...WAIT! What happened to "sugar and spice?" :-)

She was so calm she nearly let it crawl onto her eyeball!

Labels: Madalyn

Some more from months ago at my mom's house... I can't take credit for some of the ones of Jack as my brother did some of the close-ups.  I love them...

Every morning Evan appears in our room first. He crawls into my side of the bed, smothers me with kisses and we cuddle until Madalyn appears. Madalyn then says one of two things: a) "Feed me. Will you feed me, mommy? Get out of your bed." b) "Can I go see Jacky? Evan, come see Jacky with me?" Or, as often is the case, she starts with a and when that's shut down moves on to option b.

Shaun snores and I lie and there and try to determine if I can go back to sleep on a full bladder until someone hurts someone else and the wailing on the monitor will not taper; that's when I roll out of bed and reach in an uncoordinated, exhausted fashion for my glasses (if Madalyn has not already brought them to me,) and retrieve the children. Breakfast commences.

Peanut butter toast and cereal are the staples, and often bananas for Jack. Lately, he insists- (and by "insists" I mean protests with the volume and tenacity of the UAW)- on using a fork. He is undoubtedly soon to start a Union called "United Utensil Users of America," which would conveniently suit his limited vocabulary as UUUA might be something he could babble.

The problem with this for us is that he's utensily challenged. It's that horrible phase where you know you have to let them have the weapons or how will they ever learn to use them, but should we really give weapons to a baby and do we really have to clean up Ground Zero after every meal now? I mean, my hands are so weak in the morning I can hardly hold my coffee cup and certainly couldn't tie a shoelace to save my life... should I, then, really be expected to pick banana goo off the tile with my thumbnail?

This particular morning we went through all of these rituals and got to phase 4, where Shaun and I sit like Zombies on the couch, staring vacantly at the Mickey Mouse Club and clutching our coffee with Whipped Cream (to help us escape,) when we hear a clank on the floor and wailing to follow. The baby has dropped his fork... again.

I get the fork and push the baby back to the table as he has pushed himself away. When my rump hits the couch another clank sounds. Shaun yells something Homer Simpsonesque and takes his turn retrieving the fork. After about 20 more rounds and scoldings of this, we debate taking the fork away. (And I know what you're thinking- really- it took 20 rounds before you even thought about confiscating it?) But please keep in mind that Jack is a United Utensil User of America. His career and every ounce of his being hinge on using that fork, stabbing that banana, and getting that thing to his mouth. If you could see the half moon of one stuck to his forehead and the concentration in his eyes, you would understand. Taking it away is simply not an option. We simply can not take away the very pinnacle of his self-worth.

So Shaun offered up another solution: I'll go look for some string and we'll tie it to his wrist.

Now, the enablers of the Pacifier Users of America came up with the leash idea a long time ago, so it was only a matter of time before the enablers of the UUUA did the same. And the very exciting part of all of this is that when Shaun gets it patented we will be rich, people. Rich like Henry Ford. And then I might hire somebody to make breakfast for us, to bring ME my coffee and clean up the poop in the crib.

Labels: Evan, Jack, Madalyn, mealtime, parenting

So I'm waaaaaaaaaaaaay behind on my own pictures ever since I started "the buisness." The kids were supposed to bring in family pictures for school projects and I DIDN'T HAVE ANY- ME!!!!! The picture/camera FREAK-A-ZOID. I had to run-okay- SHAUN had to run to Walgreens with the digital versions to print some out for them to take.

Anyway, I've had a week lull between shoots and have been trying to catch-up, (especially before the upcoming EIGHT sessions in FOUR days that I was crazy enough to plan, YIKES,) so we'll see how that post-processing goes... but for now, be forewarned that you will be seeing series and series of shots like these over the next few days as I continue to play catch-up. :)

Labels: Madalyn

Labels: Evan

Last weekend was one of those where the kids were into EVERY thing. It rained some- was hot and buggy- and since they weren't outdoors expending energy, bad things went down.

There was the mountain of unrolled toilet paper in the bathroom, the pizza grease and juice box on the carpet, the "potions" found on the counters and smeared on mirrors, and the usual slew of toys strewn from foyer to back stoop.

Last night I opened Woman's Day to an article on finding relaxation in the every day: "The Slow Lane; 13 ways to stop rushing, recharge and take back your life" by Chrystie Fielder. It featured a picture of a woman sitting on a white chair with a white fur blanket in casually sexy pjs sipping a cup of tea. Her skin was flawless and porcelain, her eyebrows perfectly arched, her lashes perfectly long, and her full lips slightly curved in a peaceful smile. The article discussed decompressing between tasks, taking naps, listening to a song on the radio before the next errand, and finding "me" time.

Two words for obviously childless and young (spells her name with a "y" and "ie")Chrystie: YAAAAH RIGHT!

I mean, I like what she's saying and I agree that some time of solitude every day would be very appreciated, but that usually doesn't happen without someone needing their bottom wiped. Sure, I could listen to a song between errands IF I COULD HEAR IT over the impatient brood in the back crying out for drink, food, potty and Revolution. Sure, I could find myself a white fur blanket and modern white chair to sit on with a cup of tea... I could even buy myself some new, casually sexy pjs, and get some eyelash extensions... but that would be ridiculous. The chair would be covered in small hand prints, the blanket in soggy Cheerios, and my tea would get cold while I changed the world's grossest diaper, (simultaneously putting the casually sexy pjs at risk of being soiled, my lash extensions at risk of becoming dislodged during the "wrestle the baby" routine.)

I love, love, love my strong, wrestle-mania-bound children. I am thankful they are healthy and that they are mine. But I can't help but find it humorous when articles attempt to make it sound like there is a way to have it all in this intense season. This becomes blatantly clear when one is cleaning up child A's spilt milk and the two tiny hands of Child C scoop, cup, and lift one's buttox in an attempt to see exactly what is taking place.

You've seen the chapters in marriage books about staying romantically involved during the child-rearing years. Well would somebody please admit that that's a huge oxymoron? Somebody! I mean, would I not- WOULD I NOT- have to have multi-personalities to transition seamlessly from one a_ _ - grabbing in the kitchen to another in the bedroom?? I would, Amen?! "Karen" would handle the kitchen, and "Katalina," the master suite... and "Katie" would come blog to you about it...

(And Chrystie with a "y" and "ie" should probably stick to articles about purses, or fake tanners, or else label her pieces warning: does not apply to women with preschoolers- bahahaha.)

Labels: Jack, parenting

Not too long ago Evan used the word "stupid" and I blamed myself. I tend to say, "oh mommy's so stupid!" under my breath when I do something clumsy or flaky. (My mother said that, too. I blame her, too.) Just like when Allie on The Notebook said, "Oh I am a stupid woman," in keeping with her mother's sayings.

I took him aside and asked him where he'd heard that word... made the mistake of saying that it really wasn't a very nice word and mommy shouldn't say it, either, before he told me exactly where he'd heard it. "Oh, well I heard Donald Duck say that."

DOH! Was that ever a slap your forehead moment. Who knew anyone could understand a word Donald Duck said in the old cartoons... I think he may be the first.

So more recently, last Friday, when I was retrieving him from school, I was greeted by his teacher saying, "Evan got a smiley face today, but there's a little note that says see teacher next to inappropriate words, and I just wanted to let you know what that's about."

Oh no. What could he possibly have said, I thought. Stupid? Poo Poo? Pee Pee? Crap? I mean that's the extent of what he's heard around here. "What did he say?" I asked, bracing myself...

"Well he was spelling words with Play Do and had made an s, h, i... and we said, 'okay, if he goes for the t we'll have to talk to him...' and sure enough, he got the t.'

"Well he's always spelling words on his board at home and we argue about whether they're real words. He doesn't understand that just because they make audible sense doesn't mean they're not real words..."

"Well, it's no big deal, I mean sometimes parents slip-"

"No! No, you don't understand. Crap would be a slip at our house. I mean, he doesn't hear that at home."

It was at that moment that I realized nothing I said would change how these teachers perceived me or him. They were thinking, 'oh, this poor, embarrassed woman, defending herself and her sailor-swearing mouth... and the poor little urchins that live with her...'

"Well, no, he knew what he was spelling," she insisted, "Ms. Jan took him aside and asked him if he knew what word that was. 'Yes, shit.' he said.'"

"Well yes, he can read and make words but that doesn't mean they have meaning to him."

(To this she was secretly thinking, 'right, like when you curse lady, he's not aware that the word has meaning, just that you say it.') But how could I possibly find the words or physical evidence to throw on the table for her? It was a lost battle.

Ms. Jan then came out and we repeated the entire conversation in exactly the same way; them saying he knew what he was saying, me saying he really didn't, and then them telling me stories about their own children saying crap in a doctors office to try to make me feel better. I didn't. They said crap not shit, and they were parroting a parent; he wasn't. Oh the injustice! Oh the depravity! No that we're perfect, but innocent, yes! He was completely innocent.

And me? I was on the brink of tears. The completely unexpected "brink of tears," and I choked up when I strapped him into his car seat, while he chattered away and casually said somewhere in the middle, "mommy, I spelled a bad word today but I didn't know it was a bad word."

That was it. Right then I broke the 6th commandment because I wanted to kill the woman that told my child there were such things as bad words. He's five. I know he'll know that in about a year when he starts kindergarten, but couldn't it have waited?

A couple deep breaths and a reality check later, I realized there are kids who hear these words at home, so how could I blame them? They don't know me; don't know if we do or don't say these things, and the equation for them was "if error, then truth... if sin, then rebuke." So I think they overreacted- tough. This is only the beginning of what is to come with school, teacher, and peer happenings. I'm going to have to grow some even thicker skin. I'm going to have to laugh a little more and hurt a little less. I'm going to have to let him live and have experiences without owning them, because doing that, in a small way, robs him. And those small ways could add up and he'll resent me for it.

I'll have to be more like Shaun, who, when I told the story, replied, "well f$&% her!" (He was kidding, fulfilling the teacher's accusations, before you have a hernia, Nana.)

As hard as it is to watch Evan live and learn, I'm going to have to do it, and do it well. As hard as it is to watch him wrestle through the daddy lion's death on The Lion King, it's good. It's good to talk about Scar, evil, Satan... and Simba, redemption, Jesus. Because somewhere in the midst of it he gets stronger. It's like watching Bambi learning to walk on ice; awkward and sometimes painful, but beautiful, too.

11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. Jeremiah 29

Labels: Evan, parenting

Just in case there's any controversy, I think it's evident that THIS one's legitimate.

Labels: beach, daddy, humor, Madalyn, pics

One boy of mine was tucked away at school tracing the letter "t," while the other did this:

Seems peaceful enough, right? Well, don't be so quick to assume such, because MEANWHILE, the OTHER child, the GIRL, was doing THIS:

Labels: Jack, Madalyn, parenting

Labels: boys will be boys, Evan, humor, parenting