Rico Sauve

Jack: "Mommy, what's a distraction? Miss Katie says we can't cause a distraction."

Mommy: "Well, a distraction is something that keeps someone from doing what they are supposed to be doing."

Jack: "You mean like - hey, your dress is very beautiful."

Mommy: "What? Um, no. Uh, I mean, that's more of a compliment."

Jack (thoughtfully): "Oh."

(I'm not sure what to make of this one. Is he saying this to the girls at school??!! Maybe his teacher has told him that HE'S the distraction. Ugh.)

Birthday Celebrations

So yesterday was my 34th birthday. It started in the morning with my husband leaving for a business trip at 5am, meaning that I would on my own all week. Then the boys got up and told me to come into their room and then close my eyes because they had a surprise for me: they picked out their own clothes and got dressed without help. Now that's a great birthday gift (and I truly mean that). No matter that they were a little under dressed for the weather.

When I got home from work, the boys ecstatically greeted me in the garage, telling me that they were ready to "celebrate!!" They led me inside, each pulling on my arms, to show me the birthday artwork they had made for me. Miss Jessica had spelled out H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y in large open letters, which the boys colored in, adding stickers and drawings. They pointed out all of the pictures they had drawn, which included fireworks and birds and bats (the animal kind). I LOVE everything about it. I'm going to keep it up on the wall forever.

Jack then told me, "Today is your birthday, so that means you get to do anything you want. I think we should pretend it's all our birthdays and then we should play video games." Of course.

So that was my birthday. Another year older - and I couldn't be happier.

Snippets

Grandpa: "Nathan, do you have any 'henweighs'?"

Nathan: "I have 57 henweighs!"

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Mom: "I love you, Jack."

Jack: "Well, I love you 350 miles per hour."

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Jack: "Mommy, can I play my recordian? I mean my marmomica?"

Mommy: "You mean your harmonica?"

Jack: "Yeah, that's what I said."

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Nathan: "Before I put on my underwear, I always check to make sure there's no poop in there."

Semantics

Nathan: "Why do they call these seats 'bleachers'?"

Byron: "I'm not sure. That's just what they're called."

Nathan: "Kind of like they call us humans, I guess."

Summer

Yesterday, I got to spend a wonderful summer day with my boys. Byron was golfing with a friend, so we declared it to be a "Mommy and Her Boys Day." We went to the pool, we rode bikes in the park, we got ice cream cones, we played games at home. It was great. It was about 90% fun and 10% whining. An extremely good day.

I've been so down lately, wanting to do more summer activities with the boys. So this was a much-needed day of fun for us all. Yay for summer. I'll be sad to see it end. School is starting up again all too soon (although at least our school, pre-school that is, will not be starting until after Labor Day, which is the way it should be in my opinion) and then next week, my boys are going to be off to college. Or at least that's how it feels. Time moves all too fast.

Stunted Growth

I marked the boys' height on the wall next to the hall closet again the other day. I hadn't marked them for about two months, and yet, despite my best efforts to stunt their growth by serving them only four different types of food, they have grown another inch taller. How is this possible? All parenting literature tells me that if children don't eat a variety of healthy foods, they won't grow. And yet, according to the wall in my hallway, they've grown at least four inches over the last year.

Could it be the hormones in the milk? Nope. We only serve them organic. (Unless the grocery store is out of organic milk - in which case the trade-off in wasting more gas to drive to the other grocery store to see if they have organic milk seems trite.)

I know I should just let this go, but it's a big source of my parenting guilt. The nutrition debate rages on - you know, where the experts say children need healthy foods in order to sustain their lives and yet somehow my generation lived on mac-and-cheese and kool-aid - and I just feel like I'm failing at it. We continue to offer new foods to the two growing-yet-still-short people in our house but are met with more resistance than acceptance. My friend Katie has a boy just a little older than my two and that child eats more than a grown man does. My two eat mostly bread, hamburger buns, hot dog buns, reduced-fat Cheezits (that's sort of healthy, right?), waffles, cereal, pretzels, fruit and baby carrots. And orange juice and milk. And water (does that count?). Nathan eats corn dogs (but not plain hot dogs, and certainly not a hot dog IN a hot dog bun). Jack eats cheese pizza (except when it looks "funny" according to his vague standards) and chicken nuggets (but only when shaped as dinosaurs and then only certain brands).

A few small recent victories:

• Both boys eat sushi!! But only California rolls, minus the avocado, and taken apart to their respective components: rice, cucumber, crab, no paper. Still, it's my excuse to get sushi take-out whenever possible.
• Jack tried one single, tiny bite of broccoli and declared it was like eating a tiny tree. He is not planning to eat more broccoli.
• Nathan and Jack both ate a leaf of spinach. They are very proud that they tried it but are not ready to try again.

So we'll keep on keeping on. I'm hoping now that they are 5, they'll be more receptive to trying new things. We'll see how that goes.

On a somewhat related note, do you think growing four inches in a year could be the reason they've been so cranky and not-fun lately? (Luckily, they are only cranky and not-fun for me and Byron, and occasionally Miss Jessica. For grandparents and friends, the boys are "delightful!", "no trouble at all! " and "so polite!" Whatever.) Four inches is a lot of bone-stretching in one year. Poor guys.

Birthday Boys

The boys have just returned from my mom's house. We've spent the week preparing for the Second Annual Big Kahuna Waterslide Birthday Party. This is a big deal, people. My tiny babies have turned 5 years old. I'm not sure how that's possible but it did happen. They went from chubby little toddlers to tall, skinny boys in a year. Last year, they still had round cheeks and pudgy bellies. This year, they are lean and mean (well maybe not mean.)

So happy birthday to my little guys. I'm a better person because you are part of my life. It's not easy to have two babies at once, but there's a part of me that feels you are even more special because of it. As I watch you grow together, I'm constantly amazed by your connection - and honestly, a little bit jealous. You have a way of looking at each other that just cracks you both up. I'm never quite in on the joke, but I'm happy to be around just the same. You've taught me more than I ever knew I would know - mostly about butts and farts and poop and boy body parts, but also about the stars and dreams and books and sports and love. It's a great journey and I can't wait to see what's next.

Just wanted to let you know: I'm so proud to be your mommy.

It's Nice to Be Wanted But...

This morning, Nathan came running down the hall, feet flying. His final destination was the bathroom. Then he backed up to my room, poked his head and said, "Mommy, when I call your name, come wipe my butt."

Sigh.

Laying Down the Law

Nathan: "Miss Jessica, get me some cereal."

MJ: "Nathan, you need to say 'please' when you ask for something."

Nathan: (long pause and long stare) "At my grandpa's house, I don't have to say 'please'."

MJ: "Well, this is not grandpa's house."

Graduation Day

Mommy: So tomorrow is our graduation party and we'll have to make sure you guys are wearing something nice for pictures.

Nathan: To make us handsome? Like something with buttons?

Spelling Bee

The other evening, completely out of the blue, Byron asks me, "Hey, did you ever talk to their teacher about their g-r-a-d-u-a-t-i-o-n?"

As I paused to decipher what the hell that spells, Nathan piped up, "Does that spell graduation?"

Crap. Our days of spelling are about over.

Happy Birthday to Byron

Today is my husband's birthday. Yes, he's younger than me, by six months. He never fails to tell our children that he is younger than me - or as J&N like to say it - he is "smaller" than me. (Which is he is NOT, by the way.)

Two mornings ago, I asked the boys what they wanted to get Daddy for his birthday (I didn't plan ahead very well). Nathan ignored me but Jack said he wanted to get Daddy some blue boots, because blue is Daddy's favorite color. I confess that I didn't know blue was his favorite color, nor that he needed boots. But whatever. I found it charming and funny.

I called Byron on my way to work that morning and told him the story. He found it charming and funny as well. No, he didn't need any boots. Blue was okay, but he wasn't crazy about having a pair of boots in that color.

Then I repeated the tale to a friend of mine at work.

To my amazement and glee, she said, "I know where you can get him some blue boots." Apparently, at the tractor supply store, they sell this kind of thing all the time, things that city girls like me never see at Target. So she got me a pair of blue boots to give my husband tonight.

I'm writing this up now because I know there is about a 0.0009% chance that Byron will read my blog before I give him his birthday gifts tonight. And it's just too funny to wait. I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE HIS FACE WHEN HE OPENS HIS NEW BLUE BOOTS.

And believe me, he will wear them.

Morning Angst

It's very weird that most of my struggles with the boys are all related to getting ready in the morning. Now, I'm the first to admit that among my working mommy friends, I have it pretty good. We have two FANTASTIC and AMAZING babysitters who alternate days and come to our house each morning to take care of the boys. We are incredibly blessed to have them in our lives and equally thankful that our children have not scared them off after four years.

Now that Jack and Nathan are in preschool three mornings a week, the girls get our boys off to school on those days as well. So I try to do my part to not just get myself ready but to help the boys on their way as well. That means I ask them to get dressed and make their beds on school days. Also, if they want to play video games on non-school days, they have to get dressed and make their beds then as well.

Okay, so we do pretty good most days. I should clarify that I help with the bed-making. It would be freaking amazing if they could do it on their own, but let's be realistic. So I help them out. Also, I put out a pile of clothes for each boy - socks, underwear, shirt, pants. I don't mess with a chore chart, because, let's face it - I'm lazy. I tried to do the chore chart thing but I kept forgetting to make a new one each week, and it's just too much for me. So never mind.

The whole point of this long, rambling tale is that our boys are so different in their personalities. With twins, you have to be careful not to stereotype. You can't say - oh, this one is my troublemaker and this one is my angel. That would be horrible. Seriously. Don't do that. Why? Not only is it mean to your kids, but it will come back to haunt you - and swiftly.

So right now, Jack likes to cooperate a little more "quickly" shall we say, than Nathan. Jack likes video games. It's his favorite thing in the entire world. Nathan likes more to watch Jack play video games, at least in the morning. So when we do the whole get-dressed-make-your-bed-before-you-can-play-video-games thing, Nathan could really care less.

This morning, case in point. He sat around completely naked for an hour and fifteen minutes, telling me NO MOMMY! YOU MAKE MY BED!! I WILL NOT MAKE MY BED! YOU GET ME DRESSED! I CANNOT GET DRESSED!

Then Miss J arrived and was able to convince him to get dressed in approximately one minute.

That's when we noticed that his pants were about three inches too short. Ugh. And of course, when we tell him to take off his pants to exchange them for ones that fit, what do you think happened? Of course he would not do that. He loved those pants and only those would do.

Whatever. I just went to work. I did tell Miss J to make sure the preschool teacher knows we tried to get him to wear different pants. Boys. Sigh.

Wake Up Call

I had to get up early for work today (joy!) and of course, Jack woke up early as well (ruining my plans for a quiet escape before the children needed me). Once he was dressed and had made his bed, which are the required morning chores for my two four-year-olds, he was allowed to play video games. Yes, at 6:25am. Don't judge me - I need diversion so that I can put makeup on.

Jack was playing alone quite contentedly but kept asking me when Nathan was going to get up, so he could play video games too. I kept telling him that Nathan was asleep as it was VERY EARLY and maybe he should go back to bed also. Needless to say, he didn't agree.

Finally, I heard a terrific shout from Jack and found him approximately one inch away from Nathan's sleeping face, yelling, "Nathan! NATHAN!!! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO WAKE UP???!!!"

That woke Nathan up. He was luckily not screaming himself, having been awoken in such a fashion, but was instead rather groggy. And still not ready to play video games, much to Jack's disappointment.

Poetry

Last night, N and J were talking goofy in their room and I was listening at the door. Among the snatches of nonsense, I heard N say: "I swallowed a car, so my heart could drive somewhere else."

The Sweetest Sound

Last night, I had just shut off my book-reading nightlight when I heard the pitter-patter of little feet from the other bedroom. I held my breath, waiting. Then the feet passed our room, went to the bathroom, and went potty all by themselves. Then, THEN (and this is where it gets wonderful) those feet went back to their own room and got back into bed and went to sleep.

Ahhhh. Here's to a good night's sleep for once...

The DVR Has Ruined Them

You know mister, when I was your age, there was no pausing-of-live-tv-watch-any-show-we-wanted-to-at-any-time-of-day. No, when I was your age, if we missed Sesame Street, we just had to live with it.

And this On Demand stuff. On Demand is a nice way for the cable company to market a service, but it's not how you need to ask Mommy for stuff. A little more please and thank you and a little less on demand would be nice around here.

Sigh.

Personality Test for Preschoolers

Good morning! Time to rise and greet the day. To help you get started, here's a little quiz to help you decide what kind of day it will turn out to be.

Mommy asks you to "get dressed and make your bed." You:
A. Comply. Mother is a wise and wondrous being who is trying to help you become a productive member of society at some point in your lifetime.
B. Ignore her. Oswald has those kickin' songs performed by Fred Savage. You don't even know who he is or that he won our hearts in The Wonder Years, but he was apparently born to be an octopus.
C. Cry. Putting on clothes and making beds is out of the realm of the reasonable. How dare she order you about like that! Punishment must be swift and without mercy.

Mom says it's time to eat breakfast. You decide to:
A. Choose a healthy and appropriate food source for your first meal of the day, such as toast, cereal or waffles, washed down with a cold glass of milk.
B. Ignore her. Despite claiming repeatedly to be hungry at bedtime the previous night, that darn Noggin is just too intoxicating to ignore. Maybe that'll teach Mommy to let you watch TV just so she can selfishly get herself into the shower.
C. Agree to eat, but only if the table fare is fruit snacks and Ritz crackers.

You still haven't gotten dressed. Mommy is about to leave for work and insists you GET DRESSED NOW. What do you do?
A. Get dressed in the clothes Mother has graciously selected for you, without complaint. You do love blue, and she remembered that. Isn't she sweet?
B. Hastily choose clothing items of your own. Last year's soccer shorts with an undershirt when it's 31 degrees outside works just fine. For kicks, insist on wearing your Curious George slippers just to watch her head explode.
C. Stand firm. Go to school wearing your pajamas. Who's going to notice? That'll learn that woman who's always telling you what to do.

If your answers are mostly A's, congratulations. You are well on your way to restored video game privileges.

If your answers are mostly B's, your apathy is showing up a little early. Too much TV perhaps? We all know Mom is to blame for that one.

If your answers are mostly C's, you may have issues with authority. Independence is nice, but it's usually best when accompanied by some earning power. Since you have none as of yet, it might be good if you helped around the house a little more.

I'm Afraid of the Night

I have a new post up over on How Do You Do It? on sleep advice, and it got me thinking about sleep and how I'm not getting any lately. Here's why.

I generally start out in my own bed, with my husband, as most married couples do. I go to bed after all three of the boys are already asleep, around 11:30 p.m. Then I read for another 20 minutes or so. Then I fall asleep. And that's when it begins.

Around 2 a.m., one of the boys will scare me awake by staring at me. (Just staring. Like a serial killer. It creeps me out.) He finally climbs in on my side of the bed, where I wrap my arms around him because I don't want him to roll out and die - and I can't put him in the middle of the bed because then he'll kick daddy in the you-know-whats.

A few hours later, the second boy will come in, and may even begin throwing a fit when he sees his coveted spot next to me is already taken by another boy. (No, he can't go sleep by daddy, because of the aforementioned kicking and because daddy is not soft and cuddly like mommy, i.e. I have soft boobs). So I maneuver myself out of my own bed, from under the first sleeping boy, and take the second boy back to his room so that he and I can sleep in his tiny little twin bed.

If I'm lucky, that's where my husband wakes me up when he goes to work, so I can get back into my own bed in time to hear my alarm.

If I'm not lucky, the first boy awakes again at some point to find I'm not there and comes looking for me. I'm very popular. He finds me in bed with the second boy, again wakes me by staring, at which point I get into the first boy's bed with him, leaving the second boy asleep in his own bed.

Have you been counting? That's three beds for me so far. I'm doing more bed-hopping than a sorority girl at a liberal arts college.

Or if I'm lazy (which I would be by 4 a.m., right?), I'll just bring the first boy into bed with me and the second boy. That's one adult and two half-sized human children IN ONE TWIN BED.

I look forward to the day when, like my own 50-something mother, I will be able to survive on four hours of sleep each night. Until then, you can find me napping in my car over lunch.

 

And the Competition Begins

J: Mommy, I love you all the way to Saturn.

N: Well, Mommy, I love you all the way to St. Louis. That's a really long way.

New Blog

I am very excited to announce that I'm now a contributing writer on a new parenting blog called How Do You Do It? It's all about parenting twins (or more!).

And if you are interested, my first post is here: http://howdoyoudoit.wordpress.com/author/craftylissa/.

Please share it with your friends!

You Never Can Tell

I will never let my children eat fruit snacks.

For breakfast.

Okay, they have to at least get dressed by themselves without nagging, and then I'll give them a fruit snack.

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I will never let my children watch TV before they turn two years old.

One year old.

Maybe just Baby Einstein videos. (I have to take a shower at some point!)

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I will never serve my children anything but healthy, balanced meal options, including a vegetable, a carb and a protein at each meal.

A dinner of fruit and carbs is kind of balanced, right?

I think Goldfish do have some protein....

But...

It's true, I'm a girl. And maybe I don't really understand these things. But are butts really that funny? And what about the stuff that comes out of that vicinity? Is that really so funny either?

Two four-year-olds and one thirty-two-year-old think so. All three are male.

I need my own bathroom. Or maybe my own wing.

Once Upon A Time...

...there was a Mommy who missed her two little boys. It was the middle of summer. The boys were home playing blissfully in the summer heat, splashing in pools and running through sprinklers. Mommy was stuck at work, doing a job she hated. So she made a bold move. She snuck out of work a little early (who would notice?) and drove home as fast as she could (within reason) to see her two little boys.

The first wrinkle of the story - the boys were not happy to see her. They wanted Mommy to go away and instead, for their wonderful babysitter Miss J to stay and play with them forever and ever. Mommy was disheartened, but she also knew their emotions were fickle and in a few minutes, they would forget all about Miss J and love Mommy again. Or so she told herself.

To get them to stop crying, Mommy suggested that they go see a movie! The movie was playing at the dollar theater (although it was really the $2 theater), and the boys agreed, and they all drove there as fast as they could (again, within reason), because the movie was going to be starting any minute. Mommy and her boys ran into the theater only to encounter the second wrinkle: a sign that read "CASH ONLY." Mommy never has cash. Never. So back to the minivan, drive to the ATM, get cash, back to the theater, again the running inside, paying the surly teenager, then a stop at the snack bar for stale popcorn and two lemonades that would not fit in the cup holders of the seats and finally they were seated.

Mommy tried not to notice the mildew smell of the theater. (It was an old theater.) And the fact that the seats felt damp. (Why was that? she tried not to think about it.)

Then came the final wrinkle. Boy #1: "Mommy, I have to go potty!" (Luckily, they were the only ones in the entire theater.) While Mommy was trying to get Boy #2 to put his shoes back on, fumbling in the dark, trying not to touch the gross floor, taking WAY too long, Boy #1 speaks up again: "Uh oh Mommy!"

Yes, Boy #1 peed all over the floor (and himself). And Mommy hadn't brought the diaper bag either, as the boys had been potty-trained for months without accidents. After trying to clean up the best one can with paper towels, Mommy graciously let Boy #1 sit on her lap (on top of a layer of paper towels) for the remainder of the movie.

And that was the last time they ever went to the dollar theater.

Cordelia's Revenge

The boys are in a transitional stage. And by transitional stage, I mean that they are literally trying to drive us insane. The mood swings are worse than a 13-year old girl (and I would know). The whining is insurmountable. The fits are uncontrollable. We are nearly at our wit's end.

And then there's the full-body-go-limp, I'm-too-depressed-to-even-react wilt. That's where they melt onto the floor without even a whimper, and you are left with just their apathy as punishment.

My friend S gave me the perfect word to describe their behavior - they are mopey.

I forgot about that word - what an awesomely perfect word to describe what they are doing to us that drives us the MOST CRAZY. I can almost deal with the screaming fits, the broken-hearted-howls-when-the-Wii-is-turned-off. But the moping, good lord, it's the perfect punishment for me.

I was always certain that I would have three daughters. I'm not sure where it came from (possibly King Lear?). When we found out we were having twin boys instead, it came as a shock (of course) and as an immense relief. I was a terror for my parents, especially in the teen years, if you know what I mean (and I know you know what I mean). Boys, by contrast to girls, seem to be a lot less complicated.

So having two four-year-olds who are mopey - it's God's perfect brilliant plan. I'll be missing out on the teen girl terror years and am instead being punished NOW by apathy. Their little limp bodies, defeated on the floor - no Wii, no fruit snacks, no MORE FREAKING GOLDFISH (yes, we are harsh parents) - are my sweet little albatrosses for now.

Can I look forward to clear skies soon? Time will tell.

Christmas

Christmas has come and gone. It was great. Back to work today after a week and half off. So hard to go back. So hard to write complete sentences.

True to form, the boys got sick just in time for the holidays. They spent their time alternating between manic energy and bottomless crashes. I think between the two of them, they ate two goldfish and four pistachio nuts with a glass of orange juice over a three day period.

A Christmas Story

N: Mommy, how old will Baby Jesus be on his next birthday?

J: (scoffing) N, Jesus is dead! He's like a million years old!

Me: (stunned silence)

N: Oh.

J: But I think he comes back at the end of the story.

N: I think when he comes back he'll be two.

Pure Genius

I'm sure I've mentioned several hundreds of times that my boys are geniuses (don't worry, I'm sure yours are too).

After all, they learned to ride their bikes without training wheels two months ago. Riding bikes. No training wheels. They're FOUR, people. (Or did I forget to say that? Maybe it was my defense mechanism kicking in - my dreams are now filled with terrible bike accidents just waiting to happen. A bike accident is the reason their father is deaf in one ear.)

But now the genius is really coming out. They can write their names. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I'm sure you'll agree:





Yes, those are letters.

Don't scoff. It's a start.

Recap of This Week

N: What are you doing, mommy?

Me: I'm putting on my moisturizer.

N: Oh. I guess I'll wait here while you put on your washer-dryer.

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N: Hey mommy, my favorite part of that song was when he goes "Whoo-whoo-whoo."

J: Yeah, but MY favorite part of that song was the whole song.

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Me: What did you do at school today guys?

J: Nothing.

Me: Nothing? Really? You just sat there and stared at the wall?

J: Yes. Nothing. We didn't jump in the foam pit.

N: And we didn't do anything fun. We didn't color either.

Doing the Unthinkable

While watching the boys kick each other under a shared blanket this morning, each struggling to hog the whole of it for himself, I caught myself ACTUALLY SAYING THESE WORDS:

"You know, boys, Santa Claus is watching you right now to see if you're being a good brother. He only brings toys to kids who are good co-operators."

The last of my self-respect is officially gone.

Addition

J: Mommy, how long do I have to go to school?

Me: Well, people normally go to school until they're about 18.

J: Oh.

Me: How old are you now?

J: 4.

Me: So how long do you still have until you're 18?

J: 44?

Perspective

So, I know - I have spoken nary a word about Halloween as of yet but that's because my workplace has unceremoniously banned Flickr from our approved sites (eBay is still okay thank god). I say unceremoniously because no one informed me until I noticed all of my blog photos were broken links and I panicked and thought the internet was broken and hyperventilated a bit because, really, what else would I do with my time? Then I figured it out and just became sad because now I have to do my personal photo sharing on MY OWN TIME and that's really just not fair.

So Halloween was great, yadda yadda yadda, I'll have photos later. In the meantime....

We wanted to go out for lunch on Saturday and, being of course forced to take our children with us, we attempted to convince them to ALLOW US TO GO TO A DIFFERENT RESTAURANT. We normally take them only to one of three places: Mimi's Cafe, Steak 'N Shake, or Quiznos. At each of these fine eating establishments, the boys only eat bread or pancakes, so I don't see why they care so much. Plus the wait staff now sees our family as REGULARS (two boys who look alike and eat only bread kind of stand out), and I prefer to remain anonymous, like all the other miserable parents that are forced into eating where their children demand (and make huge messes).

Since the boys love bread so much, we talked them into going to On the Border. I use the term "talked them into going" loosely because we asked them to expand their horizons, they vehemently disagreed, so we told them we were going anyway. Plus there are chips there and tortillas and lemonade - all of which fall into the approved food list for my children - so I figured they would eventually be won over.

As we walked (dragging children) into the restaurant (with only one time-out stop), we passed a happy couple with their baby in an infant carrier blissfully (and quietly) leaving the restaurant. I wanted to shout at them, "DID YOU ENJOY YOUR TIME EATING OUT?! IT'S ALL ABOUT TO END IN A FEW SHORT MONTHS!" but I thought they might think I was crazy. Plus we already looked like people to avoid, what with a boy under each arm, holding them up by shoes and the back of a jacket, respectively.

The boys did eventually eat tortillas and chips and lemonade and a decent time was had by all. Our next adventure: trying to get in and out of Best Buy without having to purchase a video game. Wish me luck.

So Very Tired

I returned from LAS VEGAS last night at MIDNIGHT. In LAS VEGAS everything is VERY LOUD and VERY FLASHY. Also VERY SMOKEY. And VERY MUCH FULL of CRAZY PEOPLE. There were also so many parents dragging their infants, toddlers and other small-sized children through the CASINOS that it was SICKENING. (My adorable husband was appalled when I told him this - his shock that they didn't ID anyone was so cute. What he doesn't understand is that the gambling IS EVERYWHERE. I don't have anything against gambling, just the chain-smoking. That's not good for kids, in case you didn't know.)

I wasn't in LAS VEGAS by choice per se, unless by choice I mean that I like having a paycheck, which I do. I was there less than 36 hours, and I am emphatic when I say that I NEVER WANT TO GO THERE AGAIN. (I'm sure the city itself is lovely, where the real people live. I'm talking only about the Strip.) It's just that all of my possessions reek of cigarettes. I did have an incredible meal at SeaBlue, which accomplishes my goal for the trip (to finally have one decent meal while traveling). The MGM Grand, where we were having the convention, was beautiful (except for the smoking, smoking, smoking everywhere). So I guess I really just didn't like the smokey atmosphere. My eyes and lungs burned (maybe it didn't help that I'm still recovering from a cold). Or maybe I'm just a big baby.

Conversations

J: Daddy?

D: Yes?

J: When you're driving, don't run into the other cars.

D: Got it. Thanks.

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N: Mommy, what is that monkey's name?

M: Uh, I'm not sure. I don't think he has a name.

N: Maybe his name is George Washington.

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J: Oops, excuse me.

M: What?

J: Well, I farted. But just a little bubble popped out.

Bagging It

One of our fabulous babysitters, A, is getting married in less than two weeks. The boys have been very interested in this development as they will be ring-bearers in the wedding. No flower girls - just two boys who will hopefully walk down the aisle without dissolving under the stares of a thousand eyes.

A has told the boys that her last name will be changing. N has been especially interested in this, asking what Miss J's name will be changing to (A & J are sisters). What about Miss A moving out? Where will Miss J live? Won't her mommy and daddy miss her?

A has explained to N that it's okay, she will still see her mommy and daddy and Miss J will still live with them.

What about Miss A's toys?

A has explained she will take some things with her and other things will be new for their new home.

N thought a long time about that one. Finally he told her, "When I get married, I'll just pack my toys in my backpack and take them with me."

There Are Limits

J has a crusty, yucky ear.

It's one of the side effects of having tubes put in that they don't really warn you about. That all that yucky gunky stuff that gives your child an ear infection will now drain out of their head just like a runny nose with a massive sinus infection. It is the exact consistency of snot. And his ear is, of course, SORE AND HURTING, because it's like having an inside-out ear infection. So J does not want us to clean his disgusting ear (to put it mildly), even when the entire side of his head and neck are covered in, essentially, snot.

The boys and I had lunch with my father yesterday, who had graciously spent the previous night with the boys so hubby and I could have a night away in a hotel for my birthday. (That sounds very exciting, but we actually each slept in our own queen-sized beds, blissfully taking up as much space we wanted without any boys kicking us or crawling over us or taking our pillows. It was the perfect birthday present.)

At lunch, Grandpa was trying surreptitiously to clean J's dripping (yes, dripping) ear. J was not happy. I reminded J that we needed to clean his ear and put ear drops in when we got home (looking back on it, not sure why I brought it up at all - was I trying to prepare him for his upcoming torture?). Grandpa, in his usual way, then tried to diffuse the situation with humor by suggesting various items that should go into J's ear instead of medicine and a cotton ball. All three boys got into it, suggesting bananas, elbows, toes, even the obligatory BUTT IN THE EAR and FARTING and POOPING that N and J would of course have to suggest.

But they drew the line when Grandpa suggested putting his cheese sandwich in J's ear: "Grandpa, that's disgusting."

Not Sure How To Say This

Have you ever been woken up at 3am and asked to function as a normal human being? Some of you will know what I mean because you are living that life right now, with babies and feeding and diapers. But my guys are four-years old. I am out of practice.

Which is why I found myself driving to work the other morning, suddenly remembering my 3am actions of the early morning, crashing down on me in a thrust of clarity.

J woke up at 3am (precisely - I remember looking at my clock as in WHAT THE HELL DAMN TIME IS IT????!!!). He, for some reason, had turned on the bathroom light which came shining down on my face like the eyes of God. The fact that we have a night light in there to help guide small and big boys alike who need to go pee in the dark didn't help him, apparently. So I got up to make sure he was okay. He was not okay. He had gone potty, but, in the process, had ripped his pull-up. Those pull-ups are supposed to go back together with some kind of fake velcro-thing, so I worked on that for a few minutes. It would not cooperate. And J was not in agreement with my plan - to just get another freaking pull-up already so we can go back to sleep. He wanted me to fix it, and fix it now, before the screaming commenced.

Did I mention it was 3am?

So I stumbled to the kitchen, got the blue painter's tape which we keep on hand for securing down Hot Wheels tracks, and I TAPED HIS PULL-UP BACK TOGETHER.

I'm sure that any parenting book worth its salt (what does that phrase mean anyway?) would have had a thing or two to say about my actions - something along the lines of being in control of your children instead of letting the threat of their screaming manipulate you into doing their bidding, even at 3am.

But now, as the mother of TWO FOUR-YEAR-OLDS, I subscribe to a different style of parenting - the MacGyver school. Our motto: you make do - and you do it fast.

We Survived!

The boys were pretty much okay when we left them at school on Wednesday morning for their first day of preschool. N was enthusiastic about waving us out of there while J was more reluctant. Luckily the teacher, Miss K, had a cool collection of cars and a track that needed building. If they know anything, my guys know how to put together a track.

The night before, I had prepared them for the photo-taking opportunities I was going to be requesting of them in the morning. I told them how important it was for me to get a picture of them on their first day of school every year, so we would have it for their scrapbook. Imagine my surprise when they not only LET ME take a photo of them but they ACTUALLY SMILED. It's a rare thing.

So school is a success. They enjoy it, and I really didn't even cry or anything. (Okay, well, maybe a little...)

Potty Talk

(I have officially counted - and I have used the word "potty" in my post titles more than any other parent blogger out there. Maybe it's time to find a new word for potty.)

It's hard to be the only girl in a house of boys. I believe I've said this only a MILLION times in the last year (it really only became hard once we started the potty-training), but that's only because it's so true. My husband has even argued with me that because I am truly overruled in all aspects, you know, being the only girl, why should they even bother putting the seat down anymore? (My argument that this is what civilized people do doesn't hold much sway.)

So I hold my tongue mostly when the talk turns to farting and burping and pooping and peeing. Mostly. I know that if I make a big deal out it, I only draw attention to the talk as a way to get me riled up. And those are the only kinds of things that DO DRAW THEIR ATTENTION like an arrow, adding to their mental list of ways to drive mommy crazy.

As we drove to a friend's house the other night (another mommy with twin boys and a husband, god help her - we obviously have many things on which to commiserate), the boys noticed a bug on the window.

I told them, like an IDIOT, that it was not a bug, it was bird poop.

And the potty talk commenced.

They had never seen anything as amazing and delightful as that bird poop. It's white! And green! And brown! Wow! No, wait, it's not bird poop! It's boy poop! No, it's dog poop! No, it's man poop! (????) Laughing like hyenas and cheering each other on to think of ever more disgusting ways to describe the poop, they went on like this for awhile. Finally, I had had enough: "No more talking about poop!"

I was not surprised when this did nothing to stop them. I tried again: "I mean it, no more talking about poop. Please."

The "please" did it. They both got silent for a moment. N spoke up, "Okay, mommy, we won't talk about poop anymore."

"Thank you."

"How about we talk about butts instead?"

God Help Me

Preschool orientation is tomorrow.

Two dilemmas I'm facing right now:
1. My babies are old enough to go to preschool! I'm freaking out! My babies are growing up! My babies are learning things! My babies know that C-A-N-D-Y spells CANDY and that P-A-R-K spells PARK and how will my husband and I ever communicate again once they understand W-O-R-D-Ses?!

2. Preschool orientation is at 10 o'clock in the morning. On a week day. You know, at a really convenient time for people who are, uh, working.

I'm going to be there no matter what, so it's really not a problem. It's more the principle of the matter. I already anticipate many other week day conflicts that will make me feel ever more guilty over working a day job.

I have been trying to cajole the boys into going school shopping. Each time I suggest we go to the store to shop for their backpacks (and their LONG list of school supplies), I am met with heavy resistance. As in screams of protest. The geeky girl living inside me is so very confused by this noise. (Who doesn't want to get new pencils?! New Trapper Keeper folders?! Are they crazy?) But then I have to remind that geeky girl to keep her Trapper Keeper shut - my boys are only babies after all.

And boys are not as impressed by shiny pink Lisa Frank pencils.

Summer Lovin'

We have had a great August. I took the first two weeks off work - the longest stretch of time I've taken off from work since maternity leave. (There's something wrong with that, people. Let me tell you how great life was when I wasn't working - it was freaking incredible. I want it all the time. I can't believe how dead my mind is dealing with the corporate world. I'm not bored, just numb with disbelief. Is this why I went to school? To sit in meetings all day? I think I'm going to make sure my children are independently wealthy so they don't have to suffer like this.)

So August. Yes. It has been great. We took a trip to Los Angeles to visit Grandma Neen and had a blasty-blast. Beach, LegoLand, beach, beach, aquarium, more beach. Did I mention we were at the beach? I was finally in southern California during a time when it was hot enough to be at the beach. Darling husband doesn't like crowds, so every other time we've gone out there, it's been cold. His reasoning is that the weather will make all the people go away. I've never noticed a difference in the amount of people out there when we've visited, but I have noticed a difference in the amount of enjoyment one gets from a family vacation when it isn't raining continually or cold.

Birthday Wishes

The boys woke me up this morning with an outraged cry: "I looked out at the table and there are no decorations for my birthday!"

They know it's their "real" birthday today but it took some serious cajoling to get them to stop freaking out that today was not the day of their party. I guess that means they are truly growing up - they now understand the flow of the space-time continuum.

Four years ago today, I was in a hospital, desperately worried about the health and safety of my two unborn babies. It was seven weeks too early for them to come out, but my body had had enough. High blood pressure, crazy scary swelling, pre-eclampysia, and fifty pounds enough. My water broke after a week in the hospital of trying to hang on just a little longer, just one more day. I was scared but not alone. Hubby was there to hold my hand. He watched the whole surgery - apparently quite an amazing ordeal to see two human beings emerge from my body. Even when he told me he was able to see all my organs and all my "fat". Gee, thanks.

I am forever grateful for the care I and my babies received from the nurses and doctors. They did amazing work and never once made me feel like an idiot or a wimp. Not even when I was sobbing and trying to hold my body still as they put in the spinal block. The nurse told me I was doing a great job, which I knew was a blatant lie to make me feel better and I told her so. Then I was numb and being tugged around - and then my babies were there, crying, being cleaned and weighed and wrapped up like snug bugs. The sight of those two boys, right there, finally able to see their perfect features and smell their little perfect heads - I'll never forget it.

And it's nice to always have a trump card in any fight with your spouse: "Oh yeah? Well, just remember, I had your two children wrenched from my body!"

A Dark, Dark Lesson

This summer, the boys are doing the summer reading program from our local library. They have been devouring books at a rapid pace, mostly due to the fact that the grown-ups in their lives are ones who are doing the actual reading.

I am continually amazed at how fast they "memorize" their favorites. One such favorite, In a Dark, Dark Wood, has become part of the family lexicon where we make up stories to fit the pattern based on where we are at the time. The story goes like this: "In a dark, dark wood, there was a dark, dark house. And in that dark, dark house, there was a dark, dark room." Etc., etc. You get the idea. As do the boys.

This morning, I was treated to a lovely original version by N:

"In a dark, dark house, there was a dark, dark pumpkin.

And that dark, dark pumpkin was in a dark, dark room.

And that dark, dark pumpkin was going POOPA!"

One thing I've learned as the only girl in the house: potty-humor is king.

Random Quotes

Me: How in the world did you get a bug bite on your butt?

N: Because the bug found a spot there and thought, this would be a good place to eat!

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Me: Should we go in and find my husband?

J: He's not your husband! He's your darling!

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Daddy: Did you get to see the lions at the zoo?

Me: No, we didn't get all the way back there today.

N: Yes we did! We saw lions! .... (a questioning silence ensues) .... We saw sea lions!

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Me: (Reading a freaking long Curious George book out loud before bed) ....

N: Pause!

Me: (Stunned silence)

N: Pause Mommy! I have to go potty!

Me: Pause?! I'm not the DVR!

Lying to Your Children

I'm not sure when it started, but I am now officially lying to my children. What makes me feel better is that apparently EVERYONE does this but NO ONE talks about it.

A few examples:

"No, we can't play video games tonight because Daddy isn't here. Only Daddy knows how to work the video games."

"Oh, no, Mommy is so sorry that she can't give you any candy for dessert. Daddy ate all the candy last night."

"Um, yeah, you can't pee in the basement when Mommy is home. You can only pee in the basement when Daddy is here. It makes Mommy uncomfortable." (And just to clarify, they're not actually peeing on the cement floor - we have a sump pump.)

Hmmm...I'm noticing a trend. All of my lies relate to my dear husband. Also, it's really annoying to refer to yourself in the third person. I'll have to work on that.

Ready to Crack

The boys are cracking each other up these days.

The other night they pulled a complete meltdown in the kitchen after I brought them inside for their bath. Really, if you've never heard two nearly four-year old boys screaming at the top of their lungs while they kick and pound the floor, you should try it. It puts things into perspective. Like that enormous glass of wine on the counter. That enormous glass of wine can look pretty small in comparison. But I digress.

They're kicking and screaming and (fake) crying about not wanting to take a bath and I'm doing my best I'm-ignoring-your-antics-just-like-they-say-to-do-in-the-parenting-books impersonation. And then they just look at each and start laughing HYSTERICALLY. As if to say, you seriously look like a moron, carrying on the way you are. And then they go back to screaming and kicking and flailing again, as if remembering what their original mission was. And then back to laughing. And then to screaming. And I have to somehow keep a straight face.

I had to leave the room finally.