So it's been over a month since I updated here. It's not that I've had nothing to say, but just not the energy to say it. Or, more so, I just haven't had the energy to pull up this website and use my fingers to type across the keyboard. And just saying that makes me feel guilty and bratty. Because, I am not working outside of the home and I only have two children. Unlike, say, Michelle Duggar with her brood of 19. She has time to procreate AND film a reality show AND go on the Today show to talk about procreation. And the girl from Raising Sextuplets, who I just saw on People.com (where I log on to read "the news") got remarried, added two stepchildren to her litter and who plans on having more with her new husband. What I'd like to know is how do these people have time to have s-e-x? Don't you have Mad Men episodes to catch up on when you have a spare moment?
In other news, we were lucky enough to have A's sister and fiance volunteer to spend their spring break with our children, which meant that A and I got to take our first vacation without them! We spent 2 days in Vancouver BC, 2 days in Whistler skiing/watching cable in the hotel room, and a last day in Vancouver before flying home. It was a really fun (expensive) trip, where I spent the first 2 days worrying about leaving my children, and the last day being sad the trip was over/anticipating seeing the boys. So, for thousands of dollars I got to relax for two days before returning home to 2 sick children who are just now (almost a week later) shedding their devil skins to reveal their sweet, innocent selves. Ha. HAHAHA. They are still DEMONIC.
Seriously, this week has been a BAD one. I have never come so close to strangling my children as I have this week. I have permanent nail marks in my palms from clenching so hard while trying not to beat them, and you know in books when they say the heroine bit her lip enough to draw blood to keep from screaming out loud and you think, that's impossible, who would do that? Well, now I know who would. I WOULD. All f-ing week long I have done just that. And, I still may have yelled a little more than I wish I had. And, I feel bad, especially knowing that they have been sick, but I had to do something that didn't involve anything illegal, immoral, or just plain wrong. And then I put T to bed tonight, all clean after a bath, smelling yummy, angelic, and he whispers over and over, and then into the monitor after I go downstairs, "Night night Mommy, I love you. Sweet dreams. I'm going to dream about you. You're my best friend..." And all I can think is "thank god you're redeeming yourself, or else I might never talk to you again. And can you please let me sleep for at least 7 hours tonight?"
Friday, March 30, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Great Clips
So, we had some crazy hair up in hurrrrrrre. Maybe it's becasue I have boys, but I just don't really bother with hair styling. I mean, what's the point? Put on a hat? It becomes a mess. Wrestle on the floor with your brother? A hot mess. Put a bowl of yogurt on your head and declare it a hat? A tangled, sticky rat's nest that I'm lucky to even get the globs out of. So, I ignore it. But when this walked downstairs for breakfast and then wouldn't let me wet it down before going into public? HAIRCUT TIME.
and that's just not good. But now, my baby is a full-blown toddler. Sob, sob. No more wisps, no more curls...
Also, everytime I looked at this business
I thought of this
Much, much better.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
New Kitchen: Phase I (out of one billion)
I haven't written much about our house lately and that's because we haven't done too much to it in the past couple of months. The holidays, visitors, and stuff took over and so we've become accustomed to sitting in a house with sheetrock walls. I'm sick of it, to be honest, but unless we win the lottery, it's bit by bit. However, we did just purchase a new stove and refrigerator with a commission check A finally received (or will receive by the time the credit card payment is due?!). And let me tell you, praise the lord, because this is what we were dealing with.
A 25 year old oven range with illegible numbers on the dials so that one had to guesstimate where the correct temp was. I couldn't reach the back burners well if anything was on the front ones, and I have a lovely burn scar on my inner arm to remember this ol' gal by. I never once used the top oven, though maybe I should have tried since the bottom wasn't calibrated correctly. Every Thanksgiving was stressful with my MIL and I standing by, peering in at whatever was cooking, wondering just why it wasn't done after an extra hour of cooking? Once we moved in, I just assumed everything needed the extra hour, which it did, but then I usually burned it all anyways.
 |
| New and calibrated |
Here is the old refrigerator, the same model I had in the house I grew up in. Good bye.
The new fridge is awesome, and so, so clean! It's so big it looks like we don't have any food, my husband exclaimed! (And we actually don't have any food, but I let him believe the vast shelf space was the reason it seemed so) I was *warned* it needs to remain as clean as the day it arrived, which I totally agree with. I just don't want to be the one to clean it.
So maybe now I'll go ahead and try out all the hundreds of recipes I have flagged as favorites online. Why I stay up until midnight browsing Pinterest, drooling over recipes I'll never (afford to) make, I don't know. Perhaps a new 5-burner gas cooktop will inspire me?
Monday, January 2, 2012
Disappointed
After deciding I was going to watch this season of The Bachelor I turned it on tonight, but late (T wouldn't stop asking for hugs and kisses - sweet and cute, I know, but I JUST WANTED TO WATCH TV) to see who the guy was, hoping to catch up. But upon seeing Ben Flajnik, I realized I would never be able to get hooked. I know reality TV is fake, but I don't think I could ever get past wondering at every moment of the show WHY any woman would want to date this man (boy? woman?) other than for fame or money. There's no way I'd be able to watch women cry over him without wanting to slap them in the face. His Bio on ABC says he's 28, but I'm pretty sure he was one of my students a few years back.
Admittedly, I have not watched the past several seasons, mostly because I just didn't have the attention span. But now having (mostly) recovered from the first year of G's life, which left me too drained to enjoy shitty tv, I was really hoping for some quality crap. Come on, ABC! If someone is dumped at the alter last season, can't we assume there was a reason (maybe, looking like a 17 year old?) and find someone new and attractive to showcase?!
I guess I'll go fold laundry.
Admittedly, I have not watched the past several seasons, mostly because I just didn't have the attention span. But now having (mostly) recovered from the first year of G's life, which left me too drained to enjoy shitty tv, I was really hoping for some quality crap. Come on, ABC! If someone is dumped at the alter last season, can't we assume there was a reason (maybe, looking like a 17 year old?) and find someone new and attractive to showcase?!
I guess I'll go fold laundry.
Friday, December 30, 2011
The party's over. Welcome 2012!
Alllllll over. Thank god. Do you ever feel that way? My family has been in celebration mode since mid-November with a birthday, Thanksgiving, another birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas and several more birthdays. Just when I thought we were done, and I was ready to hunker down in my sansibelt pajamas for the next few months, we were invited to a family-friendly New Years Eve party which was fun, but NOW, we're starting clean slate. There have been too many presents, too much food, way too much alcohol, and my fingers seem to be waaay too permanently swollen. Ugh. It's time for water and spinach. Happy New Year!
Eastbound and back "home"
We're back! We survived Holiday Travel, which was actually not as bad as I expected. We totally, completely, weirdly-suspiciously-unlike us-always, lucked out by getting onto a direct flight from MO to VA, rather than the delayed stop-over in Chicago we had been booked on. The boys behaved themselves, for the most part, and no one punched me in the face due to their occasional whining. (A special holiday shout out to the family of two young girls seated one row behind us who beat us in the highest decibel contest. In their defense, the cabin pressure was unbearable for a few seconds there, even for me. Those poor, poor little girls.)
Our flight back was not as wonderful, having to stop in Chicago, which never makes any sense to me. Our layover was longer than either leg of the flight, and it's a given that meltdowns will occur if actual travel time is interrupted. So, all we could do was walk back and forth on the flat escalators and consume 4,000 goldfish (3,764 of which were ground into the rug in our terminal. Luckily, we had our own personal janitor who followed us around with a manual vacuum, making sure crumbs didn't pile up too high. She was also a helpful distractor because the boys loved watching her and I'm pretty sure they were dropping a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of crackers so she would follow us. T decided he wanted to be her when he grows up so he can use that "special thing", which I told him he is welcome to use at home any time. Also, T wants to be a shuttle driver at Dulles. I reminded him that as long as he can support Mommy in her twilight years, he can be whatever he wants).
Overall, our trip was fairly uneventful with only one minor embarrassing incident. Though I am fully aware that airport food is not cheap, I ordered a panini and orange juice to find out it was going to cost me $15 - literally all the money in my wallet, including change. After a totally polite exclamation of surprise - I said $13 for a sandwich?! the guy looks at me and says, really? is that too much? all sarcastically, implying I am a loser if I don't pay it. So, I asked him to void the sale. He tried to tell me he couldn't and that I'd have to pay. I guess the cogs were already turning deep inside the specialty sandwich factory, which to my amateur eyes just looked like the little old lady behind him had fired up the big toaster. I was like, Seriously? You can't just take 4 steps to tap her on the shoulder and say, hey Gladys, never mind on that panini? Maybe yell out, HEY, FORGET THAT PANINI? Or how about whistle to get her attention and draw your finger across your throat? As I'm trying to help him realize that he indeed can void the numbers he just punched into the cash register, T is realizing that we might walk away from the food counter with nothing, so he begins to clutch the orange juice bottle, crazed and wide eyed yelling "No Mommy, I NEED this! I WANT this juice. THIS IS MINE." You'd never know he'd opened hundreds of dollars of gifts in the past week. So, cue my sweat mustache, I shove cash back into my wallet, rip the OJ from T's sweaty paws, and march/run away. Could have been worse.
Our flight back was not as wonderful, having to stop in Chicago, which never makes any sense to me. Our layover was longer than either leg of the flight, and it's a given that meltdowns will occur if actual travel time is interrupted. So, all we could do was walk back and forth on the flat escalators and consume 4,000 goldfish (3,764 of which were ground into the rug in our terminal. Luckily, we had our own personal janitor who followed us around with a manual vacuum, making sure crumbs didn't pile up too high. She was also a helpful distractor because the boys loved watching her and I'm pretty sure they were dropping a Hansel and Gretel-like trail of crackers so she would follow us. T decided he wanted to be her when he grows up so he can use that "special thing", which I told him he is welcome to use at home any time. Also, T wants to be a shuttle driver at Dulles. I reminded him that as long as he can support Mommy in her twilight years, he can be whatever he wants).
Overall, our trip was fairly uneventful with only one minor embarrassing incident. Though I am fully aware that airport food is not cheap, I ordered a panini and orange juice to find out it was going to cost me $15 - literally all the money in my wallet, including change. After a totally polite exclamation of surprise - I said $13 for a sandwich?! the guy looks at me and says, really? is that too much? all sarcastically, implying I am a loser if I don't pay it. So, I asked him to void the sale. He tried to tell me he couldn't and that I'd have to pay. I guess the cogs were already turning deep inside the specialty sandwich factory, which to my amateur eyes just looked like the little old lady behind him had fired up the big toaster. I was like, Seriously? You can't just take 4 steps to tap her on the shoulder and say, hey Gladys, never mind on that panini? Maybe yell out, HEY, FORGET THAT PANINI? Or how about whistle to get her attention and draw your finger across your throat? As I'm trying to help him realize that he indeed can void the numbers he just punched into the cash register, T is realizing that we might walk away from the food counter with nothing, so he begins to clutch the orange juice bottle, crazed and wide eyed yelling "No Mommy, I NEED this! I WANT this juice. THIS IS MINE." You'd never know he'd opened hundreds of dollars of gifts in the past week. So, cue my sweat mustache, I shove cash back into my wallet, rip the OJ from T's sweaty paws, and march/run away. Could have been worse.
Monday, December 19, 2011
A guide to holiday travel, with kids
Beware! If you are traveling by plane for the holidays and you are one of the few who won't have children in tow, consider this fair warning. Because there will be many of us - MANY of us - sitting behind you on the plane, kicking your seat. In fact, most of the moms in my playgroup today said they will be flying somewhere this week, so I'm guessing that every plane will be filled to the brim with wee ones, screaming, crying, flailing, and whining. Part of me feels bad for those of you who hate traveling near children. The other part of me laughs at you.
Look, I used to be one of you. I once preferred to sit next to someone with clean underpants (actually still my first choice). I'd have rather not be jostled by anything else than turbulence. However, being heartily equipped with empathy, I usually felt bad for the poor parents with the kid throwing themselves on the floor in a tantrum and always felt awful for the little infant who cried at take off because her little ears hurt. I never understood how an old grandma could huff and puff and roll her eyes as if the crying was impossibly interrupting her SkyMall reading. Or why the guy in front of me thought it was a good idea to tell the guy behind me that he better shut his kids up...or else. That resulted in fisticuffs over my head, which scarred me for a long time. I swore I'd never fly with kids for fear of bodily harm.
Let me also add that those of us flying with kids do not want to be flying with kids. Air travel with children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done. I once flew alone with both boys, 9 months and 3 yrs, from VA to CA with a layover in TX. You do not. know. stress. until you have made this trip. I was drenched in sweat for 12 hours straight as I tried to not lose my children. THAT was my goal. Not to make sure others had a pleasant trip, but to make sure I arrived from point A to point B with the same number of bodies - alive- that I left with.
Oh, you curmudgeons might say "Well, why don't you stay home?" or "Learn to control your kids in public!" But I don't care. I want to be with my family for Christmas and my money is as good as yours. And trust me, I do try to control my kids in most instances, but at 30,000 miles above sea level all control is out the window (hopefully not literally -har har) I cannot make my 16 month old sit completely still. I can only try so many times to get my 4 year olds finger out of his nose and to stop screaming about wanting more M&Ms, but I have to pick my battles. And to me, boogers are not worth it.
So don't turn around and give me a rude look every time my kid makes a sound or jumps around due to his sugar high. That's the nature of air travel. I suggest you bring your earphones and jack your Ipod up as high as it can go, have cash on hand to purchase mini bottles of alcohol, and remember that your flight will be over in just a couple hours (unless we sit on the runway for hours). That's my plan too.
Look, I used to be one of you. I once preferred to sit next to someone with clean underpants (actually still my first choice). I'd have rather not be jostled by anything else than turbulence. However, being heartily equipped with empathy, I usually felt bad for the poor parents with the kid throwing themselves on the floor in a tantrum and always felt awful for the little infant who cried at take off because her little ears hurt. I never understood how an old grandma could huff and puff and roll her eyes as if the crying was impossibly interrupting her SkyMall reading. Or why the guy in front of me thought it was a good idea to tell the guy behind me that he better shut his kids up...or else. That resulted in fisticuffs over my head, which scarred me for a long time. I swore I'd never fly with kids for fear of bodily harm.
Let me also add that those of us flying with kids do not want to be flying with kids. Air travel with children is one of the most stressful things I have ever done. I once flew alone with both boys, 9 months and 3 yrs, from VA to CA with a layover in TX. You do not. know. stress. until you have made this trip. I was drenched in sweat for 12 hours straight as I tried to not lose my children. THAT was my goal. Not to make sure others had a pleasant trip, but to make sure I arrived from point A to point B with the same number of bodies - alive- that I left with.
Oh, you curmudgeons might say "Well, why don't you stay home?" or "Learn to control your kids in public!" But I don't care. I want to be with my family for Christmas and my money is as good as yours. And trust me, I do try to control my kids in most instances, but at 30,000 miles above sea level all control is out the window (hopefully not literally -har har) I cannot make my 16 month old sit completely still. I can only try so many times to get my 4 year olds finger out of his nose and to stop screaming about wanting more M&Ms, but I have to pick my battles. And to me, boogers are not worth it.
So don't turn around and give me a rude look every time my kid makes a sound or jumps around due to his sugar high. That's the nature of air travel. I suggest you bring your earphones and jack your Ipod up as high as it can go, have cash on hand to purchase mini bottles of alcohol, and remember that your flight will be over in just a couple hours (unless we sit on the runway for hours). That's my plan too.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Personal appearance
Dear Santa/Hanukkah Harry,
Please bring me a new wardrobe. Besides not having the money to go purchase the few things I need just to update my look for 2012 (or even to catch up in 2011), I just don't have the energy.
I'm so disappointed in myself - the girl (lady?! ugh) who used to browse every fashion magazine on the block and could put an outfit together like nobody's business, if I do say so myself. Though I swore it wouldn't happen, motherhood has made me leave the house unwashed, unshowered, unmatching, unwearing something not made of sweatsuit material, and most scary, uncaring - most of the time. But today, as I ventured out to get some Sudafed to alleviate the symptoms from the 43rd cold T has brought home from preschool (why does my husband never catch anything?!), I saw two moms pushing strollers with teeny, tiny babies in them (= they've gotta be up more hours of the night than me, right? Or was that just my kid who never slept for the first nine months of his life?) and they looked GREAT. Sassy shoes, hair artfully tousled, makeup tastefully applied, and they looked fabulous. I was embarrassed to get out of the car because I was wearing the same shirt I'd worn the night before and then slept in and kept on all day. Kind of gross, I know, but so comfortable! I waited until they passed for fear they'd look at me and think "Oh, I am so glad I took a shower today and that I don't have horrible crows feet like that sad, dumpy lady. Or maybe she just has newborn quadruplets at home".
So, I made a decision. As soon as I got home I put on makeup and a cute ("cute") outfit, just to go to my mother-in-laws for Sunday dinner. I felt like an imposter, especially when I put on lipstick, which I haven't put on since my wedding in 2006. I added some dangly earrings and totally felt like some hipster poser, but I tried to fake it. Really, I did. My husband said nothing after his initial double-take at my outfit change. G couldn't stop staring at my sparkly pink lips. And trying to rip my earrings out. And T just took the tube of gloss and applied it to his moustache area, looking very pretty himself. When I walked into my MIL's she complimented me appropriately, probably thinking it was weird that I was out of sweats for the first time since we moved to KC in August.
Maybe I just need to do it more often? To try a little harder a couple times a week so it feels more natural? Maybe I can manage to upgrade the sweats to leggings a few times a week. Because I can't continue down this road. I'm only 34, and the wrinkles are only going to get worse. I KNOW I've still got it in me...right? Why didn't I appreciate my wardrobe and smooth skin 10 years ago? Why didn't I open a separate savings account when I was in my 20's to be put only towards Botox, Spanx, and skinny jeans in the years to come? Let this be a lesson to those of you who still have the chance to prepare yourselves.
You know, I take the wardrobe request back, Santa/HH. I want Botox. And a personal trainer and personal shopper. And the energy to drive myself to wherever you go to get Botox.
Please bring me a new wardrobe. Besides not having the money to go purchase the few things I need just to update my look for 2012 (or even to catch up in 2011), I just don't have the energy.
I'm so disappointed in myself - the girl (lady?! ugh) who used to browse every fashion magazine on the block and could put an outfit together like nobody's business, if I do say so myself. Though I swore it wouldn't happen, motherhood has made me leave the house unwashed, unshowered, unmatching, unwearing something not made of sweatsuit material, and most scary, uncaring - most of the time. But today, as I ventured out to get some Sudafed to alleviate the symptoms from the 43rd cold T has brought home from preschool (why does my husband never catch anything?!), I saw two moms pushing strollers with teeny, tiny babies in them (= they've gotta be up more hours of the night than me, right? Or was that just my kid who never slept for the first nine months of his life?) and they looked GREAT. Sassy shoes, hair artfully tousled, makeup tastefully applied, and they looked fabulous. I was embarrassed to get out of the car because I was wearing the same shirt I'd worn the night before and then slept in and kept on all day. Kind of gross, I know, but so comfortable! I waited until they passed for fear they'd look at me and think "Oh, I am so glad I took a shower today and that I don't have horrible crows feet like that sad, dumpy lady. Or maybe she just has newborn quadruplets at home".
So, I made a decision. As soon as I got home I put on makeup and a cute ("cute") outfit, just to go to my mother-in-laws for Sunday dinner. I felt like an imposter, especially when I put on lipstick, which I haven't put on since my wedding in 2006. I added some dangly earrings and totally felt like some hipster poser, but I tried to fake it. Really, I did. My husband said nothing after his initial double-take at my outfit change. G couldn't stop staring at my sparkly pink lips. And trying to rip my earrings out. And T just took the tube of gloss and applied it to his moustache area, looking very pretty himself. When I walked into my MIL's she complimented me appropriately, probably thinking it was weird that I was out of sweats for the first time since we moved to KC in August.
Maybe I just need to do it more often? To try a little harder a couple times a week so it feels more natural? Maybe I can manage to upgrade the sweats to leggings a few times a week. Because I can't continue down this road. I'm only 34, and the wrinkles are only going to get worse. I KNOW I've still got it in me...right? Why didn't I appreciate my wardrobe and smooth skin 10 years ago? Why didn't I open a separate savings account when I was in my 20's to be put only towards Botox, Spanx, and skinny jeans in the years to come? Let this be a lesson to those of you who still have the chance to prepare yourselves.
You know, I take the wardrobe request back, Santa/HH. I want Botox. And a personal trainer and personal shopper. And the energy to drive myself to wherever you go to get Botox.
I can see clearly now
 |
| Rocking the popcorn ceiling |
 |
| Chair rail down, popcorn gone, chandelier hanging (dangling?!) |
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| New ceiling, new walls, awesome table |
the right side of the brain
In my ArtEd classes we were taught that it's best to guide young children in drawing, not tell them how to do it. Of course they need direction, and some kids are more likely to do well if you can give an example first, but after teaching high schoolers I think that mostly applies to older kids. Older kids are more worried about new stuff because they don't want to get it "wrong", and don't want to look stupid in front of their peers. That always made me sad to see how uncomfortable some of my students got in a class that was only supposed to be fun. It's Art, I'd say! There is no wrong way to do it! (Unless you are carving inappropriate words into the tabletop with an X-acto knife. Or throwing the X-acto into your seat mate's thigh, causing the need for 4 stitches. True story. And then, my teenaged friend, you are waaaaay off base.)
Preschoolers are so imaginative! T is almost open to trying something new. He usually asks, what does it mean?, when I say Let's paint by numbers, but he jumps right in, nowhere near actually using a paint brush correctly. But I want him to try however he wants. So, I've been really hesitant to show him how to draw things when he asks for help. I don't want to lead him to only draw houses made of squares with triangles on top, yellow circles in the sky and horizontal green lines on the paper below. (Because that is how I still draw houses). I mean, I know, this is how 3 year olds are able to representationally draw a house, using shapes they know, but I want him to try to figure it out on his own.
Preschoolers are so imaginative! T is almost open to trying something new. He usually asks, what does it mean?, when I say Let's paint by numbers, but he jumps right in, nowhere near actually using a paint brush correctly. But I want him to try however he wants. So, I've been really hesitant to show him how to draw things when he asks for help. I don't want to lead him to only draw houses made of squares with triangles on top, yellow circles in the sky and horizontal green lines on the paper below. (Because that is how I still draw houses). I mean, I know, this is how 3 year olds are able to representationally draw a house, using shapes they know, but I want him to try to figure it out on his own.
Rainbow
Our house
My favorite, our family. The dog gets me every time. Is he the next Calder?
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Amateur Photographer
Last year, T got a camera for Christmas. One of those heavy-duty plastic ones for kids, made to be dropped, stepped on, and flung across a room during a temper tantrum (which it has been). Its batteries had been dead since before we moved to KC, and after a lot of begging, I recently put new ones in. After T snapped a few pics, we realized that the memory card was full, so, begrudgingly, I found the cord and uploaded all of the images on to my computer to free up space.
Out of the 840 (!) images on there, about 800 of them were of the floor or ceiling. Or me, close up, looking really annoyed. Oh, and one was an extreme close-up of me nursing G. That one took me quite a while to figure out what I was looking at. The other 39 actually had a person of interest in some part of the frame. The camera does have a flash, but no other adjustments can be made as he takes pictures, so most of them are blurry but actually kind of cool - very pictorial. And I like the fact that T took them all during a time when I was too exhausted to document the no-sleep hell I was living in. (If I included any of the ones he got of me, you'd see a crazed look in my eye. Zoomed in. Like, pupil close.) And that these pictures were taken almost exactly a year ago, with teeny G making his holiday debut, is a cool comparison to the large child who now often out eats me at dinner, which really is a feat.
Here are a few of my favorites. (Sorry, the nursing picture didn't make the cut.)
Out of the 840 (!) images on there, about 800 of them were of the floor or ceiling. Or me, close up, looking really annoyed. Oh, and one was an extreme close-up of me nursing G. That one took me quite a while to figure out what I was looking at. The other 39 actually had a person of interest in some part of the frame. The camera does have a flash, but no other adjustments can be made as he takes pictures, so most of them are blurry but actually kind of cool - very pictorial. And I like the fact that T took them all during a time when I was too exhausted to document the no-sleep hell I was living in. (If I included any of the ones he got of me, you'd see a crazed look in my eye. Zoomed in. Like, pupil close.) And that these pictures were taken almost exactly a year ago, with teeny G making his holiday debut, is a cool comparison to the large child who now often out eats me at dinner, which really is a feat.
Here are a few of my favorites. (Sorry, the nursing picture didn't make the cut.)
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
All I want for Kwanzaa is my 7th tooth
G's wish came true. So, naturally, he ate his first apple. And loved it!I love pie
We hosted our first Thanksgiving! 25 people, including kids. I did no cooking except for pies - a pecan, a chocolate pecan (the winner of the evening) and a salted caramel apple which was a total bummer, despite its delicious and exotic-sounding name (booooo Food Network magazine. This was the second loser I've made from your pages).
Here I am looking happy because it's almost time to eat, and I've had a glass (or 2?) of wine. Thanksgod it's over!
I was motivated to actually put pictures up on a few walls so guests had something to look at (in most rooms). In the dining room, however, it was just sheetrock on the walls and ceiling. But that was better than dangling insulation the night before. With my brother-in-law, sister-in-law and her fiance, we were able to put it up on Tuesday night. We ooohed and aaaaahed over the gleaming, beautiful white sheetrock, which was sooooo much classier than wood paneling and wood beams. Then, my initial excitement fading, I felt like we really had no business having guests over to eat in that room. But it all turned out fine and my husband even creatively pulled out colored pencils and invited everyone to graffiti the walls before painting, which turned out to be a big hit.
Here I am looking happy because it's almost time to eat, and I've had a glass (or 2?) of wine. Thanksgod it's over!
Friday, November 11, 2011
A bust
Halloween was, that is. Both boys were sick the day of; G with hand, mouth and foot disease (which sounds way worse than I would have imagined, though the Dr. said we were lucky considering G's mouth, hands and feet were all blistered when it's not usually all three at a time) and T just feeling yucky all day, culminating with a major barf attack in his bed that night. But, we have sweet neighbors who brought candy to him so he didn't miss out. I felt it was my duty to eat most of it, however, considering he was having stomach issues and all. Don't worry, I left him a couple rolls of Smarties.
T did have fun with holiday prep a few days before, which included pumpkin painting and a witch make-up trial. The pumpkin painting came about when a playdate mom asked me what I used to teach and upon hearing art she exclaimed "how fun! you must do all kinds of fun art projects with your kids all the time!" I said "er, oh, uh, yeah, not really, I mean, sometimes" and promptly ran home to pull out whatever art supplies I could find to do something with T right that minute. Shamed, I now have a few other things in mind for the holidays (gingerbread houses = candy!).
T did have fun with holiday prep a few days before, which included pumpkin painting and a witch make-up trial. The pumpkin painting came about when a playdate mom asked me what I used to teach and upon hearing art she exclaimed "how fun! you must do all kinds of fun art projects with your kids all the time!" I said "er, oh, uh, yeah, not really, I mean, sometimes" and promptly ran home to pull out whatever art supplies I could find to do something with T right that minute. Shamed, I now have a few other things in mind for the holidays (gingerbread houses = candy!).
Here's T, chillaxin' in his socks and flip-flops, rehydrating after an intense pumpkin painting session.
T enjoyed being a witch for his school holiday parade. I wanted to do more with make-up but he really only wanted the green face and I had to sneak the eyebrows on. He wore black play clothes and an old black pashmina for a cape. The piece de resistance, if I do say so, was the broom I fashioned out of a tree limb from the mulberry bush in the front yard. After sanding it and taping the edges (no sharp ends!), spray painting it and cutting up a yellow trash bag for the fringe, I showed in to T proudly. He flew into a rage, saying I ruined his "hanging stick" (wtf is a hanging stick?) and refused to use it until I threatened to give it to G to be a Sweeping Dragon instead.
T enjoyed being a witch for his school holiday parade. I wanted to do more with make-up but he really only wanted the green face and I had to sneak the eyebrows on. He wore black play clothes and an old black pashmina for a cape. The piece de resistance, if I do say so, was the broom I fashioned out of a tree limb from the mulberry bush in the front yard. After sanding it and taping the edges (no sharp ends!), spray painting it and cutting up a yellow trash bag for the fringe, I showed in to T proudly. He flew into a rage, saying I ruined his "hanging stick" (wtf is a hanging stick?) and refused to use it until I threatened to give it to G to be a Sweeping Dragon instead.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
My dinner
and what I'll probably be eating for the next few months, aka basketball season: one dirty martini and one bowl of generic velveeta melted with salsa alongside stale chips. I licked the bowl clean with my index finger, thank you very much. (Two martinis and I surely would not have used my finger).
And, NO, the boys did NOT have velveeta and salsa for dinner. They had highly-processed potstickers around 5pm so that I could get them to bed early so I could have my drink. Er, I mean, my dinner.
Dinner party, anyone?
And, NO, the boys did NOT have velveeta and salsa for dinner. They had highly-processed potstickers around 5pm so that I could get them to bed early so I could have my drink. Er, I mean, my dinner.
Dinner party, anyone?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Separation anxiety
For the first time since September, T has been telling us he doesn't want to go to school. When I ask him why, he says things like "beacuse I'll miss you too much, mommy", or "I just want to be with you." Nothing especially alarming, but a total 180 from the boy who couldn't wait to go back to see his friends. I should have seen it coming...
Last week he had a mini-anxiety attack over going on a play date when he realized I wasn't going to stay. Throughout the week, he's said things like "Will you stay with me forever?" I thought maybe his dad's work schedule, which often takes him out of the house on the weekends or causes him to miss family dinners, was the reason behind the anxiety. After talking to other moms of kids in T's class, it looks like its just a phase for this age, but I feel like it might be harder on me than him.
I know that at 3 1/2 he can't possibly imagine what it would be like without me, but sometimes I wonder if he's taking on my anxieties, the ones I try so hard to keep under wraps. I don't want my fears to define me as a parent, and most of all, I do not want my children to know how much I worry about them. I don't want to cross the line between normal fear and unhealthy fear, and sometimes I feel like it could happen so easily.
When T randomly asks me if I'll stay with him forever, my heart breaks a little as I tell him that I'll never leave him. I know this is a lie, though hopefully he'll be way past this phase when it happens. I know that everyone has to say goodbye to the ones they love. I know this is a lesson everyone learns one day. But when I watch T's face crumble, his lip tremble and his arms go out for a hug that promises him one last minute with me before I leave him at school, I understand to my core what it's like to know you will never see the person you love most in the world again. That's why, despite some advice I've gotten, I have no problem humoring him with just one more squeeze. Because for almost 5 years I worried that every time I gave my mom a hug goodbye, or hung up with her on the phone, it might be the last. I wanted those hugs and conversations to go on forever. And I knew when it was the last time I could tell her I loved her, though I told her even after I knew she couldn't hear me; I dreaded that day more than I thought I could. And I knew when it was the last time she would manage to say those words back to me, when she could barely talk, but she managed to say it one last time so clearly. My heart still breaks when I think about that, and I never, never wish that knowledge on my children.
So, I have to help T get through this normal phase of development, without holding on to those anxieties, without projecting my fears back onto him, without making a big deal out of just one more hug, while I get through it myself. Beacause we'll have many more years to hug each other and the ones who are most important to us.
Last week he had a mini-anxiety attack over going on a play date when he realized I wasn't going to stay. Throughout the week, he's said things like "Will you stay with me forever?" I thought maybe his dad's work schedule, which often takes him out of the house on the weekends or causes him to miss family dinners, was the reason behind the anxiety. After talking to other moms of kids in T's class, it looks like its just a phase for this age, but I feel like it might be harder on me than him.
I know that at 3 1/2 he can't possibly imagine what it would be like without me, but sometimes I wonder if he's taking on my anxieties, the ones I try so hard to keep under wraps. I don't want my fears to define me as a parent, and most of all, I do not want my children to know how much I worry about them. I don't want to cross the line between normal fear and unhealthy fear, and sometimes I feel like it could happen so easily.
When T randomly asks me if I'll stay with him forever, my heart breaks a little as I tell him that I'll never leave him. I know this is a lie, though hopefully he'll be way past this phase when it happens. I know that everyone has to say goodbye to the ones they love. I know this is a lesson everyone learns one day. But when I watch T's face crumble, his lip tremble and his arms go out for a hug that promises him one last minute with me before I leave him at school, I understand to my core what it's like to know you will never see the person you love most in the world again. That's why, despite some advice I've gotten, I have no problem humoring him with just one more squeeze. Because for almost 5 years I worried that every time I gave my mom a hug goodbye, or hung up with her on the phone, it might be the last. I wanted those hugs and conversations to go on forever. And I knew when it was the last time I could tell her I loved her, though I told her even after I knew she couldn't hear me; I dreaded that day more than I thought I could. And I knew when it was the last time she would manage to say those words back to me, when she could barely talk, but she managed to say it one last time so clearly. My heart still breaks when I think about that, and I never, never wish that knowledge on my children.
So, I have to help T get through this normal phase of development, without holding on to those anxieties, without projecting my fears back onto him, without making a big deal out of just one more hug, while I get through it myself. Beacause we'll have many more years to hug each other and the ones who are most important to us.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Halloween prep
We went to a Halloween street fair and T was obsessed with getting his hair sprayed green. After waiting in line forever, he decided to go with rainbow. It was the highlight of his weekend.
His go-to outfit is Pirate, which is what he was last year when I forced him to go door-to-door until I was satisfied with the candy assortment, which I ate most of myself. This year he's been saying he'd like to be either a knight, a witch, or a princess. I'm fine with any of those, but we really don't have much of a princess selection. He finally decided to go with Witch for the school parade and party tomorrow (yes, candy!). I just spent the evening crafting a child-sized broom for him, so he better not change his mind. Pics to come!
His go-to outfit is Pirate, which is what he was last year when I forced him to go door-to-door until I was satisfied with the candy assortment, which I ate most of myself. This year he's been saying he'd like to be either a knight, a witch, or a princess. I'm fine with any of those, but we really don't have much of a princess selection. He finally decided to go with Witch for the school parade and party tomorrow (yes, candy!). I just spent the evening crafting a child-sized broom for him, so he better not change his mind. Pics to come!
lotta stuff
We've had bunches of things going on, including out-of-towners. My sister-in-law and her fiance were here at the end of September for almost a week. The weather was beautiful and we played alllll day, every day. Pics above are from a cool and free play area call Kaleidoscope which is where Hallmark sends leftover materials from their manufacturing plant for kids to make art with. It's a little too advanced for G, but T liked the glow-in-the-dark paint room, and there was a fun dance booth where we danced with Aunt L and Uncle D until we were tired of techno and Bollywood beats. Plus, the whole place had an Alice in Wonderland vibe.Then, one my favorite younger sisters came to visit with my sweet nephew H! It was kind of crazy with 3 kids all on different schedules, but we made it work, hung out, and drank lots of dirty martinis - a special family recipe. R's trip went by way too fast, but it'll get me to December when we go back East for Xmas to see my other favorite younger sister and sweet nephew F. Yay!
I took lots of pictures, but they all were blurry - boo. Maybe because these little boogers never sat still?
Sunday, October 23, 2011
There was a little girl who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very good indeed. And when she was bad she was HORRID.
With three daughters, my mom must have recited this Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem to us out loud at least once a day. Probably more in her head. I often singsong it to myself in my head, wishing there was the boy poem counterpart. Is there?
I feel like I have *kind of* figured our day's schedule out, 2 months into this stay-at-home gig. It could always vary, but here's an example: Arise (lately around 7:30-8:00 am which is a miracle, people! considering G didn't start sleeping through the night consistently until about 9 months), change diaper, dole out milk (which is like crack to my children. Was it the breastfeeding?), have breakfast and play. Around 9 am it's either playgroup with both boys or school for T. If he's in school, G and I may run some errands, play, and/or I'll try to get things done around the house. Doing extensive chores doesn't usually work out for me, and I'm most often found on the floor, coffee cup nearby but out of little hands reach, reading stories, snuggling, and wishing G would take a nap. (Is that bad?) Sometimes he naps for 3 hours (yes!), sometimes for 10 minutes (noooooo), and then we wait until it's time to pick T up from school.
I'm always very excited to see T when we pick him up. 4 1/2 hours is the right amount of time apart. His eyes light up when he sees me, he runs to me and tells me he missed me and shows me his projects. But here, as we walk out of the classroom, the day can go in several different directions...
T is like the hardworking dad who needs a gin and tonic the minute he walks through the door. Except he needs milk. Occasionally, I'll be uber-prepared and come with a cup for him to sip on during our walk home. If I don't, I know we have to walk quickly before meltdown. Sometimes I can distract him from thinking about his shaking hands by yelling out "wow! look, a brown rock!" or "do I hear a helicopter?!" I've been known to do a crazy dance in the middle of the street just to delay whining. But, on the bad days, the dark days, our two minute walk home becomes excruciatingly long and painful, with little G staring up at his older brother in horror.
With three daughters, my mom must have recited this Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem to us out loud at least once a day. Probably more in her head. I often singsong it to myself in my head, wishing there was the boy poem counterpart. Is there?
I feel like I have *kind of* figured our day's schedule out, 2 months into this stay-at-home gig. It could always vary, but here's an example: Arise (lately around 7:30-8:00 am which is a miracle, people! considering G didn't start sleeping through the night consistently until about 9 months), change diaper, dole out milk (which is like crack to my children. Was it the breastfeeding?), have breakfast and play. Around 9 am it's either playgroup with both boys or school for T. If he's in school, G and I may run some errands, play, and/or I'll try to get things done around the house. Doing extensive chores doesn't usually work out for me, and I'm most often found on the floor, coffee cup nearby but out of little hands reach, reading stories, snuggling, and wishing G would take a nap. (Is that bad?) Sometimes he naps for 3 hours (yes!), sometimes for 10 minutes (noooooo), and then we wait until it's time to pick T up from school.
I'm always very excited to see T when we pick him up. 4 1/2 hours is the right amount of time apart. His eyes light up when he sees me, he runs to me and tells me he missed me and shows me his projects. But here, as we walk out of the classroom, the day can go in several different directions...
T is like the hardworking dad who needs a gin and tonic the minute he walks through the door. Except he needs milk. Occasionally, I'll be uber-prepared and come with a cup for him to sip on during our walk home. If I don't, I know we have to walk quickly before meltdown. Sometimes I can distract him from thinking about his shaking hands by yelling out "wow! look, a brown rock!" or "do I hear a helicopter?!" I've been known to do a crazy dance in the middle of the street just to delay whining. But, on the bad days, the dark days, our two minute walk home becomes excruciatingly long and painful, with little G staring up at his older brother in horror.
On a good day we'll make it home, have a snack and play, play, play. On a bad day, I drag T home to throw himself on the floor until he feels ready to play, play, play. And then, on either type of day, DONG, DONG, DONG. 3pm, the witching hour falls upon us... Nap time is over, it's too early to start dinner (or is it?), and we're sick of playing. We're sick of looking at each other. I lay on the playroom floor, children crawling over me, sometimes sitting on my head, while I dream about what kind of cocktail to start with at the stroke of 5. (Actually, I don't usually start with drinks until after bath time. I need my wits about me while bathing two crazy, slippery boys.) And as my sweet T laughs in my face when I try to put him in time out, and G throws himself on the floor crying because I won't let him play in the toilet, I start reciting, "There was a little girl, who had a little curl...."
(G has curls in the back of his head, though.)
Monday, October 17, 2011
h-a-t-e
These a**holes are all over my front porch. I HATE them. They make big, horrible webs on the windows, on the porch light, on the steps, on the stroller I leave outside overnight. This picture does not accurately show the awful disgustingness of them. One of my (many insane) fears is that I'll be walking along, pushing G, wind blowing through my unwashed hair, and I'll look down and see my child encased in a web. Or, at the very least, with a large, gross, slimy spider on his head. What will I do? Will I be able to get it off? Will I be able to find a long stick quickly? Will I find the inner strength to use my hand? Or will I scream and run away, leaving him on a sidewalk, rolling downhill because I didn't think ahead to put the brakes on as I sprinted off?
(Quick side story - the other day, as I was cupping my hands to peer into the window of Restoration Hardware, salivating over an awesome chaise that I will never, ever be able to afford, I was alerted by a homeless man, who I'd just told I had no money ((totally true, btw)) that G was indeed rolling down a hill backwards in his stroller. I felt like I should have paid the guy something for his help, but again, I had nothing in my wallet.)
A occasionally uses the shop-vac to suck them up, but I get nervous that he might forget to empty it out before bringing it back inside. I mean, he might as well deliver a spider nest into my bed, you know? Do you see the anxiety these spiders bring into my life? And I do not need any more anxiety, thank you very much. Is there a way to get rid of them? Or just embrace them as part of our Halloween decor?
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