Is It Really Over?

Either I rush through the Christmas season or it just simply is too short.  I can't decide which.

I look forward to this time of year with almost as much anticipation as my little people and I promise myself at the beginning of each holiday season that I will sllooww down and fully savor the sounds, sights and the people. 

Instead, I usually find myself at a ToysRUs two days before Christmas getting a "few last minute" things, along with every other maniac in town.  Or I rush to the Harris Teeter the afternoon of Christmas Eve, thinking I surely do not have enough sugar or chicken stock in my pantry.

I did get the whole family to church more this year and I did remember to say Merry Christmas to more people.  But I am sad at the prospect of taking down the tree, removing my candles from the windows and turning off my Christmas music.  Of course come June, I will be saying "Less than 6 months to Christmas!  How can that be?"  On to Valentine's Day.

My kids had a great Christmas-lots of smiles and squeals and super cute pics.  Too bad Mommy had her settings set for something other than a low-lit room Christmas morning but oh well.  Memories, right?  Even darkly lit ones.  I will have to narrate.

Um, stockings?

Going for the stocking grab.

D, enthralled with a Lego game.

Agent P, writing secret messages to parties unknown.

Lord, I hope she got some hair product in her stocking.

Santa's BIG GIFT to the older ones was a Nintendo DS.  The basic one, not the one that allows for skyping and God knows what else.  Apparently GoGo missed that memo though, because I caught her "taxting" her friend Julie several times on her DS.  Love that girl.

D received a Nerf gun that would put Rambo to shame.  It comes with a tripod, for the Love of Pete.  I am waiting for him tell someone to "Say Hello to his Little Freend".

Agent P is just happy playing with the boxes stuff came in and everyone elses' presents but her own. 

Go figure.

And then it SNOWED.  Could this Christmas get any better?  I was able to put Agent P's hot pink boots on and let her romp in the snow for the first time.  She was a bit uncertain but my older 2 had a non-stop snow party for about 36 hours with the neighborhood kids and were flat wore out.  Good times.

Now.  When can I get my flip flops out, again?

Counting Down

To Christmas break being over.
NO!  I mean until CHRISTMAS, of course.

Counting down to...
the hum of the oven baking dozens of fresh Christmas cookies
hot cocoa made from scratch
Honey-Baked Ham                                                                    
a glowing Christmas tree
bright presents and bows
stockings filled to the brim
children screeching with glee
family just hanging
Christmas music blaring
Joy and Peace.

Merry Christmas!

You Have to Believe to Receive

 The Elf has landed.  The one on the shelf, that is.
My kids are really into the idea of Santa, and for that I am thankful.  I think I will be incredibly sad the day they no longer Believe in the Magic.
So the first morning we woke up with the Elf in our house, GoGo could not wait to find Kramer.
In fact, she forgot one of the golden rules as it relates to the Elf and TOUCHED HIM.  Ugh oh.
So daddy reminds her of this cardinal sin and big tears well up, she freezes with the Elf in her hand and nearly has a breakdown.

Later that day when the Elf was safely back in his viewing spot, GoGo tells me NOT to come into the dining room as she is going to be talking to Kramer, not touching him. 

So of course I spy on her and that is what I saw/heard.
GoGo - I'm sorry if I hurt you earlier when I picked you up.  I hope Santa isn't mad at me.
Kramer the Elf - curious silence.
GoGo - Here are some Hershey kisses for you.  Love you Kramer.  (as she lays 6 kisses next to him, which Mommy ate later to prove the Elf was real).
Now how could Santa be mad at such sweetness??

Or my handsome D, when I explain to him we're gift shopping for a family that doesn't have much money and no insurance and are just in a bad way, as my grandma would say.  He suggests to me that we do 2 things:
1.  Give them a Target gift card so they have more money (Ah, Tar-jay...the medicine that cures all)
2.  Buy them some medicine at Target, of course, so they will have some if they get sick again.
Who can argue with such a simple but clear perspective?

This one is really too young to appreciate any of this but did figure out how to open Hershey Kisses and consume them while on the short drive to preschool this am.  Love her.  And the bandaid on her bottom lip is due to a shaving mishap.  Big times at 17 months.

Meanwhile Mommy caves in to Christmas Card Pressure and creates and mails a sub-par card but is ok with it because she Believes In The Magic, anyway.

A Few Things

Know what this is?  Something very special! from GoGo, for Mommy.  She ran up to me, barely able to contain her pride and excitement, and handed me this "piece of artwork".  Hmm.  Love that she thought to add the heart and peace sign, as if that somehow mitigates it all.

This would be the 234th outtake from our annual Christmas Card Photo Extravaganza. 

God Help Us, everyone.

If I could have somehow wrangled obtained this picture with all 3 little people, I could sleep easy.

Ever, the escape artist.

And on a completely different train of thought, the other night I was asked to help with a 6th grade Faith Formation class.  Ok, fine-just don't ask me any hard questions.  Let me pass out markers and smile alot.

Wow.  What a HARD age.  The boys were on one side of the room, girls on the other.  The "cool boys" were snickering during the whole thing.  One girl re-did her updo at LEAST 10x during the class.  And all of this was going on during PRAYER.  About MARY, for the love of pete.  At then at the end they were to draw a picture of Mary (using the markers I so helpfully passed out). 
One boy turned one in with a green squiggle.  A GREEN SQUIGGLE. 
I gave him my best eyebrowup-dartsforeyes-whatthehellareyouthinking look.  All moms have one.
And I think it worked.  He looked mighty small for a minute and told me "that wasn't his REAL picture.  He can't find that one."  Right, kid. 
Now.  I am far from a Puritan and oh so far from perfect.  I could have been any of these kids once (except for the girl actually named Mary, as she was the only participating). 
But Oh.My.Word.  It gave me cold chills, thinking of what I have to look forward to with my own 3 little people.  Had this been my own class, I would have reminded them of CONFESSION and how they all needed to go.  Including the teacher.
Oh, Happy Advent.

Trim a Tree, Embrace the Crazy

Did I mention I love Christmas?  As in, everysinglething about it?
Well, I do.
I love the music, lights, decorations, being with family/friends, the gift giving/receiving and the food. 
I am speaking of Christmas cookies.

I come by this adoration naturally, as my dad lives for Christmas.  It is his most favorite time of the year, as it is mine.  Growing up Christmas was a really big deal in our house.  Just like it is in my own, now.

He grew up in a house where my grandpa would spend ALL DAY on Christmas Eve working on the tree from behind french doors covered with newspapers so the 3 boys could not peek.  It was unveiled to them on Christmas morning, complete with a real Lionel train going around the base, mercury globes, bubble lights that really bubbled! and real tinsel hanging from most every branch.  Oh, and lots of presents!
I have only seen b/w pictures of this tree but it brings to mind a Norman Rockwell scene straight out of a magazine.  Magical.  Stunning.  What kids imagine when they dream of Christmas.

So my dad bumped the date up a bit but we never had our tree up any earlier than December 15th.  He would spend an hour on a tree lot, picking the perfect one.  Symmetrical, full and tall.  Sometimes too tall.  Hence, the wood shavings on our living room floor every year.
He then would bring it home and spend an ENTIRE DAY just doing the lights. 
I simply cannot emphasize enough to the average person just how important the lights are.  He usually has about 800 lights on his tree and you better believe there is some serious POTTY TALK going on to get it done.  My dad has a mouth on him that would make a sailor blush sometimes but truly, he is in his full glory while decorating the Christmas tree.  If you have met the man, you can imagine what this scene must sound like.

The next day is for the ornaments.  He collects them and has inherited some beautiful ones from my grandma so this is an ordeal.  As kids we would sometimes switch 2 around, just to test him.  And by God, he would come right behind us, curse under his breath and put them back in their proper places. 

Then, the garland.  In the 70's it was either gold or silver "furry" stuff.  My, how he wresteled worked with those long-ass streams of shine, for what seemed like hours.  They had to hang just so or he got all pissy.  Now he just does red bows, which still can bring on a bit of wrestling on the higher branches.

So by day 4 we had us a tree.  A huge, bright, beautiful Christmas tree that is still the tree of my Christmas ideals.  As children, we only had a few battle scars on us, watching the decorating drama unfold.  Nothing a little therapy couldn't cure later in life.

So now I am the adult, picking the perfect tree for my little people.  Making memories, people.
This is where I embrace the crazy. 
I go a teensy-bit crazy when decorating...just like my old man.  God Love Him.

The tree has to meet certain imaginary standards that I carry with me.  This could take a while, picking a tree.  No "holes", gaps or other unsightliness?  Check.  At least 7 feet?  Check.  Smell-fresh test?  Check.
I have to have the lights JUST RIGHT and have been known to rip them off the tree and start all over again on multiple occasions because it didn't glow from the inside-out. 
I collect vintage ornaments and guard them with my life, if need be.  This makes it a tad bit dicey with small children around.  I try often to remind myself that it is more important that the children not cut their little fingers than it is to cherish for another year, that beautiful vintage mercury glass ornament that it took me 3 years of scouring antique shops for.  Bitter, party of one?  Not here, my friend.

I will admit to cursing under my breath AND outloud, noticing when ornaments have been messed with and adjusting the tree skirt too many times.  I will also admit to blasting Christmas music, making too many sugar cookies and having Christmas decorations on anything that can't move.
See?  Embrace the crazy and move on.  Merry Christmas.

If All Else Fails

I love Christmas.  Way more than is probably healthy or necessary, but there you go.
I would really, really loovvee to have a super sweet picture of all three of my little people TOGETHER to put in our annual Christmas card.  I want this for a few reasons.
1.  To commemorate another fantastic holiday together (just like the commercials, people)
2.  To showcase their uber-cuteness
3.  To prove to nay-sayers than I CAN get organized enough to send out cards in a timely fashion
4.  To prove to myself that I can get the shot. 
As in, the picturethatcomeswiththeframeyoubuywhereeveryoneisSOpretty shot.  That one.

When my older 2 got off the bus from school the other day, I had treats and goodies for them.  Small festive boxes for each laden with seasonal pencils, silly bands, candy, puzzles, etc.  You get the idea.

Putting on my best 1950's mom voice, I told them we were going to a new park! with lots of rocks and trees to climb!, a creek and even a bridge!  Snacks will be on hand!

Within 5 minutes of getting there Agent P dropped a diaper bomb, GoGo informed she needed to pee but refused to do so outside (since when does she have inhibitions?) and D ran off to climb rocks unattended.
I could tell this was going to be tricky.  I could also feel another Christmas card like last year's coming, with 3 separate pictures because getting all of my little people together in one would be humanly impossible. 
And drive me to drink more Blue Moon.

So begins another cycle of bribery in my house...creeks! trees to climb! candy! trinkets! more candy!  And oh, by the way...we're taking Christmas card pictures today.  And maybe again next week.
Oh, I can feel the holiday joy already. 
It will be a regular LOVEFEST.

Snippets

Wrapped up a delightful first field trip with GoGo last week.
Conversations amongst 5-year old girls are both hilarious and unbelievable.

Friend to GoGo: "I like your headband."
GoGo to Friend: "Thanks, I like yours too, today."
Friend to GoGo: "I like holding your mom's hand. She's nice."
GoGo to Friend: "I don't like you."

WTF

Agent P and I met some horses we just had to chat with...she through the window of the van and me through my lens. Wish I had just one more acre to add a horsey to...

Trying hard not to over-do the Christmas spirit too early around here. I haven't put one single thing up but we have been jamming to Christmas music for a while now (say, 3-4 months off and on) and we are scheduled for a Christmas movie double-feature tomorrow night. I hate to see the decorations and lights up in stores before Thanksgiving but for some reason the same doesn't apply to my own home. Go figure.

D made an Advent wreath at Faith Formation last night and begged me to stop at Target on the way home to "buy the special little candles that go inside".
I had to remind him that Advent hasn't started yet and you can't just run around lighting things on fire all willy-nilly. I clearly got the "Whatever, Mom" look. Go figure.

GoGo attempted to self-decorate by using markers creatively on not only her own skin, but the skin on her sweet face. She made a peace sign on each cheek (Daddy thought it was a pentagram at first but further inspection concluded it was indeed a sign of peace), 2 hearts on either side of her forehead and a big red dot in the middle.
Why the dot, you may wonder? According to GoGo it is what "Indians wear".
D informs her it is most certainly NOT what they wear. Oh, contraire, my friend. It is what "Indian girls wear". How she came by this particular piece of information, I simply have no idea.
Apparently my children are far more multi-cultural than their parents AND far more than we have ever given them credit for.

The power of public school?

Secrets and Q&A

Question and answer sessions between myself and D...

Me: Did you and J have fun playing today?
D: Yeah, we played Boy Scouts.
Me: Oh yeah? Were you teaching her about what Boy Scouts do?
D: Yeah, we cut down a tree. A small one.
Me: You did? With what?
D: A baseball bat. A metal one. Then we planted it in a pot for her mom.
Me: Okay, then. Well done.

D: Is Clyde selling his house or just his basement?
Me: What??
D: The for sale sign says BASEMENT-is that all that's for sale?
Me: No, it's the whole kit and kaboodle.
D: WHAT??

Secrets my girls have...

GoGo whispers frantically to me as I am putting her to bed: Mom! Mom! You can't tell ANYONE this!
Me: Ok, what?
GoGo: It's a SECRET!
She smiles really big.
Me: Ok, what is it?
GoGo: Justin BEAVER is my boyfriend!!
Me: Justin Who?
GoGo: BEAVER! But don't tell anyone!
Me: It's in the vault.
GoGo: WHAT?

Agent P: Lets a man-size belch fly and then giggles to herself.
Her own little secret as to why.

Scared Yet?

I am. Both of these scare the Buh-Jeezus out of me, but for very different reasons.

This one scares me for how ridiculously cute she is. Also a bit scary is that someone mistakenly identified her as a squirrel. Ewok, people, Ewok.

Scary-sad that I finally got the 3 together and this is the end result.

He's a Ghostbuster-of course this one is scary!!

Date Night with D and God

So I signed D up for Faith Formation and Wednesdays have become our new "Date Night" with each other AND God.
D was not thrilled at the prospect of being signed up for anything else (future commitment phob?) for the following reasons according to him:

1. It cuts into his playtime with friends and Legos
2. It could interfere with him getting his homework done (Really?)
3. He already knows all about God, he learned about him in preschool.

Wow. Am I a bad Catholic mom or what?
I inform him that this isn't necessarily to learn about God, it's to become closer to him so he can one day take Communion like Mommy. He doesn't seem as excited as I think he should be at the prospect.

And of course being the dutiful Catholic I am, I have signed up to volunteer while he's at class. (No, it has NOTHING to do with the fact that Tar-jay is across the street and I may be tempted to drop $100 every Wednesday as I kill time for an hour).
A few mental notes I took at my first volunteer session last night that made me very happy:

1. The other mommies are really nice.
2. The lead mommy's little people there were running around the gym, 2 hours early for their class. Why? It was daddy's poker night and she had kid duty. Priorities, people.
3. We talked about Bingo nights.
4. One of the boys in D's class got in trouble for talking about "weiners" and using potty talk. SO thankful it wasn't mine. Is that bad?

After class I took D to dinner, just a little special time with my first born. He chose Chik-Fi-La.
We may need to find a venue that sells beer for Mommy. Is that bad?

On the way home he blew my mind with his musical tastes.
He requested Jimi, informed me he knew about the Rolling Stones already because "he knows Keith Richards" and started a discussion around who was better...EC or Jimi or Keith?
WOW, people, WOW.

Eat your Broccoli, Unless you want Mommy to Die Young

No, I did not really say that to any of my little people because I didn't have to. The apple is SO not far from the tree on this one.
GoGo has told me from time to time that she doesn't want me to "get old and die".
Thanks, neither do I, Toots.
She often asks how old I am and then will inquire as to whether or not "that is old, or not".
Or Not, for sure.
Seems she has inherited Mommy's propensity for tracking time and its correlation to the Grim Reaper's visit.

This girl, also like her mother, is not really a fan of green veggies. As in, they never pass her lips.
I remember as a kid being the last one at the table because I wouldn't eat the peas off my Ronald McDonald plate and scooping them in to my napkin finally because, HELLO, the Sunday night Disney movie was on and I just couldn't stand to miss a single second of it. And then of course, the napkin disintegrated with the weight of all those peas and fell apart and I watched helplessly as millions of peas (ok, maybe 23) rolled all over the dining room floor. DAMN.IT.ALL.

So the other night at dinner she has broccoli on her plate as do the rest of us and she refuses to eat it. So I tell her, "Please eat your veggies. It stresses me out when you don't eat healthy foods that will help you grow big and strong. And stress leads to premature aging".
So both she and D ask what the heck that is. So I tell them it is getting old before your time. And GoGo says in this teeny-tiny girl voice..."And getting old means you will die?"
Well if you want to take it that far then Yes, yes it does.
And do you know what? GoGo picked up a piece of the by-now-cold-broccoli and ATE IT. Or maybe nibbled it. But whatever - something green that was not a Smartie not only touched her lips, but made it on through. Hip.Hip.Hooray.

Cuteness All Around

Sometimes when I see pictures such as these...

I want to push the rewind button as fast as humanly possible.

Or acquire a Freeze-Ray that could stop her right where she is.

Sweet. Innocent. Curious. Determined. Did I mention Sweet?

Everyone tells you when you have a baby to Enjoy it now, it goes so fast.

It's not that I didn't believe - it's just that I had no idea what that really meant. How could I?

How could I know the 2am diaper changes/feedings would turn into bikes without training wheels faster than I could say "I NEED A WIPE!"

How could I know that watching The Wiggles would turn into Wii marathons faster than I could say "Fruit Salad"?

Oh, the cheese factor is high today people.

To go from keeping them safe from the hot stove or fire ants to keeping their hearts safe from bullies and broken friendships is a tough transition.

And it's not like it gets easier with each child. It sucks just as much on the 3rd as it does the 1st.

This growing up business is tough stuff-not a job for wimps.

So I guess Mommy needs to man-up.

She Did It

GoGo learned to ride her bike sans training wheels tonight.

A few weeks ago our neighborhood had a community yardsale and of course I ended up swapping a baby toy for a Barbie bike. Without training wheels.

At one time, GoGo had her own girlie bike but carelessly left it in the driveway one day and Mommy carelessly backed over it. So Daddy carelessly informed her she would learn to ride a bike, using D's old one.

Yeah, right. GoGo doesn't do gray and black anything unless there is a lot of glitter or satin involved.

So, we've had this Barbie bike in our garage for 2 weeks now, with intermittent attempts at riding with Mommy's help. I didn't push too much as I have learned with my children that sometimes it's best to just stay the hell out of their way.

So tonight after dinner, GoGo and D are playing happily on the driveway while I clean up Agent P and the food on the floor that she deemed unsuitable for her consumption.

All of a sudden the door blows open and GoGo informs she is "riding her bike without wheels!"

This sentence may have surprised or even alarmed some but being this child's Mommy, I was lukewarm in my response. But she persisted, "No, I really AM!"

So I go outside and sure enough, there is my GoGo riding circles all by herself on the Barbie bike with no wheels. Training, that is.

She apparently just hopped on and repeated this mantra to herself-"Balance, keep my balance."

Those were her exact words.

I am so proud of this girl. Her brother learned to ride at almost the exact same age and in the almost exact same manner. We were at the beach and he went outside and hopped on another kid's bike and just took off across the parking lot. That is also how each potty trained and learned to write their names. On their own time, at their own pace, in their own style.

One of the many reasons I love them to pieces.

Bliss and Perfection

Perfection. Fall finally joins us.














Bliss. Sweetness swinging.















Perfection. Carolina blue and puffies.














Bliss. Baby feet.

Perfection. Lego guitar for Mom.

The Brain is a Mysterious Organ

It never ceases to amaze me how amazingly different my little people are. 
God hard-wired them all just so and completely independent of one another.

For example.
The other day while leaving church, Agent P began to shimmy and shake in my arms upon hearing...the church bells.  Having her around is like having a student from "Fame" in your home 24/7.  This child moves to anything remotely resembling a beat and I do wonder if indeed her first real sentence won't be..."Give Me A Beat".  Oh, Miss Jackson.  I am not ready for you in this house.

GoGo fell asleep in the car the other day while returning from the park, as she is prone to do.
Apparently just prior to this, she discovered some very random stickers in her seat pocket.
When we got home and I opened her door, I found a very-much-still-asleep GoGo with a sticker on her left cheek.  DANGER.  Not a princess or fairy or rainbow.  DANGER.  Could that be any more appropriate for this child?  And D notes it as he exits the car in his very calm manner. 
"There's M with a Danger sticker on her cheek."  Yep, there she is.

Then D tonight tells me he's having a hard time falling asleep.  Apparently there is this box in his brain when he closes his eyes that constantly flips through images and he finds it annoying.    What sorts of images, I ask?  Just stuff I think about during the day-rakes, grass, birds, dirt.  You know, he says.  Hmm.
I promise no foreign substances have ever crossed the threshold of his lips but I am beginning to wonder if any that passed MINE an eternity ago, possibly have leaked into his sweet little brain.  We switched the subject to Santa, THE list and being good and I could almost see that little box close itself up.  Okay, then.
This kid is driven by his imagination and I am just hoping this is his creative genius in hyper-drive.

My three little people look very much alike-no doubting they are all siblings.  But their little brains just could not be more opposite of one another and I like it like that, even if I may not fully understand it.

Meanwhile I ponder the wiring of my own poor brain because I can't figure out how to post anymore pics on this blog.  So there you go.

Sickly=Snuggly

Why do I like my kids better when they're under-the-weather?  Kidding.  Maybe.

They're more snuggly, actually enjoying being wrapped up like a tamale with Mommy on the couch, listening to Christmas music in September.

They're sweeter, not having the energy to fight with siblings or argue over bedtime.

They're more compliant, with a lot of "yes-ma'aming" as it pertains to homework completion, vegetable consumption and general house rules.

I would not want all 3 sick at the same time, certainly.  And God knows I don't want it be more than a virus (and believe that I have stressed over his fever a bit more than is probably natural or necessary).

But I have enjoyed just a teensy-weensy bit my D being a bit sickly the last few days.
It was kind of nice just hanging with him while the girlies were at school.

We snuggled.  We watched a lot of TV, including what Mommy wanted (note the extra sweetness here?).
We ate Fritos and Halloween cookies.  I read to him.  A lot.  We snuggled some more.  We played Legos while lying down.  It was sweet in a pleaseGoddon'tletthisbeanythingmorethanjustyouraveragevirus
dealbutisn'tthiskindofnicetobeabletotreathimlikeababyagainsince
he's gettingsobigandall kind of way.

Meanwhile the ladies soldiered on. 
Agent P enjoyed her first Halloween cookie with orange icing and there was a bit more than casual lip smacking after.  She literally wrapped her little arm around the table leg and tilted her head back to help it go down faster.  At least that's what I think she was doing.  Possibly she was having face time with God, thanking him for such things as Halloween cookies with orange icing.

GoGo continues to debate her Halloween costume with me.  "I want to be this "debil" girl mommy."
No, GoGo, you will not be a DEVIL girl for Halloween.  "But I WANT TO."  No, GoGo.
"But I want her SHOES."  So it's not the evil character she likes so much as it is her pumps.  Right.

I adore them all ALL of the time but sick=sweet in this house.

I Wanna be a Rock Star, First

GoGo tells me she wants to grow up and be a Rock Star first, and then a Doctor.
I knew the doctor bit, as she has told me several times now that becoming a doctor is on her to-do list.
The rock star thing was a bit of a surprise but perhaps shouldn't of been.
This is a girl who very much like her mother, loves to blast her favorite music (Hannah Montana) while singing at the top of her voice and shaking her hair wildly and gyrating across the room.
Ok.  Maybe not the wild hair and gyration bits.  Or at least only when in the presence of one, Sir Paul.
But the blasting and singing loudly, definitely.

So I got to thinking about which songs/musicians remind me of each of my little people.  It's hard to sum up someone in less than 3 minutes and set it to music but let's try.

Some are born boogiers and others toe-tappers/head-nodders. My three accurately represent..



GoGo-cheerleader cute with a touch of crazy...hmmm.  This is a girl who's favorite line of "Get Back" is wearing her high heel shoes and a low neck sweater, Get Back Loretta.
Perhaps a combination of California Girls and Crazy Train.  Can you say Boogier?

D-sensitive soul who loves up tempo.  I would say "Hey Jude" because, well...do I really need to explain?
But maybe more like Yellow Submarine and Rocket Man.  Really.  He's my toe-tapper/head-nodder.

Agent P-what I love about this baby is that she digs ALL musical genres.  She will boogie to anything better than the whir of the dishwasher.  I have seen her shake her head and sidestep like Axl Rose to the music of a car commercial.
Possibly Wild Night and Beck.  Oh yes.  Not positive at this early stage but definitely could be another Boogier. 

I grew up in a house that had music on 24/7.  My dad had (and still does) a small portable boom-box in the kitchen and that thing played All.The.Time. 
He would switch stations occasionally but it was generally blues on AM, classic rock or what I like to call "Happy Days" music.  The songs you would hear if you watched the show...groups like the Platters, Tommy James and the Shondells, etc.
At Christmas he would find a station and should you wake up to pee in the middle of the night, there would be "Chestnuts Roasting" at 2am.

If I went to my grandma's house, it would be the same thing with a slight change in musical genre.
Big Band and baseball games.  St. Louis Cardinals, thankyouverymuch.  And it wasn't a boom-box, just a small transitor radio in the kitchen and a desktop in her bedroom.  But on All.The.Time.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Maybe I have the next Van Morrison/Hannah Montana/Jack Johnson in my house right now.
Let the toe tapping/head nodding/boogying begin.

You Say it's your Birthday

It's my birthday too.

Happy to have one.  I don't think I will be one of those people who perpetually turn "29".
Not that I am not slightly concerned with eye wrinkles, flabby tummies or lower-than-average boobs.
But those things don't lessen my outright joy in making it another year.

I am happy to be here another year to snuggle yesterday with my oldest on the couch while listening to "Christmas with the  Rat Pack." 

I am happy to be here another year to "talk fashion" with my middle one-that would be how she is so fashion. 

I am happy to be here another year to chase my baby around the house while removing Polly Pocket items from her mouth, all day long.

I am happy to be here another year to give and receive hugs and kisses, listen to my kids' sweet giggles, watch the leaves change, decorate a Christmas tree and enjoy my music and Blue Moons.

Life is good. 
No, I'm not going to break into that song, "Live Like You Were Dying" now. 
Hopefully we'll save that for another day far, far from now.

Spelling and Weezer

So I go to a function at the kids' school last night...to ostensibly discover all the exciting things my little people will be learning during the school year.
The reality is, the mommies wanted to check up on our Little Johnnies and Little Suzies.  At least this one did.

So I am in D's class and we are looking over all of their stuff they have done so far...writing, a bit o' math, spelling.  I notice his journal, which they could decorate themselves...cutting out random letters from magazines to spell their name, pictures from mags, etc.  You get the idea.
So he has spelled his name all cute and cut out a few other things.  Totally random stuff.
"Safety Class".  Just those words, which sounds like my OSHA man.
"All About Eve".  Either the name of a feminine product or the story of a multiple personality.  Hmm.
"The Blue Moon logo".  Whoa.  Wait.A.Minute. 
To the teacher, a bit nervously I ask..."did he pick this out himself?"
"Yes, yes he did".
Okay, then. 
I glance quickly at the other mommies, wondering if they are making mental notes to themselves about me and my beer recognizing child..."Note To Self...don't let Johnnie play with that D kid lest he have to attend an AA meeting in junior high."
Hmm.
I thought about asking him about it but it was totally innocent, just logo recognition and isn't that what his generation is all about anyway??

Speaking of Blue Moon, my birthday is this Friday.  For some reason the other day, an image of myself popped into my head that made me laugh out loud to no one but myself.
I am 19 and my best friend and some other amazing friends threw me a party.  I'm sure there was a good bit of beer, albeit not Blue Moon.  There are streamers and banners wishing me a Happy 19th.
And there I am in the middle wearing my present from my best friend-a plain white t-shirt with "WEEZER" spelled out in big black letters across the back.

Does anyone know who or what a Weezer is?
Long before I ever considered moving to the South, my best friends and I watched "Steel Magnolias".  We all were given a character in the movie...and guess who I was?  Weezer.
Why?  She is a bit crazy, loud, sort of a bee-yatch and isn't afraid to rip a good belch.  With a heart of gold.
Sort of me in a nutshell.  To this day, my friends still refer to me as such sometimes and I still answer to it.

Now that I live in the South I appreciate the Weezer's of the world even more.  Me being one, and all.

I wish I still had that shirt.

The Birds

So I go out through the garage today to meet the kids' bus afterschool and I hear this weird buzzing.  I look around and see what at first glance is a ridiculously LARGE bug.  As many know, certain bugs scare the Beejeezus out of me so I was not pleased.  Plus I was holding Nora and would hate to throw her in the air, due to my fright.
Upon further investagation, I see it is a hummingbird.  God Bless It.  I had never seen one that close up before.  It's very cute and very tiny.
It is also making very futile attempts to fly through my garage ceiling rather than the open doors.

I run to meet the kids off the bus and D and the twin run ahead, back to the house.
I hear him yelling frantically by the time I get back to the garage-"Mom, there is a HUMMINGBIRD trapped in our garage!  We HAVE to help it!!!"

Yes son, I am aware. 
I love that he is just like me and is like a First Responder to any of God's creatures who may be in dire straits.  People like us are suckers for animals on the side of the road both dead or alive, spiders in webs, birds in nests and every dog and kitty you could ever find.

I was taught as a kid to put worms back in the grass should you meet one on a hot sidewalk.
Give turtles a helping hand across a busy road.
Feed and water strays-what if no one else would?
Always "find" your pet-don't buy your pet.

I have given the "God's Creatures" speech to both he and his friends more times than I can count. 
As in, don't mess with them.

I really dig that he gets it.
Well done, little man.

Sore Loser

I am one.
I hate to lose anything.
I do, however, teach my children that winning isn't everything and the spirit of the game is most important.  Blah, Blah, Blah.
It's all lip service.

I recently started working out again.  Back in the day, this would have been much more commonplace than now.  I haven't broken a true sweat since Gogo was in a size 1 diaper.
So I am at the Y on the treadmill, giving it the old college try.  I am running and there are ladies on either side of me running as well.
We're into it-Ipods on, sweat flying, feet pounding. 
I glance over to see at what speed they are running.  Both are higher than me.  DamnIt.
So I inch mine up a bit...realizing about 30 seconds into it that this isn't probably their 3rd day of running in almost 5 years.  Hmm. 

I am D.Y.I.N.G. but I refuse to lower my speed before one of them does.  The minutes tick by (or was that really only seconds) and FINALLY the one on my right slows to a brisk walk at an elevated incline. 
This is good.  I can do this.

I burned more calories than normal, sweated by ass off and almost had a coronary.  But I didn't surrender first.
Life is good.

Words, Meanings and Heebies-Jeebies

Some words I cannot stand to say out loud.  Obvious "smutty" words (as my grandma would call them) like slang for body parts, etc. 
Although for some reason I enjoy using the word a-hole as it sometimes pertains to strangers when I'm operating a motor vehicle.

I also do not care for moist, navel, mucous and for the longest time, belly.  Up until just a few years ago I really disliked this word, although I could not tell you why.  It just gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Probably because back then I didn't have a belly, per se.  Just a mid-section. 
Now,  I have a belly.  Where the remnants of 3 kids and too many Blue Moons join hands, happily.
So I kind of dig the word now.  Plus, how often do you refer to your child's mid-section or stomach?  It's a belly, period.

When D was potty training we read that it was most appropriate to teach your children the anatomically correct terms for their "privates".  So we did.  With D.
But later, I couldn't bring myself to use the Vuh-JJ word with GoGo.  Because I dislike that word.  It's about 17 kinds of ugly and just so hard to say out loud for me.
I don't recall EVER being told what that was by anyone in my immediate or extended family.  Thank God for the 5th grade movie where you "learn" about all of that.  Those types of things were not discussed in my family.  You would think we were Puritans right off the big ship.

Friends called it a "lucy".  Hmm.  You better believe that my son and his friends think "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" is hilarious.  Better than nothing so we went with that.
But GoGo has intermittently referred to her goods as a wiener or penis on multiple occasions.  Like in front of my grandmother...oh I feel the blush now.  I have corrected her multiple times, explaining only boys have that, etc.  But the next time she and D are having a battle, I hear "he kicked me in my wiener".  What to do?
I certainly don't want her going to kindergarten with this misinformation.
But oh, to say that word.  I just don't know.

I mean, I still haven't accurately or honestly told my children how Agent P got out of my belly.  Hmm.  Clearly, I have issues.  Certain words have the Heebie-Jeebie power over me. 
Maybe I do have some Puritan blood running unclaimed in my veins. 

The Way We Roll

All kids ride toosmallforthem ride-on toys in their driveway while clothed only from the waist down, right?

And squeal like crazed baby piggies while playing bumper cars...at 7:30am on a Saturday.

Blurred so as not to scandalize her elementary school days...

Sweaty head+bits o' food+milk drippings=HAPPY BATHY


The joys of water guns that actually work, knight sets complete with plastic swords in sheaths and tennis racquets used as weapons...

This was disheveled as well but a paint wizard turned it into this for GoGo...

Apparently Agent P is as shocked by it all as I am.