I scream, you scream...

We all scream for... Frostys?

The kids were due an "ice cream party" for getting enough marbles in their good-behavior jar. (So what if it took them six months.) We were going to go last night, but no one ate their dinner and it got late, so we postponed until this evening.

Everyone The kids decided on McDonald's soft serve cones. After lots of hoorays and dancing around, we piled into the van and headed out. Thinking we were saving ourselves a lot of potential pain, we chose the McDonald's without the playplace.

When we arrived, I corralled the boys into a booth while Maria accompanied Dan to the counter to place our order. Four vanilla cones and a chocolate milkshake (that's mine).

The boys start squirming. I notice that it does seem to be taking a while. (We're the only customers, so it's not like we got caught in a big soft-serve rush.) Jack looks over and exclaims, "they're filling the ice cream machine!" Sure enough, they were. Just then, Maria appears with my milkshake and two cones - one for Jack and one for Sam. They start licking away.

"Where's mine?" Luke asks. "It's coming," I unknowingly lie, as I sip my shake. Maria then asks if she can have Sam's cone. "No," I tell her. "Yours is coming." (Another lie.)

I look over and see Dan in what looks like a somewhat-heated discussion with the McDonald's shift manager. Hmmmmm. Dan's pretty easy going. But, it is getting late and two of our children are still lacking ice cream.

The next thing I know, Dan's coming over to the table to tell those of us with frozen dairy products that we have to return them. Huh?!? What's THAT about?

"Even me?" I ask.
"Yep," he says.
Well sh*t.

I began to herd our justly disappointed children out of the store and into the van. "It's okay," I tell them. "We'll go someplace else." Jack requests going to Wendy's for Frostys.

When Dan joins us I ask for a report. He explained that after two cones were made, the ice cream machine ran out and he was told it would be an HOUR before any more ice cream would be ready. Dan asked for his money back and was given $2.17.

"But I paid you $6.30," he says.
"Yes, but you received some of your order already," says the shift manager.
"You don't understand," Dan explains. "I still have two children without ice cream. I didn't get my full order. I want my money back. You can have your food back."

I could go on a bit, but I'd rather not. Dan returned the food and got his money back and we headed to Wendy's.

Again, I got the boys seated while Maria assisted Dan. Unfortunately.

Dan ordered four Frostys. Seconds later, Maria shows up at the table with a half empty Frosty and a crushed look. "I did the best I could, Mommy," she says. *Sigh* Apparently, in the six feet between the counter and the table, she managed to dump half of her Frosty on the floor.

Dan took the half-empty Frosty to the counter and asked for a replacement, which they were happy to give. Wow. (The floor-half of the Frosty remained where it was, in a high traffic area, but hey, you can't expect too much.)

As Dan sits down with Maria's replacement, she announces the need to pee, so I escort her to the ladies room...

The kids began to make their way, s-l-o-w-l-y, through their Frostys.

"These are HUGE," I tell Dan. "We are never going to get out of here."
"Yeah," he tells me, "but you should have seen how small the minis were."
"WHAT?!? They have minis? I don't care if they're the size of a shot glass! You should have gotten those!" I tell him.

Just then, Jack announces his need to pee. Dan takes Jack to the men's room. Around that time, I realize that Sam is more interested in eating his shoe than eating his Frosty. Then, Luke says, "uh oh," and requests a napkin. Just as I reach for one, Maria paints me with a spoon full of Frosty. Dan and Jack return. As they sit down, Dan looks at Sam (who is in my lap) and states, "He's pooping."

Time to go! Jack throws his Frosty in the trash. (I think he ate 1/3 of it.) Luke starts crying because we make him throw his away. (It literally has two bites left - of, like, 20 oz.!!!) Maria puts a top on hers and announces that she's taking it home. (We'll be chipping that out of the freezer next May.) Sam continues to entertain himself by munching on his shoe. (Not as gross as it could be as he isn't walking yet!)

So... next time they fill the marble jar? They're getting a bag of candy from Wal-Mart.

Say...What?

It's supposed to be, "Say Cheese!" But by the time those words are out of my mouth, my Four In A Row are out of alignment.

There's no way to get all four in the same picture, at the same time, all looking toward the camera, much less faking a smile of some sort. (One of these days I am going to get a digital SLR and simply hold the shutter down. Surely I'll get a good one in the split second it takes the shutter to click off a picture.)

I don't get it. I guess I didn't pay enough attention in science class. Is there a name for the electrical-like charge that occurs when a parent puts one or more sibling within touching range of another one?

I cannot put my kids together without some weird force zapping between them causing them to bounce around and laugh (or, more likely cry) hysterically. And, this applies to more than just my insane attempts at photo shoots.

Yesterday, Jack proudly brought home his new Scholastic books. His favorite is a book about Sharks. (Dan has worked hard at cultivating this interest, using Discovery Channel's "Shark Week," which airs each summer.)

Jack couldn't wait to have me read the book to him. Neither could his siblings. Before I could get through the first two sentences, however, Luke goes into his High Pitched Ear Piercing Scream mode. Why? Because I have Jack sitting on one side of me on the couch and Maria on the other and Luke wants to sit next to me.

I read louder.

Luke continues. (There is no off button on this one.)

I pause in my reading and explain to Luke that he'll have to sit next to Jack or Maria. By this time, I now have Sam in my lap because he was upset due to Luke's HPEPS mode. (Pronounced H-peps).

Pushing, prodding and squashing everything and everyone, Luke finally finds a spot while I continue to read. Sam grabs at the pages. Jack keeps trying to flip to the scary picture page and now Luke has begun to antagonize his baby brother. Maria complains whines about the commotion. I hold the book further away from everyone and continue to read. Loudly.

I did finish the book. Was there any enjoyment or comprehension on anyone's part? I think not. All I could think about as I clawed my way up from the bottom of the kid heap with tattered Shark book in hand, was, "I'm out of wine. I wonder if I can get in and out of the liquor store with all four children and no damage?"

See. The craziness rubs off. My kids in a liquor store? With TOWERS of GLASS BOTTLES begging to be knocked over? I shudder to think of it. I waited until Dan got home.

Another Afternoon of Beauty

So. Maria and I found ourselves with little to do the other afternoon while The Little Boys were (thankfully) napping.

I decided that it would be fun for us to give ourselves curly hair! I got all excited and asked Maria if she wanted to make her hair curly! After explaining that I'd go first, she readily agreed. Fun!

We broke out the Hot Sticks, plugged them in and waited impatiently for the tiny red dot to disappear, indicating that they were ready to use. Then carefully, with Maria watching, I began to roll my hair around the sticks.

P. I. T. A.

I finally finished rolling my hair. There weren't enough Hot Sticks for us do our hair at the same time, so we had to wait for my hair to set, take them out, reheat them and then curl Maria's hair.

I was able to remove the Hot Sticks without ripping out too much hair (as if I have any to spare). The curls were... ummmm... not very uniform.

I was a tad bit concerned that when Maria saw the results, she'd decline to have her own hair done. Enter the TV. Huge distraction. She seemed not to notice my inconsistent curls.

I reheated the Hot Sticks. Smart mom that I am, I decided to do Maria's hair not in the bathroom, but in my room while she sat on the bed in front of the TV. (You know how they say a nursing baby will let just about anything be done to him as long as he's nursing? Well, Maria is like that with the TV. It puts her into a trance -- at least until real pain strikes.)

I got several curlers in before I got an, "OWWWWWWWWW! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

Deep breath for both of us.

We continued. Got a few more in before she again claimed torture. But, determined, I did not quit! Throwing caution to the wind, I did the rest as fast as possible. By the time I was finished she had rivers of tears down her cheeks, puffy red eyes and a runny nose. "I don't WANT curly hair!" she screamed at me.

Again the TV rescued me. I was able to get her to wait out the time it took for her hair to set and was able to get the sticks out with minimal (for her) screaming.

Unfortunately, Maria and I both have such straight and flat hair that by the time our photo session was over our curls were about gone. By the time Dad got home from work there was nary a wave left to show him. At least we had pictures!

Despite the terrible suffering and torture she had endured at the hands of her evil mother, the first thing Maria asked me the next morning was, "Can we make our hair curly again today?"

You gotta love that.

P.S. You won't believe this, but she's behind me right now saying, "Mommy, Mommy! Can we make our hair curly?"

What have I done?

Whoo Hooooooo!!!!

My ship has come in!!! We are the next Partridge Family. Who wants to sign us? (No offense to the little guys out there, but we're really only interested in signing with one of the big labels.)

Email me for a demo tape and I'll get it out to you ASAP.

By the way, not that you should have any problems, but the title to this one is:
Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

Kachow!

Luke got a cool new backpack yesterday. (They were marked WAY down at Target - $2.48!!!) Now he can pack up his blankie for family trips.

Eager to show off, we decided to take a pic. Well... KACHOW! Didn't realize the reflective strip was even there until the flash hit it. Cool, eh? Now he's just like his favorite character.

Still on the topic of my adorable Lukie, he, along with his older siblings, accompanied me to an after-baptism party this morning at our good friend's house.

Donuts were involved.

In spite of my fears, all of the kids sat very nicely at the table, eating and drinking their food.

While I was mingling, Luke hunted me down to ask a question. Not that I could understand it. His mouth and cheeks were so full of chocolate donut that when he opened up to talk, chunks of donut started tumbling to the floor. Horrified, I walked him back to his seat and asked him to finish chewing and swallowing his food before talking to me.

Five minutes later (or so it seemed), when he was finally finished with his mouthful, I asked him, "Now... what did you want?"

"'Nother donut," he says.

My Luck

Just once, I'd like to find diamonds or gold in the bottom of my hamper instead.

Then She Kicked Me

Picture Day at the Hemmersmeier Household, September 2007

To the tune of "Then He Kissed Me" by The Crystals (You can click here to get the tune going in your head):

Crystals - Then He...

Now, replace first round of lyrics with these:

Well she woke up this morning
And I told her that she needed to dress
Photos would be taken
And I didn’t want my daughter a mess
When she rose her smile was tight
And then I dared turn on the light
She rushed me with all her might
And then she kicked me...

I promise - she's still alive and well. Looking back on it, it was actually quite comical. Sleepy, hair askew, mad as h*ll, tripping over herself to get to me in her frustration. I don't think she really even made contact.

Not even 15 minutes later, she was dressed beautifully (on her own) and ready for breakfast and then school.

Remarkable :-)

Thanks

Thank you to all who ordered wrapping paper for Jack's fund-raiser at school.

His class had the most orders in the school and won an ice cream party.



Jack also received a prize for his efforts... a clown nose.

We played with it while he was at school.

Interesting...

This is what happens when I don't monitor Maria's lunchtime more closely.

Jack's Heart

Today was more than crazy and at 5:00 p.m. I found myself furiously trying to get soccer socks on Jack. I was pushing and he wasn't, so his knee ended up in his chest.

Jack: "Owwwww! Your pushing against my heart and that hurts. You're hurting Jesus a little bit. He's in there, you know."

I love being a mom.

The SOI Rule

Let's hope my dear husband doesn't read this one. I don't think he'd relish being the subject of my blog - no matter the topic.

But, I can't resist. I have to ask, am I the only one living with someone who follows the Step Over It rule?

You know what I'm talking about:

Shoe lying in the middle of the floor.
Step Over It.
Sippy cup leaking milk on the kitchen floor.
Step Over It.
Cheerio (not the dog) in your path.
Step Over It.

Are you getting the picture?

At first, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I thought it might be possible that things were being dropped on the floor after he walked through a room but before I followed in his path. But, no. When the kids are all locked upstairs* and he and I are the only ones downstairs, that just can't be.

He is quite a bit taller than I am. Maybe from up there his eyesight isn't what it should be. But, then there's the whole STEP OVER IT thing. Obviously, if he STEPS OVER IT, he sees it, right?

Close on the heels of the SOI rule is the Leave It There rule. Sometimes they obviously coincide. But, the LIT rule covers more than just the floor. Pistachio shells on the kitchen table? LIT. Newspapers scattered about due to curious crawler? LIT. Shampoo bottle in the toilet (also due to the curious crawler). LIT. Leaves and dirt clumped together with sap tracked all over the carpet? LIT. Cat barf on the rug? LIT (after notifying your spouse, of course).

I have to admit that I'm not the best housekeeper. My baseboards are not cleaned weekly (or even monthly, for that matter). If you surprise me with a visit you may even find the occasional clump of dog hair floating around. But, I really do try to at least keep the house fairly neat and clutter-free. After all, I can't afford to have a visitor sue me for tripping over something in my house.

Maybe my dear husband is just trying to challenge me. Or, maybe he thinks that since I have the time to blog (in the middle of the night) I have the time for constant walk-throughs. Or, maybe he just figures that I'm closer to the ground, so I should be the one to pick everything up.

Anyway, things are going to have to change. There's not much enamel left on my molars.


P. S. For the sake of my husband and my readers, I'll table the IDIL** discussion I was going to include.

P.S.S. For the record, I just want to state that I know my wonderful mother-in-law did NOT raise her son this way. Something must have happened between her house and mine.


* locked on the second floor via stair gates - not locked in closets or anything.
** I'll Do It Later

There's no crying in soccer

At least there's not supposed to be. (Okay, so I don't know that for sure... I never played so I can't say I know all the rules.) Maria's not crying because she's hurt or because she lost the game. Is she just crying because her dad's the coach? I mean, what else is there to cry about in soccer?

So... this is how Maria's first soccer game went. She stood on the field, head down, crying while the other girls played (or at least tried their best). Sam, Jack, Luke and I did our best to cheer her up and cheer her on, but we weren't too successful. After we left her behind with Coach Dad to get Jack started on his field, Maria perked up a little and at least ran around the field some. Even toward the ball at one point.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it isn't her dad coaching that has her teary-eyed, but her mom on the sidelines.

I guess I'll have the make the ultimate sacrifice and stay home on soccer days.

Bummer.

Remarkable

Main Entry: re·mark·able
Pronunciation: ri-'mär-k&-b&l
Function: adjective
: worthy of being or likely to be noticed especially as being uncommon or extraordinary

Lucie, cousin to The Four Crazies, started preschool for the first time this week. When picking her up after school, Lucie's teacher told my sister that Lucie is "remarkable."

Now, if that was one of my kids' teachers, she'd be saying, "He/She is remarkably _______________." (Fill in your favorite not-quite-positive adjective here).

But with Lucie, I know the teacher meant remarkable as defined at the beginning of this blog. She is extraordinary. She's beautiful and sweet and very, very smart and creative and neat and well-behaved. (She can also drive a boat, but that's probably something her preschool teacher won't get a chance to see demonstrated).

I know it must have been hard for Caroline to send Lucie into the classroom of another teacher. (After all, Caroline is the former BTITWW -- her decision to stay home is the only way I've been able to bestow the title on Jack's Mrs. J.) However, it sounds like Lucie is at the right school with the right teacher - one that recognizes all her talents.

Caroline may have chosen to stay out of the classroom, but it's obvious that she never stopped teaching. Lucie is definitely remarkable, but she gets it from my sister.

Once again, I lament that we're so far away from each other... way too far for any of that remarkableness to rub off here.

Pretty Princess

Cousin Gwen came and went. Safely, I might add. I don't think she ended up with any permanent damage from her visit with us.

While she was here, we were able to get some quality girl time in. Gwen, Maria and I played the Pretty Princess game. Maria won. (Gwen really won but we kept playing.) This time we didn't even have tears over the dreaded BLACK RING. (No one wants the black ring... you can't win if you have it. Plus, it's ugly). When Maria had possession of TBR, she hid it behind her back so she didn't have to look at it.

Pictured here as a Pretty Princess, Maria doesn't look like the type to walk (bawling) off the soccer field during her first practice...

I don't think they were halfway through their 30 minute practice when Maria came toward me, crying her eyes out, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Dad (the coach) hurt my feelings!" Maria claimed between jagged breaths.
"How?" I inquired.
"He let someone else use my pink soccer ball!!!"

Ummmm... when is the season over?

After all that...

After all that guilt I inflicted upon myself, Jack said absolutely nothing about missing out on show and tell.

Glutton for punishment that I am, I had to mention it.

"Did we forget something today?" I asked him.
"What?" He said.
"Ummm... show and tell?"
"Yeah, you should have snuck in my room last night while I was sleeping to get it and put it in my backpack. I guess you couldn't see in the dark."
-?!?!?!?!?!?!?!-
"You'll just have to bring it next week," I said.
"Yep," he says.

Sheesh.

I'm SUCH a loser

Right now... RIGHT NOW - 1:10 p.m. on Wednesday, September 12, 2007 is Jack's very first show and tell.

And, HE HAS NOTHING.

Ugh. I am sick to my stomach. Jack is going to be just crushed. Sign me up for the Worst Mom of the Year Award. All last year in preschool there was never a show and tell. His teacher just didn't do it. Maria's teacher did. It was always a bummer when Maria was able to bring a show and tell and Jack couldn't.

This year, when we found out there was weekly show and tell we danced around the kitchen together. We were excited! TBTITWW had us get through the first few weeks of school before starting, then she assigned each child a certain day. I wrote it on the calendar. I circled it. I reminded myself a hundred times.

When I picked Jack up yesterday we talked about it and he told me what he wanted to bring... a xylophone. He'd just gotten out of music class, so he was pumped up about instruments. I suggested that we put it in his backpack that night so we didn't forget.

We forgot.

I tried to call Dan to see if he could run over to the school and be Jack's emergency surprise show and tell, but he was tied up.

I am soooooo not looking forward to seeing the tears and disappointment in Jack's face when I pick him up from school this afternoon.

Oh, and while we're at it, let's pile on a little more guilt. Since Dad packed his lunch for today, Jack got really cool notes on his napkins. Did I put cool notes on Jack's napkins yesterday? No. I forgot to even send napkins in his lunch.



Can someone please set up some type of reminder service for me? Something that will smack me over the head as I'm leaving the house in the morning would be great.

Dear Gwen...

You probably thought I was joking when I told you to bring your battle gear for your upcoming visit. I wasn't.

In good conscience, I have to warn you: This isn't my sister's house. It isn't nearly as clean. Something is bound to crunch under your foot as you walk through our kitchen. When you sit at the table you're sure to rest your arm on a sticky spot. If you see something hairy in a corner or under the couch try not to be frightened... it's probably only a giant ball of dog hair. (It could be the cat, but it's not likely).

Whereas my sister's children are relatively sane, mine are not. There will be running, screaming, crashing and spitting of food (that's mostly Sam, but when he does it everyone else likes to join in). You will notice that all toys, books and walls have looked like they've barely survived a bombing. In reality, they've barely survived my boys. (Somethings don't survive, although we have yet to lose a family member.)

When you come here, you are essentially entering a battlefield. Do not bring any clothes that are remotely nice. You will see from my family's stained, torn and holey clothes that art projects and meals can get a little out of hand. You might want to wear a hat to avoid anything foreign clumping in your hair. Earplugs will come in handy, although we can issue those to you upon your arrival.

Don't bring anything you don't want crushed, spilled, flushed or thrown into a ceiling fan.

Finally, you will need to sign a waiver indicating that you, with your belongings, have entered our home at your own risk and you will not hold us responsible for anything that might happen to you or your things.

Enjoy your stay!

Brothers Bonding

Last night after dinner, Dan herded the kids upstairs for their bedtime routines while I stayed behind to do a quick clean-up of the kitchen. When I wrapped up the kitchen duties, I headed upstairs to help move things along. As I was passing the bathroom, I noticed Jack and Luke standing side by side at the toilet relieving themselves in unison.

Jack: There you go!
Luke: Hehehehehe
Jack: You did it! You went pee like me!
Luke: I did it! I did it!

Previous to this episode, Luke only sat to pee (unless, of course, he was outside). I guess Jack's influence has encouraged him make the big boy leap to standing.

You know, things like this just don't go on with girls. I never shared a synchronized pee with anyone. I mean, ewwwwww.

Oh, the education you receive when you raise boys!

It Happened

Well, it was bound to happen eventually. Kind of like a ding on a new car. Somehow, once it happens, you can relax just a little, knowing you got it out of the way.

Any guesses as to what I'm referring to?

THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE.

Yep, Jack crossed the line today at school and was sent to the office. What is this, the third week of school? I guess he's starting to settle in. I can't wait for Maria to get a couple of weeks of preschool under her belt. Sheesh.

Speaking of Maria...

This morning Maria asked for some juice. I started to give her some prune juice (I know... ewwwwww) and she stopped me before I could even get the bottle open.

Maria: No! I want APPLE JUICE!

Mom: But you asked for prune juice yesterday at lunch and you drank it all up, remember?

Maria: Nooooooooo. I dumped it in the sink.

Mom: Oh. I didn't know that. Well, why don't you like it?

Maria: Because it tastes like dragonflies.

?!?!?!?!?!

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

She doesn't look like "Maria the Malicious," does she? Or, maybe she does. Does she look capable of leading someone (say, her younger brother) into battle? Oh, yeah.

Now that I've had more than 24 hours to "chill," I can finally blog about the NIGHTMARE experience I had with my lovely children (minus one) yesterday morning at the veterinarian's office.

Cheerio needed to see the vet. With Dan gone, I had been putting it off. Once he was back, I was adamant about taking her in. I'm not exactly sure why I waited, as it made absolutely no difference in the arrangements.

After dropping Jack at school and running a quick errand, I ran back home and loaded Maria, Luke, Sam and Cheerio into the van. I must have taken my brave pills, because if you know Cheerio, you know she goes bonkers when she sees a human being other than those belonging to her family. (In her mind, I'm sure she's screaming, "Adopt me! Adopt me and save me from this crazy family!!!")

Anyhow, despite her excitement, I managed to get her and my three youngest children into the vet's office and into an exam room. Sam was my little angel, but then he was being carried. Luke and Maria were... okay. Not great, but not bad. Just silly. Thankfully, Cheerio was seen right away and in no time we were finished. Strategic woman that I am, I left Maria and Luke at the coloring table in the lobby and snuck out to the van to stow the dog so I'd have one less creature to worry about while I paid my bill. (Yes, I started the car and put on the air.)

Now typically, we have the vet send us a bill rather than pay at the time of our visit. It's because we always have one or more of our children in tow and the faster we can make our escape, the better. Why didn't I do it this way yesterday, you ask? Because, since starting Uppercase Living, I have become more business-minded! I thought the transaction period would be a perfect time to pull out a catalog and suggest that the employees look it over and pass it around in the break room.

I followed through with my plan and the tech helping me was thrilled to have the catalog and said she'd just heard something from a friend about Uppercase Living. Just as I started to hear the "cha-ching" of a sale, it was drowned out by a commotion similar to a bull busting through a china shop.

HORRORS (to steal a favorite phrase of my grandmother).

With Maria as his cheerleader, Luke was ridding the shelves of their grooming supplies. Not accidentally. Not knocking a thing or two off. CLEARING... with a very fast SWEEPING motion of his entire arm. INTENTIONALLY.

Never. Never, have I been so horrified. My kids have pulled a lot of stunts. But, this... this was humiliating. If you know me, you know I am NOT a sales person. It had taken every ounce of gumption I could dig up to pull out that catalog. To have Luke pull the stunt that he did at the time that he did it was... crushing.

After pinning the kids to the floor, I helped put items back on the shelf and apologized profusely for the things that were BROKEN and SPILLED all over the place. Then I got the h*ll out of there.

I cried all the way home. I cried again when I called the office to apologize a second time and to offer to pay for what was damaged. I cried again when Dan came home for lunch and asked me if something was wrong.

Needless to say, I'm not exactly expecting any Uppercase Living orders to come from the vet's office. And, from this day forward, Dan will be taking the animals to the vet for any necessary doctoring.

If you can believe it, just this morning we had to take the cat in to be looked at. As I was dropping Dan and the cat off, Luke had the cojones to ask if he could go too. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

A Bittersweet Vacation

Bitter for me. Sweet for him.

Now that he's back, I feel safe enough to blog about Dan's recent vacation. (Didn't want the whole world to know when I was without him for 6 days and 5 nights. Then, again, with 4 attack kids, who'd want to attempt something at our house???)

Last week Dan flew to Utah and then drove with his brothers and a few other other family members to Jackson Hole. I got to stay home with the kids.

Dan was able to enjoy a nice peaceful bike ride.
I shoved my kids into a cart for a chaotic ride at Target.

Dan saw a moose.
I saw poop big enough for a moose. (For some reason my kids like to let it build up.)

Dan enjoyed a lovely dinner at a fancy restaurant.
I fixed the kids macaroni and hot dog surprise with a side of applesauce (which Sam chose to fling at me throughout dinner).

Dan enjoyed sipping expensive bourbon during cocktail hour.
I drank for therapy.*

Dan received birthday cards from his family.
I received notes from Jack's teacher about his language (see previous "freakin" post).

Now, I realize I sound slightly bitter. And, I was quite snarky to Dan about the whole thing before he left. But, truthfully, I guess Dan deserved to go on the trip. He doesn't get to see his brothers much and the last time we were able to go on any type of vacation was... well... never. He really had a great time and was able to enjoy some neat things. He saw the moose I mentioned above. He also saw a bear. He was surrounded by beautiful country. He enjoyed some quality brother time.

However, he did miss out on kissing the kids every night. And he missed the kindergarten barbecue at school. And Jack's first perfectly recited "Bless Us O Lord" last night at dinner. He also missed - and this is big - Jack and Maria's relatively excellent behavior in mass Sunday morning. Oh, and he missed out on the Pirate Olympics with 12 little mateys (or is it maties?) at Riley's birthday party. He missed the kids' first viewing of Bambi and the lecture following about the terrible evils of hunting. (Just kidding about the lecture - while I was bawling about Bambi's mom dying the kids didn't even seem to notice). Although recorded here, he missed Luke's first black eye (delivered unintentionally during some roughhousing with his older brother). He also missed Sam dropping the babywash into the toilet and then closing the lid so that it wasn't discovered until Maria needed to pee.

Bitter for me and sweet for him? Maybe not...


*Just kidding... no need to go calling DFS or anything.

What Was I Thinking?

My wonderful sister, Caroline - former elementary school teacher and parent of two - recently told me about a really cool art project for the kids.

Here's what you do: you take a salad spinner and put a piece of paper or cardstock in the bottom. You drop small globs of paint onto the paper. Then you put the lid on the spinner and spin! The kids love the action of it and you get really cool spin art - kind of like the what we did at fairs and carnivals as kids... remember? And, with the salad spinner, it's all fully enclosed, so no mess!

I couldn't wait to try it.

Like some kind of fool (it was 4 p.m.), I loaded up all the kids for a trip to Wal-Mart. Maria had been asking for Sprite, so I explained to all of my children that if everyone was good in the store, i.e. no fighting, whining, spitting, hair-pulling, screaming, poking, standing in the cart, opening packages or knocking things from shelves or displays then we could by some Sprite to enjoy at home.

I think we were in the store for... oh, maybe TWO MINUTES before Luke started pulling on Sam's arm, Sam started screaming and Maria started some type of poking torture on Luke. Something must have gotten into Jack, because he was about perfect. I put it into high gear, grabbed some paint, grabbed a salad spinner, zoomed over to get some milk and Diet D.P. (NO SPRITE) and got the h*ll out of there. (Jack did get a treat as he was so well-behaved. Then the little stinker shared with Maria and Luke. Why this time?!)

When we arrived home the children crowded around me as I opened the salad spinner and pulled the paints out. Just in case, we took it all outside to the picnic table. Things went pretty well... at first. Jack and Maria were very interested in the project and loved squirting the paint and working the spinner. (I don't think I bought the best paint... It was gel-like and didn't spin out very well. Cool, but not that cool. We'll have to try some other paint.) Anyway, we did a few cards and set our creations aside to dry. I thought maybe we'd use them as birthday cards for Dan.

Jack, Maria and Luke decided they wanted to finger paint, so I gave them some squirts of paint and the leftover cards. I put some paint on Sam's hand and tried to do a hand print card. Not much luck with that one. He ended up with more paint on himself than the card and the hand print just looked like a blob. Completely unrecognizable. You'd think the wife of a cop would be better at printing someone.

Jack tired of painting, went inside to wash his hands and then headed out to his favorite spot under the pine trees. Maria and Luke continued to paint and I took Sam in for a cleaning.

I went back outside and find Maria and Luke with paint all over themselves, the picnic table, the cards I gave them and the cards that were left to dry. When they saw me they took off running around the yard, laughing like hyenas.

So, I ask once again: What WAS I thinking?!? Mess-free? With my kids??? There is no such thing.

Ironing

One of my good friends here has three boys, ages 5, 2 and 2+ mos. THEY ARE SO WELL-BEHAVED! I don't know how she does it, but those boys are sweet and cute and always neatly dressed and they behave - even in mass. Every mass. While she's sitting with her sweet family, I'm three or four pews behind struggling to keep Jack and Maria quiet and still. The Little Boys aren't even with us - we stick them in the nursery.

Dan and I conjole, threaten, bribe and make mean faces all throughout mass. Sometimes it works, most of the time it doesn't. (Although, I do have to say Jack, especially, is improving. I think attending mass once a week at school is seriously helping.)

Anyhow, back to my friend. (I won't use her name, because I don't know that she wants to be a famous character in my blog.) I recently found out that this friend somehow finds time to iron. Do what?!? What is this ironing and why do people do it?

I looked it up:

Main Entry: ³ iron

Function: verb

Date: 15th century

transitive verb

1: to furnish or cover with iron
2: to shackle with irons
3 a: to smooth with or as if with a heated iron <iron a shirt> b: to remove (as wrinkles) by ironing

intransitive verb
: to smooth or press cloth or clothing with a heated iron

Okaaaay. When we buy clothes, we buy the wrinkle-free stuff. If something does happen to come out of the dryer somewhat wrinkly, I just kind of stretch and smooth and pull on it and hope it doesn't look too bad once it's being worn. Sometimes I'll even spritz it with a little water to help things along. (I know... poor, poor Dan.)

But, since finding out about my friend's habit, I started thinking... Maybe this ironing thing is why my friend and her boys (husband included) always look so nice. And act so nice. Could this possibly be her secret? Do you think if I start ironing it would not only straighten out my clothes, but my kids, too?

Maybe it's worth trying....

Nah.

Thirsty

That's one way to get a drink.

How he managed to pull himself up like that, I'll never know.

Guess I better go get some cups washed...

Sleeping In

Surely you've hear of "sleeping in."

Jack has not.

It's been a long week and I finished it off last night with a great Uppercase Living party at my neighbor's house. After getting home and setting my (awesome) babysitter free, I got my things put away and checked on the kids. I was actually feeling a little sad that I didn't get to put them to bed. (Almost never do we use a sitter in the evenings).

I dragged myself to bed sometime around midnight thinking that since the next morning was Saturday, I would at least be able to sleep until 7 a.m.

Lucky I am not.

At 5:43 a.m. Jack delivered himself to the foot of my bed. (It's making me tired just reliving it for you in this blog.) I told him it was too early to be up and to climb in bed with me and go back to sleep. I think he actually may have dozed a little before declaring at 6:30 that it was daytime. "No, it's not," I told him. "Well, then, I'm going back to my bed," he said. Great! I told him not to get back up until the clock read 7.

Rather than returning to bed, he chose to play trains, which may not seem too bad. Except that his room is right above my room. And the train table is directly above my bed. And, in typical boy fashion, he likes to bang and crash. I mean, what's the fun in having a train running smoothly on a well built track? It's much more life-like to have lots of train wrecks with cars being derailed and engines falling off bridges, while some Jack-made disaster tears up the track.

He did stay in his room until 7, at which point he ran into Maria's room to wake her up. It's more exciting to crash your trains with an audience, after all.