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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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!

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??

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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??

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.