Caution!

"For Christmas, I want a sword.  A nerf sword. They have these two-handed swords at Target," The Boy told me and anyone who would listen.

Later I asked Jeremy, "So, uh, when do boys outgrow things like nerf swords."
"Oh, we never outgrow swords," he told me. "But we do outgrow nerf. You know, like my machete."  Oh yes, the machete he had when he was fourteen.  Um, I think I'll just be grateful Josh is still in the Nerf stage of sword collecting.

Christmas morning came, and much to his delight, he opened his most coveted gift:


The reaction was more than we could have hoped for, until he noticed the text written on the sword and started to read to us, out loud,"Caution: do not poke or jab at people or animals. Use away from breakable objects," he paused. "Really? It's a sword. A SWORD PEOPLE! What else are you gonna do with a sword?"

Last night, the sword in question just happened to be in the car. We were giving Julia, a ninth grader from a near-by school district, a ride home from a youth event. She was sitting in the third seat when Joshua handed back to her his Christmas present. "Now read the warning," he commanded.  Julia started laughing.  "It's a SWORD! What else are you gonna do with a sword? Oh I know, I'm gonna pet Joshua with the sword. Here Joshua. Pet Josh with the sword. Nice Joshua," she crooned, as she reached around Josh's seat to pat him on the head with the sword.

"Hmm. I dunno," Josh said, "Seems an awful lot like 'poking or jabbing at a person' to me." He made quote marks with his fingers.
"No this is poking," she said, jabbing him in the arm.
"True. True." Josh said.
"I mean, what fun is a sword if you can't jab at people?" Julia asked, incredulously.
"My point, exactly." He sighed.

Here's your sign.

Santa's been busy in this house...

And if you weren't really sure what he looks like...it turns out he's a she, and she's only about four feet tall.

Hannah has been busily making gifts. I have no idea when or where she's secretly crafting, but every day she shows up with another little something to stick under the tree.  Yesterday, she held something that looked like trash in her hand, "It's a present," she told me.  With Hannah, the jokester, I wasn't too sure if she was serious or not.
"Ooo-kaaaaaay," I said cautiously, and took the wad of toilet paper from her hands. I felt something solid inside of the TP and looked at Hannah questioningly.
"I don't have wrapping paper," she explained, "So I used toilet paper."
Ahhh. "Ok, put it under the tree."  I, then, announced to the whole family that the wad under the tree was indeed a present and nobody, but NOBODY, should throw it away.  The last thing I need Christmas morning is tears.

This morning Hannah showed up with last nights Chinese food carton in her hands.  "It's a present for Ruth," she announced.  I took a deep breath, and decided I had to look in this one.  A) I wasn't sure if she managed to get all of the food out of the carton and B) the way Ruth has been treating her lately, I wanted to be sure it really was a present, and not pay-backs.  Tentatively, I opened the top of the carton and peered inside.  No rice, no sweet and sour chicken, that was a good start!  At the bottom was a bunch of beads, obviously strung. Whether it is a necklace or a bracelet only time will tell, but I let out the pent up breath in a sigh of relief.   "Put it under the tree," I told her.

I can't fault the child's creativity when it comes to wrapping gifts. It should be interesting to see what she comes up with over the next few days.

If she can't get a date, it's not my fault.

Like any mother, I've been working on manners. My biggest impetus is not the children, necessarily. Oh no. It's Jeremy. He doesn't understand the need for good manners when it comes to body functions operating normally causing loud noises to occur in public venues. Because he thinks it's hilarious, he never corrects the children.
"You can't do that," I told him once.
"What?" he said, laughing.
"That. You cannot laugh when they pass gas or burp. They need to say 'excuse me.' It's your job to remind them to excuse themselves, too, you know. When it's just me correcting them, they never learn." For years, I've been working on him but to no avail.

Last night, we were having dinner, when we heard a delicate "put put put put put put put" noise. Jeremy, bless him, did try. Holding back the laughter that wanted to come out, he said, "Hannah Noel what do you say?"
Hannah looked at her father's strained expression, and knowing he was on the edge said, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Jeremy howled, laughing so hard, his eyes started to water. "I tried," he said shaking his head back and forth. "I really really tried."

Who needs Satellite TV when you have a ..

For years we didn't even have any kind of television. Oh sure, we owned a set, and a VCR, which gave way to a DVD player, so we could watch movies, but we just couldn't afford TV. Plus, we couldn't get any kind of reception on an antennae where we live.  So we did without.  About three years ago I begged and pleaded with Jeremy to let me have TV.

"I neeeeeeeeeeed real television," I said.
"I'm tired of watching the same movies," I said.
"I work better with the TV on," I said.
"Besides we can watch the Food Network," I said.

It was probably the last thing that got his attention.  We watch A LOT of Food Network programs.

I contend I'm a happier, more productive, not to mention, more sane person with real television.  But apparently, my family is more easily entertained than I am.  Apparently, there was never a need to upgrade from DVD's to actual commercial laden programming.

We are now the proud parents of a, gasp, teenager, as of yesterday evening, 6:55pm to be exact.  Having his birthday in the middle of the week, we decided to throw him a party on Saturday. When he was smaller, Joshua never quite understood why he couldn't have the world over to our house midweek to celebrate the momentous occasion of his birth. He felt he had to "fight for the right to paaaaaaaaarty" any time December 9th hit the weekly schedule. Monday? No problem. Thursday, No problem.  Saturday, no problem.  Explaining the logistics has been a complicated and lengthy ordeal in years past, so we've learned to have a very small cake and a very small $15 or under gift for him on THE DAY and reserve the main gift for the family party.  Now that he's thirteen, I'm pretty certain he 'gets' the why we push off his party until the closest weekend. I'm also pretty certain that he now 'milks' the tradition of two cakes, two presents for all it's worth.  Frankly, I don't mind eating all that birthday cake. It's always been a small sacrifice for household peace.

So, Tuesday evening, Jeremy called me from Wal-mart looking for a 'small' gift.  "How 'bout a lava lamp?" He asked me.
"I think he'd like that."
I was wrong. He LOVED it.   I got the minute by minute "Lava Lamp Report" last night.  After an hour, I wanted to scream.
"It's still not warmed up yet."
"Oh wait, I think i see something. Nope. I was wrong."
"Maybe it's upside down. Do you think the wax is upside down?"
"What's this coil there? I bet that heats up and then melts the wax."
"It's still not bubbling yet. When will it do that?'
"Oh, I see a lump? See that lump? It's starting to melt"

Since it was the first lava lamp usage, it took almost two hours to really warm up. Joshua had plugged the lamp on the floor in the living room, and was attempting to do his homework. But the distraction proved too great, so Jeremy and I sent him up to his room.  That only made matters worse, because his sisters felt obliged to give the "Lava Lamp Report" at the top of their lungs, from the bottom of the steps.

"Josh! JOSH! IT'S MAKING A MOUND!"
"JOSH! JOSH! THE MOUND LOOKS LIKE A FINGER! ACTUALLY, IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S GIVING THE FINGER!"
"JOSH! JOSH! OOOH OOH! THE FIRST BUBBLE PULLED AWAY FROM THE FINGER!"

Running up and down the stairs with each new "Lava Lamp Report," Joshua came to check out the news himself.  It took him approximately two hours to do ten math problems, thanks to the Lava Lamp.  Eventually, the lamp got on a roll, and Jeremy joined in the "Lava Lamp Report." Laying on his belly in front of the lava lamp, he called to Joshua, "JOSH! COM'MERE!"  The girls shrieked "OOH! Is it working?! Is it working?!" And they proceeded to lay on their bellies with him.  Flopping down on his belly, Joshua joined the trio.




I've spent way too much money in the last three years on television.

She's such a strange child..

Sitting at the table, a lunch of fried chicken sitting in front of her, she paused mid-bite, picked up a post-it note from the table and put it dead center on her chest, and continued to eat.  Jeremy and Joshua had been playing 3D tic-tac-toe on the post-it pad, and the crosses on the yellow sheet looked even more out of place amongst the 101 Dalmatians cavorting all over the turtle neck she wore.  Singing to herself while she ate, Hannah was a picture of pure contentment, her imaginary world more than enough to keep her happy.

Meanwhile, Ruthie, opening the cabinet doors, made a disappointing discovery. "OH NOOOO!" She wailed. 'The syrup spilled EVERYWHERE!"  During the clean-up, Jeremy and Ruth discovered some left over Hershey's miniatures that had escaped the bag a few days ago.  He noticed Hannah had finished lunch, and said, "Hey Hannah, wanna Krackle?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah," Hannah said

Jeremy unwrapped the candy bar so Hannah couldn't read the wrapper.  She took a bite and started to MMMmm, when suddenly her expression turned into one of disgust.  Her father started howling with laughter.
"This isn't a Krackle!" she said, indignant. "This is that peanut one...Mr..."
"Bad Bar!" Jeremy finished. No one in this house likes the Mr. Goodbars, except for me.  Hannah started making gagging noises and rushed for the trashcan.
"I guess that makes us even for 1-2-3 Nipples!"
"What's 1-2-3 Nipples?" I was afraid to ask, but curiosity overcame trepidation.
"The other week, Hannah kept trying to grab at my nipples. And I told her to knock it off. So she said," Jeremy switched his voice to a higher pitch in imitation, " 'Can I count your chest hairs then?' So I told her Ok."  (I should probably mention, that my husband is about as hairless as a guy can get.  You really can count his chest hairs with ease). Jeremy continued as my eyes grew wider, "So, she started to count...1-2-3 and then grabbed and yelled "NIPPLES!" " He shuddered, as we all started laughing really hard.

Our laughter quickly became out of proportion to the story.  Josh, Ruth, Hannah, Jeremy and I were wiping tears out of our eyes, and gasping for breath when Hannah piped up at the end, "Well," she paused for dramatic impact. "We all just had a great chuckle there. Didn't we?"

That set off another peal of laughter from all of us, except Hannah who stood there bewildered for once, because normally she's very deliberate with her humor.

"Chuckle?" Joshua said shaking his head as he walked into the other room talking to himself "Who says chuckle?"

"On December first, I get a goat!"

He told me enthusiastically.  For weeks I've been hearing, "On December first..." this and "On December first..." that.  December first was going to be heralded as a day to end all days in our house.  Why? Well, isn't it obvious? Lord of the Rings Online was issuing it's upgrade.

"On December first, they're adding five more levels."
"On December first..."
"On December first..."
"On December first..."

I began to tune him out.  Don't get me wrong. I love my geeks to the fullest extent possible, but after nearly fifteen years of living w/ the eldest geek and surviving another thirteen with the younger, I've learned to tune the two of them out.  Or ban the activity in my presence.  That was an absolute necessity when they obsessed over Naruto together...the japanese version with the high awful female squeaky whiny voices. I didn't have to understand Japanese to know they were annoying. According to the guys, "the dubbed "American" version was just no good".

So now that my interest was piqued, I asked, "A goat?"
"Yeah. A goat. It can go into the Mines of Moria. I can't take a horse there, but I can ride a goat."

Ok then. So glad I asked. At least, he's not bringing home a real goat or something goat related. I never know with that one.

Thank goodness for small mercies.

In which Hannah gets a biology lesson and I learn new words

"What does neuter mean?" Hannah asked at dinner tonight.
"It means the vet would cut off Oswald's man parts," Jeremy said.
"Well, not aaaaalll of the man parts," I interjected.  "He'd keep his wiener so he could pee." Ironically, Ruthie stabbed her hot dog. "Yeah, they'd just cut off his dangly bits."
"What are dangly bits?" Hannah asked.
Ruth leaned across the table, as if this would make Hannah understand better, "You know his DANGLY BITS"
"What are dangly bits?"
"You know, when you pick up Oswald and hold his back legs so he won't kick you and his man-parts dangle from beneath his fur? His dangly bits" Ruth said again.
Jeremy choked on his food. Joshua turned about eight shades of red trying to hold in laughter.  And I sat there mid-chew, probably gawking, wondering where on earth Ruthie learned this charming terminology.

The icing on the cake

I am really beginning to believe that the start of a day is a good indicator for how the rest of the next twenty-some odd hours will go. At least until the point of passing out between the sheets, there is a lot of time to fill.  Either the day will go your way or against you.  I suppose, when one has a bad morning, one can choose to fight the bad-day karma and turn the day around, or one can just go with the flow, and hope to endure until bedtime.  I tend to go for the survival approach, having found that battle is futile.  Fate will have it's way with me, whether I join in or not. Yesterday began with what Ruth and I call "The French Horn Relay," rounded out with the "Wall-paper Disaster" at the studio, and finished with panache at the Verizon store when I went to finally get Joshua's phone 'fixed.'

It became clear to Jeremy and I that The Boy needed his own phone. He kept having to borrow his friends' phones to call us so we'd know when soccer practice was cut short, or cancelled, or whatever.  Since he's not the most reliable kid when it comes to keeping track of things, we decided to start with a pre-paid plan, see how it goes, before signing-up for a money-sucking contract.  This way, we reasoned, we could use an old phone we owned from a year or two ago, and just activate it w/ a pre-paid plan.  And it sounded good on paper. Until we went through with it, and discovered the mic on the phone was busted. Joshua could hear us. We could not hear him.

Driving to the mall last week, I took his phone back to the Verizon store, and asked if I could buy a new phone.  Long story short, I couldn't, not without signing over my first-born child (gladly!) and maybe cutting off my right leg as well. Apparently, the prices listed on the phones in the store are only for money-sucking contracts, not pre-paid.  Sensing my distress the tech figured out a way to get me a replacement for $50. Basically, it is the same phone, but because the old was was out of warranty, way out of warranty, I had to pay the money for it's identical replacement.  I was told by the twelve-year old tech, "The new phone will arrive on Tuesday at your house, just bring in the whole fed-ex box, and we'll get it all set up for you."

The phone arrived, and I couldn't get to the Verizon store that day. I decided to go on Wednesday. Yesterday. The day that knew no end.  I should have known better. I really should have.  I already had two adventures that day and usually that's a good indicator to just quit trying to accomplish anything, go home, sit on the couch, and push the buttons on the remote.  But no, Josh needed his phone, and I wanted to get it done.  We left the house at three-thirty in the afternoon, and returned home around six.  I spent most of that time at the Verizon store.

Ramon was a very nice tech. In fact, I felt as if we were old friends by the end of the ordeal. He transferred the information, instructed me how and where to drop off the old phone into the fed-ex box, and even boxed and labeled it for me!  But when Ramon went to activate the new phone, he hit a snag.
"What is your pass code for this account?" Ramon asked me.
"I don't have one.  No one set a code up for this account."
Ramon sighed the sigh of the weary tech who knows some salesman did not do their job right. "I can see that," he said looking up the account on the computer. "It shows you've never had a pass code set up. I cannot do that now that the old phone is activated. We'll have to call customer service. You'll need to talk to them."  Ramon dialed customer service, and handed the receiver to me across the desk.  By this point, the kids were dancing on their butts, itching to get off of the bench I commanded they sit on.

"HELLO!!!!!!!" said the customer service rep, "I'm here to help you.  I want to make your experience with Verizon a more enjoyable one." She was obviously reading a script.  I was questioning her literacy.
"Well, I'm standing here at the Verizon store. And the tech can't activate my pre-paid phone with out a pass code. I need you to set up one for me."
"O.K. Lets see what I can do for you. What is your name?"
"Melanie M_______"
"M_________?!?!?!? MY NAME IS ROBYN M___________!!!! Well HOW ABOUT THAT?" She exclaimed loudly in my ear with glee.
"Um yeah, wonderful. My pass code?" Ramon gave me a funny look. I'm pretty sure my facial expression was speaking volumes.
"Ok. Now I need you to spell your name. You understand, I have to ask that."
"Ok. M-e-l-a-n-i-e, M-"
"Oh now I know how to spell THAT name. ha ha ha.  But I still have to have you spell it out to me."
Super. "M-_-_-_-_-_-_"
"And your address. Again, I'm supposed to ask you to spell it."
I gave her all my contact information, enduring the little side-remarks, I'm sure she thought were friendly, but I found just plain creepy.
"Now, do you have the phone with you?"
"No, it's behind the desk. I'm at the Verizon store. I just need a pass code."
"Oh. Ok.  So, is this a new phone?"
"It's a replacement.  The other phone was broken, so they replaced it since they couldn't fix it."
"Do you have it with you?"
"No. It's behind the desk with the tech. Here. I'm giving you to the tech."

Frustrated, I handed the phone to Ramon who had been watching me curiously.  Two seconds into his conversation, I watched the light bulb in his mind go on. Now he knew why I was making those faces.  It wasn't so much that I couldn't get through to Robyn, but her hyper-over-chipper attitude combined with her insistence to get through her script was just, well, words cannot describe. Truly I'm failing to capture the experience.
"If she sets up a pass code," I overheard Ramon saying, "I can activate the phone. We just need a pass code." Obviously, part of the script, I could tell Robyn was asking Ramon for numbers on the phone. He obliged, pulling of the back of the new phone to read off the serial code.  Then he read off another code on the documentation that came with the phone.  "You need the code off the old phone?" He asked Robyn, incredulously.  We exchanged a look, he had boxed and wrapped up the old phone to be shipped to fed-ex.  "Look," Ramon said, pushing the button to put Robyn on speaker phone, "We just need the pass code. I can set up the phone myself if I have the pass code."

"Oh, Ok," Robyn said, "Put Melanie back on."
I leaned over the counter and said, "I'm right here. You're on speaker."
"Oh. OhhhKaaaaaaaay.  Spell your name for me again, Melanie."
I pretended to beat my head on the counter. Ramon shook his head. We were both smiling because this gal was a piece of work. She was amusingly frustrating.  I fed Robyn all my contact information again.
"THAT"S FABULOUS, MELANIE! YOU GET AN A PLUS!"
Ramon lost it. Doubling over and holding his stomach, he laughed and laughed and laughed, trying hard to not let his laughter ring over to the speaker phone. Robyn, oblivious, kept talking to herself, "I asked if she had the phone. I got her name and address..." Meanwhile Ramon whispered, "That's the first time I've ever heard that. Like you were graded or something." He cracked up once more.  I was busy trying to hold in my own peals of laughter.  This call was just getting better and better!
"Oh ok.  So, let's set up a pass code."
Yes! Finally!
"So first, we need a security question, in case you forget your pass code. We will ask you this question any time you forget your pass code. Your choices are: ..."
She read off a series of choices. I gave her the one I thought I'd remember the answer to, then gave her the answer, spelled it, even.
"Oh, ok. Um, Give me four numbers that will be associated with your account."  Robyn read like a second grader.  I gave her four numbers.

As soon as she had her four numbers, Ramon punched in a bunch of stuff and had the phone activated, and ran a test call.  Robyn was a freight train unwilling to be derailed.
"So now, do you have the phone with you?"
"I already activated the phone," Ramon interjected.
"Oh ok. Do you have the phone with you?"
"It's activated. I only needed the pass code."
"Oh ok. You have it activated?"
"Yes. I only needed the pass code."
Ramon looked expectantly at me, ready to hand me the phone and be done with this business. Robyn decided she needed to stay on script.

"Oh ok. Um, Now this is the part of the call where I have to put your plan into the price plan comparison generator.  I must do this, you understand, with every caller to see if you are getting the best plan for your money based on your usage. Um, It looks like you have a balance of $98.71"
"Yes," I said, "because we couldn't use the phone. It was broken." I spoke slowly, just in case.
"So, you have a balance of $98.71. I have to do this, you know, with every caller. And um, it looks like at this point you have only used the phone twice."
"Yes, because we couldn't use the phone. It was broken. That's why we were activating the replacement today." I said, my patience growing thin.
"So you have a balance of $98.71. And you've used the phone twice. Ah ha! Yes, right now you have the best plan for your usage!" Robyn sounded so pleased with herself. I didn't have the heart at all to be snide. I wanted to, many times throughout the call. But something about her, maybe it was how new to the job she sounded, maybe it was her enthusiasm, I just couldn't find my sarcasm anywhere.  "Ok then," I said.
"So, uh, we set up a pass code, I asked you to spell your name, and we have a security question, and I did the price plan comparison with your balance of $98.71. You do know you have a balance of $98.71?"
"Yes. I do know that," I said.
"Oh ok. Well, is there anything else I can do for you?" Ramon was making the "Please say no, please say no" face at me.
"Nope, that's it. I just needed a pass code. And you set that up."
"WELL ISN'T THAT WONDERFUL?! I'M SO GLAD I COULD HELP YOU HERE ON BEHALF OF VERIZON. I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY AND ENJOY THAT NEW PHONE!!!"
"Yup, Sure will. Good bye!" I said.

 Ramon quickly hung up the phone before my new BFF Robyn could say anything else. He hung his head and shook it, laughed and looked at me, "I have never heard anything like that before ever in all the time I've been working here."
"I've never quite had a customer service rep like Robyn either, " I said.
Handing me the replacement cell phone, Ramon wished me a good evening, apologized for taking so long. I told him it was ok, these things seem to happen to me all the time. Then I added, "Thanks so much for your help, Ramon. You get an A plus!"

The kids and I walked out of the store, Ramon's chuckles echoing behind us.

And I had such high hopes for today.

"I'm leaving," Jeremy said. He still looked like death warmed over, but insisted on going to work today anyway.  I suppose after taking two sick days, he was fretting over the 'in box'  on his virtual desk accumulating to-do tasks.
"Is Ruthie ready to go too? She has band today," I asked him from behind the shower curtain. "Oh CRAP! Is it 7:30 already?!???"  I did a quick mental calculation and discovered I had to take a very very fast shower.
"Yeah," He said. "I've gotta go and take The Boy to school, then to work."
"Oh, ok. Well, if she's not ready to go, and you can't take her, can you tell me? I'll have to move a little faster."
A few moments later, Ruth came running into the only bathroom in the house. "I'm not ready. Daddy says he's leaving."
"Ok," I said. "You've got about ten minutes, max, to get your butt in gear and be ready to walk out that door.
"Oh," she said, "And by the way, it's picture day."
"Crap! Ok. Plug in the curling iron. Let's see if we can fussy-up your hair a bit. Now get out, so I can get out of the shower and start getting dressed."

I quickly dried off, lotioned up, and slapped on my painting/work clothes.  While pulling on my pants, I hollered to Ruth to come upstairs and start curling her hair the way I've been teaching her.  I figured I could at least get her started and then finish it once I was clad completely.  The Little Sister green-eyed monster showed up, and Hannah began demanding to do her hair. "You're not going to band, I am," said Ruth in her best mommy voice.  Crammed into our little closet of a bathroom and hopping around on one foot trying to get my other pant leg on, I played referee and broke up the fight before it began.  My blood pressure was sky-rocketing.

We rushed down the stairs, throwing on jackets and shoes, picking up back packs and lunches.  I grabbed the picture day envelope off of the bulletin board hanging on the fridge. "HEY! That's MY envelope," Hannah whined.
"They're both the SAME," I ground out through my teeth.  Miss I-have-to-be-COA whimpered again. Giving her the glare-of-death, I turned back to the envelope, circled my choices, wrote the check, and handed it all over to Ruth.
"Don't lose this."
"I won't."
"You'd better not."  Ruthie has been losing a lot of things lately. I think I might be losing my mind.

I grabbed Ruth's french horn, which must weigh a ton and a half, and opened the front door.

No van.

Ohhhhh yeaaaaaah! The van was in the shop yesterday. Dad's taking me to pick it up this morning.

Turning around, I looked at Ruth as I shut the front door and said, "Um, no van."
"We have to walk?" She said, frowning.
"Yeah."
"Up that hill?"
"Yeah."
"Oooohhh!"
"Yeah."

I live in a town with the word "Mount" in its name.  "The Hill" as the children refer to it, is not a trivial matter, not when having to haul a french horn, a snare drum, or a double stroller, for that matter. I've been asked before how I manage to keep in shape. It's simple. I probably run up "The Hill" at a minimum of twice a week.  More, depending on who forgot what on which day of school.  The kids walk a short but steep incline from the house to twenty-fifth street.  From there, it's pretty much straight and level for two blocks until they get to "The Hill."  To get to their elementary school, it's another two, maybe three blocks straight up. Normally the walk takes from seven to ten minutes, depending on your speed, and how many children you're herding along. When Joshua was in first grade, Ruth in pre-school, and Hannah a toddler, it would easily take me fifteen to twenty, unless I pushed the girls in a double-stroller.

At this point, Ruthie was late, very late, for band. It wasn't a matter of walking up "The Hill" with her horn in its case.  It was a matter of running up "The Hill."  Neither Ruthie nor I were looking forward to the run.  "I'll carry the horn, baby," I told her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yeah, we're gonna have to move very quickly. And you won't be able to haul it." Ruth, who is very sensitive and sweet, often thinks of others before herself, little sister not withstanding. She did not like that I was having to carry it the whole way and her expression radiated her distress. "Hey," I added, trying to re-assure her, "I'll think of it as my morning exercise. I haven't been to gym in ages. This will be weights and cardio."  I smiled. She smiled back. "Besides, I'll probably have you carry it for a little at some point. Between the two of us, we should be able to get it up there."

We tore out of the house at mach speed, well, as fast as our little legs would take us. And if anyone who has ever walked with me can attest, it's pretty fast.  We plowed up the small incline, power-walked the straight-away, and began hauling our butts up "The Hill." Half-way up, Ruth complained about her hair getting messed up.  "Worry about getting there on time," I said between panted breaths.
"Whew," Ruthie said, "This is hard. (pant) How are you carrying that thing?(gasp)"
"I don't know. (huff) I think its weight just increased by another half a ton. (puff)  I'm handing it off to you now. (gasp) As I can't feel my arms now. (wheeze)"
"O(haaah) K. Ugh."
"I think (pant) this hill (gasp) is growing"
"I (huff puff) know."
"And the horn (wheeze) just added (fooof) two hundred (gasp) more pounds."
Ten feet more, and Ruth began dragging the horn case along the sidewalk. "Here, give it back to me." I said, taking it once more.  We passed it back and forth a couple more times until we got towards the crosswalk, the building in view. Crossing the street, we noticed another girl getting out of her mother's car.  Whew! Another late band member. Ruth wasn't the only one.

Continuing the last twenty feet towards the front doors, we noticed Ruth's fellow band mate turn away from the doors. She walked to the railing and yelled, "RUTHIE! BAND IS CANCELLED!"
"WHAT?!?"
"BAND IS CANCELLED!"
"CANCELLED?"
"YEAH, CUZ OF PICTURE DAY."

We stood by the cafeteria door, momentarily dumbfounded. I looked at Ruthie. She looked at me.  I said, "Well, we're leaving the horn here at school anyway. No way I'm carrying that thing back. Not when you have your band lesson tomorrow."  Strolling, now, into the front doors, I walked into the office and announced I was leaving the horn.  They directed me to the band room where I could deposit it.  We wandered back to the house, to wait until it was the official time for school to start. And as we walked, I thought, if this is how my day is beginning, I wonder what else would happen.

Little did I know.  But that's another story.

"Ruth is in the howww-owwwsse!"

"Ruth is in the house! I am in the house! YEAH! I am in the house!" She sang at the top of her lungs and danced around to the music.
"Um Ruthie, I think it's Groove is in the Heart," I said.
"Oh," Ruth said. She stopped dancing and looked thoughtful for a minute. "I was wondering why they were singing about me."

Oswald's Great Escape

Let me see here. If I sniff at the door enough...yes. And If I put my front paws on the door. No? No...darn, they're not getting the hint.  Maybe some circles? Circling the cage, pacing...think caged tiger. Caged tiger.  Nope, not working. HEY! Hey guys! Man, this sucks. Why can't we bunnies have a roar, or a growl, or even a loud whine of some kind.  But no, all we can do is thump. Thump! Yeah, that's it.  I'll thump.  Sigh. The humans are ignoring that too.  I know. I know exactly what will tick the very large human off. I'll toss my food dish. That's it, carefully, carefully, grab the dish with my pointy teeth...there we go. I got it! I got it! Now flick it behind me. And dance on it a bit. Push it around with my nose.  Oh! Oh! That got the little human's attention. I don't really like the little one. She's too loud, and she tries to use me as a pillow all the time. But maybe, just maybe she has her uses.

Wait, she saying something...what is she saying? Sounds like Oswald...oh oh oh! That's me! That's me! I'm Oswald! Hey guys! That's me! I'll twitch my nose faster and put the paws up on the door again so she knows I'm paying attention. Oh! OH! She's pointing at me! This could be good.  This could be very good. Oh yeah! I heard the word "out" as in "out of this cage."

YESSSSSSS! One of the medium sized humans is opening the cage door. I like this one. He wears the fuzzy pants all the time. I like chasing the fuzzy pants.  No! Don't pick me up! No! NO! NO!  Wiggle! Squirm! Dang, he flicked my nose.  I hate when he flicks my nose. Wait. He's carrying me. Where's he carrying me? Outside??? I LOVE OUTSIDE! Wiggle and squirm some more, maybe this time I can get away from his arms.  DOh! Another nose flick. Gah! I hate that!

You're lowering me too slow! Too Slow! I want to get down! LET ME DOWN! Whew. Grass. Yummy Yummy grass. I love grass. OH and clover! Lots of clover.  Hey look, my hidey hole is still there. Quick! Before the smaller human gets me!  Wait? Where's the fuzzy pants human going? Back inside? Ooh, today might be the day.  Today might be the day I get to discover the world outside this fence. Yeah baby!

Oh man, that other human is in my yarn now. She doesn't live in the house. She just comes to see the other female human. Here comes the bigger girl human. She's not so bad until her friend comes over. They giggle and shriek and make lots of loud noise.  I'm definitely hiding.

What's this? Those two humans are leaving? They're going out the gate? YESSS!  Today might be the day. Today I might break free from this yard.  Today I might see the world!  It's all a matter of hiding, and waiting, and looking like I'm happy laying here in the dirt hole I've been digging.


 And, look! It's only the smallest human left. She rarely pays attention to me out here. This might be it. This might be the day.  Where's she going? Inside? INSIDE? REALLY? Yes! Oh oh...DRAT! The bigger human is watching me at the door.  Crouch down, crouch down...flatten ears. I am a rock. Yes I am. I am invisible because I am a rock. Not a bunny.  You don't see a bunny. Look away from the rabbit. Look away from...yes...that's it. The big human is turning away from the door.  Dang it! She's back. The littlest human is back, sigh.  Not today.  WAIT! She's going back inside. It's now or never...RUN!!!!!!

YES! They forgot to shut the gate! YES! I'M FREE! I"M FREE! Oh no! MORE HUMANS! AND SMALLER THAN THE OTHER HUMAN! I didn't know they came in smaller sizes!!!! NOOOO!!! They're shrieking! And chasing me! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!! There's a bush, and a tree, and another bush.  Hide! HIDE!

Ackk! It's another human! He's huge!  RUN AWAY!  RUN AWAY!

Wait a minute. Wait just one minute. He's big, but he's slow. This is good. This is very very good. Muhahahahaha!

Can't catch me, you pathetic excuse for mankind.  Sure, go around that side of the tree, I'm going on this side. Haha. Can't reach me. Silly human.  I'm not coming out.  Sure, come on in. HA! I fooled ya.  Now you're full of pine needles. Oh, coming around again? Check this move out. I'll just lay here nice and still as if you can just reach down and get me. That's right, com'mon get a little closer...now the hands come down...as if.  You think I'm gonna let you grab me. HA! Through the legs...booyah! ha ha ha ha ha....oh. Uh oh. Another pair of shoes. I know those shoes. Gulp.  It's the other human.  It's her.  Dang.  What to do? What to do? I know.

Submissive pose. That's right, nice and flat. See? My ears are laid back? See? I'm a good bunny. I'm a goooooooood boy. I didn't mean to get out...it was those other humans. They left the gate unlocked. I couldn't help it. I'm just a dumb bunny. I don't know what's my yard and what isn't. See? I'm letting you pick me up. I'm so sorry. Just so sorry. See how good I'm being? What's this? No! No! Let me down! Let me down! You can't let those tiny humans near me! ACK! What's this? Punishment? This is torture? NOOOOOOO!!!

Does she want to pet the bunny? Who is my human kidding? This tiny human wants to maul the bunny. She just chased me all over kingdom come. She's worse than the small human living in my house. Don't let her maul me! Please! Don't!  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Gack! Ugh.  Well, ok. That wasn't too bad, I guess. Better when you're there to keep her from mushing my ears into my skull.

 Now where are you taking me? Inside? Inside? I have to go in? I get tortured by the tiny humans and now I have to go in? Drat!  No, no...don't lower me into the cage. Nope. Maybe if I put my back feet out...dang. She knows all my tricks. Sigh. There goes the cage door.  I'm just gonna flop here for now...review my plan...see where I made my mistakes...and revise.

Until next time.

It finally happened...

I forgot a child.  I am a bad bad mom.

This morning, Jeremy had to drive to Bethlehem to a customer, so he got up early, woke me up, and reminded me I had carpool duty.  "Ok," I said, "I can do that. No problem."  Ha!

Joshua's friend showed up early. Ruth was running around saying, "I don't know what to pack for lunch? I don't know what to pack for lunch?  What can I pack for lunch?"  Beginning to help her toss odds and ends into her lunch box, the other neighbor knocked on our back door.  Crap! Ruth has Chorus today! I did a mental head slap.  DUH!  "Ruthie, quick! Haley's at the door. You've gotta get to chorus!"
"I don't have a sandwich! I need a sandwich!"
"What do you mean you don't have a sandwich? What have you been doing all this time? Fine here, have another granola bar. There's your sandwich."  Now there's a healthy lunch. I shoved her out the door.
Good Mom score: -1

I turned to the boys, "Ok guys, pack 'er up. It's time to go."  We shuffled out the door, piled into the van, and took off.  A little more than half-way to the jr/sr High I said, "OMG! I FORGOT HANNAH! I left Hannah home ALL ALONE! CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP!"  She's only seven. And she's a small, immature seven. How could I have forgotten her? How?

 At seven, an event like this would have set Joshua off into an apoplectic fit of major proportions!  Even mild tempered Ruth, would have cried in distress when she discovered Mama left, and she wasn't with me.  I quickly calculated. Our home is close to the school, but not close enough to turn around and get her. At this point, if I turn around, Josh and Nate will be late.  I asked Joshua, "Does your sister know the phone rule?"
"I dunno. I guess so."

Our home phone has programmable ring tones, like a cell phone.  I programmed my number into the home phone with a specific song. If Josh is home alone, he knows not to answer the phone unless he hears my music.  I took a chance that Hannah had figured out the secret code by virtue of being astute. Dialing my cell phone, I called her.

"Hello M-------s!"
"Wow, Hannah. That was great. You really answered the phone the right way. Good job!"
"Yeah. I heard your music and I answered the phone.  I knew where the button was and everything."
"Yes, baby, you did. I'm sorry Hannah. I left you home all alone."
"I know. I'm ok. You took Josh to school. Will you be home soon?"
"Yeah.  I'm just dropping Josh and Nate off right now. I'll be home in five minutes or less."
"Ok."
"Bye Hannah."
"Bye."
There was a long pause while I waited to hear the phone hang up on her side.
"Um, Mama?"
"Yes, Hannah?"
"How do I hang up the phone?"

I wanted to beat my forehead against the dashboard. She was alone. I forgot her. She was alone, and I forgot her. O.k. so with traffic, it's only a ten minute ride round trip, but I forgot I had a third child. How do you forget a child? Apparently, when the brain is not quite awake, it's fairly easy.

Walking through the door of the house, I noticed Hannah hugging to her chest the hello-kitty dry erase board I use to list all important phone numbers. Five minutes to a seven year old is an eternity.  "I was trying to find your number to call you," she said. Oh, can the guilt get laid on any thicker?

Good mom score: -2,000,000

It's going to take awhile for me to get over this one.

And for her next trick...

We recently bought a new-to-us van. It's actually eight years old, but with good mileage. Hardly looks used at all.  The van supposedly has power-sliding-side doors.  I use the word supposedly, because they don't work quite right. It's been a bit of a disappointment, but hey, what can you expect from an eight year old van.  So, when the doors work properly, the kids get very excited.  When they don't they sigh, and just open the door manually.  It's become a big event in our family. Woo hoo! The power doors work! Break out the party hats and confetti!

Yesterday, I had to run to the store to get cooking oil.  Josh and Ruth elected to stay home, but Hannah, my shadow, wanted to come along.  We got to the store, and she pushed the power door button to get out.  Lo and behold! The door slid open.

"Yay!" She said. "It worked!"
"You must have the magic touch," I commented somewhat absently.

Pausing in front of the automatic doors at the grocery store, Hannah struck a pose and said, "Open Sesame!"  then giggled.  "See Mama, I am magic! Well, with doors anyway"

"So you are," I said as we walked down the grocery aisles.

Later, after we pulled into our parking spot in front of our house, she pushed the door button again and this time said, "Alakazam!"  The door slid open, and she pushed the button again to make the door slide closed.   I was already half way up the steps to the porch, when I heard my youngest say to her reflection in the van's window, "I AM THE GREAT HANINI!!!"

"I'm thinkin' Harry Hench-Cliff would be a very good name,"

Joshua said to Hannah.  He was being his usual indulgent self with his littlest sister. No matter how much we try and convince him she's not a baby anymore, or a toddler, he still coddles her.  Today she wanted to write a "scrip. And maybe we can write a commercial into our show." She said.

I'm sure, as a twelve year old boy, writing a "scrip" with his littlest sister wasn't high on his priority to-do list for this particular lazy summer day.  But there he was anyway, sitting on the floor writing away every thing Hannah was telling him.  The "baby," as he still sometimes calls her, can make him do just about anything.  Never mind she knows how to write well enough, and didn't really need him to be her secretary.

"No. I don't like Harry Hench-cliff," Hannah said in her I-am-old-and-wise tone of voice. "It's not a very snappy name. We need a snappy name. Like George. Or Mario."
"I think Harry Hench-Cliff is very snappy," Joshua said.
"Listen to me," she said, "I know snappy and Harry Hench-cliff is not snappy.  Now George. That's a snappy name."  True to her seven-year-old self, she learned a new word and decided to add it to her ever growing vocabulary with gusto. I wondered where she heard the word, snappy, in the first place.
"Harry is too snappy."
"No, Josh," Hannah said, patronizing him. "Harry is not snappy. Trust me. Mario is snappy. Don't you think Mario is snappy?"
"I guess," He said, relenting.

Later I asked Joshua if they finished their "scrip." "Yeah," he replied, "But I couldn't get it to print on the downstairs computer.
"So, uh, what name did you end up with?"
Joshua sighed, "Mario. Mario Mews with the Morning News. Apparently, I 'get' to be Mario." He made the quote marks gesture as his cheeks pinked up with embarrassment.  "So much for Harry Hench-Cliff."

Spelling Counts

"It's Father's Day! It's Father's Day!" Hannah sang. She had made some stuff at school for Father's day, and had it in a bright purple oversized envelope. For almost two weeks she tried to give Jeremy the envelope only to hear, "It's not Father's Day yet. I can't open this."

"Finally. Finally! It's Father's Day! I have a present for you Daddy!" Hannah handed the envelope to Jeremy.
He pulled out the first part of his present. An Acrostic Poem, using the word Father.  He paused a minute, carefully made his face blank, and then showed it to me. Hannah was beaming, waiting, anticipating his reaction to her thoughtfulness. I sucked in my breath, and whispered to Jeremy, "I'm sure it's not what it looks like. It's just not spelled right."

"Yeah I know. But what do you think it's really supposed to be?"

 "Ask her."

"Hannah, read this poem to me..."Jeremy prompted.

"Funky..." She began

"OOOH Funky! Oh ok. ah. Good. Funky. But, you know, not that I'm trying to be critical, next time you spell Funky, make sure you include the N, and uh, there's no C before the K."

Slang 101

"So, all I had to eat today was a handful of cereal, a granola bar, and a small package of tastycakes." I finished lamenting my crazy busy day to Jeremy over cheese steaks. We were all sitting at the table taking turns relating our day.  He responded by singing the jingle, "Nobody bakes a cake as tasty as a tasty cake."  After repeating it a few annoying more times, he started messing around with it in his usual manner, "Nobody bocks a cock as tosty as a tosty cock. Oh wait. That's not very good. I shouldn't have sung that!"  At that moment, he started laughing so hard, he turned red, as boys are wont to do when making up naughty songs.  The color crept up from his neck, as the humor turned into embarrassment as three pairs of eyes looked at him with great interest.

"A tosty cock?" Ruth said.
"Don't say that again," Jeremy said when he caught his breath.
Joshua gurgled.
"Why can't we say tosty cock?"
"Uh, because it isn't a good thing to say."
Joshua giggled.
"I can't say tosty cock?" Ruthie asked
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock" Hannah said.
Eyes big and bright, Joshua covered his mouth with his hand. He snickered.
"Because." Jeremy said
"Oh, you might as well tell her," I said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah said.
Joshua nearly fell out of his chair, holding his stomach, laughing silently.
"Hannah that's enough," Jeremy said.
"Why? Why can't we say tosty cock?" Ruth persisted.
"I'll tell her later." Jeremy turned back to me, effectively ignoring Ruthie. I knew it was a stalling tactic, and that he had no intention of telling them later.
"Tell them now. Otherwise I'm gonna be somewhere with the kids, and one of our girls are gonna say it at the wrong moment." I said.
Jeremy shook his head no.
Joshua snorted and slid off his chair. "Tosty cock. Oh man!" He said from under the table.
"I want to know why I can't say Tosty cock." Ruthie said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah whispered.
"Fine. I'll tell them."

 I looked at Ruth. She looked eagerly back at me as if I was about to impart the mystery of the world. I looked sternly at Hannah. A silent warning to not let this conversation get past the table.  Hannah's eyes glittered with ornery intent. She knew, just knew this was going to be good. "Well, you see, cock is another word for either a Rooster, or the part of a guy that makes them guys."
Joshua, who managed to get back into his seat, snickered. The girls sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing this new information.
"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" Ruthie said.
"Cock-a-doodle dooooooo!!" Hannah said.

Joshua lost his seat again.
I almost had to administer CPR to Jeremy.

Jeremy and Oswald have a "chat"

My husband is a big ol' softie when it comes to animals. He wanted to be a veterinarian, until he assisted the local vet with the spaying of a cat. When he nearly passed out, he figured he'd explore a different career avenue and discovered a passion for languages. He studied four languages in high school, won some award they never gave anyone else before in the history of our Alma Mater, and enlisted in the army as a translator, Russian.  Years later, that gift for languages turned into a gift for programming computers and an ability to be able to move from one language to another with little difficulty. So I shouldn't have been too surprised that his natural curiosity, combined with his interest in languages and communication led to his laying on the floor with Oswald attempting a bunny conversation.

"I've always wondered why Rabbits wiggle their nose," I said off-offhandedly while watching Oswald run through his 'obstacle course.'  Oswald has a preferred path through the living room that he takes over and over: behind the step ladder, under the entertainment center door that is never closed, hop up on the couch, get gently pushed off said couch, leap side ways as if something spooked him, run up two steps, hop back down two steps, repeat until tired.  I didn't notice Jeremy typing on the computer. He's always typing on the computer. It just didn't register in my mind.
"It says here that wiggling is a form of communication," he started to read from a page on the net, "

"Most rabbits at rest will be wiggling their noses. Rabbits don't need to do this to smell things, and they don't necessarily do it in time with their breathing, and they sometimes stop completely. So why do they do it at all? A rabbit's nose is like a thermometer for how interested it is in what's being observed. The faster the wiggling, the more attentive or agitated the rabbit is. Nose wiggle signaling is generally only used by rabbits that are already moderately relaxed.

A fast wiggle doesn't necessarily mean a rabbit is upset. It may just signal interest in something being witnessed, or some passing thought. A slowly wiggling nose indicates a calm rabbit. Rabbits usually use nose wiggling to indicate fine gradations in their mood. If you start moving around or doing something odd, that nose will start moving faster, and the rabbit may also turn its ears to focus more upon you. If a rabbit is considering fleeing, though, it will usually stop wiggling its nose completely.

One way to help calm a rabbit is to do the equivalent of whispering "there, there, it's all right" using slow nose wiggling. Of course, humans can't really wiggle their noses properly (OK, maybe you can), but rabbits will understand if you just use your upper lip. If you roll your upper lip under your top teeth and back again, this looks much like a rabbit nose wiggle. It's especially effective if you happen to have a mustache. On the other hand, some folks can actually wiggle their noses enough for the rabbit to recognize it. Experiment to see what your rabbit responds to."

Knowing Jeremy as I do, my first thought was, oh no. He's going to have to try this. So it was no surprise that within minutes, my husband was on the floor, facing Oswald making strange facial contortions in attempt to engage the rabbit's attention.  Oswald hopped off. Jeremy changed locations with the rabbit, laid on his belly again, attempted to face Oswald and tried again. Oswald stood up on his hind legs, sniffed the air, and then hopped away.  After several attempts Jeremy pushed up from the floor and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to practice that and try again some other time. Apparently my nose wiggling skills aren't up to par." He wandered off to the kitchen for a snack. Oswald, completely unimpressed, decided to hop back into his cage and give himself a bath.

So much for rabbit/human communications.  For now.

Is that a euphemism for...?

We were wandering through the garden section of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store looking for humus/manure mix, mulch, and garden soil. Wearing bored, resigned expressions, Jeremy and Joshua were taking turns dutifully pushing the flat bed cart. Ruth and Hannah tagged behind whining and complaining. I lead the merry parade up and down the aisles of dirt, mulch and plants effectively tuning out my family, concentrating instead on what I needed.

After a bit, my ears focused the catty noises my daughters were making at one another and their words became more discernible.
"You are a blooming flower," Hannah chanted in a sing song voice, hands demonstrating the way a flower blooms.
"Stooooooop it!" Ruth demanded.
"You" she paused pointedly, "Are a blooming flower." Hannah repeated the motion.  I figured she was talking about all the pots and planters full of marigolds, petunias, and inpatients that were surrounding us to either side.  I also figured it was the repetitious phrase and the sing-songy voice that was making Ruthie crazy. Hannah has "twerp" down to a "T."
"Knock. It. OFF!" Ruth said with clenched teeth.
"Yooooou are a bloooooooooooooooming flower," Hannah tilted her head to one side, swung it to the other with a great flourish, gesturing with her hands again.
"I mean it Hannah. I swear, when you're going through puberty, I'm gonna call you a blooming flower and see how YOU like it." Ruthie pouted.

Jeremy goggled. Joshua giggled. And I stood there staring at Hannah, pondering where on earth she got this one. Realizing she achieved her goal: tormenting her sister while effectively grabbing our attention and half of the customers milling about, Hannah repeated her mantra for added effect. "You are a bloooooooooooooooooming flower." She did her stinker grin, giggled, especially when Jeremy unconvincingly said, "Knock it off." Joshua snorted.

"Weeeeellll," Ruth said pointedly to Joshua, "How would YOU like to be called a blooming flower."
He blushed, looked at the ground, kicked at an imaginary pebble and shook his head. "I don't think she'd call me that. I'm a guy. I don't really...have...a...um...blooming...uh, flower." My head was reeling. I really didn't want to have any part of 'the talk' in the middle of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store garden center. Oh great, now do I have to explain what Joshua meant by that to my girls?  Where do these kids get this stuff?

I quickly paid while the young, teen-aged, male clerk studiously pretended he didn't hear those last two remarks. Jeremy suddenly found peat moss very interesting. And a few customers behind me in line seemed to have a problem with all of the flower pollen, having coughing fits at the same time. Hannah, delighted with her results, beamed.
"OOHhh!!!" Ruth, now leading our crew, stomped off towards the car, Hannah tailing directly behind.
"You are a bloooooooming flower...."

Ah, Young Love

The sixth grade science curriculum includes a three day, two night camping trip at the end of the year.  I sat at the parents' meeting a few weeks ago listening to the rules, regulations, packing list, and activities planned for the trip. On the last night of their stay at Camp, they have a dance.

Joshua has been actively pursued by a very cute, very musically talented, girl, who can also hula dance with poi. I'm pretty sure it's the last part that caught The Boy's attention. After all, what full-blooded male doesn't want a female who can do a pretty amazing hula.  A week before Camp, Joshua came home in a tizzy. She asked him to escort her to the dance.

"I can't dance! I can't dance! What am I going to say to her? I don't want to hurt her feelings and say no, but I can't dance!" He paced around the living room watching his feet, arms waving dramatically about his head.
"Come here," standing in front of him. "Put your hands on my waist. Now I'm going to put my hands on your shoulders. Now sway. This is how sixth graders dance with each other. And if you're feeling really adventurous, you can turn circles while you sway." I led him around in a 360 degree turn.
Blushing crimson, Joshua dropped his hands and said, "Oh. Ok." And then sauntered off, pretending nothing happened. The next day he announced he told her yes, he'd go to the dance with her.

Yesterday, Josh returned from Camp and it was all I could do to not blurt out how it all turned out with this girl and the dance. The conversation eventually steered itself in that direction.
"So did you dance with her?"
"Yeah, well, no, not really." He said.
"Aaaaaaannnnndd??"
"I started to dance with her, but I really don't know how, so I stopped."
"Um, did you just walk away?"
"Yeah, something like that."
I cringed thinking about how that must have felt for this girl who is crushing on him. And I certainly hope he gave some explanation or excuse to her for stopping the dance. All I could picture is him dropping his hands from her shoulders, turning around and walking away. Believe me, he'd do something like.  My neanderthal son still has a lot to learn about girls.

Apparently Rabbits don't like Math...even though they Multiply...

     After spending his first year of life cooped up in a cage in a barn, Oswald thinks he's living the high-life.  I let the rabbit run around the yard once in awhile, since we have a small fenced in space. Under close supervision, he also enjoys a few hours exploring the house too. He's mastered hopping up two steps, sniffed every square inch of the living room and kitchen, and figured out how to jump on and off and on and off and on and off the couch, again and again, and uh, again. (Apparently this is great bunny entertainment). So far, we've had very little problems with allowing the rabbit some freedom. Our electrical cords are still in tact. He hasn't chewed anything to bits. And, normally, he contains his waste to his cage or the litter box. However, yesterday, Ozzy was a naughty bunny.

Ruthie was sitting under the tiny tree in our backyard doing her math homework.  The last thing she expected was a big fuzz ball to come and flop down on her math book. He sprawled over both pages, and sniffed at Ruthie. Giggling, she said, "Oswald, NO! I'm trying to see my math problems!"  Just as quick, her laughter turned into a cry of distress. Turning from weeding my flower bed, I asked, "What happened?"

"Oswald peed on my math book. He PEED on it. Oswald! Why did you pee on my math book?"

Oswald, looking mighty pleased with himself, and unwilling to move his lump of fluff off of her book, declined giving a reason.  Maybe he knew Ruthie hates math. Maybe he was trying to do her a favor. Most likely though, it was because math books are made of paper and Oswald has a serious paper fetish. Peeing on the math book was the most logical way to claim it as his.

After Ruth shooed the rabbit away, he kept trying to hop back and nibble on the pages. The more she pushed him away, the more he insisted on having the text book for his own. As if in a fevered state, he started digging at the pages, hopping sideways, running in circles around the book, and then repeating the whole procedure in between Ruth shoving him away so she could clean off the pages. "Oswald, No! OSWALD! ARGH!" She moaned.

I began fussing at her for keeping the book on the ground. "Put it up on the patio table where he can't get to it." I said through clenched teeth. I was covered in mud, and virtually useless in the Oswald v. Ruth v. Math Book kung fu competition, though I did make a few decent blocks with my foot. I didn't think mud would be a welcome addition to the rabbit pee. I didn't want to have to groom it out of the bunny's long fur, so I couldn't pick him up at that moment. And I wasn't sure if I dared to make a break to the kitchen to wash up. Ozzy would surely take advantage of my momentary absence. "Go get a paper towel." I commanded. Ruth ran inside, grabbed the roll and began sopping up the urine.

"He also peed all over my homework paper."

"You'll have to re-copy it onto a new piece of paper."

"Oh Oswald. You caused me soooo much trouble." She spoke to the rabbit, who, no longer having a book to eat, decided to run a few more laps around the yard.

Ruth informed me that the principal will be sending me a bill. And, since I'm pretty sure Oswald won't be willing or able to cough up the $80, unsurprisingly, I will be purchasing a new math text book for the elementary school.

from one male to another...

"There's this girl at school, and she gets mad at me all the time for no good reason!" Joshua complained to his father one evening. "I try to tell her something, and it just makes her furious!"

"Well, uh, what exactly are you saying to her?" Jeremy asked.

"Well, she keeps saying she's gotta diet and stuff, 'cuz she's like fat and stuff, but she's not. She's thin.  In fact, I told her she was crazy to think she needed to diet. I told her she's skinny as a twig."

Jeremy goggled at The Boy in horrified amusement. "Um, son, see uh, when a female says she's fat, and you know she's not, 'skinny as a twig' is not a compliment.  Telling her she's thin might be ok. But usually just don't touch that subject with a ten foot pole. It's a losing argument. It will never end pretty. Trust me."

"But she is," Josh insisted. "Why would she be offended by being called 'skinny as a twig' ?"

"Because you're comparing her to a branch. That's why. A branch. Do you think a branch is attractive? Do you think any girl or woman wants to be told they look like a branch?"

"Oh."

And she made it aaaaaaaalll by herself (right?)

"Aaron made a Gorilla too," Hannah told Josh.
"Oh?" Joshua feigned interest. He always did have a soft spot for the littlest sister.
"Yeah. His Gorilla isn't very good," She said with disdain. "It's just on paper. You can just tell his mother drew the whole thing. All he did was color it."

"Hello, I'm I-mom*...

    ...it's great to be here again at Technology Challenged 101," I said with a huge sigh as I took my usual seat for the umpteenth week in a row.

"Uh-oh, " said our Fearless Geek, leader of the technological hopeless. "What did you do this time?"

"Same thing I did last year for my kid's talent show. Somehow, I didn't manage to record his act."

Gasps were heard from all around the circle. The petite, blue-haired, eighty-year old lady to my left wearing the fuchsia sweats and alligator bag patted my knee, as if to say, "It's ok, It'll be alright."

"I don't know how I did it this time. Last year I used my father's camera. It's an older digital, that used those tapes. Now everything is DVD or hard disk. The tape was corrupt or something. I got twenty seconds of his act and then it was all rainbow-like static. That, was not, my fault."

"We weren't talking about last year," FG gently reminded me to stay on track, "We're talking about this year."

"Oh, really. I don't know how. That's why I'm here. We bought the camera before Christmas. I used it correctly for the musical. I don't know what I did! Jeremy came home and said, 'How was the talent show, did you get it recorded?' And I said, 'Yes I did.' 'Cuz I was all proud of myself, yanno, and so he said..."

All eyes were staring at me, glazed over.  FG gazed at the ceiling searching for patience as if there might be an endless supply up there, or something. I cut off my sordid tale of video camera woe and got to the important part.

"Well, anyway, long story short, it wasn't there. Small clips here and there of stuff that no one wants to watch, but nothing longer than that."

"I-mom," FG gently chastised, "Did you confuse pause with record again?"

I blushed fourteen shades of crimson. "Uh. Um. Weeeeeelll. (maybe?)" I shrunk down in my chair.  FG sighed a loud, long sigh.  I truly was hopeless.


*i-mom = idiot mom
** Technologically Challenged 101 is a product of my imagination.  Otherwise, this entire story is true.

Sometimes ya just gotta laugh, even when you shouldn't

Oh she's good. She's very very good.  And if she's this good at the age of almost seven, I'm a little worried about how well she'll out maneuver her father and I when she's almost seventeen.

Hannah was making an unusual amount of racket in the back of the van last night: howling, hooting, growling, and roaring. Most of the time, I have no idea why she does the things she does. Last night, however, I suspected the noise was the fault of an over active imagination. Ruth and Josh added to the cacophony with five minutes of whining comments and unspoken promises of death, "Hannah, knock. it. off. Maaaaaaaamaaaaaaaa! Hannah's making noise!"
"Mom, can you tell her to SHUT UP!"
Of course, that enticed "the twerp within" to make Hannah roar louder, with more enthusiasm.

Jeremy had had enough. "Knock it OFF, Hannah Noel. You're not an animal, you know," he added.

"And I'm not really a dinosaur either," Hannah replied with calculated humor, and a very serious, straight, face.

I tried. I really did. I tried so hard to not laugh, to not even crack the tiniest of smiles.

I failed.

Miserably.

Home Alone

I have no more brain cells. Most of them are fried from years of having to think on my toes, and I'm only half way through parenting my children. Some would argue that my job will never end, but I keep on with the never ending hope that the hard parts will eventually pass with time.  The constant outmaneuvering the minds of my devious children is wearying.

As Joshua ages, we've allowed him to stay home alone for twenty to thirty minutes here and there. It's good practice for him, and it gives me a little freedom to run an errand with one less child. Believe me, it makes a difference.  Even though he's the oldest, he's still the most difficult to take into a store.

The other day, while the kids were in school, my father and I made a trip to the mega-monster-warehouse hardware store.  To my shock and horror, we lost track of time. By the time I reached the check-out counter, I realized I should have been home to greet my kids from school.  So I called the house phone with my cellular.  I have our home phone programmed with a song ring tone so that Joshua knows if I'm trying to call him. Otherwise, the rules are, he is never to answer the phone.

On the third ring he picked up. "Hi Mama. Where are you?"
"I'm sorry baby. I lost track of time. I'm at the mega-monster-warehouse hardware store. By the time Pop and I check out and load up the van, then drop it off at the studio, it will be almost four o'clock. Will you be ok?" I was worried because he was now in charge of his two little sisters, instead of just himself. Never mind I was babysitting at his age, sometimes till two in the morning.  I just wasn't sure he could manage them. They don't like taking orders from him.
"I'll be o.k."
"Do you want me to talk to the girls?"
"YES PLEASE!"
"Ok, give the phone to Ruthie."
"Hello, Mama?" The little voice on the other end came through tentatively.
"Ruthie?"
"Yeah."
"Are you paying attention?"
"Uh-huh."
"Really?"
"Um."
"I need you to listen to me."
"I'm here."
"Ok. Joshua is in charge. You must listen to him if something happens. No fighting with him. He knows the rules."
"Uh-huh."
"Who's in charge."
"Huh?"
"Are you listening?" I sighed. Sometimes it's like talking to a wall. Really, the wall pays better attention.
"Yes."
"What did I say?"
"Joshua is in charge. I shouldn't fight with him."
"Ok. Now give the phone to Hannah."
"Hi Mama." Hannah was decidedly cheerful.
"Hannah. Joshua is in charge. You have to listen to him. He knows the rules. No fighting with Joshua. You'll be in BIIIIIIG trouble with me if I find out you gave him a hard time."
"Ok. Hey Mama?"
"Yes?"
"The bunny wants to get out of his cage."
My mommy-radar went  into over-drive. I'm sure my eyes opened up to half the size of my face.
"The rabbit is NOT allowed to get out of his cage. Do you understand me? The rabbit is NOT allowed OUT."
"Ok." the phone muffled her voice for a minute, "Hey Ruthie, Oswald isn't allowed out of his cage."

And they wonder how it's possible that I'm psychic.

Attack of the killer...

I've had a frustrating couple of days.  Yesterday I dropped, broke, spilled, dumped, anything and everything...including the rabbit pee that was lying in wait in the bottom of Oswald's cage tray.  Isn't the kitty litter supposed to absorb that stuff?  After about the umpteenth millionth mishap (and no I'm not exaggerating) I gave up hopes of getting over to the studio to do yet more manual labor.  I set out to get there by eleven. It was one thirty in the afternoon, shortly after cleaning up rabbit pee, getting into the van, and having to turn around because now I could add "forgot to bring paint" to my list of: dropped, broke, spilled, and dumped.  I figured Fate was out to get me yesterday. I don't tempt Fate. I figured the forgotten, needed paint was a sign. Heeding the warning flag Fate was waving my way, I curled up on the couch with a fluffy book. (It was terrible. I don't remember the title, but it was bad, so it doesn't matter).

This morning I thought, surely, whatever curse hovered over me yesterday would be lifted today. I was feeling more rested. I hadn't had a mishap. Surely, I was in the clear.

I began tearing out the carpet in the kitchenette. Why anyone would think carpet in a public kitchen is a good idea, I don't know. Like a gluey fly-strip collecting it's prey, It was a nasty combination of stains, dirt, and old food particles.  I wrestled it into a roll, and began hauling it down the three and a half flights of steps to the first floor.  Half way down the first flight, the carpet began to unwind, slowly.  I got it to the landing and tried to remedy the situation. I wasn't going to fit it down the stairs if I didn't somehow make the carpet more compact.  Even now, I have no clue how I managed it.  But before I knew what had happened, my petite frame was swallowed whole by a carpet. Like a low budget horror flick, I, the heroine of this dastardly tale, discovered I was in the bowels of the monster with little hope of escape, my predicament revealed too little too late.  I slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees: carpet, carpet, carpet and more carpet.

I imagine I must have looked pretty silly standing there, or if anyone could have known I was standing there, in the middle of the nasty jelly roll of floor covering. My father was working on the basement floors, happily singing off-key with his earphones in his ears, hooked to his blackberry. There would be no rescue from that front, unless he just happened to check on me. Pondering the situation for a minute more, I decided standing there in the middle of a seven foot high roll, contemplating the riddle of how I got there in the first place, wasn't going to get me out. So, I fought my way out of the carpet maze, then kicked the menace down the remaining two flights of stairs. Ha! Take that you killer carpet! Setting it near the front door, I re-rolled it nice and tight.

I only wished I had something to tie it up with. You never know who its next victim might be.

Dear Diary...

I've never been the best at keeping a journal, even though I love to write.  Through the years I've had one or two. I would do my best writing in them for a week or so, and then abandon the practice for months, maybe even years.  Last night, we were at my parent's home for Easter dinner. Ruthie came downstairs with a book in her hand and said, "Mama, was this your diary?"  Ruthie is very interested in diaries. I suspect she journals all the time.

Quickly, I grabbed it, because I didn't know what phase of my life this particular journal came from, elementary years? middle school? Dreaded high school?  I didn't want her reading something that wasn't appropriate or asking questions for which I wouldn't have answers.  I didn't need to worry.  The majority of my diary contained the mumblings of an elementary school kid.   It's fascinating to see what was important in my world in those days, most of which centered around my little sister.

I can honestly say, I was not nearly as verbose as I am now.

Tuesday, November 8, 1983

Today Sara got the chicken pox and she doesn't like them. They itch!

Monday, November 14, 1983

Today I had gym. Oh, and Sara is scabbing over and may even go to school on Wednesday.

Wednesday, January 11, 1984

Today was the first snow of the year. And Sara is learning cursive.

October 13, 1984

Yesterday at 3:30 am, Dad left for the mountains. I hope he shoots a deer. Also Sara has a sore leg and Mom's going to take her to the doctor today.

And my all-time favorite:

(no date, 1984)

Today Sara tried to bite my hand, and then she pinched it.

Those were the days.

Should I die this week, I bequeath my...

I'm finished painting the studio, minus the kitchenette and the bathroom. Which means, I can now pack up my little bedroom, and move it over to my new place.   I'm shocked and amazed how much I managed to stuff into one small bedroom. It's like the never ending pit of yarn, fabric, paint, weaving tools, various and sundry supplies!  So far, I've filled about 30 boxes with no signs of letting up. Looking into my former 'studio,' no one would know it was in the process of being moved.  And it will probably be a few weeks before I get everything unpacked and settled over there. I still have shelving to put up, closets to finish, doors to put on.  In other words, I'm a long way off from being able to work there.

Last night, Joshua and I loaded the van, twice, with my stuff and took it over to the building.  My new place is on the third floor of a very tall building. It takes three and half flights of steps to get to my new digs.  My old studio is on the second floor of my house. That's another flight of steps. And my house is on a slight hill, which requires someone to walk up about ten steps to get to my porch.  Hauling boxes, heavy and light, we went up and down and up and down and up and down more stairs than I care to count.

Halfway up the second flight of steps with the umpteenth box, Joshua said, "Man. (huff) This is (puff) like using a (gasp) stairmaster. Uhhhh."

"Yup. (wheeze)"

"Why (huff) on earth (puff) do you have (heave) your studio (gasp) on the third floor? (PFfffffff)"

"I don't (phooosh) know. (gasp) Some (pant) crazy lady (wheeze) thought (ahhhhh) it was (huff) a good idea (wooooooof) to (gaaaaaaaaaah) have (ehhhhhhhhh) a studio (whaaaaaaaaaaaa) on the (pant) third (heave) floor. (wheeze)"

Sigh. I haven't even begun to move all the equipment that doesn't fit into boxes. Not to mention, the actual furniture, looms, a dresser, benches, a couple of shelving units, my sewing machine table, and the television.

Could someone notify my next of kin, please?

And so closes another chapter...

Time marches on, with or without me.  Two of my three kids outgrew the swing set. Hannah could have still used it, but it was starting to need repairs, so I gave Josh permission to disassemble the swing set. Need to destroy or demolish something? Render it unusable? Josh is your man.

I watched as a part of their childhood, piece by piece, got taken apart. As usual, when Joshua starts any project, half the neighborhood showed up and wanted to help. I'm not sure what magic he weaves enticing kids to work, but I probably could earn a small fortune renting him out to parents with reluctant children. They looked cute out there, all those kids, struggling with tools, using their minds to figure out how best to break it down.

Meanwhile, I silently mourned, the same way I did when I packed or gave away another box of their baby clothes.  It was the space ship, a club house, and an obstacle course. Often, the monkey bars became Joshua's thoughtful spot. He'd sit on top of the bars to get away from his pesky sisters. Sometimes I'd just see him laying on top of there, all stretched out, eyes closed, while the chaos of neighborhood kids ran all around him. I always wondered what was going on in his mind.

I have a yard now. What am I going to do with it?

Joshua already has plans. A goal cage here. Or maybe over there, so he can practice his defensive moves. I'm sure Jake from next door would be happy to take shots.  I'm not so sure my OCD senior citizen neighbor will be quite so happy about it. It doesn't matter much if he gets to set up a place to play soccer, Joshua's thrilled he doesn't have to mow or weed-whack around the slide anymore. No longer fighting with the swings, he can make broad sweeps with the mower.  He's pumped to plant grass where little feet dug deep groves into the dirt under the swings.  I suppose it's the rare and strange child who can get excited over grass seed.

In truth, I don't expect much use of the yard from The Boy at all. With the nice weather, comes his wings. There are places to go, people to see, when you're twelve years old and in possession of a bike.  Growing up.  Those other moms were right. It happens too quickly.

Go-Rill-A

Five years ago I learned about, what I now refer to as, The Dreaded Rain Forest Project.  I wouldn't mind the exercise...if it were realistic for a first grader. But it isn't. The scale of the project is more appropriate for a fourth to sixth grader. In other words, The Dreaded Rain Forest Project is a parent-project. One hundred percent.  We parents get to show off our craftiness in the first grade halls. Yes indeedy.  The children pick an animal. They write a report about their animal in school. Then the parents get to make a life-size replica of said animal to hang in their re-created rain forest. Don't get me wrong, the re-creation is cool. The entire first grade hallway is decorated with trees, fake vines, and rain forest animals...made by the parents.

A then-first grade Joshua, came home with his papers detailing all important information. He chose a python. Python, a snake. I can handle that. True sized? No problem. So I dyed socks because I couldn't find green ones. I let him sponge paint the 'scales.'  We used sharpie marker to draw the eyes. I hot glued the body together, and Joshua stuffed his snake. He still has it. It hangs off the bottom of his loft bed. I thought, "Ugh. Never again. This was a pain in the neck." And it was just a sock snake! A SOCK SNAKE!  I entered the classroom to drop off his python, only to discover most parents did their children's project. There was this anaconda that stretched the entire perimeter of the room, crafted from chicken wire, and plaster strips. Yeah, a first grader did that, sure.

I survived The Dreaded Rain Forest Project without realizing two years later, I'd have to do it again. Yay me. What does Ruthie choose? A Kinkajou.  What the heck??? So I googled it. It's cute, furry, with huge eyes. Ah. Now I know why we're doing a project on the kinkajou.  Ruthie is a sucker for anything cute, furry, with huge eyes.

This time I was smarter. We made it two-dimensional, and Ruth did almost all of it. Her idea. Her execution. I gave her some hints how to make the animal easier. And I drew the face.  I didn't care if it looked like a first-grader made the animal. It's a first grade project.  Not a parent project. So what if a spider monkey that looked as good as a gund-brand stuffed animal hung from the fake vines wrapped around the lights? Hey wait, do I see the remnants of a cut off tag? No? Dang. Some mom is really good at sewing. I could be good at sewing if I wanted to. Sure I could. I'll just get to that in between studying for biology and turning in the next weaving for Fatherless.

After suffering through another year of The Dreaded Rain Forest Project with yet another child, a frightening thought occurred to me.  I. have. to. do. this. AGAIN. Oh snap.

For the last three years, I've been praying they'll stop doing The Dreaded Rain Forest Project at our school. Over the last six months I've been slowly counting down, holding my breath for when the packet of papers came home with Hannah.  Here it is. The Dreaded Rain Forest Project. In all it's Rain Forest glory.

Jeremy and I were sitting at the table, eating a late dinner, while the kids were getting ready for school tomorrow.  Hannah plopped The Packet down on the table.  "Here.  We're doing a rain forest."  Jeremy looked at me. I looked at him. We sighed and looked down at the paper.

"Dear Parents, Your child has chosen Gorilla for our rain forest unit. Students are making a replica at home with the help of a family member (ha!). Blah blah blah.  Please make the replica as true to size and colors as possible. Blah blah blah.  Your truly, Mrs._______"

Jeremy and I busted out laughing. I'm not sure it was out of humor or hysteria, but hey, it was better than crying. True to size? A gorilla?  Leave it to Hannah the pipsqueak to pick an animal three times her size.

Hannah said, "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," answered Jeremy.
I lied, "You know in Tarzan when he said 'Go-Rill-A?'"
"Oh yeah," Hannah giggled. Then she read the paper, "Dear parents, your child has chosen Go-Rill-A." She wandered her way upstairs saying "Go-Rill-A" when Jeremy turned to me and said, "Life-sized? Are you kidding me?"

Gotta love The Dreaded Rain Forest Project. There will be pictures. Oh yes. I think there has to be.

I survived!

    Mar 28, '09 6:43 PM
for everyone
In just a few hours, I get to give four of the seven kids contained within this house back to their mother, my sister. I'm a little bleary eyed. My nerves are still semi-intact. I've totally enjoyed my nephews and nieces.

 I've diffused at least half-a-million fights....

...excuse me, make that half-a-million and one...

Prevented three near-deaths, wait...make that four.

I've counseled and consoled. Run interference.  Managed feedings (not meals, feedings). Bought out the grocery store. Spoiled them with chocolate chip pancakes, pop tarts, and donut holes. (Though one day I had to disappoint them with bowls of corn chex).

I scolded, lectured, instructed.  Loved, snuggled, and cuddled. Ran baths, supervised showers, and stopped minor floods.  Dried tears, shared giggles. Said bed-time prayers, calmed night time fears. Thwarted nefarious plans. Used the wisdom of Solomon to decide who got to sleep on the floor. (Only kids could fight over who gets to sleep on an air mattress). And determined who got to sleep on the hide-a-bed.

I even managed to throw a mini-birthday party for my mom and paint my studio floor in the middle of it.

Tonight, I'm celebrating with a margarita.  Or two.

And tomorrow I'll, maybe, summon up some energy to put everything back to where it was before the hurricane. Nah, Monday. Monday is soon enough. Right?

Mmm...tastes like chicken

She's a funny kid. I don't just mean her interests and her demeanor. Hannah has wit and comedic timing. She calculates when something will be funny to say or do.  And usually, she's right.

So this morning they were all sitting around the breakfast table half-awake, groaning about the PSSA's (PA's standardized testing - no child left behind!) and other topics. Josh began a conversation about these recently discovered bacteria in the upper stratosphere, when he asked Jeremy, "What do they eat?"
Ruth said, "Maybe they're cannibals!"
To which, Hannah started singing the jingle, "Cannibal's chicken soup, Possibilities!"

We laughed, when Jeremy said, "Gee, I wonder what would be in THAT soup. Mmm...tastes like chicken!"

In which Ruth manipulates Us to go to the Opening night cast party...

We've known for awhile that the tradition is to chow down at a local diner after opening night. The diner knows the cast and crew is coming, and they let us have their 'party room.'  But what no one figured on, was how LONG The Sound of Music really is. By the time we greeted the family and friends who came to watch and the kids got their costumes off and hung up it was pushing quarter of eleven. This isn't, by any stretch of the imagination, late for the average teen, but Hannah was starting to get that delirious look in her eye, the maniacal laugh that accompanies it, so I knew phase two of "Operation Meltdown" was following closely behind.

"Can we go to the cast party?" Ruthie asked me. I wanted to say no. I really did. I wanted to go to bed, get them into bed. Joshua might have been able to hang with the Big Dogs, but the girls were going to make us suffer the next day.  So I did my usual cop-out.

"I don't know. Go ask your father," I said.

She walked over to Jeremy, made her eyes bigger and more round, and said in her practiced sweet feminine voice, "Daaaaaaaddy? Can we go to the cast party?"

"It's late." He said, "And we need to get you to bed."

On command her eyes filled with water. Her little lip quivered.  She wiped a tear away.  He looked at me. I looked at him. And I knew I was hopeless.  "Com'mon Daddy. It's not every year they'll get to be part of a high school musical."

Jeremy sighed and said, "O.K."

We got to the diner, only to find out they had one waitress on duty.  Apparently, the owner thought we weren't going to show up. Because the musical ran so late, we got to the diner way past the time we were expected, so he sent the other gal home.  Which meant it took a very...long...time...to get our food.  Jeremy and I hung out with the other parents while the kids took over the other half of the restaurant.  I told Josh, Ruth, and Hannah they could have anything they wanted.  Hannah wandered over to my table and put her head on my shoulder. Her face had lost most of it's color, her eyes were bloodshot and weary. I felt bad.  "Mama, I don't want to eat anything."

"Are you sure? You don't want anything? Not even a pancake?" I asked.
"Pancake?" Hannah's head jerked up from my shoulder, her face perked up. "Yeah, sure. I'll have a pancake," she said skipping back to her booth.

Finally the food started showing up at our quadrant, but the waitress forgot two of us at our table. By the time we ate, and paid, it was well after 1 am.  Joshua finally reached his breaking point and said, "Mama, Daddy? Are we going home yet?"  Ruth, still jazzed from the performance and getting to hang out with her 'friends' danced the whole way to the car singing "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you Daddy! Thank you! Daddy! Thank youuuuuuuuu!!!"

I'm glad we went, even though I'm bleary eyed this morning. We made fond memories last night. Memories, I hope, will last them a life time.

In which Hannah has her first lesson about little boys...

She came running into the house, tears streaming down her face, and threw herself at my arms.

"MY LOVE TANK IS EMPTY!" she wailed.
"What happened?" I said, smoothing her hair, pulling her up on my lap.
"I jus knee a ug," she hiccuped between sobs.
"What?" I couldn't understand her through the tears.
"I jus knee a ug!" she said a little more hysterical.
"A hug?" She nodded. I pulled her closer to me. "What happened outside? Did someone hurt you?"
"No. I jus duh lie be pigged uh" Hannah said.
"Honey, I can't understand you. You need to try and calm down." I coaxed.
"I jus. duh. lie. ih. when. kids. pig. me. uh!" she said, her chest heaving.
"You don't like it when kids pick you up?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh" Hannah wailed again.
"Who picked you up?" I asked.
"Oooooooowwaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Owen?"
"yeeaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

I tried to suppress a giggle. Owen is probably the only child in our neighborhood who is smaller than Hannah despite being seven months older than her.  The mental image of Owen heisting Hannah up in the air cracked me up. Since I was going for sympathy, I didn't think she'd appreciate my amusement.

"Oh Hannah, little boys play rough. They don't know how to be nice to little girls, because they're rough with each other. Don't you ever see Joshua with his friends? What do they do? They greet each other by tackling each other to the ground and then wrestle.  It will be YEARS before little boys learn how to act with girls. They're like sixteen, no, maybe more like in their twenties...well, actually, I'm not sure boys ever really learn how to act around girls. They still like to pester, and tease, and pick on, and tickle even when they're all grown up. But when they're really little, well, it's kind of like gorillas who have to pound their chest. Show off...Actually, even when they're old too..."

Hannah's let out a watery giggle over the gorilla comment.

"So, Owen probably likes you, and decided to show you the only way he knows how."
"I don't like it." Hannah said, as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I know, Baby. No little girls does. I was picked on plenty."
"Can I go watch T.V.?" Crisis averted. She slid off my lap and made a b-line for the living room.
"Sure." I said.

Joshua came in the backdoor a few minutes later.

"So, what happened? Did Owen pick Hannah up?" I asked.

Joshua looked a little sheepish while he demonstrated with his arms as he explained, "Yeah, you know. He did one of those big bear hug, wrestle like things, like all little boys like to do to one another. Hannah didn't like it." His expression told me he was well familiar with making a little girl cry at some point in his life. He blushed as if he was the accused tormentor.  At least Josh recognized what happened. I've been working on him for years on how to interact with girls, more specifically, not to punch, grab, shove, yank on hair, etc.  He just still doesn't quite understand WHY we don't want to be wrestled to the ground in an enthusiastic display of friendship and camaraderie.  He seems to trust me on this, even if he doesn't quite 'get it.'  I think perhaps the increasing interest in the opposite sex might have something to do with my credibility on the subject matter.  I have informed him tackling your heart's desire is a lousy way to get a girlfriend.

At least Hannah has the benefit (or maybe the disadvantage, depending on point of view) of having a big brother.  Maybe the male mind won't be quite the mystery to her otherwise.



But then again, maybe not.

Hans und Franz go to New York

It all started with a loom I found on an online fiber equipment page.  We were on vacation last weekend when my mother and I trolled the 'net looking for looms for our studio.  The ad looked good. We made contact. We negotiated a price. We picked a travel date. We drove to New York.

The seller indicated we'd need several people to move the loom. "It is heavy. Bring people who can haul," She wrote in her email.  So I did. My father drove, and my sister tagged along. Or rather, I was the one tagging along, since I know what looms look like. I'm such a girl when it comes to hauling and lifting.  I'm a weakling of the highest order.  My sister, Sara, on the other hand is strong as an ox. Maybe that's not flattering for a female, but I have always been in awe of her superior strength. I knew we were ok.

We drove the three plus hours to New York, traveling through the town of Sleepy Hollow where there was a cool statue of the Headless Horseman.  Along the way, my father and sister started joking around. "I am Hans," he said. "Und I am Franz," Sara replied. "Und we are hear to haul a loom." "Hey you. Girly-man...can't you lift that?" "Yah, Vee need to pahmp you ahp, you girly-man." They amused themselves in this manner for a good ten to fifteen minutes, laughing at themselves.

Arriving at the seller's house, she greeted us in the drive with her husband by her side. He might have passed for a shorter, weaker, thinner, Tony Shaloub. She showed us the loom on the second floor, and Dad and Sara began contemplating the best way to carry it down the stairs and out the door to the trailer.

 "I dont want to sound sexist," Tony said. "But I guess I'll have to be the other man."  Dad picked up on end, and Tony tried to grab the other. He grunted, and groaned and maybe, just maybe got the loom off the ground half a millimeter.  Sara gently pushed him aside, hauled the loom up over her head to get it above the barrier at the top of the steps in one fell swoop.  She bore the brunt of the weight walking backwards down the stairs, and with Dad's help, carted the loom out through the garage and proceeded to help load it up.

"Boy, Sara," Tony said. "You're strong. Really strong." She gave him a look like, uh, yeah. I know. You Girly-mahn.

We piled back into Dad's Explorer, waved good-bye, and broke out into laughter.

"I dont want to sound Sexist..." Sara said.

Hannah's Chicken Suit Pt 2.

I suppose I pride myself on being a bit of an unconventional mommy. It's not so much that I try to be eccentric. It's just that I encourage my children to discover who they are, rather than be pushed into a mold of my making.  I can't help it if they express themselves in wonderful, and sometimes wacky ways.

We spent this weekend in the mountains, snow tubing.  Hannah asked if she could bring her chicken suit, and since there was really no good reason to say no, I gave her permission.  Her cousins had great fun with the chicken suit, taking turns dressing up, dancing around, flapping their wings. The adults had fun laughing at their antics.

On the drive home yesterday afternoon, Jeremy looked in his rear-view mirror.

"Psst." He grabbed my attention from the book I was reading and said out of the side of his mouth, "Turn your head and look in the back of the van."

I did as he suggested, and guffawed. Yes guffawed. There's no other word to explain the burst of laughter that came out of my mouth.  Jeremy could hardly see to drive from the tears streaming down his face. I could barely breathe I was laughing so hard.  Joshua and Ruth were fast asleep. Hannah, however, was sitting in her booster seat, talking to herself, while wearing the head part of the costume.

So, who knows, maybe I'm setting my kids up for needing therapy in the future. But I figure, kids grow up so fast.  There's only a small portion of time in a person's life when one can get away with wearing a chicken suit while engaging in normal, every day activities. Might as well let Hannah live life to the fullest while she can.