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.