The Power Of....

The stage is set -

It is 5:30pm.  The Big Boys are running around the house like idiots (and I use that term lovingly).  The living-room is a disaster, couch pillows are thrown about, the Thomas Train chair is tipped over in the middle of the floor, all of the books are off the bottom of the bookshelf.  Husband is in the kitchen going over the repairs he did to his uncle's computer with him and finding out what repairs need to be done to his cousin's computer from him cousin.  Dinner, chili; is thankfully done and simmering on the stove.

ERP and I are sitting on the couch.  I am trying to comfort nurse him; he is suckling some and then popping off and crying.  I send the Biggest Boy for a swaddler.  I plan on trying to sway and sush ERP in hopes of calming him.

ERP has been having terrible gas pains for the last hour.  Husband had gotten him calmed some and ERP took a cat nap, but that is over and he is pissed.  I've given him gas drops and let him nurse all he wants.  Gas pains suck.  Baby hates them, parents hate them more.

ERP is wailing.  Screaming.  He is not happy.

Enter stage left; my mom and her boyfriend.  Right on time for our dinner date, they come baring cornbread and double chocolate cake.

I suggest to my mom that she go across the street (yes, I live in the middle of nowhere with a liquor store across the street, convenient at times - yes.) and get some beer.  Beer goes excellent with chili and a crying baby (drink while nursing or right after nursing, never nurse if you are feeling the affects of the drink).  My mom offers to take ERP so I can go get the beer.

I step outside, the night air is warm for January.  It feels like rain, but it isn't raining.  It is quiet outside.  A few minutes later I am armed with Sea Dog Blueberry Wheat Ale and back in my house.

But now my house is different.  Husband is done taking care of the computer business, the Big Boys are quieter.  But more importantly, ERP is done crying.  My mom is rocking him and he is asleep.

I pass around beers - sorry, none for the boys; and set the table.  My mom transfers ERP to his vibrating seat, and he continues to sleep.  He sleeps through all of dinner.  And dessert.  And us sitting and talking afterwards, relaxing.

It feels like a miracle.  I know Husband or I could have gotten ERP to settle down; we have mad baby calming skills; but sometimes you just need the power of grandma.

That Was Easy

I remember when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real.  I was in 4th grade and was getting ready to walk out of my school at the end of the day, I can still see the front double doors in my mind, and an older student told me.  I was crushed.

Obviously, being the super awesome cool mom that I am; I wanted to spare my own kids that heartache.  Not that I blame my parents for my lingering Santa Claus belief.

Now RR, he's a special case - he's been doubting the Santa Claus / Easter Bunny / Tooth Fairy gig for a while.  He started questioning when he was 3 or 4 years old, and I've managed to string him along; one holiday after another, for the last few years.  Until today.

RR found a notepad that Husband left laying around with some Easter notes on it and he started making comments about how we needed to "hide" these things better.  I just looked at him and said "Do you think the Easter Bunny is real?".  He smiles.  The smile of knowing the truth.  I told him it was OK to not believe anymore and he smiled even bigger.  Then I told him now that he knows the truth he needs to keep the secret from other kids, especially his brother who has many more years of believing in him.

And  breath a deep sigh of relief.  That was easy.  Honestly I had been trying to figure out the right time to say something to him; and now it's over and done with and we can move onto the next stage - older siblings conspiring with parents to make the holiday magic happen.  I loved helping my parents get the baskets and presents ready for my brothers when I got older and I am looking forward to this next stage with RR.

What to do?

I came downstairs from tucking in TT and started to look around and wondered "what do I want to do tonight?".  Without a further thought I started washing diapers and doing the dishes.  While I was SOSing the chili stuck to the bottom of the pot I got to thinking "This is NOT what I want to do tonight.  I want to do something that makes me happy."

I could.....

• work on putting together picture frames
• yoga!!  I've been meaning to do that for a few weeks
• watch "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant", because I've been meaning to watch that show for months
• do some school work, I didn't get to it this weekend and one of the downfalls of a self directed course is not pushing yourself sometimes
• research Easter ideas on Pintrest, it's been weeks since I've been on Pintrest
• look for ties for the boys for Easter
• mount and hang up some art work the boys have done for me
• start reading a new book
• print pictures of TT and actually start his scrapbook
• work on RR's scrapbook I have all of those pictures of him already...
• and breath.....

Then my thoughts started to change.  I should...

• put away RR's clothes
• fold TT's clothes
• put away my laudry
• clean out the pantry, why do I always look to clean when I want to relax?
• dust the light fixtures in the kitchen, see above note
• put away the Christmas coffee mugs, um yeah..... I think I have a problem

I really need to start doing things on my make me happy list.  The cobwebs can wait another day; I tell myself that when the boys want to do something.  I try and find a balance.  Must balance myself more... can you hear my chanting?... must balance myself more....

Interview at 9 Years

Me: How old are you?
RR: 9

Me: What is your favorite subject in school?
RR: Math

Me: What is least favorite subject in school?
RR: Spelling

Me: What is your favorite color?
RR: Blue

Me: What happened to red?
RR: Changed it when I was 5.  I've liked blue for a long time.  Fact blue has always been one of my favorite colors.

Me: What is your favorite school lunch?
RR: Yogurt Parfait.  That's a tough one, the runner up is hot dog.

Me: What is your favorite dinner at home?
RR: Hot dogs.

Me: What is your favorite vegetable?
RR: That's a hard one.  Carrots.

Me: What's your favorite movie?
RR: I'll have to think about this.  Can we come back to it?

Me: What's your favorite video game?
RR: Terraria.

Me: What's your favorite book?  Let me guess, Spiderwick?
RR: My Myths and Legends book, the one TT got me for Christmas.  Surprise.

Me: What is your favorite thing to do outside?
RR: Play with my friends.

Me: Do you have any best-friends?
RR: Quit a few actually.  Would you like me to name them?  Aidan, Brandon, Ethan and that's about it.

Me: What do you think about girls?
RR: Despise.

Me: Is that why you won't kiss your mother?
RR: One you have cooties and two yes.

Delete that delete that.... it's so embarrassing.

Me: What's your favorite holiday?
RR: Christmas.
Me: Why?
RR: Because you get presents and candy.  It's like Valentines and Easter mixed together.

Me: How much do like Cub Scouts?
RR: Alot.
Me: How far are you going to go?
RR: Past Weblos, maybe past Boy Scouts.

Me: Anything you want to add?
RR: No

Me: Oh we have to come back to your favorite movie.
RR: Spiderwick.  I can't believe that I forgot.

Me: Oh hey, what is your favorite song?
RR: Enderborn.
Me:  What????

That Age

As of tomorrow I will have a pre-teen.  The Big Boy turns 9.  As my mother just reminded me on the phone, the last year before double digits.

I will admit having a 9 year old makes me feel old(er); but I think it's also pretty darn neat.  It is such an age of transition and of change and growing (and regressing.... he's into watching Disney Jr. shows again.).  But I have found with this age comes a new challenge.

The challenge of buying him gifts.

Really; what do you get a pre-teen (or teen for that matter) boy these days?

Sure there is the obvious: video games and Legos.

Sure he wants video games and Legos.

But really he doesn't need anymore video games.  And Legos, well lets just say he has enough Legos.  Enough for 5 or 6 or 20 kids his age.  Yes, he would play the video games.  And yes, he would build (then destroy) the 1,000 piece Lego set.  But when you already have a mild video game addiction (which your mother is fighting hard to overcome) and about fifty-million-billion-trillion Legos you don't need anymore.

So what to get?

I settled on a Razor Scooter.  The "graffiti" one.  Husband says he'll break his neck.  He's probably right; given RR's (total lack of) coordination.  But as I pointed out to Husband, better to break his neck on a scooter than on a bike.  And hey, it was 50% off.  You can't argue with that.  As an added bonus he has asked for a scooter a time or two, just not since winter has gotten here.

Oh, yeah... and I got him a little box of Legos.  From his brother, of course.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

My Grandma always was an avid reader.  When I was a girl she belong to the Reader's Digest Book Club.  She used to get two or three novels, classics, in the mail at a time and once she was done reading them I was free to borrow them.  Many times she let me keep them.

Some of the books were abridged, condensed versions of the complete Sherlock Holmes works for instance, but many of the books were in their original complete state.  All of the books were hardbound, with  fancy wanna-be-leather covers and gold or silver embossed titles.  Often times the books contained a few illustrations to go along with the story.  

I remember the excitement and anticipation of going to Grandma's and getting a new book.  It was one of the treasures her house held, along with steno-pads and very sharp pencils. Grandma would let me look over the book collection and I would go hide in one of the empty bedrooms that had once belong to my mother and read away.  Other times she would pop in for a visit and drop books off.  

I don't recall how old I was when I first read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (by Betty Smith), probably a little older than the heroine of the story Francie on "book 1".  The book was bound in green pleather and had gold embossed lettering; and it was love at first glance.  

At first I was just so proud of myself for being able to read such a long book.  I even boosted about the number of pages in it when I did a book report on it for school.  But there was something else too the book, aside from the 500 plus pages.  

What that something is, I cannot fully say.  I do not have the correct word for what it is that makes this book so special to me.

I have read this book a dozen or so times since I first read it.  I get a craving to read this book.  It's similar to the craving that Francie gets for a good Jewish pickle at the end of a long winter when nothing else tastes good.  After eating the pickle she can go back to eating her everyday meals.  I get that way about pickles myself and this book is the same way.  After reading it, I feel renewed.

I hadn't read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in about four years and my craving for the book was getting to be an all time high, but I wasn't able to locate my copy (the same green bound edition Grandma gave me) since we moved.  And then I found it this summer.  It was in a box in the basement that had seen too much moisture and the book had molded.  The cover was curling over, the fake leather was peeling off the stiff thick cardboard that made the cover, it smelt dark and dank and mold grew on the edges.  Into the dumpster it went.  

I looked into buying another copy, but never hit the order button.  I checked to see if it was at my library, but it wasn't.  I thought about getting the movie, since I've never seen it; but didn't.

And then on Christmas morning I opened a gift from Husband and there it was.  The book I had been longing for.  

I read it in three days.  And as with every other time I read it, I understood more of the story.  I related deeper to the characters.  As with every other time reading it, it was like the first time reading it.   I knew the story line, yet I still laughed and cried like the first time.  I was moved.  I felt complete and relaxed when I was done.  Since then I have re-read certain chapters and pages; and I am sure if I started back on page 1 tomorrow I could re-read the book through and through again.  

If you have never read this book I highly recommend reading this book.  It was named one of the top 100 books from the last century; and there is good reason for that.

This Is MY Rifle

"This is my rifle.  There are many like it, but this one is mine."

Ok, it's not actually his gun.  It's his big brother's; he got it on vacation with my mom this summer at Hampton Beach.  Thankfully it doesn't make noise anymore.  

Either way TT loves it.  He runs around the house, carrying it.  He has no idea what a rifle is for, but he knows his brother loves all sorts of cap guns, water pistols, bug vacuum guns, Nerf rifles and the like; and therefore TT must love the same.  He idolizes his older brother.  

Before RR was born I was THE perfect parent.  Weren't we all?  My kids were going to have very few plastic toys (oh, the evil of plastics) and they certainly were not going to play with toy guns.  

And then I had a child and I became more realistic.  

Feeling Like...

Tonight I feel like Superwomen.  Or better yet, Super-Mom.

A sticker RR got me for Mother's Day a few years ago.
I keep it on the fridge.

I will admit I don't often feel like Super-Mom.  Every day seems to be more of the same, too much to do in too little time.

But the stars aligned tonight.

It was a decent day in the office and traffic was light coming home.

We had an awesome dinner of French toast, baked apples and sausage.  It was one of those meals everyone helped cooked... well, OK... TT sat in his high chair and licked beaters of fresh whip cream and colored.

I had time to play with each of the boys and got in two nursing sessions before TT went to bed.  Not to mention Husband and I got TT's room cleaned up while he "helped" us.

Stories with both boys... and then I made dinner for tomorrow night (chili) before getting the dishes the done and putting in two miles on the elliptical.

And for bonus points, I held it together when RR spilled water all over his bed as I was tucking him in.  Yes, it was in a closed container, I really have no idea how he pulls these things off.

Ahh... off to cap of the evening with sometime with Husband.

I love it when days come together like this.

Letting Go

Last week I posted about getting the Big Boy ready for overnight camp.  I was all about getting him ready and sending him off.  And I was worried about him.  Worried about how he would do, if his first camp experience would be better than my own - and with that worry in mind I signed him up for a "short week".  Normally camp runs Sunday through Saturday night, with a short week ending after lunch on Wednesday.

Now here I sit, about 24 hours before I have to go and pick him up and I wonder what my true motivation behind signing him up for the shorter week.

Was it because I wasn't ready to let him go?

After we dropped him off at camp Husband and I took TT and walked the mall.  With TT secure in the carrier on Husband's back we were able to roam around stores and departments we normally can't; and we got to talking - about letting go.

Having RR go away to overnight camp wasn't just a big step for him, but it was a big step for me as well.  Sure he's gone away on vacation without me before; but that's been with my mom.  I've been able to watch their vacations unfold on Facebook; and I know my mom will take excellent care of him.  She won't let him each too much junk food, or skip brushing his teeth, or act rude.  I know she would take care of him, just as I would.  But with him being away at camp he's not a phone call away from me (sure the camp can call me, but I can't call him), I can't see how his days are going.

It's like the first time I left him at daycare, he was away from me all day.

Or the first time he rode the school bus, all by himself and I stood on the curb.

It's about letting go.  For me this, overnight camp, is a big step.

When I dropped him off I was jealous (as was Husband).  The camp was amazingly beautiful, nestled into the mountain side besides a deep and wide lake.  The beauty of nature reflecting in the waters, with the tall pine trees gently blowing in the warm summer wind.  The grounds were painstakingly manicured, with the grass "just the right height" in the archery range, and wooden signs pointing out the direction to the dining hall and the nurses station.

Then I felt guilty.  Guilty that I was afraid of letting go and letting him spend an entire week in such a majestic surrounding   Guilty of not wanting to let go and realize he would be OK without me.  Mom guilt.  The worst.  These last eight and a half years have gone by fast and to think when TT is this age the Big Boy will be nearly graduating from high school.

Don't blink.  

Welcome to the Mad House

It's 8:30am, and TT is hanging of the door of the freezer (no he is not an acrobatic, our freezer is on the bottom), trying to rip it open and screaming his head off.  I have just committed the gravest of ills in his eyes. I got myself ice out of the freezer and denied him a freezer-pop.  I calmly bend down, look him in the eye and tell him "You cannot have an icee before breakfast."  He throws his head back and wails, even louder, turning red with tears streaking down his face.

Welcome to the mad house.

TT has developed quiet the little temper these days.  It has to be done his way on his terms.

He does not like getting his diaper changed.  He does not like getting dressed.  He does not like anything that  involves his changing table.

These things make him mad.  Real mad.

If you deny him a toy he will lay on the floor and cry.

He turns beet red.  Some times he stomps his feet, slaps things, throws things.

Oh oh wait... my favorite... when he throws himself down in a full on hissy-fit.  That's always a good one.

I know you're not suppose to laugh when they throw their fits, but it is so hard not to.

So I stifle my laughter, and then I feel bad for him.  Poor little guy.  He just doesn't understand.  Or perhaps he just doesn't like "no" or being told what to do.

Now that I think about it.  Does anyone really like being told no or what to do?  I think not.  I guess as we get older we get tamer.... however in the meantime I am going to enjoy this trip back to the mad-house, as I swear I don't recall the older boy ever throwing a fit at this age.

Selective memory, I think.

In case you missed it, I've changed the boys' names on the blog.

Yummy Sand

The boys and I were outside playing in the sandbox after dinner.

I started the evening amazed, totally floored, by the number of outside trucks, buckets, shovels, and the like I had of Turkey's in the basement.  These toys haven't seen the light of day in at least one summer.

Had he grown too old for them?  It appeared not this evening as he happily played with his brother.

Had I been too busy, so self-absorbed, to take them out for him?  Perhaps.  I would like to think that it was more a case that I assumed he was too big to play with Tonka Trucks.

Or maybe it was a case of something old being new again; now that he had his brother to share the experience with.

So after my brief bout of mom-guilt and reflection I noticed Monkey trying to use the shovel like a spoon.

Me: Don't eat that.  YUCKY.

Him (taking a small taste): Yuuuummmmm.

Me: No.  Yucky.

Big brother giggles in the back ground.

Him (taking a bigger bite of sand): YYYYYUUUUUMMMMM!!!! (grins ear to ear)

Me: Yuck.  Poo-Poo.

Big Brother: Don't knock it until you've tried it.  It's not bad.  A little salty and it would probably be better with honey on it.

*gag*

Yum!! (gag)

He said he was making a pregnant lady belly.  (sigh)

Belated Thanks

This afternoon I pulled out my box of thank-you cards.  After nearly two and a half months it was finally time to kick my butt in gear and send out the thank you cards from Monkey's first birthday.  In my defense (OK, it's an excuse) I wanted to send them out along with his first birthday pictures; and we didn't even have these taken until he was nearly 14 months old.  Wow, this is sounding really bad isn't it.


Anyhow, I digress, I pull out my box of cards and start riffling through it and I find thank-you cards the Big Boy had written out for his party back in mid-January.  How did I not send those?  I must have sent them... I know I had him re-write some of them.

I dig a little more and I find a couple of thank-you cards from Turkey's baptism; which was... ehn... not quiet a year ago.  Sigh.

And then, just as I think I couldn't find anymore un-mailed thank-you cards I come across ones I had written for my baby shower.  Um yeah, that was about a year and a half ago.

So in case the cards didn't really get sent out (and obviously they didn't if I have them in front of me)... many thanks for Ethan & Jack and Niko (from Turkey) and thanks to my mom, Beth, Melissa and Melissa.

Off I go to hang my head in shame and dig up the stamps for the thank-yous I just wrote out.

I Cheat

At laundry that is.

Small hand towels and face cloths, they don't get folded.  They go into some nice ($1 - Christmas Tree Shop) fabric bins in the closet.

Monkey and Turkey's underclothes, they don't get folded.  Simply put into their dressers.  OK, none of Monkey's clothes get folded; just sorted and stacked in his draws.  Who has time for stuff like that?  Certainly not me.

(Diapers on the other hand are stuffed and prepped once they are cleaned... this is essential for keeping Husband on the cloth-diaper-wagon, as well as a necessity with an ever-wigglier baby.)

Ninety percent of mine and Husband's clothes get hung up - simply because it's easier.

So yeah, I cheat at laundry... and it feels so good. :-)

Confession Time

Tonight I feel the need for a few confessions.... so here goes.

By lunch time today I was in such a fowl mood I went and bought myself a Friendly's ice cream sundae cup.  Reese Pieces to be exact.  

YUM!!!

Lately I've been feeling the need to try on my wedding dress.  But I am afraid I will be disappointed.\

Love this picture.

I have a number of friends I owe calls back to, but I am just not in the mood to talk.  

I feel like a crappy friend for this.

Nope, we do not own this phone.  Does anyone?

Some days I get very jealous of my stay-at-home mom friends.  I know, I know, the grass is always greener on the other side.  But still, this is something I would like to experience myself and make that call.

Ah, summer days!!!

Most times when I am on-line I keep all of my chats off.  I don't like people to know I am on-line (unless it's for work) and I really don't like being hit up to chat.  It's just not my thing.  

I don't go to church as much as I should.

Yes, that is our actual church.  Pretty isn't it?

OK, that's enough for now.... I hope you enjoyed this evenings edition of my soul bearing.