Balance

A principle that is very important to me is "moderation in all things." I believe that there can be "too much of a good thing." With too much excess, the "good thing" can become a "normal thing" and slowly descend to a vice. (The only exception to the rule could possibly be money. But as I've yet to experience "too much" I shall reserve judgement until the day that I'm rolling in it!)

On a recent date with Drew we came upon this very subject. Because Drew is a boy who understands absolutes he was very concerned when my answers were vague.

"Is pizza bad for you?" he asked.

To which I replied, "Only if you eat too much."

He looked down at his mini-pizza. Looked up at me with a contemplative look. And then he carefully counted the number of slices on his plate.

"Are 8 pieces too much? I'm really hungry."

The concept is hard to explain to a boy who wants concrete answers. And the concept that I once held up as a banner of truth now seems to be bending under the heavy weight of parental responsibility.

So I ask this....If there is supposed to be moderation in all things, does that also apply to mothering?

I ask this with a smile on my face but a pit in my stomach. I don't intend to be glib. I know that I'm a mother always....simultaneously a joy and a chore. A job full of triumphs and tragedies. A profession capable of the highest highs and the lowest lows....sometimes experienced within minutes of each other.

The pit in my stomach comes from my desire to return to "moderation in mothering" but not seeing a clear path to that goal. Looking back I believe I once practiced the concept well. I had a private voice studio, teaching duties, occasional singing and accompanying gigs, friends, the gym, musical directing and dates with Jay. I accomplished all those things while never neglecting my boys' needs and wants. (Except for the time I had to leave a 9 month old Owen with Auntie while he was trying to pass a football sized poop! I left Carly with a jar of suppositories and instructions to call me if things got worse.) It was a carefully orchestrated balance of mothering and personal goals and responsibilities.

Now with the absence of all of those extracurricular things (including the gym and our dates, which I miss the most) I find myself drowning in the mundane chores of life, the repetitive nature of my days, the haze of having the same conversation over and over.

It is like I'm on a see-saw with Owen on the other end. He is stuck up in the air with his short little legs kicking to reach the ground below. I'm sitting down on the ground, desperately trying to shoot up in the sky. But we're out of balance. I'm just too heavy. So we are stuck.

Being out of balance is frustrating. I feel stuck. My reactions are skewed and disproportionate. Case in point: Kai got the syrup from a tall shelf in the pantry (he is a climber!) and became a human fly trap! Did I laugh? Nope. I glared. Then I mopped the floor and before it was barely dry, Kai tackled Owen who had a full glass of apple juice in his hands. Did I take a deep breath and say something patient and motherly, like..."It is okay. I know it was an accident." Nope. I yelled. It doesn't take much to send me over the precipice into the river of rage swirling below!

So I walk a tight-rope suspended high above the ground, where just the slightest of bobbles (like another failed batch of yeast rolls, oh the yeast rolls!) is enough to send me flailing to the safety net below.

But as I speed toward the ground, (trying to make it look graceful and intended because, after all, I am indeed vain) I notice my safety net isn't there!

Where is it?

It is at work.

Gone for 14 or more hours of every work day. Working so diligently and honorably and dutifully. Doing exactly as he should...providing for our family. He can't be in two places at once. But I wish the hourglass was more slanted in my favor! Having Jay here returns me to the land of sanity...at the very least it allows me to lay in bed an extra hour while he conducts the symphony of chaos we call the morning routine. It is a blissful respite that I enjoy on Saturdays. Bless him!

The more I write, the more lugubrious I sound. More ungrateful and more self-absorbed. I can hear it. And I can see it on the screen. I don't like it. But, as the old saying goes, "it is what it is." I'm being honest with no witty anecdotes to dispense and no nice little conclusion about perspective and "it could be worse" stories.


I haven't yet reached the depths of despair. I believe I love my boys too much for that. They are so good and patient with a mother that seems to be having a pre-midlife crisis. While I move forward in my search for balance and moderation, they are here. Busy as little worker bees providing me with moments of clarity and hilarity interspersed between the calamities and chaos.

Besides, what human being alive doesn't smile when they look at this snaggle toothed nugget of squishiness?

Jerry

* If you are a mouse enthusiast I suggest that you not read this post.

Sure. I admit it. I'm afraid of mice. I've had a hate/hate relationship with them for years.

There was the time when I was 16 that a mouse invaded our laundry room and taunted us for days. Knowing my utter disgust at having a rodent in my living space, my "loving" parents decided to place a lifelike toy mouse on my bed to "surprise" me. While still in the midst of screaming, my "loving" Dad tossed the mouse into my hair. He has yet to show remorse and hence he has yet to be forgiven.

And then there was the Jerry that stalked me and my roommates in our Boston apartment. We trapped that sucker in our oven and tossed him out our fifth floor window to the alley below. A fitting farewell.

Of course, I can't forget the time when Drew was a wee babe of 4 weeks old and Jerry streaked across our living room. Seeing an imminent collision between my tiny newborn on his blanket and a tiny, filthy rodent.....I jumped on my couch and shrieked, "My baby! My baby!" Leaving Drew to the mercy of the mouse. Thankfully, Jerry took a U-Turn. (True story. Sad. But true.)

Fast forward to the time in Connecticut when Jay was outwitted and outplayed by Jerry the conniving Triscuit thief. Due to Jerry's superb display of strategy and strength he was dubbed Mighty Mouse. He had some gumption and a strong will to live but Jay prevailed...barely.

And since the rodent kingdom knows that my life couldn't possibly be complete without at least one Jerry rampaging through my house....I've been sent one in the cupboard under my kitchen sink and the adjoining cupboard that houses my griddle.

Until they evolve enough to invent their own form of mousey diapers.....they'll never go undetected. And therefore, they'll always be ruthlessly hunted when they taunt me with their evidence.

Enter Jay.

Jay and his traps......that he forgets to check before he leaves for work!!! All I wanted to do was get the dishwasher soap. Instead I'm confronted with Jerry dying a slow death on the glue trap and Jay is enjoying a rodent free day at work.

So as I write, Jerry is splayed out like a skydiver face first onto a bed of glue. And what's worse? I know he is alive. If I hear any sort of a ruckus or little rodent squeak coming from underneath my sink, I'll grab my children and bolt.

Knowing that Jerry is on his way to little rodent purgatory, I shall write him a farewell letter.

Dear Jerry,


I am not ashamed to admit that I don't give a hoot for the torture and suffering you are going through. I'm actually quite pleased knowing that your little rodent brain, the size of a speck of dust, is trying to figure out how to unstick yourself and still keep some fur for the cold winter ahead.


The reality is that we just cannot coexist. Not ever. You do things that are unforgivable!


You pooped on my griddle!


How am I supposed to eat Saturday morning pancakes knowing you've defiled it?


Let this be a warning to all your other Jerry relatives...YOU'RE STUCK! There is no way out of this predicament. It was your greed and total disregard for other people's personal property that landed you in this sticky mess. You did the crime, now you get to do the time!


My husband will be home in several hours to place you in your final resting place. I suggest you use this time to think about what you've done!


Sincerely,
Marilee

post script:  Lest my posterity think I am a rampaging mouse killer....this letter was written in good fun with a satirical bent.  (Some random crazy guy left a comment about how I am a horrible person, hence this post script is written.) 

Here We Go....

This is going to be a fabulous day. I can just feel it!
The boys are really getting this teamwork thing down.
It just warms my heart to see them working together.
Owen left a full glass of milk on the table and Kai dumped it all over the floor and himself.
Kai threw his eggs across the kitchen and Owen whizzed around the corner on the scooter and ran over them.

All before 8:00 a.m.

Nice work, fellas!
Nice. Work.

Musical Tastes

Music has been a part of my life always. Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, Bartok......played it. (With varying degrees of success. I don't recommend Bartok to anyone, ANYONE! Especially an eight year old with fledgling finger dexterity.) Nat King Cole, Cole Porter....listened to it and sung it.

I consider my tastes as varied and diverse as my favorite bag of mixed Jelly Bellies; some fruity, some a little spicy and some are an acquired taste (like the buttered popcorn flavor).

But one type of music I shall NEVER, no NEVER, acquire a taste for is Dora the Explorer screaming, "Louder! Say it louder!" I don't care if it is in Spanish or English or Swahili. I don't care if she is sickeningly singing The Declaration of Independence...in seven different languages. I. Just. Can't. Take. It.

So, dear Dora the sanity slaying Destroyer.....consider yourself evicted from my home, my life, my television and my boys' budding musical tastes. Oh, and bring your whiny cousin, Diego, with you!

I will not have Drew, Owen and Kai thinking the screeching gibberish you squeak out is music. Here is how we roll in MY house (or car)......

We rock out to the Glee version of "Busta Move" cranked to full volume..bass pumping so the mirror is shaking. Right there in my hot gray mini-van. If I close my eyes and think hard enough I almost feel like I'm 24 again in my black Mustang GT convertible, making cute boys' heads turn and then flashing my wedding ring and a devilish grin. Now I'm turning heads for another reason...I'm that crazy mom looking like a gyrating lunatic who is damaging the developing ear drums of her impressionable young boys! But no matter...

While I'm grooving, Owen is bustin' his own moves like a champ. He gives no heed to the restraints of his car seat. Out of the corner of my eye I can see his arms pumping, shoulders wiggling and little booty shaking with complete abandonment. No embarrassment or cares for what might be cool or uncool. He's just dancing to the beat and loving every minute of it.

Drew knows every word to Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" and sings it with his own restrained enthusiasm. His arms aren't waving in the wind like Owen's but his hand is tapping to the beat and his foot is doing a tiny little dance of its own. I cock my rear-view mirror just enough to glimpse him executing a move that looks like a mini snake roll. I yell to him over the roar of the beat, "Work it out, brother!" And he smiles and continues bringing back the iconic move from the 80's. You don't see him doing that with Dora and her creepy monkey!

And then there is Kai who has opinions of his own when it comes to our musical selections. He prefers the Glee version of "Dancing With Myself" turned up to ear deafening decibels. Bouncing around in his seat, Kai's fluffy cheeks jiggle to the beat. Occasionally, I see wild arm movements that resemble a baby bird learning to take flight. Or my personal favorite, his legs flailing around like two big beef sticks stuffed into extrawide shoes.

So you see, my darling Dora, there is no room for you in our CD players or IPods. You've sung your last note on my TV. You've screeched your last screech. You've been replaced by real singers singing real songs that make me happy instead of enraged. There should be a warning on your shows: "Peligro! May cause spontaneous parental insanity resulting in the destruction of televisions." And we can't have that, Dora, can we?

Thankful Thanksgiving Thursday

This one is a no-brainer!

I am thankful for (in order of appearance):

• homemade rolls (NOT made by me)
  
• gravy
• smoked turkey
• heavenly hash
• regular and sweet potatoes
• homemade cranberry sauce (which is only enjoyed by me and Drew)
  
• stuffing
• corn, carrots and asparagus (which I forgot and then was too tired to make last minute)
  
• pies (fresh pumpkin, coconut, lemon)

Apparently Owen is NOT thankful for the aforementioned goodies. He ate NOT ONE BITE of the morsels we placed before him. He asked, instead, for a meal that was "not Thanksgiving" i.e. macaroni and cheese.

I am thankful for elastic waist pants.

I am thankful to have a new niece. It makes me so happy to hear the joy, pride and excitement in my brother's voice when he talks about his little Elsa Jane.

And it goes without saying...I'm thankful for my own little hooligans and their Dad.

This is Jay's favorite picture of Kai. He's just taking a leisurely stroll in Gettysburg with his hand in his pocket, looking like an English gent.

Thankful Thursday

I'm thankful for uninterrupted shopping time at the shoe store and in the breakable section at HomeGoods. I never venture into the fragile area when I have the boys with me. Six curious and clumsy arms are too difficult to keep away from the shiny, smashable objects.

I'm thankful that my brother is on his way home from Iraq 2 days earlier than expected. I'm thankful for his patient wife, Annalise. After he arrives it is time for a NIECE in the Lewis family...the baby countdown is on!!!

I'm thankful that Drew is still young enough to have simple (but wrong) logic like this....when we tried on his new shoes he stated that he thinks Grandpa and Grandma must have the biggest feet in the family because they have the oldest feet. I'm thankful for this but my Mom probably isn't.

And I'm thankful for this...Owen says,

"My root beer float floated

UP and

UP and

UP

to my brain
and made me
Smarter and
HAPPIER!!!!

A good root beer float does that to me, too.

He Said, She Said on the First Day of Kindergarten

Anne of Green Gables said, "If you only knew how many things I want to say and don't..."

I've always had a sharp tongue. It is one of my biggest flaws and best traits.....depending on who you speak to and when! Learning to choose my words wisely is one of many difficult life lessons I am studying as I desperately try to improve myself and try to NOT ruin my children.

Recently I faced a head to head battle of "the things I should say vs. the things I want to say." And the battle raging inside my head centered around Drew's first day of kindergarten.

He said: "Mama, can I have steak and dark dip (aka. A1), broccoli, potatoes, and cheese balls for my back to school feast?"

What I wanted to say: "Broccoli? Really? Cheese balls? The orange Styrofoam kind? You don't eat junk like that for dinner!"

What I actually said: "I'd be happy to make those things. It is your special dinner. And we'll have beautiful flowers (which were more for me than for him) and fancy napkins and candles."

He said: "Oh, Mama! I'm so excited to go to kindergarten tomorrow. I'm really going to love it and I'm going to make lots of friends."

What I wanted to say: "Live it up now. Kindergarten is a walk in the park compared to the next 12 years. You'll have playtime and snack time and crafts. After kindergarten it is all down hill! You'll get well acquainted with the alarm clock, playground bullies, pimples, braces, cliques, disinterested teachers, difficult choices, studying, homework and early morning seminary."

What I actually said: "You're going to have a great day and be such a good student."


What he said: "Isn't this a cool name tag?"

What I wanted to say: "NO! You have to wear it because not a single soul in that school knows who you are and you are going away from your Mama who knows everything about you and can take care of you the best!"

What I actually said: "That is a pretty cool duck."

He said: "Do I have enough time before the bus comes to put some salt on this slug?"

What I wanted to say: "Boys! They're so predictable!"

What I actually said: "Sure, just don't get slug juice on your shorts."

He said: "Look! Here comes the bus!!!"
What I wanted to say: "Go ahead. Get on the bus. But in doing so you will be ignoring everything I've ever taught you about stranger awareness and car safety, because you'll be getting into a vehicle with a complete stranger. And for the first time in your entire 5 years of existence, you won't be wearing a seat belt. Go ahead...."

What I actually said: "Wait until it stops completely until you cross the street. And don't forget that I love you very much and that we'll be waiting for you when you come home."


What I said: "Give your brother a hug good-bye."

What he thought I said: "Give your brother a good strangle."
And away he went....Our lives forever linked to this thing we call public education; where he spends more waking hours with a stranger than he does with me. Where he learns bad words and where he will get his first dose of reality.....when someone tells him the world has been lying to him about Santa Claus and the flying reindeer. OK, maybe he'll learn a thing or two about reading and writing but he'll learn oh so much more.

On that first day I was anxious and nervous. Owen was lost and lonely. We filled our time with games and puzzles and making cookies. But there just wasn't enough filler to make up for the glaring hole in Owen's world.....where was his best playmate? Owen was lost when he wasn't the shadow. At 1:00 Owen sat by the window to wait for Drew's arrival when he could return to the comforts of being the shadow instead of having to deal with HIS new shadow, Kai.


And at 4:10 Drew returned home from Gravely Elementary School on bus 743 to shrieks of joy from his brother and a sigh of relief from his Mama. He told me about Mrs. Innocenzi and that he sits at the rhombus table and that Mr. J.J. makes him sit at the front of the bus. When I asked if anyone threw up in the hallway he just looked at me and wondered if that was something he might have missed. (Not a day went by in my elementary school when someone didn't ralph on the bus or in the hallway, prompting cries of "ewww" and "did you see that?" and "Mrs. Calloway! Johnny threw up his fiestata all over my backpack." And then the story of who, where and what grew from a story into a legend.)

Nope. There wasn't any fanfare or hysterics or pleas of, "Don't make me go back to that place!" He liked it. And for now, his schooling is uncomplicated. And I like that.

**don't know why I didn't publish this when the first day of kindergarten actually happened back in September!**

Day Late, Dollar Short on Thanks

I was thankful for things this week. I really was. By being a bit tardy with my thankful decrees doesn't lessen my gratitude....it just makes me a procrastinator, something I'm not unfamiliar with!

I'm grateful that I have parents that can fly from Alabama to Hawaii to Utah to Virginia in one week just to spend time with 3 of their 5 kids and 5 grandsons. They would've gone 5 for 5 if one of their kids wasn't gallivanting around Alaska and the other one didn't have the audacity to be in Iraq!

When they were here I got to take a morning shower in peace, go for a mid-morning run and go on a date with Jay without even thinking of the boys once!!! It gave my brain a chance to re-boot.
Since Drew was born, my Dad has never missed our birthdays. I thought he was crazy when, six years ago, he suggested that Drew should be born on his birthday (and a day after mine). That would mean my baby would come 3 weeks early! I never gave Dad's request a second thought. But, lo and behold, he had his first grandchild on his birthday and my 28th birthday was spent in horrific induced labor! I've never given Dad a present after that. I figure Drew is the gift that keeps on giving!!!

On Forgetting

I've stated from the beginning of my blogging experience that this little online journal is a way of documenting for my boys the experiences in our lives that make us who we are. The things that bind us together, make me rip my hair out, melt my heart or just boggle my mind. It is my way of coping with the mundane, a means to see the humor in disaster, laugh at the absurd, reprimand my soda-loving husband (ha!), and compile some family photos.

It is so my boys will read these accounts and see me not just as their mother but as a person with feelings and faults and hopes and sometimes regrets.

It is also so I won't forget.

I don't want to forget that Kai's plump cheeks have such a satisfying jiggle when he walks or runs. Or that his bottom is so round and squishy and delicious that I sometimes have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from squeezing him too hard. And how he turns my face to his to make sure that I am paying attention to his baby jabbering. And that he isn't satisfied until I've replied to his chatter. I can't forget that he says "no" when what he really means is "yes." Or that he brings me his blanket and says, "Kai" when he wants me to cuddle with him. (I wish, however, I could forget that he flings his food from his high chair like a monkey in a cage.)

I don't want to forget that Owen gives me unprovoked kisses and hugs at the oddest of times. And that I always stop to receive them because his hugs are as important to my soul as air is to my lungs. I want to remember that right now his face is smooth and soft. (Someday it will be rough and gruff with whiskers. Oh, how will I bear it?) I hope he always wants to give me hugs and I hope he always squeezes just as tight. And if he doesn't, I'll still squeeze him just as tight anyway. And I'll always be his "prettiest princess." Even when he takes a wonderful girl to the temple to be married, I'll secretly and quietly still feel like his prettiest princess....even when he's telling his new bride that she has the title.

I don't want to forget that Drew is enduring being the oldest child like a champ. All our mistakes as parents tend to be concentrated in his direction! I don't want to forget that he acts like I'm Barbra Streisand when I sing him "The Star Spangled Banner" at night. I want to remember that what is momentous in the eyes of everyone else just seems like no big deal to Drew. Like Kindergarten....he is completely non-plussed and takes everything in stride. But little things like where we sit at the dinner table are HUGE to him. I don't want to forget that he is cautious and studious and maddeningly literal....and the best traveler around.

While I'm busy not forgetting, the boys are hopefully busy forgetting my multiple mistakes. Like today at Target when I said, "Fine, if you want to go ahead and get hit by a car.....see how much you like it.....and then you can apologize to me for not obeying and holding on to the cart like I asked!"

I said that, I really did.

And I said it loud.

And then I looked at another Mom with two cute little girls that were happily sitting in the cart just as quiet as can be. And that mother looked at me. And I was ashamed.

And I was jealous. (And simultaneously ashamed that I was jealous!) Jealous of her child that was happy to sit in the cart...unlike screaming Kai. And jealous of the other one that wasn't licking the cart handle like Owen just did.

And then I remembered what I just said to my children....the whole getting hit by a car outburst, and I rushed inside with my cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

I hope my boys will forget that.

I hope that Kai will forget that today at a Fall Festival place I looked him squarely in the eye and through my frustration and anger asked him, "Why can't you just be still and quiet and let me enjoy myself for once? Why can't you stop making my life so hard?" And in that moment I really meant it. And all Kai was trying to do was stick his hand up the slimy nose of a hungry calf and poke his finger at the poop chute of a goat. (I hate petting zoos.)

Do you think that maybe the rear end of that goat will be so memorable that Kai won't remember what I said to him?

Ode to Shoes

It isn't a secret, I've shouted it out
I like fancy shoes when I'm out and about.

They dress up an outfit and brighten dull days
They lift up your spirits in so many ways.

They fit when you're pregnant, they fit when you're not.
I like them with colors and animal spots.

I haven't had new ones in too long to count
Shoes are uplifting in any amount!

With moving and babies and renting and cars
Its not in our budget......not important, by far.

But my birthday is coming, so I decided to treat
Myself to some ornaments to cover my feet.

Wedges or peep toes or sneakers or flats
Maybe those boots I should purchase...perhaps.

But what should my wandering eye behold?
3 pairs of boy shoes that are looking quite old.

I look right and look left and look all around
And see 30 piggies right there on the ground.

They're running and skipping and jumping with glee
Not knowing the pleasure they're ripping from me.

Darn them, oh darn them
Oh DARN THEM, I Say!
They've thwarted my plan in the trickiest way.

They have luck on their side
Wouldn't you just know?
They had the audacity to go on and grow!

They grew out of their shoes but my shoes still fit.
So its off to the shoe store, the most dreaded of trips.

It isn't as fun to shop boy shoes for sure.
Its brown, black and navy....to me its a bore.

They got their drab boy shoes and I don't think they know.
How much I was coveting that yellow peep-toe.

Goodbye fancy pumps and black Converse, farewell.
You're replaced by wee small shoes that are destined to smell.

A mother must sacrifice in more ways than one.
But having old peep toes just isn't much fun!

Another Thankful Thursday

I'm thankful for pulled pork. And a husband that is willing to sacrifice his lungs so my freezer can be full of my favorite BBQ.

I'm thankful for this view on my nightly runs.

And this one.

And this tree (blurry in this picture) reminds me that I'm only 2 miles from home.

I'm thankful for this view when I return home. He waits for me every night and acts like he hasn't seen me in days. He peppers me with questions about what I saw on my run. I tell him about the cows and the horses in the pastures. I tell him about the dead deer carcass that makes me run faster. And about the mama deer and her babies that come out of the woods at dusk. And then he begs me to take him on my next run.

It makes me feel special.

And I'm thankful that I had the time to play in Photoshop with some of my pictures.

Sandwich Mom

I've come to realize that a Mom spends a lot of time preparing lunches. During this time I've come up with a theory about how we Moms put together our children's portable meals. I believe there are 3 categories of Sandwich Moms.

A Sandwich Mom refers to the manner in which the female parent of a young offspring goes about preparing and packaging a sandwich to be placed in said offspring's lunch box for his/her consumption at school.

My Mom is the classic example of a Slap-It-Together Sandwich Mom. While I have many fond memories of my childhood, I do not have fond memories of the sandwiches that greeted me when I opened my orange Charlie Brown lunch box.

The smell usually greeted me first. And when the aroma wafted to my nose, I knew......tuna fish would be awaiting me. The brownish colored, stinky tuna fish would be slapped haphazardly between two pieces of crooked, soggy, tired pieces of bread.

And the way the sandwich is packaged is part of the Slap-It-Together Sandwich Mom's profile. My olfactory offending meal would barely be enclosed in a flimsy piece of plastic wrap. One corner would generally be exposed, causing that section of bread to be stale and the tuna fish to form an outer crust.

While my Mom has many amazing qualities and no doubt loves her children dearly, her love did not shine brightly through her sandwiches.

Next we have the Show-Me-the-Love Sandwich Mom. This Mom lovingly, painstakingly, and carefully assembles the sandwich. She has been known to cut off the crusts and on many occasions cut the sandwich into hearts or festive holiday shapes as the season dictates. The sandwich is then placed into a Ziploc bag with any excess air squeezed out to ensure perfect freshness and wonderful palatability.

I've always wanted to be that kind of Sandwich Mom. But I just can't bring myself to cut off the crusts! Which brings me to the third and final variety of Sandwich Mom. The kind that I was born to become...

The Standard-Sandwich Mom. This is what I am. I like to put Drew's sandwich together with care and I am careful to use the appropriate ratio of peanut butter to jam. I cut it into two triangles to make it easier for him to eat. And then I place it into the Ziploc bag, making sure it is sealed so the sandwich won't go stale. I do not squeeze out the excess air and I most certainly DO NOT cut off his crusts........

Until last night.

I stared at the sandwich for a while before I brought the knife blade down to sever the crispy brown edges from the soft white bread. It went against everything in my very being to cut those crusts off. I was going against the grain! (Pun perfectly intended.)

Jay knew that the universe was turning upside down and looked outside to see if pigs were flying.

"Why are you cutting off the crusts of that sandwich?" he asked.

"I have no choice," I replied. "There was a little bit of white mold on the edge of one crust."

Am I bad?

At least I cut it off.

And thus concludes my essay on sandwiches. I either have too much time on my hands or I'm ignoring the growing mounds of laundry that need putting away. I confess, it is the latter.

Club Meeting

The boys have been continuing their "Hooligans Anonymous" meetings with a wide range of activities and club rituals. The meetings generally start out with complete silence that indicates a plan is in the works. The silence is followed by a faint rustling that can vaguely be heard from another room. Directly after the rustling, there generally comes a BANG or a CRASH. Then there will be muffled giggling or painful screaming...depending on the success of the activity. (There could also be a cop at the door, as was the case after Kai's club initiation.)

Following the crash are frantic footsteps and loud shouts of, "WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU BOYS DOING?"

Occasionally the club meetings come out of the shadows and into the light of day where I can participate and record the minutes. I like those meetings much better than the secret ones that plot the downfall of my patience, cleanliness of our home or safety of its members.

Yesterday, the club took advantage of the warm Indian Summer day and decided to do some team building exercises.
They soon tired of all that teamwork when they discovered that one member was getting all the perks with none of the work.



So they abandoned him.


To win back favor with the ranking club members, Kai reminded them that he "accidentally" fell on an unopened bag of tortilla chips that was waiting to be put away after our trip to the store.

In light of this new information, it was voted on unanimously to re-instate Kai in good standing to the club. They had to do a special ceremony to make it official.

I can't claim to always know what is going on in their complex little brains. Sometimes the choices they make, or don't make, baffle me to no end and make me want to scream, "Hello!!! It isn't rocket science....just do what I say and your life will be great!"

And then I look into the future and see them making difficult choices that could drastically alter their course in life, and I'm glad that, for the time being, I'm only dealing with their "choice" to not make their bed or whether or not to eat that piece of candy they found on the floor of the grocery store. (Well, with the whole swine flu pandemic being a national state of emergency and all, that piece of candy on the floor seems a whole lot more ominous.)

I'm glad they have each other. I'm not always going to be as "cool" as I am now....at least in their eyes. When they can't come to me they've got a brother or two from the Hooligan's Anonymous Club that would surely give good advice when the weight of a decision seems too heavy to carry on their own.

Try as I might to disband this club, or at least be included in all disaster-making decisions, I secretly don't want it to stop. They need each other. And when it seems like it is them against the world they won't feel lonely. They'll always have a brother....or two.

Thankful "Thursday"

I had to forgo my Thankful Thursday post because I was busy cuddling on the couch with Jay, boxes of Hot Tamales, NERDS, Reese's Pieces and Milk Duds. We watched "Transformers" completely uninterrupted without having to ration out the sweets to children that act like they haven't seen a granule of sugar in 10 years. As if! It was much nicer to cozy up to my husband than to my computer so I have no regrets about abandoning my blog!

So, I'm thankful that I made the choice to spend time with the most important person in my life rather than the most important electronic in my life.

I'm thankful for my sister. She's the best Auntie my 3 hooligans could ever ask for.




But let me just take a break from all this thankful stuff and say that I H-A-T-E making yeast rolls. I've tried crescent rolls, sweet rolls, pizza rolls and dinner rolls in one week. I've wasted no less than 20 cups of flour, several packets of yeast, and half a dozen eggs. I loathe the stickiness and the fact that the recipe says "add 4-5 extra cups of flour until the dough is no longer sticky." I add 4-5 and then another 6-7 more cups! And it is still sticky! Almost every surface in my kitchen and my can of Pam is crusted in dried up dough.

I need an intervention! I just can't stop making yeast rolls until I get it right! But I'm driving myself mad. HELP..............

So that brings me to my last thankful thought. I'm really thankful for frozen dinner rolls.

Tooth Trouble

In our house, the tooth fairy has "issues." She has such a global reputation to uphold that she is prone to bouts of fatigue; what with all that flitting around dispensing money and hauling her enormous stash of teeth. So when a tooth is ready to be placed under a child's pillow in our house, she figures that we're nice enough folks and won't go on a global smear campaign if she falters in her fairy duties.

Drew's first and second tooth loss events were disasters and, to make myself feel better, I chalked it up to inexperience and nerves. I wrote those episodes off as the opening act for the big show, and no one pays the money to see the opening act. So I rehearsed and refined and vowed to do better. No missing teeth! No replacement shark's tooth! No empty tooth fairy wallet! No note of explanation next time!

Thursday, Drew bolted off the bus with his newly extracted tooth tucked securely in his backpack. I placed it in a baggie and put it on the counter with some other items that were clearly not trash. Apparently, the tooth wizard thought differently. (Jay resents the use of the word "fairy" when describing a task he must complete. Therefore, to comply with his impassioned plea and in an effort not to injure his masculinity, I have dubbed him "The Tooth Wizard.")

Later that evening I returned home from flitting around Target and DSW (in search of some fairy shoes) to find Drew's tooth was M.I.A. WHAT? NOT AGAIN! I put it in a baggie to keep it safe!! I wasn't aware that I need a safe to protect little lost teeth. In desperation, The Tooth Wizard was commanded to dig through the trash (because fairies draw the line at dumpster diving).

The tooth was not recovered.

So the next night another note of explanation was written and another shark's tooth was placed under Drew's pillow. He figured that the tooth fairy was good for either $5 or $25. After all, he had to wait an extra night because of his parent's blunder. Owen figured that the tooth fairy ought to bring him a dump truck for good measure. But the tooth wizard only had a buck in his pocket...and no dump truck.

I'm facing the music. We're not so good at the tooth fairy and tooth wizard business. But we've got Santa and Mrs. Claus down pat!

Thankful Thursday

Drew's top tooth has been hanging by a thread for weeks. It gives me the creeps. Today was the day that drastic measures were going to be taken. Auntie arrived and we decided that she could tie the tooth to a door and yank it out. I'm pretty sure that that rarely works but she was gung-ho anyway. But...

I'm thankful that Drew's tooth FINALLY came out. And it came out on the bus with a little help from his seatmate....who apparently isn't creeped out by a dangling tooth. I'm grateful that this time Drew didn't lose the little dentin nugget to the black hole that is the sink drain or swallow it down his gullet.

I'm thankful that my sister is here....and she brought goodies. Really good goodies. For me and the boys. (pictures tomorrow. today we had no sun. And no sun means no pictures. Unless I buy lots of fancy lamps.)

I'm also thankful for homemade pizza, smoothies and apple crisps. And Kai is thankful for those things, too.....as is evidenced by this picture.

It's the Little Things

Often times in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, I forget that little things matter. Little moments. My days are made up of a series of little moments that often go unnoticed, unacknowledged or passed over because I'm too frustrated with life's nitty-gritty "have-to-do's". I'm kind of tired of the have-to-do's, so I'll focus on the lesser known "little things that matter."

For example, today when Drew was at school and Owen at preschool, Kai and I went to Target. As we walked hand-in-hand into the store I glanced down at my little boy dressed smartly in his navy blue pea coat and noticed that he was sauntering. He had a full on swagger! A gait that said, "Look at me! I'm out-and-about with my lady and I'm a big boy and I want everyone to know it!" He was proud to be walking instead of carried and his face was shining as brightly as the autumn sun above.

It sure wasn't a big thing. But I'm learning to realize it's the little things that matter. And that moment mattered. So it goes on my list of very important little things.

And tonight after I sang "I Am A Child of God" for the 4,249th time, I had a request from Owen that I stay in his bed "for a tiny bit." After a few moments of silence I asked him to tell me something happy. I expected that he would speak of his Lego's or bike or the cake ball that he had for his tasty treat. (Oh, yes. I made cake balls. They were divine.)

Instead of those very predictable answers he came up with something that I've added to my list of "very important little things." Upon putting his hand on my heart he said, "I love your heart."

Couldn't you just melt?

After another moment of silence his hand moved a little bit to the south and he added this: He said, "And I love your squishy things."

That won't be making the list.

(Owen looking crazed.)

Thankful Thursday

Well, nothing noteworthy to report. I'm grateful for that.

Nothing noteworthy means we've had no disasters or major malfunctions. Nothing noteworthy also means that I shouldn't mention that Owen locked us out of the house yesterday without shoes, cell phone or a way to change Kai's steaming diaper. No, I shouldn't mention it because this is par for the course with Owen.

Luckily, I discovered an unlocked window in which to hoist my little locksmith through. After he opened the door for me he said, "See, Mama? I fixed it. Now you can be happy!"

Happy? That's one way to put it.

I'm grateful for a yard large enough to accommodate my hooligans and their shenanigans. The current game of choice is "Rodeo Station." The rules are simple: one boy is the horse, one boy is the cowboy and one boy is the rodeo clown. Boys are flying everywhere with limbs all tangled up as the horse is bucking and the clown is inserting himself into the fray.
I'm grateful for this little boy who looks so much like his Daddy.

Thankful Thursday

I didn't post my Thankful Thursday musings last week because I was on a plane.....

All by myself....

TO HAWAII!!!

And did I mention? I was ALL. BY. MYSELF.

My bag wasn't loaded down with Matchbox cars, fruit snacks, Dr. Seuss books, crayons, ratty stuffed dogs, front pack, diapers, wipes, stroller, coloring books or goldfish crackers.

Nope.

Just me, a few magazines, a good book, my Mac and a whole box of Hot Tamales. For me. NOT to share....with anyone.

So that is my first thankful thing. I got to be just me. A grown up woman, traipsing around the airport without a bladder that is full to bursting because I can't cram three grumpy boys and all our carry on luggage in the tiny bathroom stall; therefore, emptying my bladder must wait unless I want to risk misplacing a boy or two while I scream at the one child that actually fit in the stall to "STOP LOOKING UNDERNEATH THE STALL! GIVE THAT POOR LADY HER PRIVACY!"

I had a blissfully empty bladder and a leisurely stroll through the terminal, finished my book and browsed around the overpriced gift shops. Priceless.

Secondly, I'm thankful for a mother who gladly steps up and takes care of my boys while I am gone and Jay is working. I never worried about them. I only worried about her!

Thirdly, I'm thankful for sisters-in-law who swoop in to save the day when Jay's work decides to do another bad magic trick and make his vacation days disappear at the very last minute. AGAIN.

Fourthly (is there really a "fourthly"?), I'm thankful for this beautiful family.


It is one thing to know that your little brother is a great husband, Marine, war veteran, helicopter pilot and all around good guy. It is another thing to see him be a Daddy to two of the cutest twins in the world. I would move heaven and earth to visit them....even if they didn't live just a 5 minute walk from this beach.......


Or a 10 minute walk from this one....



Finally, I'm thankful to be back with my four boys. I missed them terribly.

Freedom of Choice

The bedtime-all-request-hour was in full swing tonight when I made the rounds at bedtime. Having sung "I Am A Child of God" the past 472 nights in a row, I knew what Owen's choice would be. So I started the song but was abruptly halted mid-stanza.

"I get to choose the song," Owen proclaimed with much enthusiasm.

(Maybe I'll get to sing something different? Maybe his musical tastes are widening?)

"Pardon me," I say, "what song would you like?"

"Ummm...........

I Am A Child of God, " he says.

OK, well, at least he gets a choice.

On to Drew's room where I remember to let him have his choice, even though I know what song I'll be singing.

Yep, "The Star Spangled Banner" it was.

I look down to see my little boy doing a silent karaoke as I sing our National Anthem. He is mouthing every word.

When I finish he asks what the song was about. Not one to shy away from a lesson about our wonderful country, I go on to explain that the song was written a long time ago when people were fighting to make this land into a country. There were people that wanted to be free to choose how and where to live and not be under a king or queen that took things from them....especially their right to choose.

Furthermore, I told him that his Uncle Kimball is in Iraq (and last year in Afghanistan) and Uncle Merrill who was in Iraq, are trying to help the people there gain their right to choose. And aren't we lucky to be able to make our own decisions?

After digesting this information and recalling the words to the song, "the bombs bursting in air," Drew asks,

"Why don't they just play a game to figure out who gets their way? And if they want the same thing they can just toss a ball back and forth to see who gets it. And if they don't want the same thing then they can just go away from each other. You shouldn't tell other people what to do."

If only it were that simple, maybe my brothers would never have to leave their families.

But I like that it is that simple for Drew.

The innocence of youth. I wish, sometimes, I could get that back.

Growing Pains

*Our home grown goodies.

I have never been a grower. I don't derive much satisfaction from working the soil and nurturing the tender buds until they yield their harvest. I enjoy the fruits of other people's labors. Fresh produce and freshly cut flowers for my table and windowsills are divine.

So when Jay and the boys planted a garden I was the biggest cheerleader of their efforts. From the choosing of the seeds to the tilling of the soil. From bunny proofing to watering to picking and eating. I cheered them on. I ooo'd and aaahh'd over each little sprout. But I didn't do much more than that. Jay is the one that desires a green thumb. I desire the finished product with no dirt under my nails.

Green onions, zucchini, peppers, sunflowers, jalapenos, peas (they were pitiful peas) and carrots. After much waiting and constant checking by the little farmers, we had our first vegetable. And we had a decent yield. For several dinners we had fresh corn and then corn chowder. And then we had a corn worm and I was done with corn for a while.

And then came the prolific zucchini. Zucchini soup, zucchini bread and muffins, zucchini stir-fry and zucchini potato cakes. And JUST when I thought I couldn't figure out what to do with my zucchini anymore....Captain Owen comes to the rescue.

I hear from the toy room the sounds of bombs and airplanes and giggles and shrieks. As this is a normal occurrence, I just tuned it out until I heard Captain Owen shout, "Drew! Let's throw the zucchini at the ceiling like a rocket ship!"

Those boys had squirreled away in their toy room their most favorite zucchini to use in a manner befitting little boys, not necessarily a zucchini. Apparently (from the look of that poor green squash), that zucchini had spent days moonlighting as a boat, airplane, truck and rocket. More power to it! For soon it was to become another boring dinner.

And so I chopped, diced, boiled, cooked, seeded, shucked and peeled. But I didn't grow....produce, that is.

I'm in the business of growing little boys into men. I'm growing a string bean, a carrot top and what appears to be a very hearty melon. I'm growing boys that don't see a zucchini, they see a toy. Boys that play with their food, and eat it, too. (Well, everyone except Owen, that is.)

My only wish is that all they needed was sunshine and water to bloom and grow. I could do that. But they need my love and imagination and organization and creativity and tenderness. And just when I've reached the bottom of my bag of boy fertilizer, they need more...my energy and time.

So what is left?

It is when I'm scraping the bottom of the bag, desperate to find one more handful of something to give, I realize that my growth hasn't stopped just because I'm "grown." Perhaps in those needy times, I am growing the most, in tandem with my boys. They are aging me into this perfect patina of patience and love and slight insanity.

And they're tossing in a heaping handful of fun for extra measure. Gotta love those hooligans. They are redefining perfect for me. And I like it.

See? NOT perfect!

Still not perfect.
(On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.)

Thankful Thursday

I. Jay and his parents. 35 years ago today, my mother-in-law gave birth to her first child and I'm the benefactor of her, and my father-in-law's, exceptional parenting skills. I lucked out. I'm so thankful to have spent the last 10 years with Jay and look forward to decades more.

II. A husband who gets a birthday present that is just as much to please his pulled-pork lovin' Southern Belle as it is for him. We're........ I meant Jay, is getting a smoker tomorrow! At last, I can have a decent pulled pork sandwich anytime I want without having to travel home to Alabama. Bring on the pig!!!

III. A round-bottomed baby who is in the 96th percentile for height and 70th for weight....probably because he tosses a cookie off his plate in favor of a crisp apple. And it could be his insatiable desire for Carnation's Breakfast Drink Mix. Apparently, it is the drink of champions.

The Trouble With Boys Is...

Apart from the stitched and glued up skin (Owen and Drew) and the chipped teeth (Drew) and the missing tooth altogether (Kai), I believe my boys are living a healthy and balanced life. It is I who has lost all balance and some of my sanity!

I've infused my wardrobe with as many girly things as my budget will allow and I wear a very feminine scent daily......even though nobody notices or cares. I notice and I care! So when I'm pouring salt on a slug on the driveway or forcing a smile and a pleasant "thank you" when I'm handed a gift of a giant bug from a grimy hand; all I have to do is take a wiff of my perfume and know that not all of my femininity has been drowned in this sea of masculinity.

I've composed a short, and personal, list of things entitled....

"You Know You Live with ALL Boys When..."
(I warn you, it ain't pretty.)

You hear a veritable symphony of toots coming from the back of the van,
enough to resemble a high school drum line at the football half-time show.
FOLLOWED BY....
a chorus of giggling.
AND....
the loudest giggler is the big boy driving the vehicle.


You just never know what will be dismantled, disfigured, flushed, blown up, modified, melted or "fixed" next.


You always have a front row seat to a WWF show.

Occasionally you have to do the wrangling and wrestling yourself.
Kai has challenged me to a center ring fight more than once.
And he's in the heavyweight division.



You have four toilets in the house and I only use the one in my room
which remains off limits to all but me.
I believe that little boys are only meant to go potty in wide open spaces.
Let me tell you, some of my sanity has been lost to the fumes of my bleach cleaner.


My Men. I can't live with them. And I can't live without them.