of there fast enough. In the process almost knocking the dad off his feet, and Alarm Cat is small. Still a kitten really. If eldest and I hadn’t been laying down we would’ve fallen over laughing.

This morning was crazy. I worked late last night, a twelve-hour shift kind of late, and didn’t lay out the St. Paddy’s day clothes. Then I was tired and hit snooze three times while Alarm Cat gave up. Let’s just say each kid had issues with finding green clothing so they wouldn’t get pinched. Poor Aidan in daughter’s classroom had no green clothing. Teacher and I both watched in horror as the 11 remaining four-year-olds started to get up to pinch the poor boy. She may be crazy but she’s smart. She quickly stuck a shamrock sticker on his cheek and called him safe.

Alarm Cat

I am all for the family bed and co-sleeping, practice it myself. However. Be warned. This has a very long lasting effect on everyone involved. This morning Alarm Cat woke up not just myself and the dad but also daughter, squareboy and eldest. Being as we have a queen bed only myself, the dad and daughter were in the bed, though daughter did start out on the floor which is where Alarm Cat found eldest and squareboy.

Eldest and I have been rebonding over Firefly for the last week or so. He has some serious stomach issues, inflammatory stomach disease, reflux and IBS. I’m not sure what triggered it but he’s been having a series of horrible attacks. Maybe it’s hormones. I don’t know and neither does his gp doctor, so we will be seeing a specialist. Regardless he’s been home a little more than usual. And I decided to share the Firefly series with him. He is as in love with Mal and Jayne and the whole shiny verse as I am.

Last night he bought Serenity, the DVD. So he crashed out at the foot of our bed to watch it with me. There is nothing like having your child chuckle at the same time during the same moment of a movie you love. Daughter always sleeps with us though I am working at weaning her out of our bed, the boys were all out by age five and daughter is almost five. Wow! Daughter is almost five. Squareboy snuck in sometime after midnight, not for lack of trying earlier but I was awake then. He’d felt very left out with eldest and daughter in there.

Anyway, the dad and I both have very bad colds. The dad fell asleep very earlier and never had the opportunity to set his alarm. Alarm Cat to the rescue. Promptly at O:Dark Thirty the Alarm Cat strolled in miauwing and trilling the Alarm. Waking the dad and off he went to work. On time. At 6:30 Alarm Cat strolled into middle child’s room and miauwed and trilled until middle child was up and on his way. At 7:00 am Alarm Cat was back in my room pacing all over eldests prone form on the floor while miauwing and trilling till the last of us were up. I don’t know what we ever did without Alarm Cat, but now that we have him, I think we’ll never be late again. Not that we have a problem with being late. Not us.

Double U

It’s tough to be the youngest of five. Luckily daughter is a tough cookie. Squareboy was picking on her last night, now in a fair fight she doesn’t stand a chance, however, he’s got a missing toenail. He landed one punch. One. She whirled around and stomped square on his toe with the missing toenail. Squareboy 0; daughter 1.

A little later she and I had a conversation.
“What letter am I learning next week?” she asked.
“U” I answered.
“U is for umbrella.” Pause. “Oh I know that one, we learned it before.”
“W” I corrected. And one of her infamous screaming fits ensued. ‘W’ you see, sounds like Double U. And she’d just finished explaining she’d already learned ‘U’.

Soon after that, while digging in my stuff still stored in boxes in my room from the move, she found a picture of the seven of us taken for a “We’ve Moved” announcements from the previous move. See above. She was very sad she was at the bottom of the stack. Apparently it’s not fair to have the smallest at the bottom of the stack. She can tell she’s being squished.

Doctors, Dentists & ER's

Do you know that when you lose weight your underwear is baggy and gets, um, out of place easily? Well. That only took me three months to figure out. I’m not only in a smaller pant size, I’m also in a smaller panty size. Now back to the semi-regular, about-my-kids, blogging.

It’s been a week. Pretending that a week starts on Saturday, let’s start with the first day of the week. In case you didn’t know, Squareboy bounces off of walls. Literally. He manages this by getting a running start, bouncing onto the couch, scrambling up the back, onto the wall (think Alley-Oop in skateboarding terms) and back down. On Saturday he missed his landing, skidded across the carpeting and smack into the solid brick fireplace. At first I ignored his wailing, then it got annoying and I strolled over to look. All I saw, from my great height, was a slightly bloody toe. I warned him not to drip on the carpet and strolled away again.

He kept wailing, the dad strolled over and promptly hollered for me. Turns out Squareboy had torn up half his toenail, it was poking just about straight up. OW! We debated the emergency room, and decided to wait. Sunday, at work, the kid’s doctor stopped by. He’d missed us. I got in a quick consult and learned that I just needed to watch the toe for infection. I love living in a small town.

That night, while at the emergency room with Daughter, Squareboy pulled off his own dangling toenail with the dad’s pliers. I think the doctor cursed us by saying he missed us. Squareboy had disclocated Daughter’s elbow while rescuing her from the collapsed “fort” of couch cushions & beanbags. Daughter cried and played it up beautifully at the emergency room and we got in before the tons of other people in the waiting room, much to their dismay when she walked out happily chatting 30 minutes later. Days later she’s still talking about the wonderful doctor who saved her. He’s her new hero.

Tuesday night Daughter ran a fever and her cheek was swollen. I figured mumps or an abscessed tooth, but she wouldn’t let me check. The dad finally rolled her up like a burrito while eldest shown a flashlight in her mouth and giggled like a hyena. We saw what looked like a tooth growing out of the bottom of her jaw. Wednesday at the dentist it turned out to be an ulcer. Easier treated than a funky tooth anyway, but still painful. Wednesday also was the doctor’s turn to see us, I whined at him that he jinxed me as I recited our list of ailments. Poor eldests reflux is out of control and we are on double meds from just a month ago.

Thursday every single kid woke up with a fever and the sniffles. Every. Single. One.

Ash Wednesday

“How do you make holy water?” asked Squareboy. I, of course, thought he was serious being as he asked this after a day at catholic school. I launched into what could best be described as a dissertation. He interrupted me not even halfway through, laughing like a hyena;

“You boil the hell out of it!” For that we pay $700 a month.

Wednesday I picked Squareboy and Daughter up from school, both proudly wearing ashes on their forehead from the Ash Wednesday mass they’d attended. Actually, daughter only had the remnants of a bruise left from the previous week, she’d touched her ashes so many times there wasn’t a speck to be seen. But I ooh’ed and aah’ed anyway. Once in the car, not sure what triggered it, daughter started crying and having a fit. Great.

“I don’t want to go to Heaven! I just want to go home.” Somewhere in the whole explanation of Ash Wednesday, Lent and Easter her poor 4-year-old brain got overloaded and she really didn’t care that Jesus died on the cross so she could go to Heaven. She wanted to go home. Squareboy tried his bestest to make her feel better.

“Trust me! You want to go to heaven.” Then, sotto voce, “not down there.” Pointing dramatically. “That’s like a dungeon and you’ll be tortured!”

“I hate Ass Wednesday” daughter screamed.

Tinkerbell

All I wanted was a dog. Something warm & fuzzy. Something to sound the alarm on the nights the Dad isn’t home. What I got was a snail, the water kind, a fish, two cats and an opossum. Actually, we’ve had the snail since last summer when we got the snail after the disaster with the Dead Fish . Middle child wrangled the snail, happily named Gary after Gary the Snail in Spongebob, from a friend of eldest who had extra. I have no idea how one gets extra snails, I do know middle child has been fascinated by his snail since last August.

The kitty’s happened late last Thursday night. Girlfriend knew we were looking for a pet, me specifically a dog, and her sisters boyfriend mother had two kittens that needed a home. Next thing I know she’s called the sisters boyfriend and they are on their way to our house with Monkey and Dinghy. Poor kitties were just terrified to come to a house with all these wild children. The Dad was very mad. He didn’t want any pets, besides Gary, and grumbled and looked mean the whole time. Since then he’s checked on the kitties every day upon coming home and he’s coaxed Dinghy into his “hobby” room more than once. Tough guy.

Of course with kitties come responsibilities and Friday after school was spent at PetSmart. We left PetSmart with food, litter, litter-scooper, toys and a fish. Squareboy had to have a fish and fell in love with “Comet” on the spot. What the heck, I figured, Comet can share the bowl with Gary and he was only $.19 with my handy-dandy PetSmart discount card. PetSmart loves me.

Then Monday, after days of rain, the kids were finally playing outside with the neighbor girls. In comes eldest, of all people; “Quick mom!” They’d found something. I walked out side to see six kids sadly staring at a naked little pinky. Six pairs of eyes turned to me. All six pairs begging me to save it. Now, if I’d found the poor little thing by myself I would’ve kindly disposed of it. But with six pairs of eyes on me, I had eldest wrap it up in fleece in a box and stuck it on the counter. Then with six pairs of eyes still watching I tried valiantly to feed it water from a rag soaked in water.

“What is that?” neighbor child #1 asked me.
“A opossum” I answered.
“Oh no! Possum’s get in the trash.” And as I later found out surfing the web on the care & feeding of orphaned opossum’s, usually people are trying to stop them from raiding their trash. Not trying to rescue them after they fall of the Mama’s back.

“Whatcha gonna call it?” neighbor child #2 asked me. “All things should have a name.” Before anyone could peep she continued “I know. Tinkerbell! Cause she’s tiny.” I was pretty sure the hairless rat thing was a boy, but Tinkerbell stuck.

On day two I successfully found Tinkerbell a home with a local wildlife rehabilitator. Unfortunately I also successfully got Tink to nurse from a lab pipette filled with kitten formula. The kids are busy being very, very mad at me that Tink had to go.

Demented Turkey Chickens

I was in betty homemaker mode today. I whipped up cupcakes for the kids, frosted & sprinkled in rainbow monkey sprinkles, I threw flour in the bread machine for pizza dough, add in the normal laundry, dishes and some quilting and TADA! Work is less exhausting. I have no idea why I bothered to make cupcakes, the little ones came out of school lugging backpacks filled with junk. If I’d thought of it I would’ve gotten the camera earlier when daughter showed off her remarkable ability to hold FOUR lollipops in her mouth at once. What ever happened to conversation hearts?

Obviously after all that sugar the kids needed to get out. Luckily middle child had left his skateboard at his friends house, this gave me an excuse to get them all out for a walk over to fetch said skateboard. Actually getting them out burned up at least 15 minutes of frantic running around looking for skateboards, bikes and helmets. Only the girlfriend and I literally walked. Or jogged. It was definitely more jogging to keep up with the bikers & skateboarders.

We were barely around the corner when excitement struck. “Ducks!” “Geese!” “Turkeys!” All of the guesses were wrong as a trio of extremely large quail darted out to greet us. They came so close I told eldest to grab one for dinner. I was serious. He didn’t get that and gently tried to pet one. Then squareboy swooped in for the kill on his bike and they scattered like mad… with him whooping & hollering and riding after them like a mad man. That boy.

He caught back up to us soon after, cheeks red from cold & excitement; “Did you see the turkey chickens!?!” Um, ‘turkey chickens’? Quail my boy, quail. “No, no Mom! They were demented turkey chickens.” After about 5 minutes I realized he meant domestic turkey chickens. Still not quail, but a little more understandable a mistake. That boy.

It really was a day. Crossing the big road, a two-lane highway really, a truck passed by as we waited patiently alongside the road. He honked, we waved and the girlfriend squealed “oh NO! A chicken truck!” I started laughing because of the turkey chickens. Then the smell hit me. Chicken trucks suck. Daughter buried her face in my hair “Oh your hair smells so good mommy, let me smell it some more.” We couldn’t cross the road fast enough. Run far enough, get away from that smell fast enough. Now we know why the chicken crossed the road. To get away from it’s own chicken shit smell.

Oh! It was Valentines day today. The dad bought the daughter her first diamond ring. He’s competitive.

Opening Ceremonies

Opening Ceremony

I'm tired and I blogged this morning. However, before I forget, friday marked the start of the Olympics. The Opening Ceremony's were well commercialized on the evil, bad tv and, therefore, the kids were beyond excited and impatient for them to start. I had a day off. Regardless, I was exhausted. It's like; wooooohoooo day off! Permission to be exhausted. After some laundry, chores, bath including leg shave and dinner preparation I was done for. The kids were counting down the minutes to Opening Ceremony Time.

Daughter finally seemed to get irritated at my lack of interest, she's obviously never seen Opening Ceremonies before. She decided to get the food ready for the Olympics. She kept running in and informing me of the snacks she'd set out. It sounded very interesting, but got annoying all the same. I'm awed to say she kept up the steady run into my room, to the kitchen, out to the living room and over again for over half an hour. Finally the Olympics started and I ventured out to share in the glory with the kids.

They were all parked, excited as can be, in front of the tv. The coffee table was filled with snacks by daughter. Cereal in bowls (no milk), a block of cheese with a knife (her knife, part of a toddler set), crackers, fruit and fruit snacks. Each boy was digging in one snack or the other so she did good. Pleased all their various tastes. While I groaned inward at the mess she made, I beamed outward at her excellent hostessing abilities.

The kids watched the whole, long, boring, Opening Ceremony. Only daughter waned in enthusiasm. Middle child excitedly repeated each blurb of mundane information from the commentators, causing all of us to be future trivial pursuit sports champs. Squareboy wants to be a skater with a fire hat. Sigh.

Saturday the fun continued with Women's Ice Hockey. The Canadians beat the Italians 16-0. Middle child, being of Italian heritage, was extremely insulted that "his" team didn't score a point. He stated the score frequently with great indignation. Sadly I am more proud that he watched a women's sport with such enthusiasm than that he is proud of his heritage. Somewhere I am doing something right.

The Pied Piper

Pajama day was Friday. I almost forgot. We were on the way out the door when I remembered. Luckily I had remembered the night before and the pink, footed, favorite pajamas were clean & fresh on the dad’s dresser. Not that daughter ever wears pajamas to sleep in. She sleeps in panties just like the brothers sleep in boxers. She wears pajamas up until the minute she’s ready for sleep. I know my day is over when they come off, because next she lays down her head and closes her eyes. Gone for the night. Amazing. Not even with Ambien do I fall asleep that quickly & easily.

Unfortunately pink, footed pajamas are tough to shoe. We finally found some clogs that work, thank God for Oma’s and random presents. I thanked God again when we got to the school and noticed that not a single kid forgot it was pajama day. They were so excited and so cute! I wished I had a picture of the class to share and not just daughter. As for the flute. It was “R” week and the prize for “R” bingo was a recorder. Yeah. 16 hopped-up preschoolers excited to be in pj’s in the middle of the day all playing on recorders. I don’t know which parent was in charge of the “R” prize but I will find out. I will.

The Uniform

Per my promise to my mom I cornered eldest after school today. Today is Thursday and on Thursday he has to wear his uniform for JROTC. She wanted a picture of him in uniform. It so happens that today the girlfriend rode the bus home with him, therefore, I have a picture of him in uniform. With the girlfriend, not in uniform. Not quite sure what she is wearing, it appears I’m out of the loop. Maybe I haven’t watched enough tv to know what’s in anymore. Though, actually, I feel, and the dad feels, I do watch quite a bit of tv. Even commercials.

Watching commercials with your kids, like driving in a car from A to B while listening to your kids and not your cell phone, can be a very enlightening experience. Tonight I learned that daughter has learned that boys must buy big girls jewelry on Valentines day. The guy shooting the arrow into his wife’s butt had not learned this lesson. Daughter sighed & rolled her eyes and stated that he should’ve bought her jewelry… before the announcer had his say. When she started in on Roman, the boyfriend, buying her jewelry when she is big I started in on how she could get a job and buy herself jewelry. She was quiet for a minute, big deal for daughter, and I thought “Aha!” I’d finally broken through. But no, she said;

“Yes, I could. But it would be better if Roman buyed it for me.” No more tv. Really.

Television is just bad. Take American Idol, there are people on American Idol who can’t sing. They don’t seem to know they can’t sing. I know they can’t sing, 99.99% of America knows they can’t sing, but somehow nobody in that 99.99% ever bothered to tell them they can’t sing. So they are on national, bad, tv being utterly ridiculous. Embarrassingly ridiculous. Now I know I can’t sing, 99.98% of America has told me so.

You will never catch me on American Idol. However, I love to sing and I feel, in the sanctity of my home, I should be allowed to sing. The dad, while under protest, supports my love of singing. The daughter, tonight, during the theme song to CSI (an old favorite by The Who), told me;

“You get to sing once a year. This is not your once a year. Maybe next year you can have another turn.” I think she would make Simon Cowell proud.

The Superbowl

I watch one football game a year. The Superbowl. I actually look forward to it because, honestly, I like football. I'd watch at least once a week and cheer on my favorite team if I could. I love yelling at the tv, I love beer, I love fatty, salty snacks and men in tight pants. Football is great! But I only have time to watch once a year.

Neither team this year was on my favorites list, whether that be favorite to cheer or favorite to boo. But I like to root for the underdog, and I really liked Seattle the one time I visited so I cheered for the Seahawks. Poor babies. They had every wrong call in the book thrown at them. I had great fun yelling at the tv. The kids were a little shocked at 1) my loudness (and for some of you this should be a big "Huh?" moment) and 2) my comprehension of the game. I did have a life before you kids. Really. And I really do enjoying sharing these moments with them. Little bodies, or big bodies in the bigger boys and girlfriends case, spread all over the furniture. Why can't they sit like normal people? Sharing snacks, crackling fire, in our new-to-us house. Except for the fact that we are all here all the time, including girlfriend, it was our first party in the new-to-us house! Wooooooohoooooooo!

Sadly, the commercials were very disappointing this year. Only the Nationwide's got a real giggle out of me and then some just missed the boat entirely. Though Jackass is once again a favorite word in my household. And the half-time show. Sigh. When the Superbowl powers-that-be choose Mick Jagger for a tame, family-friendly, risk-free, half-time show you know you are getting old.

Apparently older than Mick. He moves much faster and smoother than me. The kids were shocked at the old guy rocking on tv, though the girlfriend giggled "Hey! I know that song!" While eldest looked at her as if she was nuts. Luckily daughter saved the day by showing off her "skills" AKA "moves". She tried to imitate Mick on the screen. If only I knew where 1) the dad hid his videocam and 2) how to use; I would really have something to share right now.

Morning from HELL

Daughter had no school yesterday. Parent/teacher conferences. The good news is that she is going to, drumroll please, KINDERGARTEN next year! She is so excited to wear the Catholic schoolgirl uniform (man that just looks wrong, thanks a bunch SNL). The dad is a little upset that was even a question, after all, she is brilliant. At least precocious.

The truth is that daughter is very bright, unfortunately she is also extremely, um, willful. If she wants something, if she wants to learn something, do something, doesn’t matter what, she’ll learn how. If she couldn’t give a flying crap, well, good luck. Unfortunately she is not totally mesmerized with the art of reading, or even learning her letters. Why should she? She wants a sign read? Ask a brother. She wants a story read? Ask a brother. No need to do for yourself if you have brothers.

On the other hand, climbing trees, riding bikes, making coffee, these are all things she can do because, God forbid, she should be left behind when the brothers do those things. These ready-for-Kindergarten things really need to be kept in the perspective of the child involved. Luckily teacher noticed this about daughter, and while daughter is still behind on the whole reading-by-age-four thing, teacher is confident that by the end of summer she’ll be doing just fine. Because teacher lives down the street and plans to work with daughter. I feel incredibly flattered teacher has taken a shine to daughter, here I thought it was just me & the dad thinking she was great. But it’s contagious.

Lest anyone out there are coming away from this thinking daughter is just stunningly wonderful, let me sum up my stunningly horrid morning. I’m not a morning person. However, middle child must be up by 6:30 to catch the 6:55 bus. He is able to do this, in this short of a time, by 1) showering the night before, 2) eating breakfast at school and 3) the bus stops at our house. There are serious benefits to living in subrural North Carolina. Anyway, I get middle child up at 6:30. Though the child is almost 14, he cannot wake up without the mommy yelling “HEY GET UP” in his ear. Squareboy, who shares a room with middle child, does not wake up to this.

Once middle child is actually sitting up and blinking confusedly at the bright light in his eyes, he’s on the top bunk, near the light, I stumble back to bed till my “real” wake-up time… 7:00 a.m. This morning I was wide awake for some reason and did some laundry, puttered around, and then went to the bathroom. At some point the 7:00 a.m. alarm went off, which daughter turned off. Shortly thereafter I layed back down for a minute before the alarm went off. Which, of course, it already had. I wound up jumping out of bed, after a nightmare of being late, go figure, at 8:00 a.m. And tried to get daughter up.

Daughter reacts to bright lights in eyes by scooting to the footend of the bed and curling any & all blankets around her and squealing “No! Bright Light!” I ignored her briefly and went to get squareboy, only to find him up, dressed and with his lunch packed. Two sandwiches, a family-size bag of chex mix, two drinks, two fruit snacks and some carrots. He was planning on being hungry at lunch (the kid is 8. Eight-year-olds do not, ever, eat that much in one sitting). I let him take it all to school because 1) we were late, 2) he’d packed his own lunch and 3) he’d packed his own lunch!

Back to daughter, still squealing. I dress her. Squealing progressed to screaming. Wrong pants. Itchy shirt. The socks don’t match. WTH?!?! She even slept in an hour. More stuff happened, what it boils down to is that she screamed, squealed, whined from 8:00 a.m., until I dropped her off at school at 8:42 a.m.; where Roman told her “you’re lucky you’re late you missed chapel.” Daughter nodded her head, solemnly agreeing, she’s mad at Jesus for making Gorilla’s, flashed me the cheesiest grin because her boyfriend had talked to her and then skipped off to class.

Oink Oink and Moo Moo

Hmmm, I have this whole blog written, see below, but I suddenly remembered the sole picture on my camera since I promised myself I’d start taking more pictures of the kids… two, three, days ago. Can you see it? Am I performing miracles with my ability to manipulate this program yet? I came home from work and had to find daughter. She’d been hiding. I found her behind the only stack of boxes left in our new-to-me house. On the hardword floor, fast asleep, curled into a little ball. I just felt the need to share this. Now, on with the program.

My mother, while very loving, can be so mean. Yesterday she sent a package out to Squareboy. He’d begged her for his very own holy water, and she just happened to have a big, huge bottle from Lourdes. Have I mentioned we are Catholic? Anyway, yesterday the package arrived. Addressed to Squareboy. Daughter promptly burst into tears. Not to be politically incorrect, but girls are really more whiny, um, sensitive, than boys. She wanted a package. She ran out of the room to have a fit in her room… at least that’s a step in the right direction. Right?

She was back in two seconds. “Oma?!? Oma!?!?!” I swear that box smelled like she sprayed her perfume in it. The Oma smell permeated the room, the house, immediately. Daughter smelled it in her bedroom, all tears forgotten, and came tearing out looking for her Oma. Who was no where to be found. More tears. Damn girls.

Besides Squareboy’s holy water Oma had sent some stuffed animals. “Do they work?” She asked me this morning when I called to thank her. Yeah, they work. Dork. What you send us broken stuff now? Lovely.

“What do they say?”
“Oink, oink and moo moo.”

It was a pig and a cow. She burst out laughing so hard I can almost feel the tears coming out of her eyes through the phone. What the hell did she think a stuffed cow & pig would say? I never did find that one out because when I even mention the cow & the pig and she started giggling again. I had to bring her happiness down a level and comment on her meanness. I told her daughter had cried because squareboy got a package and she didn’t. Warm, fuzzy Oma feelings kicked right in, “Oooh, poor baby. But I sent her a toy too.” Then I had to explain daughter didn’t want the pig. I’m the pig lady. So the pig was mine. My mom was very sad about this until it was time to hang up. Instead of saying “Bye” I said “Oink, oink”. In between renewed hysterical, hicupping laughter she said “Moo, moo.”

Now vs. Then

I’m a bad, bad, bad mother. That’s how I ended my blog yesterday. And yet, this morning, driving the kids to school I realized just how true that had become. See when eldest was born I was determined to do everything “right”. I would nurse, and give him mother’s milk because that is best. What else are boobies for? I would make sure he had only pure, healthy foods so he could grow big and strong. I would ensure his diapers were pure cotton with no scary additives to keep his tender skin dry.

As a result, I ate very healthy so he would nurse very healthy. I washed and line-dried his diapers, my mother ironed them so that they weren’t wrinkly on his tushy. I even made his baby food so he wouldn’t have to eat the additives in the Gerber baby food jar. Um, in fact, his very first foods I, um, prechewed, before wising up just a little and getting a baby food grinder. A hand-cranked baby food grinder at that.

The poor kid wore pink, had moccasins as his first shoes and had only gender-neutral toys. Dolls being gender-neutral, of course. TV was taboo. It wasn’t till he was about 2 ½ that he finally started watching TV, just a half hour of course. On public TV. Thomas being the show of choice (this was actually a blessing because even now, at 15, eldest and siblings still play with all the Thomas happy-crappy). Even with closely monitored TV the kid started turning everything into guns and cars. Lego’s, while being my favorite toy ever, very handily transform into any gun or car imaginable.

Today, along with the Thomas , we still have lego’s and TV. Unfortunately the TV is now home to Spongebob, Ed, Edd & Eddy and Anime drama 24/7. The only kid to wear pink is daughter and I have the only pair of moccasins left (used to match eldests… way back when). Nobody is in diapers, but if they were they would be store-brand loaded with chemical gel to keep their tender little skin from ever feeling wet. Thereby extending potty training, and diaper-wearing, another year or two. The worst? Daughter and squareboy had pop-tarts in the car on the way to school this morning.

Not prechewed.

Double Whammy

Hmmm, just figured out a new feature to this blog thingy. So while some days there are no posts, this day there are two. Woooooooohoooooooo! Can you see it? Here's eldest post-headshave. He's in JROTC. While we are a military family, I still don't want my kids in the military. Still, I am proud he's in JROTC and I do think the discipline and high expectations will do him a world of good. So last night it was time to say goodbye to the long locks of late. Beautiful hair streaked with gold by one of the best hairstreakers in my mom's California hometown. He wanted to keep some of the streaks, as did my mom seeing as how it was her money that had paid for the streaks. So I set the razor on "8" and promptly pulled a big chunk of hair out by the roots. Thank God eldest has a high pain tolerance. Turns out too much hair causes the razoer to seize up. First you must cut the hair, then buzz it. Eldest freaked at the sight of scissors in my hand, for a male he is very into his hair.

Personally, I think the chopped look with streaks looked great! But he wouldn't let a camera near his head, so no pic of that. Then I buzzed away and then I trimmed and end result should be shown here... provided I figured out how to use this feature of the blog. Please, feel free to laugh at his stripes. I did.

I'm a bad, bad, bad mother.

Explosion

My parents left late Wednesday night. I came home from work, kissed them goodbye and then hurried up and waited while my dad puttered around the house for 10 minutes. "He's been ready for hours" my mom helpfully shared. So what the hell he was doing now, I have no idea. They finally left and daughter burst into tears. Squareboy went nuts, think trapped squirrel on speed, and it was 10:00 p.m. an hour past bedtime and an hour away from the dad coming home. Yippee.

The next morning was not better and daughter went to school in brandnew pants from Oma. Elastic waist pants that are waaaaaaaaaay too big for her waist all the same. However, I'd argued and screamed enough that morning. We were already a half hour late so I let her wear the brandnew waaaaaaaaaaay too big pants to school. At pickup time I was pulled aside by teacher. Apparently daughter had caused quite the controversy in school that day. She'd spawned numerous discussion on how to politely tell someone their pants were down. Apparently "I can see your butt!" or "I see your underwear!" and the like is totally unacceptable. Daughter herself denied that any of this occurred at school today. I have hid the pants.

Daughter continued to be very whiny, cry-y and a general pain-in-the-butt. I chalked it up to missing the grandparents until she started complaining of a hurt tummy. There has been a 24-hour bug going around so I took that a little more seriously and put her on the BRAT diet and cartoons. Unfortunately it didn't cure her and a fever was next. By Saturday night she was very hot and miserable. Figures that all big illnesses occur when there is no doctor available, no urgent care, not even an on-call nurse. I even, briefly, missed the Land of Ice & Snow. At least there I could always, always reach a doctor or nurse when one of the kids worried me.

I decided to wait till morning to see if daughter was better or worse before I would maybe brave the ER. Poor daughter cried most of the night, not loud full-lung crying but pitiful whimpering. Broke my heart and yet made me sooooo long for sleep. I finally fell asleep about 5:00 a.m. and daughter got up, with a very sore tummy, around 7:00 a.m.. It took me about half an hour to drag myself out of bed to check on her. She'd wrapped herself up in Number Two's blanket and was watching cartoons. Medication of choice in our home.

I went back into the bedroom only to be assaulted by a horrific smell. Turned out daughter had woken up because of an explosion of brown all over MY bed. And the dad was peacefully sleeping next to the mess.

Ready for Heaven

My parents are visiting. Staying at the new-to-me house even. In fact, they are fixing up the new-to-me house. My mom called every day the week before actual arrival:

"Make sure you make a list!" for my dad. So I made a list, it's got about 20 things that could possibly be fixed on it. #1 was the stovetop, that was done day #1. #2 was the dishwasher, it's day #7... not done. Not that he hasn't worked on it but as my mom has now told me, several times, he's an electrical engineer not a plumber. And as I told her, I'm a follower not a mindreader. I made a list. How was I to know I should have let plumbing off and made it in the order of skill sets he had?

On day #2 my mom and I volunteered in daughters classroom. I have enormously great respect for her preschool teacher, for all preschool teachers really, because after two hours of supervising, singing, dancing, coloring, praying I was done for. I happily left her to finish the day and went for a cup of coffee with my mom. Over coffee my mom shared her volunteer experience with me. One of the kids had noted:

"Oh you are really old!" yes my mom calmly acknowledged. "Don't worry." He reassured her, "You will go to Heaven soon and you will get a whole new body. You will be as good as new!" The things they teach in Catholic school.

Today my mom went shopping again, day #7 in a row, I begged off since I have a 10-hr shift this afternoon. In fact, I took a bath, read a book, and layed down a minute... only to get woken up from a deep sleep by a loudly, wildly, beeping fire alarm. My mom had set my new-to-me oven on fire. Flames coming out and everything. All is well, no worries. Dammit. My beautiful new-to-me avocado green oven will remain. My mother was a little discombobulated, but I reassured her that cooking a meatloaf for a family of seven, including three teenage boys, is overwhelming for anyone. She couldn't have known the meat would overflow the pan, overflow the cookie sheet and drip onto the element sparking the flames. Not when she's used to cooking meatloaf for a family of two.

As for my dad? He has a new favorite word 'exaggerate'. That was his comment to her big meatloaf that almost got me a new oven. She shouldn't have exaggerated the size. Now, please, hear this pronounced not exaggerate but more like "ex-sag-ggggerate', in a dutch accent. He first used it at dinner sunday night and we've since heard it a million times.

Speaking of that dinner, he was a little irritated that I let me kids up from the table during the meal. In his day that didn't happen, if something was needed, well, the parents got it and the kids stayed in their seat. I said okay, we'd do it his way since he was our guest and we wanted him to feel welcome. Shortly thereafter middle child needed salt. Up he got. Two minutes later eldest needed ketchup. Right after that squareboy needed more milk. He didn't catch-on till eldest again needed something less than 30 seconds after he sat down. Luckily he has a sense of humor.

O is for Squid

Daughter is in rare form tonight, I'm just going to keep track of random mutterings as she does. It all started when I walked in the door:

"O is for squid." (and, LOL, as I type this, she runs up and says "Oh! You typed an O"). O is the letter of the week and, of course, an octopus is the picture for O. Except she knows squid, not octopus. I think, perhaps, O will be a hard letter to learn.

While I was at work the Daddy came home. Finally! It's been a long, long month... even if he has been home a little here & there. Daughter was very excited to see him, and the Tshirts he made while helping Papa in New Mexico, until I mentioned her impending nuptials. You see, earlier, while driving her & Squareboy home from school, and again refraining from cell phone use, the marriage was announced:

"Roman is my boyfriend."
"Does he know that." Squareboy.
"Yes! And he loves me. We are getting married." I butt in with an it's-okay-to-get-married-when-you-are-18 speech.

"But I'm 4!" Duh. "Hmphf. Roman thinks we are getting married when Oma is here. So we are getting married." Oma arrives tomorrow, guess that settles that. At least it did until I announced this to the Daddy about 5 minutes ago. He told her No. She uninvited him. I'm still waiting for an answer on how she's going to hide a whole husband from the daddy.

Midnight Snack

Last night, after work, I brought home a little treat for the kids... left over KFC! We'd had inventory at the store and that being extremely time-intensive they'd fed us rather than letting us off the premises. Okay by me. Feeeeeeeeed me Seymour!

So I got home with a couple of meals of KFC and the kids jumped up & down like I'd brought home the winning lottery ticket. I'd intended for it to be tonight's meal, but they were so excited, and they'd been so good, that we hopped up to the table and all ate away.

"Mmmmmmh! This is the best chicken ever."
"I wasn't even hungry but this is so good!"
"I'm allergic to gravy."

That last one was daughter, she's so not allergic. Just doesn't like gravy and the new thing is, she's "allergic" to anything she doesn't like. It's all Charlie's fault, really, he is, really, allergic to peanut butter so she has a peanut free classroom. As a result I make her jelly sandwich first in the morning, and then Squareboy's PB&J. That way there's no cross-contamination worries. I like Charlie. I'm not thrilled that daughter has learned to use his allergies to her own advantage, however.

Anyway, so last night we were really enjoying our free KFC during our "Midnight Snack"... even if it was only 10:30, heck, I was trying to get them to bed after 3 nights of staying up late. We don't ever buy KFC at our house. It's expensive for fast food! For that kind of money, I'll go to Applebee's and have a sitdown meal. The most we ever do is a burger off the dollar menu, I won't even buy potatoes for a buck. I can buy a whole bag of potatoes and fry them up for a buck, why pay a buck for 10 soggy sticks?

Part of the struggle of raising a large family is having to make your own french fries, part of the joy of raising a large family is Midnight Snacks with unexpected treats. With the bad comes the good, and I have to say the good far outweighs the bad. I looked at their smiling faces last night, they were so happy! How many people can say their kids were thrilled to have KFC for dinner? How many kids appreciate the value of money enough to understand that it's much more cost-effective to fry your own french fries, and your own chicken?

Coffee

Squareboy is not normal. I can prove this. He is always begging me for a sip of my coffee and sometimes I let him have a sip, like this morning. I'd been talking on the phone and the last third/quarter of the cup had gotten cold. What the heck, let him enjoy it. With the cold coffee gone I got up to get a nice, hot, refill. The pot was friggin' empty! And Squareboy walks in, dumps my empty cup into the sink, grabs the big (and in big I mean one of those huge oversize Starbucks cups) full cup next to the pot and walks off like it's nothing. I blow my top and ask him what the hell he is doing. Squareboy looks at me innocently, shrugs his shoulders and nonchalantly states "I felt like a big cup of coffee." He drank the whole thing.

After all that caffeine I figured he needed to go outside and burn some of it off. Not for my sake but for the babysitter, AKA The Girlfriend, this afternoon. Now we've moved into this big, new-to-us house and it comes with a big, new-to-us yard. And that yard is filled with trees. Jam-packed, filled. Mostly pine and some miscellaneous beats-the-heck-out-of-me trees, I'm going to wait till they grow leaves or bloom or something before trying to identify them. "Can't you tell by looking at the bark?" My sister asked early this morning. Um, no. No I can't.

Back to Squareboy burning it off. I ordered him outside with a rake. I got a whine in response and told him his grandparents are coming next week and that they'd drive right by our new house. They wouldn't be able to find it for the mess. He looked at me like I was stupid.

"But the neighbors all raked their yards. Our house will be easy to find!" Nice. Real nice genius.

He's actually very good at raking, very conscientious. Unfortunately Sister went with him, with her special small rake. She loves looking up to her big brother (*snort* at the idea of Squareboy being the big brother) and doing exactly what he does. In this case that meant raking exactly, and I do mean exactly, where Squareboy was raking. This led to the relevation that the ends of rakes are shaped like lightsabers. I'm still confused how no one is bruised or bloody after that battle. I do know that Squareboy, while hiding from Sister, found the waterguns. I know this because I've been squirted. He's now watering all our bazillion trees with the watergun... and daughter is drinking the last third/quarter of my second cup of coffee, which got cold as I type this.

Loose Teeth & Boyfriends

A while back I read someone's weekly column ranting against all the mothers out there on cell phones while ignoring their children in the backseat. The author was of the opinion that valuable time with children was being wasted while on the road. I agreed and since then have tried to ignore my cell phone while in the car with my kids. I've done pretty well, and as a result, I have the following interesting conversation to share, occurring on the drive home after school today:

Daughter: "I miss Roman"
me: "You just spent all day with Roman."
Squareboy: "Roman is your boyfriend" in that tone. You know the tone. I try to jump in to explain boyfriends vs. boyfriend. But daughter beat me to the punch.

Daughter: "Fine. Roman is my boyfriend. I admit it." The kid is FOUR! "I'll say it. I love Roman." I mutter something about how loving people is wonderful and makes for a life of happiness, blah, blah, blah. All the while wondering if I've gone wrong somewhere. In the meantime daughter is asking if I know Roman's phone number and can he come play at the park with us. Of course I have his number and of course I'll call his mom.

Daughter: "Great! Roman and I can have a date!"

Squareboy had lost interest in this conversation way back at the beginning and asks if I know how many loose teeth he has. I acknowledge that I know he has one loose tooth. At this point daughter butts in with the opinion that Squareboy needs braces. His teeth are a little crooked with all the gaps from previous loose teeth so I get her point. Then she announces that the brothers tried to pull Squareboy's teeth out with string and a door. Just remembering makes her tear up because Squareboy had, gasp, blood! Squareboy cackles maniacally and notes that daughter will be a mess when she loses her teeth. This is true. The girl has a serious blood phobia. She's still teary-eyed at poor Squareboy's bloody teeth weeks ago as we pull up to the house. It's too bad we don't live farther from school, I wonder what was next on their conversation agenda.

I still don't know how many loose teeth Squareboy has.

Quilthammer

Middle Child and I bonded today. I got home late from work last night to a wonderful message on my answering machine, my sisters Wedding Quilt was done! Now I’d designed it and pieced it… after the Dad found the absolute perfect fabric that defined the whole project. For a tough military guy he has a great eye. And the self-confidence to share it with me. Favorite moments in my life are heavy discussions over fabric choices, in public, with the Dad. It’s kind of an anchor for what is truly our marriage.

Miss Judy quilted it for me. Baby quilts I can piece and hand-tie, even some minor machine quilting but a big ol’ full-queen-king size quilt? I need help. Miss Judy’s help came in the form of “King Tut” thread. Considering the absolute perfect fabric was little Egyptian guys dancing around the border, “King Tut” thread was perfect!.

Brother-in-Law (aka BIL) had proposed to Sister last Christmas during a surprise cruise down the river Nile. He shared his iPod with her and dancing to some Bob Marley he asked her to be his wife. One of the most romantic proposals I know and one that needs to be retold and shared, just to keep that kind of love in the air. I hope my quilt leads to the retelling of that story often, and that it sparks others to love in such a beautiful way. Thoughts of their quilt immediately filled my head hearing the news. The Dad knew that without asking me and happily chauffeured me to JoAnn’s fabric shop way out in Fayetteville. He found the perfect fabrics immediately. I’ve never picked the pieces together so quickly. It really is a joy that he shares my hobby and holds my hand through some of the tough decisions and, yuck, math that goes with quilting.

I had the top cut & roughly pieced easily and quickly. Deciding where each block went & flowed best was a lot harder, poor Dad spent some rough evenings coming in off the field deadbeat only to find his bed covered in quilt blocks and me, yammering away “like this?” , “Or maybe like this?” , “What do you think?” Poor guy was game anyway and helped me figure it all out. The top turned out beautifully. And now I’ve got it back from the master quilter Miss Judy and it is GORGEOUS! The King Tut thread flows through the quilt just like a Bob Marley song, in the gold, greens and reds of reggae. She even showed it off to the quilting guild ladies and they ooohed & aaaawed over my creation. I’m on cloud nine and soooo wish I could see Sister and BILs faces.

Miss Judy really was impressed with my “modern” style and she had a book or two of new techniques she thought I might like to explore. The first book was very cool, but a little over my head. The second book was completely my style. A traditional pattern with a twist. Exactly what I like to do. I raced home with the book and my excitement was contagious for middle child. He wanted to help. Fantastic timing! Right at that second I had two quilts I wanted to start, one easy but needed color and he has his father’s eye for color, and one difficult that I would tackle. We worked side by side for several hours, washing, ironing, cutting, hemming & hawwwing a little here and there. He learned quite a bit about selvage edges, fabric biases, rotary cutters and using a sewing machine. In the end he had enough strips for several nine patches and he was quite please with where it was going. I don’t know if I was more pleased at how long he’d hung in there, or the fact that being a military family we can still be a quilting family too. It’s just cool to me.

I continued on with my twisted new project, realizing I was in deep doodoo with the amount of math involved. Eldest sprang to my rescue sprouting out numbers and angles left & right. I said “Listen to me, I just need to know how long to cut each side of the triangle” and he insisted that I listen to his explanation of how he got to those numbers (He had a point, after round one of triangles there would be 6 more rounds of triangles in proportionately bigger sizes). But I don’t do math well and all I really wanted was the math done & the size of the triangles given to me. I can cut them out just fine, once I know what size they are. The Dad understands my need of just the answer. And I thank the Dad for having set to example that quilting with me is good. I’m going to choose to believe that is is good family bonding and leave it at that. I am thankful my boys help me sort out my quilting dilemma’s... now if only the days were longer and I could quilt some more without feeling like I'm falling over... all would be perfect.

The Snoring Duo

The Dad is out in the field, leaving me all alone, um, all alone with all the kids that is, in my big, new-to-me house. I’m blessed with Squareboy and daughter tangled together in my covers snoring away in contradicting rhythms. Very non-conducive to sleep. Or maybe it’s the big, new-to-me house. It creaks. Creaks I don’t know and have me feeling jumpy. Me thinks we need a dog. But, shhhhhhhhh, don’t let the kids hear me think that!

Actually, today, a great day today, daughters teacher stopped by the house! Just because I’d shared the new address, for daughter to learn you know, and it turns out she lives down the street. Teacher had to walk her doggies anyway and stopped by to say “hi”. I absolutely love the south! People stop by! I feel loved and not cold-shouldered like in the Land of Ice & Snow. Teachers doggies are rescues. Poor Pepper is very jumpy, I scared her with my enthusiasm and I still feel just terrible about it. The poor doggy just ran as fast as she could, as far as her leash would take her, the opposite direction of me. Marcy on the otherhand, “careful she bites”, loved me! Could be because I was quickly wolfing down a snack when I heard them walk into the backyard and Marcy smelled the snack fresh on my hands. Marcy is a grouchy little bassett/dachshund mix who loves, loves, loves food. And me. Anyway, once again I derail myself, anyone ever finish a whole one of my blogs? And comprehend it? Anyone? Obviously Teacher couldn’t very well come in, Pepper and Marcy couldn’t be left alone and, well, I have no outdoor furniture to entertain on, so me, Squareboy & daughter walked teacher home. Down the street my foot. The woman lives like 4 blocks away. Rural North Carolina blocks. Me wearing my cute, but very unpractical, walking clogs. Squareboy and daughter jumped and chatted the whole way. In between their squeals teacher gave me the rundown of all the neighbors. Well, really, the neighbors dogs. She is definitely a dog person. Along the way we met Lynne and 3 of her rescue dogs. I think rescuing dogs is the accepted social grace out here. Lynne rescues golden retrievers exclusively. How the heck a beautiful, gentle, expensive breed like a Golden ever needs an exclusive rescuerer truly boggles my brain. Still, Lynne was a sight to behold. We couldn’t get too close because Golden #1 refuses to be leashed and has hip displasia on top of it… and Pepper tends to act tough with dogs, just not with scary 5’2” me. So standing half a North Carolina block apart, we met Lynne. Pepper straining at the leash, Marcy sniffing for non-existent food, Golden #1 laying down & not caring at all about anything but resting his poor hip, Golden #2 barking uncontrollably and Golden #3 holding his leash in his mouth and leaning back like a stubborn pony refusing to go forward. Where’s the video camera when you need one?Crap. Rambling. The house is still creaking and I keep losing my train of thought. I’ve checked on each kid, even Eldest-who-can-now-drive, at least three times. Back to my thought in paragraph one, you know, the one about needing a puppy? While wandering the neighborhood and meeting the neighors I learned that Lynne is looking at a 7-month old Golden puppy tomorrow. Maybe our puppy. Depends what exactly the rescue situation is. I even called the Dad, to leave a voicemail and darned if he didn’t have reception where no soldier should have reception, and the Dad didn’t say no! The Dad is a cat person. I really, really would feel better with a doggy at my side on the nights he is in the field. In my big, new-to-me house that I absolutely love, but scares me in the middle of the night. I’d better go try to sleep again. Sitting here typing, whining, is not going to help me nod off. At least the bed will be cozy and warm from Squareboy and daughter, if not quiet.

Shiny, Sparkley Snowmans

Here’s to try #2, back to working on the formatting. I now know I can’t fix any typo’s…. pssst, did you know Faithfull is spelled with only one “l”. I know this, apparently the computer doesn’t & it sure won’t let me fix it. I will forever be staring at Faithfull and forever be aggravating over the extra “ l”

The week before Christmas we bought a house. It went amazingly smooth and amazingly quick. I felt so incredibly blessed to be going from a 3-bedroom apartment to a 5-bedroom house, with more than twice the space. Little did I know how much stuff can be crammed into a 3-bedroom apartment. I found out the hard way when the Dad’s dad came down with leukemia that same week. He hadn’t been feeling well for a while, but an infection finally got him into the doctor, only to be confronted with a lot more than he imagined. A couple of days later t he Dad flew out to New Mexico to be at his side. I truly believe his presence at his father’s side saved The Dad’s dad life. However, his absence at home did leave me moving our junk the week before Christmas. I threw away as much as I could, I believe I filled the apartment dumpster (for 300+ units) all by my lonesome, still the new house soon housed junk from end to end.

In between the kids & I managed to decorate not one, but two! Christmas trees. Our steady, dare I say, old Faithfull, fake tree and a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree given to me by the Dad. It had been last on the lot & completely free, and to me, perfect. It smelled just right, it held exactly the right amount of ornaments. MY ornaments. And while everyone else made fun of it, it was my little oasis that very hectic week.

Sometimes it is very hard to look at the bright side. Luckily shiny, sparkly snowmans dangling from a tree make it very hard to ignore happiness. My father-in-law made it through his crisis, the Dad got to spend some incredibly valuable time with his dad and our boxes are in our house. The kids have smiles on their faces and their voices echo through the huge space we now have. Life is good.