A Trail of

breadcrumbs...

Days ago I noticed that T was not getting into M's bed to snuggle at night. Instead he's been perching on her bedside table. We all three usually climb into the bed together and snuggle.

Days ago, before a nap, I gave M a piece of bread to eat right in her bed. It was a very lazy day and I never peeled back the covers to check the status of the bread.

I didn't realize that there might be a connection between the two things, until tonight, when I walked in to M's room and overheard T saying in a totally disgusted voice, "I told you, M. I'm not getting into that bed with all those little tiny burgers* in it."

M sighed and said, "Okay..." and climbed into her bed.

Curiosity piqued, I pulled back the covers and found, NOT "little tiny burgers*" but lots and lots of dried up bread crumbs. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, I will wash the sheets and vacuum.




*One word that disgusts me is the word booger. I don't believe I use this word in general conversation, nor can I think of many times where I've heard it in our household. A few weeks ago, T told me about a "dried burger" in his nose. This "dried burger" could really only be one thing. At the time I was hoping not to hear the word again, so I chose not to use that as a teachable moment. However, a boy should only have to go on so long using the incorrect term for booger, and so I will have to now correct him.

Drug Free is the Way to Be.

Umm.

This is what T came up with.

Is it time to break out the book I've gotten, Analyze your Child Through His Handwriting and Drawings?

Candy Corn C

Mrs. H, T's preschool teacher, had them do an art project called candy corn C. Basically, they took candy corn and glued it to a letter C that was printed on heavy card stock. They glued the candy corn, thus rendering it inedible. Then (most likely realizing the dangerous temptation involved), she sent the project home the same day, with the candy corns still slightly wet with glue.

"Oh," I said on the way home, "Did Mrs. H tell you that you couldn't eat them? They're covered with glue and dirty."

"That's right." T said. "You can't eat them and they are dirty. They are an art project."

I heard a little girl voice echo in the back, "Can't eat them? Dirty?"


About a dozen of the candy corns fell off of the C and into T's backpack. I told T to go ahead and empty them out onto the driveway.

This was very poor planning on my part, because we played outside.

It was like M's own little personal version of purgatory. Every few minutes she would encounter a candy corn and bring it over to me. "Can I eat this one or is this dirty?"

"It's dirty. Throw it into the grass." I would say.

Then she would encounter another... "Is this one dirty? Can I eat it?"

"It's dirty. Throw it into the grass." I would say.

"They are all dirty! They have glue on them! They are an art project!" T would shriek.

Over and over she brought them. Each time a note of hope was projected in her voice. Each time her hopes were shattered.

At one point, she brought one that had a tiny bit of the tip gnawed off.

We finally went inside.

Threat

Like a ninja, she is very aware of her surroundings (when it comes to food.) You can bet he didn't succeed in getting that snack from her.

Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Not that anyone in this photo is a bit witchy...

I gave J the full mattress that was in M's room and decided to get her a twin frame and headboard combo. She was using the mattress on the floor and now we've put her up on the box spring and frame.
I found this ethan allen headboard and footboard. I think it is just adorable. She'll probably want something a bit hipper when she's older but for now she's so happy with her "great big giant tall bed."

I didn't have to turn her light on for this picture. After I snuggle with her she gets up and turns her light on and stays up (quietly) in her room for as long as she wants. Sometimes she goes back and flips the light off but this night she fell asleep in bed with the book, "Pinkalicious".

Pink glasses

I got new pink glasses today.

For night driving. And anything else I should want them for...

I let this nut come to the store with me and help me pick them out.

But, just like his father...It was all about how he looked.

Baby Shower

I went to a baby shower yesterday. Big T asked me where I was going, and when I told him, he asked if I was going to bring home a baby. Then he clarified, "Not a pretend baby, but a little alive real baby." He also gestured with his hands about how big he thought the alive real baby should be.

Big Game

T had his first big game on Saturday. It went well. There was definite soccer strategy involved. The coaches are highly organized and very familiar with the age group so all the kids were participating.

After the game, I wanted to take T out to a nice celebratory brunch at the little cafe in our town.

However, the post-game snack was Handi-snacks Breadsticks & Cheez--which he has never had before.

He brought the Handi-snack into the restaurant and proceeded to savor each one.

At the restaurant, I had to eat most of the other food. It was such a shame.

Pie

Tonight my boy said, "I'm full." Then he got up and walked away from the table.

And then I said, "But don't you want pie?"

Things we do for fun:

We take the children to Sears and force them to sit on the really expensive lawnmowers for photo ops.
I heart Sears.


For some of us, this is great fun. M seems to really love motorized vehicles.

Even J isn't too old to get some enjoyment from "trying out" a really expensive lawn implement.

For others of us, this seems to cause a great deal of bitterness. See my husband in the background of the above photo? He stares bleakly at the children, thinking, "If we didn't have all these darn children we could have one great big giant lawnmower with zero turn capabilities...(sigh!)"

Just kidding. He hearts those darn children. And he eagerly awaits the day when they can all use the lawn implements independently.

Our yard will sure look spiffy then!

Soccer Mom

Last night was T's first soccer practice. He's been eagerly looking forward to this after seeing J play soccer.

But when we got to the field he decided he was "scared" and "didn't want to play."

I sort of panicked. I didn't want this to go badly for him.
"Listen," I said. "See those kids over on the field kicking the ball around? Go tell them your name and kick the ball with them."

"Okay." T said.

Then he went over, and with no introduction, he kicked the ball away from the biggest kid.
The kid shouted at him, "HEY! THAT'S MY BALL."
And here, I thought, "It's all over. No more soccer for us." I sighed.

Then T stepped toward the kid and shouted back (in a most friendly, but also slightly agitated manner), "WELL I JUST DON'T HAVE A BALL!"

and the bigger kid said, "Well, go get one. In the bag." He pointed.

So T went and got one for himself and one for M.

They both kicked the balls around until the coach called the kids over to get in the circle. Thus began the official start of practice.

At this time, M had to be escorted off the field. Thankfully, Grandma was there to help out. M's not old enough yet. Plus, she was improperly attired in a dress and shiny silver shoes.

I'm not gonna lie. M was ticked. She couldn't even be bribed into good behavior with a snack. It's got to be really, really hard for her to understand why she isn't playing too.

Next year, M. Next year.

Care of Dependants

This is M hugging her dolly. Last night on the way home she became very interested in this dolly. She picked it up and sat in her car seat with it. She hugged it. She sang songs to it. She sat the dolly up on her lap and said, "Be a good girl."
She patted the dolly.

I was so impressed with her imaginative play that I began to see M as a bit older. Not quite a toddler anymore...I sighed wistfully as I realized that the baby and toddler days are so quickly passing and once gone--

And then M p**ped so much in her underpants in her car seat in the van that we had to pull over to clean her up.

And then she squealed and shrieked and writhed around so that bits of p**p got on the carpet of the van. All this time, she wailed, "Oh No! Cooc is yucky! Cooc is yucky! Oh NO!"

And T stared down haughtily from his seat and made a running commentary on the situation.

"Did M p**p in her underpants? That's so yucky."
"M--You're supposed to say p**p NOT cooc."
"Mommy, are you done yet? Are you done cleaning up the p**p? I hope p**p doesn't get on the van."


Yes, M. Cooc is yucky and you are still a toddler.

Candy

Demanding Hubby buy a truckload of candies at Christmas time for cookie and cake decorating??? Probably about $35...







Finding red and green M&Ms in back of baking cabinet on boring Saturday in August???

Priceless.

Crumbs

This morning T told me that I should "just bump the van on the road so these crumbs will fly up off me." He eats his breakfast in the van sometimes (um, every morning) and apparently just wiping with a paper towel was too boring this morning. He needed a little more adventure, a little more spice.

On an entirely different note-- for some time now, I've wondered if T remembers life without M.
He does not.
We were looking at a photo slide show of family pictures and he saw one of himself as a baby. He asked where M was, and he became visibly agitated when I told him that we didn't have her yet. "Where was she?" he said.
I explained to him that for a time we didn't have her because she hadn't been born yet. He shook his head slowly at me, and explained in his kindest tone of voice (the one he reserves for times when I'm showing signs of absolute stupidity...), "M was always born."

One year, Charlie

July 11th was the one year anniversary of when F, M, and I drove out of state to get this dog.

He fits in rather nicely still.

Maybe we'll keep him.

Hypothermia

We have some trouble regulating the temperature in our basement. My Mother has been complaining that it gets too cold down there. I told her to "suck it up and drive on."--which is a term I learned in basic training that can be applied to any situation that you don't want to, or can't, currently deal with to change or fix.

Such as, "Yeah, it's cold in here but suck it up and drive on."
or
"Yes, my weight is rapidly ballooning and I'm eating a huge piece of cake (or 2) but I'm gonna just suck it up and drive right on."
or
"There IS an ant infestation in here but the terminator costs big bucks so we're all just gonna suck it up and drive on."

(Obviously these scenarios are totally fictional. Ahem.)

In response to my laissez-faire attitude, my Mother taught the children to yell, "Hypothermia!" each time I walk downstairs toward them in the basement. I'm not troubled by it. They don't know what it means anyhow.

I am a bit troubled by their desire to get out their coats and play "winter" the other day though. Who knew they even knew where their coats were?
And who knew they knew how to zip them up to the chin AND put their hoods on?

Perhaps it IS time to take a look at the thermostat.

Naw, they should just suck it up and drive on.

Mr. Cool

This is Mr. Cool.

Too bad I ruined Mr. Cool's image this morning when I forced he and his also cool sister to listen to Les Miserables on the way to school/ summer camp.

A little Broadway never hurt a boy, but he was not thrilled. He described it as, "very sad princess music."

The boy

The boy said tonight, "Daddy helped God make me."


Yes, son. I suppose he did.

A guy, a dog, and a guitar

4

Baby.

Below is my son at his 4 year old well "child" check up. It used to be a well "baby" check up.

He is so proud to be 4.
Perhaps I shouldn't preface cautionary statements to him with the threat: "If you want to live to be (insert appropriate age here), then you won't touch that hot stove."
That may have confused him a bit.
But right now, it just makes him very proud to have reached age 4.
Not a baby.

Before bath most nights he tells me "I'm four now. I can wash M. I can just sit on the stool and wash her because I am four." She and I look at him. "Um. No." He really should learn to wash himself first.

In the van one day, I looked back and he was perkily sitting in his seat swinging his feet up to eye level, then staring at them with big, round eyes and then lowering them back down. He was muttering something to himself. When I listened in, I realized he was saying, "I'm four now. Just look at how BIG my feet are! I have great, BIG feet now because I'm four. " He was shaking his head in disbelief and delight.

And now that he's four he has all the rights and responsibilities that a four year old can have--including cleaning the kitchen floor.




"If you want to live to be 5 , then you'll wipe up that water you spilled so you don't slip and crack your head open."

M

Spot the Weirdness.

What the heck. I mean, I know they aren't common anymore...

Little Miracles

Little miracles happen at our house every day. Little miracles are present, in between the other grittier, less fun parts of parenting.

Here is a little miracle.
Those things in the middle of this picture are chairs. T has learned to draw pictures of chairs.
A seat, a back, and four legs: a chair.

Somehow, in the middle of all he is learning: how preschool ends and summer vacation begins, how to swim, how to hang up his own clothes, how to describe events in the past without always using the word "yesterday", how helium balloons will leave you so swiftly if you let them go, how to ask his brother about his day and really listen to the answer...Somehow, in the midst of all of that, he also learned to draw some chairs.

Pretty cool.

Google ads

My recurring ad in the Google gmail for today:


"National Guard: This is the moment to serve again."

What the?
Seriously. I'm okay without the National Guard right now. I've only been out since November and I'm still arguing with them about why I've been charged for life insurance for December and January. When. I. Wasn't. In. The. Guard.

The dreams we dream for our children

This morning was a "dress-up" day at Big T's preschool. I begged him to wear what I call a "Miami Vice" shirt (It's silky fabric with a bold pattern...) and he agreed with the promise of jelly beans.
"But it's not a Miami Vice shirt." he said. "It's a guitar shirt. NO, no, wait, it's a drum shirt."

Apparently, F was horrified because I got this email and photo when I arrived at work:


"Drummer? Ha! That's T**** H*****, marketing rep. U.S. region Marshall Amplification, also A&R development for MCA records. ;) What a good looking kid! "

Last night

Last night


Stuck in a dream in which my old homestead is deranged
and nothing looks familiar anymore
not the trees.
not even the faces i love

I awaken to a sound
very real
but so different from my dream that it is hard to adjust.
I move to the sound like I do through water
slow, clumsy and unsure

It is the voice of a boy calling out to someone
to see a face he loves
"Mommy. Mommy."

He calls out to me
in our homestead, not new, but the one imprinted on him
like a pond is for a baby duck

I leave the dream behind and move towards today;
eager.
fast, steady and sure

Munders

M in T's unders.

Some people have said that her constant demand to wear T's underpants indicates a desire to be potty-trained.
I don't believe a word of it.

Some people would look at the instance just a few days ago where she took off her diaper, went over to the corner of her room, disposed of something, came back to me, tugged on my pant leg pointed and said, "I peed over there." and think that indicates a desire to be potty-trained.
Pshaw. I don't think so.

Not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent.

I am not ready to potty-train her and therefore she MUST NOT have a desire to be potty-trained yet. It is nice to have my head in the sand.
It is cool down here.

M-cycle

The other night we pulled the minivan into the garage. We looked over to where F usually parks and he'd pulled the riding lawn mower in and parked it. We all got out of the van and T and I proceeded to head into the sun porch.
We looked around as we hung up our bags and realized that we left M behind in the garage. I peeked in and she was sitting in the lawn mower seat.
I told her she could stay there a bit as I got things situated (ahem, put sweatpants on) for the evening.

I came back about 5 minutes later. She was still sitting on the seat.

I approached her and she waved her arms furiously and squealed "NO! NO! NO!." (This behavior usually indicates that I am not welcome to come in and make the fun end.)
I asked her what her plans were.

"Driving. NEED to drive." she said.
"Drive the motorcycle."

She sweetly patted the steering wheel of the lawn mower.

Well, bless her little "motorcycle" lovin' heart.

We had a picnic supper in the garage that night. All the while, M sat upon the "motorcycle" and pushed every button possible to push and pulled every knob possible to pull.
Occasionally she would sob a little and say, "It's not working. It's not working." I would remind her that she could sit on it but was not allowed to actually drive yet.

She would sigh, and grip the wheel tightly with both hands, "Vrrrrooom. Vrroooommm."

Look out world.

autonomy

I LIKE kids with a little autonomy, a little agency, a little go get it-ness. I like to hear things like,

"Sure. I'll do it Mommy. I can put my own shoes on."

or

"I want to get forks for everybody."

or

"I'll wash my own face."

or

"I'll just pick out my own underpants today."

Imagine my combination of horror and delight when I heard the T-monster exclaim last night, "Oh no! My ball went up on the roof!"

and I sighed and said, "That's okay honey. You can play with something else for now. We'll let a strong wind blow it off." (This "strong wind" idea because we never have ponied up for a ladder tall enough to reach up there...)

And then, instead of hearing a disappointed boy voice, I heard a little perky kid holler over to me:

"That's just okay Mommy! It's not EVEN a problem! I'll just go and get a shovel! I'm just gonna whack it off the roof with that big shovel we've got!"

And he went and got the big shovel from where it was leaning by the garden and he proceeded to drag the heavy and long and big shovel (all the while grunting and stammering) over to where he thought the ball had been lost on the roof and he attempted to raise the big shovel high enough into the air to whack the ball off of the roof. ..Near the only windows that don't let in cold air. ..Near our nice siding. ..Near our garden swing...The big shovel wildly out of control, swinging in the air, the little 3 year old boy staggering under its big shovel weight like a drunkard in the early morning light.

And do you think I put a stop to this madness?

Heck no.

Boys

All together.

Classic "mafia" pose.

The mafia begins to giggle and look less threatening.

Cute and sweet.

Whether they like it or not.

Easter food

For Easter, I forced my family to eat "Jellied Gazpacho" from the New Joys of Jell-o cookbook. It may be the last meal I ever host.

I thrifted that cookbook and I've been dying to try one of the non-dessert recipes. At least I picked one without meat to start out with. Bwahahahaha.

Pancakes

T last night, tucking M in:

He sits on the bed and pats her head.

"M," he says, "Do you like pancakes? When I'm grown up, I'll make you pancakes. I'm just not grown up yet, but when I AM, then I'll make them for you."

Preparing for Easter

Our first double yolk!!

Halloween

I'm organizing photos this weekend. I've ordered Halloween pics.
We've still got these same kids, so it's not like getting behind on organizing pics changes anything.

Here's M.
She was a spider web. I love to thrift and I got this costume for about 2.99. It had a little head band with wiggling spiders on it--which she took off.

And put back on.

And took off.

And put back on.

It was a very redundant evening.

I always forget that the clothes that they wear with the costume can actually be seen. I will remember next year and put them both in basic black.

That way it won't be confusing. I mean, is she a spider web or a cheetah? Or a speetah?

See the room that Mom is in (below)? Most of that furniture is now in storage and has been replaced with "media room" furniture.
I'd say that moving stuff around in the house has become an actual pastime of mine.

Big T.

He was slightly obsessed with eating lollipops. He was even more taken with the lollipops than he was with chocolate.

Which was handy for me.

Someone had to eat the chocolate.

M frequently excused herself from the party and went to crawl up and down the stairs.
And therefore, so did my Mom.

What loyalty my Mom has.
I just sat and ate my hot dogs and chocolate and hoped the M would be okay on the stairs. I hope that isn't wrong.

Then, I took Big T's hat and wore it around.

Believe it.

He got over it eventually.

M can sommersault now

and this was her just a bit ago.

Too long of a video. No one but I will watch it, and that's okay.
If you do watch it though, listen to F and M dialoging together. It tears at the heart strings.


AND make sure to listen to the tiny-baby grunting and snorting and smacking sounds. She sounds Just Like every other baby in the whole world. You can bet that you sounded Just Like that, and so did your mother, and your boss, and your father, and the neighbor down the street, and your very worst enemy.
You see, she ISN'T special. She's just the SAME...the same as all the other babies in the whole world. It's just how we feel about her that makes her special. And how we treat her.
And if that doesn't make you want to be kind to your fellow man, I don't know what would.

Saturday Morning

Can a girl not even take a little weekend nap on the couch without some boy sneaking into the kitchen and making himself a little snack mix out of Life cereal and Sun chips?

Blended Family

He's already trying to work it.

Tonight, T was pointing at a spot on the treadmill that has been colored on with magic marker. I know exactly who did this and I know exactly when it happened.

T looked up at me and said, "A naughty child did that."

"Yup." I said. "Which naughty child did that?"

"Um, I just don't know but probably Frankie."




My advice to you, T. If you're lookin' to place some blame--you might want to pick the sibling that is sitting right next to you NOT the one that's way older and lives in a different city.

I'm just saying.

Communication Breakdown

So, this sort of thing never happens if you live alone:

Saturday, I roasted a chicken.
Sunday, I took the big, hulking carcass and dropped it in the giant soup pot and boiled it all day. I told F to bring home some carrots and onions so that I could make chicken noodle soup for Monday night.
He brought the carrots and onions home about 9 pm on Sunday night. He saw me go to bed at about 915 pm. He saw me leave for work on Monday morning.

As I was leaving for work on Monday morning, I says to him, "Make sure you guys eat up lots of leftovers today. There is some canned chicken soup leftover in the fridge that M could eat for lunch as well as french toast sticks, etc. etc."

I get home and I see that some people are already eating.
I see M is eating the canned chicken soup with crackers.
I see the giant soup pot is on the stove. I think to myself, "Great, he's already got it out so I can pull the meat off the carcass."
I see him go over with a ladle.
I see him dip into the giant soup pot and pour some liquid into a bowl.
I demand an explanation from him.


Apparently, he's been eating that "soup" throughout the day.
Apparently, he thinks it is pretty tasty.
When asked about the huge carcass floating in the middle of the giant soup pot, he explains that he just "went ahead and crunched it up." (At this time, he makes chopping gestures with both hands.)
Apparently, he thought this was some of my "country cooking."

I mean, I grew up in Minnesota... Not the Ozarks. I've never served anything to him that had huge pieces of bone floating throughout it. I've never uttered words like, "Ah there. Yap. Just go ahead and crunch those bones up nice and small and we'll just chew em right up. It's good for ya."

What the heck? What the heck? When did he think the carrots and onions were coming in to play? It all too bizarre for further rumination.
That's all I have to say about that.

Legally and Happily Separated:

Me and the Army, that is.

My last drill was in November and we took these pics that same Sunday.
However, because of how the Army works, we did not get official papers until late January.

"Parents," said Harry, "shouldn't leave their kids unless they have to."

And now I won't have to.

Here's our clan.

See what happens when I'm not home for the weekend? One naked child and one child in mismatched pink clothing?

My Mommy packed my bag when I shipped off for basic training. They gave us a list and I got what was on that list and nothing more. I was the only one in my barracks that didn't have to throw a bunch of stuff away. My Mommy can follow directions.

I loved being in the Army and I loved having gone through basic training. My only suggestion to anyone about to enter the military is this:

See how short and cute and stylish my hair is in the photo below?
DO NOT CUT YOUR HAIR SHORT AND CUTE FOR ANY MILITARY TRAINING OR DEPLOYMENT!
There will not be showers, or haircuts, or hair products. Long and pulled back is the way to go.
Just prior to basic training, I had cut my hair to a short style, similar to what I have below. 11 weeks without a haircut is a great inconvenience.
I did the same thing when I was mobilized in 2003--NOT SMART.
Just wear it long and pull it back.

Me and the SO HAPPY hubs. He's been getting up with the kids every drill Saturday, after working until the wee hours of the morning, and then doing it again Sunday.
Plus, he doesn't like that I can do more push ups than him--but that will still not change. I am a push up machine.

I love group photos. F took this one.

And one last one of me, in my uniform.

A glamor shot, to say the least.

Little F!

A Driving Prayer

Today, my Mom is driving to a hot vacation spot. I asked Big T to say a prayer for her. He agreed, and I asked him which prayer he wanted to say.

"The Jesus Loves Me Prayer." he responded.

Thinking this was along the same lines as the song, I started out, "Jesus loves me..."

"No, No, Mommy! Not THAT one! (Insert big sigh and eye roll here.) I'LL just do it."

"Jesus loves his Grandmother.
Mary loves his GrandMA.
The trees blow by.
The sky rolls on past.
The sky flies up in the helicopter and Jesus blows the trees.
Amen."


I kid you not. I embellished nothing, not even that part about "the sky ROLLS ON past."

Braveheart

See this good-looking charmer? I picked him out from Paulbeck's Supervalue in 4th grade as a treat for doing well on my report card.

He's been well kept.
He's rosy cheeked.
He's cute.
He's clean.
He's Santa.
He's animatronic.

Apparently he's also a "threat."

While I unpacked Xmas decor in late November, Charlie kept me company.
He was less than impressed with the animatronic Santa, and I would go so far as to say that he was, ahem, AFRAID!

This fear of Santa from the dog that lived on the streets as a stray.
This fear of Santa from the dog that has lost teeth in either,
a.) a terrible battle with a deadly enemy or
b.) chewing on tin cans and other trash for nourishment (this actually being the Vet's best guess about the missing teeth...)

This tough and hearty dog got ready to make a run at Santa.
His hackles went up.
He got up "close" to Santa, looked right in his beady little eyes, and he GROWLED.

And then he walked quickly away.

And came to stand by me in a protective posture.

Oh, wait--I was standing in the protective posture and he was just AFRAID!

Charlie=Dork.