Out of My Blog

Nothing Like Heavy Labor

2009-01-19T14:33:00.002-05:00

On a snowy day, there's nothing my boys like better than bundling up, plunging out in the fluff and hauling ass down the back hill on their snow tubes. Well, that's what they usually like to do. However, after Rob filled Max's head with scouting ideas and igloo-making plans, Max's outdoor plans have changed lately. He marked a prime spot for me to shovel a snow pile that would "settle and be sturdy for a snow house". He began the project, digging at the snow like a dog just finding a long lost ham bone. I stepped outside to shovel the driveway clean, only to be instructed on what had to be done next in his plan. I obliged and plowed the snow over to his pile. I let them dig at it for awhile as I finished up the end of the driveway. Then, just to be a sport, I went over and showed them a few techniques to carve it out with the shovel. At that point, they both stood up, brushed the snow off their pants and placed their hands on their hips. They turned into directors with a vision and I was the laborer. "Just, dig in there a little farther so I can actually sit in it". "That's it, and clean up that pile you just knocked down". "Hmmm, maybe you better stabilize the other side, too". "Hey MOM, you made mine fall down, get over here and fix it". "You made Max's good and mine bad, I can't fit in it." After finishing the driveway and digging as much as I felt would appease them, I tromped inside and left them to enjoy their masterpiece. No sooner had I closed the door and removed my gear, when they were at the door, herding in saying they were bored now and coming in. I guess what I'm left wondering is, what was more entertaining for them? Directing me like a puppet or making the snow house, only to abandon it for the toys in the house?

The Amazing Mother/Son Fainting Duo!!

2008-11-03T09:08:00.003-05:00

As I was laying on the couch in the basement yesterday, moaning in pain and sweating beads of cold sweat, it occurred to me that I may have passed on an undesirable trait to my eldest son, Max. I'm a fainter. He's a fainter. We are fainters.

It all started yesterday as I was sitting cross legged on an end table in the basement, watching Rob hang drywall. I am not the most poised person usually and could in fact be labeled in big bold letters "hopelessly clumsy". I wasn't concerned with this issue as I was perched on the end table downstairs. It's a sturdily-made hulking wooden beast of a bygone era we thought would be just the right touch in our basement/family room. Anyhow, as I was chatting away, I noticed the seat under my uhm, seat, was swaying backwards. In a cartoonish, slow-motion fashion, I flapped my arms in great sweeping circles, convinced that this action would surely reverse the tipping backward effect. It did not. Had I simply tipped over backward, things may not have been so bad. Girlfriend can take a fall (I already told you, I'm clumsy, didn't I?). However, our exercise machine, the Great and All-Powerful Elliptical, was situated just behind me. In my crash backward, the small of my back cracked down on the machine and caused blinding, drooling pain. Yes, I was indeed drooling. I hunkered over, only to come to seconds later to the blinding pain, Miles trying to ride me like a horse thinking it was some great fun game, and Rob losing his cool, yelling at Miles, kicking the dog away from me and peppering in frantic profanities. I passed out again and came to with Rob yelling at me "CAN YOU MOVE?!". Yes, but I don wanna. "CAN YOU FEEL YOUR LEGS!?" Ya, stop yelling at me, willya? "I THINK YOU MAY NEED TO SEE A DR." Oh, no, I have rehearsal this afternoon, then a skin care party, I just don't have the time. Oh, and not another bill right now, either. Yikes. Eventually, I made it up and over to the couch, where I iced my back and sipped some water and listened to Rob talking to his sister on the phone (she's a nurse) about how I should stop fooling around and be careful. He hung up the phone and mentioned about how Max had the same issue last year a couple of times. Oh Yeah! I thought.

Last Fall Max's class when to the wildlife sanctuary in town and were handcrafting some birdhouses. As he swung his hammer, he missed the target and hit his thumb. Having the same pain reflex as me... he fainted. The hammered thumb wasn't really all that bad. The concussion caused by his faint was. It meant a trip to the Dr., then to Baystate via ambulance. Very exciting business for a six year old. And then in the Spring, after a fall on the playground, he was on his way to the nurse's office for some cleaning up, when the whole situation just overwhelmed his little self and he went limp next to the teacher assisting him. After this, the school nurse and I discussed. Max is now an official "fainter" in the school's medical records and she now knows, if Max gets injured, watch out!

So, there you have it. We are an odd little pair. The "Oh-n0-it-hurts-I-think-I-may-just...hey-what-happened?" mother/son duo. You may want to document this in case we ever visit your home sometime, too.

All Hell Breaks Loose On Saturdays

2008-10-11T09:58:00.003-04:00

Monday through Friday we are on a tight schedule in the morning to get breakfast, take showers/tubbies, get dressed and ready for the bus. Our little system usually works quite well, and the down time that's left gets used up peacefully; quietly watching a quick episode of Sponge Bob, or playing a video game, or setting up matchbox cars all over the hallway for an unsuspecting parent to step on, and rather ungracefully skate into a wall, leaving an array of ugly bruises and sore feet. Sure, there may be small quarrels over the t.v., or who gets to use the laptop, or what to wear for the day, but they're usually small and smoothed over easily enough.

Saturday blows in like the stink from the sewage treatment plant on a windy day. While I look forward to Saturday all week, it never fails to arrive like a kick in the ass. I wake up to Miles screaming about something that doesn't meet his expectations (his choice of breakfast, someone else watching a television program, the dog chewed his Lego's, he peed his pants and a parental figure is insisting on him changing his clothing). Max is heard in the background complaining that there's nothing to dooooooo and he never gets any time on the computer, and Miles is bothering him. This usually prompts an argument between the two in which an action figure who goes by the name of "Red Power Ranger-with-the-missing-hand-because-Sammy-chewed-it-off-and-ate-it-then-pooped-it-out" is used as a weapon upside the face. Someone wails. The other retaliates by karate-chopping his brother with one of the many "play" swords we have kicking around this house. The other one wails. Meanwhile, we discover the pile of poo that Sammy the dog has left because it's Saturday and we didn't get him out first thing in the morning like usual. And by "discover", I mean someone has stepped in it.

All this is happening while that first sip of coffee is being consumed and we're trying to clear the fog from our brains. I have decided that the easiest thing to do is lock our children in their own rooms until I feel like letting them out. It actually worked quite well for us this morning. Sure, there were some tears initially, but in all fairness, they were both crying already. I have no pangs of sympathy for them, their rooms are stocked full of interesting toys, books, video games etc., with no one else to bother them, take their toys and get into what they are trying to do. However, it's at this moment of solitude that they suddenly realize they sure do love their brother and feel bad about that black eye and do, in fact, want to play nicely. They will exit their rooms with a renewed sense of familial love and may even hug their sibling affectionately before launching into a new battle over who gets to watch what show and sit in the choice sofa section.

By this time in the morning Rob and I are already perfectly annoyed with our children and thinking about if there are any pressing chores or errands to do that will extract us from their presence. It's just something about Saturdays, always so pleasantly anticipated, so hard to wake up to.

Oh, how times have changed.

2008-10-09T14:16:00.004-04:00

Two weeks ago, I was a chaperon on Miles' preschool class field trip to Cook's Orchard. Although Max has had many field trips since starting his schooling, I was never able to be a parent volunteer because I had my little Miley. Well, seeing as how little Miley is now getting on to be school-age, I can now tag along. The day was sunny and crisp and perfectly fall, and we all loaded onto the big yellow school bus. This was wildly thrilling for Miles, and I felt a strange flashback to high school climbing up the steps. We settled into a seat (Miles kneeling to see over the seat, and me, with my legs twisted sideways and my knees crushed into the green plastic seats.) and even I felt a twinge of excited anticipation and the bus rolled out. I was chatting with Miles about the bus, and how "awesome" it was when I noticed this above the front window.

Now, I sure as hell don't remember that from high school. I know it's been around eleven years or so, but c'mon, it's only been eleven years or so!! Do bus drivers nowadays really have a big problem with bodily fluid? I know, I know, we have to be careful in this day and age. It just gave me a laugh, is all. A funny little choked-in-the-back-of-your-throat kind of laugh. The kind where you look around at all the other adults on the bus and think "How can they not notice this??". I took this shot and passed my camera to my friend Jen, who smiled and shook her head (probably thinking I was a lunatic or a sicko). Am I the only one who thinks this is creepy??

On Sanding Spackled Walls...

2008-10-04T18:02:00.002-04:00

When your intentions are to help a friend out with fixing up their new home, don't get all gussied up before hand. There's just no sense it. Or, is there?

Since starting my own Mary Kay business, I have determined that the best way to peddle my wares is to be beautiful 24/7. That entails waking up each morning, cleansing, moisturizing and becoming beautiful (not sure how? just ask!). This readies me for the task of making breakfast, or waiting for the bus with Max, or walking the dog. 'Cause darn it, you just never can tell when someone will see you and you may or may not have an opportunity to hand out your business card. And girlfriends, ain't no one gonna buy beauty products from a haggy momma who hasn't gotten perttied up. Seriously, it's a fear of mine that one of my many friendly neighbors will stop by on a walk and we'll get to talking and there I'll be all crusty-eyed and rumpled. SO, I've made a point to put make-up on each and every day (barring sick days, of course) as a way to feel fabulous and to represent. Today was no different.

At 10am, I was showered, blow-dried, and done up with no where in particular to go. I had scheduled today to help a friend move, but they pushed their plans back a week because they weren't ready yet. As I looked around at more laundry to be done, and my kids bickering, I declared we were going over to see if we could help out. So, Rob and I brought the kids over to entertain their kids and offer ourselves up as helpers for the morning. Our first assignment, sanding the living room walls. I said, "no problem!", grabbed a block and some sand paper and went at it. After about 15 minutes another helper came in to see the progress, took one look at me and laughed. People, when someone takes a look at you and laughs, that's not good. There are plenty of times in my day when I act like an ass to get people to laugh, but this wasn't one of them. I looked bewildered at Rob, who gently informed me I was covered in white dust. I thought that was obvious, we were sanding spackle. Apparently, though, I was really going at it, and as the dust settled all around me, it settled perfectly on my make-up. My face was perfectly powdered with white, seeing as how my Mineral Powder Foundation in Ivory #2 had set the perfect foundation for spackle dust. Annoyed, but determined to be productive, I plugged away and finished up. Then I shook myself out outside and rinsed my face clean. After a quick assessment, I established that I was still presentable, and went to scrape out nasty old bathroom caulking.

Most people don't feel glamorous digging moldy old caulk out of a bathtub, but I felt fairly sure I looked put together doing my dirty work. After finishing up my work and calling it a day, I returned home with Miley while Rob and Max went off to a Cub Scouts function. We've walked the dog, eaten our dinner and Miley had his tubby. And you know what? I still look fabulous!

At this point in the day, with no plans of going out, I feel fairly safe in cleansing my face, applying my night solution and moisturizer, and hopping into my pajama pants for a hot night of watching Spongebob Squarepants. Whoot!

Farewell to a Friendly Fish

2008-09-13T08:53:00.002-04:00

Monday morning started like any other. The dog pooed in the living room. Miles awoke and demanded "cereal and JUICE." I surveyed the pile of papers, work, school notices and other stuff on the counter and made mental notes to deal with said crap after my coffee. I took a sip of my coffee and the next time I got around to it was cold and I dumped it. I convinced my eldest beast that he needed to get his shower done so we weren't rushing at the last minute. I was packing eldest beasts snack when Miles mentioned Plop was sleeping funny. I glanced over to the 10 gallon tank on the counter and saw, in fact, that Plop was indeed sleeping funny. Funny being upside down, slightly folded in half. I sighed and tapped the glass. I took a deep breath and told Miles I thought Plop might be dead. "Yeah, he sure is dead", Miles agreed with all the casualness of someone noticing the time and temperature at the bank. Miles' main interest was in what we would DO with Plop. I was relieved that apparently Miles was a (heartless) 3-year-old who could care less about the family fish. After all, what had Plop done for Miles lately?? I steeled myself for the real drama, though, when I had to break the news to Max. Max chose Plop out of all the gold fish at PetCo. around three years ago, named him with absolute certainty, and overfed him regularly during those first few months. (After that, no one gave a poo about Plop, but me and occasionally Rob, who cleaned the tank, fed him daily and fretted over the cat's glutinous attention to him.) That morning was like stepping into a Meryl Streep film, with dramatics and emotion flowing like a waterfall. Upon breaking the news to my nearly 7-year-old softy, his face crumpled, his throat emitted a high-pitched squeak and then, he threw himself upon the floor and sobbed for a good three minutes. After that, he quelled his tears and began asking a myriad of questions about Plops feelings, his spiritual whereabouts, his extended fish family in heaven. I answered to best of my 6am cognitive ability, and we decided to have an impromptu fish farewell ceremony. We scooped Plop from his watery grave, laid him in and old nail box made of cardboard and picked a tree-sheltered spot down by the shed to lay Plop to rest. With the exception of Rob, who was dapperly dressed for work, we were the sight in our pajamas. Well, technically Max was dressed in what we have affectionately titled his "Hugh Heffner" robe which is his preference to pajamas. Plop was laid to rest, his tank was emptied and stored away (YAY, counter space again!!) and that was that. It wasn't until later in the day I noticed the shovels hauled out of the shed and the pile of dirt. Miles, my outdoor adventurer had decided he wanted to take a look at Plop and check on him. We had a brief, but firm chat about not EVER doing that again.

Plop was a good pet. He was friendly. He never complained. He always greeted me with a smile and a wave of his fin. He never scratched my furniture or my children. He never pooed in my living room. I didn't have to walk him, or even touch him for that matter. He was with us for approximately three years and he was, indeed, a good fish.

When Animals Attack

2008-06-27T07:47:00.003-04:00

It's 4:30am. Wee Beast is stirring. After told that it's still night time and he needs to go back to sleep, he informs me that he wants to be awake and have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I snort and say "later". Given the option of staying in his own bed, or snuggling in ours, he opts for our bed. Upon arrival, he locates Sammy the dog, snoring blissfully in his spot in the middle. Wee Beast is delighted and lays his head on Sammy the dog. Sammy the dog snorffles and scoots down the bed some. Wee Beast scoots down the bed some and lays on top of the dog. I inform Wee Beast that he needs to be quiet and be still if he wants to stay. He lays down. Then he sits up and begins to play with the dog. Again, I inform Miles of the guidelines and he lays down. Then he sits up. Then, he abandons the bedroom. At that point I fall asleep, assuming he's finding some toys to entertain himself with.

It's 6:30am. Husband informs me Wee Beast has found himself a snack and directs me to Exhibit A. This box of graham crackers was found in Wee Beast's bedroom. In order to survive his hunger pangs, he literally ripped open the box and consumed many many crackers. Interestingly, he has not asked me for breakfast this morning.

It's 8:00am. I am wondering when Wee Beast will pass out from sheer exhaustion. Hopefully he will, so that this cycle does not continue. I'm just glad he wasn't hankering for the pork chops in the fridge.... shudder.

Warning: 3-Year-Olds May Cause Brain Damage

2008-06-01T08:05:00.002-04:00

I'm often bewildered about the label "terrible two's", when in fact, my experience has been much more traumatic with my boys at age three. At age two I remember my children learning the word "no", and saying it a thousand times a day. "No" to the sibling, "no" to the cat, "no" to the remote control. It was cute. Sure there were tantrums or crying, but it seemed more innocent. Controllable. We could shrug it off and redirect our little ones. Then, age three comes along and many nights Rob and I look at each other, sigh, and lean back on the sofa, thanking sweet Jesus that Wee Beast is finally in bed, ASLEEP, and cannot possibly cause any more trouble for today.

Yesterday was a regular old Saturday. We had tee-ball in the morning for Big Beast and then came home to putter about. In the afternoon we were all hanging around in the yard watching Daddy work at his project and Miles heads inside. A few minutes lapse and Rob looks up from his project, "You think he's ok in there alone?". I shrug, wondering what he's after. "He's probably sneaking a snack", I said and think to myself I definitely should go check. Then I heard his tiny loud voice from the kitchen window. "MY TOAST IS READY!!". Hmm. Toast? I haul ass up to the house to find that he had gotten the full pitcher of apple juice out of the fridge (from the top shelf, I might add), filled my water glass full of it, and decided to throw in a slice of Weight Watchers multi-grain bread to toast up for a quick snack. He was telling me that it was hot, and it had popped up and he needed butter. I just looked at him, astonished, and nodded. Yes, butter, yes. I'll butter your toast. Wait, toast? You are definitely NOT supposed to operate the toaster, Mr. Big talk ensues. Ultimately, he relished his toast and drank his juice and this morning, I was discovering all the pools of apple juice inside the fridge. On every shelf.

We have daily battles over the silliest things. What clothes he will wear, what he wants to eat for breakfast (No, you can't eat chocolate pudding pie for breakfast. At least not till you're a grown up making bad choices for yourself, buddy.) , going pee on the potty. I know you have to pee, Miles, I see you clutching your pants and that uncomfortable look on your face. WHY won't you PEE? Oh, I see, you prefer to wet yourself and sit in it for a while. Yes, and when I suggest you should change your pants, you will scream at me "It's just water from the sink, not PEE!!" No more naps for my three-year-old, even if he's eyes are half mast and he's limp as a rag doll. NO MORE NAPS, and that's that. He wears us out, but he's just busy, people, and he's got stuff he needs to do. For himself. That means exploring the toaster, figuring out how plungers work, deciding if it's worth the trouble from his mommy to paint the bathroom with strawberry toothpaste. Oh, and of course, what's the harm in pulling down my pants and taking a poo behind our front maple tree? Whatever, at least it wasn't in my pants! Sheesh.

Fiddleheads and Beer Helmets

2008-05-28T09:31:00.003-04:00

Our annual trek to upstate Maine has come and gone. We are back home with our laundry done, dog and cat reunited (sorry Rosie), and lots and lots of fiddle heads. You may recall that last year was my virgin voyage to pick fiddle head ferns, a northern delicacy that I'm not all that sure I actually enjoy eating. People up north sure do love 'em. All of them. Every person in Maine, I'm pretty sure. Yup. To me, they look intriguing, taste very... green, and I know they are definitely expensive if you buy them in a store. This year we all went out to pick and we have brought home enough to freeze for the winter. So we can have them all.... year.... long. Seriously, they aren't bad, really, I'm just not sure I love them. I've taken a casual poll of up-northerners and every one I asked really does, in fact, savor them. Even our 7-year-old nephew requests them and when told that they are on the dinner menu, will utter a "yesss!" to announce his approval.

Along with the gift of fiddle heads, I received another kind of gift from my new bestest friend in the whole wide world, Nat! Some of you may know that I've had a hankerin' for a beer helmet for quite some time now. Interestingly, I haven't received one for a Christmas gift, birthday gift, or even a gag gift. Nothing. I really did want one. Our first night up north, as the festivities were kicking off, someone mentioned my pining for a beverage hat. Nat piped up that she, in fact, had one I could use! After screaming in delight and running to retrieve a fresh brew for the inaugural sip through the straw, I had achieved my goal! I had a beer helmet. I was also being a total dork. Note that I did not include a picture of myself in said helmet. Partly, this is because I don't have a shot from that night on my own camera, and party because I'm not that stupid to post a ridiculous picture of me for all of you to laugh at. By the way, Nat, I forgot my hat in the garage, don't think I don't love it, I just failed to remember to bring it home!

Anyhoo, like I said, we're home and we are back to grind. Snore. I'm off to go measure how tall my pea plants are now.

My Little T-Baller

2008-05-19T10:23:00.004-04:00

On May 3rd, my big beast started t-ball. It had to be the most adorable thing ever! He is having a blast and Rob and I are already understanding how parents get so into their children's sports. I was hooting and cheering, and then groaning to myself as about six wee children tackled the ball in a huge pig pile. I think in a small way we are actually surprised that we produced a child who would have an interest in a sport of any kind. We are such non-sporty people, where did this budding athlete come from? Fear not, though, I haven't begun fighting other parents on the side line or shouting obscenities yet. Yet.

Hot Rod

2008-05-19T10:09:00.002-04:00

Mother's Day this year was such a nice treat. I felt spoiled from the moment my bunch barrelled into the bedroom with heart shaped Weight Watchers toast and gifts and big smiles. Sure, the dog did an acrobatic leap through the air and secured the heart toast in one swoop, but the thought was pure gold and I felt loved. Among the heartfelt, hand made gifts was a painted flower pot filled with seeded soil (that amazingly made it all the way home from school in Max's backpack!!) and a paper tea cup with a tea bag in it and homemade cards. I also received a really big treat: My very own, very first, PINK fishing pole! After getting the boys and Rob set up for fishing this spring, and happily watching them go at it, it occurred to me that I might, in fact, like to fish. So, Rob was sweet to purchase me my own license and rod. I am now the proud owner of a Lady Shakespeare rod in a pearly pink. Here I am after getting back from Dean Pond Mother's Day. I even was brave enough to bait my own hooks! Nice rod, eh?

On Lunden Pond

2008-04-15T14:55:00.004-04:00

Sunday we decided to check out a set of trails up the road from us and head out for a little adventure. The boys had fishing poles they hadn't been able to try out yet, and Rob got a license and a new pole for his birthday. They were itching to fish, baby. We were happily surprised by the picturesque setting, and the ability to bring everyone on the adventure with us, including our new little pugsy. What a thrill for Max to catch his very first fish ever on his third cast! I cannot begin to describe the expression on that boy's face as he was reeling in his catch. Thrill, joy, manic excitement, surprise... his face wasn't really smiling exactly. It was a contorted, eye-bulging, grin. A tad on the scary side, but man was he EXCITED! Rob hustled over with congratulations and then a casual, "How'd you catch that, Max?". Rob wanted a fish too! A very big day for the Jordan boys, a memory seared into Max's mind. Oh, and Rob did catch his own fish the next day on Dean Pond, just so you don't feel so bad for him. He caught a 12 inch Rainbow Trout!

Sweet Doggy Insanity

2008-04-15T14:38:00.003-04:00

Well, it's official, I must be insane. Meet Sammy, our newest family member! He is an adorable one-year-old pug we took in for someone who was moving. It has been exactly one week today and we are finally figuring out how we all can coexist peacefully. I wasn't so sure last Wednesday after a sleepless night of dog antics... but, by day two he was snoring blissfully (and quite audibly) at our feet. To my delight, he's surprisingly clean and tidy. No long hair to shed, no drooling, only the slight aroma of dog about him. We even gave him a bath Saturday! That is what my Saturday night has come to! No gallivanting around town, or out for a show. We give doggy baths here. Boo ya!

The boys seem to have fallen in love with him, although Miles has a distinct love/hate relationship with him. Sammy has cramped Miles' style of lounging about snacking. The dog will not rest if there is food being enjoyed and Miles needs to have his snack time reprogrammed to suit this new lifestyle. He wavers between squealing with delight and running across the house repeatedly with Sammy at his heals, to howling like a teenager that no dogs are allowed in his room. That is followed by a shuddering door slam. He's a fairly moody three year old.

Max has no complaints, and giggles with child-like adoration whenever Sammy's in the mood to play with him.

Rob and I are going with the flow. We are the walkers, the feeders, the tick-picker-offers, the referees. And at the end of the day, we are the couch snugglers, stealing sheepish smiles at one another over the fuzzy-headed friend we have taken in.

Living in Luxury

2008-03-01T09:49:00.002-05:00

Our latest home project has involved our master bathroom. It was atrocious, and something needed to be done. So, one boring afternoon I decided to start pulling wall paper off the walls. It was really fun. That was the easiest part of the whole ordeal, honestly. Since then, and some three weeks later, we have finally finished the wall prep, the priming, the painting, the caulking and the cleaning, and the fun part begins. We get to use our bathroom again tomorrow! Whoot! Our last task today is to hang the new vanity light fixture. The old one was this darling brass/flowered/scalloped thing from 1988 that wasn't doing it for me, so it will be doing it for the garbage.

Another fun part of finishing the hard work on a room is placing the final touches. The new toothbrush holder installed, the new tp holder, the new towel bar and the placement of the new "luxury" bath mat. While at WalMart the other day, I decided our old bathmat would no longer match with the wall color, so I picked a soft plush new rug for the inaugural shower. Upon arriving home, the boys tore apart my bags inspecting every new purchase and oohing and ahhing. This is grocery day, they don't get much excitement I suppose. Miles was immediately taken with the new "luxury" bath mat. He rubbed it against his cheek and laid it out on the counter and put his head down on it. I thought it was cute, it was very soft and fluffy after all.

Imagine my surprise yesterday upon finding Miles in my bathroom. Buck naked. Laid out on the luxury bath mat. I suggested he put his clothing back on and he burst into tears. Why have that sweet, sweet luxury if no one's allowed to enjoy it? Later in the evening, I called Miles to dinner. He emerged from my bathroom without his shirt on. Maybe this novelty will wear off, but I guess everyone just wants to enjoy the luxurious new bathroom!

Can I Get a Workout?

2008-02-29T18:32:00.004-05:00

Exercising is one of my least favorite things in life. I would much rather park my pleasantly plump hind quarters on the sofa and read, knit,watch tv, anything other than working out. There's actually lots of excuses I'll use to postpone my thirty minutes of sweating goodness; "Boy, that kitchen floor could use a scrubbing, I should whip that up. While I'm over here, I'll just throw in another load of laundry. Hey, where is that other sock? I better check the kids' rooms. Holy Mother, look at this mess! Might as well pull all this junk out from under the bed, feed the fish, reorganize this closet, make the bed. Ok, laundry's underway. Oh darn, I can't find the cd I wanted to listen to. You know, my workout mix that gets me pepped. Well, I'll just burn another one really quick. Hmmm, is it my turn in Scrabulous yet? Kay really kicked my butt on that last game, I better take my turn before I forget.... Wow, 27 emails! How many of these are spam? Let's find out. Oh, hi Miles, yes, I know I said I was going to exercise, are you going to play downstairs while I'm doing it? Well, I see my breath down here, so you'd better get your boots and coat. Hah, hah, just kidding, but definitely wear your slippers, ok? Alright, here goes... music's cranked, kid is happily playing in sight. Did I turn off the coffee maker yet? I wonder what I should make for lunch. Huff puff, sweat sweat. Doing good.... it's really not that bad once you get yourself going... Sweet Mother of Mercy, what is that SMELL? Lawd, I'm gagging with every ragged breath I gasp for, what IS that? Oh, hi Rosie, I see you needed to use your litter box right now. I know, you're situated directly in front of me about five feet away. I'm not going anywhere, but I'll look away so you can have some privacy, ok? Sweet Mother, Rosie, that's one helluva stink bomb you just dropped. Good God. Ok, I'll just hop down from the elliptical for a minute and run that litter box into the other room and close the door so that I don't suffer asphyxiation from the noxious odor in the air. Phew, ok, my legs feel like jelly, but here I go again, I'm underway. Good song. What? What Miles? Where are you headed? Oh you have to poop on the potty? Ok, go ahead, give a holler when you are done and I'll run up and clean you up. Huff puff. You done? You WHAT? I'm coming... puff puff. Let me just run up the steps and get this taken care of. Oh, nuts. You pooped in your pants. Ok, well, I see you were trying and you just didn't make it. Let's get you cleaned up. Ok, all set, I'm gonna finish up my program real quick. Ok, back on board. Only five minutes left. Lord, help me. Good song. Yay, I'm finally done. Yes, Mommy's stretching... yes, you can stretch too. Yes, this is a good stretch for the back of your legs. Oh, well, yes, that was a loud toot. Whew! It's kind of stinky too, huh? I think I'm going to finish stretching upstairs. Next to the glade plug-in. Wow, I feel good after that workout. It feels good to have that accomplished, why do I always think it stinks so bad? I feel all pumped up! Why is it so hard for me to get motivated usually I wonder?

Snowy Snowy Day

2008-01-14T06:14:00.000-05:00

After a delightful taste of Spring here for the past two weeks, Winter has curled it's icy breath around us once again. We are in the midst of a Nor'easter, and school has been cancelled for the day. As a kid, joyous news. As a parent (specifically, the one who will be home with both children for the said snow day), a deep, soul-searching sigh. Some siblings get along famously. Some play together, sharing, laughing, watching out for one another. That does not apply to my children. My boys fight. Actually, one minute they are laughing hysterically, sharing the joy of a good poop joke, the next minute might involve blood and screaming. My six-year-old does not wish to be disturbed by his pesky three-year-old brother. He shouts in a guttural bark "Get out of my room!!". This is about the time his brother will take a lightning fast assessment of his elder brother's room, determine with speedy accuracy exactly what would push his brother to the tipping point, and brush it onto the floor in a great sweeping motion. Then he will run from the room in fear of his life, and hide under the nearest piece of furniture. This continues throughout the day, sprinkled with a few happy moments where they might sword fight with those lovely plastic swords we picked at the Dollar Store (insert self ass-kicking here). Inevitably someone will be poked and smacked too hard with the lovely plastic swords and a brawl erupts. Usually by 8am, I am sighing with relief as the school bus will be pulling up soon. I know that my son enjoys school, he will have fun, he will learn. His teachers have patience. Then, Wee Beast will have no competition for attention and he will be sweet, adorable, loving. Until the school bus rolls around at 3:30pm, and we start all over again. Well, today is the wrench in my daily routine. However, with a good dose of playing outside in the snow, a warm batch of brownies, and maybe an impromptu play dough session, I just may survive my snow day.

Christmas Trees and Potty Treats

2007-12-07T16:11:00.000-05:00

Last week we designated as Christmas tree weekend. Saturday morning we worked with the boys to set up our tree and unpack the obscene amount of decorations we have. We primped, we strung lights, we assembled a small village, we scolded for making the ceramic lady lay on the roof of the church. We were immersed in holiday delight. Oh yeah, and we were on official day two of potty training wee beast. He enjoyed most of the festivities sans pants, but hey, he made it to the potty, so who cares, right? It was afternoon and we had one last task on our yuletide to-do list: decorate outside. It was cold. Colder than cold. So cold that we bundled Miles up (our outdoor lover), walked to the front of the house, only to have him say he was "cheewy" and was going inside. Rob looked unnerved at him being indoors alone, but I said, nah, the tv's on, he'll just hang out for a bit. Even now, writing those words I feel an icy shiver down my spine. We braved the cold wind, strung our outdoor lights and were picking up the last bits of junk when Miles was loudly talking to us through the front window. Sans pants, of course. It looked important and Rob went to check it out as I finished up. As I entered the house, I heard the washing machine going, and saw Rob stuffing our curtains in. Still in his fluffy fur-lined hat and coat, he was muttering to himself and blowing fine wisps of steam out of his ears. Apparently, while we were freezing our light bulbs off outside, Miles was experimenting with what worked best as toilet paper. He left a deposit in his potty seat, but tracked through the house leaving a trail of destruction and mess behind him. While leaning over the couch looking out the window and checking on our progress, we think he noticed he felt not-so-fresh and grabbed the nearest cleaning cloth around. My white living room curtains.

Fear not upcoming holiday guests, our house has been detoxed and cleaned. My white curtains no longer bear the stain of disgrace and our beloved beast is now successfully finishing his seventh day of potty training. He's doing really well, and I'll just have to be sure to remind him when he's married someday not to buy toilet paper curtains for his own home. Merry Christmas. And you'd better compliment my outside lights our I'll sick poop boy on you.

Ferber-izing The Beast

2007-10-22T21:07:00.000-04:00

For most of Miles' life, he was a perfect angel at bed time. After a prompting of "time for bed, Miles", he would grab his favorite train toy and head off happily to bed. No worries. About two months ago, the Jordan household was turned upside down by the fact that the wee Jordan decided he would no longer like to go to bed. Instead, he would like to scream bloody murder so loudly that his parents feared a visit from the local officials. His parents conferred, tried different tactics, sweated, conferred again and finally decided to let wee Jordan fall asleep on the couch. He would also frequent the head of household's bed in the middle of the night. Well, the elder Jordans decided that as long as no one was screaming, everyone was sleeping, and no major problems arose, this situation would serve well for the time being. The time being is now officially OVER. For the past two weeks, wee Jordan has consistently come to bed with his parents and harassed them. He has lain sideways in an attempt to claim in territory. He has screamingly demanded that no one, under any circumstances, fall asleep. He has demanded to watch cartoons in bed at 3am. He has headbutted, kicked and in many other ways abused his loving parents and they have had enough. As of last night, at 7pm, Miles was put in his bed, told he was loved, kissed and his door was closed. After five minutes, he was reassured he was loved, but firmly told he needed his own bed. After twenty minutes, he fell into exhausted sleep. Until 2:30am ET. At this point he called out to his mother, and the whole process started again. Tonight, after only ten minutes, he fell into exhausted sleep and we shall see what the nighttime hours hold for his parents. Determined, they will follow Dr. Ferber's program, proving that they can, in fact, regain control of their dominating two year old. They will triumph in having their own bed again. And they their son will sleep blissfully once more in his own bed. Pray for the elder Jordans on their journey.

Bye Bye Binky

2007-09-21T13:12:00.000-04:00

As some of you may know, Miles is a bink-a-holic. The kid loves binkies. A lot. Too much. WAY too much. If he sees another kid's binky laying on the floor, he immediately notices it, picks it up, ponders a while whether he should just go for it and pop it in his mouth before finally relenting and finding it's owner. For a long time we have struggled along playing his binky-centered game. Many a night a bedtime, Miles stubbornly resisted laying down, while his two exhausted, bedraggled parents searched the house on hands and knees looking for a binky, ANY binky. It could be three years old and covered in cat hair from being under the couch. No biggie, we'll wash it, Miles will go to bed. Sigh... it's been a long road. For a long time, we didn't dare leave the house without a binky stashed in one of our pockets. God forbid we are out and there's a meltdown and the only thing Miles needs to calm down is his binks. We have been chained to the darn thing.

I am announcing, that as of this morning, we are officially a BINKY-FREE household. Miles had one, sad looking, chewed up binky left to his name and he really really really really wanted a Henry train (Thomas' friend). So, I bribed him. The two of us went grocery shopping and when we were walking in, I suggested he could pick out a new train ("HENRY???!!"), if he could throw away his binky before we left the store. I explained how he was a big boy, his binky had a big hole in it from him chewing it, it was bad for his teeth... this all went over his head. He was going to get Henry, and that was all that mattered.

It was just that easy, too! We headed straight for the toy section, he picked out his new Henry, and we proceeded with the grocery shopping. He told several people he was big now and could have Henry, and they sort of smiled funny and went about their shopping. It was the BEST shopping trip I've had with Miles in a long, long, LONG time. We stopped at the garbage can at the exit, he took one meaningful suck on his beloved bink and popped it in the can. He said "Bye Bye Binky"!! And that was that.

Dirty Dirty Boy

2007-09-20T12:24:00.000-04:00

Miles is definitely a little boy through and through. If there's a truck, train, matchbox car or dirt, he's all-together thrilled. Dirt is really the main ingredient in the fun. First thing on a school day, I have to get the kids fed, dressed, teeth brushed, bag packed and out the door for Max to catch the bus. (Only one of these children has to actually GET on the bus, but if I didn't go through the process with both, the wee one would haul ass outside in a diaper and ladybug rain boots to see what he was missing.) So every morning, by 8:20, we are all dressed and clean to start the day. We wave goodbye to Max. By 8:25, Miles has literally laid down in his favorite patch of dirt and perhaps rolled over a couple of times for good measure. He likes to drive his little vehicles through mounds of filth and he likes to get up close and personal with said filth, hence he lays directly in it. When it's time to go inside, I know now to take his boots off on the deck and unroll his pant legs BEFORE entering the house to avoid the shower of rocks, dirt and sometimes moss from soiling my kitchen floor. He is chronically filthy. He doesn't so much play in the nice soft green grass, he prefers the garden, or the patches under the trees where grass won't grow, or the gravel and dirt driveway. Oh, how he loves the driveway. I can actually remember a time when my Max, at age 1, was terrified of touching grass because we lived in a city and didn't have any grass. He didn't like getting dirty and the most he would venture was to throw pebbles down the storm-drains in the street. Rob and I lovingly referred to him as our "city kid". Miles is our "country boy". If he could sleep with his trains in the dirt next to the driveway he would. This picture was taken by Grampa a couple of weeks ago. When we took his boots off he left a pile of sand in my dining room.

Kindergarten Days

2007-09-17T10:15:00.001-04:00

The time for Kindergarten has come. The first day of "real" school for "big kids". My little Max is a "school-ager" as he calls it. I looked forward the the first day of school all summer long, really. Every time I heard him declare with a slight whine that he was booooored and there was nothing to doooooo, I'd think ahead to the days when he'd be so busy all day long that he'd be glad for some downtime. And, for the first few days of school, he climb down off the bus, walk with me inside, kick off his shoes and put his feet up, grabbing the remote. He was exhausted. Really, really, really exhausted. But, boy was it great! I'd ask him how was school? What did you do? What was your favorite part? "I don't really remember what we did today mom, but we had BURGERS for lunch!". He has a hard time recalling what they worked on in class, or what songs they sang in Music. But, boy can he rattle off he had for "Hot Lunch": Turkey Sandwich, Assorted Fruit, Strawberry Milk and Jello!!!!! Wow! He can also remember happily what they did in Gym Class. Hmm... lunch and gym, what else is important? So, even though the first big day of Kindergarten is now weeks behind us, I thought I should post this picture. I needed to document the occasion and come out of my state of slacker-ness. Happy School Days!

Crisp Morning Air, Fresh Cow Manure and Chest Pain

2007-09-17T09:39:00.000-04:00

Since the start of school this year, I've had big plans. After being on Weight Watchers for several weeks now and having a total loss so far of approximately 20 pounds, I decided I should start to... you know... exercise. Or something. I knew that I should start with a new pair of sneakers because, well, I didn't have any. Oh, ok, I had some, but they are the "lawn mowing" sneakers and they are an eternal shade of poopy green and they smell. So, I took my birthday gift card for Target (thank you E & K!) and grabbed some sporty new kicks. Step 1 was complete. Today was the kick off of "walking after the bus leaves exercise routine". Miles is always up for a complimentary ride in his stroller; he likes to point and shout out instructions while snacking on various foods and putting his feet up on his cup holder tray. It was a brisk (ok, fricken cold) New England morning so I actually had to scrounge up a real had for Miles to wear that would cover his ears, and grabbed myself a sweatshirt and hit the pavement. In an effort for a fresh, new version of a regular old walk, I decided to go UP the hill that winds into rural cow country at an alarmingly steep rate. I had big ideas that Miles and I would stroll past the farms, cows and horses would come to the fence and greet us, giving Miles a fantastic childhood memory, while affording me a good bout of calorie-burning. I headed up the hill and immediately knew that I had underestimated the work it would be. I'd gotten about six or seven houses up and felt my breath labor and sweat broke out on my brow. Wow, I knew that I was not in peak physical condition, but this hill was STEEP. I am really huffing and puffing now, determined not to look too ridiculous pushing the carriage up a hill at 90 degrees (because, it really looks silly!) and hoping I'd be able to catch my breath soon. Five minutes later, my glasses are useless as they have fogged over with cold sweat, my breathing is still labored, and my little Miles is yelling at me to go faster. Alas, I make it to the first cow farm. I use this as an excuse to halt the stroller to a quick stop, rip my sweatshirt off and wipe my face with it and start mopping the fog off my glasses, all while panting to Miles to "look, honey, see the cute cows having their breakfast?" Then, the smell hit me. Fresh, pungent, awful cow manure. It curled into my nostrils, making my nose hairs singe and I swear I was puffing away so hard, I could actually TASTE it. Forcing down the urge to vomit, I put myself together and we continue on our walk. Next we saw a horse. Or, was it a pony? Perhaps a mule? I swear to goodness, I could not tell. You say, it's obvious which is which, but this must've been some crossbreed or something, because it was just indistinguishable. We left it at saying goodbye to "pony-horsey". Next, more cows, but in a dewy field several yards back, so no over-powering stink here. At this point I'm starting to feel under control now and thinking it's not so bad and I figured we should turn back now before Miles' nose gets any runnier. Past the cows frolicking in the field (well, not frolicking really), past the pony-horsey, past the stink factory and finally to the newly named "Death Hill". It was *almost* as bad going down as it was going up. I had a frantic, tense feeling that both the stroller and I could go careening down the hill out of control in an alarming painful fashion. My knees strained, my back was aching, and finally, mercifully, we reached our driveway. Miles popped out of the stroller with an urgent need to find dirt to drive his vehicles in, while I plopped down in the hammock and closed my eyes for a moment. Was that the vision I'd had of our walk? Nope. But... did I die on the side of the road? Nope. Did I suffer an asthma attack or heart failure in front of Stinky Farm? Nope. All in all, a success. Here's to more crisp autumn morning walks in the country.

The Tooth Fairy Visits

2007-07-30T20:34:00.000-04:00

Well, we've had a major milestone here at the Jordan Homestead. The Tooth Fairy herself was here just last week! My first-born beast has lost his very first tooth! It all came about several weeks ago as we had friends and family here for a gathering. Max squealed, "My tooth is loose!!!". I slapped my hand to my heart in shock, thinking, My God, it's too early!! Fearing my son had ferocious tooth decay or had been recently punched square in the teeth, I found it difficult to feel excitement and joy at his rite of passage. Slowly, my mind started calculations... thinking back to my own first-grade school pictures missing my two front teeth... he will be six in a couple of months... I know he brushes his teeth, so that rules out ferocious tooth decay....

I finally came to terms with his big news, and watched in fascination as his daily wiggle test grew looser and looser. Finally, the day came last Sunday and while biting into a pear, he SHRIEKED to the household that his tooth, in fact, had fallen out.

Max made out with two whole dollars from our new family friend "Toothy", and a nice note commenting about how she especially likes the "sparkly-clean" teeth, like his. He was thrilled to say the least and filled me in on all the details the next morning. Apparently, he heard her come in to his room because of a distinct "tinkly, tinkly" sound she makes, and he spied her wand that she had "set down on his night table". I stared at him, dumbfounded. Either this kid is trying to pull one over on me, or I am simply oblivious to magical world around us.

The future here is wide open... full of loose teeth and tall tales. Even Miles, the wee beast, is joining in on the fun, telling everyone who will listen that he has a "woof toof", too.

My Friend the Fiddlehead

2007-06-01T09:14:00.000-04:00

Well, when you're from Maine, you know well that Spring is the time of the fiddleheads. I am not, however, from Maine. I am what Mainers call "from Away". I had never even heard of a fiddlehead before I met Rob and his French-Canadian family from Maine. I probably would have took a long look at it and said, "You want me to EAT that??". But, people from The County (Aroostoock, that is), forage for their favorite spring greens in their own secret special spots in April and May. You may see people along a river bank, grocery bag in hand, hoping as they set out, for a good day of picking.

As we headed to upstate Maine for the holiday weekend, I readied myself for the adventure. I had already planned with Rob's mom to accompany her on a trip out to see if we could get some fiddleheads. Saturday morning, we got up, got our plastic bags and donned our grubby sneakers. We drove out to her spot (Mainers guard these locations like their crown jewels), and started looking. We immediately found some, she pointed out what to look for, which ones had grown too much and so on and we started picking. It was amazing! I felt like a kid on Halloween, seeing one clump of fiddleheads and running over to it, picking excitedly. We worked our way to the bank of the Aroostook River and saw a whole slew of perfect picking. Quiet settled over us and we bent, quickly snapping the heads off the stem, steadily filling our bags. One hour and 15 minutes later, our bags were filled to the brim, our backs were stiff and achey and I had been feasted on by the bugs. But we had a huge crop to bring home! A trophy from my first fiddlehead expedition! I felt proud as we lugged our loot from the woods, headed home, our hands black with dirt. We got home and had to clean them, which I learned was a very tedious job. fiddleheads are covered in a thin brown skin, much like an onion, that you have to get off before washing. Then you wash... and wash... and wash... and wash again.

I am home now. I came back bearing two big bags with me. Yesterday I spent a good chunk of the afternoon blanching, cooling, packing and labeling my precious delicacies. I have a good amount in the freezer for later in the year and some more in the fridge for this week. I don't dare admit to anyone that they are not my favorite, though, lol. They kind of remind me of asparagus or spinach. I'll eat it, but I'm not DYING for some fiddleheads right now. Hell, if you put some cheese on it, I'm good. If you put some cheese on anything, I'm good. The whole thing was worth it, every minute. I learned a lot, and I got to experience something that a lot of people do not. fiddlehead Season in Maine.

Oh, Say, Can You See...

2007-04-26T08:06:00.000-04:00

...every fricken kid in the neighborhood is at my house?? People, a word of warning: If you put up a swing set in your yard, you are sure to attract children, like bees to honey. The swings went up Saturday. Saturday afternoon, Max was chatting over the fence to neighbors I've never met, inviting them over to "hang out" and play on the swing set. Then, he yelled out to another neighbor, "Come on over!!". By Monday evening, we had children from two different sets of neighbors playing over and Max had met a new friend riding his bike. Guess what? He came over, too. Now, I'm psyched to meet our neighbors. I like that my boys have close proximity to playmates for the summer days when they're bored and sick of my company. I just fear that we'll never be alone again... ever.... I know I am probably getting a little ahead of myself, but you don't know my son. He invites EVERYONE over. Last fall we stopped into a local pizza joint/bar to pick up some pizzas for dinner. While I'm paying, he strolls over to the game of pool that's going on and tells the young guys there that he has a pool table in his basement if they ever wanted to come over and play. They laughed as my face washed over in horror and said, "yeah, but we like to have a few beers while we play". No problem, answers Max, my mom's got the beers!! Again at the local IGA, we're grabbing some marshmallows for a little campfire one night and Max addresses the cute girl running the register: "We're having a fire tonight, wanna come over?" She giggles and invites all the other cashiers over to see how cute he is. Max is all business, he wants to know "what time they get off work". I'm not kidding, my 5-year-old son is working on teenage girls here! I guess I should just relax. The swing set is paid for and it's assembled. The boys have friends to play with and I don't have to lug them over to anyone else's house. I have a pool table in the basement and plenty of beers and if I get desperate, there are some hip young dudes down at Mustang Sally's that I can use Max to wrangle into coming over. For some beers of course.

The Boy Who Spits Everything Out

2007-04-25T14:06:00.000-04:00

Wee Beast likes to take things for a taste-test before he commits to fully swallowing and digesting his meals. It drives me crazy. I am constantly harassed for snacks all day by both my boys, only to find half-chewed or sometimes (worse) fully-chewed food in piles around the house. Whether it be a string cheese that he decided wasn't worth the effort of finishing, or the banana, that's flavor wasn't quite what he'd hoped it'd be, I'm getting tired of sickly snack stashes. On our deliciously warm Saturday last weekend, the boys had a picnic lunch on the deck, in between rounds of splashing in the water table. Miles decided that his peanut butter and jelly sandwich wasn't fit for consumption and settled on squishing it to the deck boards with his bare feet in sweet satisfaction. This utterly grossed out our little girl neighbor who immediately rushed over to me to inform me of every yucky thing my little boy was doing. I shrugged, being tied up in a swing set assembly, and told her "who cares", it's just a little squished sandwich, I'll get it later. Well, later turned out to be Monday morning, when Miles rushed into the house whining. He was frantically trying to brush something off his tongue, and looking at me in horror. I noticed a pile of vomit-looking crud on my coffee table. I looked at Miles. I looked at the deck slider door ajar. I wiped his tongue off and offered him his juice. What was that Miles? Yucky stuff, he offered. I was racking my brain as to what the hell he ate, when it occurred to me.... shudder... Did you EAT that smooshed sandwich off the DECK?? Yes, he said calmly, it was yucky. I'll give you all a minute to gag. Apparently, when yucky things are stuck to the deck, you go outside and see how they taste. Sometimes, they taste yucky and you spit them out on the coffee table. I went right outside and literally had to scrape the damn thing off with a plastic shovel to get rid of it. Ick. But, spitting things is not always limited to yucky things, either. Like the string cheese and the banana, perhaps he just gets tired out after exerting the energy to chew. This morning he stuffed a 1/4 of a bagel in his mouth and then neatly proffered it up 20 minutes later in a small scale model of Mt. Greylock on, of course, my coffee table. Now, those of you who know me, know how anal I am about cleanliness. I have no excuse for the jelly sandwich, a.k.a., yucky stuff. It just escaped me with a busy weekend. And before you hesitate to set your coffee on my table, rest assured, I clean it.

When Life Deals You Blueberry Pie... Smear It On Your Mommy's Bed

2007-03-19T16:18:00.000-04:00

We are full swing into the terrible two's right now. Actually, most days, Beastie's not that "terrible", just plain naughty. Case and point: I was folding laundry in the dining room about twenty minutes ago and he emerged from his brother's room wearing a fully-satisfied smile. He stopped and looked at me. "What did you do?", I ask him. He runs for it. I investigate into Max's room to find that Miles has torn apart a goody bag from a recent party Max attended. He had about five chocolate coins in there, which looked like a wild animal had torn apart. I mean, there was gold foil and bits of chocolate strewn all over that bedroom. Next, I noticed the package of sugar. You know, the little pack of sugar that comes with a sugar stick to lick and dip, lick and dip, lick and dip... until your child is in a sugar-induced coma. Whoever invented that delightful little treat deserves a nice smack upside the head. I digress. Miles has indeed gotten into THAT as well. I clean everything up, hoping to high heaven that Max doesn't notice that his beloved goodies have been eaten. I go to find the Beast who I still haven't seen since he made his initial gettaway. I find him laying on my bed eating blueberry pie. BLUE...BERRY... PIE. I shriek, and in that minute of busted-ness, he decides to hide the evidence by way of smearing it into my brocade comforter. Sweet lord have mercy, it's my worst nightmare. Blueberry juice smeared into my bed. Now, you're perhaps wondering what terrible mommy doesn't notice that her son is sneaking blueberry pie from the kitchen? My head just spins at how fast this all went down. He was stealth. He had pinpoint accuracy. He's a man with a mission.

Thus is life here in the Jordan household of late. Miles is my handful and Max is along for the ride. After weeks of Miles climbing out of his crib, we decided it's just plain silly to have him sleep in a crib. Isn't the point of a crib to safely confine a child? Miles just uses it as a jungle gym. His new "big boy" bed will be here this week. I shudder to think of what hell he can raise if he doesn't have to exert energy climbing out of his crib and he can just stand up and create mischief.

So, there's your update on Miles. Think twice before you make that blueberry pie. I know I will.

I Wanna Be a Ghost Hunter

2007-03-01T10:48:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago my favorite t.v. guys appeared in person at the Eastfield Mall. Like a true fan, I entered into the meet and great contest, but alas, did not win. I did drag Rob and the boys to the mall that day, determined to see my buddies in person and perhaps even pay for an overpriced item they were autographing. However, we arrived to the hub-bub to find a line that stretched down the mall corridor beyond my view that wound up spiraling around and around the food court center until at last it reached the table where the guys stood shaking hands. That line must've been hours long. I looked despairingly at my two children, an antsy 5-year-old in search of a "good deal on pants", and a ticking timebomb of a 2-year-old, determined to break out of his stroller and run shrieking like a lunatic down into the nearest store to break something. I sighed and gave up hope of personally shaking hands with my most favoritist of favorite t.v. show people and snapped some shots on my camera... I think Jason actually looked my way in this pic! Anyhoo, that's my story on how close I came to meeting the Ghost Hunters, and in the end my antsy 5-year-old did, in fact, find a good deal on some pants!

Reconnected

2007-02-09T11:21:00.000-05:00

Recently the boys and I were invited to lunch at a friend's house. She hadn't met the kiddos before and was commenting how much they looked like me. She remarked that they looked just like my baby photos. Her mom chimed in: "You remember Cat's baby photos??". Yes, Jenna said, I do.

Jenna and I have "reconnected". After years and years apart with no contact, we are friends once more and getting to know these little people that each of us have created. She is someone who knows so much about me, but nothing about the last six years of my life. Interesting, isn't it?

I was later telling Rob, once we'd gotten home, the earlier story of the baby photos and he raised his eyebrows and said: "She remembers your baby photos??". Yep, I said, she does. He didn't realize, but aside from him, Jenna probably knows me better than anyone else. Truly. We were friends from the third grade through high school and on. She gets my sense of humor, she knows what will make me burst into tears and what will make me pee my pants laughing. She pierced my ears, died my hair, painted my nails and sang duets with me. She was my BEST friend.

And now, we are getting to know one another's children. We are planning a dinner so our husbands can meet. We are laughing together again. Amazing what God and life can bring us, isn't it? Or should I say, bring back to us.

The Ladies Restroom

2007-01-26T09:03:00.000-05:00

I saw this on a chat board I'm on and it spoke to me. I wanted to share it here. This is not my work, but it is dang funny.

Ladies Restroom Visit

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance. "

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.

You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat -- because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.

You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them.

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

. . .This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse, and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Gonna Make You Sweat

2007-01-25T18:45:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I guess I'm stealing from C&C Music Factory (I think...?) with that title. It all starts with Rob picking out a sexy new elliptical Machine for our Christmas money to be spent on. Now, to be honest, I was a bit ho-hum about the purchase at first. I was completely awed by his urge to get exercised and all... but I was like drooling at the idea of a fattening dinner out or more "stuff" to add to all my other "stuff". However, if someone in my family has a hankering for getting fit, I support, dude. I even decided to jump on the bandwagon. Or... err... Elliptical. Here's where things get interesting: I.... LIKE IT! Really, honestly, truly. It makes me feel pumped. I head downstairs for my "me" time, crank up the Rage Against the Machine and let the drops of sweat fly! So, here I have finished my allotted time to become beet-red-in-the-face and sweat, and I even have enough finger strength to bang out this blog! Ok, it's a weak blog, I admit, but it's an update for all you blog-hungry fans. All two of you. Consider yourself fed. I'm gonna go pass out in the shower now.

Whoa, It's Winter

2007-01-20T09:33:00.000-05:00

We live in New England. It's supposed to snow here. I gave up around the holidays, and resigned myself to the fact that we were going to have a brown Christmas. Recently we paid a visit to an old friend about an hour's drive from here. She had about an inch of snow on the ground. You'd think Santa himself was camped out in her back yard. The boys were salivating looking at it, and the second their seat belts were unlatched, they plunged their pudgy paws into the ice cold fluff. The excitement was pulsing around them. When Max got bored with the female chit chat and the toddlers "mine, mine" banter, he excused himself outside to throw snowballs at the house. Snow is late in coming this year. It's gone beyond "oh well" to "what the hell??". Finally, we got a dusting though. Yesterday we woke up to a few inches and I managed to get the boys out of their jammies and into clothes and socks and snowpants and hats and gloves and boots before they rushed out the door. We managed to get several runs down the hill in their sleds before Miles received several flesh wounds to the face and my toes were cold. It's the end of January and we are just now tasting this sweet sweet snow. For the love of God, what does it take to get a Nor'easter in Massachusetts??? And for those of you who gasp and say, "Don't jinx us!!"... well... JINX JINX JINX, I want snow!

Whoops-A-Daisy

2007-01-19T07:55:00.000-05:00

Well, we begin the long process of potty training. Yes, what you see there is absolutely a little poop. I figure, better on the floor in front of the toilet than on the living room carpet, eh? It's close enough to the target. On his second try for the night, you will be happy to hear that Miley did, in fact, make the target and received much applause and hooting. There was much rejoicing. What can I say, poop makes me laugh.

Hey! I'm Alive!

2007-01-19T07:49:00.000-05:00

Well bloggies, I am indeed alive and well. Although, "well" is a relative term, I have a chest cold that keeps me awake at night and is thoroughly irritating to me. I had experienced some technical difficulties with the old blog and thought the whole thing was lost. But, thanks to my dear friend Danish (love the name, makes me hungry) at Blogger Help, problem is resolved, blogging has resumed. Fear not, for there will indeed be more blogs!

So, tuck your tissues back up your sleeves, I have returned and vow to be blogtastic!

Sweet Surrender

2006-11-18T17:26:00.000-05:00

Sure, Sweet Surrender is the scent of my deodorant, but it's also an inspiration. There are many things I must simply surrender to. I have to "give".

I put up our outside Christmas lights today. Sure, some of you may wince and say I'm crazy, "Christmas already?". We like to turn on our outside lights on Thanksgiving and I was getting a start on it while Miles was napping today. I had five sets of those retro colored lights. Lights I remember from childhood. Lights that make me think of "A Christmas Story" and Charlie Brown. I love 'em, and I was stringing them on the shrubs outside, working on the final strand, when they all went out. Hmm... Chevy Chase moment you say? Why, yes it was, in fact. I was thinking "Oh God, Rob was right, I strung too many together". Nothing makes me wrinkle my nose and say shucks faster than having Rob "tell me so". He informs me that the fuse on the first set is blown and proceeds to replace it. Exactly four minutes later it blows again. This is where the "told you so" part comes in. I surrender. They are hung, they are strung, they are staying put. How we get around to powering them up for the big switcheroo on, well, we'll figure that out later. I give.

Last night we brought the boys to Build A Bear to .... well.... build a bear. They each had birthday money we set aside for this treat and I was sure they would love love love it! I had heard that this endeavor could get a bit pricey, so I waited till the birthday season when lovely Grammies and Grampas send checks. We were armed with cash and revved up to stuff the life into little bears. We got there and instantly Miles was overwhelmed and in his own land far far away. While there were about thirty different animals to choose to stuff, Miles was intently focused on a pair of socks at a nearby display. I held up three choices for him, which he looked at carefully and dropped on the floor. Hell, the socks were far more interesting! Finally, I picked a cute little dog for him that he had showed a minute of interest in. Max was armed with his cute monkey and we headed to the next phases, sounds and then the stuffing machine. Whatever we had to do, Miles was busy somewhere else, caring less what we wanted him to enjoy. Max was at the perfect age and loved every second of it. His monkey is decked out in fabulous black jeans complete with wallet chain, a fleece hoodie, sketchers sneakers, joe boxers and even his own battery operated camera phone. He was a little pissed when I made him put the safari hat and mini guitar back and pointed out loudly as we were leaving that he REALLY wanted that miniature hockey set for "Eric". Miles, well, we were lucky to get him interested in one Cookie Monster t-shirt for "Doggy" and Rob grabbed a leash for him out of desperation to get him something. We checked out and my total was $93. While Max dug it, Miles was not going to participate in my forced birthday fun at any cost. We got home from dinner and I said "Here Miley, here's Doggy!!". Miles looked at this white fluffy dog and launched him across the room with a final "NO". You just can force love. I surrender.

Today my little Miley turned two. My little baby is a baby no more. I don't know where the time went, all I know is that it kicked me in the ass on the way by. How can Miles be walking and talking.... climbing and jumping.... yelling "POOP at the top of his lungs in the grocery store...? How can he be such a little dude when it was just YESTERDAY I brought him home and watched his big brother cradle him in his arms? How can he be climbing up on the bathroom sink for a drink of toothpaste when it was just YESTERDAY that I was nursing him to sleep after a feast at his first Thanksgiving dinner? I don't know...I surrender.

Tis the birthday season here in the Jordan household. The boys have had their fair share of gifts and cake (more on the way tonight! Whoo Whoo!). Today however, there was a guest of honor at Miles' birthday. Thomas the Tank Engine. Many of you do not know Thomas yet. I admire that. I miss that, really. For Thomas has become a member of the family in some ways. Miles has become... shall we say... obsessed? He got a new train set, a Toby character from Thomas and Friends, a Thomas Aquadoodle Mat and a Thomas coloring set. There was not ONE blessed thing today that did not involve our new friend. Even the scrumptious cake on the agenda tonight is a Thomas cake. Got Thomas questions? Ask away, we are on the way to being experts. I am typing this to the faint sound of the Thomas theme song playing on the t.v. upstairs. I am drooling at the thought of eating that Thomas cake. You know what? I surrender.

Sadness Understood

2006-11-09T08:15:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday morning our brother-in-law, David, passed peacefully at his home from a long illness. His wife, Sharon, had nursed him daily for months and endured an amount of stress I cannot even fathom. He leaves two boys, ages ten and six. We spent several days with Sharon and the boys trying to help in any way we could and be supportive.

What struck me is how resilient children can be. All the kids played happily together, as if it was any other weekend visit. Laughter and the normal bickering, and running around the house ensued. The adults dealt with their pain and sadness in other ways; there was plenty of beer, plenty of tissues, plenty of consoling words. I witnessed some touching moments over the course of that sad weekend. Something struck me deep, though.

Max was talking to his cousin Evan:
"Are you pretty sad about your Dad, Ev?"
"You know, his body was just wore out and couldn't hold on anymore."
"But, it's ok, cause he went up to be with Jesus."
"Hey you know what? I got a new pack of Pokemom cards we can trade!"

In the minute it took for those words to unravel on our end of the phone, I realized that kids do know what is going on. They just deal with it differently. They aren't tactless, they are honest. They are blunt, they are sincere. David's body did just wear out and David did go live with Jesus. It couldn't have been said better.

Oh the Mystery

2006-11-09T08:09:00.000-05:00

This morning was like any other morning. Rob was getting out of the shower in our bathroom, I was lying in bed trying to wake up, and Max was quietly playing Game Cube until it was time to turn on the news for Mommy. All was quiet from Miley's crib. Then, Miles saunters into our room with a toy, hops up on the bed and says "Pway Mommy". Rob looks confused. "How did you get out of your crib Miley?", he asks. I shrug, Max says he didn't help him and Miles is too busy with his shape sorter to be bothered by such interrogation. So, the news of the day is that my barely-two-year-old climbed out of his crib for the very first time today. That is a feat, I might add, that my eldest never bothered with, as he was supremely happy in his cribby. I will have to keep a close eye on this monkey so I can catch him in the act. Oh Lord, is it time for a big boy bed ALREADY?

Five years ago

2006-10-26T07:52:00.000-04:00

Five years ago, my life was suddenly redirected. Five years ago I stopped being able to up and leave the house spur of the moment. Five years ago I stopped having a good night's sleep. Five years ago I started being "on call" every moment of the day. Five years ago it became socially acceptable for someone to throw up all over me without so much as an apology.

Five years ago I held a baby boy in my arms and wept at what we'd created. Five years ago I started feeling the joy of being needed. Five years ago I felt a purpose in my life for the first time. Five years ago I became a mom.

Max turned five yesterday. It was a big day! For both of us. I am a mom and I have two children! Whoa. Some days I have this overwhelming feeling that I am screwing everything up around me. That I should be doing things better, being more patient, parenting better... Then I reflect that five YEARS have passed and we are all just fine.... better than fine. We are good. I have survived momhood for five years and my little boy is happy and healthy. I never gave him a complex feeding him with bottles and he didn't die when he rolled off the bed at five months old. (YIKES). TV didn't rot his brain (yet...) and a bee sting wasn't the death of him. So far I've been able to answer all his questions without too much difficulty. So far I've been able to heal all his boo boos. I thank God that we have each other. Five years of this!

I am a mom. I have been a mom for five years. I've been blessed with love.

Adventures with EasyLock

2006-09-28T10:54:00.001-04:00

You know, whenever you see something that says it's easy to figure out, easy to install, easy to do-it-yourself.... it's all a lie. Nothing is ever as easy as it's supposed to be. Nothing ever goes as planned. Nothing is ever simple and straight-forward. Oh, wait, perhaps that's just at our house.

Since we bought our home here in MA, we have dreamed of the day that we could rip up the ratty old carpet in our dining area, and replace it with something waaaay more practical and, um, clean. We planned to tackle this project last weekend and purchased our supply of laminate wood flooring. I suppose I should clarify... Rob planned to tackle this project as I am a self-proclaimed nitwit when it comes to home improvement. Seriously, I can paint fairly well and I can use a drill to install curtain rods. I do not reach beyond that scope, I know my limits. Anyhoo, Rob said "this would be easy", "should go quickly", and many other reassuring quotes that made me feel secure in starting the weekend. Friday night we ripped up said carpet. God-awful, disgusting, dirty, smelly job that was. (People, let me just start by saying, if you have asthma or allergies, GET RID OF YOUR CARPET). We had things fairly ready for the following day.

Then things got interesting. Turns out EasyLock is not as easy as we all thought. There are things that took way longer to figure out. Hallways are not easy to do. The instructions they show you are of a plain square room with no doorways or trim work. Bastards. After a whole Saturday of cursing and wrangling boards in the hallway, Rob finished a 3x5 area. Now, let me say that there were many cuts to be made and many odd sections to be finangled, it was a lot of work for poor Rob. Then, Sunday we kicked EasyLock butt. I joined in the fun because I feared Rob would torch the pile of flooring he had left. That, or let out a stream of obscenities in front of the children that would sear into their brains for the rest of their lives. LOL. I actually learned quite a lot and it wasn't so bad working as a team.

To update, Rob is now finished with the floor and all the thresholds. He just has to put trim back up and we are all done. Overall, we have faced much, MUCH worse projects that went askew, and the end product looks maaavelous dahling. There were just some things we learned about ourselves and projects that are "supposed" to be easy to install. First, it's better to be a team. Working alone can be frustrating and having a second pair of hands and second opinion is valuable. Second, never EVER listen to all the hype, it's never going to go as smoothly as they say it will (unless you are a skilled laborer). Always plan for an extra day of work even if you think it will only take you one.

So, there, that's the EasyLock story. We have done our first major DIY project here at the new house and I can already see that Rob is going to be the floor nazi about the dining room. No throwing toys on the new floor, no wearing shoes on the new floor, no horsing around on the new floor, no swearing around the new floor, no bad energy near the new floor... ummm... I digress.

One last note to all you do-it-yourselfers.... if we can do it, you can too.

Yes, it's true, I have THAT much money!

2006-09-21T09:05:00.000-04:00

I do, I have soooo much money that I will throw away over a hundred dollars without a thought to a few kiddie rides, one over-hyped water ride and some darned expensive Coke. Throw in some torrential rain, a wild thunder and lightening show with four children under the age of five and you've got some FUN FUN FUN! Read the full story at Milkweed Hill!

Thank goodness we joined up with good-humored family for this outing, otherwise there is the strong possibility it could've sucked. I mean it, we had a nice steak dinner with some wine once we were all home, dry and had the kids in bed. Here's to next time Ernie and Kay! Let's do Santa's Village instead, ok?

Did I Ever Mention...

2006-09-21T08:55:00.000-04:00

...that I have an addictive personality?? I get hooked on anything new I try. After having a relapse on smoking for the past several months, I finally did kick that silly habit of two or three sneaked smokes a day. Rob sighs with relief, for it totally disgusted him. Now, however, I find myself gripped with a new addiction. Knitting. I signed up for a knitting class for the month of September and last night was my third class. Apparently, knitting is one hot hobby nowadays. I don't know about being trendy, but I do know that I am hooked on wrapping tiny yarn around big sticks. It's very very soothing and makes a great companion to enduring Calliou for the third time of the day. I now know how to "cast on", straight knit, purl, and "bind off". I have finished a scarf, complete with fringe! I am a knitter, baby! Oh, and I'm totally serious when I say that everyone (everyone!!) is getting a scarf for Christmas this year. (evil laugh). So, now I can add knitting to my list of obsessive compulsions.... cleaning, reading, sleeping, etc.

And, Here HE Is....

2006-08-30T12:12:00.000-04:00

Mr. Priceless!

Here He Is....

2006-08-30T12:06:00.000-04:00

Mr. Adorable!!

It's Been a While...

2006-08-29T20:30:00.000-04:00

It has been a while, eh? I wish I could say that my life is so exciting that I got swept up in adventures and travel and I couldn't tear myself away for a moment to write about it. Bah, that ain't it. I am up to eyes in daily wrestling matches between the boys and dealing with a cat with fleas and trying to plan projects to do around the house. When I can sneak a few minutes I am buried in books, or perusing Ebay (yes, it's a sickness) or compiling a mountain of stuff for a yard sale I will probably never get around to having. That's it folks, just your basic boring stuff. I just haven't been blogging much, and I have no good excuse.

I decided though, that I better get back in gear. Pretty soon, good tv shows will be back on with the fall season and I'll be even less apt to come down here and write. I need to get into the swing of it. I'm taking a knitting class soon, too! Yes, of course I'm excited, and NO, I'm not 80 years old. I have always wanted to knit, and I just found a class today and registered. Everyone's getting scarves for Christmas!

The boys are doing well. Miles has been a very good boy and pees on the potty when we put him in front of it naked. He gets very pleased with himself once he finishes and rushes over to flush likes it's the most important thing in the world. Mr. Max is getting glasses, they should be in any day now. My darling little almost-five-year-old needs glasses already! Sniffle. Never mind the fact that both his parents are just about blind without their specs, but he's only four! He picked them out himself, and although I have a very strong suspicion he will end up looking like Ralphie from A Christmas Story, he will be soooo adorable. I am having a hard time with it though.... I got glasses when I was eight, and it changes everything... I hope he can adjust ok.

So, like I said, nothing to spectacular, just life. I will be better, readers, I promise. If Kristen can find time, I can too! Now, just wait till I get back from the town-wide yard sale day, then I'll have some stories!

Speaking Up

2006-07-14T07:13:00.000-04:00

My little Miley guy is quite the talker lately. He parrots just about every word he hears and is even developing a little 'tude that's copied from big brother, Max. If I ask him to "come here please", he will follow up with "jus SEC, mommy". I can't even have a moment's peace in the W.C. for crying out loud. I hear loud banging on the door and a wee little voice asking "WHAT DOIN MOMMY? OOO IN BAFROOM MOMMY?". It's so darn sweet, really, being able to communicate with the little guy. He's at a fun age.

Max is wrapping up a whirlwind week at Vacation Bible School this week, and Monday was a big day. We went to drop him off in a room full of new kids. He looked around, scanning the other children, the tables, the set-up. I had a big knot in my stomach, remembering my own experiences in a new situation as a kiddo. Max seemed to be fine (though I was practically in tears leaving him), and we said our goodbyes, gave kisses, and I wheeled Miley out in his stroller to the car. It wasn't until we were rolling out of the parking lot that a very upset little voice from the backseat said "UH, OH!!! IS SEAT!!!". He was emphatically pointing to Max's seat wondering why in the world we were leaving without Max. It was enough to reduce me to tears really. Not a car trip goes by without the two of them, and here is this observant little passenger telling me that I forgot one!

He's a cute one, that little Miles. Big talker, too. It's all so cute.... even though.... well, there are moments I didn't have to worry about with Max at that age. There was no older child influencing Max's vocabulary like Miles has now. There are days I just have to shake my head and shrug my shoulders and smile sheepishly at other parents when my toddler declares at the top of his wee voice "YUCKY POOPY, YUCKY POOPY, YUCKY POOPY!!". Yes, son, there are days like that.

A little slice of nature pie

2006-06-05T09:31:00.000-04:00

When we moved into this house about a month ago, I zeroed in on three big overgrown ugly shrub-things in front our house. They are situated directly in front of our bedroom, essentially sealing off all light entering the room and creating a tomb-like atmosphere in there. I figured I would get around to chopping them down eventually. Then I found something. Upon opening the curtains in my bedroom one day, I discovered a beautifully crafted robin's nest snuggled in the ugly bush. It had hydrangea branches woven into it, truly beautiful. And there, in this recently built nest were three pretty blue eggs. All this took place in under two weeks! So, if anything was going to save the ugly bushes, this is the surest thing to do so. The cool part of it all is that I have my own little nature observatory right out my bedroom window!

When Rob comes to wake me up in the morning, I sit up, rub my eyes, pop my glasses on and peek out the window to check on Robbie and the Robinettes. They hatched just days ago. This morning there were three fluff balls holding their hungry beaks to the sky, waiting for their morning meals.

To my surprise, the boys really aren't that interested. Max has looked out a handful of times and Miles could care less. It's really my own fascination. Well, mine and Rosie's... I find her many a time standing on her hind legs staring out the window.

Some day my babies will be old enough to fly off and leave the nest.... sniffle. That will be a sad, sad day.

Been Tagged

2006-06-05T09:10:00.000-04:00

Well, Kay has tagged me, so I will comply and list my "favorites with kids"...

Four places I'd like to take my kids on vacation

1. Alaska
2. Iceland
3. Spain
4. Disney World

Four shows I like to watch with my kids

1. Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius
2. America's Funniest Home Videos
3. Arthur
4. Baby Mozart

Four restaurants I like to go to with my kids

1. Friendly's
2. The Haraseeket Inn (shout out to Jimmy James)
3. McDonalds (yes, that's right! They have a playland and the food is fast and cheap!)
4. Any Chinese place close by (NOTE: Eating out is not very enjoyable right now with an 18 month old. Many food objects are projectiles and much screaming occurs. This list will evolve as my youngest learns how to behave in public :)

Four things I want my kids to be good at

1. Being kind to all people
2. Sharing what you have (love and possessions)
3. Being responsible and taking care of themselves and their family (some day!!)
4. Seeing God in everything and everyone around them

Four websites I visit daily

1. Milkweed Hill
2. Big Red Blog
3. Ernesto's
4. Jimmy James

Haircuts are from Hell

2006-05-10T09:46:00.000-04:00

My oldest is four years old and down right HATES having his hair cut. I can do a pretty decent job with the hair trimmers and it saves me $10-12, but he throws such a fit, it's almost worth it to bring him somewhere and save myself the aggravation. Several months ago before the move I gave in and brought him to Super Cuts. I thought the stylist would be in tears by the end of it, he was such a pain. He complained that she was pulling his hair, he would cower and cry and say that she had pinched him with the trimmers. He would get out of the chair and try to slink away. He was a pain. This is all a show of course. I think Super Cuts would definitely be out of business if the trimmers pinched all the customers. He likes the look and feel of a fresh buzz, but cannot deal with the process. The problem is that he has a veritable forrest growing on his noggin and it gets downright bushy.

Rob and I have been noticing that wee beast's hair was in need of a trim of some kind, too. He has long blonde wisps that curl when he's hot or out of the bath. I love those little curly curls... sigh. But, the time had come to trim, and that is just what I did. Wee beast was first and was so enraptured with the entire process he sat like a little angel on the toilet seat and let me buzz him. Presto, he was done. Next came big beast. Not so easy. After all the tears and sweat and complaining, the boy's hair was done and the bathroom looked like a Wookie exploded in it.

I sure hope he grows out of these hair cut catastrophes. I try to put them off as long as possible, but every few months I have to suck it up and cut. Pictures coming soon.

Teeny Tiny Toad

2006-05-04T10:07:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry. I should've known that by squealing with delight and pointing you out, your morning might get a jolt of terror. I, as a human, was only trying to teach my 4-year-old about nature and the lovely fact that here in our very own backyard we could find a dime-sized frog hopping about. Little did I know that the next 30 minutes of your life would be spent squeezed in and out of a grimy, pudgy little paw, only to be dropped to safety three feet down and then grabbed back up into hand hell. I realize now that you probably wanted desperately to get away from these giagantic looming faces above you, one with a booger river and dirt smeared from eye to chin, one with cherry red cheeks and a twinkle in his eyes. You finally made your gettaway under our deck stairs, much to the dismay of cherry cheeks. I sighed with relief, though, little froggy friend, for I did not need to add frog funeral to my day's to-do list. I'm sure you have quite the story to tell your little frog family and so does my little cherry cheeks. You added an enormous amount of excitement to our day and it's but 10:12am!

Moles, wherefore art thou, Moles?

2006-05-01T15:07:00.000-04:00

Argh, MOLES! I discovered in Maine a few weeks before we left that we had moles. I never saw a trace of them last year, but all of the sudden there were tunnels all over the place and fresh mounds of dirt here and there. I thought to myself, phew, so glad we're moving and I don't have to deal with THIS headache. Hah, I thought, I will let someone else deal with the problem! We moved, and have a georgous big hilly yard behind the house the kids were itching to play in. So, we headed out to play right off the bat and I was walking about, taking it all in, assessing the lawn, the trees and shrubs. Something caught my eye.... it was... a mole tunnel. DAMN I thought! They followed us to Massachusetts! The next time I think I've escaped an obstacle, I should give myself a healthy wack of reality. I don't know, though, I think I will just try to cohabitate with the mole family we share a yard with. I certainly don't feel like trapping anything and they were here first... Why make a mountain out of a mole hill?? Oh, I just HAD to use that!!!

Freshed Baked Cookies, Crooked Fingers and a Freezer Full of Dog Hair

2006-05-01T14:42:00.000-04:00

Well, we've moved. Sound the trumpets. It's offically over. The packing, Rob's three-hour weekend commutes home from work, the house buying/selling crappola and all that jazz. We are settling in here in Massachusetts and there are many great things about this place. On the day our belongings were delivered, our lovely neighbors (and Max's new best friend) came over with freshly baked cookies to welcome us. I've always wanted someone to do that! I was so impressed and delighted and they've turned out to be a very sweet family. Max has a new playmate now and he is outside all the time with her. We have a great big deck that overlooks a great big field with a great big hill that Max loves to ride his new bike down. Fun, fun!

This house came with headaches, too, though and we are dealing with them as they become apparent. First and foremost, this place was filthy. The previous owner had three dogs and a strong distaste for cleaning. The dog smell overwhelmed us that first day and encouraged my very own Rob to sprinkle several cans of carpet freshener about the place and vacuum. I think I may have actually shed a few tears of pride. But we dealt. Then I decided to take on the task of cleaning the kitchen so that I could unpack some important things like coffee, mugs and sugar. That turned into a very horrible job as the cupboards were all covered in their fair share of dog fur and smell. I finally got them scrubbed inside and out and went through about six rolls of shelf liner paper and was able to put things in them. Then, I needed to clean the frige. People.... if there is one place you wouldn't expect to see dog fur, it's in the freezer. But, low and behold, there, among the dirty filth was fluff after fluff of fur. Then I cleaned behind the stove and fridge and somewhere in there Rob and I took turns cleaning the inside of the oven. I have to admit something to America....... I had never cleaned an oven before. I took one look at the can of Easy Off and shuddered with fear. But, it made one hell of a clean oven! As for the kitchen floor, I will sum it up to this, three different kinds of cleaning products, five hours, and two pair of hands with crooked, gnarled fingers later, I actually feel safe walking barefoot on our kitchen floor. Phew.

I know, it sounds like we moved into a crack house or something. It's nothing that extreme, but filth really doesn't describe it closely enough. I'm fairly certain that a forty doesn't belong under the bathroom sink, so that may or may not explain some of the issues.

Even so, the house is surely coming together. We made our maiden voyage to the local Home Depot for odds and ends and it's beginning to come together. Nothing beats having internet connection and t.v. though. I almost hugged the Direct T.V. guy when he showed up this morning!

So, if you were wondering how things were, now you know. But don't worry... you know me well enough by now don't you? If someone's going to clean this place right, it really ought to be me!! When you come for a visit, you can rest assured that there will be no trace of dog hair!

When you're a parent, you're never off duty...

2006-03-27T06:17:00.000-05:00

In a conversation with my sister yesterday I was explaining to her how you are never truly off duty when you have kids. Especially when you're significant other (if you have one) is off for a week at a time working. This hit home for me early this morning. It was 4:44 a.m. to be clear. From the room next to mine I heard Max calling out to me, "HEY, MOM.... MO-O-O-OMMY..... MOM, can you come HERE?". He was just calling out to me like I was watching t.v. in the other room or something. Listen kid, I am sleeping, it's before 5 a.m., I'm off duty. But, he persisted and finally I heard Miles in the other room next to mine start in because something (hmmm) woke him up. I finally sat up with a growl and when reaching for my glasses, knocked over my water on the side table. Growl. I ordered Max into bed with me and he needed to immediately zip it. Thank goodness Miles decided to doze back off. I finally did have to get back up around 5:30, but at least it was AFTER 5 a.m. It's kind of crazy, but anything earlier than that and I just feel mad.

So, if that doesn't convince someone to never procreate, I have lots of other stories for them.

I'm Sick and You'll Probably Catch It

2006-03-24T14:09:00.000-05:00

I'm sick again. I feel like I am one big sickness broken up by short bursts of non-coughing. Ugh.

It started with Max, made it's way to Miles in form of a fever (!?) and now it's hit me. Rob's due home today and he will then step across the threshold to germ warfare. Happy Birthday Sweetie.

This particular cold has hit me hard with violent coughing and night sweats. I can handle it ok.... I may not be the MOST patient mom this week, and I may not wake up in the morning fresh as a daisy. However, the thing that really gets me.... REALLY annoys me is when people see you are sick and make remarks about it. I dropped Max off at preschool yesterday and I was one step away from passing out cold on the steps. Seriously, I was dizzy and sweaty and all I wanted to do was drop Max off, get Miles down for his nap and curl up on my bed for an hour. I walk in the door and his teacher goes, "Oh, here's the sick family!". Ummm.... is that sympathetic commentary or an open invitation to stay back a few feet so the germs don't jump? People get nutty when they notice you are sick, really. You walk into a place and cough and you get the evil eye. Go home, sicky, we don't want your kind round these parts!

It actually gets me so irritated that I feel like going on a cold-spreading spree and infecting as many sick-phobes as possible. If only I could stand up for more than five minutes without feeling faint.... shucks. Maybe tomorrow. Wanna be my best friend? Be here in five minutes with some extra Puffs Plus and a new bottle of NyQuil.

Staking out the Dump

2006-03-20T07:11:00.000-05:00

Well, it's time to make it official, we are moving again. We are saying goodbye to our little community in Maine and saying hello to Massachusetts! Rob has been residing at a hotel in Sturbridge, working at his new job and soon (hopefully), we will all be together again in our new home in Monson! Oh, and don't bother correcting anyone who pronounces it "MUNson", because you will be corrected by a native for calling it "MONson". As Rob pointed out, it follows the same rule as money.

Anyways, I realized that in a fitful cleaning spree several months ago I had very thoroughly purged our storage room of boxes and brought them to the dump. When we got word of the move, I felt like crying for the loss of my sturdy boxes. It's time again to play the box game. I downright refuse to buy (as in give someone hard earned cash) for a silly old box! So, that leaves me with a couple options.... #1 Ask everyone I know and see on the street if they have any boxes they want to get rid of, or #2 Dumpster Dive. I'm not much of a dumpster diver, really, but I have loitered a bit at the bailer at the town dump seeing if anyone's dropping off cardboard. Last week I hit the jackpot. I was bringing my garbage over and I noticed a guy hauling some boxes out of his truck. I ran up to him and said "Hey! Can I have those??". He looked at me like I was some kind of freak and shrugged his shoulders. SCORE! Then, over the weekend I was cleaning out our shed and made another trip to the dump and got another whole batch of good clean boxes. SCORE AGAIN! I give up all pride. Call me "Weird Dump Lady", whatever. I need boxes and I'll do what I gotta do!

So, did you know that boxes can serve as great fun to little kids? Next time the kids are whiny and bored, pull out an empty box and see the fun fly! I at present time have a box pyramid in the spare room and each child is sitting in their own box watching PBS right now. Ah... the power of cardboard.

St. Jude's Trike-A-Thon and Lessons Learned

2006-02-14T09:28:00.000-05:00

Friday was the much-anticipated Trike-A-Thon that Max had been gathering donations for! Rob had pulled out Max's teeny little bike, dusted it off, raised the seat, added air to the wee tires. That hog was ready to race. The helmet was given a shining and we were off to the event! James accompanied me so the wee beast couldn't destroy anything and we were set to have some fun. The gym was roped off into a big circuit, with the center roped off for the littler kids. Right off the bat my little athlete was warming up by running laps around the gym. Can you tell we've been cooped up too long?? He ran the perimeter of the room about three times, came up to the bleachers, took a few deep breaths and was off again. When it came to ride, he rocked! He was having so much fun humming the Mario Kart theme song to himself, I'm sure he thought he was part of the game! They broke for a short time to relish a couple donut holes and a juice box. Then came the announcement. One of Max's teachers directed the moms and dads to grab their child's bike and head out to the track with it. She proceeded to climb on the tricycle she had with her and started peddling it. At first, I was just frightened... then, I noticed the other parents starting to gear up for the event... I don't want to let my little Max down by being the fuddy-dud parent that won't participate. So, I did what I had to do. I grabbed his amazingly little bicycle and hunkered down on it. It took me a minute to tuck my knees behind my ears in order to reach the peddles, but once I had my feet positioned, I was OFF! Man, did I cruise... I flew past those other moms, all the while trying to ignore the searing pain of a bike seat inching up my behind. The look on Max's face was priceless! It went from sheer horror (What the heck are you DOING??) to delight! I was so proud of myself for being able to breeze past the other parents who somehow couldn't get the hang of peddling, I felt confident that I was like, THE coolest mom there! I made it around and unfolded myself and stood up. The training wheels looked a little off. I kicked at them and found that one or both of them had become a little bent.... hmmm. Max seemed to be able to ride ok on the second set, but I felt a little bad that I had messed up the wheels. I turned to James and said, "Maybe I shouldn't have rode on the bike?". He looked at me like I had grapefruits coming out of my ears and said "MAYBE? you shouldn't have rode on the bike????". He instructed me to look at the bike and then look at myself. Maybe's not an option here. Ok, ok, lesson learned. Just because all the other moms are doing it, doesn't mean I have to jump off that bridge too. And, just because I am so astonished that I CAN ride the bike, doesn't mean I SHOULD ride the bike.

In summary, Max's first charitable experience went great. He did an awesome job, even on his bent up bike. You rock little man!!

The Power of One Worm

2006-01-23T11:36:00.000-05:00

Nothing can reduce to me tears like a bug. Nothing. I can handle a lot. Go ahead, crap on my carpet. I'll probably be pissed, but I can deal with it and clean it. I have tackled Mt. St. Crapmore with raising kids and it does not phase me. I can handle the fastest roller coaster and if given the chance would love to bungee jump. If I didn't have children I even would love to try skydiving. That kind of fear, the fear of flying kind of fear, does not have any hold on me. It's the creepy crawlie fear that makes itches on my skin and will make me sure my house is infested with at least a dozen varieties of spiders. I HATE BUGS. No, that's too specific. I ALSO HATE WORMS, CATERPILLARS AND MOTHS. EEW, just typing them creeps me out. I realize this fear is irrational and unfounded. I have never been attacked by a moth, and no spider has ever put me in the hospital. I could handle the thought of a burglar lurking in the bushes over the thought of a maggot in my trash can. Perhaps I need some kind of therapy. Oh, what the hell, I know I need therapy. Grubs scare the shit out of me.

Perhaps at this point you are wondering why the hell I'm spilling my guts about my inner most baby with you? Well, I'll tell you. Some of you will poo poo me and say, "I always knew that Cat Jordan was a sissy". BUT, some of you will shudder with horror at the mental anguish you can imagine I am enduring. Go ahead, shudder now....in fearful anticipation.

Yesterday morning was an average morning. We were playing with the kids, having some coffee, I was working out the grumpies. I was walking down the hall when I noticed what looked like regurgitated black olive. Oh, you may think that sounds strange, but I'm not kidding when I say I've practically seen it all. I was muttering to myself "what the HELL" and planning to get a paper towel when I had two thoughts pop into my head. One: We haven't had black olives in over a week and, Two: It really looks more like a slug/worm kind of thingy that had exploded across the hallway. That second thought was upon closer examination and caused me to reel backwards and shriek out to Rob to get over here and look at this.

People, I recognize that bugs and caterpillars could conceivably get in a person's dwelling.... no big trauma. I just personally prefer someone else to deal with them. (I recall a few years back, frantically calling my sister-in-law, Kristen, to come and rescue me from a spider one day when Rob was working. She pleasantly assisted, and thank God, because if she hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to use my kitchen for the remainder of the day). One thing about this story might perk your interest, though, any thoughts? Ok, I'll tell you. It's FREAKIN JANUARY. Where in the name of cheese does a caterpillar come from in January??? Even after the thing was cleaned up I was feeling the buggy itches. I was turning on the hall light, the stairway light, the bathroom light. I needed to see every nook and cranny and decide if there were more of these THINGS lurking around. Rob and I could only think of one explanation. He had found one of Max's hats outside in the snowbank that had melted with our exceptional thaw this past week and it was soaking wet when someone threw it inside onto the stairs. I thought.. is it possible this creature came in with that hat that he had perhaps made his home? Rob concurred and I demanded he take the laundry downstairs and put in the load with the hat because the thought of going near it made me want to double my dose of Paxil for the day. So, today was the day I needed to tackle the rest of the laundry in that basket. I was nervous about it already as I walked downstairs, when, there, at the bottom of the steps something caught my eye. Want to know what it was? Another freakin worm thingy!!!!!!!!!!! I cannot tell you what happened to me this morning. My youngest was asleep and after pacing the family room about seven times, I wiped the tears away from my eyes and sweetly asked my oldest if he wanted to see a (gulp) cool worm thing. He said yes, indeed and came to attention. I then handed him a jar and the cat box scooper and said, "wanna scoop it in here for me?". He heartily agreed and when my tool didn't work so well, he used his fingers. It made me jump back in horror, but I never let him see me. You see, we bug-phobics have to keep it cool in front of our offspring.... I don't want to scar my little boy. I have to live with this debilitating fear myself, I wwould not wish it on anyone.

So, the thing is covered with a jar for hubby to inspect further and the laundry is going (thank God for Max's toy Robo-Arm, that came in handy transferring pieces of clothing into the wash) and I haven't seen anymore creepy crawlies yet. I don't know.... what can be done about my fear of teeny tiny critters? And don't tell me to watch more Fear Factor, because I think I will die.

Happy 2006

2006-01-01T19:11:00.000-05:00

Hey! It's the new year! Big whoopit-ee-do-da. Why is there such a hub-bub about this? Nonsense, I tell you. Last night we went to Family Night at church for a potluck and some Guesstures and let the little beasts run around and wear themselves out. We got back home around 9pm and played a rousing game of CLUE with the self-titled Mr. Farts. (Don't look at me!! He's blood relation, but I still can't quite explain it! Shrug.) Anyways, I was dozing off by 11:30, sat up and demanded my glass of bubbly before retiring. I was a party pooper and called it a year about 20 minutes before midnight. You know what though? I wasn't sad about it, and I don't believe I missed anything. New Years' Eve eludes me, but I have to say, I do enjoy the champagne. So, I am wishing you a very happy first day of 2006. Go on, treat yourself to some Funny Home Videos. It's that time of night and that's just what Big Beast and I are heading off to do. Cheers!

Something else to be addicted to...

2005-12-29T15:13:00.000-05:00

First I was hooked on Ebay. I went through my closets, my doo-dads, my junk. I took pictures of my junk. I carefully worded the ads for my junk and thoughtfully priced it. I would obsessively watch the number of hits my junk got and jump up and down and cheer when people would buy my previously worn maternity bathing suit. I had a very exciting couple of months with my friend Ebay. It eventually got tiresome and I no longer had suitable junk to sell.

Now I've discovered a lovely little thing called FreeCycle! Instead of hauling your unwanted crap to the dump, you can post it on your local FreeCycle group and have many many people email you immediately and tell you how much they really need or want your junk! Of course, it makes you no money... but if you really aren't going to use something anymore and you don't mind giving it away for free, you can always find SOMEONE who wants it.

Today is a FreeCycle kind of day. I am in organization mode and I have spent a good part of the day shuffling through lots of different stuff and cleaning. I listed a whole pile of my junk on the site and I've excitedly been sitting here emailing replies "Yes, those electric candles are YOURS!", or "You got it! I'll save these Happy Retirement stickers aside for YOU!". I love it.

I know I have an addictive personality. At least my latest craze is useful.

Ho Ho Ho

2005-12-07T14:12:00.000-05:00

Saturday we put our tree up. Ever since I was a kid, this has been an honored family tradition, everyone helps out. When I was little we had the Bonanza album Christmas on the Ponderosa and that was the record we put on for the tree-trimming event. Go ahead, snicker. It's damn fine music, but more importantly, it's tradition. The first Christmas Rob and I were together I was reminiscing about our favorite old holiday album and how it had gotten to the point where we couldn't play it anymore. No more Little Joe on tree decorating day. DAMN. What did my sweet, nostalgic beau do? He went on eBay and bought the CD. So, tradition lives on. I'm sure one day Max and Miles will give a hearty thanks to their father accompanied by a full eye roll.

So, Saturday was the appointed day for the tree, we were armed with our music and our brand new 7 1/2 foot artificial tree. Yep, that's right, we went artificial this year. I have never ever done an artificial tree and it was a big adjustment for me. There's something romantic and spiritual about going out on a cold frosty morning to pick out the perfect fresh cut tree. There's something about lugging it all the way home, trimming the trunk, setting it into the stand and hauling it inside. There's the SMELL... ooohhh, the fantastic scent of Christmas. However, after several weeks of being in our house, there's the familiar and irritating pile of needles on the floor. There will come the day when you notice that the tree isn't really drinking the water you've climbed down under the tree to fill up, and you know that tree is drying out and drying out with every day. By Christmas morning, you reach under the tree to get that pretty little present and half of the needles rain down with a crackling on the gifts. By Christmas dinner, the tree looks pathetic. The next day, you're contemplating ripping it down already. Ok, maybe not YOU, but me, yes, several years. The day after Christmas last year Rob and I took full advantage of my father visiting us and took off in the morning for sales. We were determined to buy our very first fake tree. We got a great deal and were excited about putting it together for the first time ever this year.

So, again, back to Saturday. I've got music going, I've hauled up all the boxes of decorations out of the basement. We cut open the box containing our glorious new tree. An hour later, we're still plugging in color coded branches into little holes and fluffing up the fake needles. This is a somewhat long and depressing task. By the time we were done, I'm no longer festive. I no longer care about the damned Ponderosa or if the star will fit on the 7 1/2 foot tree when our ceilings are 7 1/2 feet exactly. I am more annoyed that I just spent an hour plugging branches into a fake tree and now my wee beast is awake and joining big beast in ripping apart boxes of decorations and ornaments. OHHHH, what's THIS???? ARGH.

By the end of the day, I'm exhausted and I have just one more box to put away... why does this take longer and longer every year? But alas, finally, the lights are all on, my little village is lit, and there's Rob handing me an eggnog with plenty of the "nog" and the day doesn't seem as annoying anymore. Hmmm..... Christmas. I'll tell ya later whether or not the artificial tree was worth it. Merry Christmas!!

Hey There, Pilgrim!

2005-11-29T12:48:00.000-05:00

Well, the preschool feast went just marvelously, dahling! This is a picture of us all gussied up in our pilgrim clothes. Max modified his outfit a bit with the shades, but it added a nice touch. The other little guy is our next door neighbor, who I've been babysitting and he is also in Max's class.

I supplied the pumpkin pie which all the little people at school seemed to like. I also spent the class helping out and you know what?? It wasn't the horrible hellish experience I anticipated! I know, you're thinking I'm terrible person.. go ahead. Kids are annoying, there's no way round it! I always thought the absolute worst job in the universe for me personally was to be a teacher, especially to really little kids. Every week I unload Max down the street, smile really pretty to his teachers, and run like hell all the way home. Small children frighten me. They are either going to cry, fight, whine.... or have some kind of accident in their clothing. Anyhoo, I started to have the beginnings of an anxiety attack as the the other little pilgrims arrived for the day last Tuesday. I didn't know all their names.... they looked at me skeptically, like they knew my true feelings.... I had a very bad feeling inside. I stood stock still for several minutes sizing them up. It didn't take very long, they're small. One of the teachers told me it was free play for the first segment and I could just make sure people were playing nice. I shrugged and kneeled down at an absurdly small table surrounded by three/four-year olds and various rubber dinosaurs. I realized that it's just like being on stage and I really just had to let it all go and be silly. I tentatively took hold of a Stegosaurus and nibbled at a piece of plastic pizza. Pretty soon we were having a full-fledged dinosaur picnic and were going for drives in Barbies Volkswagen. I was actually having fun, and the best part? The kids LOVED me. I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything (aw, who am I kidding??) but I ROCKED those dinosaurs and I had those preschoolers roaring. After free play we sang some songs and had our feast and did other fun things.

Later that night I told Rob how I'd had a change of heart about kids. "I think I like them" I told him. Of course, I always knew that I liked my OWN kids, and I had a liking to familiar children like my nephews and niece and certain of Max's friends... but this was bigger than that. I saw how varied children are in their little personalities and I had fun, lots of fun. I really enjoyed playing with girls, too.... I'm so used to boys and their trucks and stuff. I think I need to get me a little girl.... :)

So, there you have it, my story of pilgrims, pie and preschoolers. Ain't Thanksgiving great?

Homeowner Headaches... Did I Really Sign Up For This??

2005-11-21T11:28:00.000-05:00

It was 2:30 am, Monday. I was nestled in my flannel sheets having a bizarre dream about an old friend from High School. She was telling me she was heading for Hawaii, and have I heard about the hurricane there? What was the weather like where I was, she asked me... In my dreamy slumbering state I was listening to water dripping and a light noise in the background... Hmmm... I guess it's raining here in Maine I said in my dream. Reality was slowly slipping in... I am slowly waking up. There is no rain. There is a dripping sound accompanied by some hissing. What IS that noise?? I am not sure I want to get out of my warm bed to see... it's 2:30, we'll be up in a few hours. Nope, I'm a Virgo. I'm neurotic. I HAVE to find out what that blasted noise is.

I lumber into the kitchen and hear the hissing from behind the fridge and there by the bottom is a big puddle of water. GREAT. My first thought is that our fridge is in the midst of biting the dust. I guess this warrants the waking of Rob. The husband needs to see this. I'm a strong, independent woman of course, but there are certain mechanical issues that elude me and I need my super-smart husband to clear things up for me.

I wake Rob and we pull the fridge out. There is an enormous amount of water behind the fridge and Rob discerns that the water line tube to our ice maker/water dispenser has sprung a leak and that's the cause of the water. No problem. We start taking care of the leak when Rob asks me if it's raining out. I have a brief flashback to my dream then say "no". We both turn our heads towards the stairs..... and bolt down them. There in our family room downstairs is a BIG leak from the ceiling and a huge puddle on the carpet.

Needless to say it's not the sort of thing you want to wake up to at 2:30 in the morning. Everything has been cleaned up and remedied, except for, of course, the large hole we cut in the ceiling to let the pooled water out. What a friggen nightmare.

This was a homeowner's test, you know. Sure, the dishwasher could go, or you might need to replace some windows or the roof.... but when water has seeped into your walls and flooring and is squirting out in random spots.... that's terror folks. What's going on behind that sheetrock? That's the real question. We survived this morning and now have some more projects to add to our big list of "stuff". Now the question is... do I still want the icemaker THAT bad??

Crappy Kind of Day

2005-11-16T17:14:00.000-05:00

Miles has learned a new trick. He can now remove his diaper on his own! The other day I was thinking to myself what a long nap my little one had been taking, when I heard a teeny tiny voice talking to his teeny tiny self in his teeny tiny bed. I thought if he was happy, why mess with a good thing? I continued on with the task at hand and thought I would soon hear him raise his teeny tiny voice once he'd had enough conversation with himself. A while later, he was still pretty quiet in there, and my curiosity got the better of me. I HAD to see what was keeping him so entertained. I walked in, and there was my little Miles, sans his diaper. In the buff. Bare bottomed. Au natural. Nekkid. He had been so tired before his nap I quickly swapped his diaper for a fresh one and plopped him in his crib with no pants. Well, he woke up in a curious mood and fiddled with the tabs until he managed to pull them off. I don't think I really need to go into much detail as to what was keeping his attention for so long. What I wondered about was what he was saying in his garbled little baby language?? He was thrilled with himself indeed and I laughed out loud at how funny he was being, even if I did have to change his wet bedding.

So, this afternoon I was excitedly creating some outfits for Max and I to wear to his preschool's Thanksgiving Feast. We can either dress up as a Native American or a Pilgrim. Being 5'11" with fair skin and red hair I quickly made the decision to be a Pilgrim, and since Max shares my complexion, why not go with the theme? Anyway, I was quite proud of myself for making a nice, full, long navy skirt (out of some old curtains at that!) and came up with a pattern for a bonnet. I put Max in some black pants and was trying to get them marked so I could make nikkers out of them. I was bent over, rolling Max's pant legs when I caught scent of something horrendous. Little kid poop. It smelled worse than usual and I knew it couldn't just be my four-year-olds notorious gas. I looked over at Miles (do you know where this is going??) and saw his grin first thing. I looked down and noticed his feet were covered in feces. GAG. I looked behind him at the dirty diaper lying on my (BRAND NEW) rug, and my eyes finally settled on the three little poopy foot prints that connected the diaper and my child. I screamed out in horror and lifted Miles up, keeping him arms length away, and whisked him to the changing table. I instructed Max to steer clear of the crime scene and proceeded to assess the situation with Wee Beast. His feet needed to get scrubbed pretty quickly, because he was grabbing at them with his little hands and (HOLY CRAP, WHAT'S THAT NEAR HIS MOUTH???!!) he was tracking it all over the darned place. Ten minutes later, I've broken a sweat and Miles is pissed and I'm out of wipes. I figure this may warrant an impromptu nap and plop him in (WITH pants, I might add). I hesitate in the hallway for a minute, then proceed to the living room to meet my fate. Ugh.

The living room is finally scrubbed clean, and Miles is still napping. I got the meatloaf in the oven and the kitchen squared away. The Pilgrim garments will wait till another day, cause, people, I've had it. Remind me another time to bring up the poop story involving my eldest beast and his construction vehicle. Classic.

Birthday Pictures!

2005-11-14T12:38:00.000-05:00

So, here we have a few shots from Saturday. Max's cake was a rescue vehicle cake with trucks and a helicopter and red icing. I may not ever have a cake with red icing again (I have a few hand towels that will never be quite the same again!) Here are my nephews demonstrating how delectable red icing can be. David, Jayson and Evan.

The great fun of popping balloons with your bottom. That little red-head is my niece!! Cute as a button!

Shhhh..... don't tell anyone else how yummy this cake is. One word for you.... leftovers.

Max blew out his candle before the song was over and Rob had to re-light it about four times to last through the singing. By far, Max's favorite part.

The Big Birthday Bash

2005-11-14T00:11:00.000-05:00

The news is in... kid's birthday parties are excruciatingly exhausting. But delicious. The big dual birthday party was Saturday and we had a great time celebrating with friends and family. We had lots of visitors and cake and balloons. Max loved it, Miles hated every minute of it except the cake part, in which he heartily participated. I think it was just too much noise, too many people, and he's kind of my shy boy it seems. He calmed down after the party, though. My brother and sister-in-law and the kids stayed overnight and he seemed happy enough with the company. I can't believe people spend weeks planning and anticipating for this kind of function and then, poof, it's over. Sheesh. At least my urge to paint the house is over! Some final thoughts: Hannaford makes a damn good cake. Ten children in one split-entry ranch is maximum capacity and calls for some recovery time involving a hearty glass of wine. Popping balloons with your butt is a good time. Finally, never EVER leave the can of fish food on top of the tank when other children are visiting. Sorry Plop.....

It's Starting

2005-11-07T10:20:00.000-05:00

Saturday we are having a party. We planned a celebration for Max's 4th birthday and Miles' 1st birthday so we could kill two birds with one... cake.... and have some friends and family come check out the new homestead. Two weeks ago I decided the living room HAD to be painted. It got painted. Yesterday I tore Max's room apart and declared to Rob that we were hopping on the Paint Express and Max's room was the next destination. If there was one room in the house that really NEEDED fresh paint, it's Max's room and I wanted to do it as soon as we moved in. A year ago. It's time.

While Rob and I were cleaning up after dinner last night he sighed and said "I'm really not looking forward to this week". I, confused, looked at him with complete innocence. What? What about this week? "You know how you get", he said. It's true. At the mere thought of company coming my primal cleaning/organizing instincts kick into gear and cupboards start getting sponged clean and the refrigerated gets pulled out, and (as my brother James recently pointed out) the couch gets moved aside for the vacuuming. It's a party and damnit, this house is gonna sparkle. Oh, and it's gonna smell CLEAN. I'm a Virgo and I was raised right, girlfriend, and I'm proud of it! Phew... don't know what just got ahold of me.

So, much to the dismay of my husband, I'm on a cleaning and preparing mission. And I'm off to sand spackle in Max's room.

Big Birthday Boy

2005-11-04T14:57:00.000-05:00

Here is the Birthday Boy! Max turned four years old last Tuesday and I'm finally getting around to posting a picture. Please note: That tastey-looking babba in front of him is NOT his. He is a BIG BOY! Miles leaves them everywhere. This is one of the cool boy presents we gave Max. It's a slot car track and he was squealing and giggling in a high-pitched frenzy when this photo was taken. I say cool "boy" presents because I went out shopping for a little four-year-old girl today and MAN, there's nothing fun that's girly. Another topic entirely. Anyway, he had a blast on his birthday and we look forward to seeing everyone at the big bash in November!

Squirrel Seduction on a Sunny Sunday

2005-11-01T11:14:00.000-05:00

Sunday morning the sun was out. AHHHH.... sweet bliss, it seems like years since we've had a nice sunny day. I was feeling great. We were drinking our coffee and getting organized for church. I was standing at the kitchen sink, admiring the freshly mowed back lawn (yes, I'm strange), commenting to Rob how much darn fun it was to mow with the bag on the back. Seriously, it was just like vacuuming the grass! Anyway, I was happily surveying the outside and I noticed several squirrels scamping through the yard. I then looked at the tree directly in front of the window and saw two squirrels fighting and carrying on. Rob was standing next to me and we were smiling, sipping coffee and enjoying our nature vista. Gradually our smiles transformed into open mouthed grimaces as we realized those rambunctious squirrels were not, in fact, fighting. Nor were they wrestling. They were not playing, or competing for a snack. They were err.... um.... having an intimate moment. I felt like I was watching the mating segment on animal planet. It was pretty in-your-face action and all I could do was hold my hands to my face and cry out. I quickly turned away from the window, haunted by the vision of squirrel sex in my maple tree. Rob kept his stance at the window and observed that the female didn't look like she was "into it". With a sick feeling in my stomach, I remembered that I needed to take my meds for the day. Nothing like mating squirrels to remind you to take your birth control pills.

I've Stepped Back In Time

2005-10-27T07:35:00.000-04:00

Well, sort of anyway.... All was fine on Saturday. It was your typical weekend morning. Rob and Max were out doing errands and I was trying to get ahead of the laundry game. I was in pretty good shape and had just sat down with Miles to have a snack when I heard this horrendous squealing/grinding/not-good-for-your-dryer sound coming from the downstairs. I thoughtfully finished my mouthful, gave Miles a woeful look and proceeded to get a handle on the situation. My dryer was down for the count. When Rob returned home I broke the news to him and guessed it might be a belt, and when he took a look behind the panel he pulled out a broken belt alright. I was mightily distressed that my beloved laundry center was out of commission temporarily, but I was proud that I had correctly detected what the problem was! In any case, we ordered the new part and I have been anxiously awaiting it ALL week. I mean, c'mon, how long should this take?? I have a mountain of not-so-nice smelling clothes and towels that seriously need to be laundered. I have a drying rack, but folks, that will only solve the little problems. By little, I mean size five Sponge Bob underoos and baby socks. I have been trying to keep up with Max's pants, undies and socks since his wardrobe is the most limited and he is the messiest with his clothing, but the towel situation is dire. I will be forced to wash a load and hang them in various spots all over my downstairs. They will be crunchy people. I hate crunchy towels. I keep hoping the UPS man will ride in on a white horse (or a big brown truck) and save the day. The UPS man is slowly losing his favor with me. GET HERE ALREADY. So, when I say I've stepped back in time it's sort of true. I have wash ability, but I have to (gasp) hang dry!!! OH, the horror.

Painting Will Only Cause Headaches

2005-10-24T13:55:00.000-04:00

Painting will only cause headaches. I'm not speaking about fumes, or leaning over in one spot too long making you lightheaded.... or concentrating on something too long.... it's the aftermath of a freshly painted room that will cause you to fret. Well, perhaps it's just me. In our home we have an entry way where the stairs go up and down (split level entry for those who are confused), and in that spot where the ceiling's so high and the thought of painting it (or even dusting the cobwebs out of it for that matter) is so unappealing, is this pink and blue floral wallpaper. Now, I've always loudly proclaimed my infinite distaste for wallpaper. It's a freakin' nightmare to put up. If it tears, it's a pain to patch. It's busy, very very busy. I just pretty much dislike wallpaper. So, here's this wallpaper on the walls. Not only is it wallpaper, but it's floral. Pink and blue floral. ICK. It's not so incredibly disgusting that I had to rip it down immediately upon moving in, but I've often sat on my sofa glaring at the little pink flowers and dreaming of a better day... a day when there is nothing on those walls but fresh clean paint. I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. Wallpaper stinks to put up, but it's even less thrilling to remove. The thought of rigging some kind of ladder contraption over the stairs, to reach way up high, to scrape wallpaper has me putting color swatches up against the blue stripes in this said wallpaper to match for the rest of the living room's paint. If you can't beat it, join it. I decided to go with a light grayish blue for the living room to tie in with the wallpaper on the stairs and put some color behind our very neutral sofa. I finished painting it yesterday. I keep walking through the room from different angles, you know, sizing it all up. I thought I'd like it better when the curtains went up. I thought I'd like it better when the furniture was all back in place.... Or the pictures were hung back up. I'm still not sure. It matches that darned wallpaper just fine. Sure, it's colorful. It's just SO, so, so blue. It's like a little boy's bedroom. Also, our area rug no longer matches, so we now have no rug over the cold wood floor. The floor looks naked is really what it is. Our throw pillows.... Out. I keep wondering what lovely color I would've chosen if I wasn't imprisoned by the wallpaper the previous owners picked off a clearance rack at Home Depot. I know, I'm bitter. I am bound by wallpaper, my nemesis.

Simply Fabulous

2005-10-20T14:13:00.000-04:00

Tuesday is my little Maxer's birthday. I don't know how we managed to fly into October so fast this year, or how it's happened that my first born is already almost four! Rob and I have been discussing the important stuff... presents. Now, I don't really think we need to do much seeing as how my mother is a deal shopper and three boxes arrived for his birthday a week ago. She claims it was buy two get one free and she got a "heck of a deal". Anyone who knows Grammie Garzone knows just what this means. (Love you Mom!) I know she didn't blow her retirement or anything, but this kid's got three large gifts sitting in the downstairs closet (good thing he can't read this yet). I hardly think Rob and I need to get ANYTHING else for him, but alas, we don't buy toys much throughout the year and darnit, it's fun to buy toys! Actually what he really needs is clothes. This kid is a tank and instead of looking like a preschooler, he looks more like he belongs in the 2nd grade. He's got Burden/Jordan genes and he's a big-boned lad. Virtually all of his clothing from last year is outgrown and he needs it all. So, while he was at school today, I had a two hour window to whisk Miles over to Sears and KB Toys for a quick spree. The clothes shopping was not as easy as I anticipated. I recall something my sister-in-law said recently about how picky my nephew's taste in fashion is. I wholeheartedly sympathize as Max has a keen eye as to what is "in" and what is not. And I don't mean "in" as far as current trend or what the stars are sporting. He decides what is worthy to wear and what will be neglected at the bottom of the drawer for ever-more. He has one red sleeveless shirt that gets worn as soon as it hits the shirt drawer. It could be 40 degrees.... he could be freshly dressed already.... he could be on his way to church and that red sleeveless shirt will find it's way onto my son. So, while I was browsing through the boys section at Sears I had a sudden overwhelming sense of panic. It had to meet with Max's style needs, as well as mine and Rob's checkbook needs. (While I'm not nearly as skilled at bargain shopping as Grammie Garzone, I am definitely not into spending oodles of money.) So, I finally decided on some cords and a striped turtleneck (his new favorite this season), also some comfy loungewear. I was running out of time and money so I called it a day at the store. Who'd have thought that at such a tender age a boy could be soooo hard to shop for?

Awww... Can You Believe It??

2005-10-20T13:54:00.000-04:00

It was 11:30 am, Thursday. I was hauling my 11-month-old heavyweight, Miles, down three houses to pick up Max from preschool. I was navigating through the cluster of small people and their parents, trying to get to the door, when a friendly woman I know only as "Hailey's Mom" asks me if I'm "Max's Mom". I smile and nod (as that is, of course, my new name since having kids- I no longer go by Catherine). The nice lady declares she thinks Hailey has a little crush on Max. Every day after school Hailey recounts to her family what funny things Max has done, or that Max got a little scratch above his eye today, or that Max got a new haircut. Apparently the nice lady called him Max casually and Hailey sternly corrected her that it was MaxWELL. I had to grin hearing this, as they are in PRESCHOOL. Max is just shy of four years old. That is simply too darned cute. TOO CUTE. I laughed with Nice Lady and said I'd definitely heard Hailey's name around the dinner table a couple of times when talking about school, too. Maybe someday they'll date each other, lol. I feel like a very proud mama... my little boy is a preschool stud.... (sigh). Are we there already? Oh, and by the way, Nice Lady's name is Julie.

It's a Date!

2005-10-17T11:48:00.000-04:00

Rob and I had a date Friday night! The Community Little Theater in Auburn was doing Beauty and the Beast, and my friend Carmen's husband Mitch was playing Lumier. I got James to sit for the boys and Rob and I actually had a night out! The show was great, Mitch was wonderful (very, very funny!), and just being in the audience in the theater was a breath of fresh air. It's been ages since I've been to a show! This seems like a super little community theater group and several cast members were local high school students. Maybe one day when I have courage I will audition for one of their productions. Thanks for babysitting Uncle James!

It Starts With a Tickle

2005-10-07T09:34:00.000-04:00

For the past two weeks Max has had a brutal cough. No runny nose to speak of, no fever, no sneezing... just a horrible horrible cough. Then one day, Rob started coughing so hard I thought I caught a glimpse of intestines hanging out of his throat. Gross, I know. I shivered with disgust every time I heard this emphysema-like, chest-rattling, vomit-inducing cough. Finally it seemed that Max was on the mend. I no longer heard him coughing at night in bed and it seemed like he was overcoming this chest cold. Rob, on the other hand kept going strong. A few days ago I felt a tickle at the back of my throat. Oh, wonderful I said to myself. Here we go. I am currently in the midst of a horrendous chest cold that has me hacking with every breath I take. For two nights I have been in between light sleep and mid-cough. My brow is sweaty. My stomach is nauseous. My kids are aggravating me. Oh wait, that's normal... heh heh. I'm (violins, please) really, really sick, and I'm really, really cranky. I keep doing my normal daily stuff; making beds, fixing meals, cleaning up dishes and clothes and sticky faces. I just happen to be doing these normal daily things in a thick fog. I suppose somedays having a regular old day job would be nice. I could call in sick, stay in bed and eat soup. But alas, I'm a mommy and those days don't exist anymore. Ok, I'll stop with the poor-me routine and go get some DayQuil. Ok, a lot of DayQuil.

Fun Fish Facts

2005-10-06T19:46:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I last blogged that our beloved friend Plop was found early in the morning by me ....er.... "resting" on the bottom of the tank. After some time, he came to and resumed his normal fishly routine of swimming in circles, picking up and dropping rocks, and blowing bubbles at the top of the tank (I'm telling you, this fish is a card!). So, as predicted, Rob was horrified when I recounted my experience and he did some investigating online. Apparently fish "rest" periodically. They "snooze" so to speak, although they don't have eyelids, so they look freaky. They're called "diurnal" and they go into a "trance-like" mode at night. So, my feisty little aquatic acquaintance wasn't dying, simply in a trance! And when I mentioned he blinked, his eyes must've been dilating or something (because as I know now, being a fish expert and all, fish don't have eyelids!). Anyways, I know most of you out there were on the edges of your seats waiting to hear the fate of Plop and I couldn't leave you hanging like that. The news is in... yes, fish sleep.

The Sad Tale of a Fish Named Plop

2005-10-04T05:06:00.000-04:00

It's early. My little Miles woke up at 4am, had a bottle and then snoozed back off. Unfortunately, I have a cold right now and after getting up for fifteen minutes with him, my cough got all worked up and I'm wide awake. So, what else is there to do when you're wide awake at 4:30 besides have some coffee (of course), throw a load of laundry in and fiddle on the computer. It's actually quiet peaceful because since Max is still in dreamland, I don't have to haggle over who gets computer time!

anyways, this post is titled after our beloved family pet, Plop. This morning when I turned on the light in the living room, Plop was laying down. Now, I've had fish before, but I'm no expert when it comes to these underwater friends.... but.... fish aren't... SUPPOSED to lay down, right? He definitely looked like he was not doing well at all. I sighed a heavy-hearted sigh and sat down. Maybe feeding him would make him feel better (it has always worked for me). I pinched in some food. Nothing. I got some coffee and came back. He was blinking at me. I went to the bathroom and came back. He was waving his fins a little. I decided not to watch him so closely because maybe I was giving him some kind of anxiety. I flicked through the stations looking for news. After kind of side-looking over to see how Ploppy was doing, I noticed he was king of limp-swimming and even trying to eat some of the food bits floating up top.

It's now been an hour since I saw him looking so sad and he is swimming about and he has eaten. I have a sad feeling deep inside though, I sort of know that this is the end of days for poor, poor Plop. Rob is closest to him. Rob always asks if Plop's been fed and how Plop's doing. He laughs it off saying if anything ever happened to him, Max would be devastated. You know, I'm not so sure Max would care much. Not that my super-intelligent dramatic four-year-old is callous or cold.... it's just that he's got bigger things on his mind; Rescue Heros, what's for snack, are we going outside? I think the news will be harder to break to Rob.

Well, stay tuned for updates about Plop. I hear footsteps upstairs and I better go say good morning.

Movie Madness

2005-09-27T11:00:00.000-04:00

Last week I received an email from Netflix telling me my sister-in-law was a customer and she'd recommended me for a free month of Netflix. Well, usually I am quite skeptical of freebies, don't you know there is always a catch. However, after rolling the idea around in my mind for a while, I decided to go for it and try and watch as many movies as I possibly could in one month's time and then cancel before I was billed for the second month. Movie madness has begun. I signed up to receive three DVDs at a time, and I have made my way through the first three. I've watched The Terminal, The Ring II, and Million Dollar Baby. Today I should be receiving two more from my pickings and I'm already trying to mentally squeeze them into my schedule. The tricky thing is the timing of this free month of movies. It coincides inconveniently with premier month on t.v. and a few days of the week I have devoted to favorite shows of mine. Tonight, for instance is Gilmore Girls and Supernatural on the WB, and there is just no room in the schedule to spare for a movie. Tomorrow night is LOST (last week's season kick off was GREAT!). That means Thursday will be the earliest viewing day. I will be curious to see just how many movies I'll be able to watch for free this month. Any suggestions? I have more to add...

2005-09-26T18:21:00.000-04:00

Here are some pictures from the Big Apple Adventure to Rocky Ridge Farm.

The Big Apple Adventure

2005-09-26T09:45:00.000-04:00

We decided that since fall was officially upon us, it was time to find a new apple orchard here in Maine to visit. I'm picky about apple orchards. We lived in Concord, NH a year ago, and we had a favorite farm we visited for all our apple, berry, pumpkin and scrapbook-worthy-picture needs. It was called Apple Hill Farm (if you're ever in the area) and we were quite fond of it. I was weary of beginning our search for our Maine adventure, because you never know what the place is like until you get there. It has to meet all my criteria in order to be our new favorite. First of all, it has to have apples. Duh. Next, it has to have great photo ops. Also, in order to qualify, it needs some kind of activity for our active and easily-bored boys. A hay ride would do nicely, or some nice little farm animals to feed. We looked around online for a bit in the morning and decided on Rocky Ridge Farm in Bowdoin, ME, about 20 minutes from us. We packed a tote and grabbed our camera and hit the road. Upon arrival, we noticed how incredibly busy it was. Apparently, the rest of the county decided it was the big day for their apple adventure as well. One nice feature of Rocky Ridge is that they have twenty or so kiddie wagons available for use to haul your wee ones, or just your load of pumpkins. We grabbed a wagon and a bag for our apples and walked into the orchard. We picked 13 lbs of Macs and some Courtlands. I think we were a little earlier this year than most, since quite a few varieties aren't ready to pick yet. It was a fairly small farm, but had a great assortment of pumpkins in all colors and a fabulous-smelling little cafe with donuts, pie and fudge. We got a couple of donuts and picked out some pumpkins and cornstalks and after a couple of hours in the windy sun, we decided to head home. My overall rating of the farm was pretty good, however, next time we go apple picking, I think we'll try a different place. This farm seemed a little small and pretty crowded. The boys didn't seem to notice and Miles swiped as many apples as he could get his pudgy little hands on. He did a pretty good job chomping on one and Max had fun being lifted up on Rob's shoulders to pick the high up apples. We arrived back home all tuckered out and I made some apple crisp. The sweet ending to a sweet day.

Baby Babble

2005-09-19T09:46:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning Rob and I were enjoying our normal weekend routine of taking turns reading the Sun Journal, while the other sort of keeps tabs on the boys. As I was drinking my french roast and reading the paper, I overheard a conversation I never dreamed I would be listening to. Miles is 10 months old. He is walking and climbing and babbles away incessantly during the day and has a smile that assures you he is, indeed, full of the dickens. At any rate, Miles says to Rob "arra babsha do". Rob nods his head and says, "oh really?". Emphatically nodding his head, Miles reiterates his point, "Brrrrrr..... (raspberry).... ssshhhhoooo bra bra." Then in a high-pitched frenzy "Eye-ye YA YA". Rob continues on with his dialog with Miles while he scans over the sales fliers. He looks up and catches my eye and says "What?". "You're supposed to do that, right? You know, answer them so their speech gets reinforced?". In that moment I realized why I love my husband so much and why, until you form a family, you never truly know your spouse. If I had never bore Max almost four years ago, I would never have known that my husband could so sweetly converse with a drooly, demanding, precocious and lovable 10-month-old.

Pressure Washing: The Power Released

2005-09-15T06:08:00.000-04:00

About a week ago my brother James (who currently resides with us) decided he was going to get a nice soapy bucket of water, grab a scrub brush and have at our deck in an attempt to transform it from desperately yucky to fabulously new. Well, it was a brisk sunny morning and James was full of cleaning gumption. For hours he fiercely scoured that deck, emptying my bottle of dish soap and then the good part of a bottle of bleach. After exhausting himself just in time to get ready for work, the deck did look quite nice. Much much brighter and not nearly as green. After ten-ish years of neglect the structure was grey-green with a caked on dirt that prevented anyone from looking through the cracks below. I, being a clean freak and proud Virgo, watched with much satisfaction as someone, other than myself, in the household was furiously cleaning something. In fact, it made me quite giddy. However, at the end of the day Rob said it wasn't quite done and not ready to stain. There was still, after hours of scrubbing, caked on grub. So, the next morning on James' day off, he announced that he was going to Home Depot to rent a power washer. Now, this had originally been my plan when we moved here, but after almost a year of other little projects and a shortage of spare cash, that had been put on the back burner. I have also discovered any amount of time to do these said projects is scare for me and Rob. Anyhoo, James rents his power washer and fills it with the appropriate amount of gas and fires her up. All I can say is that I was in sheer amazement at the difference in my deck. It looks like it was just built. Even after all that hard work he put into it, the power washer stripped away yet another layer of grime and we now have a bright, light, clean surface to stain. As for the labor, we did take turns at using the machine. No self-respecting clean-freak would pass up the opportunity to use a power washer. In addition to the deck, we also washed our old, weathered wood outdoor furniture. It's truly amazing what these man-made wonders can do for your outdoor cleaning needs. I highly recommend using one the next time you are motivated to do back-breaking outdoor scrubbing.

Cool Mornings, New Notebooks and Apple Pie

2005-09-13T11:59:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe it's September already and another fall is here. I love fall. I love the crisp cool mornings and the apple picking and the leaf piles. I love wearing cozy clothes and making pies and lighting candles. Fall feels good. All those things are great, but one thing about fall I have always loved so much is buying school supplies. Admittedly, it's been a while since I was in need of school supplies. I do unnecessarily browse through notebooks occasionally trying to come up with an excuse to buy one and leaf through the crisp clean fresh pages. I get excited for kids at back-to-school time when they get to pick out new school bags and pens and trapper-keepers (um, did I just date myself?). My little Max started preschool this month. This is his third day of school today to be precise. He loves school. He's been eyeing Spider Man backpacks for weeks now and insisting that he NEEDS to get "some stuff". I really had to resist the urge. I know it will be just a blink of an eye before he is hopping on the school bus out front and waving to me with his Spider Man backpack on. On that day I will get my fix of school stuff. 'Till that day, I will be more than happy with my almost-four-year-old's crafts from Morse Zoo School and his "award" that reads "Good job following directions, Max". And while my little man is working hard at his numbers and letters maybe I will go bake an apple pie.

Remember what Saturdays used to be like?

2005-09-10T12:45:00.000-04:00

This morning I slept in. It was heavenly. I rolled over and snuggled up and fell back alseep in my cozy bed until eventually Rob barrelled in with the two beasts around 7:30 and said "Are you gonna get up now?". I guess so. Yes, you heard me right, 7:30 is sleeping in 'round these parts. Remember when sleeping in meant 11am or even sometimes NOON? Remember when anticipating Saturdays meant planning what fun project you'd like to accomplish, or maybe perhaps going out on the town for a fun evening? What the hell ever happend to my Saturdays? Right now Rob is out with Max (my eldest beast) grocery shopping, dropping clothes off at the clothing bank and other assorted errands. Miles (the wee beast) is snoozing on his daily morning nap and I should be doing something productive while I have the free minutes. Something like pulling spent plants out of the garden, preparing the deck for staining this afternoon, laundry, or perhaps even a shower? Nope, I sit here sneaking computer time because once nap time is over it's back to reality. Saturdays are not quite what they used to be. Don't get me wrong, I still look forward to the weekend. I still eagerly await the days of the week when Rob will be home and we can do something as a family. However, it's chaotic and our big ideas never quite seem to pan out anymore, and there's always a big dose of dirty diapers and whining. Both of my children were born with internal clocks that demanded they rise at 4:30-5am every day, and while we've worked rather hard on reprogramming that, they are still up by 6ish most days. I do love reminiscing on those days when I never realized how good I really had it, but, you know what? I wouldn't go back. Now I know what it feels like to have my chubbly ten-month-old crawl over me to wake me up. I have an almost-four-year-old driving his construction truck like a maniac Massachusetts driver down my hallway wildly honking his horn and yelling "morning Mommy". I get to sit next to Rob on the sofa and have my first cup of coffee each morning and wonder what did I ever do with myself before I had this great, noisy, rambunctious, hillarious family?

Yes, I must be out of my blog...

2005-09-09T16:56:00.000-04:00

What the hell is a blog anyways? This question is one I wondered not so very long ago. Here I am beginning my very own. I suppose my most compelling reason is the fact that I enjoy other people's journaling so much. I love checking in and seeing what crazy things happened in the day of my sister-in-law, and have even checked out some of her friends' links. My internet-savvy brother tried turning me on to blogging a while back, but it never seemed to interest me much. Lately, though, it seems like a thoroughly great way to keep up with friends and family that are so spread out. So, here I go.... I am in new, frightening, unfamiliar territory... and I feel blogging crazy.