I am posting this, finally, from my laptop.

The Geek Squad didn't exactly lose my laptop, they just stuck it on a shelf in the back where it sat for 2 weeks. There was some computer glitch the day I came in and it was "waiting" for some number from corporate so it could be shipped out. Apparently the glitch was fixed the following day, so why it wasn't shipped out the next day is a mystery to me and the two sincerely sorry guys working the day I stomped back in and told them, "Just give the damn thing back to me. And refund the diagnosis fee."

Then I took it over to Data Recovery Group, which is fortunately near my home. They were much more professional and expensive. Dude there got everything off my hard drive (I think - I haven't been able to load Quickbooks so I don't know if I have up-to-date data). I gave him my left arm and leg. Backup, people. Often. Seriously. I'm like a reformed smoker - "Don't you realize what can happen??? Tragedy!"

Anyway, now I have it back, reinstalled Windows XP and whatever necessary drivers I could figure out were necessary (they really should make that part easier - and why, when I bought this computer, was I given a CD to reinstall Roxio-something-or-other when what I really needed were video, graphics and ethernet drivers that I had to find and download on my other computer from Dell?).

Anyway, it' s nice to be back up and running. I'm going to be a lot more careful about what I put on here - I know I had a hard drive failure because I kept the thing plugged in and turned on too much. But it boots up soooo quickly now that it doesn't have all those stupid little programs on it.

And tomorrow is A's first day of kindergarten. He told us tonight, "You are going to miss me soooo much!" You have no idea, buddy.

This little baby will be starting kindergarten next week. It's a full day program, and you know what that means....I have to start packing lunches. We had a trial run this summer with daycamp, and I failed miserably. I forgot to pack a lunch on the both first day and the last day - and it was a 5 day camp. The first day, I ran home, threw something together and drove it back. On the last day, we were having a potluck afterward anyway, so he just shared W's lunch.

I used to work at a school - I know how parents who forget to pack a lunch are viewed, and I don't want them to label me as the press-lips-together-and-shake-head-sadly-mother - not yet, anyway. So I'm going to try really, really hard to remember to send him with a lunch. I wonder if I could stash a MRE or something somewhere in the classroom in case of emergency.

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Me: A, how many times do I have to tell you I don't like potty talk?

A: Um, 12?

Me: Well, I'm pretty sure I'm told you more than 12 times.

A: No, I'm thinking we're at 11.

Today was way too hot to play outside, so I shopped on the computer. My birthday is just about 2 months away, so I've put together a kaboodle list. But I'm not nearly as good a shopper as I used to be. I need some other like-minded people's lists to peruse. So if you kaboodle, let me know who you are and feel free to add Lunasea237 as a friend.

Here's what I've come up with so far:

lunasea237's Wish List by lunasea237

Living Dangerously Is....

....giving a cereal called "Optimum Power" to a 2-year-old. I'm afraid he may explode.

Friday

My attempts to track down my laptop at Best Buy have so far been fruitless. They've had it for almost 2 weeks, were supposed to call with an estimate and I haven't heard anything.

I called twice yesterday - the first time I was put on hold for 30 minutes and the second time they just didn't bother to answer the phone. I tried calling the main number (1-888-best-buy) and they can't get through until the store opens, so I have to call back again after 10am. I asked the CS rep, "You can probably get through better than I can, huh?" He answered, "Well, we have lots of practice." Oh good - that instills confidence.

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A. recently picked out a bright pink bicycle helmet. G had a tiny crisis of masculinity in the bike shop with the choice, but went along with it.

Then we noticed that A. wasn't riding his bike. The one time I convinced him to ride it, he jumped off as soon as Neighbor Boy came around. I asked if it was about the helmet.

"W. isn't going to like it," he said. W. is one of his best friends, a real boy's boy who hates the color pink with a passion. A. likes to tease him by telling him how much he loves pink. But to say you like pink and to wear a bright pink bike helmet are two different things.

"Good thing W. doesn't have to wear it, then. Look, buddy, when W. picks out a helmet for himself, he can pick one he likes. Do you not like this one anymore?"

"No, I do like it."

"Then you shouldn't worry about what the other kids think. It's your helmet."

I sighed. I want him to be strong enough to stand up to peer pressure, but to tell a kid that it doesn't matter if other kids tease him is ridiculous.

"Look, I think you should either wear it because you like it, or we can go pick out a different one. But to not ride your bike at all isn't going to work."

The next day, W. was out and A. rode his bike with the pink helmet happily. There didn't seem to be any problem with it. Way to go, A.

The next day he told me he wanted to be a witch for Halloween. It's one thing for a 3-year-old boy to be a ladybug (see Halloween 2005), but it's another for a kindergarten boy to choose to be a witch. I took a deep breath and wondered if I should say, "Great. We'll make it happen," or "How 'bout a wizard instead?"

Fortunately, he saved me by saying, "No, I mean I want to be a pirate. Half-witch, half-pirate. No, I mean I'm going to be a vampire."

(with relief) "OK, you've got some time to decide."

Sometimes it's hard to practice what you preach. Especially if your boy's going to be the one in a witch dress at the costume parade.

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A new bedtime routine is called "Silly Questions." G. started it with A. and Ben isn't about to be left out. At first I tried to get out of it by saying that only Papa knew how to do Silly Questions, but that didn't work.

Silly Questions involve us asking the boys, "If you were going to be/do A, would you be/do B or C?" Like "If you were going to be a dinosaur, would you be a Brontosaurus or a Triceratops?"

The boys then answer something that wasn't given as an option, and we express dismay and surprise. G. is better at that part than I am.

So Ben just walked up to me and said, "I goin' ask you silly question. If you were going to be a banana or a monkey, would you be a fence or a couch?" Then he chortled to himself and walked away.

So I've been checking out scrumdilly-do for kids' craft ideas. We decided to make the foil collages and turn them into cards. It worked well, I think. Ben loved painting with the glue and A. was very proud of his ability to evenly scatter the beads (as oppsed to Ben, who preferred a clumping method). The neighbor kids who came over to play saw them drying and asked to do some more. We made so many that I'm still gluing collages onto cards (see below), so I tried to placate the kids with the soaking chalk thing. It does make the chalk nice and bright, but it also attracts ant tribes, so if you have any ants within 5 miles of your home, I suggest trying something else.
Who wouldn't like to receive an orignal, mixed-media child's collage? Maybe A. can sell them.

Do we know where the action is or WHAT?


I have been slacking in the blog department lately. Without my laptop, I'm just lost. It's much more of a pain to upload photos to this computer (my desktop), and it's also more cumbersome when I think of something to write about. I mean, I have to pull out the desk chair, sit down, scoot in and pull the keyboard towards me. Who has the time?

A. is starting kindergarten in a few weeks. He's turning 5 the same week. Don't have a baby in late August/early September if you can help it. Because I'm a rebel, I bought him a uniform top at Target today since they were on sale. We're only supposed to buy uniforms from Land's End. Way to subvert the dominant paradigm, Luna.

I've recently been fascinated by the HBO series Big Love. We don't get HBO, so I rented a couple of the first DVDs after catching a bit on the HBO flat-screen TV on vacation. One of the ways we know we're on vacation is we get to watch cable. Anyway, I love Mormons. G and I have been watching it on the weekends after the boys go to bed. Boy, does HBO show more sex than regular networks - I had no idea. So that's been cutting into the blog time too.

I haven't heard from the Geek Squad. I suppose I should call tomorrow since they've had it over a week now. I have this superstition that if I show God how patient I can be, he will have the Geek Squad call me and say, "We've recovered everything - it was easy and we're not even going to charge you for it because you've been so patient and you obviously deserve some good computer mojo."

I'll let you know when that happens.

Heaven In a Carton

Toffee ice cream with caramel swirls and chocolate caramel cups. Oh. My. God.

Just so you know where I'm coming from, I love ice cream. I don't think I've ever had a flavor I didn't like. However, I have found the best ice cream flavor in the world, and I don't say that lightly. This is the kind of ice cream that can make you continue eating it when your stomach is full because it tastes SO freakin' good. I've even stopped going to Safeway because that's where it's sold (under the Safeway Select label), but today Albertson's is changing into Lucky's (Me: "Oh, the store is closed. We have to go to Safeway. Albertson's is changing into Lucky's." A: "AGAIN?") and we needed milk and juice so we went to Safeway where I was powerless under the Caribou's spell.

I'm baaaaack!

So the day before we left:

1. I go to KMart on my work break to get a pill case. My pill case has spaces for 7 days. I'm going to be gone for 10 days and don't need one of those multi-week things they give patients over 70. I take 3 pills a day and just need a small pill case to carry 3 more days' worth. I'm very good about throwing away old medicine so I don't have an old Rx bottle to use.

Ah, but I forgot Kmart is the land of lines. And something has happened to the register at the front of my line which causes me to be stuck there for 20 goddamn minutes with a stupid pill case, time running out. I dump the pill case and a few other odds and ends on the counter and flee.

2. At my next break, I go to the bank and Safeway to grab lunch. I head back to the pharmacy counter. Time is short and the Safeway is huge, so I ask the pharmacist (I know she's the pharmacist because it says so on her white coat) where the pill cases are. She stares at me and says, "Um. I don't think we carry those."

I stare back and say, "Seriously?"

"Noooo, we don't carry those here."

"Really?"

We do this a couple more times....and finally it is revealed she thought I was asking for pillow cases. She produces a small medicine vial and my problem is solved.

We both have a chuckle and I'm grateful for the free vial, but C'MON - you're a pharmacist, you're surrounded by pills all day and wouldn't it make more sense to think I was asking for PILL CASES even if I WAS asking for pillow cases?

There was more stuff that I don't remember right now, and then I tried to backup Quicken and my laptop died, as explained below.

Other than the laptop tragedy, we had a nice time. Rustic but fun at Diamond Lake in OR with the Wild Turkey (the bird, not the liquor) and Old Time Fiddler conferences - how lucky were we they happened to be there at the same time? They had a fiddler jamboree in the activity hall every night. My family was less enthusiastic about it than I was.

Then on to SunRiver near Bend - very nice except I spent the entire time with my 2-year-old since he's too young to bike or fish. On the last day I managed to rent a bike and get a bike ride in. It really IS a great place to ride bikes. And I would have liked more time at the swimming pool and less time playing Red Light, Green Light with Ben, who won't let you go more than 5 steps at a time. Took for freakin' EVER to take a walk.

Then we drove to Portland to stay with my sister for a few days. Then we drove back....12 hours driving today. From 7am to 7pm straight through with only potty and gas breaks. And a new portable DVD player from Best Buy.

I told G, "The problem with this vacation was we just didn't spend enough time in the car." Pictures tomorrow, maybe.

Checking In

So we did our long car trip from California to Oregon. The night before we were to leave, my laptop died. Yep, the laptop I love and adore, my lifeline, the device the kids were going to watch 3 new DVDs on, the device I was going to catch up on work with, etc., died. I was trying to backup Quicken, it spurted some error message and then gave up the ghost. I had to reinstall Windows XP, which of course wiped out my hard drive, and of course the re-installation disks don't have the drivers for the DVD player or the modem on them (who really wants everything on their computer to work, after all?) so I couldn't even get it to play DVDs. It's terribly sad and I feel a great sinking grief in my heart. Mostly because I'm lazy about backing up and I lost 3 months worth of pictures and work accounting info.

I'm posting this from my SILs laptop in Sunriver. We're impersonating an active family and doing bike rides (not me, though, because none of the bikes fit my short frame, darn it. Ben wasn't up for it either so I stayed home with him but I'm told that I MUST rent an appropriate bike because I MUST try out these trails), hikes and swimming.

I have to give the computer back, but when I return, I'll tell y'all about the day before I left, on which my laptop dying at 10pm was just the culmination of pretty much everything going wrong. I think I brought my luck with me. We've been in the house my ILs rented for less than 24 hours an, there are men fixing the broken garage door and a locksmith fixing my FIL's car that won't start, the lady's been out to fix the wireless internet. And now it's RAINING. In Sunriver. But, the DVD players in the house work. And Ben's sleeping so it's not all bad.

Dreamland

I was woken up at around 5 am this morning by idiots cruising outside our house with their stereo blaring. It takes a special kind of idiot to blare their bone-crushing bass at 5 am.

Then I finally fell back asleep, and dreamed of idiots stealing a very expensive bottle of liquor that I was supposed to return to a bar, so the hunt was on. I came across some suspicious gang-like idiots, chased them, and they shot at me.

My sub-conscious is telling me, "Remember....these idiots have weapons."

A/C Haiku

Air conditioning
blasts some cool air over me
best upgrade to house

Would like to set it
at 70 or lower
but global warming

Makes me feel guilty
So have to keep it higher
But still comfortable

I love my a/c
Want to carry it with me
wherever I go.

You Wanna Piece O' Me?

1. As I've mentioned, the boys are big into "Toy Story" right now. There's a point where Woody is challenging Buzz and says, "You want a piece of me?" So now the boys are repeating it over and over to each other. Sometimes they're laughing, but sometimes they're really angry with each other. There's not much that's funnier than a pissed-off 2-year-old with a red, raging face screaming at his brother, "YOU WANNA PIECE O' ME? YOU WANNA PIECE O' ME?"

2. This week, A. is attending a day camp at our Shoreline Interpretive Center. Yesterday was Mud Day. The counselors, bless their little non-child-rearing hearts, challenged the kids to see who could get the muddiest. A. is not one to back down from a challenge, nor is his friend W., who also attends the camp. They won. As W.'s mom said, "Sweet."

When I went to pick him up, the head counselor said reverentially, "Man, he got really, really muddy. He had a mud helmet. It was really impressive." When I went outside to fetch his galoshes, the teenage junior naturalist, in almost a hushed voice, said, "Wow. A. got sooooo muddy." Apparently pictures were taken and they are going to e-mail them to us. All I know is that although they'd hosed him down by the time I picked him up, he still had mud in his ears, his nose and his eyes, and the clean underwear I had brought for him to change into was muddy. I didn't even recognize his socks. Teenage Naturalist pointed to a sick-looking gray pile of something on the deck outside and said, "I think those are his socks." The insides of his galoshes had about a half inch of dark, thick mud lining the inside.

They were still talking about it when G. dropped him off this morning. "I got the impression they'd never seen anyone get quite so muddy," G. reported. Well. They've never had My Little Overachiever in their day camp before, have they?

3. A.'s latest blueprints are for a treehouse/clubhouse. That's what he calls it - "treehouseclubhouse." Tomorrow he's going to find "the perfect tree" to build it in. I've already told him that I'm not good at building things and that he'll have to talk to his father about it. Pass the buck whenever possible, I always say.

4. I made really good sangria last Friday night. The secret, I never realized, is to add a liter or so of ginger ale just before serving.

5. In about a week, the four of us are heading, in a Mazda 626 up to Oregon. We will spend about 4 days in Sunriver with G's family, then head to Portland to see mine. We wanted to take 2-3 days to drive up, but there's not a whole lot between here and Sunriver. So we took some books out of the library with names like "Hidden Oregon" and "Oregon: Off the Beaten Path," and found a fishing lodge on Diamond Lake that we'll stop at.

The problem for me is that I like the beaten path. I like not-hidden stuff. I like big towns with parks and movie theaters and ice cream shops. This is going to be like camping with better accomodations. We have a cabin. No bathtub, no internet, but at least there are beds. And we can take the boys out on a boat on the lake with their life jackets. And we know A. likes mud. So, we're all set. Can't wait.

6. A. goes to bed at 8pm. He falls asleep somewhere between 9pm and 10pm. In the interim, he comes out to the family room with all manner of important questions that need to be answered immediately:

A: Mama, have you ever made a jacket?

Me: No.

A: You haven't? Well, do you have a zipper with nothing else?

Me: No.

A: But I want to make my own lunch box.

Me: Well, buddy, you're on your own. I've never made a lunch box and you're supposed to be in bed so goodnight.

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A: Mama, where is there a bread factory?

Me: In Oakland.

A: And where is there a sugar factory?

Me: In Crockett, up by Marine World. Why?

A: I just want to know where all the companies are. And where is the banana factory?

Me: Probably in Ecuador. Goodnight.

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I heard him go into G.'s office.

A: Papa, do you have a zipper?

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A: I need some cardstock.

Me: Why do you need cardstock?

A: I want to make a mug.

Me: You can't make a mug out of cardstock.

A: How do you know? (where does this doubt come from?)

Me: Because cardstock isn't waterproof.

A: Because it has holes? What is waterproof?

Me: Metal. And ceramic stuff.

A: How 'bout glass?

Me: Yes, but you can't work with glass. You're not a glass blower.

A: Why not?

Me. You're not a glass blower and you can't work with glass and I don't want to discuss crafts with you right now and you need to go to bed. Goodnight.

I've done a few rounds of the online game "Family Feud" (and let me just say, if I ever make it onto that show, I'm not taking G. He came up with "picture a soothing place" for "Name something people do when the doctor gives them a shot." Big ol' X on that one.

Anyway, A. loves to watch me play and gets excited when I get an answer on the board. But one of the questions was "Name something people believe happens to them when they die." Yay. Here come a bunch of heaven and decay questions.

A. comes up with most of his "big" questions when we're in the car. I suppose it's the only time he slows down enough to just sit and think. Usually he asks me questions about God and/or Bad Guys, the two big mysteries he's working on right now. Unfortunately, I seem to be the one who drives him around all the time. G. never gets these questions.

A: Was God around before the world was around?

Me: Yes.

A: Then where did he live? On another planet?

Me: No. God lives in heaven. It's not really a place.

A: Who was the first person?

Me: We don't really know - people evolved from apes all over the world so it's not like there was one first person. Over many many years monkeys turned into people.

A: So humans are a kind of monkey?

Me: Sort of. Not anymore, really. But we have a lot in common with monkeys.

A: Does Jesus make all the people?

Me: Well, not really. Mamas and Papas get together and make babies, and then God gives them a soul.

A: A what?

Me: A soul. It's what makes you you, and Ben Ben. It's the part of you that's alive, and leaves the body when you die.

A: Is it in the blood?

Me: No, it's not really in a part of the body.

A: Is it the skin?

Me: No, it's not a part of the body that you can see or touch. No, Benjamin, I can't get you your cup right now, it's in the trunk. It's hard to explain.

A: What happens to your eyes when you die?

Me: They stay with your body. Look! A train! And we're almost home! Yay!

A: Do we go to heaven when we die?

Me: Yes.

A: But our bodies go in the ground?

Me: Yes. Our souls go to heaven and our bodies go into the ground.

By the end of this conversation, which I tried to keep simple, I was really beginning to doubt the presence of an afterlife. I mean, how are we so sure? There is no evidence at all for it. Really, it all points to the most likely option being nothingness. I'm pretty sure there was no Adam or Eve, so why believe in heaven? Pssssh.

Great. Thanks a lot, A.

A's Birthday List

A. will be turning 5 in September, so he's beginning his birthday wish list.

1. Saxophone
2. The Real Woody (from Toy Story)
3. The Real Buzz Lightyear
4. A real rocket I can climb into
5. A harp


A harp?

VBS

VBS stands for Vacation Bible School and most christian church-going folk are accustomed to that acronym. Our neighbors, the Nicest People on Earth, invited A. to come to their VBS this year. As with most things around organized religion, I was ambivalent but G, good Catholic school boy that he is, is all about the religious education and felt A. should be learning more about Jesus, since we're bucking who-knows-how-many years of tradition on both sides of our family and NOT sending A to Catholic school next year.

So the theme is "Take the Plunge" and there are lots of floaties, fish, videos shot at water parks, and surfing dances. On the first day, there was a large life preserver at the front of the church saying "Plunge into Obedience!" and the pastor had the kids repeat the word "obedience" several times. Like good little cult members, Ben and A. shouted "Obedience!" at exactly the right times, making my hair stand on end.

Besides not entirely trusting these people to not lose my child, I was also concerned that the message would be confusing, since we say grace sometimes and talk in very general terms about God. One thing we've been pretty clear about is that different people believe different things about God but there are more similarities than differences and none are better than others, which tends to be the opposite of most denominations. I didn't think they'd be trying to get him to convert, exactly, but I was hoping for more "golden rule" stuff and less "the only way to heaven is through Jesus" stuff.

Of course, A. LOVES it. When we're getting ready to go, he yells to the neighborhood in general, "I'm going to BIBLE CAMP everyone!" He gave up his beloved soccer lesson this afternoon because he didn't want to miss a day.

I was relieved to hear that he particularly loved the snacks which were served in little nets. Today they had ice cream - a big draw. They went fishing for magnetic fish, colored a picture and danced like surfers and swimmers. I'm not too worried anymore. And they haven't lost him yet.

Questions That Make You Go Hmmmm

A: Is there water under the top of water?

Me: Yes.

A: But how do you KNOW?

Me: ............................

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A: Why do some people listen to bad guys?


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A: Are there bad guys in California?

Me: Yes.

A: Are there bad guys in every state?

Me: Yes.

A: Even Texas?

Me: Yes, even Texas.

A: What is there in Texas besides cowboys and bad guys?

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A: Why did God give us toenails? What are they for?

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The explosives show in front of our house went well. This photo shows what happens at the end of the Crazy Eyeballs. Ben and friends watched from the safety of the car in the driveway.


Ben and friends also stayed up past 10pm, and did Ben sleep in the next morning? No he did not. In fact, as I write this it's 8:30am and I've been up for over 3 hours already. I got up with him even though it's G's turn because I am an awesome wife. Also because G is super-duper stressed at work and I can barely do this mothering thing as it is and I'll kill him if he goes and has a heart attack on me.

Being super-duper stressed and overworked is not new for anyone, but the problem with working in the mental health field is that if you don't return that phone call today, someone could actually die. Working with suicidal people is an occupational hazard for us, so you can't really lower your standards or let something go because your department is down two staff members. You can't say, "Listen, I'm really sorry you want to kill yourself, but you're just going to have to wait till next week. I don't have any openings until then."

Just my opinion, but when the stakes are that high, you'd think we'd get paid more than an executive assistant (not that good executive assistants aren't worth every dollar).

Anyway, here's my very first try at BBQ ribs. Our oven went on the fritz so I had to bake the cornbread and ribs in the grill. Not bad. I would recommend using something besides a glass pan for the cornbread, because it's impossible to not burn the bottom. Otherwise, it turned out pretty well. We also had red-white-and-blue jello (in the corner), and homemade coleslaw.
And the whole thing is just Americana served on a plate, is it not?

Bad Boys, Whatchu Gonna Do

When I was a kid, fireworks were strictly forbidden in my smallish, droughtish, fire hazardish town. You went to the local high school to watch the big fireworks, but no one had sparklers or those spinning butterfly things. NO ONE. So I tend to channel my husband's grandma when these things are around - she was a devout Roman Catholic who frowned on card games because they were too much like gambling. Fireworks seem sort of sinful and bad. When I was a kid, very few towns had fireworks stands, and if we saw any at all, they were in the "bad" part of town.

I admit to being shocked our first July fourth here in our house because our neighbors, church-going Lutherans and the nicest people in the world, set off small bombs in front of their house! Ack!

Thank to two small boys and a husband who turns into a small boy around fireworks, we have a value pack of dangerous-looking explosives on our dining room table. I should note that these are "Safe and Sane" fireworks - but then why are they called "Crazy Eyeballs?" Have you seen these packages? They look like they could blow up the world.

Anyway, the boys needed to make sure they weren't duds and set off a few last night in the street while I was at work. A. was completely beside himself with excitement when I got home.

"They look like eyes! And they spin around and go boom! pop!" he said, waving his arms around and jumping. I think I'm going to do a video of him imitating various fireworks.

After our bedtime book, he said, "I want to explain the fireworks to you again!"

After lights out, he was in there drawing pictures by the light of the hallway for a new fireworks book that he's authoring. Every time we went to that part of the house, he'd call out something like, "I'm gonna make up a sing-along-song about fireworks and make a movie!" He couldn't stop talking.

So guess what's happening tomorrow night? Ben's a little intimidated by the loud noise, so he and I will be inside saying a rosary or something.

Not Great, Not Horrible

53%

Mingle² - Free Online Dating

Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

Thanks for the comments. Sarah, it's all the boys. I'm just the reporter. B-mom, much to A.'s dismay, his paint machine doesn't actually work. Although I'm sure he'd help out painting your family room for about 10 minutes.

A. lost interest in the paint machine once he discovered it wasn't actually going to make paint. So we went to the hobby store to check out model rockets, his other idea.

"Which one of these is big enough for me to get in?" he asked.

"None of them. They're just for building and then shooting off. You can't make one that people can actually get in."

"Why not?"

"Because you have to be an astronaut for that, buddy." (Or a millionaire/former boy band member, I guess). The sales clerk snickered.

He left the aisle and headed back to the train tables. Life can be pretty disappointing when you're a 4-year-old with big dreams.

The Paint Manufacturer's Mystery

A. has been asking me questions about paint lately. "What is paint made of?" "Who first made paint?" etc. Last night, after he was supposed to be in bed, he drew a mock-up of his new invention: A paint machine.
I don't know if you can read the typing (done by me, not him, BTW, although he did label the machine "Pait") - over on the left are the chambers for the ingredients, on the top is a vent for steam, the broccoli-shaped thing is a hand that does the work inside the machine, and the square with the little squares inside is the screen to talk into. The paint comes out the right side.

So this morning he wanted to actually build his creation. He told G., "The things I need are: plastic, wood and some flat bed trailers."

They went out to the garage and got some shoeboxes, plywood and duct tape. G. also attached a mini tape recorder to talk into.

"It's not exactly the same," complained A.

"What else does it need?" I asked.

"It needs a hand inside."

"OK, so we'll figure out how to add a hand."

"Yeah!"

The thing is, when it's done, I think he believes it will really make paint.

After the building frenzy, we drove through a very nice neighborhood to a very nice park. A. found it puzzling, though, that some of the houses were made of plain wood shingles and not painted. To further his distress, the playground equipment was bare wood, also unpainted.
I tried to explain that sometimes people like the look of wood itself and leave it unpainted on purpose.

"But WHY??"

At the County Fair

He's not ashamed to pick the pink jet-ski.













Because he knows it's a chick magnet.

So this morning as I'm pouring my coffee I see A. wandering around outside our courtyard in his jammies.

Me: What are you doing out here?

(several rounds of "I don't know" and "come inside, then")

A: I want to find a Christmas tree but I can't dig one up.

Me: ??????????????


This is all from a book he's been liking, "Bialosky's Christmas." On Christmas Eve, Bialosky Bear puts together a Christmas party. Apparently A. is using this as his template.

So we dragged in our little potted pine tree, with the understanding that it has to go back outside tonight, put it in his room, and he's now working on decorating it. He tried to climb up into the craft closet by himself, but thankfully was unsuccessful.

He told me, "Now we won't have to decorate it when Christmas comes!" Right, we're gonna leave it like that, with foam snowmen and blue ribbon until December.

Actually, that could happen.

Slow Down, Dude

Yesterday:

A: Mama, will you help me rebuild my rocket?

Me (looking at the pile of books, paper and tape he's amassed): Sure, buddy. You'll have to show me how it goes.

A: OK! And then you can light a match, give it to me, I can say 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1, light the rocket and yell blastoff! And it will zoom up in the air!

Me: Um, yeah. There are a couple of problems with that plan. First, you can't hold a lighted match until you're 8 years old at the earliest, and maybe not even then. Second, if you light this rocket on fire, it will just catch fire and burn. You need fuel and some kind of compressed gas to set off a rocket.

A: OK, you can hold the match, and we can use gasoline for the fuel.

Me: Ai yi yi.

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Today we watched Neighbor Boy shoot hoops.

Neighbor boy: Hey, A., you want to play basketball?

A: Well, Neighbor Boy, there are two problems with that. The first is that I need to use a smaller ball, and the second is that the hoop is too high.

Me: ::::snicker::::::
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Later in the day, Neighbor Girl showed up with a whole ream of paper, probably pilfered from her parent's office, and offered to sell it to A. for a dollar. I was at work and G was in charge. G vetoed the sale, which I don't understand because that sounds like a bargain to me. A. could have resold it for 5 times that amount. And G. says he majored in finance?

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And, in other "A is growing up too fast" news, I present my 4-year-old riding his 2-wheeler without training wheels. It's a big day in the neighborhood.








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I don't know about this kid. When I put him to bed tonight, he didn't want to wear jammies, just underwear. It's warm, fine, whatever.

Now, an hour later, he comes out with sweatpants and his snow jacket on, and tells us he wants to have a Christmas party. Christmas is months away, we tell him.

"I know that!" he insists. "I just want to have one now."

OK, dude, there are going to be times we insist that you conform to society, and the Christmas season doesn't start until August. So go back to bed.

Flush with his successful paperclip sale, A. decided to sell blank pieces of paper yesterday. Without a word to us, he dragged his laundry basket out again, got a little cup for the money, and set himself up on the sidewalk with a pad of lined paper.

When he wasn't immediately mobbed, he started yelling, "Paper for sale! Paper for sale!" It wasn't a bad idea - if all these kids have paperclips now, it stands to reason they might want paper for them. Isn't that called vertical marketing? Or maybe it's horizontal, I don't know. I took an incomplete in economics.

His yelling didn't work either, so he relocated to our neighbor's driveway, where their kind 10-year-old son took pity on our 4-year-old and bought 30 cents worth of paper.

What I loved is that when I came home from work and he told me the story, he was not discouraged at all. "There were no other people who could buy today." I loved that it had nothing to do with him, or his choice of goods, it was just a slow day.

You hold on to those office supply dreams, buddy.

Hoping He Will Take Care of Us in His Old Age

A: I need to set up for my sale.

Me: Really? What are you going to sell?

A: My paperclip collection. I'm going to make lots of money.

Me: Oh gosh, honey, are you sure you want to sell that? You know that means you give your paperclips to other people, right?

A: Yeah, right after they give me money.

Me: (imagining him getting laughed at) I'm not sure there's a big demand for paperclips right now, you know? It's 7:00pm and everyone is going to go inside pretty soon, and I'm not sure the neighborhood kids really want to buy paperclips.

A: (ignores me and goes inside the house)

He brought out his laundry basket, his little porcelain box in which he keeps his precious paperclip collection, and a small plastic bowl for collecting the money. He has only a tentative grasp on economic principles, and an even more tentative grasp on currency, so I wondered how this would go.

He was mobbed. I severely underestimated the appeal of paperclips to little kids. So I ran inside and grabbed the video camera.

Check me and my bad bargain-huntin' self out:

I went to a warehouse sale for Flax, and got this toy (which retails for $30) for $7:














And this one (on their site for $35) for $8. I think there are a couple pieces missing, but 95% of it's there.




















We got to the warehouse right when it opened, which was a good thing because there was only one of each toy on the shelf. I think they were there because the packaging was torn. Both boys love their incomplete, hand-me-down Tinkertoy set, so I've been looking for more building toys but the cool ones are always so expensive.

Special Events

I'm all giddy because I'm hosting my first blog tour for Mother Talk . Welcome! Refreshments are over in the corner. Feel free to spike your coffee with the libations under the table.

So I'm supposed to write about this new site for moms (although I suppose dads could use it, too) - Mamasource. I should give full disclosure before we start that I did receive a stylish orange commuter mug and a small pack of post-it notes in exchange for reviewing this site.*

Here's the official blurb:

Mamasource is a safe and easy way to connect with other moms in your local area. Find the advice, referrals and insight you need, in a supportive community of moms helping moms. As a Mamasource member, you can:

Ask other local moms any question you need help with.

Read the questions other moms have asked- and see what answers they have received.

Share your own advice and practical referrals with other moms who need your help.

Mamasource is a free service, but to protect our members we are an invitation-only community. We have a strict no-spam policy and your personal information will never be shared with advertisers.

(I especially like that last part about it being invitation-only - it sounds like the kind of exclusivity I can never afford. And I think you can consider my link to them as your invitation.)

When I first had the A-man, almost 5 years ago, my due date boards were my lifeline. I was a regular on the August 2002 i-village board (although I think I was the very last one to give birth which was kind of annoying) and checked in daily. Those moms covered all the stuff I couldn't find in any of the "What to Expect" book. I learned most of what I knew from those boards. Mamasource is all of this advice in one place - minus the trolls. When a baby question came up, I could quickly explain to G. the pros and cons of almost anything, cementing my repuation as The Expert in the house. (Except the idea for duct-taping A's Easy-Ups when the side seam split. G. came up with that all on his own.)

So Mamasource users can request advice about anything and everything, from simple (when do I turn my baby's car seat around?) to poignant (my kids witnessed domestic violence - how can I help them?). The community seems to be building quickly, so just about every query gets a response, and most of them get enough to spark a genuine discussion. Moms looking for ideas about potty-training or discipline can exchange plenty of ideas here. You can also save discussions that interest you into your "files" for future reference.

My favorite feature, though, is the opportunity to read local business reviews. I'm always looking for kid-friendly restaurants where the meals don't come in bags or a local business that gives good kid haircuts. At the moment, because it's a new site, some of the reviews are posted by the businesses themselves, and I'm looking forward to more parents getting on the site and adding reviews to the listings.

Overall, it's a very attractive, clean site that's easy to navigate and will become a quick reference for advice on any parenting questions.

Thank you all. Please use the recycling bins, and come again soon!

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*I couldn't help but notice that yesterday's stop on the blog tour received a mug and a book and I think some money, but she didn't mention any Post-Its! Ha! Score!

A: Here, Mama. I drew you a heart.

Me: Awww. It's beautiful! What a great heart. Um, what did you draw in the middle here?

A: It's a picture of the top of my head.

Well, he is a redhead.






And in other news:

Last week we found some neighborhood boys performing science experiments in the pothole in our street. We've had this large, and getting larger, pothole in front of our house for about 2 years now. A and Ben joined in the fun.










Now, just the following week, huge machines show up to finally pave the road. Coincidence?

So we went to our friend's memorial on Saturday. First we had the funeral mass. Those things are long but you've gotta do them to make sure your loved one gets into heaven.

Then we had the viewing at the funeral home. You wouldn't believe this place. (Well, maybe you would. I don't know.) I have experience only at the Catholic cemetaries. This place looked like a hotel. Huge lobby with armchairs and sofas and lots of windows, with a reception desk - seriously just like a hotel.

Then you go to each wing and you walk through several living rooms with different seating areas, coffee tables, nice lamps, etc., before you get to the chapel. We filled the chapel and spilled out into the living room. People spoke for 2 hours and could have gone on longer. G was the only non-family member to speak, and he did a great job. R was a musician as well as a doctor, and he encouraged lots of his younger siblings and cousins to pursue music. A few of them wrote songs in his honor and performed them. It was really moving. And the whole time there was a slide show of R and his family and friends. A couple of the photos had been taken at our wedding.

Then there was food in a room adjoining the chapel, I guess so you could get your little sandwich and then mosey back into the chapel to tell R how the food was. The casket was open the entire time, and the kids didn't seem weirded out by it at all. I'd never had a reception like this in a funeral home - it was actually really nice.

So. In Other News.....

A. is very into mysteries at the moment. He carries around his little Thomas notebook and counts things, saying he's collecting clues. I guess a pillow was moved recently in the living room, and A. was on the case. He found footsteps and decided it was PAPA who'd moved the pillow. It was all very dramatic and needed much documentation and Speaking! In! Exclamation! Points!

Ben screeches in a pitch that I'm sure is going to break glass someday. I admit I've had fantasies of those operations where they cut a dog's vocal cords so he can't bark. Don't come after me, BBM, I'm not in favor of those operations on dogs. But on Ben....well, let's just say sometimes it sounds like a good idea.

We bought both a refrigerator and a dishwasher tonight. We are using a refrigerator that my mom and dad bought when I was a teenager, and I'm now 41 so....it's time to put the thing out of its misery. It has really been quite the tough little soldier, though. It's still chilling and freezing like a champ, at least 25 years later. But the stripping is all worn off and I'm pretty sure it's at least 20% responsible for global warming with the energy it takes to run. And stainless steel is going to look better in our kitchen.

The dishwasher has gotten tired and has recently been trying to do its job without water. I appreciate the conservation effort, but it's not getting the plates clean. So we're getting a silver one of those too. Our tiny little postage-stamp kitchen is going to be the most stylish room in the house.

Now if we could just get a new stove/oven. Tonight it took over an hour to warm up. There's no indicator on it to tell me when the temperature is right. There's no broiler. The temperature gauge is off, anyway. But hey, I'm not complaining. One (or two) appliances at a time.

AND, I now have a Home Depot credit card (so we could get an additional 10% off). That's like G having a Macy's credit card. Will wonders ever cease?

All day long, and all night too, I think of blog posts. In my head, I record what's happening immediately into blog-style prose. Except my recording equipment sucks and I can't remember any of it when I sit down to the computer. This is also why I don't get any of my longer-term projects done (like the scrapbook for my sister's birthday...back in January). I do what's right in front of me and if it's not right in front of me, it doesn't exist.

That seems to be the status quo for my brain, but complicating things in my head is that an old friend of G's died last weekend. He was a groomsman at our wedding, and was instrumental in getting G to realize his terrible mistake in breaking up with me (before we got engaged). He wasn't much older than G, and he just dropped dead of a brain hemmorrhage. Life is short, people.

So right now I'm in this state of mind where I think, "Hey, that's kind of funny. That could be a blog post," and then I think, "R. is dead." I'd planned to invite him and his wife to G's birthday dinner next weekend.

And then when I have a moment at the computer, I can't remember anything to write about. So. Until my brain kicks back into slo-mo from no-mo, I'll be a little quiet.

Just to Gross You Out

As the mother of sons, I am beginning to appreciate the Gross-Out-Factor. Today I had a cyst removed from my chest and let me tell you, it ranked way the heck up there on the GOF Scale. I won't go into excruciating detail, and I didn't take a picture (although I considered it), but here are the highlights:

Since it was on my chest, and the table was tilted slightly up, I could watch the whole thing. I expected that he'd make a small incision and then pop the thing out, like a baby (which is pretty much the sum of my experience with surgical incisions). No - you gotta pull the thing out bit by bit and carve away at the tissues around it to "release" it. Carve, carve, carve, went the scalpel. Watching him carve into my chest like a turkey on Thanksgiving was weird.

Meanwhile, he pulled the thing up and out while he carved and it felt like he was tugging at my sternum. That was weird, too. The cyst was much bigger than I'd guessed, too.

At one point, the doc must have knicked it with his scalpel, because the thing burst and squirted all over both of our faces. Yep. Top that one. That's gotta win me Gross Out Award of the Year.

So much for sparing excruciating details. Sorry. But when you're watching something so gross coming out of your own chest, you've just gotta share.

He's Cracking Me Up

A. is so high off his present-giving that he's decided he needs to wrap up random household stuff every night. Tonight I tried to talk him out of it.

Me: Honey, what makes it special is that you don't do it every night. I think you need to rest.

A: But I'm just going to wrap up one thing and then I'll rest the rest of the night.

Me: You've done enough for Mother's Day. Really.

A: Well, this is for Papa.

Me: ::::sigh::::::

(a few minutes later....keep in mind this is well after our goodnights and tucking in)

A: I need tape.

Me: What happened to the roll of tape I gave you last night?

A: I don't know.

Me: OK. Here's the last roll of tape. Don't use too much.

A: Why?

Me: Because we're running out!

A: Well, besides, I decided to go to the office store tomorrow.

Me: Oh, you did?

A: Yeah. To get some more tape. Because we're running out!

Good thing he has a plan.

Livin' on the Wrong Side of the Tracks

Tonight at dinner we were talking about how fun it will be to visit Washington D.C. when the boys are a little older. A. asked what Washington D.C. was.

Me: It's where the President lives, and they run the whole United States from Washington D.C. It's where they make all the laws.

A: (thinking)......Oh. So up there is where they make all the laws. And down here is where they break them.

Happy Mother's Day, Part II

So today's surprise from A. was an old book of G's off the bookshelf (from his wild bachelor days) and what A. described as a "dead, bumpy leaf."






Also, several drawings of hearts, and a border of typewriter-key stickers with a circle around the 2 in the middle (some sort of secret Mother's Day code).




Wow. Butt Paste, sticks, a tantra book (is he angling for more brothers or sisters?) and a dead leaf. Oh, and don't forget the old "bronzed" Nike. He's going to have a hard time topping this year.



And just because I like it, a picture he drew this week at school. "Giraffe Standing Next to Flower, 2007"

Happy Mother's Day

So we celebrated Mother's Day today because G has a wedding to go to tomorrow. Last night A was up really late in his room with paper, tape and a pen. This morning I discovered what he was working on:

He'd found a half-empty tube of Butt Paste and wrapped it up in paper and tape on which he'd written, Happy Mother's Day Love A.

Then he wrapped up two sticks he'd found in the backyard. They were good sticks and I was quite honored. He said they were good for scraping things and for hitting together and making music.

I was also surprised with breakfast in bed (pancakes with apple pieces, corn flakes and coffee), and the results of a survey G had taken with the boys.

Q: What do you like best about Mama?
A: She gives me food and plays with me.
Ben: Pink.

Q: What do you think of Mama's hair?
A: She's pretty.
Ben: Ro ro purple.

Q: What is Mama's favorite color:
A: Black and pink.
Ben: Purple.

Q: What's your favorite thing to do with Mama?
A: Play I Spy cards.
Ben: Pink.

Q: What is your favorite place that Mama's taken you?
A: Berber King. (that's how they pronounce it so now we all call it Berber King)

Q: What do you think is the hardest thing about being a Mama?
A: Putting me to bed.
Ben: Purple.

Q: What does Mama like best?
A: I think she likes me best.
Ben: Purple!

Q: What's Mama's favorite food?
A: Broccoli soup. (?)
Ben: Orange.

Tonight A. suggested that perhaps tomorrow I might like to bring him breakfast in bed. I suggested that Mother's Day continue tomorrow since tomorrow is the REAL Mother's Day. Now he's back there in his room with more paper and tape. I'm really wondering what he's cooking up.

Oh, one more thing. Last week we were told to bring in an old shoe to A's school. Friday I discovered why - they'd painted the shoe with bronze paint and filled it with candy for Mother's Day. It was very cute, but if I'd known what they were going to do with it, I would've sent a nicer shoe.

"Teacher said the moms could share the candy with their kids, if they wanted to. Teacher also said moms could keep the shoe forever and ever."

Sorry

Shoot, people, I got nothing for you. G's mother and sister came to visit. It's always much easier (for us) to have them visit here. When we visit them, we all (the four of us) have to sleep in the same room and the boys require constant supervision. Grandma is great at playing with the kids, and his sister is very sweet. So it was a nice visit, if exhausting. And it gave us a reason to clean the bathtub. We went to the zoo, SFMOMA, it was hot, and I got a blister.

Here are some links (thanks to Martini and Tucker Max):

My favorite link when I need to laugh
A few funny ones
Military Hand Signals

More Sleeping Beauties

Went to see Jersey Boys last night, and when we came back to my sister's to pick up the boys, we found A. turning his cousin LK into a doorway convert. We might just let Ben have his bed and give A. the doorway.


Jersey Boys, was, as expected, fantastic. I'm such a groupie, but there was a lady behind me in the bathroom line who was on her 11th time. She was in SF for the weekend and planned to attend every performance.

G and I hung around the stage door and I got Erich Bergen's and Deven May's autograph. I told Deven that he needed a new MySpace photo because his current one is an old one from his Bat Boy days with his head shaved, and he's got such nice hair, so he should show it.


Good thing I didn't say anything STUPID, huh? Sheesh.

And Another Thing....

The Montessori school that A. attends has the kids wear uniforms from K-3. I wore uniforms from 1-12th grade and hey, if it's good enough for me...yada yada yada. Uniforms are getting so common that JC Penney, Target and Mervyn's carries the stuff. And I've got boys, so I don't need to deal with plaid.

When I went to the Kindergarten Open House, the teacher told us to buy the sweatshirt with the logo and the plaid jumpers from Land's End, but otherwise to go for the sales at the aforementioned stores.

Wednesday we got a flyer from the school saying the uniform code had changed and all uniform pieces, shirts, pants, etc., HAD to be purchased from Land's End. Oh, and here's the code so the school gets a kickback. The cheapest pants are $22.50.

I complained about it today to the administrator and was told that there had been too much variation in what the kids were wearing, so they changed the rules. I know all about variation - we were pros at it in high school. We tried to wear lace on our anklet socks, shirts with no collars, etc. We generally didn't get away with it and we went back to our plain socks and blouses. Whatever. We cheered when they changed the code to allow white polo shirts.

I'm not sure why this annoys me so much. I'm getting quite Libertarian in my old age, and I don't like being told I have to buy a white shirt from this company and only this company. I'm actually tempted to pull his application, but that's probably a little extreme.

He's Pissing Me Off

I'm listening right now to Alec Baldwin defending himself on The View. He's basically saying the people responding negatively to his stupid rant to his 11-year-old daughter are reacting that way because of their own pain. Oh, OK. It had nothing to do with the fact that you called your daughter a pig.

And also, he really meant to say it to her mother, Kim Bassinger. She drove him to it by keeping his daughter from him. Ooops. Ya know what? You got a problem if you're mixing up your daughter and your ex-wife. And, besides, you shouldn't say that stuff to her mother, either, no matter how big a bitch she is. You should have bitten your tongue because you wanted to show your daughter how grown-ups act.

Don't get me wrong - I believe Parental Alienation syndrome exists, and I also believe courts sometimes favor mothers over fathers. But I've also seen good men work their best to be the bigger person, to show their kids that they don't need to react to Mom's craziness with venom. They are there for every scheduled visit, they call their kids all the time, whether or not the mom allows the kid to call back. They put the kids first, and they say, "No way is my kid going to ever say 'My dad forgot about me. He gave up.' "

I told one dad, "If your ex-wife is as crazy as you say she is, your kids are going to really need you to be a model for them. They need to see there's a way to cope with her with compassion and with appropriate boundaries, instead of with more craziness." If you have to have someone stand by every time you exchange the kids as a witness, OK. If you have to have all communication in writing, that's what you do. You don't stoop to their level and let loose a 5-minute rant to your daughter blaming her for everything.

Give me a freakin' break, Alec. Yes, everyone gets angry at their kids. Sometimes we say things we wish we hadn't. But, geez, grow up. All I'm hearing is "Poor me...poor me," how 'bout "Poor kid?"

Sleeping Beauties

Ben has this thing about chewing his food. He puts it in his mouth, chews it a little bit and then stores it behind his bottom teeth. Once I picked him up after his nap, and noticed he was chewing something. Turned out to be the chicken we'd had for lunch 4 HOURS prior.

So here he is in the car. With a not-even-half-eaten pb&j sandwich. Food usually isn't sticking out of his mouth like this, but I guess he was really tired.




And here we have A., who was put to bed an hour before, and then told several times that under no circumstances was he to leave his bedroom again. Here he is in lying in a doorway from which he can see the TV but I couldn't see him. And he fell asleep. Way to cover your tracks, buddy.

A (first day back to school after spring break): Teacher asked us all what we did for Spring Break.

Me: What did you say?

A: That we went to the mall and ate pizza.

Me: Did you tell her about going to Mama's old school (UC Berkeley) and seeing the T Rex skeleton?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going up to the top of the Campanile and seeing all the way to San Francisco?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the airplane museum?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the library and playing at the fountain?

A: No.

Of course not. He told her he went to the mall and ate pizza. I feel like I should send an explanatory note:

Dear Miss Michelle,

On A's Spring Break, we did not go to the mall and eat pizza. We went to the mall and ate chicken nuggets. But that was just one day and it was after an hour at the bouncy house. On the other days we did very educational and enriching activities that I assure you A. enjoyed while he was doing them.

Thank you,
A's Mother


And because I feel like sharing pictures, here are the boys at Costco. A is asleep in the cart. He fell asleep on the way there, so I propped him up in the back of the cart and he slept like this through the entire shopping trip. This was just before I took them out and put them back in the car. People don't believe me when I say nothing wakes that kid up.

Ben: "A. westing. Shhhh."











And here's after A. discovered the self-timer on the camera (I was taking before and after pics of myself). He was fascinated by it and wanted to show G how "the camera can take a picture all by itself!"

So we did a family shot by propping the camera on the table and Ben's like, "What the hell?"

The World and the Way I See It

I hate eye exams. "Which is better, A or B? B or C? C or D?" I don't know! One is fuzzy on the left side of the letter and one is fuzzy on the right side of the letter and I don't know which I prefer! Then they get all impatient and sigh heavily and go, "OK. Whiiiich is beeeetttteeer, Aaaaaa or Beeeeee?" I UNDERSTAND the question, babe.

I learned yesterday that I need bifocals, or "progressives," as they are now called. Eye doctor said I could wait and get regular lenses now, but if I did, in 2 years I wouldn't be able to read anything and I'd be back for new glasses. Some people stay with the regular lenses for a while and just take them off and hold the menu at arm's length if they need to read it. "That won't work for you because you can't even see there's a menu at the end of your arm if you take your glasses off. So you might as well get them now."

I expressed concern about getting used to "progressives."

"Oh, it's just like the ATM. Or bill pay. It's just like bill pay."

"I'm sorry?"

"You know - you hate it at first but then you love it. Like bill pay."

I'm not sure what to think because I'm not aware of either loving or hating bill pay, but clearly this doctor develops intense relationships with things, and I didn't want her to hate or love me, so I just kept quiet.

I was told I have bad astigmatism, which is why I had trouble focusing with my uncorrected contact lenses. So now I'm getting "torque" contact lenses, which are about an inch thick on my eyeball. Well, they feel like it, anyway. I also learned I have "steep" corneas, so they have to special order the contacts.

I don't know why they don't just put me down now.

After the contact lens fitting, I picked out some Coach frames, got measured for the progressives, paid for the lightweight, anti-glare lenses, gave Major HMO my right arm and leg (because steep, torqued contacts are also about 3x as much as regular contacts), and walked out of there with nothing. The glasses certainly aren't going to be done in an hour or less because this is Major HMO we're talking about. The contacts will arrive in a week or two.

I don't so much have a problem with the weird, thick contact lenses, or the bifocals, sorry, "progressives," themselves. I mean, at least my vision can be corrected, right? What I have a problem with is getting old. I mean, if my vision is like this at 41, will I really be blind at 70?

"You're going to need glasses, too, if you have my eyes," I told A.

"I don't have your eyes," he scoffed, while rolling said eyes. "I have my own." Good thing, too.

You'll never believe what happened tonight.

Ben was complaining, yelling, having all sorts of tantrums in his crib because he didn't want to go to bed. This is not unusual. I was reading to A. in the next room and we have both gotten pretty good at ignoring Ben's screams. When I was done I went into Ben's room and said to him, "What can I do for you?"

"Nooo! Waaaaaah! Get up!"

"No. Time for night-night."

"Noooooo! Get up!"

I picked up his monkey blanket (a whole post in itself), said, "Night-night, monkey." Then I asked the monkey, "Monkey, is it time for night-night?"

Monkey, being smart and totally in my control, nodded yes. He also said, in a high-pitched monkey voice, "Benjamin! Please go night-night with me!"

Then I did the same with lion blanket. Lion also nodded affirmatively when asked if it was time for night-night and added, "Ben! I need you to lie down with me! Oh, please lie down with me!"

Ben stopped screaming, grabbed Lion and lay down. I didn't hear another peep out of him. He's asleep now.

I realize this trick will never work again, but I can't believe it even worked once.

My idea of a fun evening on the couch: searching for stupid MySpace comics to put on friend's pages.

G's idea of a fun evening on the couch (OK, his third choice*): "Hey! Did you read about the 9-part PBS series on Al Qaeda and terrorism? Where's the remote?"

*Second choice was looking at SunRiver vacation sites to spend a week with his family. I'm not telling you what his first choice is.

Cul-chuh

Gotta love the cultural component of Montessori. A. recently wrote his very first sentence. They pick a picture out of a pile of magazine clippings and write a sentence about what's going on in the picture.

A. picked this picture:



And here's his sentence, "The men are wting to ply bingo":


Now is that a first sentence or is that a first sentence? Screw Dick and Jane. Let's talk about loiterers.

More A. and B. Stories

A, (seeing a no-smoking sign in the store): Look! No Pencils Allowed!

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A. has started a paperclip collection. He has six. He scours the house, looking carefully in all corners. "Wow, it sure is tough work to spot paperclips!"
G: "But so worth it!"
A: "Yeah, you have to look very carefully for something shiny and shaped like a paperclip."

After he ran a "race" G gave him not one, but TWO paperclips as a prize. He was ecstatic.

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He also, inexplicably, galloped around the house the other day yelling, "Bareback Mountain!" but couldn't tell us where he'd heard it.

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Whenever we correct Ben or say "No!" to him, he immediately counters with a very sad face and a plaintive "My finger hurts!" We kiss it, figuring he's either looking for affection or trying to change the subject. It just occured to me that he might have misunderstood something about someone getting their feelings hurt and thought instead that their finger got hurt.

Real Moms

Our favorite Boobless Brigade Mistress tagged me with the "Real Moms..." meme. Unlike listing my shoe size and the last song I listened to, this one actually requires writing a post. Pssshhh. Girl knows I can't say "no" to her and is exploiting it, if you ask me.

So my first thought was "Real Moms are afraid," because I'd been meaning to write about how terrifying motherhood is. But if you look back at the blogger that tagged BBM, Lizard Eater, you see that has already been done, better than I could have, certainly.

So. "Real Moms are saggy." Yeah, but not much to write about that.

"Real Moms are tired." Yeah, but again, sort of self-explanatory.

I keep coming back to "Real Moms are afraid." I mean, besides the love I feel for my boys, I don't know any other emotion I've felt for them as strongly as fear. It's wound so tightly around my heart that it feels indistinguishable from the love. The more I love them, the more terrified I am of losing them. In this whole "Let's Be Honest About Motherhood and Write Books and TV Shows About How Crazy It Is" atmosphere, I wish someone would be honest about being crazy-terrified about losing their kids.

And I do mean crazy. For a reasonably logical person, I've become awfully superstitious about this. Every night I pray. I've always said a prayer asking for blessings for all the people I love (when I was a child, I used to name everyone, until I shortened it by referring to "my list of usuals") and thanking Him for good things. Now, every night I say Thank You for my beautiful boys, for their health, for their wit and intelligence and sweetness. I know how lucky I am.

But the prayer also holds a tinge of bargaining, just in case G_d is up there saying, "Now, whose kids am I going to take today?" he won't look at me because I really do appreciate them. I must - I say Thank You for them every night, don't I? No lessons need to be learned here, thanks.

Then I feel awful because I have friends and relatives who have lost children who were no less appreciative or loving of their kids than I am. Of course I don't really believe that losing one's child is some sort of horrible life lesson. It's a completely base, ridiculous impulse. Like the impulse that led me, shortly after both A. and Ben's births, to search out websites about infant loss. See G_d? Look how unafraid I am, how willing I am to face other people's pain! See? You don't need to make me go through it! Just skip over me, thanks!

I'm more afraid for Ben than I am for A. I tell myself that it's because he almost died at birth because that's logical. Thank goodness I've never been prescient, because if I had ever accidentally predicted something like who was on the other end of a phone call, I'd think my fear for him is an omen. As it is now, if he's fussing in his bed and stops, I have to go make sure he's still breathing. There's something about the brightness of his smile and his sweet little laugh that is so beautiful, I'm afraid it will burn out.

I remember hesitantly mentioning to a mother in my mom's group that sometimes I was overwhelmed by visions of something happening to one of them. She agreed, and, hopeful that I wasn't alone in this anxiety, I ventured further, "I think about it at least once a day." She frowned and said, "No, it doesn't hit me that often." Oh, OK, so it IS just me, then.

Ironically, I'm not super-over-protective. I don't panic at bumps and bruises, I let them climb stuff and ride their bikes in our cul-de-sac. I know I can do some things to protect him, but on a larger scale, I am not in control. And I know that so clearly as I'm falling asleep (no wonder I get insomnia). I start out politely praying that I'll get to see both boys grow up, and before I know it I'm silently roaring to G_d "YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM!" with my eyes flashing and my teeth bared.

I think lots of parents are able to shake the fear back to some dark crevice where I guess it stays quiet or maybe they can ignore it. For whatever reason, mine is quite active especially at night as I'm falling asleep. Then in the daytime it's a bit quieter. I'm reluctant to let it get too quiet, though. At the very least, it keeps me grateful.