A. has been heavily into the existential issues lately. He's got lots of questions. Everytime he's been quiet for a while and then says, "Mama.....?" I know something hard to answer is coming.

"Mama.....why do we not eat worms?"

"Mama.....why are there killers in this world?"

"Mama....what's bigger than us?"

"Mama....why are seat belts sometimes not enough?"

We had a long discussion about monsters, too. It all started when I made an offhand comment that monsters weren't real.

"But Elmo is a monster and he's real."

"Well.....actually, hon, he's a puppet."

"No, he's not."

Not wanting to hammer him over the head at four with reality, but also not wanting to lie, I said, "Mmmm," and tried to drop it.

After a moment of thought, he repeated, "Elmo's not a puppet, Mama, because Elmo does his own voice," he stated with absolute certainty.

"Well....actually, hon, there is a puppeteer who does Elmo's voice. You just don't see him on TV."

"Elmo is real."

"OK, babe. But we only see monsters on TV, right? We don't see them walking down the street, do we? We don't run into them at the grocery store, right?" (hoping he doesn't remember the time Cookie Monster gave us cookies at Albertson's...)

He finally let it go, which was good because I didn't see that conversation going anywhere satisfying for either of us.

-----------------------------------------
This one worried me, though:

"Mama, why are seatbelts sometimes not enough?"

I had no idea what he was talking about - had he seen something on TV about a bad crash were seatbelts didn't save people? I didn't think so, and to say something's "sometimes not enough" sounded like he was quoting someone.

"Did you hear someone say that?"

"Yeah. W. said that." Ahh - W is A's 5-year-old friend who considers himself A's mentor.

"Oh. Well, seatbelts are usually enough to keep you safe."

"Actually, he said seatbelts weren't good."

"Well, then, W is wrong. Seatbelts are good because they keep you safe."

"No, he's not wrong. He's right."

Oh, terrific. He's four years old and already succumbing to peer pressure. Peachy. Next thing you know he'll be accepting smokes when they're hiding in the bushes.

"Why do you think he's right?"

"Because seatbelts aren't very fun."

"That's true - they're more serious than fun. But they're still good because they keep you safe."

At least he asks. I fear the time is coming, sooner than I had hoped, where he tunes me out and hears, "Blah blah blah blah blah..." How do you keep them listening?

I can't remember where I got this link, but the idea is you look at a series of photos side by side, and you click on the one you like better. Eventually the brain at the bottom pulses pink, and you click on it and it tells you something about yourself that no website could ever know.

I was surprised that the first thing it told me was: "You'd prefer having a girlfriend." Well, that would rather complicate my life, wouldn't it? It does give you an option to correct the brain, so I clicked, "No, I'd prefer having a boyfriend," because "I'd prefer having a housekeeper," wasn't given as an option.

It also told me: "You don't work in an office/school." I'm not sure what I'd call my therapy office if I didn't call it an office, so I clicked, "No, I work in an office/school."

The brain didn't think anything else about me, but invited me to continue choosing photos. It's kind of an interesting to see the photos they ask you to choose between, even if the pink brain is 0 for 2 so far.

It's Come to This

I'm stealing ideas from other bloggers. Not that I didn't before, though.

Evidence that our children are not our children:

1. They're too attractive. Both A. and Ben are remarkably attractive, and I don't think I'm just saying that. I could bring in witnesses who are not related to them. I hope G. won't mind me saying this, but they're both really more attractive than either he or I.

2. They are early birds. Both kids regularly get up before 6am. When we stayed in Stinson Beach, A. slept in until 7, and when he woke, yelled out, panicking: "Papa! Papa! There's light coming through my window!"

G: "Yes, that would be the sun."

A: "But Papa, there's a lot of light! It's all over my room!"

I told him later, "That's the way it's supposed to be when you wake up. If you wake up and it's still dark, you're supposed to roll over and go back to sleep."

He gave me a look that clearly said, "Well, maybe that works for some people, but I have no interest in such things."

G. can get up early, but left to his own devices, usually sleeps in until at least 8am. If I could make my own schedule, I would go to bed between midnight and 1am and get up at 9am. That would be absolutely perfect, and is one of the reasons I kept a job where I didn't start until 10:30am for so many years.

3. They're extroverts.

Both G. and I were painfully shy as children, G. probably more than me. He can't believe A. raises his hand at soccer practice of his own accord, and seems so brazen and confident. Both boys are very social and make friends easily. It amazes us.

Both boys are not-quite-coordinated in a way that seems very familiar. And Aidan has my red hair. But I did have ceseareans and both kids were whisked away to the NICU right after birth, so it's possible that somewhere, some couple is dealing with shy, average-looking late sleepers and trying to figure out where they came from.

Cars the Merchandising Wonder

So yesterday was election day, or, as it was known around our house, The Day Cars The Movie Came Out on DVD.

Ben won a Best Buy gift card (see? My 20-month-old wins raffles easier than I do) last month so the boys went to buy it today while I was at work. I came home to find A. asleep in bed, his arms wrapped around the DVD case and the insert stuck in his little fingers. I'm guessing they already watched it.

Before I had kids, I thought movie tie-in merchandising was the crassest form of consumerism. Now that I'm a parent, I think, "Cool. Christmas is covered. Just buy the kid a 'Cars the Movie' plate and cup and he'll be happy."

Or, while out shopping, "Hey, there's a 'Cars the Movie' display. I can park the cart in front of it and probably have a whole five minutes to browse the magazines. Awesome."

Now, the kid in question is only four, so we haven't been through much more than Thomas and Cars the Movie. I'm sure that when he's on his fourth or fifth group of licensed characters it will be far less appealing.

Reasons October 27 is a Great Day to Have a Birthday

I know you're sick of hearing about my birthday, but this blogging daily thing means every little blog idea that comes into my little head gets its due.

1. Here in Northern California, the weather is still really nice. Not too hot, not too cold. Usually sunny.

2. It's close to Halloween, which is a Fun Holiday (as opposed to the religious and/or patriotic ones - the other one, according to me, is New Year's).

3. Whatever I didn't get for my birthday goes right onto the Christmas list.

4. It's in the autumn, which everyone knows is the best season.

God, we're only on Day 7. I'd better see if this book is in the library. It's doubtful, since we're lucky if our library has gotten in the tax forms for 2004 yet.

BTW, I had an Odwalla juice and a Luna Bar for lunch. Tomorrow....gosh, who knows?

In Search of a Happy Ending

A fellow blogger is blogging through the most difficult time: His 29-year-old wife got sick on Halloween with what they thought was the flu and is now critically ill with a mysterious infection. His writing about the roller coaster they've been on for the past few days is compelling and although I hadn't read his blog until today (thanks for the link, Busy Mom)....I'm praying for a happy ending. Please, please, please be OK, GAC. They've got two little boys, like us. C'mon, God, let her see her boys grow up.

I'm listening to "100 Years" as I read it, and I'm also praying a little bit that I have at least 99 years until I have to face anthing like that.

Here I Am!

I'm back!

Before I write about the trip, I just found out that my dad has had the hiccups for 10 DAYS. Can you imagine anything sucking more? He finally went to the ER because it's just not normal to hiccup for 10 days, and they found he has pneumonia, which apparently can cause hiccups. Who knew?

So after scaring Sarah about the hooligans and house prices in Northern California, we remembered some awesome things about the area here. Here's where we stayed:














And we had really good, really pretty crab cakes here. And I didn't wear any makeup, BTW.




















It was a gorgeous morning at the beach today.








And we had a great time here. The fence isn't the most photogenic, but trust me, it's a really great place in the shadow of the Golden Gate.
















We took a wrong turn coming back and ended up on the top of Mt. Tamalpais. Not a bad detour.

Day Three

I don't know what's up, but Blogger's not letting me save drafts, which means I can't write anything and make it post on Saturday.

So I'll write a post for tomorrow but won't be able to post it until Sunday, which probably takes me out of the running for all the prizes offered by NaBloWriMo, but that's OK, I wouldn't have won anyway. I'm not being pessimistic, I just know my record - the only thing I've ever won in a raffle has been a salame.

Even at some golf tournament dinner I went to with a date once, where I was incensed because the women winners had to pick a plant and the guys got to pick liquor (I would've probably picked a plant anyway if I'd had a choice, but it was the chauvinism of the thing that bugged me)....everyone won something except for one other lady and me. They thought they had gotten enough for everyone by having 100 raffle gifts. Just goes to show you - I don't win even when the odds are heavily in my favor.

Pretend We're on Eastern Time

So this post counts as my November 3rd post.

Check this out: Don't Eat It, Steve! Blegh. Wish I'd found this before Halloween. I love StumbleUpon.

Edited to add: You might as well check out all the disgusting stuff he's tried: All the Disgusting Stuff He's Tried

Compartmentalized Minds

We're going away this weekend to continue the b-day celebrating. I've known about this trip for quite a while, and yet completely forgot to cancel my Sunday clients and that I wouldn't have internet access. Hmmm. How to blog daily when I'll be gone?

I could write a few blog posts early, but that seems beside the point. I could write them there, but I won't be able to post them until I get back, which will also miss the point. Don't suggest I could blog by phone. I assume it operates something like text messaging which I don't know how to do and don't want to learn.

Hmmm. Completely fascinating dilemna, huh? I'm thinking this blogging daily thing is a bad idea.

Happy All Soul's Day!

I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. I've always loved the dark spooky stuff like vampires and the occult. When I was a kid, my favorite stories were witch stories. I guess it's the Scorpio in me.

But even so, I was so ready for yesterday to be over. We began the Halloween crafting in the beginning of October, took countless trips to the pumpkin patch, and snapped many, many photos. We've never had a build-up for a holiday like we have for this one, and I'm pretty much done. We had a costume parade at A.'s school, then a party with our playgroup which was a potluck and turned out to pretty much be a dessert party with cookies, cupcakes and Krispy Kremes for everyone.

The way A. decides what he's going to be for Halloween is I take him to either Old Navy or BabiesRUs, show him the costumes and ask him which one he wants. He has to pick something on the rack and I'm hoping I can keep that up for a few more years. I like being crafty, but I draw the line at sewing. Ben wore A.'s old frog costume from a few years ago. I expected him to fight the hood, but actually both boys refused to take off their costumes all day. At the end of the night, I had to trick Ben into his jammies. I just let A. sleep in his cow costume. He wants to sleep on a tail and horns, fine.

As an aside, G. got a little radio transmitter as an appreciation gift from work yesterday. A. walked around with the earbuds in all afternoon, yelling, "TRAFFIC! THEY'RE TELLING ME ABOUT THE TRAFFIC! THERE'S A STOLLED CAR ON THE 80 95! (pause) NOW THEY'RE TELLING ME ABOUT A RESTAURANT!" God, it was funny.

Ben wasn't too into the trick-or-treating. G. carried him and he didn't want to go up to the doors. He kept begging, "Dat way! Dat way!" pointing back to our house. So he and I made it a short trip and went back to our house to hand out candy while G. and A. prowled the neighborhood for more treats.

We visited a neighbor, an older woman who thinks the boys are adorable, and when she saw it was us, she went into her kitchen, grabbed 2 GALLON size ziplock bags full of candy and gave it to us. I thought she wanted me to open the bags and take two pieces out. No. BOTH GALLON size bags were for the boys. It was remarkable. An entire night's take at one house. We tried to talk A. into taking the ziplocs home and calling it a night, but he was not swayed.

Ben may have been afraid of trick-or-treating, but he LOVED handing out candy. He'd throw the candy in the kid's bags, yell, "THANK YOU!" and "HAAAH HAAHWEEN (Happy Halloween)!!" Then, after the kids left, he'd stare out the door calling, "Come! Come!" He'd point out into the darkness, look at me and plead, "Come! Come!" I promised there'd be more coming soon. I thought I might have to go get our neighbors and have them come over a few more times to appease him. Even the scary ghouls didn't phase him, which surprised me.

We had A. pick out his favorite seven pieces of candy, give or take a few lollipops, and told him to leave the rest for the Great Pumpkin, who comes in the middle of the night and swaps presents for the candy. He was most worried that GP would take his cute trick-or-treat bag, and no assurances from me would convince him, so we hid it on top of the refrigerator, where GP wouldn't be able to reach. He was thrilled with the coloring books that were left for him this morning, so that was a good idea and now we won't have to ration candy until February.

Halloween candy isn't what it used to be. There was hardly any chocolate or Hershey's miniatures. Lots of Laffy Taffy, which I just don't understand but A. seems to like. It's OK, though, because it means I'm not dipping into the Great Pumpkin's all the time.

Let the Thanksgiving crafting begin!

The Unbearable Joy of Being Slippery

A: Hey, Mama, do you want to hear the song I just made up?

Me: Sure.

A: (singing a tune similar but not exactly like "What's the Name of That Song?" from Sesame Street)
Snow is slippery, Snow is slippery, Just like you. (repeat 4x)

Me: Absolutely one of your best, A.!


--------------------------------------------------------

Trying to figure out how to get Auntie R's attention to tell her there's a carnival set up near our house:
Hey, Auntie R! Do you wanna know what's going on in the world?

And there's more where those came from! Because I think I'm going to try this:




I'm on the official list of participants and everything. You might notice the non-committal language I've used. There are days when I'm lucky to brush my teeth, so I'm not sure this is going to work and I don't like to set myself up for disappointment, especially with blogging. There are enough things to fail at in life, why make more? But I'll give it a shot.

In Love With the 21st Century

G. and the boys drove me to get a spa pedicure this morning, complete with a pretty pink color that A. picked out himself (after I vetoed his first choice - metallic blue. Nothing wrong with that - just not my current mood). Several spa workers came back to tell me how unbelievably cute my boys and husband were. Look, ladies, I finally have a chance to read Oprah for the first time in two years, OK? I know they're cute. Thanks. Let me read my magazine. (No, just kidding - I enjoyed it).

Went to Marie Callender's for dinner and realized I'd never had dinner there before. Whenever we eat out, it becomes startlingly apparent that we have failed to teach Ben to use a normal speaking voice. Every diner in the restaurant was aware that there was an "A" on the sign near us, and fans on the ceiling, too, because Ben announced their presence really loudly many times. The waiter brought a slice of cherry pie with a candle in it. Then, as we left, we apologized to the nearby diners for our extremely loud son.

Then we went across the bridge to the super-white Apple store and exchanged my brand new iPod Nano (from my rockin' sisters) for this baby. I was going to keep the Nano because, geez, 500 songs seems like more than enough to get me through an hour workout, and I liked that it was a flash drive so it could be jostled a bit. But G. offered to make up the difference between the cute little Baby Nano and the 30GB Daddy iPod for a Christmas present. I took him up on it.
I didn't realize it automatically transferred all the songs on my computer to the iPod as soon as I hooked it up. So now I've got all the songs from "Veggie Tales" and "TTFTE" on my iPod should I ever want them piped right into my ear. Like they're not permanently etched on my brain already.

On the other hand, I also have 8 free podcasts waiting for me that will turn me into the best-read, most interesting person you've ever met. And a tiny little playlist from about 12 grownup songs I've bought off iTunes, beginning with "Out of My Head" by Fastball and ending with "Word Up!" by Cameo. Turns out "Word Up!" actually sounds much better from a small boom box in a large gym. In the 80's.

You'd think I'd never listened a mix tape on a Walkman. Songs! Through headphones! Any order I want!

Still, I don't think I'm ever taking it off. The sound quality is fantastic. And it's so COOL-looking. I may go to bed with it.

Oh, and did I mention that G. bought me the warm coat that I've needed for years? Finally, I don't have to borrow a coat when we go to Portland in the winter.

Oh yeah. It's been a good birthday.

How to Turn 41

1. Sleep in a little bit while your husband gets up with the kids.

2. Don't sleep in too much because he still has to go to work.

3. Stumble out of the bedroom in your robe and sit down in the family room so your 19-month-old can sing "Haaaaa Bird-ay a Ooooo." Despite the yearning of every cell in your body, don't leave to make coffee. Let your 4-year-old bring presents and oooh and ahhhh over the butterfly soaps and the cool commuter mug that he picked out himself because it had raised rubber bumps all over it.

4. Be impressed that the 4-year-old wrote "MAMA YOU'RE THE BEST AIDAN" in shaky 4-year-old letters all by himself on the birthday card.

5. Hugs and kisses all around.

6. Make coffee, drink out of new commuter mug.

7. Keep 4-year-old out of school so you can take both kids to the best pumpkin patch in Northern California.

8. Put kids in a little red wagon, give them pumpkins to hold and take some cute pictures.

9. Pull kids in wagon to the nursery where there is a dusty, forgotten shelf with 5 old Lionel train cars. Leave wagon outside, with pumpkins and bag in it. Assume no one will take wagon because it has pumpkins and bag in it. Take wallet, camera and cell phone out of bag because you're not a complete idiot. Leave keys in it because you are a little bit of an idiot.

10. Wait around for 15 minutes while 4-year-old ignores the pumpkins, the choo-choo train, the jumpy house and all the halloween decorations and plays with the 5 old Lionel train cars. Feed pumpkin muffin to 19-month-old.

11. Pull 4-year-old away from dusty shelf and return to the sunlight. Discover that wagon with pumpkins and bag is gone. Wonder who would take a bag full of diapers and wipes (and keys).

12. Ask every worker at patch if they've seen your bag. Continue to feed pumpkin muffin to 19-month-old to get his cooperation. Finally find wagon, with pumpkins and bag still in it, about 20 feet away from where you left it and in the opposite direction of the way you went to search for it. Give into oldest son's demands and buy him his own pumpkin muffin.

13. Get kids into car; call sister to tell her you'll be a little late for lunch. Hear oldest son give entire muffin to youngest son after eating off just the top of it.

14. Look into back seat, see youngest child with about 3 inches of orange pumpkin muffin crumbs on his lap, and the rest on his chest, the seat and the floor.

15. Meet sister for lunch, wrestle youngest son off table, educate oldest son once again on the physics of using a straw and why it's a mistake to tip the cup while you're drinking from a straw.
16. Eat really good chicken Cobb Salad.

17. Open present from sisters - get very excited about new iPod (YES!).

18. Assure 4-year-old that the iPod is nice, but still not as cool as the commuter mug he gave you that morning.

19. Return to car, find $50 parking ticket for parking at a WHITE curb. Let very nice sister grab it and say she's going to fight it.

21. Drive home, realize you've continued to listen to "Martha Stewart's Playtime" on the CD player half an hour longer than you needed to because both boys were fast asleep as soon as you pulled away from the curb.

22. Get home, lay boys down, relax for a little bit.

22. Get boys up, let little one play in the driver's seat of the car while you vacuum the pumpkin muffin carnage from the backseat. Note that it's unusual, given your fairly low standards, that a mess is bad enough to make you pull the vacuum from the house and clean it the same day it was made.

23. Pull out box of old Halloween decorations. As you hang a skeleton from a plant, listen to oldest son tell an original Halloween tale: "Once upon a time, there was a skeleton hanging from a plant. But then the wind blew so hard it blew him off the plant. But then the werewolf came and ate the skeleton up. But then the bats came and ate the whole world. Hahaha! That's scary, isn't it Mama!"

24. Let oldest son put all the decorations on the bottom 2 feet of the sliding glass door.

25. Let youngest son transfer all the mummy heads from one ghost bowl to another ghost bowl.

26. Wait for husband to get home.

27. Decide to eat sandwiches, instead of going out to dinner, because we're all still full from lunch. Go to the small carnival in local mall parking lot.

28. Console oldest son after he learns that he is too short for the giant slide. Be silently grateful because you know as soon as he climbed the steps he'd chicken out and have to be rescued.

29. Let oldest son take husband into the fun house. Watch as the worker has to go rescue them from the hall of mirrors when they can't find their way through. Hope they make it out alive.

30. Stand at bottom of twisty slide at fun house to catch oldest son who is scared to go down. Reach arms out and get ready to catch oldest son. Withdraw arms with a little yelp when it turns out husband and son let another child go down first, and so the child you almost grabbed is not your child, but a 12-year-old boy perfectly capable of managing the slide by himself, thank you very much.

31. Figure out that youngest son is loudly identifying the children's roller coaster as an "Aaay-dee-bug! Aaay-dee-bug!" Try to tell him it's a caterpiller, but give up quickly.

32. Run into man with leg brace in parking lot who starts telling you about the wooden ferris wheels in Afghanistan that are hand-cranked. Get a little worried when he starts walking with your family. Feel guilty when he says he's an Iraq vet injured in the war, but still be suspicious.

33. Go to Coldstone Creamery and order coffee ice cream with hot fudge and brownies. Try to convince oldest son that Coldstone ice cream is better than the cones they were serving at the carnival. Fail.

34. Enjoy ice cream immensely. Dissuade youngest son from eating the styrofoam bowl.

35. Come home, blow out candles on cupcake that you can't eat after all that ice cream.

36. Open present of nice warm coat you've been needing for years (YES!). Note that coat has no pockets except chest-level ones. Note that you don't care if you look funny walking around with hands in chest-level pockets because you're 41 now, damnit, and it doesn't matter.

37. Pop open a Pumpkin Ale.

This is what I woke up to this morning:




All the stuffed animals were sitting in a circle. Apparently A. was concerned because my friends wouldn't be around to sing "Happy Birthday" to me like his were at his party, so he substituted his stuffed animals.

"Mama, Grover's your friend, and so is the Snowman."

They sang "Happy Birthday" (yes, it's not till Friday, but the festivities started today) and put on party hats. The stuffed animals were singing on the inside. Ben, in true Ben fashion, yelled the last word of each line. It was pretty freakin' cute. Another thing blogs are good for: because G. read my last entry, they gave me the Pumpkin Ale today.

Then we had A.'s first field trip. His WHOLE CLASS went to the pumpkin patch. They had a hay ride, picked out their pumpkins and ran through the hay maze. The hay pyramid is no longer a challenge, and he and his girlfriend played "Ring Around the Rosie" over and over on the top of it, knocking down as many kids as possible with them each time. He has truly found his soul mate.

We are also seriously pumpkin-patched out. Although the real one, the one that's like an amusement park in Half Moon Bay, home of the Pumpkin Festival and the World's Biggest Pumpkin, still hasn't been visited, so we're going to have to bite the bullet for more photo opportunities.

While A. was on the hay ride (there was no more room for Ben and I to be squished beyond breathing on a very bumpy road, so sad) Ben and I toured the Island of Misfit Pumpkins.























By the way, and this is going to sound terribly comment-whoreish, but I just really appreciate those of you who take the time to comment. One of my psychology professors told us that silence is usually interpreted as disapproval rather than approval. Which means I need to remember what I wasted a ton of money on learned and not project all over the blogosphere.

2 Shopping Days Left

...Until my birthday, in case you're not keeping track. I'm told the birthday celebrating will begin tomorrow. There has been much crafting and secrecy going on behind closed doors. A. is old enough to understand what's going on and to be involved, but not yet very good at keeping secrets. As I was coming into the kitchen , he told G., "But Papa! You said we had lots of presents for Mama, but we only have three! That's not a lot! We have to get more!" I swear I had nothing to do with that.

A. also told me that we're going to play "Red Light, Green Light" for my birthday, and that it was his idea. G. says that he's comparing the preparations for my birthday with his 4th birthday party last month, and is finding mine lacking. So he's doing his best to liven up the festivities with a rousing game of "RL, GL." He also saw some spider cupcakes somewhere and tells me that we should have those for my birthday because "spider cupcakes are really yummy."

Today while I drove the boys to A's soccer lesson I thought, and apparently said out loud, "I need to get some Pumpkin Ale." Pumpkin Ale is great, and was invented by a microbrewery right here in our fair town although it's now brewed in Oregon. But it can be hard to find, so I was thinking I would take a little trip over to that microbrewery some time this week and pick up a case for the season. A. heard me, and told me, "But we already got you some. We got you a whole box. And chocolate cake mix, too." I looked at him in the backseat and he had a shocked, "Ooops," look on his face. Hey, thanks in advance, guys. I hope you don't wait until Friday to break it out.

Saw this billboard today while driving:

















In my fantasy, this is the billboard just opposite:

















(courtesy of custom sign generator)

A Photo a Day Keeps the Gloomies Away

So I'm considering doing the "Project 365" challenge. I've started just to see how difficult it would be, and the last week or so is on Flickr. It started out as a new blog on Wordpress, but it's too much trouble to resize all the photos. Blogger would be easier. Not sure I'm staying with Flickr because I'll probably have to pay to upload 30-31 photos a month, and you can't rearrange the photos once you've uploaded them, which explains the odd order you'll see.

I got a little intimidated by the idea that this project would cause me to see my life in a whole different way, and I found myself trying to figure out what photo would best explain this day in its totality, which of course was ridiculous. So I gave myself a break and just decided to take a damn photo a day. Doesn't matter what it's of.

The Other Night....

We were both sleeping peacefully when G. jumped, full-force, on top of me.

Me: What the - !!

G: What?

Me: You jumped on me! You scared the crap out of me!

G: Who did? (accusingly, like he's going to go beat the crap out of whoever jumped on me)

Me: YOU DID!

G: Oh. Well. Don't go over there. (points toward the edge of my side of the bed)

Me: Where?

G: Over there.

Me: Why not?

G: Because I don't want you to fall off the bed.

Me: (expletive)

Yum

For Halloween dessert: a thoracic cavity cake.

Papa Lunasea Tries His Hand...

...at Halloween crafting.

A. has been saying we need to do more Halloween crafts. Actually, he says that last year we did 11 crafts and this year we only did 8 so we need to do lots more, but I'm suspicious of his data.

So on G's child care shift, he took out the Halloween crafting supplies and helped A. make some cards.

Those who frequent craft stores may recognize the spider and the web on the gray foam as stamps. That's right, instead of rubbing the stamp on an ink pad and transferring the image to the paper, he actually glued the stamps themselves onto the card.

But check out the ribbon spider web and the black spider on the corner - pretty artsy, huh? And that's a little black foam ball in the lower right corner...for balance, I guess.

Memorandum

To: Ben
From: Mama and Papa

When we requested no more 5 am wake-up calls, we erroneously assumed that it was understood that wake-up calls were to be later than 5 am. Substituting a 4:30 am wake-up call for a 5 am wake-up call is unacceptable.

If a situation arises involving vomit and/or diarrhea, you may wake us up but are then to go back to sleep after intervention. Under no circumstances are you to stay up and play. Requests to "see ghost" will be denied.

We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.

Oh My!

It's only 13 days until my birthday! I'd better post my wish list!

More Spookiness

More craftiness at Chez Lunasea:

Mummy heads. A. can't get the "u" sound right so he tells everyone we made mommy heads for halloween.







And here's the banner A. and I made from some left-over paper scrap supplies. Personally, I had planned on having all the triangles point down, but A., who glued the letters on, had other ideas.











Ben says all the halloween stuff is "pooky." And he loves saying, "Boo!" and having us freak out and scream. So you can imagine how many times we have to do it.

19 months

Dear Ben,

I swear this stage of your development (18-19 months) was made purely for my enjoyment.

Except the waking up at 5 am thing. You can cut that out right now.

You mimic everything we say and do. If I’m sitting with my chin in my hand, you come up with your hands tucked into your neck, which of course makes me grab you and kiss you. You repeat everything we say, and since you hear A. asking “Why?” every time I answer “no” to something, you’ve started saying “why?” when I say no to you, too. The funny thing is that I find myself answering you before I remember you don’t know what “why” means. Sometimes I’ll say “no,” and you’ll say “Whybecause. Whybecause.” You must think it’s a “thank you….you’re welcome” kind of thing, because I can’t imagine you really care about “why.”

You are a gifted mimic. You repeat sounds that you hear and it’s amazing how close you often are. You can mimic the sound of our next-door neighbor’s bicycle bell so well that sometimes we can’t tell the difference. You mimic animal sounds pretty well, too. You don’t get that each animal has a different sound, though. So right now, everything says “Cock-a-doodle-doo.” For a while, everything said, “Aaarrrgh.” I’d ask you what a chicken or a cowboy says, just to hear you answer, “Aaaargh.” I enjoyed it when the frogs and Noah on his ark said “Aaaargh,” too. Now they say, like everything else, “cock-a-doodle-doo.”

You’re very friendly. You’ll stand in front of strangers minding their own business and grin at them until they grin back. You’ll flirt with anyone and everyone at the grocery store, even the clerks who look like they’ve had hard lives. I think you’re hoping one of them will give you a balloon or a free piece of turkey. It’s as if you believe everyone is friendly and in general, people have indeed been quite friendly to you. I think that’s a pretty good way to operate, but I’m afraid for the first time you find that people can be mean. Oh wait, never mind. You have an older brother. Already taken care of.

You’re my little lover boy. You yell, “Big hugs!” and tackle me. Over and over. Your latest trick, though, is to hand me something and then throw yourself into my arms so we can both hug the thing between us. It’s very sweet and cuddly with stuffed animals, and a little uncomfortable when you do it with boxes, toy trucks or golf balls. But you’re an equal opportunity lover and toy trucks deserve affection, too.

You adore music and can’t get enough of it. “Moosic! Moosic!” you’ll demand, pointing to the CD player. You get upset with the pauses between songs, too, yelling, “Moosic!” whenever a song finishes. Maybe someday you’ll be a DJ so you can run all the songs together and eliminate all pause-induced panic. I promise we’ll do some baby-and-me music classes soon.

One of my favorite things about you, though, is your enthusiasm. If you see something that looks kind of neat, like a water fountain, you get so excited it looks like you’re either going to blow up or lift off right up into the sky. You hold your arms out straight, get all tense, squeeze your hands tight and yell, “WOW!” If we’re in public, everyone around us laughs. It’s good to be excited. I’m glad there are so many awesome things in your world. You’ve got two dimples and we see them all the time.

You’re just so goddamn cute. It’s fun to take you out places (most of the time) because you and your red-headed brother get a lot of attention. You guys always make people smile, and that makes me feel good about people, so you’ve been an antidote to the stupid and/or horrible stuff people are doing to each other out there in the world. Thanks for lightening my life.

Except the 5 am wake-up thing – really, that’s gotta go.

The First Thing to Go is the Memory

Seriously, I have got to start writing stuff down. Just about 20 minutes ago, I had an idea for a 3-bullet-point post: had the thing all written in my head, in fact, and the idea has had a chance to flee the open fields of my brain and is now hiding in a bunker somewhere.

Anyway, I’m all about the energy lately. I can’t keep functioning on empty. I’m just so tired all the time that I feel like I could close my eyes and fall asleep at any point during the day (yes, I’ve checked, and no, I’m not pregnant). I swear, since I turned 40, my body has decided it’s holding my energy hostage unless I really take care of myself. I can’t keep the pace I used to keep, and I can’t eat what I used to eat without gaining 20 lbs.

The fact is, my lifestyle requires more energy than I currently have. So, I’ve got to make some changes. I’ve given up white flour and sugar during the day, and it hasn’t been that hard. I wanted something sweet today, but I thought, “Yeah, I could get a cookie, but then I know I’d be falling asleep half an hour later.” That has become motivation enough to keep to my routine. I do eat dairy, and I don’t worry about the sugar in some stuff like lowfat yogurt and fruit. I’m eating whole grains, yogurt, fruit, vegetables, and lean protein during the day. It’s only been a couple of days, but my energy is staying more stable throughout the day.

I’m also giving up naps, even though I sometimes really feel like I need one. I’m going to bed earlier and sleeping better without the naps. I’m just going to have to tape the shows on after 10pm (still don’t have Tivo, and the cable company only has digital recording if you get their full package).

The next step is to exercise regularly. Today I took Ben for a walk before picking A. up at school, but I need to work in more real cardio work.

So there it is in black and white. Two days down, hopefully many years to go.

Fifth Fall

Yesterday was the first of several trips for us to the pumpkin patch this fall. Fall is my favorite season and Halloween is my favorite holiday, and we have a great pumpkin patch attached to a working farm right near us.

I had Harry Belafonte singing "Turn around and you're three, turn around and you're four..." in my head when A. climbed to the top of the haystack pyramid all by himself.

Here's A. doing his Marlon Brando imitation on his first visit to the pumpkin patch at 5 weeks old:










And here he was yesterday. That's Ben at the bottom saying, "How'd you get way the hell up there?"

Boo

It's Halloween Craft Day at Chez Lunasea. We made a wreath, and two things to hang in the window. I cut out the "BOO" letters and A. was in charge of decorating them and the spider web with foam stickers. I did the wreath while he was busy decorating - just sticking pipe cleaners (some with beads on them) into a twig wreath. Couldn't have been easier. The picture of the BOO isn't so great because it took me a while to get it hung up there in the window and I wasn't going to take it down just to take a photo.

Self-Portrait Friday

"I drawed a person of myself!"

He explained that the lines mean it's a windy day. I'm thinking that must be why his hair is standing up, too.

Haven't You Always Wanted a Monkey?

Sign on a church on the way to A's school: "Happy 48th Birthday, Messiah!" I'm trying to think of a funny comeback but the only thing I could think was that it would be funny if I was driving with one of my Jewish friends and they said, "Wait a minute, didn't your Messiah die at 33?" That would've been funny.

Big Sister and Big Niece along with Grand-Nephew Who's 1 Year Old This Week are coming into town today. I got on the computer to see when they were arriving and half an hour later, I still don't know and I still need a shower. So, see ya later.

A Star in Our Midst

Here's A. dressed up, he reports, as "A Famous Movie Star."

I'm guessing the star is in costume here, perhaps as a donut-machine repairman.

After I took the picture, he asked, "But did you get the bracelet? Are you sure you got the bracelet?"

The accessories do make the outfit.











And, just to share the cuteness....

Hold On To Your Ball

Middle Sister (and her DH) is in a local production of Footloose, which I went to with my Dad last week. I discovered that the line I always sang as, "Now take ahold and pull..." is actually "Now take ahold of your soul..."

However, I 'm not sure what's really correct, because when I looked up the lyrics, every result on the first page of the blingo results reported the line to be "Now take ahold of your ball...." I think taking ahold and pulling makes more sense than that.

It also appears that while I was singing "C'mon the four-ring track," Kenny Loggins was singing "C'mon before we crack." Ah.

And is it, "Oh, Milo..." or "Oh, My Lord..."?

Why I Scrapbook

I get some flack for my scrapbooking obsession. I’ve almost always got my camera with me and I scrap almost everything that happens. If I don’t scrap it, I blog it. Documenting our lives is a priority for me.

My dad was here for a couple days this week. He’s in his mid-80’s. You know how some older people tell lots of stories, over and over? He’s not one of them. I asked him lots of leading questions and got pretty much one-word answers back. He’s not rude or unfriendly, he just doesn’t seem to have much to say.

Ignoring my arm-waving and silent “NO!”, G. tried to get him to talk by asking him what I was like as a little girl. My dad told him that I did lots of singing and dancing as a kid, and that as the dance teacher’s pet, I would go up on the stage at age four and sing “Shantytown” in front of a whole audience.

G. was, understandably, shocked to hear this. “Really?”

I shook my head. “Dad, that wasn’t me. That was Middle Sister,” I reminded him. Middle Sister and I are 12 years apart, so we’re talking whole different decades here.

“Really? I thought that was you.” He said he didn’t remember anything else. Since he was obviously impressed with Middle Sister’s childhood performances, I’ll probably just let him go ahead and think it was me next time. What the hell. He was gone much of my childhood, and was of the generation that provided for their families and left the child-rearing to the women, anyway, so it’s kind of remarkable that he has a memory in there somewhere of any of his children. I’ll take what I can get, even if it’s not about me.



While he was here, my dad was looking at my scrapbooks, and saw one about my head injury. “Brain injury? When did this happen?”

“Just last February. You remember – I fell, hit my head and ended up in the hospital. Almost needed brain surgery.”

“I didn’t know about that!”

“Yes, you did. Oldest Sister told you and you called me in the hospital. You asked if I needed anything.”

He narrowed his eyes as he searched in the archives of his brain, and finally shook his head. “Nope, don’t remember a thing about it.”



The last morning he was here, I asked him what my mom was like when she was a young woman. “Oh, just a typical college co-ed, I guess.” I waited, but that was all he had to say.



My mom died when I was 21, and we had what could charitably be called a complicated relationship, or uncharitably I suppose I could just say that she was crazy.
The few times that she and I managed to communicate with each other, the subjects of my childhood and what kind of little kid I was did not come up. My sister told me recently that she thinks my mom might have had PPD after I was born: “I don’t know; I just remember having to take care of you a lot.” At 19 years old, I’m sure taking care of her infant sister wasn’t exactly what she wanted to be doing, although she’s always been very nice about it.

So I never had very much information about my childhood, and in the last few days I realized that now I’ll never have it. I don’t know what my favorite toys were. I don’t know what I liked to do or what my favorite foods were. I don’t know what my first word was, when I got teeth or when I walked. I don’t know what kinds of activities I enjoyed. I know almost nothing about myself or my life before the age of six. My sisters were 12 and 19 when I was born, and they remember some stuff, but didn’t realize it was up to them to keep a baby book for me.

G.’s parents, on the other hand, are younger (and alive, which helps) and still know all that information. I know he walked at 16 months and his first sentence was, “There’s no pickle in there,” complaining about his tuna sandwich. He was a great sleeper and slept so much that his mother worried. He was shy but polite (except, I guess, if you made his tuna wrong).

Anyway, that’s why I scrapbook. As teenagers, my boys will probably roll their eyes at the albums upon albums filled with their childhoods, but no matter what happens to me, the stories will be available to them, and they’ll never think I wasn’t paying attention.

Birth of a Soccer Mom

When I told A. that I’d signed him up for soccer, he said, “But I can’t run as fast as the other kids.” Broke my heart. Four years old and he’s already feeling inferior. I know that feeling. I signed him up for a Kidz Love Soccer session because it’s supposed to be noncompetitive and I thought that would be a good way to start out.

Last week I was so nervous. To give some history, I was a very small kid and that equaled “unathletic” to everyone else. This was in the good ol’ sadistic days when the coach would pick two students who then took turns picking teams. I wasn’t always the last, but I was usually pretty close. I also had very bad allergies and was kept inside from March to June, so I never learned team sports. I really wanted to be a tomboy because it seemed they got all the good storylines on TV, but it was hard when I couldn’t go outside.

Anyway, I bought into the whole thing and firmly believed I sucked at sports. But really, I wished I had the confidence to join a pick-up softball game. I played intramural softball in college and I can’t tell you the courage it took for me to not fake an ankle injury and sit every game out.

I didn’t want that for A. He’s small for his age (4.8 percentile! Way to get back on the chart, buddy!). I encouraged him onto the field and told him to have fun. He’s not very daring physically, so I was afraid he’d be intimidated or worse, bullied by bigger kids. G. and I are continually amazed at our outgoing children, though. He ran out there and got in line without hesitating. He listened to a little girl tell the coach about her boo-boo, so he raised his hand and informed the coach that he had a cold. The coach expressed his sympathies appropriately. The coach has shaggy hair that hangs halfway down his face and a goatee and a certification from Kidz Love Soccer that he knows how to teach in a “nurturing” way.

These are 3-4 year-olds, so the range of attention varies greatly. A. is one of the quicker ones, so he picked up the directions quickly, which gave him some confidence. They played tail tag, where each kid sticks a jersey (what do you call those vest things players wear over their clothes to designate teams in scrimmage?) in their shorts and then run around trying to get each others’ tails. The assistant coach was careful to point out that hanging on to your tail if someone grabs it is not allowed. If someone grabs it, you let them have it.

So A. ran around, grabbed people’s tails, giggling the whole time. But here’s the part that made my eyes well up: a couple bratty girls (i.e. cheaters) hung on to their tails and wouldn’t let him take it if he grabbed it. He looked at them like, OK, whatever, and turned right around and went after someone else without taking a second glance. He didn’t cry, he didn’t fight them, he didn’t cry foul and most importantly, he didn’t give up. He just kept on going, giggling and trying other tails. God, I was proud of him.

Tonight they played tail tag again, and if I do say so myself, he was one of the most successful. Now, this group includes several kids who didn’t get the game and just stood there, so it’s not like he had a whole lot of competition. Still, I was so proud of him for getting in there and playing instead of hanging around the edge.

They also played firefighters, where they ran around kicking the ball to knock over orange cones. He did fine at that, too. He’s not the biggest or the best, but he’s right there in the middle and I can tell he’s so excited to be successful.

Tonight he came off the field at the end of the lesson, accepted a hug and my profound admiration, a sip of water, and headed back onto the completely empty field.

“Honey, where are you going?”

“I’m going to play soccer.”

“Dude, it’s over. Time to go home!”

(looking horrified) “No! It’s not!”

“Yeah, honey, it is. Ask the coach.”

So he trots over to Hippie Coach and asks, “Can I play soccer?”

Hippie Coach of course thinks he’s looking for reassurance and gives him a cheery, “Sure! You can play soccer!” I say, “No no no no…he’s asking if it’s all over….tell him you’ll see him next week”

Hippie Coach looks at me like, “Hey, I just need to get home.”

A. trots back onto the field.

“Honey, seriously. It’s over. Look around. Everyone else is going home.”

Then he gets that look…that look that means his head is about to explode. His face gets super red, tears start flowing and yep, here come the wails. He was sooo upset

Poor guy. He’s just so excited about doing something physical well. Or if not well, just not horribly. I cannot tell you how proud I am.

Brain Drain

Lots of stuff to talk about, but no real brain cells to dedicate to making a coherent post. So I'll give the highlights and continue to work on the coherency.

1. One of my layouts is getting published in Simple Scrapbooks' Digital Scrapbooking #6. I'd decided I wasn't going to submit anymore (not that I did that much anyway) because getting rejected takes some of the fun out of it. I had some digital layouts I liked so I sent them in, and one's getting published. It'll be out in mid-December, I think.

2. A. had his first tot soccer-lesson on Tuesday, and he was absolutely average. It was wonderful. I was so proud I thought I'd burst. He loved it and didn't want it to end. Writing about why that was so fantastic is a post I'm working on.

3. The birthday party went well. Painting the wooden cars was a hit, and there was a ton of food left over. I always have too much food. A. had a great time.

4. He is finally sleeping in his big-boy bed. He loved his crib, so we let him sleep in it for a really long time. We bought a new mattress last week and it sat in the extra room for several days before A. agreed to sleep in it. He did well last night, but tonight was tough because he napped this afternoon and didn't fall asleep until about 10pm.

"Mama, I have to tell you something. What are you watching on TV?"
"Mama, it's too dark in there."
"Mama, I heard something and it wasn't my book."
"Mama, Ben cried a little bit."
"Mama, it's kind of scary in there."
"Mama, how can I do this? How can I fall asleep?"

I believe he is finally asleep. Ben moved into A.'s room (the "nursery") but refuses to sleep in the crib and was REALLY pissed off when I put him in there, so we moved the pack 'n play in there. Maybe once he's used to the room, he'll sleep in the crib.

5. Ben is in the toddler stage of throwing everything in the garbage. So far he's tried to trash his father's socks, both his cup of milk and A.'s, and several train engines. And that's just the stuff we caught.

Remembering

What really got to me in the days following 9/11/01 was the footage of families carrying around posters of their lost loved ones, hoping someone would recognize the face and give them good news. You knew the families had poured over familiar photographs of their missing person, picking not necessarily their favorite photo, but the one that stood the best chance of being recognized.

"Which one looks most like George? No, he's not usually that dressed up. Use this one - where he's in his work clothes." The anguish on the faces of these ordinary people always made me cry even when I thought I was numb. Each one of these people had a family, loved and was loved by someone.

Project 2996 assigned bloggers individual victims of 9/11 and each blogger, including Middle Sister, researched their person and wrote a tribute to them. The main site was inaccessible yesterday, but today you can see the master list. They're all very touching. Check this one out - two kids named their backyard treehouse for their guy so he could "always be close to the deer."

Forget June 21st

I'm pretty sure the day of your child's birthday party is the longest day of the year.

Yes, we did favor bags. I succumbed to peer pressure.

Excuse me while I go collapse.

Other Ways I'm Getting Old

Please tell me you can't hear these either: Stealth Ringtones





It's possible that it's because I'm unfamiliar with them - Jay Jay and his crew are only on on early weekend mornings here, so I've only seen them while it's still dark out and I'm still groggy. But something about their fleshy faces being sucked onto the fronts of planes really creeps me out. Thanks to Corndog for reminding me.

A. turned 4 on Wednesday. We didn't make a big deal out of it because his party's not until Sunday. He told me yesterday, "Mama, what my body really wants is to open another present."

Unfortunately, I woke up this morning with a cold and thought, "No. No no no no, I can't be sick. We're having 10 kids and their parents over on Sunday. I cannot be sick." Guess what? I'm sick. In fact, it's not even 8:30pm and I'm going to bed. G'nite.

Oy, We'll Miss Ya, Mate

My least-favorite son woke me up at 5:10 am today. I don't make coffee that early because once G. gets up about 3 hours later, I want to go back to sleep immediately. So I'm pretty bleary-eyed first thing in the morning. I logged on to the internet and saw "Steve Irwin killed at 44," in the headlines, and my first thought was that it was joke. I did a quick calendar in my head, realized it wasn't April 1, which took me a while that early in the morning, and thought, "could this be true??"

Alas, it is. In 2002, while I was pregnant with A., G. and I went to one of our last childless movies together - we chose the "Crocodile Hunter." Yes, I actually saw that one in a movie theater. The other one we saw during that time was "In the Bedroom," which was a big mistake to see when I was pregnant with my first child. We're not great at picking out movies. (We also didn't think there was a future for cell phones that take a picture and that text messaging was stupid and would never catch on.)

Anyway, we were big Croc Hunter fans. Yeah, I know he dangled his baby in front of a crocodile, but no one ever said he was particularly bright. He was funny and enthusiastic and I will miss watching him. I'm also really glad he didn't get killed by a crocodile.

Collected Quotes

It's time for another A. quote post:

(while sitting on the potty): "I'm embarrassed I drank so much milk. It makes me difficult."

"What state does Jesus live in?"

“Ben came out of your belly. I came out of your belly. And you came out of Papa’s belly.”

(giving me a flower) “Here, you can wear this and it can remind you of your son.”

"Is Mama's mama in the grass?" (while passing a cemetary)

"Mama, where is your mama?"
"She died a long time ago. But I was already grown when she died."
"You could get your own food?"
"Yes."
"On a plate?"
"Yes."
"Wow, you were a big kid."

During the Emmys....

(specifically, the tribute to Aaron Spelling)

Me: Hey, was Stephen Collins on Dynasty?

G: No.

Me: How would you know?

G: I watched Dynasty.

Me: You did not.

G: Oh sure, I followed it.

Me: You did not.

G: YEAH. I DID.

Wow, you think you know a person, and then you find out that the guy you married who doesn't follow anything in the entertainment world actually watched Dynasty. Wow.

------------------------------------------

Other thoughts:

Joan Collins better stop the plastic surgery before her eyes are on the back of her head.

See, look at Helen Mirren. She looks NORMAL.

I love Tony Shaloub, but saying you never win anything on your 3rd Emmy acceptance speech is a little disingenious.

That Bob Newhart bit was the funniest thing in the whole show.

Conan O'Brian has freakishly long legs.

I wish I had cable. During the Emmys is usually the only time I wish I had cable.

It's weird to see "The Office" people all dressed up.

Next Time, He's Chaining Himself Up There

G and I are both annoyed with the fact that our neighborhood streets have very few trees on them. Many of the trees that were here when we moved in have been cut down because people don't like raking leaves. We're living in a cement jungle. There are other neighborhoods in our cities where the houses are similiar to ours, but the neighborhoods are so much more pleasant because of the tree-lined sidewalks.

So he was pushing the stroller on "his" day (Wednesday) down the street and noted that most of the trees that are left had big X's on them. He was incensed, so he called the streets division guy, who explained that those trees were slated to be cut down because all the sidewalks in our neighborhood were being widened to 4 feet and those trees were in the way. He then suggested G call the landscaping department and complain to them, since they're the ones who decide which trees are going. He also said that the trees probably weren't going to be cut down for another couple of weeks.

So G did, and Mr. City Landscaper had the brilliant response of asking G to be on the tree-planning board - what a way to shut a complainer down! Make him feel useful, and if he doesn't take the position, he can't really complain because after all, he was offered a spot on the planning board. Brilliant.

Anyway, Mr. City Landscaper also had a bit of information about the trees - if the homeowners who are slated to get the tree in front of their house cut down want to save the tree, they can sign an easement and allow the city to move the sidewalk onto their property and actually go around the tree instead of cutting it down! G asked if it would be OK if he contacted the homeowners and advocated them signing this agreement in order to save the trees. Mr. City Landscaper said, "Sure."

That was Wednesday. G, never a procrastinator, attempted to contact all the homeowners and found that either they weren't home or the people living there were renting and he would need to contact the owners. I told him that I would get him a T-shirt that read, "SAVE THE TREES" and start calling him G. "Butterfly" Lunasea.

Guess what happened on Thursday? The contractors who had been working on the sidewalks in our neighborhood diverted away from the sidewalks and began cutting down all the trees that were supposed to last a few more weeks. Guess the city won on that round.

Shoes Are The New Horse

Mystery of the week: Almost every afternoon, we have a gaggle of neighborhood kids in our playroom. They've gotten used to talking off their shoes at our front door, and we certainly haven't discouraged them (although there are times when their feet are dirtier than the shoes and then I'm not sure what to do). When they leave, they generally put them back on again. It's a fine routine.

Last night, they put on their shoes and went on their way, as usual. But outside on our doormat, I was left with two shoes I didn't recognize - one black, one white/blue, both left shoes, different sizes. I called the kids back and asked whose shoes they were, and was met with completely blank stares. We deduced that the black shoe was a large boy's shoe, and the white/blue one was probably a woman's shoe. Both were too big for the kids that had been here, and they weren't ours. We still have no idea where they came from.

Our best guess is that one of the toddlers (who isn't allowed over because 1. he requires way too much supervision and doesn't speak English and 2. we suspect no one would ever come to retrieve him) has gotten used to seeing the collection of shoes on our doormat and decided that that's where all shoes, no matter who they belong to, go.

G called from work last night and I asked if he had any idea where the shoes had come from. He didn't, and added, "Lock the doors!" Because we all know that finding an unmatched pair of shoes on our doormat is the new version of finding a horse's head in your bed. But I did lock the doors, because it was weird.

Oh, I Almost Forgot...

G's sleep-talking again. Actually, he's always doing it, but it's often just a midnight tackle and a plea not to fall off the bed. But a new theme has emerged - time (as displayed by my bedside clock) as omen of evil.

Last night.....

G. (sitting up, peering over me at the clock): Oh My God! It's 12:15! That's bad, that's really bad! (shakes me fully awake)

Me (rolling over): Why? Why is it bad?

G: That's really dangerous!

Me: Why? What happens at 12:15? Huh? You woke me up so you should tell me now.

G: Ummmmm.

Me: Really. What is so dangerous about 12:15?

G: You could have a full bladder.

Damn him. Even if I didn't have a full bladder, I would've had to get up and go just because of the suggestion. I came back to bed, he was already snoring and I stayed awake for the next 40 minutes.

Just Doing My Part

There are people who arrive at this blog who do so intentionally, for whatever reason.

Then there are people who are looking for Kristin Chenoweth's breast size. Lots of people, in fact, unless one person is doing a lot of traveling and using many different computers. But that wouldn't explain why he/she continues to visit my blog when the answer hasn't (until now!) been located here.

Anyway, I decided I should do some volunteer work, so I looked up some pictures of the "pint-sized pixie" (poor thing), and based on my personal experience of being about the same height as she is, and having a mother with roughly the same size boobs, I am quite confident in my estimation that she is a C cup or maybe even a big B. OK? OK. They look bigger because she's weighs about 95 lbs. and is in a bunch of poses where she's smooshing them together.

You're welcome.

In other community service: There appears to be no definitive answer on whether or not Tom Netherton is gay. I always know when PBS is running old Lawrence Welk shows because I get lots of hits from that query (along with the desperate plea to know why Guy and Ralna divorced).

I've always found it sort of odd that celebrity gossipers are eager to tell us all about someone's drug habits, affairs, and all other sorts of nefarious behavior, but won't dish on whether or not someone is gay. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not in favor of "outing," but why respect their privacy on this issue and nothing else? Just curious.

Anyway, the rumor certainly is that he is gay (probably because he is blonde, blue-eyed, handsome and apparently perennially unattached), but that might not play so well in Branson and Lawrence Welk doesn't do drag, so if he is, he's keeping it under wraps. Personally, I think he's probably just never gotten over his crush on Norma Zimmer.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out With That Thing!

My sister usually cuts the boys' hair because she's willing to and she does it for free. I won't cut it anymore because G. breathes down my neck every time I try. He really wants me to only use safety scissors (with the rounded tips - that don't cut anything) and can't believe that more children aren't walking around missing eyes when women insist on using sharp scissors so near their little faces.

It reminds me of learning to drive with my mother in the passenger seat- she'd see a stop sign or red light 200 feet ahead, gasp loudly, stomp on the imaginary brake pedals over on her side and flatten herself against the door. Imagine your husband doing that while you're cutting your kid's hair. I don't need the aggravation.

But, Hair Mistress Sister is currently starring in a local production of "Footloose," is very busy, lives kinda far away and the boys are getting used to tipping their heads up so they can see out from under their hair.

So I made an appointment for both of them at a kid's salon that has gotten very good reviews. G. asked if they'd be using sharp scissors, or did they use rounded scissors, and I seriously didn't know how to answer. I figured "the sharp ones" was the answer he didn't want to hear, but I was pretty sure they didn't use toddler scissors, since everyone knows those things don't cut anything. So I just asked him how he thought kids manage to walk around with both haircuts and intact eyes.

The haircuts were remarkably easy. Ben kept leaning away from her, but she was used to it and was really fast and skillful. I crouched down in front of him and kissed his tennis shoes, which he found amusing. He didn't cry, he just found it sort of annoying. And he wouldn't wear the poncho, which was fine. Both boys were done in less than half an hour, and A. got a lollipop, which endeared him to the whole process forever. A little pricey, but definitely a good experience.

They look soooo freakin' cute. G. just called to ask how it went, and I told him that "Ben ended up with an eye patch, but his hair looks really good."

Oh Yeah Baby

Scrapping mojo returns.




A. gave up his dream of "night-before-christmas" cookies and settled for slightly underbaked (forgot to remind his father that the oven is about 50 degrees off) chocolate chip cookies. The party at school was very cute and a little Montessori-over-the-top. They put a candle on the floor to symbolize the sun ("But can we get this close to the sun? Noooo.") and then looped a yarn around it in an "ellipse," put little signs with the months on them around the ellipse, and A. carried the globe ("which continent are we on? Yes! North America!") around the "sun" four times. Ben was a complete goofball and very hard to settle so I spent more time chasing him around the room and trying to keep him from taking all the shells off the cardboard they were so carefully affixed to, than I would have liked.

At one point, while I was washing Ben's messy face in the corner, the teacher read a book about making a birthday cake, and asked A. at the end, "And what do you think they did with that cake after they were finished baking it?"

He answered, "Put it on the boy." She said, "What?" He repeated himself. "Put it ON the boy."

She said, "Oookkkaaay, maybe, but I bet they ate it!"

Great. Now she thinks we have weird birthday traditions at home. I think he got that idea from all the photos of his and Ben's first birthday parties where they were covered in chocolate cupcake.

Gotta get off to bed - have another 9 clients tomorrow. It's a good thing I love them all.

Desperately Seeking Night-Before-Christmas Cookies

"Hey, A., we're going to have your school birthday party next week because it's the last week of the summer session. We have to bring cookies instead of cupcakes - like, we could do chocolate chip cookies. So...what kind of cookies do you want to make?"

"I want Night-Before-Christmas cookies."

"I don't know what those are." (Having never spent Christmas at home, we don't do a traditional cookies-for-Santa thing, which is the first thing I thought of, too).

"They're the ones that are shaped like trees. And they taste like chocolate."

"Oookay. I think we can do chocolate cookies."

"Yeah, yeah, they look like trees."

"I'm not sure I know about chocolate cookies that look like trees."

"And they have a green lightbulb on them."

"Okay, now you've lost me. Is there a picture of them somewhere?"

"You know, they're the Night-Before-Christmas cookies. Those ones."

Well, if I get started now, I might be able to come up with chocolate cookies shaped like trees with green lightbulbs on them by next Tuesday. Riiiiight. Dude, you're lucky I'm not just buying the purple bag of Albertson's Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Let's Have a Favor Bag Bonfire

Added to the list of people I'm annoyed with (along with whoever invented that stupid strip of tape that seals the tops of music CDs): The person who came up with the idea of giving out favor bags at kid's birthday parties. A. has had several b-day parties at school and each time comes home with a bag of candy, gum (which he can't eat because he swallows it - this is a class of 3-year-olds...c'mon, people!), and cheap toys that break into tiny choking hazards as soon as he brings them in the house.

I'm beginning to plan A.'s 4th b-day party next month, and I'm trying to keep it low-key. We've got lots of years in front of us to rent jumpy houses, clowns and spend thousands of dollars. Last year on the invitations we put "No Presents," because he's got plenty of toys and doesn't really want much. He also doesn't get the whole "Because it's my birthday, people bring me presents" thing, yet, which I consider a blessing. He just wants Cars-the-Movie plates and cups and cupcakes for everyone.

So this year I'm seriously considering putting on the invites: "Let's make a deal: You don't bring my kid a gift and I won't give your kid a bag of candy and cheap toys."

I'm Getting Through

I wrote a bit down below about how I'm uncomfortable with gun play, but not sure if it's wise to ban it altogether. So when one of the kids comes up to show me the new gun he created, I'm apt to say, "You did a good job, but you know what? I don't really like guns very much." Inevitably, the kid will ask why, and I reply, "Because their only purpose is to hurt people." Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know - you can also hurt animals, but none of us live on the frontier and I don't understand hunting for sport. I also don't understand the appeal of boxing, but then again, it's been noted before, I am a girl.

So yesterday G. was on duty and we had the usual contingent of 2-4 neighbor kids over (Finally! My house is the cool house!) and he heard A. say to W.: "I don't think we should be playing with guns inside the house. Don't they give you germs? Let's play something else." That's right. Guns outside the house only, and make sure they're antibacterial.

In other news, I had 9 clients last Wednesday and 7 in a row yesterday. I've got referrals coming out of my ears because there just aren't that many therapists who will accept insurance. It's weird - I realized last week that I haven't been stressed about work in ages, so it's a familiar but mostly-forgotten feeling.

When A. was born, we decided that we wanted to avoid daycare if at all possible. Part of the reason for this was that we heard too many scary daycare/nanny stories (G. actually had a client whose baby had Shaken Head Syndrome from a nanny) and the other part was that we knew they would be little for a relatively short time, and we didn't want to miss anything. The time would come soon enough, we figured, when they wouldn't want to hang out with us so much, so we wanted to take advantage of the Mama/Papa-worship for as long as we could. The final reason is that it's just way expensive and would eat up so much of my income that we wouldn't get very far ahead.

Since therapists can, and usually have to, work at night, we figured we could put together some kind of staggered schedule so one of us would be able to take the kids at all times. We share the private practice office so only one of us could use it at at time, anyway. We overlapped just one day a week, when I had some hours in another city, and we had nearby friends who offered to take the boys that afternoon. They liked it because it gave them some of the benefits of having babies (they had a 12-year-old son) without all the mess. We liked it because they did it for free and we trusted them.

On the whole, it's worked out well. We don't have to worry about having to call in sick when the kids are sick, we don't have to worry about what to do when the daycare provider is sick or closed. The kids seem pretty well adjusted, and both G. and I have been present for almost everything important. I never feel like I don't spend enough time with them. I work two days a week and that's been enough to keep our heads above water financially and keep me feeling like I have an adult life. G. is on-duty by himself for a half day on Monday and a whole day on Wednesday, which I think has strengthened his bond with them.

But we're poor. And I'm tired of being poor. I'm turning away referrals because I just don't have any appointment times available and it seems silly to turn down work when we have no retirement savings, they boys' college fund is funded entirely with birthday and Christmas checks, and I can't afford new shoes, let alone a damn iPod.

It's also very hard to have any time off - if I don't have the kids, I'm working. If I'm not working, I've got the kids. Same for G. We both have Saturdays off, but that day's usually spent running around getting stuff done.

OK, we're not poor. We have two running cars, we own a house and we have plenty to eat. We have health insurance since G. took the half-time job at Major HMO. We splurged and bought a digital video camera after Ben was born. We pay for a private preschool. We have what we need.

But I want more, frankly. I want to buy a few new clothes every year. I want to eat out every once in a while. And I want an iPod. And a Canon digital Rebel (or comparable nice camera), and a bigger car. A vacation to a tropical isle would be nice. And I think that would do it for me. I don't think that's asking too much, do you? Oh, and a housekeeper - just like twice a month. That's it, really.

So I'm adding some hours on Sunday. How many people want to see a therapist on Sunday? Apparently a few, since I already have 3 people willing to come in on Sunday afternoon. G. already sees people Sunday morning. I'm hoping it will take some of the pressure off during the week, too, since seeing 7 people in a row is not ideal. It's exhausting in a whole different way than taking care of kids. Seeing 9 people on one day is not a great thing, either. By the end of the day, I don't want to hear any more stories. So I'm hoping to spread it out a bit, and maybe make enough to pay off our debt a bit more quickly and then, damnit, I'm buying myself an iPod.

P.S. I know I'm getting old because it's actually getting harder for me to read the font on this blog. That's why I made it bigger. Just trying it out.

I took a couple of hours last night and finally figured out how to get videos from our digital camera to the computer. Then I figured out how to edit them and upload the finished product to the web. If you wanna see my first movie, an under-2-minute "Best Of A. and Ben,"* let me know in the comments and if I recognize you (and if you've ever commented here or I knew you on the Knot or a playgroup or scrapping board, chances are I will recognize you) I'll send you the link. Just wanna know who's looking.

*Here's a quick synopsis: A. dances, I sing and Ben's on rhythm to "Mahna Mahna," Ben gets hysterical belly laughing about cars, and G. knocks A. off his bicycle. You totally wanna see now, don't you?

Accidents Happen Now and Again

OK, it wasn't that bad. Not the best pic of the boys, but it's fairly good of G. and I, so we admitted we were powerless in the face of the merchandising giant and bought it.

It helped that we got there at 8am and had tickets for the very first train ride. Parking was easy, getting on the shuttle was easy, getting on the train was easy, and the place was only mildly crowded when the ride was over. We rode in the last car, which was a cool vintage coach.

All the other activities were free and we might as well have skipped the train ride, saved $60 and just hung around Thomas-land for free. You can still have your photo taken with Thomas, use the bouncy house, get a temporary tattoo, meet Sir Topham Hatt (which we skipped - he was scary), watch the train set, climb on the Thomas made out of Legos (see below), and, of course, buy Thomas merchandise, all without a ticket.





Afterward, we went to Capitola and had lunch. G. bit into an omelete and broke his tooth on a shell or something. Really broke it - chipped off a whole corner of his molar. Now the sharp edges tearing up his tongue so he'll have to have it fixed pretty quickly. And they didn't even comp the omelete.

Then on the way home, we stopped for a potty break and while pulling out, a big pickup loaded with stuff backed up into us. It was not nearly as bad as all of us were expecting, given the initial super-loud CRUNCH.

Recently, G. has had lots of problems with a delusional boss, gotten a ticket for not stopping fully and completely at a stop sign, lost a job opportunity he really wanted, and now he has a broken tooth and a chipped bumper. Poor guy was shaking his head in the parking lot, saying, "What is going on? What is going on?"

But he did get to see Thomas, without incident, which I'm sure makes up for at least some of it. We rode in the last car, which was a cool vintage coach.

The title of this post comes from a horrible but catchy Thomas song called "Accidents Happen" with lyrics like:

Accidents happen now and again, just when you least expect
Just when you think that life is okay, fate comes to collect..

...Sometimes you will slip and slide if that's Lady Luck's intent
One minute you're riding high, the next you're on the ground...


Lots of negative energy in that song, but you know, sometimes life is just like that.

Shoot Me Now

We're going to this tomorrow. We've tried to keep this event out of A.'s awareness until now because we knew that once we went, it would become an annual must-do. But now he knows about it and has been counting the days till he can see the real Thomas. By the time I went online to get tickets, the only ones available were for the very last car at 8:30 in the morning.

I imagine it will be like the Beatles' early concerts, where girls were crying and fainting at the sight of the Fab Four except this will be a more male crowd and they'll be shorter.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Ha ha ha bless your soul / You really think you're in control.

The ant invasion continues. This time they're coming from inside the opposite wall. I wanted to blow up the house, but G decided to go underneath the house to see if he could find the nest, with no luck. They turn their little black noses up at our ant baits and seem undeterred by the fact that we kill masses of them every few hours. We can't find the nest because it seems to be inside the walls.

I did some more research, again, on non-toxic pest controls, and found a product called Terro. We bought a box of the liquid stuff at the hardware store and now have it strategically placed around the kitchen. The box says it will kill "Argentine ants, Ghost ants, Cornfield ants, Pavement ants, Acrobat ants (?), White footed ants, Little black ants, Odorous house ants, Crazy ants, Big headed ants, and other sweet eating ants. " The poison is supposed to work slowly enough that the ants have time to bring the food back to their colony and kill all their homies.

It doesn't say, however, that it will kill Stupid ants. Which is unfortunate. Because we have Stupid ants. They liked the Terro very much, and swarms surrounded each drop of the liquid like some sort of "Hands Around the Terro" ceremony and each ant gorged himself until he died. Right there at the edge of the Terro lake. Which means the rest of the ants have to remove the happy little ant corpses in order to reach the golden nectar themselves. I guess I should be glad they're stupid, though, because they don't seem deterred by the fact that their buddies are all dying after eating the stuff. "Hey, Dude, just means more for me! Heh heh."

2. Right now, I have 6 boys under the age of 8 in my playroom. Nothing good is going to come of this, but at least Ben is sleeping so whatever happens won't involve him. Oh dear. Now I hear them saying they're playing Doctor. Perhaps I should check on them.

Ah, "Doctor" involves one child jumping on a blue blanket, pretending he's drowning, and the other two pretending to "reel" him in with a fishing pole. Kids! Isn't it cute how they reenact everything about the doctor's office?

3. Boys are a complete mystery to me. A. and his friend W. were playing some sort of game earlier where one says to the other, "I killed you!"

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't 'cause I have super powers."

"Yes I did 'cause I have really super powers."

and so on and so on. No matter what super powers A. came up with, he couldn't kill W. It was starting to annoy me, but what am I going to do? "C'mon A., if he won't let you kill him, maybe you don't want to play with him."

Give me a tea party problem and I can solve it. Barbies not getting along? I'm your gal. But I'm helpless in the face of 4-year-old boys.

The whole "killing" thing bothers me anyway. We're super-pacifists and would prefer they play "hunger strike" or "peaceful protest." At first we tried saying "We don't play guns in this house." That worked until our 8-year-old neighbor returned from a trip to D.C. with a Union soldier uniform and a Civil War addiction, and began recruiting all the neighborhood kids to reenact the Civil War on his front lawn. It was actually pretty funny, because W. got to hold the flag (always hold it up off the ground! Even if you die!) and A. got to beat on the drum hanging around his neck. The two of them next to Drew, the coordinator, Civil War expert, and owner of a genuine toy bayonet, were a pretty funny tableau.

A. and W. were the youngest (except for Ben who, at 16 months, was put in charge of ammunition which involved him holding the stuffed animals they used as cannonballs) and they kept killing each other even though they were supposed to both be Union. Poor Drew, the neighbor, choreographer, and Commander in Chief of the Union forces, was very patient with them and with the Confederacy, who were two rather hyper little boys from down the street.

Anyway, when I'm playing trains with A., I try to avoid playing out the crashes and instead make all his engines kiss each other, but he's still turning into a little boy who likes rough stuff.

He and W. are now making guns with their tinkertoys.

"Mine is a pellet gun and yours is a BB gun and pellets beat BBs," (this from W. who goes hunting with his dad and knows from guns).

W. is super-competitive and I can't keep my mouth shut.

Me: "Why can't you have the same kind of guns? Why does one always have to beat the other?" Perhaps missing the bigger question regarding why they have to have guns at all, but whatever.

W: "OK, we both have pellet guns, but mine is stronger."

Me: "Why does one have to be stronger? Why can't you have the same kind?" They both walk away quickly. I am clearly not trusted to comment on the game.

W: "Mine is a pellet gun 2000."

A: "Well, mine is a pellet gun 2000 and 3 and 6!"

W: "Mine is a 2000 one million and a thousand!

Aaargh. I have a feeling I've got many more years of this.