The Bumblebee and The M&M

We tricker treated last night. In our town, it's on the the 30th. I'm anxious to learn what other things they make up around here. "They" also have a very strict policy of only tricker treating from 5-8 PM. The police, and not the dressed up kind, will come and get you and haul you off to

your own house and make you quit begging other people for candy.

Not that I know that from experience...

Avee still hasn't recovered from her 16 day old injury so she was carried by me and J, but mostly J and then we had the brilliant idea to put her in the stroller and carry Danyo. And by we, I mean me. I'm the one that has brilliant ideas 45 minutes after the average person would have.

About 45 minutes into the house-ta-housing, both of my children said, within moments of each other, neither having heard that other, "Okay, I'm done." I was really disappointed with these two ninnies who didn't have nearly enough chocolate in their bags for us to be done. Had I known that butting in and grabbing what I wanted instead of letting my child choose was an option, we could have been done within 15 minutes.

After we indulged the kids in their pleasure, begging for candy from perfect strangers, we went and had Pho. Our pleasure. I don't like the Pho ( Fō ) here as well as in Texas, but whatteryagonnado? It was still good. And Avee whales on Pho like you have never seen a two year old whale on Vietnamese soup. It looks like a rice noodle hurricane hit when she's done.

(The Adorable Trooper)

I'm not a big fan of Halloween. Having kids has changed me a little bit. It's hard to resist a chocolate faced, redhaired bumblebee. Or a blue M&M who can't say his R's. I'm also not a fan of anything scary. ANYTHING. I don't even like things that are only remotely scarey and other people think are funny. Not for me. At all.
I sort of figgered my kids would be the same way. They are not. Bo was drawn to one house that had a girl screaming, "help me, help me" from upstairs and the girl downstairs was all decked out in scary stuff and uh...stitches? He asked me, "Are there houses I can go to liiiiike, 2, 3, or 10 times?" He went back 3 times. They had a great time giving M&M's to the M&M.

Then Avee walked right up to some guy with a scary mask and smeared in what appeared to be blood. I laughed when one kid asked him what he was supposed to be and he answered, "I dunno." I didn't know either. I stood close by to rescue her, but ended up just getting a picture of Avee looking like, "Mom, this guy's costume is kind of weird, it doesn't really make sense and even though he's very nice, I'd like to move on to that house with the Starbursts..."

When they were done. Bo's sort of an all-or-nothing kind of kid. He had

to put his clothes back on to go eat Pho. He have some class.

Yesterday when we were out running errands, Bo was begging me to stop at Mickey Dee's. I knew he wasn't hungry so I asked him what he wanted. His answer: "I need some water to chase down the gross piece of candy I just ate." My son needs a chaser? Perhaps I should pay more attention to the crowd he runs with at school and outside.

That is all I have to write about Halloween. It was all I had to say altogether, but a random kid just came to my house. Tell me, are kids waaaaaaaaaaay ruder and bolder now than they were in my day, or am I just an old lady? I never would have dreamed of asking another adult "Why?" when I was told no. Besides my mom.

I am pretty friendly to the kids that come around here. However, when I say no about something, it doesn't cease to shock me when I'm challenged with a "Why?!" And it's not so much a question as it is a challenge. What IS that?
Just now, one of Bo's friends knocked on the door. Bo let him in and another kid followed him. I've never seen this kid before. He walks in my house, looks around and starts to head upstairs where Avee is sleeping.
" Don't go upstairs please. Hey! I said don't go upstairs."
"Why!?"
"Because I said and this is my house."
"I can only stay down here?"
"Nope, you can also leave."
"Why can't I go upstairs and play."

Are you KIDDING me?! Do I really have to tell some kid who hasn't even cut his two front teeth yet why I want to do things a certain way in my own home? I don't think so. It's all good though, I shoved him down the stairs and pulled him out the front door by his ankles. He'll probably think twice before he asks me why again.

Waiting For His Callback

The other day I was watching my friends 3 little, very good, kids. She doesn't read this blog, they are just very good little kids. She takes the time with her family. And isn't it about, time?

So, much to my chagrin Bo picked dinnertime with these little angels, to exclaim, "what the hell!?" for no reason. I will take responsibility for a multitude of indiscretions that are all brought to the attention of many by my loud parrot-children. But I am not claiming this. My word of choice is dammit. And J doesn't swear. Ever. It's not natural I tell you. So I have no idea where this came from. And to make matters worse, the boy can't even pronounce his L's. So he's yelling, "What the hay-oh!?" Not sure why that makes matters worse. It doesn't really, but I wrote it anyway.

Plus, ALL weekend it has been, "I'm just joking" at the end of everything he says. "I don't want to wear socks....I'm just joking." "Avee, get away from me....I'm just joking" "I already KNOW that....I'm just joking." It's annoying, at best.

So tonight I was making muffins for his snack tomorrow (darn school has all sorts of requirements for healthy and so I can't send him to school with the same crap I feed him at home) and he said, "That's so freakin' hot in there," about the oven. Well, that's a word that sounds SO much worse coming from a 4-year-old than I think it sounds when I say it myself. So I did my motherly duty and told him he shouldn't say it and that it's not a nice word. He asked what it meant. I said it didn't really mean anything, it just doesn't sound nice.

"Like hay-oh?"
"Yeah, kind of like that. Only, hell is actually a place, where you are going to go if you don't stop saying hell."
I'm just jokin' I didn't say that.
I told him they were both not good words and he shouldn't say either.

To which he replied, "What the hell!?! You said freakin'! I'm just jokin'! "

I believe this is what you get when you don't consult parenting books enough.
Or perhaps he is a product of a girl who thinks she's funnier than she is and has a potty mouth herself. Hmm, yeah, that's probably it.

Sensitive Bully

I have little to no tolerance for unkindness. That might be a profound statement of the obvious, but I'd be willing to make a friendly wager that I have less tolerance for it than the average bear.

So, it doesn't help that Bo is going through an experimental phase of deciding who he likes and doesn't like. And there are more "don't likes" because....well because he's a stinker. It is particularly difficult for me to let him go through this phase and figure things out, I just want to make him like everyone. Plus most of the time when I ask him why he doesn't like a particular person his reasons are really lame. Like, "She has flat long hair" or "he doesn't like sidewalk chalk".

Today at lunch, Avee had already left the table and this conversation ensued:

Bo: Mom, that pie was really good last night, I ate all of mine all gone, it was so good.
Me: Well thank you Bo, that's nice of you to say, that makes me feel good. I made that pie just for you and Dad, I thought you guys might like it.
Bo: (a little too delighted) ha ha, you didn't make it for Avee!
Me: Oh, I made it for her too, but she didn't eat very much of her dinner so she didn't get to have pie.
Bo: Yeah, that was pretty funny to me that she didn't get any pie.
Me: Oh Bo, it's not nice to laugh at things that might make someone else feel sad.
Bo: Yeah, but I don't like Avee
Me: That makes me so sad to hear Bo because I love Avee so much. How do you think you would feel if Avee said she didn't like you?
Bo: Oh, I would feel so bad, it would really make me sad. But don't tell Avee!

I think that last statement really sums him up well. This tender-hearted sweet boy that keeps being a little stinker.

I do hope this phase passes soon.

When They Are Still Too Young To Object

We like to treat our children like objects.

We had some fun with Danyo today. He's so easy going.

Too Tired For The Jiggity Jig Part

I'm happy to be home. I missed my babies. They did not miss me. That's a good thing in my opinion. Not very nice of them, but I guess I'm happy when they are happy.

Avee hasn't walked on her foot since last Tuesday. She's gotten quite mobile however, and it's really entertaining. When I left, she was laying on the couch crying to be carried everywhere. Right now she is laying under the kitchen table with a poopy diapers singing, "Come and giiiiiiit me" to J. He doesn't think it's funny. I do.

I had a great time in Utah and got to visit with a lot of my favorite people and meet Tori and Suzanne and go to Ikea. In that order.

I know you are all waiting with bated breath to hear about meeting those lovely blogging babes, so I'll make you wait no more.

They are cool. I liked them.

In other news, I have this beastly rash....


Oh just kidding.

Speaking of just kidding---as you may well know, I joke a lot. Even in real life, not just in my blog. I also tend to find myself around people (especially when I've first moved) who don't get my jokes. Not because they are slow. More because I'm not really funny. So, I have a habit of immediately saying, "I'm just kidding."

Well, I spent a few hours with Tori and I made about 3 or 4 of those not-really-funny jokes and Tori got them immediately. And then I looked particularly dumb saying, "i'm just kidding." She's quick y'all. Quick. It was refreshing.

We met at a restaurant and they got there before me because they didn't park on the complete opposite end of the very long mall. Nor did they have to carry a nosey and cute baby peeking out of a sling trying to get people to look at him. In the rain. Because they are smarter than that.
Immediately after meeting them and sitting down to eat, it felt like I was meeting old friends for a weekly lunch. I felt so comfortable.

One time I accidentally said hell. I'm certain I was talking about the place and not "what the hell was she thinking" but I covered my mouth, immediately embarrassed at the terrible first impression I was making. Tori said she wasn't going to read my blog anymore. Suddenly I remembered they know more about me and my children (who incidentally, also swear) than I was giving them credit for and immediately felt better. Meeting people for the first time after they've been reading your blog for a few months, is kind of liberating. I didn't even have to pretend I knew which fork to use for the salad. Wait a minute, we didn't get any salads, heeeeeeey...

I have a couple of secrets for you. I hope they don't mind me divulging...

Tori's quiet. I know---shocking. Not more quiet than NCS, because I think that would classify her as a mute---but she's quiet. Not reserved. Not shy. Just quiet.

Think that's shocking? Suzanne is sassy. She's a great conversationalist and very easy to talk to. That part is not shocking---but the sassy, spunky stuff just slips right in through her ability to make you feel at ease in conversation. I still feel like I discovered a new planet with that one. Or maybe just discovered a planet wasn't really a planet. Like that's ever happened.

Some highlights:
Very comfy red couch in Ikea.
Getting a phone call from Suzanne while in the Ikea bathroom.
"Hi Angela! Where are you!?"
"Uh. I'm in the bathroom."
"Oh. hahaha! Well, I'm here now..."
Suzanne holding a squirmy Danyo all through lunch. I got to eat with both hands. And I did.(Sorry Mom)
Hearing the correct pronunciation of "Sei"
Great conversation over yummy food.
Meeting someone who's more indecisive than me.
Letting two more people experience my tangential story telling and watch them pretend they were following me and that all the tangents in between the beginning and end actually were related.

It was a definite highlight for me in what was a very enjoyable getaway. I hope there will be many more lunches with them. Or dinners.

Or even just pie.



I'll settle for pie.



Guys? Please!?


I have a very cute picture of them from one of our camera phones but I'm not posting it. I'm not prohibiting either of them to post it, but I refuse to advertise my face on my blog. Unless of course, you are willing to pay me...

I stayed up until 2AM every night that I was there. I was slightly more pleasant than a zombie, but I didn't care. I was having so much fun.

But now, back in the land of crying babies, dirty diapers, legos scattered on my floor I'm suddenly very tired and absolutely must go to bed at a decent hour.

I am adding a video of Avee. I tried to catch her effortless maneuvering whilst not using her right leg, but the toilet sort of got in the way. But she's still funny.

No More Monkey Jumping On The Bed

I really did mean for that to be my last post.

One thing I am consistently, is inconsistent.

J told me before he left for work that he was going to be working late, like until 10:30.
I called him at 5:30 just to see if he had changed his mind. If maybe I was so irresistable he would have to neglect his work duties and rush home to the hotdogs and macaroni and cheese I had made for him. He hadn't. I'm not.

While I was on the phone with him I heard a new and heart wrenching kind of cry from upstairs and my heart stopped. My daredevil, crazy cartflipping, box surfing girl was hurt, and I could tell from the cry. Of course, Bo removed all doubt when he started yelling, "Avee bwoke her leg mom!"

There were no bones protruding so I knew she was fine.

Just kidding. I sort of wiggled her leg around and nothing seemed to make her yell out in pain. Then I had her try and stand and her poor little leg quivered beneath her and she fell to the ground. So I carried her downstairs, gave her a binkie, some pringles, some m&ms and let her color on my carpet and couch....happy NCS?

Actually, the binkie did the trick. But she did not move. Every few minutes or so, she'd yell out, "I can't waaaaaaaaaalk!" but she was mostly content to just sit there. THEN she started adding in, "Bean broke my leg!" and I wondered if it was hurting her. I was trying to get some baking done in the kitchen and she just wanted to be held. So I brought her in to sit on the counter.

I have NO experience with serious injuries. I grew up in a padded cell. Explains a lot, doesn't it? I reached down and felt her ankle, which was neither bruised nor swollen and felt heat radiating off of it. I called my friend Rebecca and she urged me to not ignore it and reminded me that Avee is a tough cookie and it could be worse than she was letting on.

Then I took her to a neighbor who is a chiropractic student and he checked it out and said that the most telling thing was her refusal to step on it.

So I took her to the ER. Because I missed the stupid urgent care hours by 12 minutes, in my indecision. I had to wait for J to come home because I'm not interested in hauling 3 kids to the ER. I'm lazy like that.

Her x-rays didn't show anything that the doctor could see. She said a radiologist will look at it today and call if he sees something. She also said that there are types of breaks that don't show up for like a week. How crazy is that!?! So, she has to have a follow-up with her pediatrician and if she still refuses to walk on it today, they'll have to do more x-rays.

Mah po' baby. It's killing me to leave her like this, but she's got a good daddy who can take just as good care of her. Only, he's not as soft and squishy. That much has been determined by our astute children.

Right now she's on the couch in the same spot I plunked her after we dropped Bo off at school. It is driving her batty not to be able to move. And she expresses that frustration by wailing my name every 3 minutes or so.

I gave her a muffin this morning and she ate half and then wailed (I'm not overusing a descriptive word here, everything she says to me is in a wail), "I don't want this, I need to go to sleep" and promptly closed her eyes. She had been awake approximately 17 minutes at that point.

The most interesting part of her ER visit was when the nurse brought in a dispenser of motrin and an ace bandage. Avee objected mildly to the medicine but got over it fast. The whole time we were there she dealt with being poked and prodded, getting uncomfortable x-rays, being made to stand and walk, etc. All without much more than normal objections.
However, after taking the medicine, she spotted the bandage and completely lost it. She started thrashing her upper body and screaming at the top of her legs "No bandaid, NO BANDAID!" The nurse's eyes bugged and she looked at me in complete shock.

"Er, it seems she has a phobia of bandaids, I forgot. She thinks the bandaids are what actually cause her the pain." So, the smart nurse told her it was a special sock and she finally got it on her.

This fear of bandaids is very amusing to me. You can't believe the fun we have at night when there's nothing good on tv. Avee, a box of bandaids--hours of fun.

Tewsdee

Today I took all three kids shopping, and even used coupons. I feel like I could rest on my ample laurels for several days. Which I intend to do.

Avee was given the warning if she didn't stay by the cart, she would have to get IN the cart. For her, that was much like the time in 3rd grade my mother made me wear knickers to school. And I don't mean English knickers.

She lasted about 10 minutes but then decided to go screaming down as many aisles as she could. So I put her in the cart. After the very skillful game of pretending I didn't see her or hear her and getting her worked up so she would come close enough to demand my attention so I could grab her and avoid the whole scene of large redhead flailing down an aisle with 4 month old hanging from crook of elbow and 2 and a half year old yards and yards ahead screeching gleefully because it's all in the thrill of the chase. For her.

When she started screaming, I reminded her that this was the consequence she agreed to before we entered the store. She calmed down, and I thought my parenting was masterful, but I realize now it's because she was already working on her escape from the cart.

However, there was no escape. What happened was, I reached to put back the box that had more calories per serving and suddenly Avee is flipping head first from the back of the cart. Or the front. The end that doesn't have the child seat. I yelped and lunged for her, but she was holding on to the cart, so she didn't fall. She just sort of hung there, suspended in air, kept up by her tiny little grasp.

How it looked then, was as though she was suddenly going to do a somersault through the air out of the cart. Her knees curled up to her chest, but legs up in the air, her head smashed against the cart, and her screaming and Bo yelling, "Wow, that's AWESOME Avee!" When I pulled her up, she had the grid of the cart imprinted across the most prominent part of her forehead. Which made me laugh. And Bo too. She was not happy. However, that event kept her seated in the cart for the next half hour. I'd just say, "remember the cart flip?" and she'd behave. Love natural consequences like that.

Nextly, Bo has started cupping his ear when he doesn't hear me. I am certain the boy is half deaf because he spends most of his day saying, "Say that LOUDER" and I really don't think I'm a low-talker. But twice I went to "yell" at him at the store for running off and he'd turn around and cup his ear, looking earnestly intent on hearing my scold, and then all I could do was laugh.

Thirdly, I'm going to Utah in two days. I am so excited I asoiwenglk aidygwki can hardly see straight. It's just me and Danyo and we're gonna party like...like a 4 month old and his mama do. I am going to meet some very cool girls and spend time with some good friends and family. My friend is getting married. That's why I'm going.

When I come back, my 2 year old will be potty trained (the fact that she isn't yet is totally my fault, I figure a child who can say, "Mom, as soon as I'm done pooping, will you change my diaper?" is beyond ready) and my 4 year old will think I hung the moon again and won't blame me for things like his apple having seeds or his paper getting crumpled when he's at school or shoes coming untied. It will be like heaven.

I'll be back in about a week.

Home Is Where The "Nigh-Nigh" Is

Avee wanted to go outside. So she did. I called her back in to put on a jacket. I said, "Avee, it's too cold outside to play without a jacket, put a jacket on and you can go back outside."

This was her response:

Perhaps we do not speak the same language.

I'd just like to point out, getting her blanket off of her bed, spreading it out on the stairs, and finding an illegal binky, all took considerably more time and effort than putting on a jacket would have.

Heckling

I got schooled by COMMENTERS. Sheesh. From now on, you can only comment if you are going to say I'm pretty and smart. Just kidding, I loved it all. I was interested to read that several people had similar experiences and were crazy enough to invite a door-to-door salesperson in. I want to defend myself because I even got a phone call from my mother who got all up in my grill. Right after she read me an article from her senior citizen magazine. As per usual, she one-upped everyone with her reason for concern. Carrot was holding strong until my mom said, "What if she had been a pervert?" I'm still not entirely sure what that is supposed to mean, but I got a kick out of it.

I was curious about her opening "vote for me" line, I wondered briefly if she was working for Obama, who has an office here in our town. AND my front door was wide open when she approached it, so I couldn't really shut it suddenly. AND my kitchen is about 3 feet away from the entryway.

But, she was in my house.

And now I fear my 10 year old 27 inch tv might get stolen...

A few minutes ago Bo came flying in the house bawling. I grabbed him up quickly (still not accustomed to the dramatic phase he's entered) with concern. He was wailing, "Hunto made me siiiiirrrrrrrd leado, he made me siiiiiiiirrrrrrrrd, ahhhhhhhhhh"

"Bo, Bo, what's a Sir Leo? What's wrong?" When I realized it was something "Hunto" had done, I knew he was okay. The kid couldn't find his way out of a paper bag on a good day, let alone physically hurt Bo. Plus, he's not a mean kid.

Turns out Hunto made him THIRD LEADER instead of SECOND. My poor boy was happy as second and still got the boot. A bigger neighbor girl was the reason he got demoted. So Bo wasn't happy with her. After he composed himself he opened the front door and yelled at the top of his lungs, "You are SOOOOO STUPID!"

I immediately got after him, "You do not talk like that, we don't use those words, open the door right now and apologize."

He is nothing if he isn't obedient.

"I'm sorry I said stupid. But you are still the thing I said you woh at fohst."

He is nothing if he isn't honest.

Oh, and two more things.
The pinnacle of big boy activities for Bo is reading chapter books. So, you can imagine his delight when at the library last week, his friend pointed him toward a chapter book about a superhero called Captain Underpants. We've been reading it to him, and he's semi-obsessed, but he only gets about 1/8th of the jokes in the book. He's more in love with the idea than anything else. So, there is a character named Professor Poopypants (and I thought I coined that name) and whenever everyone else hears his name, they all laugh hysterically.

So today Bo asks me, "Why doesn't Professor Poopypants get mad about his name mom?" I said, "Oh, he is mad, see his face, he's totally mad."

"No, he's mad about them laughing at his name, why doesn't get mad that his name is Professor Poopypants?"

I ask you, is that not brilliant and insightful?

And lest you think I'm bragging....Bo learning how to snap his fingers...

The Weirdos Are Comin'! The Weirdos Are Comin'!

"Good evening Sir, my name is Steve. I come from a rough area. I used to be addicted to crack but now I am off it and trying to stay clean. That is why I am selling magazine subscriptions. "

So, Thursday night I was busily making dinner when a couple of neighborhood kids and Bo came flying through my front door, "Someone's coming, someone's coming! Get ready!"

I said thank you to my miniature Paul Reveres and went to the front door.

A young girl, about 17, was standing there, and for the purpose of this story, I will describe her appearance. She was tall, probably almost as tall as me (5'10") and had dark long straggly hair. She was sweating a lot. She had on a spaghetti strap tank top, too long jeans, and several tattoos on her exposed upper body.

She started talking almost immediately.

"First of all I want to know if you are old enough to vote and if you will vote for me." I heard her, but didn't follow. I mean, what sort of crazy political office was she running for and what kind of moron would look at me and not know I wasn't old enough to vote. I asked her what she was running for and she smiled and said, "Nothing, I just want to know if you would like to help me win, you don't really have to vote for me."

I had mushrooms sauteing. And we all know how delicate mushrooms can be. So I said, "I have dinner on the stove, come in." I still was interested in what kind of politics this girl was involved in.

Well, it was none. She was doing that damn door-to-door magazine sales things. Where they hold up a laminated rectangular card that has a hundred names of magazines on one side and some hokey looking point system on the other side. She's doing it "for her speech class".

They are ALL doing it for their speech class. In California, in St. Louis, in Texas, and now in Iowa.

She held up her laminated card and took a deep breath, but I cut her off at the pass and said, "If you are selling magazines, I'm not buying." She hadn't mentioned magazines yet, so she knew I was on to her. I saw her eyes sort of flash, anger, annoyance, something not friendly. But she quickly replaced it with a bright smile and said, "Okay then! How about perfume!" And handed me the card.

I said, "are you kidding me, you're selling perfume from a laminated card?"
She said, "No, I just wanted you to look."

So, let's sum up here. She has made two statements to me. Both of them lies. And this is her sales approach?

She tried to get me to listen to her spiel, but I just said, "I'm sorry, you don't need to waste your time here, I'm not buying."

Danyo was sitting in his bouncy seat on the table. I give him cooking lessons on Thursdays. Avee came running into the kitchen and as she did the girl said, "Man, you have a lot of little redhaired brats around here, don't you?" I know she meant for "brats" to be funny, and personally I think it's funny to refer to my own children as brats because obviously I don't really mean that. But uh, she's a complete stranger.
In my home. **

But I was in a good mood so I casually raised my wooden spoon and said, "Boy you're batting a thousand, aren't you?"

She didn't follow me. I didn't think she would.

She tried a couple of other times to start her sales pitch. I wasn't even going to let her get to the, "I'm tied for 2nd and I will get to take my little niece who has cancer of the filangies to Disneyland if you just buy this magazine from me."

When it was clear I wasn't biting, her whole demeanor changed. She had this sort of defeated but totally ticked off look. And THEN she says, "Well if you aren't going to help me by buying any magazines, could I at least get a cold drink before I die of thirst out there in the heat." (It was maybe 80 outside).

I happened to be just turning on the faucet to rinse my spoon and she quickly added, "Something I could take with me, like a pepsi, or a coke?" I was incredulous. I said piously, "We don't have pepsi or coke in this house. I have water."

"Something cold, from the fridge?"

"Nope, nothing cold in the fridge, I have water." I hoped Avee wasn't within earshot and would come running in to be helpful, as she sometimes can be, and show her our drawer full of cold drinks. Then I noticed a 12 pack of diet sierra mist underneath our trash can. For some reason, the trash can felt really low to me when we moved here, so I propped it up on a box of soda. So I offered her a warm soda from under my trash can. I am every bit as classy as you think I am.

She shrugged and said, "I guess that will do." As IF! The last 30 seconds she was in my house were utterly shocking to me. weird

Have any of you gotten these people at your door? I have always suspected it was a scam and that these people take your checks and get your info, or take your cash and have a hay day, but that's just a speculations. When I googled to get some more info, it almost looked like it was a double scam originating with bigger companies who use the young people just as much as those young people try to use us. Who knows.

I'll mail you some muffins if you know the quote at the top. One of my all time favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies. The edited version, of course.

** In case you are surprised I didn't get more worked up about someone calling my kids brats, don't think I don't have that same mother bear instinct that others have. However, a not-so-bright girl with a pathetic job, saying something outright stupid, just isn't gonna get me riled. I'd rather get worked up about oh, say, Dwight killing Angela's cat.

Pillow Talk

So, I went here and she mentioned here and the afternoon was shot.

Nothing like an afternoon of rearranging furniture to forget your woes. And your children. :)

Just a quick conversation from last night:

I fell asleep on the couch shortly after The Office ended at 9 o' clock last night. ("I'll leave your toothbrush on top of your tire tomorrow morning...")

I guess I was tired.

So, J woke me up to go to bed around 10: 30 and I was surprised that I had fallen asleep so suddenly and for so long. Promptly after he woke me, I started talking nonstop for probably the next 45 minutes. Finally I said, "Wow, I just went on and on didn't I?"

J: It's okay, I know you needed some adult conversation, you had a hard day today.
A: How did you know?
J: Well, I read your blog while you were asleep on the couch.
A: Oh.
J: And because you yelled out in your sleep, "I am SO SICK of hearing children's voices!"
A: Oh haha, you're funny.
J: Uh, I'm not joking.
A: Whatever, I did not.
J: YES, you did. I was in the kitchen, Danyo barely squawked out in his sleep and you yelled out, "I'm SO SICK of hearing children's voices!" I came into the living room because I thought you were awake and you were dead asleep.

My children aren't even safe from me when I'm sleeping!

If

If patience expended calories, I'd look anorexic.

I'm tempted to rewrite some of the laws of energy.

Waiting for kids to get out of the van so I can close the door: 535 calories
Taking three children, 2 crying, 1 hungry to storytime: 2055 calories (And also stupid)
Meals with Miss Finicky and Mr. Mealtime ADD: 765 calories each meal
Bedtime: 1728 calories
Listening to stories with "um" and "and den, and den" used as 5 out of the 7 words spoken: 330 calories
Having a "newborn" who just figured out being held is better: 570 calories per 1/2 hour crying jag

If I was paid for this job I do, I'd have been fired on the spot today.
If I was paid for this job, I would have quit a long time ago.

I had world war 3 with Bo today over a freaking pair of gray pants. Apparently gray is the new vomit green in the world of preschoolers. I lost the fight, by the way. I lost because the alternative was to throw him from his second story bedroom window. So, I waved the white flag, or rather, denim shorts (there is safety in denim) and went downstairs to breathe and count. I suspecting the breathing and counting I did in labor was more effective.

If Danyo has been awake today, he's been crying. Or smiling. But mostly crying. And I'm wondering if this kind of behavior is listed in the DSM-V.

After story time when my hair was still miraculously in my head and I was sweating from head to toe from exercising such control, I yelled at Avee, "STOP! GET IN YOUR SEAT!" and swatted her leg. Writing this is a little like sitting in a confessional booth. Except that I'm not Catholic and I'm sure those things aren't called booths. I felt like a total heel for losing my temper like that, but Avee removed any hope for rationalizing to make myself feel better. She started bawling and yelling, "Don't hit me mom, don't hit me, I so sad you hit me. Don't yell at me, yelling makes Avee sad."

So yeah. That's about all. Danyo's been crying during this whole post. Good thing I'm a fast typist. Typist. Typer. Typologist. Typorometer. Typomamacita.

Going Back To My Roots

I originally started blogging a year and a half ago as a way to keep in touch with long distance family and friends and to document the little things that happen with kids, that can easily be forgotten.

I had no idea about the huge and wonderful blog culture, that's just been an added bonus. (Speaking of which, thank you so much for all the advice/opinions on the post about Bo not liking our neighbor. I do want to add, the bigger kid doesn't seek Bo out, just sometimes all the kids hang out together and Bo thrives on being with the bigger boys. But I am going to let Bo call the shots on this one. As long as he's nice.)

But now, sometimes when I go to post those little "dumb" things, I feel like I'm copping out or that I'm fishing. In reality, I'm just trying to stay true to myself.

With that being said, do you think I'm pretty?

Just kidding. I just have two little incidents that have made me laugh out loud and I wanted to document them.

Bo got sick sort of suddenly on Monday afternoon. Out of nowhere, he burst into tears and when I touched his head, it was blazing hot. It seriously came out of nowhere. So, yesterday, we took it kind of easy and last night, I wanted to see if he thought he was feeling good enough for school.

He surprisingly said no. When I asked why, he answered, "Because Sasha* will be there." He's mentioned Sasha at least two out of his three school days a week, since he started a month ago. Apparently they clashed early on, and Bo hasn't let it go. I can't tell if there have been other incidents (thank you very much T!), but when I press Bo for "reasons" he always goes back to "Sasha hit me" which happened the first day of class. And it may or may not have been a hit. I think she pushed his hand away or something.

I have talked to him a lot about Sasha and tried to give him ideas of how to help her be nice, but he's convinced she's just a bad seed. So last night, when he doesn't even want to go to school because of her, I asked him again, "Why don't you like Sasha?"

He pops up his little hand and lists off, "She hit me....she's not nice....she does mean things..." and then he was done. But he looked at his pudgy little hand and noticed there were still two perfectly good fingers left waiting to be useful with a complaint. "And uh.....there were some other reasons, I just can't sink of them...." Then he lists, as though he hasn't just listed 3 of the exact same complaints and as if he had already listed 23 very good complaints, "And I don't know her mom...and I don't know her dad. I sink that's probably it."

It's been a while since I've had to hide convulsive laughter from a very serious child.

I mentioned Sasha to his teacher today, hoping maybe she'd help him get past it a little, and the teacher laughed and said, "Yeah, she's pretty bossy."

Today he came home saying how wonderful Sasha is now. "I sot she was really mean, but she's just not anymore." Apparently he said, "Can you stick beans up your nose?" and she thought that was hilarious. Bo has just enough of me in him that, if you laugh at his jokes, all sins are forgiven. Forever.

*Name has been changed to protect the bossy

And also...

Further proof that Avee always knows how to get what she wants:

Today Avee fell asleep on the living room floor and because I didn't act on it fast enough she got woken up shortly after. So, the end result is, she doesn't take a real nap. I tried anyway and took her up to her bed. But I heard her flopping around upstairs. She tried to creep down the stairs but I yelled at her to go back to bed and she cried/screamed for 15 minutes and then came downstairs again. I caught her on the last stair and she knew she'd come far enough that she just might make it, with a little well-placed cuteness.

She broke out into a huge grin and ran to me, "I'm sooooooo happy to see you mom!" She looked up expectantly, knowing it had to work. But just in case it wasn't enough, "AND I need to go pee pee on the potty" as she pats her soaked diaper.

And lastly, but not least: For Millie

Singing In The Bathtub

Every person who has ever spent long periods of time with me, knows that I sing a lot. Randomly. Off-key. And often without realizing it. Sometimes the songs I'm singing are revelations of my subconscious, but a lot of times they are just random songs that have gotten stuck in my head.

I first realized the correlation between how I was feeling and what I was singing when I was 21 and going through a particularly difficult time in my life. I would often catch myself singing, "What a rotten day, this turned out to be...." a George Strait song. And another "It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do..." a cheatin' Earl Thomas Conley song. Neither of the actual songs applied, but those particular lyrics did.

When I was a senior in college, my roommate pointed out that I was always singing, "Bring me twooooooo pina coladas..." I have no idea why I was always singing that song. Maybe I was thirsty a lot in college.

Later, when I took my first job out of college at a law firm, I lived alone. If I was singing a lot, no one knew. Or so one might think. One day, my coworker who sat nearest me, blurted out, "Do you ever stop singing?" I was truly shocked. I had no idea I was singing at work. I was also embarrassed because I really don't sing well. She was nice though. She suggested I get a part in a musical so I could get it out of my system. I don't think that would have exactly tamed the beast.

A few months after starting that job, I got to go see Reba on Broadway in Annie Get Your Gun. I spent the next 6 months bellowing, "No you cain't get a man with a gun..." and "anything you can do, I can do better---I can do anything better than you." That made me a lot of friends.

Now that I stay at home with my kids, my "bad" habit is semi-harmless. Sometimes Bo tells me, "You don't sound so good mom" and the first 18 months of Avee's life, anytime I would sing, she screamed until I stopped. Even as an infant. Little brat.

Bo has picked up on the habit and sings a lot. Lately he has thrown in a little vibrato to spice up those nursery songs. You haven't heard singing until you've heard Mary Had a Little Lamb in 4 year old falsetto with some vibrato thrown in as well.

My habit has persevered, even in the face of adversity, judgement, and rejection.

I cannot help myself.

So yesterday, I was sitting on the edge of the tub shaving my legs. Too much information? Believe me, unshaved legs would have been more offensive. I was practicing my mad shaving skills that entail getting shaving gel on my shorts, t-shirt, elbows, and forehead and nicks only on the back of my ankles and just below the knee. Avee was sitting in the bathtub getting syrup off of every square inch of her body.

Since Avee's not really that great of a conversationalist, I absentmindedly started to sing.

"Because of you I never stray to far from the sidewalk..." That was all I sang. because really that's all I know.

Suddenly I hear Avee singing, "A-cuz yo get hit by a caaaaaaaaar, yo can't go in da suhweeeeeeeeeeeet!"

That's my girl: Smart AND a good singer.