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.

Everybody's Got a Hungry Heart

In our home, we're a pretty emotionally-attached bunch. I'm sure we're not alone in this, but we are very open with our affections, both me and the hubby and us with the boys. The boys are therefore very comfortable with hugging and yes, even kissing their friends goodbye. (This was quite something for their friends to get to used to at first.) I'm sure there will come a time when we'll have to curb this activity, but for now, I'm not worried about it.

One of the phrases we are found of sharing with the boys is, "I love you with my whole heart!" (Daddy started it, believe it or not.) They love reiterating this back to us in various forms:

No, I love you with MY whole heart.

And I love you with my ENTIRE heart.

My whole heart is hungry.

Mommy, my heart is hungry for fruit snacks.

Mommy, did you hear me? Let me shout this one out, just to be sure. I SAID MY HEART IS HUNGRY FOR FRUIT SNACKS.

No, my heart is not hungry for a banana.

My heart is sad because you won't give me fruit snacks.

Regression Therapy

Since returning from my mom's house after a week's vacation there last week (and a gloriously quiet yet sadly empty house for me), the boys have been watching nothing but Baby Einstein DVDs. Apparently their two-year old cousin E loves them and convinced our boys to watch them while at my mom's house.

I had ours (all 15 of them) all packed up from their baby days (and don't give me crap about toddlers watching TV - I HAD TO TAKE A SHOWER AT SOME POINT). So upon their return from my mom's and their insistence on watching Baby Einstein, I had to dig out the entire collection. For the last four days, they've watched nothing but Baby Einstein. No Wow! Wow! Wubzy!, no Monster Jam, no I Spy. It's crazy. I can't believe those movies keep two nearly-four-year-old boys happy and entertained, albeit in twenty minute intervals.

Before each movie begins, Julie Aigner-Clark, founder of Baby Einstein, tells the parents about the company and then announces, "Enjoy the show!"

J has added his own two cents. Each time he hears that line, he shouts back, "I will!"