The Spencer Adventure

Life Lessons Learned from a Three Year Old

2011-11-19T11:59:00.001-05:00

From Kai: A Public Service Announcement

"Get your extracise......So you can be extra strong."

Choosing a profession: Go With Your Gut

When Kai was asked what he wanted to be when he grows up he said without hesitation,

"A robber!!!"

I told him in no uncertain terms that that wasn't going to be an option. I asked him again what he would like to do with his life and with only a little hesitation he said,

"A bad guy!!!"

When I looked at him with my most stern motherly glare and I shook my head, there was a long pregnant pause and he asked in a quiet voice,

"A mean person?"

Thankfully he is only three.

A moment of truth: Lessons in Humility

I have a concert coming up on January 1 at the Washington DC Temple Visitor's Center. There is a lot of music to learn and my pipes are a bit rusty. I practice in little snatches between diapers and disasters, thankful for whatever time I can get. While Kai was busying himself with the Lego's upstairs and Cora was busying herself taking out all the plastic containers from the drawer, I was busying myself with a little singing time. I went for the most difficult part of the song first: The high belt/mix that happens on the bridge. I just went for it. I was pretty proud of myself that I could still hit the notes with the right technique. It was loud and powerful and a very good first round. Just as I was about to sing it again I hear from upstairs,

"Mama! Are you okay?

Do you bleed?"

Obviously I'm in need of a bit more practice.

And finally: The Art of Debate.

You must know your position and play to your strengths when any type of debate is taking place, especially when your opponent is a three year old. Kai's strength is honesty and transparency with a little bit of personality on the side. When asked if he should be allowed to do something special he explained that he already knew how to behave so I didn't need to remind him:

"I don't act crazy.

I don't act wild.

I don't say dammit."

Well stated.

On our trip to Colorado in early September.

Kai saying "yah, yah" to get the horse to go faster

Kai hunkering down in aerodynamic mode to get the horse to go faster. Notice the slow-poke leading the horse.

First Day of School

2011-11-07T11:06:00.002-05:00

I wasn't entirely ready to relinquish my lazy summer days to the hustle and bustle of packing lunch boxes, signing papers, stuffing backpacks and cramming a healthy meal down sleepy eyed children's mouths. I'd become quite friendly with Apple Jacks and bare feet.

The first day of school snuck (sneaked?) around the corner, whacked me upside the head, and took two of my boys away in a big yellow school bus. I just wasn't prepared. We didn't have our Back to School Feast or end of summer extravaganza. We spent the last week of summer in Colorado so I didn't attend any Meet and Greets or Kindergarten registrations. Summer was going along swimmingly, and then all the sudden the drain let out and we found ourselves thrust into a schedule and deadlines.

(Ever doing her part, Mother Nature decided to yank summer from my tightly clenched fist by dumping rain on the first day of school with temperatures hovering at 65 degrees. No easing us in, just thrusting us off the cliff into another school year.)

So I had my hint(s). Time to get back into the grind with stricter bed times and odd, unidentifiable odors emanating from lunch boxes.

My brand new big boy kindergartener donned his brand new spiffy "jogging shoes" (he already tested their "speediness" in the aisles of the shoe store), hoisted on his unblemished backpack (that looked like it could topple him over at any minute), tamed his unruly hair, and waited impatiently for the clock to reach 8:30 so he could run to the bus stop.

My seasoned second grader ate 3 eggs on toast (with the eggs on the side....I'm still trying to figure out why we don't call them "eggs on the side of toast"), secured his going-on-its-third year-dirty-backpack to his back, and played with Cora until I told him he had to leave her to go to catch his bus.

As Owen climbed up the very tall stairs into his bus and sat down in the second row, I could only see him from his nose up, face pressed against the window. He looked so small, yet so confident. He was still my baby with the giant blue eyes looking down at me as he excitedly waved goodbye.

The juxtaposition of letting go but hanging on always comes to greet me on the first day of school. I'm excited to send my boys into a new adventure where they will gain the skills and knowledge they need to grow up happy and well adjusted. But I want to hang on to them and shelter them from things that little eyes and ears shouldn't hear or little hearts can't absorb.

First day of kindergarten

First day of second grade

A brother's version of putting their arm around each other.

Kai rushing after them saying, "Wait for me!" They didn't wait.

They made me proud on that first day. The pair of them were intrepid explorers ready for their next great enterprise together as brothers/friends. I sent my little men off and I could see they were confident and curious. And then I looked over and saw Kai spinning Cora around in the stroller and I was brought back to reality. I'll see them again in 8 hours, their heads crammed full of knowledge, no doubt. And they'll be ready to cram their mouths full of snacks and take heartily from my stash of patience.

Cora at 9 Months

2011-08-13T12:06:00.001-04:00

Daddy's girl (the baldies unite!)
enjoys crawling, drooling, teething and chewing
beloved by Drew, and loves him right back
dislikes her crib in the closet and requires that she be put to sleep in someone's arms (see the first bullet point)
favorite foods include mangoes, sweet potatoes and kale, peaches
tolerates bananas
dislikes avocados
loathes cheese
is the proud owner of 7.5 teeth (still waiting for the last one to reach the height of the others)
weighs a few ounces shy of 20 lbs. and is short (my contribution, no doubt)
her tiny feet are finally growing to meet the needs of mobility
never met a staircase she didn't desire to climb (note above point)
enjoys waving...but only at herself
is a champion peek-a-boo player
finally discovered that 4:30 a.m. is not as exciting as it once was and has given up waking up at that ghastly hour (Jay has yet to discover this truth and is up by this time every day. Craziness.)
she is happy most of the time and makes us happy all of the time
likes her mama, too

Baby Sister

2011-07-29T22:12:00.000-04:00

My three-year-old is going through a bit of an identity crisis. He is teetering on the precipice between wanting so badly to be a big boy but still wanting to be Mama's little boy. I promised him I'll always make room for him in my lap even if it means that I have to have a winch to hoist him up into it. Unfortunately, that was little consolation to him when I evicted him out of my lap, mid-cuddle, to rescue Cora from behind the chair. (She gets stuck there sometimes in her quest to find little things on the floor to eat. Bugs, fuzz, dried up pieces of cheese....she doesn't discern. Her portly self gets wedged in there pretty tight so I have to shimmy myself in there and haul her out by her legs.)

He demands to put his clothing on all by himself with not one ounce of assistance from me; hence, he's gone out in public twice with his shirt on inside out and his shorts on backwards which, I suppose, is a blessing because he has yet to understand that plaid doesn't go well with stripes. Thankfully no one could see that underneath that mess of an ensemble he wasn't wearing any underpants.

Kai wants to make all his own decisions but has yet to master the art of sticking to them. For instance....

He loves Cora. He truly does. He hasn't shown an ounce of jealousy since she entered center stage into his life. But when he suddenly had an equally cute baby in his midst while on vacation in Florida, he started to waffle back and forth in his loyalty to his "Cooey."

Entering stage left was Shaye, Kai's cousin who is almost 2 months younger than Cora. It was like he suddenly realized that there were other babies in the world besides the one he had been given and now he felt like he could choose.

One instance he looked at my brother playing with Cora and possessively demanded, "That's our baby. He belongs to our house." (Like the little issue with wearing underpants, pronouns just aren't his thing.)

And then the very next day he's on team Shaye. He said:

"I want a different baby.....

(then he looked back and forth from Cora to Shaye, pointed at Shaye and said,)

like THAT guy!"

Fickle, three year olds. Too many more evictions from my lap and Kai might start looking for another mother....like THAT guy.

Mind Your Bee's and Dude's

2011-06-10T22:20:00.000-04:00

When I was a little girl, we often congregated in our living room, cinnamon toast in hand, to watch our favorite program on the old box television. Mom or Dad would instruct the remote (usually the kid that was best with numbers) to get up and turn the dial the 6 or 7 clicks around to find Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. Sitting there on our rust colored carpet, we learned all we ever wanted to know about the mysteries of the animal kingdom.

These days, most of that valuable knowledge has been replaced with other things more applicable to my life (like the phone number to the Poison Control). BUT..... I do recall the Secretary Bird.

The secretary bird is a bird of prey that has really long, powerful legs and isn't particularly fond of flying (although it can). What it is fond of, however, is snakes.

Ms. Bird would sneak up on an unsuspecting snake and THWAP! beat the living tarnation out of that reptile. And then the secretary would step back and just stare at that snake. Daring it. No, taunting it to move. If that snake so much as twitched a muscle or slithered its forked tongue...THWAP!....another relentless assault from the secretary's lightning fast legs.

And to add insult to injury to the already dead reptile, or just because, or to show the rest of the world that secretaries really are the boss.....the bird would thwap that reptile another 87 or so times just for good measure. Then madam secretary would gobble down the deceased slithery serpent with no apologies for the violent assault that delivered the food to her beak.

I've never forgotten that bird and its unwavering confidence while facing a formidable foe. It holds on to the self-confidence that sometimes gets lost when life deals us a poor hand or the world gives us a new set of rules. Whatever the cause, holding on to the assurance that you possessed in the easy times can be more tricky to hold on to when life gets sticky.

Now, instead of being the secretary, seizing the day and standing tall, I find myself relating more to the beleaguered reptile.

Just when I think I've gotten ahead...THWAP!...I realize there's more laundry underneath someone's bed.

Just when I consider giving myself a pat on the back for going to the gym 5 times this week...THWAP!...I see some "newsworthy" story about a leggy blonde going back to work to model Vicky's secret underwear.......5 WEEKS AFTER GIVING BIRTH!!!

As soon as I put a delicious and healthy meal on the table that I'm convinced Owen will eat...THWAP!...he's changed his mind about liking chicken.

THWAP!.....THWAP!.....THWAP!......

I need to be schooled in the fine art of seeing the positive even when chaos is swirling about like a hurricane. My homework should be a few minutes in front of the mirror telling myself that I did a good job, despite the THWAPS!

I think I've found the perfect teacher for my class in self-affirmation. He is a strawberry blonde, somewhat rough around the edges, loud and determined guy who still sucks his "fum" and sleeps with a "blankee."

Professor Kai is demonstrating to me every day that he doesn't need the world to tell him he's important....he's telling the world.

With a devilish grin and a swagger he says, "I hannsome."

Kai doesn't worry himself too much about insignificant details. He tries to put his "unnapants" on "the way Daddy tells me." If he inadvertently puts them on backward and inside out, he gives himself a pat on the back anyway because he at least remembered to put them on in the first place.

With Kai's criteria for being all you can be, we would all be 4 star generals by now. In a particular moment of self-appreciation, Kai said to me in his most animated voice, "Mama! I don't bees trouble! I don't poop in my pants! I'm AWESOME!!!"

And just when he thinks he can't be any awesome-er, he writes his name all by himself and shouts, "Look what I dood!"

When I grow up, I want to be more like the secretary bird and more like my Kai. I want to remember all the things that I "bees" and all the good things that I "dood."

And I can start with my underpants......Right side out? Check. Tag in the back? Check.

I'm AWESOME!

All Boys

2011-06-06T23:09:00.000-04:00

*I wrote this back in July 2010...pre-Cora. It still holds true. But I'll be adding another list in the coming years: "You Know You Live With a Drama Queen When..."

Ah....the testosterone that hangs in and around my house like the humidity of a hot July day in Alabama: There is always a faint yet distinct aroma and the energy is intense. It is inescapable. So to honor the time when I have a homogeneous set of children, I wanted to write down a few thoughts.

You Know You Live With All Boys When.....

1. You think about designing your dream house, the first thing that comes to mind is installing a urinal.

2. You keep super glue in your purse just in case they split open their foreheads.... again.

3. Anything is turned into a sword and everything is capable of making a gun noise. Little boys point their fingers at strangers in a gun-like charade. Very nice. I promise I'm teaching gun safety...."Put that pea-shooter down!" (100 points if you can name that movie.)

4. Gravel and dirty rocks are presented to you as being "pretty" and must always be lovingly displayed.

5. When asked "will you play with me," be ready to be on the losing end of a smackdown...WWF style.

6. The toy bins are labeled "Vehicles", "Legos", "Bad Guys" and "Weapons" (to take care of the "Bad Guys" in the neighboring bin).

7. Cargos, jeans, t-shirt: Wash, rinse, repeat.

8. After a blessing on the food, you find yourself saying, "Please! Put away the sword and eat your peas. You know there aren't supposed to be any weapons at the table."

9. They shout, "Let's go to the playroom and play Zookeeper Who Gets Eaten By a Lion!"

Here are my boys doing a few boys things (which don't involve being eaten by a wild animal):

Little Broken Hearts Club Man

2011-05-26T14:42:00.002-04:00

(Written on January 10, 2010....Don't know why I never published it.)

Oh the tragedies, the insults, the grievances, the injustices that must be endured by a beleaguered and embattled four-year-old! It is all just, well....UNJUST!

We required that Owen take ONE little bite of lasagna. Only one. Apparently, that was just too much to ask a kid who can smell a bread crumb being dropped on the floor after tea in England. Of course, he was forced to take immediate action.

He wails, "DADDY! YOU ARE FIRED!"

I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN YOU BEES (THAT IS AN EXACT QUOTE) SO MEAN TO ME!!

I JUST CANNOT TAKE IT ANY MORN (ANOTHER VERBATIM QUOTE)
.
.
.
.
I GIVE UP!"
(and then he falls ceremoniously to the floor)

So up to his room he was banished with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (that were free of cavities on Monday, by the way). He was hauled up there, stiff as a board, grasping desperately for anything he could reach to delay his ascent to his place of exile.

The battle lines have been drawn and we're not backing down. Little boys cannot exist on nachos, pizza, and honey nut cheerios alone! Who knew that food could be such a formidable foe? (I, personally, like food. Too much.)

But, oh! The gut wrenching sobs and deep-from-the-soul crying that erupted from Owen are enough for me to wave the white flag! Are the tears and night spent in his room worth one lousy bite of lasagna?

Alas, I won't back down over a request as small as one bite. It wasn't liver pate or fish eyeballs. It was simple, delicious lasagna. So for now he remains holed up in his room, hopefully thinking about how much easier it would've been to try just one bite.

As the day came to a close and the wails of injustice quieted to a whimper, I made my way into his room to soothe the savage beast and calm his lasagna tortured soul. I cuddled up with him on his bed and stroked his back and told him happy things like, "We'll build a clubhouse tomorrow. But you need to remember that it is important to eat so your bones will be strong and your muscles can grow big. When you have a healthy body it is easy to do so many fun things!" (hint, hint, wink, wink)

And then I asked him if he has any happy things he wants to say to me. I'm trying desperately to turn a disastrous evening into something positive so that I can once again be his prettiest princess (still without backing down)! I even try coaxing him into an apology for acting like a raving lunatic over a measly mouthful of lasagna.

He takes some deep and dramatic breaths, looks at me with huge tears and tells me, "I am not supposed to tell you happy things. I am the kid. You are the grown up. You're supposed to make me happy!"

I haven't been put in my place in a long time. And I think I was just put in my place.

And it started with lasagna.

I won't make that for a loooooong time.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T22:27:00.000-04:00

You know you're a mother when.....

You google "eyelash serum" and "steam mop" within minutes of each other. When you discover they are both the same price, you realize that your dream of fuller, longer lashes is trumped by the need for your newly crawling baby to have a sanitized floor to drag her belly around on.

You have a conversation with your spouse that starts like this, "Do you think we've ruined him?"

You have another conversation with your spouse that goes a little like this, "Do you think we'll survive them?"

You feel guilty about a million and one things and then feel guilty for feeling guilty.

You cringe (and wish you could pull out your soapbox) every time you have to say "No" when asked "Do you work?"

During your relaxing Mother's Day shower you look over and discover you are bathing with 2 giraffes, one green dinosaur and a Night Fury dragon with optional flapping wings.

On your relaxing Mother's Day you....write a child's Primary talk, go to 3 hours of church, change a child's sheets who had an accident, make pancakes for dinner, fold laundry and give a laundry folding lesson at the same time, run to the store for milk and juice because you forgot them when you went to the store yesterday (ironically so you wouldn't have to go on Sunday), yell a few times at a few children, and then feel guilty about it AND the going to the store part (see above), dispense medicines, vacuum, give yourself a pedicure, and refuse to share your strawberry Hagan Daas.

The pain of a botched c-section and subsequent recoveries pale in comparison to the pain you feel when your child has a heartache, or worse, you've caused the heartache while trying to navigate your way through this parenting obstacle course.

You don't care one bit about the scar snaking up your abdomen because it means you have a happy and healthy baby.

You can't remember the last time you had 8 hours of sleep.

You drive a mini-van but pretend you are back in your convertible Mustang GT by opening the sun roof (which you promptly have to close because a shortling in a car seat complains about the sun in his eyes).

Some days you feel like Mother of the Year and other days you grasp desperately for the Easy button or wish you had a do-over.

And you know you've fully arrived to the motherhood party when someone asks you, "Are all those your's?"

Cutie

2011-02-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

She still bewitches us all.

Her fuzzy bald head is a culinary map of our day, with traces of syrup from breakfast, salty pretzels from lunch and chocolate from our tasty treats. You see, her little baby head sees more smooches from three handsome boys than a daytime soap opera queen ever dreamed of. She's a collector of kisses, crumbs and all.

Next to the leftovers on her noggin is the whisker rash from her Daddy. Snuggling under his coarse chin is a favorite resting place after his long day of work. A symbiotic relationship where relaxation and contentment is shared. The only casualty is his lapel that shows the signs of a drooling baby drifting off to sleep.

Dishes remain dirty, extra pounds unshed, projects undone and dinners uninspired, all in the name of a new baby that isn't as new anymore.

Stop, time!

What's the rush?

The Plague

2011-01-23T14:26:00.000-05:00

I like excitement and I like the unexpected. These days, I find myself unexpectedly unexciting. Gone are the days of late night dinners out with friends. Gone are the days of after-show parties and false eyelashes. Gone are the flowers wilting underneath the heat of my dressing room lights.

Enter Act II of my life, where late night dinners are replaced with late night barf bowls. After-show parties replaced with potty training parties. False eyelashes? Nope. Undereye puffiness reducer cream (which is proving to be a waste of my money). No more fresh flowers, just fresh packages of wet wipes.

Because I've complained of boredom, I suppose I was blessed this week with a little bit of excitement. In the form of the dreaded plague(s). Our story reads like a case study in a manual at the CDC.

I started the week with Jay and Drew going on an unscheduled body cleanse. The stomach flu hit them hard. Poor guys.

Meanwhile, I had the brilliant idea that this was the week for Kai to potty train. After several wet pants, some misses at the toilet and one very unfortunate incident involving our carpet and poop (all hail the expensive carpet extractor!)....I am happy to report that Kai has now joined the older boys in the "unna"pants parade. He's now so "trained" that when he has to go to the bathroom he says, "Oh, no! Not again!"

Next on the agenda was Owen's ear infection that had him begging in agony to go to the doctor's office so he could get some medicine. Since we've never had an ear infection in this house, I was unaware that I could've put him out of his misery sooner by giving him Motrin.

Don't worry, he got me back later by getting the stomach bug.

And not to be outdone, Kai brushed his teeth.... with a tube of hydracortisone cream.

He stood on the counter, moved aside the actual toothpaste, and extracted the faux paste. (I have now Kai proofed that area.) After a quick and pleasant call to my friends at the Poison Control Center (we've chatted about Kai a time or two), we sent him to bed, only to be woken up several hours later to his barking cough.

Kai got pneumonia. I have a sneaking suspicion that the pneumonia could quite possibly be due to the Great Goodwill Pole Licking Incident (see post below). I'm digging deep into my motherly treasure box of feelings to extract the appropriate amount of restraint needed to not dance around him saying, "That's what you get for licking that pole in Dirty Old Goodwill!"

Cora, in an effort to show solidarity, got an ear infection, bronchitis and pink eye. (I actually think the doctor is wrong on the pink eye part.) Poor little precious baby looks innocent and sweet but she sounds like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth.

The really good news is that Drew didn't start getting an earache until Friday night after Jay was home and we'd already learned the trick about the Motrin. The stomach bug didn't bite me until Saturday and I was afforded some much needed time in my bed writhing and moaning while Jay dispensed breathing treatments and antibiotics like a pro.

Happily, we're on the mend. Thanks, in part, to the fact that we cleaned out CVS Pharmacy (and our bank account with co-pays and antibiotics). I think we'll survive the Spencer Plague of 2011 with a little help from some Clorox Bleach.

The Tooth Fairy, however, apparently lost her mind during the germ fest. Drew lost a tooth on Monday and that germaphobic Fairy didn't make her under pillow deposit until Wednesday. There was much speculation about the reason she skipped Drew's pillow. One such explanation was offered up by a very serious Owen when he speculated that the ice storm affected her wings.

The second night's snub was met with less forgiveness. I simply told the boys that she was busy. Drew said, with a skeptical look, "I don't know about that. I'll believe you.....this time." He's been let down one too many times. (see here and here)

The events of the last week have left us all a little bit edgy, I guess.

*Kai passing along the dread diseases from Goodwill to Cora. Good will, indeed.

Kai

2011-01-21T14:57:00.000-05:00

*I wrote this early last week.

The local jail is readying its starkest cell and warning the guards to be on alert. Kai is being sent to a lock-up where he can't pillage, plunder or otherwise wreak havoc.

Several little items in the household are missing and we've narrowed the culprit down to one very grubby little (or not so much little) two year old scoundrel. What in the world Kai wants with my measuring spoons is beyond me, but he sure does have them squirrelled away somewhere.

And then there was the big one. He's been casing the joint for weeks now. There have been several failed attempts at the heist that ended in tears and apologies and empty promises to "not take Owen's fings eber 'gin."

While I was busy falling for his pleas of innocence with his disarming grin and talk of me being "boo-veal", he was busy making a more sophisticated plan of attack.

He is a master of trickery and thievery. While Owen and I were otherwise occupied, Kai sneaked in and snatched Owen's video game and cartridges (an item he's been eyeballing since Christmas) and took the contraband somewhere only a little thief knows. (Maybe with my measuring spoons?)

Now that his master plan has succeeded, he's been banished to his room to "think about what he's done" or, better yet, fall asleep and wake up not a thief.

When he's not busy lifting valuables, he's busy makes messes. With no rhyme or reason, he goes about the house and leaves a trail of disaster in his wake.

Cora's neatly stacked diaper bin? Strewn from one wall of my bedroom to the other.

Cereal? Leaving a very conspicuous trail from the kitchen, down the stairs to the toy room below.

My neatly folded laundry? Now it isn't so neat.

And this is all before noon!

Baby-proofing is a joke. I'm going to have to resort to Kai-proofing, which requires steel, padlocks, and booby traps.

I don't want to give off the impression that Kai doesn't have a softer side. He does.

His lips are mighty soft and shiny. My brand new minty lip gloss is now half gone and covering the sheets on my bed and the cheeks of his face. The other tube has so many bite marks on it that I have several dispensing options.

He is a crafty little bugger. He knows that as soon as I sit down to feed Cora is the time to make a break for it. He raids the pantry searching for the perfect snack to go with his "juicy:" that he tries to pour himself!

That never ends well. (Cue outfit number four for the day.)

Speaking of ending, his good health and vigor might be coming to a screeching halt after a little stunt he pulled yesterday.

I look over and he's having a moment with a pole in Goodwill. That child is busy trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get every dread disease in Northern Virginia.

He's licking the pole!!!

In dirty old Goodwill!!!

I have no more words. I have no more tricks up my sleeve. I have only a wing and a prayer that I will survive him.

For Cora...A Bucket List

2010-12-13T13:16:00.000-05:00

Author's Note: (I've always wanted to write that.) I wrote this at 3:30 in the morning on October 29, the day Cora was born. I had a wicked case of insomnia from the steroid shot I received to mature the baby's lungs. Little did I know that in just 2 short hours I would be rushing to the hospital in labor. These are the words that tumbled out in my sleep deprived stupor.

Cora Jeanne....
I've thought long and hard about having my first girl for my last child. You are unique and special to all of us.

I promise to provide you with your very own bin for your dolls and Barbies right next to your big brothers' bin of Bad Guys. When you come to me to tattle and whine that another Barbie got kidnapped by the neighborhood Bad Guy and thrown in a pit with Dinosaurs..... I won't solve your problem. I will teach you to march yourself right back around, rescue your doll with a vengeance, and dress up the Bad Guy in Malibu Barbie's attire. That'll teach him.

And that will teach you to always stand up for yourself.

It will be important to possess proper manners. What better way to practice those skills than to invite your Daddy for a good old fashioned tea party? He can sit down at your little table, in your little chair so that his knees rub his ears. You must insist that he wear a tiara and perhaps a feather boa to make him fit in with all your gussied up stuffed animals. Please don't hesitate to remind him that he must raise his pinkey when he sips the tea from the dainty teacup. Even though his hands might seem too large, it is important that he places the cup quietly back on its miniscule saucer. Forcing him to speak in a high-brow British accent is optional. (You MUST tell me when all this is going on so I can get my camera.)

Won't it be fun?

I hope that you will smile when you see your three big brothers dressed in their finest Sunday attire, each one clutching a flower for you, at your dance recitals. You should forgive them if they don't answer right away when you ask them excitedly, "What was your favorite part?" If you press them on the issue I'm sure they will come up with something.

I can't wait to hear what they say.

If you go the sports route, I hope you will forgive me if I call your three-pointer a "goal" or if I miss a play or two because I'm playing solitaire on my PDA. I'm still your biggest fan, just not the biggest fan of basketball.

Would you consider soccer instead?

I hope that I can instill in you that beauty doesn't come from how good you look in your jeans or the size of your dress in your closet. It comes from how you treat people, how you show others respect and kindness, and how you always respect yourself.

Perhaps you could gently remind me of that when we are out shopping and I grumble and complain and march myself over to the "mature" section of the store.

When you get your first boyfriend I hope that he is nervous around your family and afraid of your brothers. That means he cares about the right things and knows that you have 3 older brothers that won't hesitate to "take him outside" should he cross the line. I hope you show him that line. And I want you to always be a lady and expect him to be a gentleman. After all, you don't want "to be your own gentleman."

Owen would be very angry with that.

It would be spectacular if you felt comfortable enough to tell me about your first kiss while your Daddy plugs his ears and remembers you as the girl with pigtails and pink tights....not the young woman you've become.

Will you do me a favor and tell him that he is still the most important man in your life? He would like that.

And when I drop you off at your freshman dorm, I'll look around and wonder how we got here. How did we make it through training bras, boyfriends, groundings and a driver's license? You'll give me a quick hug and kiss and hurry off to meet your roommates and set up your room. I'll just stand there (thanking the fashion gods that I remembered to not wear anything remotely resembling "mom jeans") wondering: Did you ever figure out how to use the nunchucks Kai gave you for self-defense? Did you pack the pepper spray from Owen? Did you ever read the book on self-defense from Drew?

Did you remember to tell your Daddy that you love him?

I promise not to cry until the campus is in my rear view mirror if you promise to call me and tell me that you miss me....at least once a week.

And I hope you know that you always have a place to call home. It is with us.

{All photos, again, by my friend Jen Espanet.}

And Then There Were Two....(Girls, that is)

2010-12-11T12:16:00.000-05:00

Cora Jeanne

October 29, 2010

6 lbs. 7 oz.

19 inches

We have one dainty and petite and oh, so very cute little baby. Her 10 fingers are thin and long and her two feet are tiny...no Flintstones feet like her big brother Kai. Her cry is decidedly feminine (unlike Drew's wail that could peel paint). She has two big blue eyes, like Owen. Her disposition is kind (like her Daddy).

All five of us are totally and completely smitten.

Thankfully, she looks good in pink because she has a lot of it! Actually, she looks good in everything, from her birthday suit to her oldest brother's white sleeper (which is surprisingly still white and very cozy). I love to look down at her during a night feeding, when the house is quiet, and see her in that white sleeper.

I remember my three precious little baby boys that wore it before her and how they are big boys sleeping in their big boy beds down the hall...with dirt under their raggedy fingernails and Lego's hidden in their pillowcases. So I hold her tightly and for just a minute longer because soon the white sleeper will no longer fit and I'll have no more babies to put in it and she'll be sleeping down the hall (or in our closet) with chipped pink fingernail polish on her fingers and Polly Pockets in her pillowcase.

She has one given name, but has several others to try out. Kai calls her "baby sister" (with a lisp) and "nice baby." Owen calls her Cora-ster (its an Owen thing) and Drew calls her "Miss Cora." Jay calls her "Sweetie."

I am just happy to call her mine.

Our one little girl.

It wasn't easy bringing her into this world. From the moment we found out we were having another child to add to our brood of three, we were nervous. My doctor was nervous, too, and didn't know what to do with my "complicated, distorted anatomy." So off I went to some doctors who did. Specialists. A team of high-risk doctors that are accustomed to navigating around innards such as mine. They called me several different names, "one-of-a-kind" and "unique," in an effort to not make me feel like such a freak show. But, alas, no one wants to be "special" when it comes to your organs.

I just wanted one word to describe me: normal. Since I've never been completely that, I guess my insides decided to follow suit.

They didn't use words like "epidural" and "dilate" and "just one more push" to describe the upcoming birth of our daughter. My doctors said scary doctor words like hysterectomy, bladder damage, catheter and severe adhesions.

And then there were the scarier, life-threatening words like placenta accretia and uterine rupture. All things that were very real to my birth. (NOT the birth plan I had in mind!) With things like that swimming around in my head I decided the only thing to do was trust in the life-savers that were my doctors.

And pray. Fervent, honest, pleading prayers.

I could handle the pain, the scars and the recovery. I just wanted a healthy baby and a healthy me.

And I was blessed with that. One sweet baby girl and one thankful Mama.

And then there were two...

{All photos by my friend Jen Espanet.}

My Birthday Wishes

2010-11-03T22:00:00.000-04:00

I won't be getting candles this year (pretty sure open flames are banned in the hospital) so I thought I might post my Birthday Wishes. I hope that putting them out there doesn't mean they won't come true!

This year, I wish for....

A romantic getaway with Jay. All by ourselves. Someplace different and far. Maybe with a snowy slope or a sandy beach.
Patience with myself (and the hooligans and hooliganette) as my body heals.
Magical parental genius-ness to know how to seamlessly integrate Cora into our lives. (And to keep her safe from Kai.)
My next dose of Percocet.

If I am going to be held to making only the three traditional wishes (I thought that this year I might deserve a pass), than #4 gets bumped up and I'll do without the parental magic this year.

I'm serious. Pain management is important......I'm buzzing the nurse.

Beautiful

2010-10-27T09:55:00.000-04:00

*Written several weeks ago

Just three weeks left.

And with each grain of sand that drips through the hourglass, so goes another moment where I just don't feel like I've been productive enough. I've rested my enlarged self on the couch and thought about the fans that need cleaning and the windows that show layers of grimy boy gunk that must be attacked with a chisel. But thinking about it and writing lists is a pitiful substitute for the energy that is sorely needed to accomplish my goals.

There are still so many meals to freeze, so much organizing to do, so many beautiful little pink clothes to put away (in a dresser we have yet to buy) and so many boys to bandage up, pick up, clean up and hurry up. (Not to mention the husband who is busy building up our home office unit that I commissioned of him months ago with a deadline the same as my pregnancy. The man can do anything EXCEPT build more time into our days.)

With all the hustle and bustle and worry about the upcoming arrival, I have to remember that there are three little boys that don't care about the fans spitting dust down on them. They are about the business of finding beauty amongst the dirt and debris. So I've taken a page from their book of life and come up with a few things of beauty to report....

Drew searches high and low for little trinkets to save for his new sister. He found a purple plastic ring buried in the dirt, brought it all the way home from Colorado, cleaned it up and safely put it in his "treasure box" so that he could give it to his baby sister one day. That ring is beautiful to me. And so is the one that he chose from the dentist's prize box, foregoing all the cars and action figures, so that he could have another one for his sister's other finger.

Look at me....being magnanimous and choosing to see the beauty and not the bill for the cavities that took us to the dentist in the first place. (And the accompanying 45 minute the dentist-isn't here-yet-delay in the waiting room with all 3 boys.)

Owen continually dumps out little pink apparel (that are homeless without a dresser) all over my bed and floor so he can view each piece and say, "How cute!" and "This one will be her favorite, I think!" Another beautiful magnanimous moment where the excitement of a little boy is more important than the giant mess he left in his wake.

With all the beauty that I'm learning to see, I'm ashamed to admit the most difficult place for me to find it is in my reflection in the mirror. The tired eyes, the enlarged ankles, and especially the MANY MANY extra pounds.

Where is that altruistic spirit when I try and wiggle my way into my pants in the morning?

It is in the heart of my precocious two-year-old who reaches up to my puffy cheek with his grubby hand, looks me in the eye and says (with his signature raspy voice), "Mama, you boo-veal." (Kai speak for "beautiful.")

For now, I'll take his word for it and work a little harder in my goal to find beauty everywhere.

Date Night

2010-10-26T10:23:00.000-04:00

*Written in June

We have been at each other's throats! It is like I'm living in a perpetual political debate! There have been raised voices, defiant looks, harsh words and unmet demands. It seems like the stresses of everyday life have made us growl at each other instead of taking a deep breath and speaking kindly. I've been dispensing punishments like candy to anyone who dares to look at me wrong.

The only solution was for me to go on a double date with them. It always helps me remember why I like them. (I would've taken Kai but I didn't want to continue the streak of raised voices.)

So out we went to the boys' favorite "fancy" eatery, Chili's, where we dined on pizza, chips and salsa and colored on our menus. And every date is not a date without the mandatory lecture:

"How a Gentleman Treats a Lady (and other appropriate manners)."

(If they've heard it once they've heard it a thousand times.)

Always escort your lady and don't walk her through a puddle.
No burping, tooting or laughing when something sounds like a toot.
Listen to the lady, even when she is talking about something other than a vehicle or explosion.
Open the door for the lady and let her enter first. NO EXCEPTIONS!

After digesting the lecture, yet again, we were off to put our skills into action on a balmy summer night. The conversation stayed mild and within the allowable topics. Barely. I was escorted by my gentlemen rather nicely until Owen decided to bolt ahead on the sidewalk. That prompted another manners lecture:

    5. Never leave your lady in the dust. She might be wearing heels.

As we approached the door, my gentlemen were poised and ready to do their job when a lone lady appeared and opened the door for herself. With a puzzled look on his face, Owen watched the stranger open her own door and shrugged his shoulders and said to her and me:

"I guess she's her own gentleman."

She sneered.

I giggled.

And I thanked my lucky stars that with 4 gentlemen to call my own, I'll never have to be "my own gentleman."

Freedom Ride

2010-09-16T14:36:00.000-04:00

On September 11, 2001 I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard of the attacks on our country. I vividly remember a wave of fear washing over me as news kept pouring in about the horrific details of that day. Those feelings lingered for quite some time as I wondered what our future would look like, as a nation and as a citizen. How would the events of that terrible day erode the feeling of security and peace that I felt prior to the planes hitting the buildings? It was an insecure time.

The years have gone by and the rawness of that day has dulled with time. The lives lost and innocence of a nation something to be mourned and remembered. However, the landscape of my life has only subtly changed.

I make it a point to wear slip on shoes when I go through airport security because all shoes must be removed to take a cozy ride on a conveyor belt instead of being walked across the threshold of the security door.

A very small price to pay.

I have to buy water in the terminal instead of carrying it through security. The exorbitant price of H2O is not so pleasing (except for the vendor). But still....

A very small price to pay.

Others sacrifice more while I can only send emails and offer prayers. As my brothers have each served in Iraq and Afghanistan (Merrill is currently there), they miss birthdays, anniversaries, goodnight kisses and even births of their babies.

A very large price to pay. But one they do with honor, pride and dignity.

What can I do to celebrate the freedom I still enjoy that once seemed so fragile? How can I show the bad guys that they didn't get what they came for?

Well, I can do what I'm still blessed to be able to do......

ANYTHING I WANT!!! (Well, within reason. You know what I mean.)

This year on 9/11, we taught our boys to ride their bikes without training wheels. A lifelong skill that will bring a sense of freedom, happiness, independence and plenty of Band-Aids and possible trips to the ER.

Jay perched their trimmed down bikes on the top of a gently sloping grassy hill, whispered instructions and encouraging words in their ear and then pushed them off for their maiden voyage.

As predicted, Owen rode down the hill with his "game face" on and not a crash or a bobble to slow his descent. Back up the hill he came for more, with only the slightest crack in his game face.....a smile.

Also as predicted, Drew was nervous and required more detailed explanations than his younger brother. I think Jay stopped just shy of explaining the physics of Newton's First Law, and an object's momentum and its relation to mass and velocity before he pushed Drew off to what I thought would be certain disaster. I was pleasantly surprised when he didn't return to Jay missing all his shiny new front teeth with his bike in a twisted heap of blue metal. As his confidence grew, so did his bike riding skills.

Predictable, yet again, was Kai's desire to be older than his little 2 year old self and ride a big boy bike like his brothers. He felt so left out and embarrassed by his less than desirable transportation.

And a little bit unpredictable was the reaction of a very patient, proud and loving father who said that he felt like "a real father" for teaching a skill to his boys that will remain with them for their lifetime.

Who was it that insisted, while I rolled my eyes, that we bring long pants for the boys to change into so that they wouldn't get scraped up knees?

A real father.

Who was it that proudly went to the store to buy new back tires to replace the worn out ones?

A real father.

Who was it that willingly gave up the ONLY day he has to tinker, relax and catch up on things so that he could instruct, encourage and cheer on his very sweaty but beaming boys?

A real father.

That is how we celebrated our freedom.

Freedom=Sacrifice=Families=Happiness

Truck Men Part 1

2010-09-08T23:59:00.000-04:00

I have known this moment would come for a few years now. I've actually been waiting in silence for it. Ever since we got rid of our truck to buy the mini-van I've been expecting to have the conversation we just recently had. The "I-just-can't-live-another-day-without-a-truck" conversation that set in motion a whirlwind of phone calls to Colorado and three of my men-folk on a truck gathering journey. (More on that later.)

There have been times in the past two years, sans truck, that I've looked over at Jay in a quiet moment and I see his face soften ever so subtly and a look of fond nostalgia washes over him. He reaches for my hand and begins to speak....

Expecting to hear him recollect the time we spent at the beach or the early days of our courtship or tell me one of the infinite reasons he loves me (or something of the like), I'm jolted to reality when I hear him say,

"Remember that green and white truck we had? Nothing has ever been as comfortable to travel in as that truck. And remember that black truck that I had to start with the screw driver? Man, those were great trucks. I miss those trucks. Maybe we should never have gotten rid of those trucks. I had this truck once...."

And then his eyes glaze over and he's detailing every truck that he has had and the ailments that each one possessed. Jay is lost in a dreamland of glow plugs and transmissions.

It is both endearing and baffling. Me? I like to own a really nice vehicle and get good use out of it and then send it on its way, never looking back. Jay? He loves 'em and leaves 'em, but not without first fixing and tinkering and caring deeply for them and then bringing them up years later with great affection mixed with a bit of longing, perhaps feeling a little guilty for ever letting them go in the first place.

Apparently this love of trucks has a genetic component. While my father-in-law has passed down many enviable traits like honesty, compassion, work ethic and humor, he has also passed down this inclination for all things truck. Big trucks, bigger trucks, fancy trucks and plain trucks.

As long as I've been a part of this great family, I have seen trucks grace the front of their eastern CO desert home as plentiful as the sandy earth upon which they sit. And just as easily as a desert wind can blow, so can a new truck find its way to the Spencer abode.

They have a good life there. Hauling trailers with horses to a rodeo here or a ropin' there. You just never know what kind of truck (or how many) will greet you as you drive up to the house. And while the elder Spencer seems to have no particular brand favorite (Dodge, Chevy or Ford), it seems as though Jay has broken from the mold and become a "Ford Man."

And so it is that I now find a giant red and gray 1996 Ford F350 PowerStroke parked in front of our not so large .5 car garage. And it is a dually, no less. That means it has 6 wheels. Six. The more the merrier, I suppose? We don't really need the additional 2 wheels but there they sit on my driveway, barely squeezing themselves between the bushes on one side and the grass on the other.

Also, it has two fuel tanks. Two. (Please note that I said "fuel" and not "gas." I've been thoroughly schooled throughout my 11 years of marriage in the ways of trucks. Diesel is "fuel" not "gas." I think I learned that on our second date, or something.)

As genes have a pesky way of sticking with the bloodline, I noticed a disturbing (yet sadly predictable) incident when Kai laid his eyes on our truck for the first time. He walked up to the giant metal behemoth with awe, gingerly climbed onto the running boards and pressed his nose to the window. Reverently he said, "Daddy, I yike your twuck."

After that declaration of solidarity and admiration, he gently stroked the side of the truck as if to say, "You're home now, buddy. We'll take care of ya. I've got your back."

And with a parting pat, he walked into the house secure in his knowledge that he, too, is a truck man. Third generation. It runs deep.

First Day of First Grade

2010-09-07T23:59:00.002-04:00

It was thoroughly uneventful. Boring, even. It's a yearly gateway into gaining maturity and educational excellence and my oldest offspring was completely nonplussed. I had no choice but to take my cue from him.

Drew got up at the same time he got up practically every day during the summer (7:30), ate his favorite breakfast of eggs on toast (but the toast is on the side) with ice water (don't ask, I'm just the cook), dressed in some new clothes and shiny new sneakers (that he can tie by himself!), and moseyed down the street to his bus stop with his school supplies in his backpack and Mama and brothers in tow.

He jumped onto his bus and never even looked back. I sort of just stood there wondering what an attentive and caring mother should do after her oldest just left the nest for the wide world of elementary school. Meanwhile at the bus stop, another mother of a first grader "had a moment" with tears and shoulders heaving up and down and 50 pictures on her camera to remind her of each step her daughter took onto the bus.

All I had was Owen crying because Kai poked him in the eye with a sword (someone's lawn flag) that he wrestled, like King Arthur, from the grass. And Kai was helping himself to someone's leftover beverage, that he found hiding in the community's mailbox, while I was trying to listen to the bus driver's instructions to the waiting parents.

But that is how it generally goes....Drew slips quietly through the events of life while I try to manage the chaos around me. As much as I tried to make this day exciting and special, Drew approached it like he does most everything....like a seasoned veteran. He's not bursting with confidence, shaking with fear or so excited he can't sit still. He is just Drew. Despite the fact that this is a new school for him, he just goes quietly about his business and deals with life as it comes.

And then he was home, with his best friend running after him to "ask him what he learned about." He liked math the best, wants to buy lunch tomorrow, plans to introduce himself to a boy that looked like he could be a friend, and there were 3 kids in class who "weren't quality students." He wasn't one of them.

And that is that.

Peach Pickin'

2010-09-01T11:58:00.003-04:00

In order to squeeze the last remaining drops of fun out of summer (and in an effort to assuage my guilt over being too tired to do much these past few months), I took the boys to Hartland Orchard to pick some peaches. It was a hot and steamy affair, even at 9:30 in the morning. And the bugs were so plentiful that we were picking more of those from our hair and eyes than we were picking peaches from the trees.

Some boys had a knack for picking peaches with enough bruises and blemishes to rival Kai's forehead.

And another boy chose the peachful surroundings to do a little communing with nature.

Hauling around their bags of fruit quickly lost its luster and I could tell we were in for a sprint and not a marathon at the orchard.

But we got what we came for: A little fresh air, beautiful scenery, a change of pace and 2 pecks of peaches and one peck of apples.

Unfortunately for me, the peach skins are not the kind that like to go without a fight and the de-skinning process that was supposed to be a family affair looks like it will be me fighting the fuzzy orbs with a vegetable peeler. It is a fitting farewell to my arduous summer. I am looking anxiously ahead to our eventful fall!

Movin' Right Along

2010-08-24T14:56:00.003-04:00

I haven't documented my pregnancies or births with any of my children and I feel a little sad about that. But, I also feel a little sheepish about recording it here on my very public journal. I recognize that people aren't necessarily interested in sentences that begin with..."Well, my uterus...." or "The doctor said...."

But I feel that I have a story to tell. Every woman does. I have my own pioneering journey to motherhood that is uniquely mine. One that maybe my daughter might gain strength from one day. (I'm not silly enough to think that my boys will have any desire to go back and read the "pregnancy posts" when they are grown. They'd probably rather eat broccoli.) I won't record it all. I don't want to be responsible for anyone reading this passing out with boredom. But I'll record some.

I'm at the 27 week mark now and feeling (and looking) every bit like I am 37 weeks pregnant. If you were to visit my home you would see the tell tale signs that a large and cumbersome pregnant lady lives here. There are various pillows in all sizes littering the floor next to my side of the bed. I start out with 2 and end up with 3 and sometime in the middle of the night I fling them all off the bed in uncomfortable disgust. I've not been able to come up with the right ratio of pillows to belly; therefore, comfort eludes me.

I've also reached the stage where rolling over is like unto a 4 point turn. Grab headboard, hook leg on side of bed, maneuver belly and finally twist body to final resting position. It won't be long until I reach the stage of having to wake up the man who got me into this state and requiring that he push me onto my other side. I think it is the least he can do. (Well, that and paint my toenails which are out of my reach. He's getting decent at it but shouldn't quit his day job.)

I might not bend down to pick up the clutter on the floor, but if I drop a cookie I'll certainly put forth the effort to retrieve it. Since bending at my non-existent waist is not possible, I gracefully do a plie in second position so that my fingertips can grasp the tasty morsel. I've gotten pretty swift at this maneuver so the 30 second rule still applies and I can eat my cookie with confidence.

There is a wisdom and resolution I've gained through my four pregnancies that have taught me to be grateful for the goodwill that is shown to pregnant ladies instead of having to show everyone that "I can do it". I allow people to give up their chairs so I can take a load off and I'm thankful for the rest. I leave the heavier objects (except Kai) for others to carry and can do so without feeling like I'm lazy.

I'm finding it easier to ask for what I need and learning to say no without feeling guilty. My desire to make the birth of our last child one that is joyous and happy and as peaceful for our family as possible (despite the tumultuous birth and recovery that is to come), has led me to organize and plan so that we won't have any clutter (physical or mental) standing in our way.

I am finally able to embrace the ever changing emotions that come as a result of this roller-coaster ride of hormones. I can throw my hands up in the air and say, "Bring it on!" instead of feeling like I'm not a strong woman if I shed a tear or two. Oh, and there have been tears!

So here's to the last 9 weeks. May they be uneventful, happy and (dare I wish for it?)...swift.

Boys, Interrupted

2010-08-10T11:00:00.000-04:00

*This was written back in June after we had the first of many (and many more to come) ultrasounds.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program of blue and red, polo's and plaid, and cargo's and khakis.....to bring you ruffles and ribbons, pink and purple, and tights and tutus. Girl things.

It is a girl. We're having a "little miss."

So ingrained in my vocabulary these past 6 and half years is "buddy" or "mister." As in...
"You did a good job, buddy!"
"You better stop throwing your bowls off the balcony, mister!"
Or my favorite: "Young man! When I catch up to you, you aren't going to like it!"

Now it might be....
"Hold still, little miss, while I attach this utterly frivolous and extremely feminine explosion of pink ribbon to your newborn hairless head with something sticky: honey or K-Y or Karo syrup or Elmer's glue should do the trick."
"Young lady! Stop calling your older brother Katherine and chasing him around with my perfume and lip gloss! And NO! You will not get a sister, little miss!"

When the ultrasound tech put the magic wand on my gelled up belly, the first thing she said was, "Well, you're having a girl." All nonchalant like. And then she swiftly moved on to measuring the baby's stomach and bladder.

"Wait a minute!" I said. "You have to go back to the parts that clearly denote that this squirmy little thing in my tummy is indeed of the feminine persuasion. GO BACK!" I demand.

Sure enough, the technologist found the pertinent parts and pointed them out to my satisfaction. And then I had her re-point them out. You would think that I was staring at an alien from the dethroned planet of Pluto. I was just so shocked and not ready to start thinking pink. But there it was in black and white.

I sense a shift in paradigms. For me and our boys. I'm bracing myself now for a whole different world of "issues." Perhaps I'm more ready for it than I think? After all, I do have some experience with girls.....seeing as how I am one!

But, if truth be known, I had a pang of worry this morning about my world being turned on its navy blue ear. I awoke to a very cheery and bright eyed Owen two inches from my drowsy, sleep smashed face. He gently said, "Good morning my prettiest princess!" Then he gave me a kiss and went on his merry way to play demolition derby (or something of the sort).

I had this very selfish thought......"Am I about to be de-throned?" Is there room for two prettiest princesses in this testosterone filled palace?

I'm currently in the process of making room. (Her's will be in our closet. But that is another tale for another time.)

Destination.....Destiny

2010-07-27T15:06:00.000-04:00

**This was written last March when I was in the throes of First Trimester blahs. The photo was actually taken the day I found out I was pregnant and finally had an excuse for the grumpiness and lack of patience!

"By prevailing over all obstacles and distractions, one may unfailingly arrive at his chosen goal or destination." --Christopher Columbus

For Captain Owen and Grandma, the final destination was Salt Lake City to visit Auntie and Uncle Neil. It was a long day of traveling. There were long layovers and delays. Captain Owen was hauling a backpack loaded with necessities such as fruit snacks, crayons and Matchbox cars. Refraining from kicking the seat in front of him (with all his superhero muscles) took great restraint. Not to mention the exhaustion that comes from keeping track of Grandma!

The wiggles and whining (dreaded enemies of Captain Owen) were getting the better of Owen so Grandma said, "Owen, just a little bit longer. You are being so patient!"

But the hour was late, the day had been long, and there was a lengthy drive ahead of the weary travelers. Captain Owen dug deep and took a personal assessment of what strength he had left. The conclusion was grim.

After some soul searching to make a thorough determination, he had no choice but to respond with an honest and humble (for a superhero) answer:

"It is not my destiny to be patient!!!"

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess. But, oh how I love this answer! Perhaps I shall frame it and put it on my wall, for it does my weary soul some good....Even superheroes have a vice!

No Fair

2010-07-25T16:37:00.001-04:00

There is a famous saying in the Lewis family that originated with my sister. When someone would dare cross her, correct her, punish her or otherwise look at her with an unpleasant expression, she would spit out her now infamous phrase....

"NO FAIR! YOU'RE MEAN!"

As an adult, more often than I'd like to admit, I've uttered that very phrase when all other words were inadequate. The child in me sometimes just wants to burst into tears and fits and spew those words out in succession like an angry erupting volcano.

And because the phrase is so universally cathartic to say, you can scream it, state it, mumble it, or even whisper it and the outcome is the same. Try it. It makes you feel like you have the upper hand, even when you are sitting on a deck chair of the Titanic. It fits in any and all situations and works equally well when said to an inanimate object.

When our insurance company wouldn't pay for Kai's birth expenses because "we didn't inform them that I had a child" (even though they paid for my C-Section and prenatal care), I may or may not, after exhausting all other adult persuasive arguments, uttered...."No Fair! You're mean!"

Recently, at my OB appointment, I stepped off the scale and the nurse told me the staggering number that is now my impressive weight, I uttered under my breath, "No fair! You're mean!"

But when Owen was forced to take a time out while we were at the beach and I heard him mumbling to himself, while sitting on his sand bucket, "No fair. You're mean. Nobody likes me." I couldn't help but say to him...."You're right. This isn't fair. It isn't fair to ME!"

Could someone please put me in time out, on the beach, where no one is allowed to talk to me and I'm not allowed to do anything? This is a cruel bit of parental irony, wherein I'm sucked into an alternate universe and I hear my child complaining about an absolute paradise situation. Par.a.dise.

Wishing you could trade places with a 4 year old? Not fair.

Not being able to?

Very mean.

Unsavory Sayings

2010-07-06T16:27:00.001-04:00

Florida 2010

Drew is a literal sort of fellow. He likes rules and schedules and routine and thinking (and over-thinking) before he provides an answer. i.e. "Drew, would you like a peanut butter and jam sandwich?" "Well, let me think, hmmm.....um.....ahhh.....Yes! That would taste nice."
(Keep in mind that Drew has a PB&J every single day for lunch. Yet I continue to ask him in hopes that he might like to deviate from his routine. And he never does. But I routinely ask anyway. Life is exciting around these parts.)

So when Drew blurted out this uncharacteristically speak-before-you-think statement I had to record it. He said, with surprise and disgust in his voice,

"My bottom sucked up my pants!"

Being terribly frightened as to what this event might look like but also needing to satisfy my curiosity like a rubber-necker on the highway, I turned around to see what in the world he could be talking about. What did I see?

I saw Drew picking a wedgie. A simple wedgie. That was it.

A common occurrence for an uncommon boy...

Uncommon and routinely wonderful. That's my Drew.

On a Gender

2010-06-18T07:42:00.001-04:00

There is much anticipation when any child comes to a family. We've been anxious and nervous and excited each time I've been pregnant to find out the gender of our children before they were born. And given that Jay is the giving sort, he has seen fit to generously pass along his Y chromosome allowing me to experience the joy of having my three sons. But there is a progression that took place with each pregnancy regarding the gender of our children.

Having Drew was just plain exciting. Our first child and the first grandchild for the Lewis side and a boy. Perfect.

When Owen came along I got the first inkling of the curiosity and drama that surrounds the gender. I was asked a few times, "Do you want a girl?" And I always answered with the benign, "I just want a healthy baby." But when it was determined that Owen was indeed an Owen and not an Olivia....I got multiple, "Oh! How nice to have two boys close in age. They'll be such good friends."

But when Kai was squirming around in my alarmingly protruding belly the question of "What is it?" reached a fevered pitch and was accompanied by..."I hope it is a girl!" "You need a girl!" or "Did you try for a girl?" (to which I sweetly replied, "Nope. I tried for a baby.) And when I said, "We're having our third boy!" The general reply was one of disappointment, "Are you sad you didn't get your girl?" I just rubbed my belly and said, "I'm happy to have my boy."

There are a range of emotions to feel if I were to have a boy or a girl:

When I look into the future as a mother of 4 boys I feel privileged, special and honored to bring up men who respect women, make an honest living and take care of their Mama when she gets old and cranky (or crankier, as the case may be.) Four boys who always give her a kiss on the cheek even though their friends are in the room. I think about how photographers are going to have to say, "Alright. Just a minute....let me back up so I can get all of you in the shot and not cut off your mother's head in the picture." (Because they'll likely tower over me like redwoods over an apple tree by the time they are 15.) I envision my sassy leopard print peep-toe shoes side-by-side with 5 pairs of (including Jay's) stinky, clown sized clod-hoppers in the entryway of our home.

If I have a little girl I anxiously await the time when the rest of the rainbow is opened up to me and I can purchase pink and purple and mint green and patterns beyond stripes and plaid. I giggle at the nights Jay will spend interrogating gangly, squeaky-voiced teenage boys at the threshold of our house before they take our daughter on a date. "What are your intentions? Where do your hands go? Where do you hands NOT go? When will you be back?" And I pray that I eventually get phone calls from her when she has a question about her newborn or when her toddler channels Picasso with her red nail polish on her newly purchased bedspread. (To which I suppress a giggle, just as my Mom does.)

I've made a trip to the inner recesses of my soul and searched long and hard to see how I would feel if this is a girl or a boy. I do not care one way or the other. Honestly and truly. Events of the past few years have taught me a lot about the preciousness of a child and how they are on loan to us to teach and nurture and love the best we can while we have them.

What I want is a healthy baby. Yes. Most definitely. I want my child. However he/she comes to me. I'll have the privilege to get to know his/her spirit no matter what type of package/body it is wrapped up in. However.....

I have one teeny-tiny little wish. Can he/she be calm and quiet and content to sit still instead of relentlessly making mischief and wreaking havoc and calamity? Can he/she not really have an opinion until they are at least 8 years old?

I'm not asking much.

Another Somebody

2010-06-16T10:30:00.004-04:00

I've plopped down in front of my computer no less than a dozen times to write this entry and I just can't seem to find the right words to say. This is probably because most intelligible language leaves my brain after dinner when I've already had to come up with about 325 thousand different words to try and get Owen to take a bite of his cantaloupe. Cantaloupe! The candy of the fruit family. (My knowledge of the English language can't help me today....there is still a lonely piece of cantaloupe sitting on his plate downstairs in the kitchen. His dinner now becomes his breakfast. And the circle of my life continues.)

When words fail me I need not look too far for assistance. Drew is always ready to fill in the blank when I can't seem to say it right. In a rare moment this week, when I wasn't wrangling Kai or drowning in the piles of little boy clothes that seem to lurk around every corner, I took a walk with my boys that was actually peaceful. And right then and there Drew said what I've not been able to say for 17 weeks (at least on this blog).

"I'm really glad we have another somebody coming to be in our family."

There.

I said it. (Or Drew did, if I'm being accurate.)

Another somebody.

The final piece of our puzzle.

Another little hand to hold. Another personality to get to know. Another sibling for my boys. Another voice to add to the already deafeningly loud chorus of opinions. Another solid reason why we humbled ourselves and purchased a mini-van almost 2 years ago. (Go Honda!)

I'm anxious and excited and nervous for a billion different reasons. (Most of which I'll chronicle here at a later date....for posterity's sake.) Mostly I want 10 fingers and 10 toes and all little baby bits and pieces in the right places, functioning the way they should, ready to be kissed and cuddled by me.

Another somebody. I like the sound of that.

Why Everyone Should Take a Toddler to the Grocery Store....

2010-05-20T01:16:00.003-04:00

You can't possibly have lived a full life until you are perusing the produce section and your toddler shouts....

"Boobies!!!!"

And when their eyes light up as you get closer to the lovely display of blueberries (said toddler's favorite fruit) they exclaim.....

"Big boobies!!!!"

As strangers don't even try and suppress the judging glances, you know that you've reached full adult status because you refrain from saying.....

"I guess he's not a leg-man."

(Thanks to Kai for calling blueberries the same thing as Drew once did and reminding me of this event that took place when Drew was two years old.)
Kai circa 2009 with his cheeks stuffed full of blueberries right off the bush and looking a lot like Elmer Fudd.

Drew as a two year old playing in our yard in Greenwich, CT.

Kai Turns Two (Last March 12)

2010-04-25T19:58:00.003-04:00

I can't say for sure what exactly it is that my newly inaugurated 2 year old thinks of as he explores the exciting and sometimes scary landscape of life. But I have some guesses........

Kai doesn't see the big wheel as merely a three-wheeled vehicle to leisurely scoot himself around on. He sees it as a way to test his Mama's sprinting abilities. He sees it as a rocket to sit on as he lifts his feet up to barrel down the steep driveway headed dangerously for the road below.

Kai's glass isn't half-empty. It is always half-full....because it is more satisfying to dump juice out of a half-full glass.

There is no problem (or barricade) that is insurmountable for Kai. Any object can become Mt. Everest which was meant to be scaled. And this Mt. Everest (and all others in the house) have been taken to the dump. (pardon the blurry image)

Kai does not see placed before him the world's ugliest cake with two candles to blow out. He views the sad looking birthday monument as a way to practice his fire eating technique so that he can run away with the circus....where he belongs.

I can tell you what I see. I see a boy who runs like a fugitive from the hounds when he sees a Kleenex in my hand. But he has no qualms about wiping his snoobers all over my pants.

He is a boy who loves to give hugs and kisses.....after he has walloped you with an unforgiving blunt object or one of his stumpy limbs. The kiss is accompanied by a surprised look on his face as if, "Did I do that?" and then the obligatory "...k?" (Kai speak for, "Are you okay?")

He is the spittin' image of Jay and has his Daddy's hands: meaty, thick, capable, caring and strong.

His favorite person on the green earth is "Oh-wee" (Owen). Coming in at a strong second, possibly even a tie, is his Daddy. If Jay so much as sniffles or sneezes, Kai comes out of the woodwork and says, "Daddy....k?" and gives him a rare gentle pat.

His two favorite possessions are his thumb and his "bankee;" which we use like a sheet over a bird's cage to calm him and soothe him when it is time for bed. Generally, it works like a charm.

Kai isn't a "wait and see" kind of guy. He is an "I'm going to make it happen at all costs" kind of guy. The kind of person you would want on your side if you were stranded on a desert island. But NOT the kind of person you would want on your side if you wanted to go watch a chess tournament or take a leisurely stroll through a museum of rare artwork. For that matter, he isn't the kind of guy you want on your lap at church, either.

If I can only learn to try and see the world through Kai's eyes I might see a world full of endless possibilities instead of insurmountable challenges. I would understand the full meaning behind "carpe diem" instead of wondering "what exactly did I accomplish today?" And I might also learn that wearing your food on your face is better than wearing extra calories on your thighs!

Whatever it is that Kai is supposed to teach me, I'm grateful for it. And I'm trying to be a willing student. I'm grateful that he has been entrusted to my care and I can only hope and pray that I don't dampen his enthusiasm for life or damage his drive to explore and understand the world.

Kung Fu Grandma

2010-03-13T21:16:00.007-05:00

My Mom was here for a 2 day visit, which means......I got a pedicure (so I could break out my sassy peep-toe shoes without shame), adult conversation, a long overdue date with Jay (museums in DC and Thai food for dinner), treated to lunch at Chick-Fil-A, and some validation, relaxation, commiseration and commendation.

What did Grandma get? A whole lot of wrangling, wrestling, diapering and snack dispensing. She got her bag pillaged as well as an accelerated lesson in "How To Open All The Kai Proofed Bathroom Doors Quick Enough So You Don't Wet Your Pants." It takes dexterity, mental acuity and the patience of Mother Teresa to open these doors. I'm considering passing out Depends to all my guests as a precaution. Luckily, Grandma is still the sharpest knife in the drawer and was in no need of assistance. (Owen has mastered it and Drew asks Owen to open the doors for him. It all works itself out somehow. If the door can't be opened quick enough they just go out and relieve themselves in the bushes. One of many reasons it is nice to have all boys AND large shrubbery.)

My mom willingly and knowingly accepts all manner of abuses when she visits our house. There is no pretense of me trying to make her "stay more comfortable" with Martha Stewart-like accommodations. She finds no fancy meals or sparkling clean floors or a relaxing retreat. I provide her with clean sheets and towels and she brings her ear plugs and an extra parcel of patience.

She also brings little toys for the boys. Curiously, she has a sixth sense as to what kinds of things the boys will like that will ~~stimulate their intellect~~ keep them occupied. This trip it was Boggle and some drawing books. They worked like a charm.

Things were going along nicely. She didn't let Kai take a leisurely swim in the koi pond like last time. And when we were in the city, Kai only got one headlight on his forehead after an altercation with an open door. So all in all her Grandma time was a success for all parties..... until Kai and Owen decided to start jumping from the end table onto the couch and then dumping the end table over. Thankfully there were no injures because Grandma rushed to the scene and said,

"If you boys don't stop that I'm going to have to get after you!!!"

She left them alone to ponder their behavior, confident that she was the victorious adult. However, Owen translated the reprimand differently. Apparently Grandma's reputation as a black belt in taekwondo (true story) precedes her. Owen explained to his brother....

"Did you hear that, Kai? Grandma said she's going to beat us up!"

Now I know her secret. And it isn't the toys!

Sleep Habits

2010-03-03T20:00:00.001-05:00

A few nights ago....about 4.3 seconds after turning on the TV to watch compulsory ice dancing at the Olympics, Jay was out cold on the couch. (But not before he could complain, "A twizzle! What kind of sport has a twizzle in it?) Apparently watching men and women dance around on the ice to the EXACT same music with the EXACT same choreography was not exciting enough for him.

Surprising.

In all honesty, I tried my hardest to be interested but my book about the witches of Salem in the 1600's was far more intriguing than the people of the 21st century dancing the "romantic tango" with knives strapped to their boots. Twizzle or no twizzle. And because I couldn't summon a marching band to wake up Jay and I couldn't haul him up to our room on my back, I left him snoozing away on the couch with visions of ice dancing cowgirls in his head.

As I walked past Kai's door I heard the telltale signs of a chest cold. Since I had a big giant bed to myself I decided to put him in bed with me so I could listen to his breathing. To monitor his developing cough. That was my excuse. What I really wanted was to spend time with him when he wasn't going mach 10 from one disaster to the next. And since that only happens when he is asleep, I seized the opportunity. I wanted some quiet time alone with my "baby" who isn't a baby anymore but a toddler. A full-fledged little boy. That night I wanted to stop time and spend some peaceful moments alone with the boy who will always be my baby.

I snuggled him in and felt immense happiness just being close to him. Until...

He proceeded to thrash about like a fish out of water. He was twisting and turning and picking his legs up and slamming them down and doing his own version of the twizzle. I endured the beating for about as long as Jay endured ice dancing, and I returned my little whirling dervish to his own bed, my lofty idea of a tranquil cuddle chopped to bits with each swing of Kai's stubby arm.

It reminded me of other nights I thought it would be a good idea to have some peaceful moments with my sleeping boys. While on our camping trip last summer, with the serenity of the Great Smokey Mountains surrounding us, I attempted to sleep between Chuck Norris and Kung Fu Panda in a little 2 man tent. With Owen on one side and Drew on the other, I spent a pain filled night being karate chopped, speared, kicked, scratched and rolled over in the tent of terror.

Which brings me to these photos of our camping trip in North Carolina last summer. That is Chuck Norris on the right who enjoys the noise of electronics more than the chirping crickets. Kung Fu Panda, below, who looks like he is about to snort his s'more right into his giant nostrils! And that is Kai before he became Houdini and could escape from anything and pick any lock on the green earth. Being quarantined in that pack and play was the ultimate of insults and the wailing cut through the quiet of nature like a knife. Our neighboring campers loved us! Oh, those were the days....

Melting Down

2010-03-01T11:21:00.002-05:00

I've lost all creative energies. Somewhere in the depths of this winter, perhaps buried under the snow, I've misplaced my creative juices. It feels impossible to write anything or take pictures of anything that seem in the least bit interesting, beautiful, poignant or fun. I've got a backlog of blog posts that I just can't bring myself to push the "publish" button because they don't feel right to me.

I've narrowed the problem down to the need/want dilemma.

I often talk to the boys about the difference between needing and wanting. When they whine, "But I neeeeeed a piece of candy." I respond with a line straight out of the things-you-swore-you'd-never-say-but-can't-stop-from-saying-now-that-you-are-the-mom book.

"You need a piece of candy just about as much as you need a cavity. You should say I want a piece of candy." (This is followed by the same blank stare that I'm sure I gave my Mom.)

But now I find myself in the same need/want predicament as my boys. I whine about needing a vacation with just Jay. I also need to go skiing. I need a bigger dining room table. I also need to watch what I eat and lose a few pounds. I need to exercise more. I need, need, NEED........

So I'll do as the hymn says and "gird up my loins, fresh courage take" and march myself right into March....the last vestiges of winter. I have what I need...my hooligans, my husband, a warm house, food and my health (physical, maybe not mental!). I'll publish those blog posts because they are what they are, an accurate and perhaps mundane recording of our life.

But still, I neeeeeeed a vacation!!!!!!

Bathroom Humor

2010-02-18T14:00:00.005-05:00

The situation in the Spencer boys' bathroom has reached critical mass! I've written before about the little boy pee that somehow, mysteriously, magically is not in the porcelain receptacle that it should be quarantined in. I've awakened in recent nights to the sound of a child staggering like a drunken sailor to the hall bathroom to use the facilities. (I might add here that my boys have NEVER wet their beds. A miracle that has not gone unnoticed by their Mama who is NOT prone to being a ray of sunshine in the morning.) When I should be hearing the distinctive sound of potty hitting the water in the toilet, I hear nothing. Nada. Which can only mean one thing.....the toilet opening is woefully inadequate for my children and should be enlarged to the size of, oh, a SWIMMING POOL to ensure that their pee actually makes it into its intended target!

To combat the germs that must surely be having a frat party in that petri dish we call the boys' bathroom, I've placed Clorox Clean Up wipes in the bathroom for the boys to use when their aim is off or they get distracted or if they just get a hankering to make the bathroom shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. And I must say, things are better. The boys have gotten into the spirit of keeping their space "fresh and clean." Miracles DO happen.

Now that the potty issues are relatively in control (until Kai starts to potty train, have mercy) I've focused my rage at the copious amounts of Sponge Bob Square Pants electric blue toothpaste that is decorating the sink, counter top and wall. I marched Owen into the bathroom yesterday and demanded that he scrub and scrub like Cinderella (a comparison he didn't quite understand given the fact that he is a boy with no sisters and doesn't have a clue what a Disney princess is) until no traces of toothpaste remained.

I left him in the bathroom, confident that he would be there until next week because toothpaste has a way of turning to mortar if left for more than a few minutes. As I walked past the bathroom I heard heavy breathing and some muttering. Alarmed, I listened closer and heard something that reminded me how lucky I am to be the mother of these three crazy boys.

With a voice as menacing as he could muster, while scrubbing vigorously, I heard him saying....

"Alright tough guy....

I've got you."

Owen was reading the riot act to those crusted on blobs of toothpaste! He was whooping some blue toothpaste booty, not taking any prisoners and giving it the what-for!

Sure enough, the bathroom was sparkling clean when he walked out of there with a satisfied grin. Mission accomplished, a child's imagination in tact and a Mama taking the time to have a much needed laugh while savoring the sayings of a precocious 4 year old. It makes those minty blue blobs almost worth it. Almost.

School is Canceled Along With My Sanity

2010-02-17T15:02:00.001-05:00

Prince William County Public School System has canceled another day of school as a result of the Snowpocalypse of 2010. This makes almost two weeks with no school.

Apparently some dude in a suit rocked back in his administrative chair, smoking a cigar and decided that because it smelled like snow, or it was too white outside, or I don't know what, he figured that instead of instructing our children and giving us parents back our sanity, it was better that our children remain at home until all 30 inches of snow has melted from our lives or we've been carted from our homes to the looney bin, grateful for the chance at some quiet in our padded room.......whichever comes first.

Can he possibly fathom what is happening to my impressionable young student? Drew's brain must be turning to mush. Brain cells just dropping like flies with every episode of Sponge Bob. I'm certain of it. Why else would we be having conversations like this?

"Mom, can you please open the bathroom for me?"

(Only those older than 30 are able to open our Kai-proofed doors. We've removed the door knobs altogether.)

"Sure, Drew. Give me just a few moments."

"How much is a few?"

"About 2-3."

"How long is a moment?"

"About 2 minutes."

"So you'll be here in about 4-5 minutes?"

"Yes."

"How many seconds is that?"

"About 240."
"So you'll be here in exactly 240 seconds?"
"Yep."

"That is too long!"

I could just feel the life force being sucked out of me with each new question.

Luckily I had enough life left in me to open the bathroom door within the 240 second time frame. But I just couldn't resist the golden opportunity of saying to Drew, "Don't forget to wash your hands for exactly 500 seconds after you go to the bathroom."

A few minutes later I heard the sound of running water and 24....25....26.....27.......

I love him. I really, really love him.

Snow Days, Snow Days These Are....

2010-02-09T14:11:00.001-05:00

Wednesday 02.03.10

Another school day canceled and book club luncheon (and gab fest) postponed.

Snow ice cream devoured by boys and neighbors. Tasting very sweet with a hint of something else....don't worry, it wasn't yellow snow. It just had a unique "organic" taste in the background.

A fire, warm and crackling, to thaw out chilled toes and fingers.

Popcorn picnics in their jammies watching "Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs."

Nachos for lunch with a side of hot chocolate topped with canned whipped cream (or a "squirt" as Owen calls it).

Dinner by candlelight (because candles have a calming affect on my boys and by that time I needed some calm).

A flyover by an Uncle piloting a Huey from Andrew's Air Force Base, circling our house like we were fugitives (those under 5 feet qualify, in my opinion)....my boys have TWO helicopter pilot Uncles. They feel like the coolest kids around. And they are.

Friday 02.05.10

Then the BIG ONE hit. The "snowpocalypse" as it has been called. Over 2 feet of snow dumped on us in the space of 30 hours. We (but mostly Jay) shoveled our 200+ foot driveway 8 times. He certainly gets my vote for the strongest most hard working man around. Hefting around snow and kids is a lot of work!

A Tooth Fairy Intervention

2010-01-31T21:20:00.004-05:00

It isn't a secret that my introduction into the world of tooth fairydom has been rocky. It hasn't helped that the tooth wizard (Jay refuses to have the word "fairy" in any way attached to himself) is also a novice. And between the two of us we've thoroughly besmirched the good name of the tooth fairy/wizard. So, apparently we were in need of an intervention.

Drew's second front tooth had been hanging by a thread (or a root...is it a root?...gross) for weeks. Any time he jumped up and down or let out a hearty guffaw that tooth would wiggle around inside his mouth like a pendulum on a clock. I was just waiting for it to fall out or get stuck in another hot dog and Jay was ignoring the whole thing altogether because "he just doesn't do teeth." (Except his own, which he brushes quite regularly.)

Just when it seemed like Drew's tooth was going to be around for his junior prom, Auntie came out for a visit and swooped in to save Drew's rather raggedy smile. If ever there was a person that knows teeth, it is my sister. She is somewhat of an expert, I would say. Carly takes her teeth quite seriously and knows what it is like to have a snaggle-toothed grin. Recently, while at a fancy out-of-town wedding, she had a run-in with a lettuce wrap wherein she lost a veneer and was left with a vampire fang that would make "Twilight" fans shudder with envy. (And while I'm on the subject, lets talk about how our brothers relentlessly tease her about being a "potty mouth" because her beautiful smile has a few porcelain veneers.)

Being kindred spirits, Auntie and Drew set out to get that tooth under the pillow instead of sticking out of his mouth, parallel to the ground. And what better way than the old-fashioned doorknob and string trick?

Auntie and Drew closed their eyes, crossed their fingers, slammed the door and the tooth shot out of his mouth attached to my mint dental floss. Huzzah!

But the intervention could not be considered a success until the tooth was safely under the pillow ready for the exchange. And...............

I had no cash.

Just as I was starting to tell Drew, "The tooth fairy won't come when a tooth is pulled out past 8:00 because she has already started her route," (oh, man I'm getting really good with tooth fairy excuses) Carly interrupted and said that "we should try it anyway" (with a wink, wink).

So my sister donates two dollars to the tooth fairy intervention and calls it good. Crisis averted, innocent child still remains duped about people flying around and magically giving him things while he sleeps, and I'm off the hook.

Until the next morning....

I realize that Drew left his tooth under the pillow in the top bunk of Owen's room because he thought we would move him there after he fell asleep and Auntie went to sleep in his bed. But Auntie decided to sleep on the couch, and Drew is sleeping in his room without the tooth, and now I have to explain how the tooth fairy knew to go to another pillow to retrieve the tooth and leave the cash under the pillow he actually slept on.

I'm not a tooth fairy. I'm a tooth fibber.

Pizza, Plasma and a Plight

2010-01-30T15:53:00.002-05:00

We had a lovely dinner tonight. And I don't usually describe our dinners as lovely, more like feeding time at the zoo complete with flying food and gnashing teeth. But tonight consisted of Jay walking through the door at 6:45 with 2 boxes of pizza to 4 ravenously hungry people drooling on the empty paper plates in front of us. You see, I boycotted cooking dinner for numerous reasons. And if Jay wasn't going to make it, Papa John's was! And just to quiet the responsible, nutrition conscious parent inside of me that was slinging guilt mud balls at me for not having anything green or "full of fiber" within a 2 mile radius of our house....I threw in a container of yogurt for the boys to eat. Guilt assuaged!

While we gobbled up pepperoni, Hawaiian, and cheese slices of heart-attacks-waiting-to-happen (that was the guilt slinger popping back up), we talked of the beach. (It has been a hard, cold, gray January.) I talked about how I would go to the very same beach for 2 whole weeks when I was a little girl. We giggled about Auntie's childhood dreams of opening her own "Carly's Coquina Care" for the thousands of colorful little clams that burrowed in the sand. And about the posh little bed and breakfast for the sand fleas that she opened......in her underpants drawer! The boys sat riveted when I explained the complicated biological process of why the sand fleas began to stink after their untimely demise....right there amongst her carefully folded days of the week underwear. (Not my normal dinnertime conversation. Mind you, these are little boys, there had to be something stinky or otherwise objectionable to hold their attention.)

With crusts tossed on plates, the empty, greasy boxes still in front of us, and not a grumpy face among us, we continued to dream of our vacation to the beach (which is only 141 days away). I mentioned that it would be so amazing if we spent 2 weeks there instead of just one. You know, so we could really unwind and make the effort of putting our clothes from the suitcase into the rattan dressers completely worth it!

Continuing with the dream, I casually (and completely jokingly) said to Jay, "The only way we could afford an extra week would be to sell our plasma. Do they pay extra for cute little boy plasma?"

And, of course, Drew was listening and ready to ask questions about whatever word or concept he didn't understand. (Being his mother often makes me wish I had paid closer attention in school.) He asked, "What is plasma?"

Realizing that my degree in musical theater was not going to help me in this particular situation, I referred Drew to his Daddy.

Jay says, "It is the liquid stuff that your blood floats around in." (I knew I married this man for a reason!)

Drew: "How do they get it out?"

Me thinking: this is not the direction I intended this conversation to go.

Jay: "They stick a big long needle in your arm and they draw it out."

Definitely not the direction I wanted it to go!

Complete silence.

Drew's face falls and he admits, "But I don't want to do that. It will hurt me really bad."

My completely literal and believing little 6 year old was feeling shame for not wanting to do his part in our fantasy quest for one extra week of sun and sand! In my moment of levity I had unwittingly heaped a burden upon Drew's boney little shoulders that he just didn't feel he could bear. (And now, the guilt slinger was throwing 90 mph fast balls in my direction!)

I sat there carefully crafting my reply. As I started to explain that I was only JOKING, that one week is a perfect length, and that I would never ask him to sell a piece of his DNA so we could frolic a little longer at the beach, Drew cut me off and very seriously proclaimed....

"Well, I think I could give plasma.

I'm pretty brave.

I didn't cry when I got my shots.

I'm grown up now."

He was oh, so proud of himself for being willing to sacrifice. And I was oh, so proud of him for wanting to take one for the team!

I learned several valuable lessons: 1.) Teach Drew to recognize sarcasm and jokes 2.) Be careful what I say 3.) Study up on science 4.) We all need a vacation.
These pictures from last June will have to do....for now.

*Notice the sand on Owen's shoulder and the sand bandit making his getaway.

*Auntie toting around the hooligans on her barge.

Recipe for Disaster

2010-01-24T14:00:00.002-05:00

I make a "mean" chili, if I do say so myself. Kai is my biggest fan. Oh, to have a fan club! And the things he does to manifest his veneration for my culinary greatness are just heart warming! He gobbles up my chili when other children (who shall remain nameless....Owen) complain as if I were feeding them watery gruel and burned toast.

But as with all fans, when they have an object of affection, they can sometimes go overboard with their displays of adoration.

Behold.....Kai and his beloved chili. Proceed with caution...it isn't pretty.

He is working on his spoon skills.

He's taking it one step at a time.

The orange color of the chili really makes his blue eyes "pop."

The spices in the chili sting his baby blue's.

My "mean" chili stains tender skin.....for days.

In light of these disturbing turn of events, it will be a long while before I make chili again. There is too much involved with having to scrub down a slippery, perturbed, ox of a little man in a bathroom that was designed for one and that smells faintly of little boy pee, only to have him look like an orange pumpkin despite all my tedious washing.

We're sticking to rice. Or rather, it is sticking to us...whatever the case may be.

Captain Owen's Prayer

2010-01-23T22:30:00.002-05:00

So, our superhero returned....refreshed and revived. And he is ready to resume his superhero duties of looking after the health (mental and otherwise) of those he loves.

For example, last night he said a fervent and heartfelt prayer that went like this.....

"And please bless that Daddy can

go to the junk yard tomorrow
and find all the parts he needs for the

blasted jeep."

Can I get an AMEN?!

Captain Owen's Winter Retreat

2010-01-23T10:45:00.004-05:00

Super heroes work hard. They must be ready to spring into action at any given moment.....and that is exhausting! For example: when Captain Owen notices a tube of toothpaste, he feels compelled to squeeze as much as super-humanly possible on to his toothbrush and subsequently the wall, mirror, sink, counter and cabinet! That takes skill and depletes the superhero's reserves of energy rather quickly.

And if Captain Owen smells bread he feels particularly compelled to warn other bread-hating humans of the imminent danger of toast fumes when the lever is pushed down on the toaster. Every morning one can hear our superhero exclaim, "I SMELL BREAD! I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT! MAKE IT GO AWAY!"

Every.

Morning.

Such vain repetitions are taxing on the super hero's soul.

And being charming....Oh, being charming is so much work! During a particularly loving moment, Captain Owen said to me with a twinkle in his eye, "Mama, I love you. You're my prettiest princess!"

Be still my beating heart!!! I returned the loving lines with, "Thank you, Owen. I love you, too!"

Without missing a beat and an uncharacteristic firmness to his voice, he replied, "Call me KNIGHT!"

The cracks were beginning to show in his carefully manicured superhero facade. He was being overworked.

So what is a super hero to do? He can't just hang up his cape and refuse to be super. He can't just ignore the greater good and brush his teeth cleanly or eat his Honey Nut Cheerios in silence or bark orders at his prettiest princess.

The decision was made for Owen to get away to recoup and reinvigorate. Captain Owen is on a winter's retreat in Utah with Auntie and Uncle Neil. He packed his cape in his suitcase and traded it for a regular four year old's backpack and boarded a plane with Grandma bound for solace and spoiling.

Oh, the fun he is having! Super deep baths with jets and insane amounts of bubbles. Chuck-E-Cheese's, pizza, unlimited games of Uno, Wii, hours of play-doh sculpting with Uncle Dane, pigs-in-a-blanket, hanging with Grandpa Spencer and Korinne and Kristen, not having to share toys....and the list goes on and on!

And how do I know that our superhero has been recharged and is ready to come home to tackle his superhero duties once again? Because...

Last night he visited Auntie's in-laws and was required to have impeccable manners and behavior. Upon greeting the father-in-law, Captain Owen shook his hand. When Auntie asked, "What do you do when you shake someone's hand?" Owen grasped the large hand firmly and......added in a little superhero wink. A wink!

The charming is back!

And I can't wait for him to come home.

Thankful Thursday

2010-01-22T09:11:00.000-05:00

It is hard to see the images of the destruction in Haiti and not reflect upon my own good fortune. The other night I watched the news and listened to the stories of desperation and despair from my cozy, warm bed. After I turned off the light and was drifting off to a peaceful sleep I heard Kai cry. Like any good mother, I crossed my fingers and wished like a 6 year old blowing out birthday candles, that I wouldn't hear another wail. But, alas, as his cries escalated to screams of "Mama! Mama!" I went in to get him and put him in bed between me and Jay.

As he snuggled in and struggled to go to sleep he would occasionally reach over and put his chubby, round hand on my cheek and say, "Mama." (That just about made up for the fact that he was in our bed in the first place!) I knew he felt content and safe and happy, as every child should.

I was so thankful to be able to provide him with the basic things every child deserves.....a warm bed, loving parents, healthy food, medicine if he needs it, a happy home and comfort when he feels afraid.
I'm thankful I don't live in Haiti and sad that there are mothers there who can't comfort their children as I comforted Kai.

I'm thankful Jay has a great job. (I keep repeating that to help me get over the anger of the hours that said job robs me of seeing him!) And I'm grateful for these flowers that appeared after a particularly difficult day.

I'm thankful for this view of the sunrise from my bedroom window that reminds me that I'm lucky to have another day to raise my children and love my husband and to remember to try, try, try to enjoy the fun AND the challenges of each new day.

All Work and All Play

2010-01-19T15:00:00.000-05:00

I am a generous and giving little boy. I don't ever want to keep all the fun to myself.

So, I've discovered a wonderful creative outlet that really gets Mama involved. It is called "The Magical Marks Game."

It goes like this.....

I take a metal aircraft of my choice (I prefer the F-4U Corsair. It is made of good sturdy metal). The next step is to vigorously and rapidly rub the plane on the walls that are painted flat white....and...Ta-Da!!!

Black marks magically appear all over the wall that is my canvas. My inner painter is released! I think Mama is really proud because she makes me stand here and take what she calls a "mugshot" at the "scene of the crime." She also says that she can't wait to pull this picture out and show me one day when I dare to complain that I have too many chores. What a thoughtful Mama!

And the fun doesn't stop there. Pretty soon after I've made my masterpiece, Mama magically appears with a sponge that she calls her "Magic Eraser." And it must really be magic because it is the only thing that erases my marks. I can tell she really likes this game because Mama always comes back with her Magic Eraser....so I keep flying my plane on the walls. And pretty black marks keep reappearing. Good times!

But my life isn't all fun and games. I work, too. When I really need to buckle down and get something done at the office I shout, "Bye!" and Mama replies, "Have a good day at work!" I give her a little wave and then off I go to the office.

I just close my door for a little privacy.

The dress code is quite relaxed. They even let me bring my own toys.

My commute is really easy, too. When I'm done with work (which consists of examining the effects of a cheese grater on the inside of a cabinet door) I just pop out of my office and head off to find something to destroy.

My life is really quite simple. I have no complaints. However, the one indignity I must endure is getting my diaper changed and clothes put on. Mama tortures me with these tasks EVERY day! It just isn't my style to hold still while someone wipes at my nether regions with a cold cloth. Or when I have to poke my gigantic noggin through a tiny hole in my shirt....I just can't take it!!

So my solution is easy. Whenever I hear Mama say, "Kai! It's time to change your diaper!" I take off as fast as my chubby legs can carry me and dive into the shirts hanging in Daddy's closet. I wait under the clothes until she inevitably discovers me and hauls me out by my ankles.

I'm really striving to live an exciting and meaningful life. I believe that all the energy that I have been blessed with should be put to good use. And I strive to do that each and every day. I think it keeps my Mama young.

She disagrees.

She points to the sides of her eyes and says, "See this? This wrinkle and this new one and these dark circles are from YOU!"

I told you I was generous and giving!

To Whom It May Concern....

2010-01-11T22:25:00.006-05:00

*I forgot to post this back in December!

Dear Egg Nog,
We have to stop meeting like this. I do not appreciate your fat content.

Dear Christmas Tree,
Must you shed like a sheepdog? Really? For a fresh cut tree you've got a lot of work to do in the freshness department. Are you paying us back for yanking you violently from your peaceful, tranquil farm life and thrusting you into a home where you have to support hundreds of twinkling lights and homemade ornaments dripping with Elmer's glue, glitter and popsicle sticks?

Was it necessary for you to hide Drew's game cartridge in your branches for 2 weeks? I yelled at Drew for losing it AND I lost my dignity as I rumaged around the garbage looking for that thing! Only to find it squirreled away in your needle-ly clutches. I know that Kai was your accomplice....I found his sippy cup in there. Are you hoarding all the lost socks, too? Shameful, I say! Shameful!

Dear Insomnia,
You have reduced me to watching FaLaLaLa Lifetime. It is a new low. I just watched a holiday movie with Glinda the Good Witch (rather, the lady that played her in "Wicked") trying to woo lumberjack fellas in rural Montana to pose for a hunky calendar wherein she inevitably falls in love and leaves behind her high-powered Manhattan life and trades her Manolo Blahniks for hiking boots and lives happily ever after. Blech. I just felt 10 billion brain cells spontaneously combust.

Dear SpongeBob Square Pants,
Thank you for teaching Drew alternate lyrics to "Oh Christmas Tree." I enjoy it infinitely more than the boring and uninspiring lyrics of the original. Hearing him sing "Oh Krusty Krab, Oh Krusty Krab! Oh how I love you, Krusty Krab! Your patties from the grill...."
It delights me to no end!

Dear Whoopee Cushion,
Thank you, thank you, thank you for the days of laughter you have afforded me. Hearing your flatulent exclamations and the ensuing giggles is priceless. You are Owen's new favorite toy; however, I wish that you would refrain from allowing him to use you as a "way to call Mama when I need her." A simple, "Mama, could you please come here?" would suit me better than your potty mouth salutations.

Balance

2009-12-30T14:06:00.010-05:00

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

2009-12-01T16:32:00.002-05:00

* 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....

2009-12-01T08:33:00.002-05:00

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

2009-11-28T13:30:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-26T22:16:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-19T19:25:00.006-05:00

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

2009-11-18T19:30:00.005-05:00

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

2009-11-08T21:34:00.005-05:00

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

2009-11-03T15:00:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-02T21:30:00.000-05:00

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

2009-10-29T20:33:00.004-04:00

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

2009-10-28T23:30:00.001-04:00

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

2009-10-26T10:10:00.000-04:00

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"

2009-10-23T16:59:00.009-04:00

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

2009-10-18T20:21:00.007-04:00

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

2009-10-15T22:04:00.002-04:00

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

2009-10-13T20:20:00.006-04:00

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

2009-10-08T21:22:00.003-04:00

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

2009-10-01T20:39:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-22T20:41:00.003-04:00

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

2009-09-18T21:00:00.010-04:00

*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

2009-09-17T20:03:00.004-04:00

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...

2009-09-12T10:17:00.010-04:00

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.

Thankful Thursday -- better late than never

2009-09-11T08:41:00.002-04:00

I made a promise to myself to list things that make me thankful every Thursday. Technically it is Friday, but I am no less thankful for these things.

Apple picking at beautiful and fragrant Hartland Orchard.

Enough teeth left to take a bite out of every apple on the ground.

Successful first days of Kindergarten.

Kai's Tooth

2009-09-09T22:28:00.003-04:00

Get Drew off to school for his second day of kindergarten.....check.

Clean house for Book Club discussion at my house....check.

Host 5 ladies and 10 children for lunch and delightful amounts of girl gabbing.....check.

Welcome home Drew from another successful day at school.....check.

Watch as Kai barrel rolls down 3 stairs and pops out a tooth....check.

What?
It popped out?

Yep, his bottom tooth just shot out of his mouth like a pop gun. Kind of sounded like one, too.

Between the copious amounts of blood and wailing I managed to call his dentist at 5 minutes to 5:00 and was told "bring him right in."

I was sure that he was going to be in terrible tooth pain the entire 20 minute drive to the office. However, after Kai managed to pitifully moan "coooookieee," I had a feeling that the pain and wailing were just about over.

After an inspection from the dentist, Kai was declared "just fine." Just fine if you don't care about a gaping hole in your child's grin!

We were also told that it may or may not (a phrase I loathe) cause damage to the future permanent tooth and that.....I'll quote directly here...."Even if it did, there isn't a damn thing we can do about it." (We really like this dentist. She's just our style.)

So out we went to get some chicken nuggets and fries and begin our life with hillbilly boy.

It is about perspective, right?

Sure it isn't a limb or otherwise necessary appendage. But it was his perfect little tooth that helped to make up that perfect little smile on my perfect little round bottomed baby.

I feel a little bit in mourning. Perfect has now turned into "quirky." And dare I say it....

Red-necky? (I AM from Alabama. I'm sensitive about those kinds of things.)

Now he will be followed by a question...

"Oh, your boy is so cute....what happened to his tooth?"

"Would you look at that smile? Darling.....has he ever been able to eat corn-on-the-cob?"

So, I don't have the heart to post a picture today. I'm admittedly vain (and dramatic, Jay says). I'll gather up my courage and gain perspective and make myself laugh at the whole thing............tomorrow.

Then I'll post a picture.

Oh, give me strength! (that would be the dramatic part)

Dear...

2009-09-04T08:15:00.004-04:00

Dear Sleepless Night,

Your presence here has been most enlightening. I've learned a lot of things about life during our HOURS together beneath the full moon. You've educated me on the world during the twilight hours, when half the world is asleep, and you continue to do your tap dance on my brain. I can hear the crickets and the frogs and the birds doing dances of their own.....you must be two-timing me, because they're awake, too. Could they also be contemplating the same things that my mind has been churning around and around like a rock tumbler?

Last night I spent a good hour on how nice those little salad forks are that are made of wood and look like robot hands. A FULL HOUR!!! I've always wanted some of those. A modest wish...

I tumbled around some menu ideas for my upcoming lunch with my book club ladies. A pasta salad, perhaps? What about a strawberry spinach salad that would be perfect with the aforementioned tongs? We read "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" but I don't think a potato peel pie would be edible for our rather feminine palates. And yet, I contemplated...

I made mental lists of food needing to be purchased, abandoned projects that needed to be revived and windows that are so filmy with little hand prints that they look frosted. Nice for privacy but not so nice for aesthetics. And still, I pondered...

And I thought about kindergarten.

I mulled over how I felt about sending my child off with strangers for 8 hours and how I was informed that 10 days advanced notice is required to take my child on an extended vacation. 10 days!!! And I have to get "approval" for MY child! MY child.....or is he now Prince William County Public School's child?

Can't we talk about these things at three in the afternoon instead of three in the morning? My dark circles would be so appreciative.

Sleepless Night, you weren't so bad to have around when I had to study for a test. But when my alarm clock squeals, "MAMA!" from its crib at 6:30 a.m. and I have to attentively listen to Captain Owen talk about how he "dream-ded" about putting eggs in the wrong place (which was this mornings dream conversation)......well, I need all my wits about me.

So I've devised a plan to make your transition OUT of my life a bit easier.

I bought myself a pair of these.....

I wrote down all my lists and checked off a few to-do's.

I've tumbled and pondered and contemplated and mulled and wished and listened. What more could you want from me?

Please. Go. Away.

Thank you, and good night.

Thankful Thursday

2009-09-03T20:35:00.011-04:00

**Photo sizes are a little crazy. Still trying to figure a few things out with a few different programs.

With all the complaining and belly aching that I post on my not-so-private family journal, I've decided to infuse a little cheerfulness so that my posterity won't think I'm a grumpy, petrified old stick in the mud. So every Thursday I shall try to list some of the happiest thoughtful thoughts I can think. Hopefully one day, if my boys read my ramblings, they will know that their Mama loved her life staying home with them.....well, most of the time.

I am thankful for.......

Boys that recognize my vocal acumen by requesting
"The Star Spangled Banner" (Drew)...
and
"Santa Clause is Coming to Town" (Owen)
for their bedtime recital.

Cankles....
when they aren't my own.

Brothers who find the fun in everything...
and nothing.

Husbands who always carry their fair share of the "family business"....
and then some.

Big boys that say (after an overwhelming orientation),
"I thought you should hear some good news, Mama.
I'm really excited about my Kindergarten class."

Squeals of delight... on the baby swing.

A carefree childhood.
They'll be grown up soon enough.

A Few Teeth and a Dog (written in May when the events actually occurred)

2009-08-27T23:37:00.005-04:00

I wasn't expecting it.

I knew it would happen soon enough because it was loose, but not THAT loose. I thought the Toothfairy had at least another month to prepare for her first arrival at the Spencer home. So when Drew bounded down the stairs exclaiming, "I lost my tooth!" I was taken aback.

"You lost your tooth?" I asked.

"Yeah, I lost my tooth." He replied

"Well, let me see it!" I said. (My first baby lost his first baby tooth!!! What a milestone!)

"But Mom, I said I lost my tooth." Drew replied with exasperation.

"I KNOW you lost it. I heard you. Did you already put it under your pillow?" I replied, just as exasperated.

"MAMA!!! I SAID I LOST IT," he reiterated.

.......Silence.......

"You lost it?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I lost it." He answered matter-of-factly.

"Like, gone?" I quizzed, in disbelief.

"Yep. I don't have it anymore," came the reply with an "I've-told-you-that-a-million-times" look.

"Did you spit it in the sink after brushing your teeth? Did you swallow it? Did you drop it on the ground after you pulled it out?" I implored, practically shaking him to get an acceptable answer.

"I don't know, Mama. I LOST it. It's just....lost."

After I sat there digesting that bit of information and contemplating if a little tooth could indeed be digesting in the belly of my 5 year old, my mind raced ahead to the little issue of the Toothfairy.

Earlier that very Saturday the Toothfairy spent the meager amount of cash she had at a roadside stand advertising fresh orange blossom honey and kettle corn. (She'll fly over a dozen Wal-Marts without a second glance; but put a hand painted sign on the side of the road advertising fresh foods and goodies and she'll magically appear there every time.)

In an effort to make-up for the woefully inadequate supply of cash in her coffer, the Toothfairy (disguised as me) brokered a deal.

I explained that since Drew didn't have an actual tooth he would have to come up with an alternate plan as to how the Toothfairy would know that he had lost his tooth.

After some consideration, the plan was to place a shark's tooth from our shell collection underneath Drew's pillow and then hope that the Toothfairy was in a generous mood.

Seeing as how the Toothfairy didn't have any cash, she devised a plan of her own. A kind note was left under the pillow of the now gap-toothed little boy explaining how her business works. She couldn't just leave the money for a tooth that clearly belonged to a ferocious fish and not a sweet child. No, she had a reputation to uphold!

The next morning Drew discovered a note stating that an explanation was required for payment to be received.

Drew was completely nonplussed. It was as if he got notes under his pillow every day. He was a calm, cool, collected businessman who had one goal in mind....to seal the deal. So, he did as he was asked and got a dollar under his pillow.

There were lessons to be learned all around. The Toothfairy learned that she must always have cash on hand when boys have wiggly teeth. Drew learned that the Toothfairy, despite the fluffy name, drives a hard bargain.

And thankfully, one week later the lessons had not been forgotten, for Drew lost his second tooth in his hot dog! Yes, his Oscar Meyer all beef frank had a little tiny baby tooth stuck right in the side of its all beef goodness.

No strings attached to a tooth, attached to a swinging doorknob. No tooth dangling by a thread for weeks before the parent holds down the screaming child and yanks out the offending tooth with a pair of rusty pliers from the tool shed.

Nope, just a hot dog. Charming.

Unfortunate Sequence of Events

2009-08-26T19:10:00.010-04:00

Today was "one of those days."

I feel like I am the captain of a team that is 0 for 50 and each loss is by only one point. ONE tiny point! Somehow it is harder to lose by one point than to lose by 75 because, let's be real, losing by a lot means you were never in the ball park to begin with. Losing by only one means you just couldn't get your act together and go the distance. Very disheartening. You can smell the sweet aroma of victory but you're not going to get the feast.

And when the other team hoots and hollers after their mere margin of victory...well, you want to go over and duct tape them to the wall, take away all their toys and then climb in bed with a good book.

Here's the play-by-play:

I heard the captain of the "other" team opening the cereal box and leave it on the table. Before I could put up a block, the co-captain threw a hail-Mary and dumped the contents on the floor. Then the third member of the team snuck in for the extra point and stepped all over the Kix, doing the obnoxious victory dance.

Score one for the other team!
Zero for me!

I was a day late and a dollar short. Behind the 8 ball. Running to stand still.

Jay is trying to convince me that it isn't about the battles. It is about the war. So, it is with that little nugget of rubbish that I took the other team to the library and to Costco. Bound and determined to win one of the battles today.

Nineteen books and three kids excited about one day being literate...Score!!! I win at the library!

But......

They won in Costco. (Ask me later how loudly Kai's screeching can reverberate off the warehouse walls. I'm not prepared to talk about it. But suffice it to say...it's like the Swiss Alps in that place!)

So now the teams are all tied up.

Back on home turf I was ready for battle.....

Kai was thirsty (who wouldn't be after the opera he performed at Costco?) and I couldn't find his sippy cup. This isn't unusual, I found it in Jay's toilet yesterday. So I fill up another and go about the dinnertime routine.

I preheat the oven and head outside to start the grill and poke around the yard. I return to the kitchen and smell a funny aroma. I take note of this and head off to put the burgers on the grill and poke around the yard a little more.

Upon entering the house the funny aroma had given way to full-on noxious fumes and the smoke was stinging my eyes. I rush to the oven (preheated to 450 degrees, of course) and discover......

The missing sippy cup.
Kai found a new hiding place

Final Score: Me - 1
Other Team - 4,253,967

It wasn't anywhere close!
There is some consolation in that.

Poetry

2009-08-25T10:28:00.014-04:00

I am NOT a poet.

If truth be told, I don't even like poetry.

The only poetry I've read is what was forced on me in high school and a college lit class. And it was torture. Like, poke your eyes with toothpicks to stay awake, or gag myself with my mechanical pencil with all the lovey-dovey, tortured soul poet stuff, kind of torture.

Robert Frost is not my friend and I'm not inspired by Emily Bronte or the like. However, give me a great Dr. Seuss book and I'm good to go. (I don't call his work poetry out of principle.)

Call me simple minded, that's okay.

I've never written a single poem in my life. So when I sat down to write my little "Ode to the Soda Can" a while back I wasn't thinking of poetry. I was thinking of Dr. Seuss and how to complain about my husband without sounding like a nagging, bitter housewife who is airing her dirty laundry on the information super-highway!

So it is in that vein that I write about our beloved middle child and his problem with socks. Yes, socks.

A wee tiny babe with bright orange hair
A mother's delight that made others to stare.

You've had stitches and super-glue
To mend your deep wounds
And you only eat food with self-titled "Owen spoons."

Angelic and peaceful you seem to appear
But under the smile is a sinister sneer.

You have a dirty secret,
An obsession so great
That rehab and hypnosis would be needed to break.

You refuse to eat bread or things of the like
A muffin, a roll, Sacrament bread...Not one bite!

But one thing you will have
And plenty, you do!
Socks! Socks! and more Socks!
A strange passion....who knew?

You love them, its true
You've made that apparent.
But why can't you listen to me?
I AM YOUR PARENT!!!

Put them, oh, put them, oh
PUT THEM AWAY!
I'm tired of just finding one dirty lost stray.

It must be genetic 'cause it is no joke.
You're just like your Dad and his wandering Coke.

You leave them on driveways and porches and grass
On counters and tables and in the gross trash.

My room and your room and Kai's room and Drew's
It would be nicer if you could just choose!

I've given you baskets and buckets and bins
Containers and cubbies to keep your socks in.

Old Navy and Target and Wal-Mart we go
In search of accoutrement's to cover your toe.

I've spent my life's savings (which wasn't that much)
To feed your obsession- Your 3 year old's crutch.

You've lost your inheritance. It pains me to know
That one day you'll ask me,
"Mama, where did it go?"

I'll answer sincerely, no sarcasm here.
(Well, maybe a little wee motherly jeer.)

"Look down and you'll find it! It's not hard to see."
My boy, you are wearing it so....

DO NOT BLAME ME!!!"

Another Fave Quote

2009-08-24T08:49:00.008-04:00

And its only 8:30!!!

Drew yells from the toy room:
(Sometimes it is nice that he is a tattle tale.)

"MaaaaaaMaaaaaaa.......... Kai is putting some of Daddy's things in the toilet!"

So, I rescue said items.
I decide to lock the bathroom door.
Something had to be done,
I've fished Kai himself out of the toilet several times in the past week.

But I have a small confession....
Maybe I giggled, just a little bit, when I retrieved Jay's things from the toilet.
He'll never know what things they were.
I won't tell him.
Everyone needs an element of danger and "living on the edge" in their life, right?

Fave Quote of the Day

2009-07-25T09:28:00.003-04:00

Captain Owen says (through giant tears and choking sobs):
"MAMA, YOU ARE RUINING MY HEART!"

Mama says (with great concern and compassion):
"Why, sweet boy?"

Captain Owen (with great emphasis):
"BECAUSE YOU WON'T DO WHAT I SAY!!!"

Mama says:
"Three words for you.....

Pot.

Kettle.

Black."

A Little Love Letter

2009-07-23T10:02:00.011-04:00

Dear Husband:

Oh, how I love you so!!

I love your thick and meaty hands.
I love that you dream with me about future home plans.

I love that you make homemade ice cream.
And that together we make a good team.

I love that you work so hard
Carefully sculpting and manicuring our big giant yard.

But with every love story there has to be this,
There has to be something to banish our bliss.

There is something I just cannot stand.
If you try real hard, you'll understand...

I DO NOT love your soda cans!!!!!!!

I do not love them here:

or there:

I do not love them ANYWHERE!!!

I find them in the sink and car.
It's like our house is a soda bar.

Please don't think my feelings are rash....
But I rarely find soda cans in the trash!!!!

Our baby hunts them high and low.
The caffeine drug, he shouldn't know.

So consider this your final strike.
I've banished soda day and night.

You will not find them here:

Or there:

You won't find soda ANYWHERE.

I love you still
It's for the best.
'Cause I want our marriage to stand the test!

So its me or the cans,
One has to go.

I've spoken my peace
And now you know!

The Engineer

2009-07-07T14:04:00.015-04:00

I have a superhero of my very own... Captain Owen. I'm in possession of an astronaut-in-training named Kai. Jay is my partner-in-crime and right (and left) hand man.

Now I'd like to introduce the world to my little engineer.....Drew.

He "reads" books about inventions that are meant for boys twice his age. But no matter, he pours over his books devouring the pictures and stories about how plastic came to be or that the first dentures were held in place by painful springs. He sits transfixed.

This is a boy who likes Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and feels that "Dora" and "Diego" are beneath him. Quite frankly, I agree. I mean, what 5 year old knows practically every fish in the Gulf of Mexico by sight AND the food value of said fish? My little engineer, that's who.

Drew's process of play is procedural. Every person, object or toy has a reason and an order of events which they must follow. When other children are throwing caution to the wind, Drew is calculating where the wind is coming from and how that might affect his intricately assembled ship made out of found objects.

He isn't prone to sudden outbursts of love and affection or unplanned displays of childhood abandon. When I get an unsolicited, "I love you, Mom" I cherish the moment because one might not come for a little while.

He is gangly and awkward with a snaggly, bucked-tooth grin. (Which I take no credit for. Jay is the one that muddied up that gene pool.)

He has hair so thick that it repels water and limbs so long that he trips over his own shadow. After he lands in a heap and pauses a minute to contemplate the forces of nature that sent him tumbling to the ground, he gets up resembling a baby giraffe trying to figure out what to do with all that yardage of limbs.

I could run in front of the TV waving buckets of candy, blasting a bugle and twirling fire batons, and Drew would not even notice. He can concentrate better than anyone I've ever known.

He's in a tough spot. He isn't a precocious redhead like Owen or an adorable, squishy baby like Kai. But he has a brilliant mind and a tender heart.

I hope I don't ruin him. I hope that I can understand him enough to be a good parent to him. I hope I can help him to dream big. And I hope I can instill in him a confidence to follow whatever dreams he dreams up.

For now, his dreams are manifested with his Lego's and pipe cleaners and army men. Pretty brilliant, if you ask me.....an unbiased and completely impartial observer. Right?

He was missing a hanger....so he engineered his own.

Drew's battlefield.
Mr. Potato Head is surrounded.

Everything is very precise and orderly.
And Ms. Corn is a goner.

It was pipe cleaner day and he made me a bracelet of "gems."
And spectacles for himself.
We were very bored.