Speaking Up

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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...

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.....