Our Fallen Hero Part 2

Owen.

What more do I need to say?

If I survive his exploits and adventures I deserve a designer handbag and more sassy shoes.

I know other kids are mischievous and inquisitive. But they aren't my kids!

Owen belongs to me.

We haven't had any "misadventures" in a while so I've been enjoying the relative calm. And then in the blink of an eye my Captain Owen disappeared and became Evil Owen.

Right on the heels of the brownie disaster came the "great kung-fu caper of '09."

Starring me! Finally my chance at stardom and Owen handed it to me on a plate!

I found myself amidst a tornado of Lego's, army guys, trains, airplanes, dinosaurs and scraggly little boys. I had no make-up on and the same pants that I wore the day before. Kai had snot ropes shooting out of his nose (sorry for the visual, but it adds to the drama!) and Drew had hair horns shooting from his scalp like Mt. Crumpit.

We were a mess!

I was in the basement toy room ignoring all the chaos around me and the grime in the sink just one floor up. Lost in a daydream (I was skiing) I noticed that it was too quiet for 3 boys. Owen had slipped upstairs.

Oh, no! Past experience indicates a disaster in the making.

Luckily, just as panic set in, he came down the stairs and I was happy that no unfortunate incident took place.

Shortly thereafter, a horrific scent wafted to my nose. I realized that Kai had a dirty diaper to beat all dirty diapers and needed a change before we passed out from the fumes.

I ascended the stairs to squeals of, "EEwwww! What's that smell? Something stinks!" As I reached to door and started to turn the knob I realized that Evil Owen had struck again.

That little devil locked us in the basement!

I didn't panic. I went to get the metal hanger to poke open the lock.

Wouldn't you just know it? The lock requires a KEY!

I have no key!

I can't go around to the front or back of the house because both doors were locked. The windows were locked. I had no key for anything and I was stuck in the basement with a foul stench, ankle biters, no food and no hope of rescue.

My phone was of no use because the only person that could save us was Jay. And he was stuck in the underbelly of the Pentagon and rarely reachable.

I had but one option. I had to bust down the door! I had to go full on Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris on our basement door!

Rage and anger were on my side, so I geared up for a full-throttle assault. I started by using my hip to test the resistance. After a few mediocre thrusts I gave the door what I thought would be the final blow.

Nothing!

A few creaks and groans from me AND the door, but it was still in place.

By this time, I was so mad at Owen and the door that I realized I had to pull out all the stops. I had to kick the door in! (Thankfully, I was wearing my gym shoes and not my sassy peep-toes.)

After a few test kicks I had a thought pop into my mind. "Just check the front door."

I always lock the front door. Always. But maybe, just maybe....

I hiked around the side of the house in 28 degree weather, cussing the entire way.

GLORY HALLELUJAH!!!!

So who feels silly now? I just waged World War III on my basement door!

My brother Dane told me a phrase that firefighters use that might help me should I find myself in this position again...

"Try before you pry!"

Thanks. I'll remember that.

Our Fallen Hero Part 1

I suppose he can't help it. It really is a difficult job being super. At times, an almost insurmountable task.

History is littered with heroes that couldn't take the pressure and fame that comes with the job. They make a mistake and in the blink of an eye go from famous to infamous.

And so it goes with Captain Owen. He is now just plain old "Owen."

Every super hero has a weakness. Superman had kryptonite and Spiderman had Mary Jane.

Owen has.... brownies.

Perhaps it was the fact that his super-cape was in the washing machine that allowed for the moment of weakness. Whatever the cause, the damage was done.

The "fall from grace" tale begins as follows, on a cold winter's morn.....

We had been stuck in the house following a winter storm. The snow had lost its appeal and turned to treacherous ice. There was no preschool and no gym. The Super Dad had been trapped in the Pentagon under a tremendous workload and had been getting home after midnight. So there was no "Daddy Diversion." (Too bad Captain Owen couldn't swoop down and rescue him!)

We only had each other for company and amusement....and it was starting to wear thin!!!

I employed the diversionary tactic of making brownies. And the boys were completely in charge. They cracked the eggs, stirred the batter and waited anxiously for the fruits of their labor to cool.

After lunch we had a great, gooey chocolaty treat and everyone was satisfied.

But in a moment of insanity, the Mama decided to do something for herself and was not on her guard. Owen slipped away undetected.

That is NEVER a good thing!

Moments later, from behind me, I hear Owen exclaim in a sing-song voice, "Hey you guys! I got some brownies for you!"

I didn't even have to turn around to know that this was bad.

Real bad.

There, clutched tightly in his grubby hands, were fistfuls of brownies squeezed into unrecognizable lumps of chocolate goop.

We followed the crumbs back up the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen. There was the pan of brownies with a large crater in the center of the once even surface.

Owen was required to get the dust buster (which was purchased specifically because of him) and suck up the remnants of our morning project that had been scattered around the house.

His heart was in the right place. But every hero has his vice.

I'll just blame it on the missing cape.

Captain Owen

We had a sighting.

The ever elusive superhero decided to grace our home with his presence.

He came in the early morning hours when the competing superhero was off at preschool defeating the monsters.

His cape was gleaming in royal blue displaying only the hint of a previous battle with red fingernail polish. The vestiges of war. The wounds of a former battle displayed for all to see like a badge of honor and courage.

With fists clenched and teeth bared, Captain Owen flew around the kitchen in a blur of blue and red. The flaming hair a trademark and symbol of hope for the innocent.... but an emblem of doom and fear for those who dare to want to keep a clean house.

Captain Owen's body lives on juice and taquitos, but his spirit is fueled by the desire to search and destroy.

As the great and abominable red-headed grown-up was busy scrubbing down the round bottomed baby in an upstairs tub, Captain Owen was busy dismantling the kitchen. Every pot and pan and utensil was dispersed throughout the land so the Captain could practice his budding culinary skills.

(He believes whole heartedly in continuing education and expanding his skill set! Times are tough and the economy indicates that superhero work is waning. Captain Owen is a forward thinker.)

Not only does Captain Owen believe in continuing education, but also in new and innovative ways of cleaning and freshening a bathroom. Ever the helper!

As the Mama was engrossed in cooking vittles to fuel the superhero, he was busy dumping out the baby powder in the basement bathroom. Before his covert operation was discovered, he cleaned up the incriminating evidence with his Daddy's toothbrush. Very smart, indeed.

Recently, Captain Owen abandoned the practice of mispronouncing his "L's." No longer can he be tricked into saying, "woop-de-woop." (For loop the loop.) He is too savvy for that!

Our family could not be more excited that Captain Owen is gracing us with his presence. He is quick to hug and squeeze as tight as he can. Superheros never do anything half way!

On the rare occasion that his super powers fail him and he messes up, the Captain is ready with an apology and a kiss.

Captain Owen isn't all steel and stoicism. He has a new and improved 21st century superhero side to him. A sensitive streak. He notices when the Mama is sad or upset and gently pats my back or whispers i love you as he swoops by on his way to another important mission.

He likes to ask, "Mama, are you happy?" As a grin spreads across his face.

This is one of the strongest super powers he possesses. The Mama cannot help but melt under his power and feel the utmost joy and happiness to be the keeper of this little Captain.

Job Description

I've been bamboozled! Isn't motherhood supposed to be like the Gerber commercials?

I want you to go with me now, to the place where the baby sleeps peacefully while you read a book by a roaring fire. The older children are playing quietly so as not to disturb the slumber of the peaceful baby. (Who, by the way, isn't spotted with bruises and scrapes from his many encounters with the floor, wall or other obstruction!) Boys are neatly dressed in clothes without set-in stains and holes in the knees. And the mother is smartly clothed in a pale pink cashmere twinset.

All a pack of lies! A deception set forth to make sleep deprived and unsuspecting moms buy products that might make them get one step closer to the "Gerber" commercial. It is a conspiracy!

Most days I don't let myself get sucked into the delusion. Other days, however, I just wish. I wish for serenity and calmness and everything Gerber-esque.

Recently, I've been doing the wishing. I've planned and hosted my own little pity party where I am the guest of honor. It is a party to remember and long for the days in Greenwich where I had dozens of students, production meetings, classes to teach, meetings to attend and friends to visit. I was someone important. I had something to do.

Now, I do nothing. I take care of the boys, try to keep the house from disappearing under dirt and grime, and go to church. When Jay asks me, "What did you do today?" I ponder the question and the answer is always the same. "Nothing. A big fat nothing. Nothing new or different to report."

In an effort to extract myself from the never ending party of pity, I decide to conduct an experiment. I decide to write down what I do in a day.

Here are the results (Mostly in random order):

Change Kai and give him a bottle.

Shortly thereafter I call the Poison Control Center for instructions on what to do after a baby has eaten dishwasher detergent.

Clean up the copious amounts of throw-up that was brought on by the detergent.

Give another bottle and change Kai's clothes.

*All of that was accomplished before 7:00 a.m.

For breakfast I prepare 2 eggs on toast, cereal, oatmeal and bananas (NOT the instant variety), and section a grapefruit.

Take Drew to and from preschool.

Prepare 4 snacks.

Dispense numerous cups of juice (watered down, of course).

Make homemade pizza, rice cereal and pears (both homemade, not from a box or jar), applesauce and make a hamburger and asparagus for myself. (No carbs or sugar for me!!!)

Change 3 poopie diapers.

Supervise an art project, sort the toys, clean a toilet, put away the laundry, load and unload the dishwasher, read 4 books, have an impromptu photo shoot, make cookies, and wipe noses.

**All of this was done while wearing my leopard print, peep-toe wedges. I find that wearing a sassy shoe helps you forget that you have oatmeal crusted on your shirt and Cherrios crunching underfoot!

After I went to the gym and ran 2 miles, biked 8, and pumped some iron (NOT while wearing the aforementioned shoes!) I made grilled chicken, Brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes.

Then Jay gets home and we work on the bedtime routine and then collapse into bed. (After I blog and catch up on email and read a

magazine article.)

The conclusion to my experiment?

Life changes.

Perspectives broaden.

The Pity Party is over. Everyone can go home......and the Gerber commercials aren't invited into my home ever again!

What will I say when Jay asks, "What did you do today?"

I'll probably still say, "Nothing."

A Spencer Party

With all the angst I exhibited in the post, "Party Paranoia", I decided to document how I like to do a party. Not that hoop-la and extravaganza are wrong.....I'm just lazy!

Honestly, I love celebrating Birthdays with my boys in a small and intimate way. I love to be able to look at their little faces behind the glow of the candles. I love to see the pride they have as they blow out all their candles with one puff. (I suppress the urge to tell them that blowing out 3 measly candles is no big deal. Wait until you get 33 and see how your lungs do when confronted with that bonfire!)

I love being able to give them a small but meaningful gift that delights them. There isn't a mile high mound of presents to distract and beguile. I like to keep the focus on them and being with the family.

But, alas, I am no dummy. I realize that my kids will want to fly out of the coccoon I've created and have parties where the focus is more on the friends and games than our little family. I'm preparing myself. I'm relishing these years when I can keep them close.....all to myself.

So, here is a pictorial review of how we celebrated our birthdays last year.

Kai's birth was much anticipated but somewhat overshadowed by
our big move 9 days after he was born! I don't recommend it.

My dad always visits so we can celebrate our collective Birthdays together. November 3-4 is very exciting for us. Drew turned 5, I turned 21 and my Dad turned as old as the dirt! We were at the park down the street to celebrate and play.

We have a tradition of always wearing Birthday hats. I don't know why I don't have mine on. My Dad is always a good sport. He'll do anything for his grandsons!

Jay's Birthday was more exciting for the boys than Jay. I gave them free reign over the cake decorating responsibilities. They took their task VERY seriously. The decorations du jour were pretzels and jelly beans.

Jay was on a diet so he didn't get to experience the lovely taste of pretzel, jelly bean, and germ cake! Lucky him. And don't ask me why we don't have a single picture of Jay on HIS Birthday.

Turning 3 is a big deal. Owen was very proud to have everyone sing "Happy Birthday " to him. He was perched up on that chair like an emperor gazing down on his subjects. Auntie and Uncle Neil came down from Manhattan so he felt even MORE important. The joke was on him, though. His Birthday was really the week before and we didn't tell him! It just seemed better to wait until Carly and Neil could be there. Oh, the deception!
After the cake, we went to the Washington DC Temple to see the Christmas lights. Good thing it was FREEZING out so nobody looked twice at our blue teeth and lips from the frosting.
Here's to a few more Birthdays free of hoop-la and extravaganza.

Party Paranoia

As my boys grow up and venture out into the wide world I am forced to come in contact with the proverbial "Joneses."  And so the age-old game has begun....the "Keeping up with the Jones" game.

It is a formidable task.  Daunting and draining.  And VERY discouraging!  I just don't know the rules!

Do I join the rat race?  Or set my own pace?  

I'm new at the game of parenting.  I'm only just beginning to figure out my parental philosophies. Some philosophies are already set in stone and non-negotiable.  Things like: respecting yourself and others, no hitting, no embarrassing your parents (we've got a long way to go on this one), pizza IS a major food group, Mama is a beautiful princess, etc.

Other philosophies are evolving or forming.  I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I'm making it up as I go along!  Working on the fly.  Winging it, even.

Birthday parties enter the "winging it"  column.  What exactly is the party protocol?  

In the absence of a sufficient answer I do what any self-respecting Mom would do.  I ask myself, "What would the Jones's do?"

Oh, how I wish the Jones were around for a little Q&A before I sent Drew off to a party last weekend!

Weeks earlier a fancy, bedazzled and adorned card arrived in the mail inviting Drew to a birthday party at a local kids' party palace.  There would be games and pizza and cake and all the fun and excitement a 5 year old could want.  There would also be the all important gift giving gala.

Oh, no!  A gift!  

What do I get for a gift?  What does this kid (that I wouldn't recognize if he bit me) want or need? What is the gift giving protocol?

So I employed my budding parental philosophy chip to work out a system that would serve me now and for future parties.  I asked myself various questions.  

1.  Would I want someone to spend a lot of money on a gift?  No.

2.  Would I want a gift that requires batteries, that blinks and blares and beeps at me?  No.  (But my kids probably do!)

3.  Would I want my kids to get something edible?  No.

Armed with my new philosophy I decided to purchase one of Drew's favorite books.

This wasn't objectionable to Drew.  So we wrapped it up in leftover Christmas wrapping paper that we turned over for the white side to face out.  Plunked a silver and purple bow on the outside (also leftover from the holidays), and Drew wrote the  "To and From" right on the paper.  (I was in a bind and short on time.  It was all I had.  In the future, I'll do better on this front. I'll get real paper next time.)

Off we went, secure in our choice.

As we drove up to the palace I saw balloons and gifts and tons of cars.  I panicked!  

Oh no!  I scrimped on the gift!  What were all the other Jones's bringing? 

Too late now to go and get an out-of-this-world gift, I sent him in clutching the meager offering.  After I yelled out the window for Drew to wipe the peanut butter from his face, we left him there to pig out, play out, and party out....five-year-old style.

As Drew emerged from the party 2 hours later with a sugar hangover I noticed he was toting a gift for himself.  A party favor.  In the fancy and ornate box were little toys, novelty candy and all manner of goodies.  

Pooh.  The party favors were better than the gift I wrapped in inside-out snowman paper!

I realized then and there that my philosophy on parties was flawed.  I need to go back and rewrite, restructure and reconfigure the parameters for gift giving.  

Oh, the perils of parenting and keeping up with the Joneses.  It's a dirty job and unfortunately I've got to do it.

Magic

I miss the sound of applause.

I miss taking a bow.

I miss getting a paycheck.... for taking the bow and listening to the applause.

Call me vain or self-possessed.  Call me what you will.  But taking a curtain call is in a word....magic.

It has been years since I took my final bow and the curtain closed.  I knew I could return when the time was right.  I also knew that I didn't really have to leave the theatre at all.  Jay supported me in whatever choice I made.  

But....I knew a new Act in my life was beginning.  A new show was ready to be staged.

Sometimes I feel like the all important producer or director.  Most times, though, I feel like a bit player trying desperately to be noticed.  Who are the stars?  I'll give you three guesses.

Drew.

Owen.

Kai.

They get the applause now.  

In fact, Owen got applause 5 times yesterday.  

"Mama....I DID it!"  He says after he managed to get all of his potty in the toilet and not on the floor or wall.  

He got thunderous applause for this one.

I applauded him after he choked down one measly bite of pear.  (It took a full 5 minutes for him to actually swallow it.  But we're taking baby steps!)

Owen got applause for snapping a particularly difficult snap on his new pair of jeans, making a sea horse out of Play-Doh, and standing on one leg for a long time.  He was brimming with pride and I dutifully gave him his standing-o.

Drew got applause for not writing his J backwards.  I clapped for him when he counted to 100.  In fact, I was a captive audience for the 2 very riveting shows of "Listen to me count to 100, Mama!"   

I clapped both times.  

I even shouted "BRAVO!" when Drew caught the ball 5 times in a row.  (He got to take a bow for this one.)

And Kai...he's taking his first steps now.  I applauded for those two little wobbly steps.  

So the stars get their kudos and accolades.  And the bit player continues to do her work.  Show after show, day after day.  

Where is the magic for me?  I certainly don't get applause.  And the paycheck is a distant memory.  

So what's a theatre girl to do?

I've discovered my new magic.....

My magic happens when a 3 year old runs in with tears on his cheeks saying,  "Mama!  Kiss it!  Kiss it!"  And I have the power to make the pain stop and the tears disappear....with my magic kiss.  

Magic happens when I hear Drew say to Owen, "Make sure you keep Kai company while I go to the bathroom.  We don't want him to be sad in his crib, all alone."  

And magic is being married to your best friend for almost 10 years and you can't wait for another 10!

Despite the magic happening all around me, I have a dirty little secret......

I...

Still miss.....

the applause.

Jay

Obviously, I knew Jay was special when I married him almost 10 years ago.  He possessed all the qualities I could ever hope for in a husband....and then some.  I'd like to hone in on the "and then some."

I'll save all the mushy expressions of love and adoration for a later time.  Right now, I want to focus on the quirks that my dream guy has that might not be as obvious to the outside world. These quirks have revealed themselves to me little by little over the years and have served to keep me intrigued despite the seemingly ordinary existence we find ourselves in.  

I warn you, these qualities are not what you expect.  These are the qualities that truly make Jay "special."  

As I was putting away some things in our room I opened up Jay's bedside table. The variety of items in this little drawer is astonishing!  I discovered things that you might expect to find next to a bed.....a book, a pen, lotion, remote.  There were mechanic and woodworking magazines and every kind of catalog imaginable.

However, it is one small item that typifies how my sweet husband operates.  (At this point you may insert the Sesame Street song "One of These Things is Not Like the Others".)

Among the mundane items I found a.......

Spark plug!!!!!

Who has a spark plug next to their bed?  And why?  And how did this little item make its way from a car, from the garage, into my bedroom?  

I also know that I am forever, inextricably linked to Jay because I actually recognized the foreign object!

Not only does Jay keep car parts next to his bed, but he has a thing about rodents.  

Specifically.....mice.

To me (and most of the world, I might add), mice are not good for one blooming thing.  (Except for in a lab.)  Any and all mice should be hunted down and killed.  I make no bones about it.  I want them killed.  

PETA, you can hate me all you want!

If they are in my house, terrorizing me and my children, then all bets are off.  

As man of the house, I expect Jay to terminate these pests efficiently and vigorously.  

However, Rambo he is NOT!  (MacGyver...yes.  Rambo...no.)

He is the only man I know that will actually give the mouse a "heads-up" before he tries to capture it.  There is no "termination".  Jay just wants to "catch and release."  

In our home in Greenwich, CT we had an unwanted guest.  We shall call him "Jerry."  He had been terrorizing us for weeks, leaving his "evidence" behind just to taunt us.  (And gross us out.)

 The final straw was when he was spotted on our Triscuit box in the pantry.

"GAME ON!!!"  I said. 

Plans were made, traps were set, and warfare commenced.......

Well....Jerry escaped 2 times from the "traps" that Jay placed.  Jerry got a stomach full of delicious peanut butter for his time.  And Jay got an earful from his wife!  

The last straw was when Jerry was thoroughly stuck on the glue trap in the middle of our kitchen.  Finally, Jay had Jerry just where I wanted him!!!  But...

Jay didn't feel the need to deal with the captive so he decided to wait until morning.  Fateful decision.  That strategy, once again, was doomed.  

Jerry outsmarted my husband!  

Jerry wriggled and writhed his way over to the radiator, warmed up the glue on the trap, and bolted to freedom.  Snickering the whole way.

Moral of the story?  If you want your car fixed.....call Jay.  

If you want to rid your home of unwanted house guests....consult the phone book.

Bah, Humbug!

I take back everything nice I said about Kai in the previous post. I take back the "beautiful" and I definitely take back "magnificent." Kai has officially been placed on the naughty and not nice list!

Shortly after I posted my last entry, Kai decided to join the club. The "Hooligans Anonymous" club. CEO is Owen. CFO is Drew. Newest pledge is Kai.  Hooligans... all!!!

I thought I had at least several more months until Kai's initiation.  You see, you must do something grand and impressive to be considered for the club.  Surely Kai is too young to be in the running, I thought.  

I thought wrong!

Previous pledges gained entry into this exclusive club by doing things like painting their face, hands, clothes and Mama and Daddy's bed with red fingernail polish.....15 minutes before church.  (Thanks, Owen!)

Drew joined after he wrote on our fireplace, walls, dishwasher and fridge with red crayon.  (In the interest of full disclosure, he was under the very "watchful" eye of Jay at the time.)

What could Kai possibly do at the tender age of nine months, you ask?

He could summon the police!

Apparently, if a child calls 9-1-1 and then proceeds to slobber on and then hang up the phone, it requires a visit from the friendly neighborhood county police.  Imagine my surprise when a completely bald, rather stern police officer shows up at the door with a wad of chew in his mouth, .45 caliber pistol on his hip, bullet proof vest, and asks, "Is there a problem, ma'am? We got a 911 hang up call."

Well, I have Kai on my hip, a confused scowl on my face, and hooligans swirling about playing "monster" and I have to suppress the urge to respond, "Yeah, there's a problem!  I lost my mind and I'm being held captive by ankle biters!  Please rescue me, kind officer!"  

Instead I say, "Apparently I need to keep better tabs on my 9 month old.  He was playing with the phone.  Sorry for your trouble, sir."  

With that, he gives me a small smile, turns on his heel and heads back to his cruiser.  Thankfully, no lights or sirens were required.

In order to remain in good standing with the club and its officers, Kai must now proceed to think of any way to embarrass or otherwise fluster his mother.  i.e. poop in a teepee (follow this link for that lovely story) or pitch a fit in a museum.  The by-laws state that any and all shenanigans would be accepted in good faith.

'Tis the season!   Fa-la-la-la-la.......

9 months old

Wonder of wonders!!!!

Miracle of miracles!!!

Kai slept until 7:30 this morning!  

A whole 12 hours.....straight!

Maybe it has something to do with being 9 months old today.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that he got tired of looking at his Mama with gigantic bags and unsightly circles under her eyes. Maybe it was an early Christmas present for his zombie Mama.

Whatever the reason, I'LL TAKE IT!!!  

The sky looks bluer, the grass, well......browner (a casualty of the season).  Food tastes more scrumptious.  Little boys look a whole lot cuter.  And a spilled bowl of Cheerios and milk all over the table and floor is a lot easier to clean up on a full night's sleep!  

When you get only little bits of sleep for months on end, words do not come easily until about noon.  You lose your grip on the English language and start making up your own!  Perhaps I can now retire the growl and grumble that I so masterfully perfected as my morning time reply.

"Mama, can I have eggs on toast?"  Ugghhh.....I reply.

"Mama, I smell toast!"  Aargghh....I retort.

"Mama, I want oatmeal instead!"  (after the eggs were already made)   

AAAHHHHRRR-UGGG-UHHH...I reply.

Those inaudible moanings are a thing of the past if only my beautiful and magnificent, newly nine month old will give me more 12 hour nights.  

If Kai can crawl (since 5 months old, thank you very much!) and he can pull up, and cruise along furniture, and even stand on his own......SURELY, he can give me more nights of precious sleep!

This is my grown-up Christmas wish!