This Could Be You! (And Me!)

Who wants to do this with me?



One of the most fun evenings I've had in the theater was Mamma Mia! It's not "Les Miserables" but it's fun to see how the playwright worked ABBA's songs into the story. It's a fluffy, fun time. One of the things I like most about it is that besides one of the leads, 20-year-old Sophie, most of the central characters are about 40, and they're portrayed as sexy, smart, fun individuals. The young chorus is pretty much there for filler.

Now that the movie version is coming out, there's a contest over at Pond's to get women over 40 to do their own version of the finale, where the three (ahem, older) lead women get into 60's spacesuit-like jumpsuits and sing "Dancing Queen," just like the singers above. It's called the "Search for the Dynamos."

You can do "Mamma Mia" or "Dancing Queen" and they even give you the karaoke version of the songs to download. If you win, you get a trip to London to "live the life of the 3 Dynamos at the world premiere of MAMMA MIA!" whatever that means. I don't know if you have to wear those costumes. I kind of hope not, but for a trip to London, I could be persuaded.

I can't wait to see the movie. It's kind of hard to imagine Meryl Streep, but I love Amanda Seyfried on "Big Love" and of course Pierce Brosnan is Sam. And Colin Firth! And Christine Baranski, who the role of what's-her-face was written for, was it not?

In the interest of full disclosure, I believe Pond's might send me some samples. Hey, Pond's, I use these, and as far as I know, my age stays defied, so if you wanna send me some more, that'd be cool.

Wha??

Half-caf? HALF-CAF?

I did half-caf mochas when I was pregnant with Benjamin and I am NOT pregnant now. Give me double caf. Give me two of 'em.

I like the easy-going part, though. Do I seem easy-going?

And of course I'm always willing to compromise. DO I HAVE A CHOICE???

Bribing the Coach

Yay! Today is our favorite day, Soccer day! [/sarcasm] Ben does half an hour of "Mommy and Me" soccer in the morning, and A. does 40 minutes of Soccer I in the afternoon.

In the morning, Mommy cajoles Ben into staying on the field after he states halfway through, "I'm finished now. Let's go home," or even carries him while dribbling a soccer ball (and scoring! Gooooooaaaaaallll!).

In the afternoon, A. refuses to play soccer while we try everything we can think of to get him out there. He tells us he's afraid of, at varying times, the coach, the field, and the other kids. There are two other terribly frightening kids in the class, one of which is a friend of his in kindergarten. The other is a little boy who looks at A. adoringly and laughs at all his jokes. He's played with both kids in the adjacent playground. Very scary. The coach has been nothing but kind and friendly with him. And the grass....well, it's a different field, but it's grass and it's green.

G. tried a paradoxical intervention with him and told him that we were going to help him get over his fears and have the soccer coach and teammates over for dinner. G. told me privately that he'd be willing to pay the guy $75 to come to dinner if it worked, but his hope was that the idea of having to entertain the coach would be so frightening (to whom? Me or A.?) that A. would play in order to avoid it.

Unfortunately, his plan backfired and A. was very excited to plan his own dinner party, complete with the coach, his teammates, and, because why not?...his best friends from school. He told me that if he didn't play soccer, he got to have friends over for dinner!

I said "No. You don't get rewarded for not playing soccer. You play tomorrow and we'll talk about the dinner party afterward."

He agreed that he was going to play today.

When we got to the field, he developed a sudden lame leg. We didn't care. He hopped. We told him to hop on over to the soccer field. I told him I was excited to see him play soccer on one leg. He whined, he clung, he cried, he tore away from the coach who tried to take his hand.

I told him to stay behind me and I would walk onto the field with him. He agreed, hanging onto my sweatshirt. We joined the coach and other kids, and the coach told A. that he'd heard he was a pro and hoped A. would help him teach the class. A. jumped out from behind me and declared, "Yes, I'm pretty good." And he was off, showing how he kicked the ball backwards and how fast he ran.

I couldn't believe how easily he warmed up once he was out on that damn field. I don't know if he just gave up the power struggle or if he remembered, "Oh yeah, I do like soccer."

But he still wants his dinner party.

If You Read This Backwards It Says "Paul is Dead"

A's to-do list for this weekend was written completely backwards. Perfect mirror-writing. From left to right, all the letters backwards, too. If you turned it upside down, it looked like the letters were facing the right way, but I knew it was upside down because "waic up" was on the bottom and that's always first on his list.

"Sweetie, I really want you to practice your letters so we can all read what you write." (A friend suggested telling him, "Not everyone has a mirror.")

"But then it wouldn't be my writing."

"Yes, it would - you'd still be writing it, wouldn't you?"

"No, my writing is all crazy and it wouldn't be all crazy then."

Yay. Now backwards writing has become part of his identity. His teacher's gonna love this.

I'm getting a little worried, because it's not like he just mixes up his b's and d's. Any letter than can be backwards is usually backwards, and sometimes, I'll ask him to write an "e" and really try to make sure it's facing the right way and he'll very carefully write it backwards. It doesn't seem to affect his reading, though, so I don't think it's dyslexia. And I read that even if kids do it through 3rd grade, it always corrects itself when they learn cursive. No one writes cursive backwards. But that's 3 long years of reading-his-backwards-writing away.

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The other night, G and I were having some private time behind our closed bedroom door after the boys went to bed. A. was still awake, though, and knocked on the door. G. stuck his head out and said, "What can we do for you, A?"
A. answered, "I'm going to shut the door to my room so I can have some peace and quiet!" For the record, we are NOT loud.

He's already a crotchety old man at 5 years old.

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We also had a date last night and went to the hot tubs. Mmmm. Except G. kept trying to make it quality time and talk to me. It reminded me of when A. was three months old and we took our first overnight trip to Yosemite. We stayed in this awesome motel with super-deep jetted bathtubs. G. kept trying to coax A. to sleep so he could join me in the tub, but when he tried to climb in with me, I was all, "I have a deep, hot tub all to myself with no one touching me. Get out of here and wait your turn."

Anyway, the tubs were nice and relaxing and I finally opened my eyes and deigned to speak with my husband. We had sushi afterwards and were home before 8pm. Wild nights, y'all.

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This has been a trying parenting week. Between A. going all backwards on us, in writing and in sports (did I mention he's refusing to play soccer now, too?) and Ben's lack of pooping action, I'm glad no one offered to buy them from me because I think I would have considered most offers.

Ben gets this particularly annoying thing going on where he gets our attention by saying, "I want my sock off!" When we take his sock off, he cries, "I want my sock on!" Fine, I think at first, sometimes I change my mind, too. But as soon as I put it back on, it's "I want it off!"

"OK, I'm not playing this game."

"But I want my sock off!"

"Then take it off."

"But I caaaaaaan't!" By now he's wailing.

And so on. I usually ignore him and mumble through gritted teeth, "I'm not playing this game." Then he gets hysterical. He does it with his bed quilt too - on, off, on, off. Or with Rocket's lid - on, off, on, off. Or with food - "I want grapes, I don't want grapes, NO! I want grapes! I don't want any grapes. NO DON'T EAT MY GRAPES THOSE ARE MY GRAPES! I don't want those grapes."

And it's all done with a whine....oh, god, the whining. Something about this game really gets under my skin and sometimes I have to leave the room. As a therapist, I recognize it as a externalization of his ambivalence and the difficulty he's having working through the anal stage of development, ala Freud. As a mother, I want him to shut the f*ck up. Especially when he pulls it between 4-6pm, which is prime Mommy Dearest time for me.

Most of the time, the answer is to distract him with something totally different. I'm lucky that he's pretty easily detoured. Not like Stubborn Boy over there wanting some peace and quiet. Pssssshhh.

The Perfect Sunday

I came across A.'s to-do list for last Sunday:

Waic up
eet brecfis
brush teef
woch hanumaleu (Animalia)
red bucs
eet is creem
snugl
eet lunch
do crafs
woch tv
eet dinr
go too sleep

Eating ice cream, snuggling and doing crafts? Sounds like a perfect Sunday plan.

What's kind of amazing about the way he wrote his list is that every single letter than can be written backwards (except "n," for some reason) is written backwards. He also informed me that he has decided to write all his words without any silent letters. Terrific. My little anarchist.

Last Time I Write About T-Ball, I Promise

For Sale: One pair of little boys' Nike baseball cleats, size 11, worn once.

Yeah, t-ball's not going to happen. We're returning the pepperoni sticks tomorrow. Apologies to those of you who were getting your orders in.

We had a moment of hope when we discovered his friend D. was on the team. A. was excited to see D, but continued to refuse, though, saying, "I can see D. at school."

Now, the big dilemma is that A. is refusing to play soccer, too. This is the non-competitive soccer he's done for about 2 years, the one he has loved unconditionally, until this week. He sits on the grass and refuses all entreaties from the coach, his parents, his little brother, even the other parents, to join the rest of the kids on the field.

We tried stern, we tried taking his arm and dragging him out there (I don't recommend this one - we know it doesn't work, but we were sort of at a loss). We tried going out there and playing ourselves (and, may I say, I kicked the asses of the other 5-year-olds in the grab-the-tail game).
We tried threats. We sat there and discussed, between G and I, how sad we were that he was missing out on something he really liked to do. How sad it was that he wouldn't even try. How disappointed his friends on the team were. How confusing it all was since we knew he enjoyed soccer and was pretty good at it. How sad it was that he was just quitting without even trying.

He had an answer for everything. Fortunately, so do I.

A: "I already know how to do everything in soccer."
Me: "You are good, but you will lose all your skills if you don't keep playing. And to get to the next level, the 6-year-old level, you need to finish this level."

A: "Lots of kids at school don't even try. "
Me: "And I don't think that's a good way to be."

A: "I can learn all about soccer at home."
Me: "No, you need a coach. And people to play against who don't share your DNA."

He's telling us that he's scared of the coach, which I don't buy because he's had a different coach for all three previous sessions and it hasn't been a problem before. I introduced him to the coach, who was very nice and they high-fived each other. Benjamin even told him that the coach was nice (Ben has the same coach for the morning session). He did have a particularly good coach last time, who unfortunately disappeared into the Kidz Soccer ether.

We're frustrated because we really don't want this to become a habit.

In News on Ben's Bowels: Had a visit with the pediatric gastroenterologist today. We basically have to induce diarrhea in our once-a-week boy, so that he can't withhold anymore. This will hopefully break the habit of withholding. Then we back off until the stool is a little more formed. I just thank God she's not a fan of enemas.

So the oldest son is being obstinate and younger son is clinging and whining and saying he can't get the poops out and demanding to be carried everywhere. Such is the glory of parenthood.

T-Ball Induced Panic Disorder, part II

OK, so how do you know when to say, "Hey, buddy, give it another try...c'mon, you can do it!" and when to say, "OK, we're pulling out. Let's see if they want their jersey and hat back,"?

When I asked A. what sport he'd most like to play, he said firmly, "Baseball." So I signed him up for t-ball (months late - how do parents know to sign their kids up in September for spring t-ball? Are there any other secrets anyone would like to let me in on?). G. bought him a little glove and started practicing catch. We would have gotten him a little fishing pole and practiced casting if he'd said, "Fishing."

An space came open on a team (we found out they had to kick a kid out because he was so disruptive). Unfortunately, this team had been together for about 3 weeks already and had had a few games and had the rhythm down. A.'s coming into this fresh and new, and he doesn't like it.

On the way to the game Saturday, in the cutest little Giants uniform you ever saw, he decided he'd sit in the stands and just watch. He wouldn't join the warm-ups. He wouldn't sit with his team. We watched the game and pointed out every kid who dropped the ball and swung and missed. See? They're just learning, too. Just like you.



The coach managed (I'm not sure how, he's pretty good at it though) to talk him into batting during the second round. He got him up there first, let him start with the tee (usually they get pitched to 4 times, and if they don't hit it, they can try the tee). A. hit it, lots of cheers went up, and he ran to first base. When he got there, he immediately walked off the field and towards us.

"No, no! Stay there!" we all yelled. He burst into tears and pulled away from the coaches. They let him walk back, where he melted into my arms and cried that batting had hurt a tiny scratch he'd already had on his hand.



They couldn't talk him into batting again, or joining the team for the ending cheer. G. picked him up and tried to carry him down there, but he got that look on his face I know so well - he gets all red, his eyes bulge, his cheeks puff out and it looks like his head is about to explode. That didn't go well - he started yelling, crying and twisting out of G's grip.

Frankly, it really made us, as parents, look bad. We're never the parents of the screaming, tantruming one in public. A. is usually very reasonable and rule-oriented. If you tell him he has to do something, he does it. He's pretty adaptable and flexible, but if that line is crossed and he gets overwhelmed, ain't nothin' going to work except time and leaving him alone.

So it was a bit humbling to see all the other parents watch him fuss and make their assumptions. I know I would have. He probably looked coddled and maybe spoiled. Or maybe we looked like we were forcing him to do something he didn't want to do (since that's pretty much what we were doing).

Meanwhile, Team Mother (who looks all of 22 years old) had me signed up for snacks for two weeks, manning the "snack bar" on a day we don't even have to be there, and selling 48 Pepperoni Sticks in 2 weeks.



BTW, anyone want a pepperoni stick? Only $1! I'm sure they'll last until Christmas! They make great stocking stuffers!

I looked at her and said, "I'm not sure we'll be back, you know?" casting a side-long glance at my non-participating son. "Oh, all the kids were shy at first but now they're all doing really well," she scoffed.

Really? They all cried and refused to play? Must have been a hell of a first game.

I keep going back and forth - I'm totally ready to give up. I'm not going to force the kid. He doesn't want to do t-ball, no problem. Especially after I saw all the stuff I have to do, no problem, really. I'm quite happy to give them back their pepperoni sticks. (Naw, we'd probably end up buying them).

But the coach kept saying gently to A., "Hey, next time, right? Next time you're gonna hit for me, right?" And A. wouldn't exactly agree, but he would say, "Maybe."

He finally told me that it wasn't that he didn't know how to play that bothered him - it was that he felt shy with all the other kids. They all knew each other, and he didn't know any of them. I gave my best "you might not know them now, but you will get to know them," speech and he just kept saying, "I'm nervous. I'm too nervous." He's never had trouble making friends and he's not particularly shy, but yeah, I can see where that would be intimidating. When I look back on my childhood, I totally would have balked, and my mom would have been glad to get out of another chauffeuring requirement. But would it have been better for me if I'd been pushed a little more?

It sure seemed to take a long time for me to realize I could actually join groups and people might want to be my friends.

So it's hard for me to gauge how much he really wants to play and just needs encouragement, or if he needs us to say, "That's cool. Maybe next year, or maybe something else entirely." I don't want to teach him to give up because something's hard, but I also don't want to force him.

Bet no other parents have ever been in this dilemma, huh?

In other news: A. and Ben were actually playing cooperatively this morning, decorating their cardboard "Toboggen" together.

A: Ben, I wish we were twins.

Me: ::::melt::::::

A: Because then we'd both color nicely.

Ba dum dum.

T-Ball Induced Panic Disorder

A. started t-ball last night. That's actually a misnomer - the kids can use the t-thing if they're wimps, or they can have it pitched to them if they're studly. A. was invited to try hitting the coach's slow pitch and he replied, "That's OK. I already know how to hit. I'm just going to watch." He was cajoled into joining in a few times, and actually got to stand out in the outfield, although he didn't know why he was out there.

I didn't get to see the practice because I worked, but I will get to see the first game on Saturday, and I'm scared. G says that I'll be surprised at how good some of these 5-year-olds are. I sort of figured they'd be like A., not knowing which base to go to after he hits the ball.

I'm scared because I so, so badly want him not to suck. I remember the horror of being called to put on the catcher's gear once at a softball game and realizing I had no idea what the score was or where to throw the ball. I remember standing out in right field thinking, "Please, please, please don't hit it out here." I really, really wanted my own catchers mitt when I was a kid, thinking that if I had one, I'd somehow become athletic. This was the 70's, when Girl Power yada yada was all the rage and I was filled with shame for not being a tomboy.

If it was tough for me, it's even harder to be a boy and not be good at sports. His kindergarten teacher told us that sometimes he tells her he can't do some of the P.E. because he's too small. He sees babies doing stuff on the playground equipment that he won't even try. He makes up stories about how he beat everyone else in running races that I know are fantasies .

I don't want him to be a star, I mean, that'd be fine, but it's unlikely. Average is good. Average is GREAT. I want him to have fun. I want him to be confident enough to join the baseball game at his office picnic when he's 27.

But we can't push it. Suggestions of playing catch outside are rebuffed. He doesn't want to know the rules of the game. But last night he said, "I think I can do it," when I asked him if he wanted to continue. (Knowing our son as we do, we asked if we could not pay for the season until after he'd tried it at least once).

So we're off to buy $100 worth of uniform for the boy who doesn't know how many bases there are. Is it any wonder I just reloaded my purse with Zantac?

CHECK!

Well, since none of you commented on my lower posts (no guilt tripping, though. Not even for my family members who don't comment and you know who you are), I thought for sure I wouldn't get on Alltop. But I did! Maybe 'cause I admitted to a long-ago crush on Guy Kawasaki. Anyway, yay. That's done.

In other news:

I really, really didn't think I'd become one of those mothers - you know, the ones derided by mommy-blogger critics. Yep, the ones obsessed with their child's bowel movements.

Ben is now going on a full week with no action down under. He's got the leakage, etc., we've been doing the Miralax and it's getting really, really old. The worst part is that for half a week before a poop, he's clingy and whiney. It's "carry me up!" all the goddamn time.

Years back, when I was a novice child therapist, I had a mom whose 9-year-old had impacted bowels. She'd get so frustrated with him for not pooping that she put her hand through the glass on the bathroom window in front of him. She also wrapped her hands around his neck and choked him while he was on the toilet. Gosh, and he was afraid to go? What a surprise.

The pediatrician kept telling her to perform enemas on him, and he felt so invaded. I was frustrated and tried talking to the doctor but he was having none of it. He was an old, well-respected pediatrician in the area and didn't really care about the kid's psychological trauma from the enemas.

Anyway, I reported the incidents to CPS and they, predictably, dropped out of treatment.

I still think it was abuse, but I'm beginning to understand the mother's frustration in a different way. Tonight, I did everything in my power to get Ben to poop. Hot drinks, tummy massages, hot bath, fruit, exercise. And...nothing, except whining and clinginess. I got so frustrated I refused to pick him up and I snapped at A. and told him he lost his crafty after-bed privileges and had to stay in his bed,without getting out, forever.

I feel so badly for Ben. He must be so uncomfortable. But dude, if Mama tells you to try something to help you poop, TRY IT. Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't, but you won't be any worse off. Please, please please. Push it out before it becomes a rock.

Oh, he's gonna love reading this when he's older. Buddy, payback is a bitch, huh?

In even more unrelated news:

The Dancing With the Stars April Fools thing is pretty freakin funny.

Kylie Minogue is hot. And she's older than I am.

I couldn't think of any April Fools jokes. A fellow blogger took mine. I'm not going to tell you which one because I may try it again next year.

A New One

I believe today is the first day I've gotten a hit from this Google search: "eating dead ants while pregnant."

Sometimes I really want to find the people who search for this stuff. I'd love to find the guy/chick who was searching way back when for "fox news legs crossed problem." It piqued my interest and I found myself searching for the same thing - surely someone out there knows what the problem is?

I wanted to contact today's searcher and ask if they realized the black specks in their food were dead ants only after they'd eaten about half of it, and that's why they turned to the internet, or if they had a craving for dead ants and were tired of ignoring it. I've heard of pica showing up in pregnant women, but not for dead ants. Why dead? Why not live? They'd die pretty quickly anyway, right?

6 Words

Y'all have heard about the 6-word memoir, right? (Thanks to Sarah for helping me find where it started).

I've thought of a couple, but the one that sums mine up best is:

Sad kid now has happy kids.

Other contenders:

Got married, got Ph.D., got kids.

Afraid I'll never move fast again.

Sucky childhood, great adulthood, all good.

Sometimes when I can't sleep, I try to think of more. It always knocks me out, like a good meme should. G'night.

Ya Gotta Reach for the Stars, or Something Like That

I like goals. They keep me focused.

I used to carry around a list in my planner. It read:

1. Get married.
2. Have children.
3. Own a house with a garden.
4. Finish my dissertation.
5. Have a happy life.
6. Be organized.
7. Have healthy habits.

So, I'm still not so organized, but everything else is checked off. When I started digital scrapping, I wanted to get one of my layouts in a scrapping magazine. Check.

I wanted to win some sort of local recognition for my blog. Check.

I tend to have very specific goals, and once I reach them, I'm good. I didn't get involved in the competitive sport that is scrapbooking, I just met my goal and then stopped. I didn't write a book, like my co-winner in that Parent's Press contest, I just write a blog. I don't pimp for comments, I don't market my blog, I just write and some people read, and that's awesome. But now, I have a new goal.

I want my blog to be listed on Guy Kawasaki's aggregate site, Alltop. One of the cool things about his site is that it has a group of daddy blogs. I'm not sure why I want to be on this list. I just do. So I sent an e-mail, and if you want me on there, you could, too, by shooting an e-mail to info@alltop.com. What the hell. I mean, I gave you three posts in one day, right?

Quick, Send the Commercial Crew Out

The scene right now: We have peaceful solo piano music playing. There's a light sprinkle of rain outside. I am addressing thank you notes in the fading afternoon light whilst I sip a cup of tea. Ben is lying on the floor cuddled under a blanket, quietly coloring in a book. The kitchen is clean and we can smell the minty aroma of the candle burning on the counter.

Dude, my afternoons are NEVER like this. I attribute it all to A., who might be sick and has been passed out on the sofa for the last hour. It's so peaceful when he's passed out.

And I'm Quite Fond of You, Too

"Hey Mama! I wrote you a song! Wanna hear it?"

"Of course!"

"'How do I like you, Mom?
How do I like you, Mom?
Oh, I like you Mom,
Oh, I like you Mom,
Oh, I like you very much.'

Here - you can have the song."

How My Father Got His Name

I just like this story.

So my dad grew up poor. They lived on a farm, his father was disabled and his mother supported the family as a home health nurse. Home health care nurses don't make much money now, so I can't imagine they made much money then.

So Grandma found herself working for a rich guy (the guy who invented roller shades, in fact), and her young son (my father) was about 12 years old. She thought...."Hmmm. This guy doesn't have many heirs, and he's rich and he's going to die." Always a schemer from what I hear, she thought, what better way to tap into the wealth than to name a son after the guy? But she wasn't going to have any more children, so it was going to have to be the son she already had. She changed my dad's name, legally, to this old guy's name. His first and middle name used to be Albert Guest. After that, he began going by Rich Guy's name.

When I heard this story, both I and his wife asked, "But wasn't that weird to suddenly have your name changed when you were already 12?" He answered, "Eh, I didn't care what they called me." My father doesn't have a lot of fancy notions about self-identity.

So my dad's name was legally changed, and when Rich Guy died, he left him $100.

Wazzup?

Wow, has it really been a week?

So I have a question. My new cell phone has a camera! Yes, I realize that everyone's does, but it's still new to me because I am in the dark ages about cellular technology. Is e-mailing a photo to myself the only way to get it off the camera and on to my computer? Because I can't do that. So I have a really cute picture of A. holding hands with his little girlfriend going down the double slide at the park but you'll need to be beside me to see it. With a magnifying glass.

Some Springy Crafts:

Got this one from Family Fun magazine. Can't find it on their website yet. How cute are these guys? You take a nylon stocking, put a tablespoon of grass seed in the toe, a couple of scoops of planting soil on top, tie a knot and put them upside down in decorated yogurt containers about half full of water. About a week later, hair! And a few weeks later, they look like this.


Here's Ben with the Easter Bonnet he made himself from a paper bowl. I painted the whole thing with glue, gave him stickers and tissue paper and let him have at it:


And here are the cupcakes we made for A.'s school spring party. I felt like Ms.-Awesome-Stay-At-Home-Part-Time-Mom showing up with these homemade decorated things. Probably would have been a better picture if I'd taken them out of the tins, but sheesh. I'm not a perfectionist.



And finally, another how-cute-is-this? picture. This is Ben upon blowing out the candles on his cupcake on his "real" birthday. He was so excited.

The Photographer as a Young Man

A friend gave Ben a Fisher Price digital camera for his birthday. He was thrilled. Taking pictures is OK, but the best part is the review buttons. Every time I take his picture with my camera, he yells, "Lemme see! Lemme see!" and sometimes he's not fast enough and I'm too impatient to flip back to it ("I'll show you later! Get back there and smile!"). So now he takes pictures just so he can push the arrows and see them again and again and again.

We did get lots of feet pictures, lots of floor pictures and one of me providing a nice large pillow for A. to snuggle.

Catholic Logic

There's been a push for a while to replace masculine language with non-gender-specific language in the Catholic Mass. It throws me off sometimes because I say the prayers in mass by rote, as I learned them in Catholic School, and when they've gone and changed the words it makes my sporadic attendance obvious.

Anyway, one recent change in North America was for the priest to say at baptisms, "I baptize you in the name of the Creator, Liberator and Sustainer," instead of "I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit." They were trying to get away from masculine language.

Oh no no no. Pope says you can't say that. The new phrase doesn't emphasize the trinity enough, and after all, the whole trinity thing is what separates us from other Christians.

Fine. Words matter. BUT....not only do we have to change the words back to the original....every baptism that was performed using the renegade phrase is INVALID and needs to be re-performed. And, of course, if you have an invalid baptism, any other sacraments that came afterward, like, say, marriage, would be invalid too.

Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Give me a break. It's like the Pope is stomping his feet, yelling, "You wanna go and do your own thing? Well, ha ha, none of those baptisms count! You have to do 'em all over! :P~~~~!"

This is what makes me crazy about the Vatican. Do they really think that God is keeping a list of what phrase was used? Are they going to withhold Holy Communion because someone may have an invalid baptismal sacrament? Am I going to organize a re-baptism for my sons because I don't remember which phrase was used? We had a ceremony, the babies were anointed and welcomed into the church, that's what happened and that was the point.

This is all about a church being authoritarian and concerned with earthly power. They're afraid that if they say, "Naw, you don't have to re-baptize everyone," that could subvert the idea that they are all powerful and always right about everything. Arrrgh. C'mon guys, this is why people think Catholics are crazy.

Chocolate-covered holy wafers to anyone who reads this rant. But only if you've been baptized correctly.

ETA: Oh, and by the way, those who get re-baptized are dammed anyway because they get water sprinkled on them instead of a full bath. Bummer.

Oh, BTW, no leprechauns were caught yesterday. But Larry Leprechaun took A.'s money and left a note saying, "Better luck next time, lads."

Mama's All-Green Buffet

So we had the All-Green Buffet last night.


The menu included: tilapia with chermoula, spinach fettucine with pesto, green salad, Chinese Broccoli salad, and lime jello. I pride myself on not just adding food coloring to mashed potatoes. In fact, although I admit the green of the lime jello was probably artificial (you think?), our own little bottle of food coloring never left the cabinet. For appetizers we served guacamole, green grapes, olives and celery. All green, all evening.

Ben beamed like a little star when everyone sang happy birthday to him. At the end of the night he said, "I had a good birthday and now I'm going to sleep."

I was glad we didn't have to cancel.

Tonight A. set his leprechaun trap and has high hopes. He baited it with his own money. "We can be the first people ever to catch a leprechaun and we'll get our wishes granted and we'll be famous!"

Now if he'd just go to sleep so I can turn the milk green. Gotta get out the food coloring for that, I guess.

And, to finish off, I gave away CDs of Irish Music, which ended with Denis Leary's Traditional Irish Folk Song. Here's an interpretation from YouTube:

Thought of Something

Today I dragged myself over to A's school for our second parent-teacher conference. G. met me from work.


Teacher: You know, I just love the "Feeling Days" you have at home that he tells me about! He talks about them all the time!

Us: ????

Teacher: You do have "Feeling Days" at home, like he says? Where you all get to talk about your feelings?

Us: Um, no. We have no idea what he's talking about.


We finally realized he was probably referring to the times when G or I get home from work, Ben is asleep and A. can tell us all about his day without interruption from his little brother. Don't know how he came up with "feeling days" for that, but whatever.

We also got feedback on how's he's performing a certain bodily function that I won't go into here to save him future embarrassment, but let's just say I never realized they evaluated kindergartners on that, too.

Still Alive, Barely

Yes, I'm still alive. Barely. I'm upright, clothed, sort-of showered, even. I even went grocery shopping today for the party, so I'm actually much, much better. But I'm so overwhelmed with how sick I was, that I'm not going to post anything else today because I'll I can think of to talk about is how FREAKIN' SICK I was.

I was really, really sick. Like, I was afraid I was going to end up in the hospital sick.

So I'll post again when I have something else to say. Like "Happy 3rd Birthday, Ben!"

Woah

Dudes. I haven't been this sick since before A. was born. My fever is hovering between 102 and 103 and I can't sleep even with the nice Robitussen with codeine the doc gave me. Doc says I probably got 2-3 viruses back to back, which is why I got a little better and then a whole lot worse. I'm actually thinking of calling an emergency nanny service in the morning because if I'm not better, I ain't going to be taking care of the boys.

Oh, and, not to be left out I guess, G. has a double ear infection. Woo hoo team Lunasea!

We have been visited with the plague upon our house. No one escaped, although G. and A. got hit less severely than Ben and I.

I'm at that stage of the flu where I don't think I'm ever going to feel better. Ben seems to be less of a moaning lump today, so that gives me hope. I've made all kinds of deals with God - "I promise to eat a macrobiotic diet and take my fish oil capsules and exercise daily if you'll please just make this go away."

We have a party in 5 days - I have to be upright in order to disinfect the house.

BTW, TheraFlu doesn't do a damn thing.

From the House of Sick

Lunasea was first down the runway with an unexpected and dramatic Stomach Flu de Diablo, and she apparently is slated to follow that up with a moderate head cold, but now we hear she is trying to exit the show altogether! We have exclusive video of Lunasea screaming that she has fulfilled her sickness contract for the week with her first appearance and is flat-out refusing to do any more sick time. We'll keep you updated with the latest on the divalicious fight.

G. made his appearance with a moderate, but just-this-side-of-staying-home, head cold. He's showing his trademark body aches and coughing. Nothing out of the ordinary here, but still a solid showing.

A. slid into the show at the last minute, getting sent home with a headache on Monday, but couldn't compete with Lunasea's dramatic, gut-wrenching spotlight. He followed up with the head cold we're seeing so much of this season, but is still working on getting to the head of the pack, illness-wise. Consistency over drama is what we see with this young man.

With a late start, Benjamin has come from behind and taken the lead with a full-blown flu. His semi-high fever blew the rest of the contenders out of the sick bay. Being a relative newcomer, he gets the opportunity to use his youth to his advantage, not only getting up at 4:30am, but forcing the rest of the team up as well. You can bet the team, especially our desperately-trying-to-be-flu-resistant diva, Lunasea, is not happy with this turn of events.

From the Sick Bay

Me: I am so sick.

G: You've got the flu.

Me: No, I don't think so. I'm just throwing up, etc*. And that's gotten better. I think this is like a stomach flu.

G: Well, that's the flu, isn't it?

Me: No, if you have the flu you have a fever, and it lasts a week. I already feel better than I did this morning.

G: Mmmm. OK.

Me: I do have body aches, though. My hip is killing me.

Both of us: TOXIC SYNOVITIS!

Me: Naw, I can walk on it. I took some Aleve and that helped.

G: Throwing up, body aches? I think you have the flu.

Me: Naw, I don't have a fever. I bet I'm better by tomorrow.

A few hours later, I sit here, more or less upright, not throwing up (or otherwise purging my body of every possible ounce of liquid, if you know what I mean). But now I have a fever. I hate it when he's right.

*If you know what I mean.

New Look

So I was thinking it might be easier to read this blog if it only had two columns. So I switched to a two-column template by SuckMyLolly. I chose it because I could keep my own header.

Not sure I like it. I mean, the template itself is cute. I'm just not sure it's me. But then, I tend to be against change of any sort, so I would appreciate your thoughts. I did save my old one so I can always go back to it. I think.

Woke Up, Fell Out of Bed, Dragged a Comb Across My Head

Somewhere I saw a photo challenge suggesting taking "A Day in the Life" pictures on Leap Day 08. Now I can't find where the challenge was - thought it was a group on Flickr but all I see are people leaping on Leap Day. Ah well - I did it anyway and now you can share the joy of my February 29th as I take A. to school, run errands and eat dinner. Woo Hoo. I guess that's kind of the point of "Day in the Life" photo collections, although it made me feel pretty boring.

I'm also at that point where I know my photos aren't "good," but I don't have the skill to make them better yet. It's an annoying place.

Semi-Annual Paper Clip Sale

Is a "Bi-annual" sale held twice a year or every two years?

Anyway, A. decided it was time for another paper clip sale. His first was so successful that his grandmother began smuggling whole packages of paper clips back from Japan and China for him, which he uses as a selling point ("These came all the way from China!"), although really, they're not that different from American paper clips (sorry, Mom).

Our neighbor kindly came over and bought $5 worth of paper clips from him, mostly because I'd paid her son $5 earlier to wash my car. A. really wanted to sell one paper clip for $100, but he's not completely grasping the laws of supply and demand, or for that matter, competitive pricing. The ones on the left are marked $100 each. She talked him down to two for a dollar 'cause she's a shark like that. The lone gold clip is $10, the plastic clips are $50, and the plain silver ones are .25 each.



The best part, though, was when there was a lack of foot traffic and I suggested off-handedly, "Hey, A., you should make one of those big signs like the guys we see on the corner waving the arrows pointing at the new housing development down the street." He took the idea and ran with it, hiring G. as his human directional and showing him which way to point the arrow.

This Child Has Given Up His Nap

And has started waking up every day before 6am. He's really, really lucky he's so cute.

ISO Green Food

Ben's birthday is just 5 days before St. Patrick's Day. Back when G and I were dating, I began the tradition of serving an all-green dinner for the holiday. I chose green food rather than Irish cuisine because, believe it or not, there's more variety and the Irish aren't exactly known for their cooking.

We've had variations on this theme through the years, and this year we're combining an all-green buffet (yum!) with Ben's third birthday. That gives us an excuse to get it all done early, but frees me from having to organize three-year-old party games.

So far, here is the food I've come up with. If you can think of a green food that's not on here that would be suitable for a buffet, PLEASE share.

spinach pasta with pesto
chicken breasts with parsley sauce
lime jello
peas and bacon (or other green vegetable)
creamed spinach
green beans with herb sauce
artichokes

green m&ms
green jelly bellies

Maybe colcannon (with brussel sprouts instead of cabbage to make it greener)
Probably irish soda bread although it's not green. Green bread would be kind of gross.

No corned beef or cabbage.

Of course, Guinness and Irish Coffee. Maybe Irish Flags, but they're tricky to do right.

I might need to rent some of those heated serving dishes, huh? Anyone ever done that?

Toxic Schmoxic

A.'s doing way better. The new doctor yesterday told us that he'd be feeling better very quickly, like, by the hour, and he was right. He also agreed with me that there was no reason he couldn't go to school if he could put weight on his toxic leg. By last night, A. was getting around just fine, unless I pointed out his recovery, which immediately sent him back to limping pathetically.

This morning he was fine, too, until we asked him to walk on it to see the extent of the limp, if any. It was remarkable. The toxic hip is just so sensitive that the second it realizes it's being observed, it stops working. A. suddenly couldn't put any weight on it and fell to the ground twice. "That's some good acting," observed G. So A.'s off to school today, to our relief.

In other news....nope, no other news.

Hoppin' Like the Easter Bunny

At least, I hope he will be soon.

A. has something called toxic synovitis. I've never heard of it, but according to Dr. Google, it's the most common reason for hip pain in kids, especially boys, and it goes away by itself. BUT, and it's a big but, he has to put NO WEIGHT ON HIS LEG for 3-4 days.

This means I (or his father, but I'm whining about me right now) have to carry him anywhere he needs to go, including the bathroom. Thank God we have a one-story house. Not only can he not go to soccer lessons, he can't go to school. He's not supposed to go back to school until he can walk without a limp, according to the real doctor. Frankly I don't see why he can't limp at school.

I've always been grateful that I have reasonably cautious kids. They're not the kids that are on a first-name basis with the staff at Urgent Care because they hurt themselves so often. So what's the deal with joint pain that comes out of nowhere and takes him out of commission? I mean, a little bit of pain, sure, that kind of thing builds character. But having to carry him everywhere for several days? Another reason not to have little kids in your 40's.

Because it was a holiday, there was only one phlebotomist at the lab slooooowly drawing the blood of about 100 patients crowded into a basement that seats about 25. I've been at this lab often and I'd never seen it like this. So with the super-long wait to poke my kid with a needle, and telling me to carry him around for 3-4 days, I'm wondering if this is Major HMO's newest cost-cutting technique. "You want your kid to be seen on a holiday? You sure about that? Might just be easier on everyone if you give him some Motrin and we'll pretend we never had this little chat. Everyone who comes in on the holiday has to visit our one cranky phlebotomist and will be told to carry their child on their backs for the rest of the week. Bwahahahaha."

Why I Am Losing My Mind

A few weeks ago I told G, "I'm really burnt out on the boys. I know you take over often, but it would really be great if you could take them OUT OF THE HOUSE for a few hours and let me be home alone."

So he did that yesterday. It was quite a production - maps were consulted, rations in case of a sudden California blizzard were packed, and he hugged me goodbye with, " OK! Goodbye! Have a good day!" I replied, "OK. See you around lunchtime."

He kept them out for about 5 hours. It was AWESOME. I did exciting things like a workout video (by myself without having to pause every 5 minutes or make sure I don't step on a child), folded laundry (while watching something besides Clifford), emptied the dishwasher (without stopping to referee a fight), and transplanted houseplants (without having to carry two boys on my heads to the bathtub afterwards while trying not to drop dirt on the carpet).

I don't think I realized how often I get interrupted, especially by Mr. High Maintenance, who refuses to do things that he can do by himself, instead only choosing activities that require parental assistance. Or how much energy it takes to just tune them out when they're annoying each other but not getting into a full-fledged fight.

For example, as I typed this entry, here was the conversation in the other part of the room:

A: You have spit on your shirt
B: No I don't.
A: Yes you do.
B: No I don't.

(repeat 20 million times until Ben is yelling)

A: You have spit on your shirt. I can see it.
B: No I don't! My spit is in my mouth!
A: But you have some spit on the back of your shirt.
B: Eat your quesadilla, weave me alone!
A: Ben, why'd you say weave me aloney baby?
B: But weave me alone, you're not weaving me alone! Now weave me alone!
A: But Ben, you don't even know what that means.
B: WEAVE ME ALONE
A: I am, I am!
(thud)
A: Ben just hit me!
Me: Sounds like you deserved it. Leave him alone.
A: I am leaving him alone.
B: No you're not.
A: I am now. (pause, face inches from B's) Duh duh duh.
B: Stop it Aidan! Weave me alone!
A: I am.
B: No you're not. You're still not weaving me alone!
A: Ben, why'd you say you're still not weaving me alone?
B: grrrrr. (this is what he does when he wants to hit but knows he's not supposed to).
(Plate gets knocked down)
B: give me my pia pia back
A: Ben, why'd you say pia pia like a baby?
(giggles all around and next thing I know they're on the floor pretending to be babies).

Boring to the Newborn King

My V-Day present to G was to have our stacks of mini-dv tapes from the last 4 years transferred to DVD. I could have done it myself, but the boys would have been in college by the time I was finished.

So we have 8 DVDs filled with hours upon hours of video. In all those hours, there are some gems. I realize 'tis not the season for Christmas songs, but I have to share this one. This is A's version of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" from 2006. He was 4. The very first second or so is cut off - he starts out singing "Hark the angels herald sing...." I sort-of lied to him after hearing him sing in the car and told him, "Oh, you sing that song SO well. We HAVE to get that on tape."

Eventually I'll put subtitles on it (translating from A-ese to English), but I think he sings pretty clearly. Just be sure to listen for "join the friends, and friends in style."

It's less than 30 seconds. Humor me.

Happy V-Day, Y'All

The boys picked me a bowl of flowers.


They don't give out a "Best Valentine Done By a Parent" at A's school, but if they did, I totally would've won. One kid gave out pedometers because his grandma works at the company that makes them. Hah.


G. made me dangly heart earrings (no pic, sorry). I love that he makes me jewelry. He's currently working on the 5th reincarnation of the mommy bracelet he gave me lo, many years ago. It's broken again, although the bead store lady gave him steel wire that's supposed to not break, ever. When it broke I lost a few letters, and they don't have those letter beads anymore, so A. is now named "Ada."

We made cookies.


On to St. Patrick's Day! A. wants to set up leprechaun traps.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

K. Barteski at iLoveLife has a super-cute little newborn, and she's super creative. I like that she drinks so much coffee, too.

My friend from a long-ago message board, Blue-Eyed Bookworm, loves books, is a hip librarian and is funny. She's a redhead too, which gives her instant points.

f-bomb is one of my fave daddy bloggers. He has a super-cute little newborn too, and, of course, is funny. All these people are funny. If I can, I'll try to find the video of Owen playing poi balls with tampons. Classic stuff.

I've mentioned Jess before. She's my personal book-shopper. She reads more books that I can count.

D. over at Liminal Musings has been a long-time favorite. You know how sometimes someone manages to say exactly what you're thinking and/or feeling, but so much more eloquently? That's Deirdre. And, she lived in Berkeley, another plus.

Another awesome writer is over at red couch fever. She writes about farm life and her animals and weird stuff they eat and is hilarious.

So, all of you make my day. Thanks.

Gung Hay Fat Choy (Happy Chinees Noo Yeer)

Last night, well after he was supposed to be asleep, A. came out with a handmade card for us.


He says the leopard-print scotch tape is in honor of the leopards in China, and the green symbol is the best Chinese writing he can do.

V-Day Crafts

You might remember last year, when A. turned into the Valentine's Elf and made a ton of decorated hearts. We still have some left over, even after giving them to friends, family and classmates, and this year he decorated some more, but not as many (Thank God). Personally, I prefer the random "sequin sneeze" look of last year's hearts (2, 5, 6 & 8) to the more orderly ones of this year (1 & 7).

I took some red ribbon and some decorated ribbon ($1 at Target for 3 yard-long spools) and decorated our kitchen window. I'm quite happy with it. I'm so glad we have a kitchen window that's the perfect size in which to hang hand-made garlands.

In other news, I'm exhausted. We're all getting over colds and Ben woke up this morning at 4:30am crying, "I'm not tired! I'm not tired!" So he came into our bed, sniffling, snorting and whistling through his nose, asking every few minutes, "Are you sweeping, Mama?"

Sometimes I can't wait until they're teenagers and want nothing to do with me.

So Sarah gave me a sweet You Make My Day award. This is a pay-it-forward kind of meme where you honor the blogs that make you happy.

So first off, I have to put my sister down because she's my sister and it always makes my day when she updates. Of course, if she really cared about my happiness, she'd do it more often. But then again, she was also the one who told me the boogey man was right there over on the neighbor's lawn coming to get me.

Next I've got to give a "right back at'cha" to Sarah. She's funny, smart, interesting, she posts daily and she comments a lot over here at the Lunasea. So I owe her, big time. And, she almost lived near me.

I'm also a big fan of Poppy Mom. She never fails to crack me up, and I love her honesty about the trials of motherhood. She's a fantastic writer, and a pretty good cook, too. I totally want to have her and Clara Jane over for coffee.

Jenny at ljcfyi has already been honored, but I have to include her too because hers was the first blog I read where I realized, "Hey, I could write about everyday life, and it might be fun!" She's insanely creative and upbeat and her blog posts always cheer me up.

And, of course, Dr. Corndog. God, he's funny. And nice. And smart. My eyes light up when there's a new post in my bloglines.

That's five, right? Geez, I could do so many more. Probably tomorrow.

I'm not answering my phone this week.

John McCain won't stop calling. He even had his wife call to see if I would pick up. Mit keeps calling, too, although he's not as obsessed with me as John seems to be. Really, John, if you're reading this, it's not going to work out between us. You've gotta stop calling me.

"But Lunasea," I can hear you saying, "I didn't know you were Republican." I'm not. But 4 long years ago, my BIL made a donation in my name to the Republican party. And gave them my phone number.

Lonely? Tired of coming home and not having messages on your answering machine? Give $10 to the Republicans. They will NEVER leave you alone. Even after you send back their mailings with "I'M A DEMOCRAT. STOP WASTING YOUR POSTAGE ON ME," scrawled all over them in black Sharpie.

Just because I drew a few doodles on BIL's portrait of George and Laura. And I might have signed him up to host a house party for John Kerry in 2004 and I might have added his name to a couple mailing lists. He's moved like, 10 times since then, and I haven't. So the Democrats can't find him anymore and the Republicans are in danger of having me file a restraining order on them. So I guess he wins. OK! I give up!

Just as long as I win in November.

There's a Reason They Play Soccer on the Grass

So it's been two years since I landed in the hospital with a bonked head. (Scroll down to beginning of February).

Two years ago I tried to watch the Super Bowl in my hospital room, but was thwarted by:

1. the blind spot in the middle of my vision (the clot was pressing on my visual cortex);
2. the horrible reception and green streaks on the TV
3. my apathy for football. (but yesterday's game was exciting, I'll give you that)

People who don't see me very often ask, "How ARE you?" I say, "Fine, thanks - how are you?" and then they say, "No, I mean your head. Are you all better and everything?" and I say, "Oh, yeah, that. Yeah. I think so, I mean, I forget things but I don't know if it's age or what....So, can you believe all this rain?"

But they don't let it drop. They say, "Wow, that was scary." I say, "Yep. It was." And I try to figure out if they really want to hear the whole story or not. Do they want to know the details, do they want to hear the funny stories, or do they want confirmation that I'm not in a coma?

On Saturday, we drove by the hospital across the bay where I was transferred to the ICU from our little local ER. I remembered little details, like the box marked "CADAVER BAGS" over the nurses' station as I shuffled down the hall. I guess not too many of their patients walk around, because you'd think they'd have those in a closet or something. Guess they need to keep them handy.

I also remembered the two neurosurgeons. One wanted to operate and the other didn't (or, actually, he left it up to us but said he thought it would be OK to hold off). The one who wanted to operate helped himself to OJ off my dining tray and spilled it all over himself. Smooth. Perhaps God was sending us a message confirming the decision not to operate.

The main thing I took away from this experience is how freakin' lucky I am. Everyone in the hospital seemed pretty surprised I was as coherent as I was. The first doctor said, "You're probably just one of those disgustingly healthy people." You know? I really am. I have bad allergies, whoop de doo. I've broken one tiny bone in my hand in college, and no others. I've never had my body really malfunction. My cells haven't turned against me (except those wrinkly ones, but they're not really hurting anything).

And the importance of accepting things as they are. If I did have some sequelae, there's not really a damn thing anyone could do about it and I would just have to live with it. If I'm ever a little freaked out by not remembering something I really should remember, I just remind myself, "Yeah, well, if it IS because of the brain injury, you know what the doctors would tell you? They'd tell you to write stuff down. Use post-it notes. Because it's not fixable. So whatever the reason is, you've just got to adapt." I have to put on my very-big-girl pants and deal with it.

I still get a little nervous playing soccer with the boys. I have a new fear of falling that I didn't have before. I freaked out a little when I started getting monthly migraines last year. But mostly, everything is good, and I am really freakin' lucky.

And you know what else? I'm really glad I blog. I remember stuff from the time that G. has totally forgotten. He can't believe the details I remember. I remember only because I blogged it. As I went back through the Feb 06 entries, I saw stories about my boys that I'd forgotten, too. Blogging rules.

Not a Joke

Saw this on one of the low-carb blogs I stalk, and thought it was a joke. It's not. There's a bill suggesting that restaurants be prohibited from serving food to obese people.

Uh-oh...I feel my libertarian streak coming out! U.S. out of my fat cells!

A Ben Story

Today I was making a salad and Ben was "helping" me by throwing the browner bits of the lettuce into the sink. He missed, and said, "I better try again. If at sixty three, try try again!"

Couldn't have said it better myself.

I Wish

What made me laugh this morning:

Is Make-A-Wish Foundation being driven into bankruptcy?

Big Day

So today's report card day. A.'s very first report card! Mom and Dad's first report card, too. G. almost videotaped it, but I stopped him in time.

He got Excellent on Group Time: Attention, Courtesy, Participation and General Self-Control. He says, "That's because when Teacher is showing us a new job, I sit very quietly and don't move." He's a good listener (when he wants to be).

And he just got Satisfactory on PE. I expected that - Teacher doesn't like it when kids enter her class not knowing how to skip. But he's got the skipping down now, man. And he's the smallest kid in the class, for heaven's sake. I give him credit just for being positive about Field Days.

BTW, "Field Days are about winning. P.E.'s just about practice," according to A.

The comment was, "Since September, A. has shown great improvement in his penmanship." That's it.

Oh Thank God because we were afraid he was forever doomed to write all his letters backwards. I'm just guessing here, call me a dreamer, but I'll bet it gets even better by 3rd grade! I sure hope they track that in the report card comments!

So part of me is like, "Good. He's right on track, no worries, right where he should be. I'm not gonna put my perfectionism on him."

And the other part of me is like, "Are they BLIND?"

Who Needs Blog Topics?

I'll just type in A.'s list for the day.

Wac up
brush teef
eet brefix
pt on clos
wach creeeees jorj
go too sgoowl
plai hid and seek
sneec urond hawis
woch u videeo
hav sum aktivdee
sbed sum tim wi my famlee*
go too sleep

*That one's my favorite.

He's just a little bit of a slave to his list. He likes to do things in the order written, but he's not too thrown off when I change things around and add stuff like "go to libraree" and tell him to brush his teef AFTER brefix. He dutifully checks things off after he does each one, and gets quite thrown if he can't find his list. He's not sure what to do if he doesn't have his list to tell him.

My to-do list for the day:

lawndree
wawsh dishs
mak dinr
dew billeeng
mak fown kawls

For Kids Who Do Too Much, Part II

We now have a list for what to do after bedtime, too:

Nit List

• Luc at cadn unrpans bcs*
• sai my prers
• go in Ben's krib
• cleen my room
• sneec urawnd hawis
• reed bcs

*Captain Underpants Books

Thanks goodness he included sneaking around the house. He always forgets to do that.

For Kids Who Do Too Much

When I got home from work tonight, A. very proudly showed me his To Do list for tomorrow. He had it all written out on a piece of paper:

• waic up
• pt on cllos
• brush ar teef
• eet brefisd
• go too sgoowl
• plai socr
• woch u videeo
• plai on u cmpyoudr
• plai kards
• hav activuees
• hav dinr
• go to sleep

"I've got a lot going tomorrow!" he exclaimed.

Ok, but you still need a cutlery set

I'm a busy non-blogger today, but I thought this was hilarious. Those smart-ass Brits left 145 comments about the Bic crystal pen. You can even buy a couple of them, used. Found via RockStar Mommy's great blog.

So remember on Friday when I wondered what crazy thing I'd do next?

We bought a couch for our family room Friday night:


Nice, eh? We've needed something for this room ever since we moved in. We've been making do with my old futon, which worked but was pretty uncomfortable and rather ugly. Since we spend most of our time in this room, it didn't make sense to have nice furniture in the living room and the dregs in here. Levitz is having a bankruptcy sale, so we got this one for 60% off. We're all enjoying sitting on it. And I can label it and straighten my hair on it, too, if I want.

And, for something totally unrelated, G and I sublet a psychotherapy office in a suite. We do not control the books in the waiting room, which include "Venomous Animals." Maybe not what I'd choose as reading material for a bunch of anxious clients, but that's why we're just the subleters.



And the third totally unrelated thing:

Middle Niece (B) is quite talented, doing the singing and dancing thing. She just moved from California to New York (New Jersey, technically) to try her luck on the Great White Way. She and her roommate are writing a blog to chronicle their experiences and give their parents heart attacks. This is her first blog and we really want her to keep it up, so if you have a second to encourage them, that'd be awesome.

Today

Today's Complaint: Kid's DVDs that don't let you skip over the commercial previews to get to the menu. What's up wit dat? That annoys the crap out of me. Today's was Jay-Jay the Creepy Jet Plane.

Today's Obsession: GoodReads. Just found it via Laid-Off Dad, and come to find out some of my friends are already on it. Love it - helps me keep track of what I want to read AND has a widget. Add me as a friend if you're on it too. I need to change something, though, because it looks like all I read are books by Maeve Binchy. Those are just the most recent ones I added, I swear.

Today's Challenge: Run a full-frontal assault on the ants taking over my kitchen. The boys are making a game of hopping over the floor trying to avoid them, and having lots of fun calling them "stupid" since I said that ants were the one thing it was OK to call stupid.

Oh, and maybe get some exercise.

Today's Weather: Rain. Rain, more rain. The hills better be bright emerald green after this or I'll be pissed.

Today's Goal: Organize and label all the family room toys.

Today's Goal for Ben: Poop. We're on Day 6 of the Poop Watch and getting a little nervous. I am, anyway. Ben seems fine with it. I have become that mother - the one consumed by the lack of regularity in her child's bowel movements.

Today's Pleasure: Bought myself a hair straightener AND a label-maker. I've wanted both for a long time, and today I threw caution to the wind at Target and got the cheapest versions of each! Who knows what crazy thing I'll do next?!

Another funny parody of the Tom "Wacky Boy" Cruise video by Jerry O'Connell. He does a good job with the Tommy Hysterical Laughter.

I Liked It

I'm putting this on my blog so I don't lose it. It's from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Suppers and is one of the best ways to get vegetables. I had to return the book to the library and now I can't find my copy of the recipe. Thank goodness she posted it on her blog:

Braised Mixed Greens and garlicky beans on toast
Serves 3 to 4

Any mixture of greens can be spooned over garlic-rubbed toast, as it is here, pasta, or polenta. For wine, try a Spanish red, such as a Grenache-based Priorat wine or a Spanish white Alberinio.

1 tablespoon olive oil, plus extra for finishing
1 small onion, finely diced
2 plump garlic cloves, 1 slivered, 1 halved
1-pound greens, such as chard mixed with the tips and leaves of broccoli rabe, or a mix of small braising greens, washed and chopped
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
if available, a few leaves to a few handfuls sorrel, 5 or 6 lovage leaves, or a handful each of chopped cilantro and parsley
1 1/2 cups cooked beans (borlotti, cannellini, etc.), made from scratch or canned
3 to 4 slices chewy country bread
shaved Parmesan cheese or crumbled Gorgonzola

1. Heat the oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven. Add the onion and cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally. Once the starts to soften a bit, after 3 to 4 minutes, add the slivered garlic. Cook a minute more, and then add the greens and any herbs. Season with 1/2 teaspoon salt.
2. As the greens cook down, turn them in the pan to bring the ones on top closer to the heat. Once they’ve all collapsed, add 1/2 cup water or bean broth, lower the heat, and cook, partially covered, until tender. Depending on the greens you’ve chosen, this could take as little as a few minutes or as long as twenty. Just make sure there’s some liquid in the pan, for in the end you’ll want a little sauce. When the greens are done, add the beans, heat them through, then taste for salt, and season with pepper.
3. Toast the bread and rub it with halved garlic. Arrange on plates and spoon the greens and beans over the top. Drizzle extra olive oil on top. Garnish with the cheese and serve.

Spring Fashion Report '08

On her blog today, Lemony Sarah introduced us all to the wonders of designer Thom Browne (which she found via Dave Barry).

I was so taken by this wunderkind, I just had to go check out his designs myself and steal LS's blog idea. Here are two more favorites:

How often have you heard your man say: "This unitard would be just perfect if I only had a pocket for my keys and ID."

Or, perhaps, "I'm too much man for this unitard. I need a swatch of fabric RIGHT THERE for reinforcement. "


And, for those days at the office when the regular business suit is too stuffy, but a polo shirt is too casual:

A. Thinks Globally, Acts Locally

A. is learning about peacemakers in kindergarten, and thought Target was as good a place as any for an impromptu peace march.

And Another Thing....

If I was in the market for a full-time job, I would so go for this. Just so I could say I'm badass.

Seriously, if you like photos and the internet, Photojojo is the place to be. Subscribe to their newsletter.


AND...if you saw the Tom "Spiral Eyes" Cruise video, you've gotta see the Cathy Zielske scrapbooking parody. If you haven't seen the Tommy video and don't mind wasting 10 minutes of your life, look here.

Oh, and today is Beastie's birthday. She's way too important to the computer systems of a major hospital to post more often, but a big "Happy Birthday, Middle Sister," to her.

Oh, and because Oldest Sister reads this blog, Happy Birthday Two Days Ago to you too!

And, once again, thanks to you and Middle Sister for not only having birthdays 2 days apart in January, but also having (almost) ALL your children in January, too. Costco socks for all of you.