For the Boys

Without a doubt, I love having boys. I never in a million years thought that would be something I would ever say. I always pictured having three girls, thinking I would never have the wherewithal to manage a passel of males around the house. Finding out in Week 19 that we would have not one but two tiny boys in our home was quite a shock. My first feeling was terror in being outnumbered. Quite the opposite has proven to be the case. Instead of being overruled by the majority, I find that the three males in the house are mystified by my gender demands and the excuse of needing "me time" is quite well received. They love to do guy things together and are very happy to leave me out of it - or least on the sidelines, taking photos.

Then there are the times when I get the two shorter male-persons to experience their own feminine side. This photo is going up as one of my all-time favorites:



I love how I captured N laughing at J as if acknowledging what a dork he is, not realizing he looks equally ridiculous. Because isn't that what men are all about? Making fun of their friends while doing the exact same thing?

They did try on other Halloween items which looked equally awesome on them. N was first:




Then J:




They really are great sports - and quite fashion-conscious as well. A nice balance between the two...

Open Letter

Dear Minneapolis Airport Security Official:

Now that the ban on liquids, gels and paste-like substances has been (mostly) lifted, are you at all sorry for confiscating and destroying my $14 lip gloss? I realize it's pretty ridiculous to have purchased such an expensive cosmetic item but my only excuse was that the lip gloss was so very, very pretty. When you threw it in the trash and watched me cry (really), did you have nothing kind to impart to me that might have soothed my angry and disheartened soul, torn in two by the desire for our country's safety versus my own love of lip gloss? This week, at my own hometown airport, two male airport security guards took pity on me when I (again) forgot that I had "liquids" (if mascara can be considered a liquid) in my carry-on bag and let me leave the gate to check it in my suitcase. The woman at the counter even pulled my already-checked suitcase back out of the airplane to accommodate me. How does their unselfish service compare to your treatment? There really is no need to reply to this letter. I think we both know the answer.

Yours sincerely,
The woman who cried as you took her lip gloss last week

Dear Old Dad

It's morning, not even 7am yet. B has long since left for work. The first words from the boys? An angry, insistent demand: "Daddy IS here!" This is what they wake up saying (screaming) each morning. They refuse to believe he's not at home, shouting the words accusingly at me as if I've hidden him away, a captive in a closet somewhere. I'm glad they love their dad, but hey, what am I? They just don't want to believe that he's gone to work, even when I side with them saying, "I know, you miss daddy, you love him so much." That still doesn't win me points. They won't believe it's true until they see the empty bed with their own eyes.

Some mornings are better than others - yesterday J calmly replied to me (when I said that daddy had gone to work) "Actually, mommy, he is here." Stunned silence from me. Actually? Where did he come up with that one? Geesh. Perfect grammar from my three-year old.

Today is my 32nd birthday. Oh boy. The boys did slightly better this morning when I reminded them, in the midst of their screaming "Daddy IS here!", that today is my birthday. They immediately forgot silly old dad and took me to see the birthday cards they'd selected for me, each complete with beautiful scribbles that each had lovingly drawn. Oh how I love to see their handwriting. B had even traced each of their hands on the cards. My big boys! Sigh.

Escape Artists

Big news from this weekend - J&N can officially climb out of their cribs! What's that you say? What kind of cruel parents have kept their nearly pre-teen boys stuck in their cribs all this time? To that I answer, if they can't get out on their own then they can just stay there. Humph. J has finally worked up the gumption to thwart my evil plan to keep them contained until high school. While in a very serious timeout violation in his crib (because he wouldn't just stay in his room), he surprised me by showing up in the playroom a few minutes later, completely unassisted. I was extremely shocked and chagrined to say the least. I played it cool though, so he didn't think he'd gotten the better of me. (Needless to say, I feverishly dialed B on the phone, whisper-shouting that J had CLIMBED OUT of HIS CRIB and oh god what we will do now?) Our dear babysitter A took it very much in stride - her response: They've had a good run! So very true and yet so very sad. They are no longer my babies and wishing it were so will not make it true.

So I gave up and left their side rails down lest they injure their tiny little legs trying to catapult themselves to the ground. I overheard them discussing their freedom last night (again, spying on them from a crack in the doorway). J wanted N to climb out and retrieve his green frog from the floor for him. N told him no, he couldn't climb out (hah! score one for mommy!). J was insistent and N, out of spite I believe, just would not give in. They didn't come out of their room once we put them to bed, so maybe this won't be the nightmare I had anticipated.

Pretend You Know What You're Doing

J&N used a Panera (my secret weakness) shopping bag to pretend-shop yesterday. This is a new thing for them – pretending. They went to their playroom to load up the shopping bag with their purchases, then brought them out to show me.

They pulled each item out of the bag, telling me “Here’s my toast mommy” and “This is bread mommy”. Each item was invariably a carb – they are big on carbs of every kind right now: crackers, bread, chips (but not pasta for some unknown reason – they refuse to even try it). The actual items were cars and trucks and tractors, each, they told me, representing bread or toast or crackers. No fruit or veggies of course.

The only odd item in the bunch was a plastic Elmo. I pulled it out and said “Oh, is this bread?”

They both looked at me in puzzlement. In unison (I swear), they said “No, mommy – that’s Elmo!”

So much for pretending I’m a cool mommy who knows whassup.