CSquaredPlus3

Resourceful

When a four-year-old boy has his favorite Lego sword taken away because he's been "battacking" the dog and his brothers and his parents, make sure he doesn't see where it's been stashed.  It's possible, he'll pretend he doesn't miss the sword for a day or two, then when you least expect it...

...curious noises are heard coming from his room, which is located above the office where his mother sits quietly writing.  Not terrible noises... just curious.

The noises cease and the four-year-old boy casually enters the office and ponders aloud, "I wish I could fly," as he sighs.

His mother smiles and replies sympathetically, "I wish I could fly sometimes too, honey."

An hour later, the mother makes one of her routine patrols of the house, picking up toys to be returned to their respective bins while dusting banisters with her forearms as she motors up the stairs.

Upon entering the four-year-old boy's closet, the mother discovers a project has been underway.  A project that had not been approved because it would have most likely resulted in severe injury or death.

 

Perched on the very top shelf of his closet, was exactly where the four-year-old's father had stashed the sword... for safekeeping.

There were no injuries or deaths, and the boy and his sword have been reunited.  The mother had cocktail hour early that day.

Good Sports

From the beginning, Middle Boy said he didn't want to do it.  Oldest Boy and 4-Year-Old Boy were in.  Mary [the dog] seems to enjoy the attention when I fiddle with her, so she's usually cooperative as long as her outfit isn't too tight.

I managed to talk Middle Boy into wearing the costume for pictures only.  Oldest Boy tried to persuade him to wear it trick-or-treating, but Middle Boy was firm.  He wanted to be Plo Koon, a Star Wars Jedi Master.  As far as he was concerned, his brothers and the dog could dress in The Wizard of Oz costumes I so lovingly purchased.

 

 

The Tin Man, Cowardly Lion and Dorothy embraced their roles!

 

The Scarecrow?  Not so much...

 

After we took pictures, Oldest Boy began feeling... awkward.  I think I said, "Adorable!" a few too many times.  Middle Boy quickly changed into his Plo Koon costume.  Oldest Boy watched his brother don a cool mask and a light saber.  His feet were growing colder by the second.

"I don't think I want to trick-or-treat as the Tin Man."

"You look awesome!  With [4YO Boy] and Mary, you'll be the hit of the neighborhood.  Just wear it with confidence!"

His eyes started to well.  Chris, standing behind Oldest Boy, looked at me and gently shook his head, as if to say, "Surrender, Dorothy."

"What are you going to be?" I asked.

"I can be a Jedi. It's easy."

Oldest Boy scrambled, removed his make-up and appeared on the front porch ready to trick-or-treat as a Jedi.  Our Cowardly Lion was confused and disappointed.  At four-years-old, he was young enough to want to remain in his costume, but old enough to know he'd been duped.

Mary dressed as Princess Leia for Halloween three years ago.  I thought it would be inappropriate for her to be Jabba's slave Leia [in the metal bikini], but I'm rethinking for next year...

[Click on all photos to enlarge.]

The Third Child

Our third [and final] child turned four on September 9th.  I think he had a nice day and felt celebrated, but I felt badly because his birthdays are so different than his two older brothers were at the same ages.

With the first two boys we had parties with friends, games, decorations, treats, pinatas, crafts and adult beverages.  We planned and prepared weeks in advance, allowing each boy to select a theme or a special party location.  At the ages of three and four, the two older boys had preschool friends and had been to age appropriate places, like Build-A-Bear Workshop.

In most ways, Toddler Child is much more exposed than the first two boys were.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were not allowed to watch shows like SpongeBob SquarePants or Rugrats.  My friend T was visiting one time [he doesn't have children] and even he commented on the garish and off colors of animated shows for kids.

Oldest Boy [11] and Middle Boy [10] eventually watched SpongeBob SquarePants [Thankfully, Rugrats is off the air.], but it wasn't until they were seven or eight.  We're stricter than most parents we know when it comes to movies and media that we allow our kids to view or play.  Childhood is fleeting.  There's time.  I'm not worried about them missing anything. 

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy are beginning to enjoy shows that many of our friends allowed their kids to watch at a much younger age.  The problem?  Toddler Child sees some of these movies and is now one of THOSE children that I used to shake my head in judgment and say, "WHAT are they thinking letting their child watch THAT?"  

I called Chris one day in a huff because Middle Boy came home from kindergarten asking me if he could watch Mr. & Mrs. Smith like one of his classmates.  Uh, no.

NOTE:  Brad Pitt didn't stand a chance when he agreed to do that movie.  Angelina Jolie was in her prime and looked stunning.  I might have considered leaving Chris to go adopt babies all over the world with her too.  Poor Jen.  I can't believe she didn't see that one coming.

Sadly, as exposed as Toddler Child is to certain media, slang, and social ideas [via listening to his brothers], he's not exposed to many social experiences outside of our home.  We don't have him in preschool, by choice, so he and I spend a lot of time together.  He's not quite the parasitic head he once was. [Read here.]  But we remain very attached to one another.

For his birthday I planned for the two of us to spend a few hours at a dinosaur museum near our home while Chris was at work and the older boys were at school.  Toddler Child was happy with the idea.  I felt guilty because I wasn't throwing a little party, but in reality, he doesn't know what he's missing.  A day out with me when we don't have to hit Costco sounded great to him.

I called Supermodel and asked if Supermodel Jr. could go with us.  Supermodel Jr. was available.  She's the youngest of six children so she's more exposed than her older siblings were at her age also.  She carried a purse, wore sunglasses and applied her lipstick with more skill than I currently do.  Toddler Child was very interested in her.  I was very impressed by her.

[Click all photos to enlarge.]

She had Toddler Child hold her purse while she colored.  He looked a little uncomfortable, but politely obliged.

 

After the museum, we had lunch, visited a children's farm then stopped at the bakery on the way home to get Toddler Child's cake.  I watched those two little kids interact, observed their differences and similarities, and was pleased to see how kind and polite they were to one another.  It was a fun and memorable day for all three of us.

Even though it wasn't a party with lots of kids and a pinata, I like to think our third child felt celebrated, and I know that he will always appreciate the gift of enjoying your own company.

 

I Blinked

As quickly as it began, summer break is ending.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy return to school next week.  The school they attend resumes classes after Labor Day so we enjoy a summer break like the kind I had when I was a kid.  Three full months.  I love having the boys home and will join Toddler Child next week as he mopes around the house muttering, "I miss the big boys."

Our summer is ending with an assortment of tales to tell, but I've not had the time to chronicle everything publicly. 

Shortly after giving birth to Oldest Boy, I asked Chris if he got any good pictures or video.  He said, "I decided I wanted to experience the birth of our child, not worry about documenting it."  There's balance in that philosophy.  We have photos and journals that I'm thankful we have, but many, many years from now will any person really care?

Abbreviated Tales

Death:  The boys were prepared for Mamaw's death.  They were even prepared for the death of Susan Nelson, the wife of blogger, Fat Cyclist [Elden].  But they weren't prepared for the death of their beloved kindergarten teacher who passed unexpectedly due to a pulmonary embolism.  She was only 48.  These three deaths all occurred in August.  We parented through the death of a woman who had battled breast cancer for several years and left behind her husband and four children.  We parented through the death of an older person, blessed with a full and long life.  And we're still discussing the death of a teacher who appeared healthy one day and the next, was gone.  Rough.

It's Not Funny Anymore:  I had another incident with the car.  I dropped off Oldest Boy at his teacher's house for an ice-cream social.  As I backed out of the driveway [too fast], I hit the front of her husband's parked car.  No one was hurt.  When I called Chris to tell him what had happened, his normally calm and understanding tone was replaced with irritation as he said, "Are you effing kidding me?" 

NOTE:  My parents are refusing to take any calls from me if they see I'm calling from my cell phone.  [I only use my cell phone in the car.  For the record, I was NOT on my phone when I backed into the parked car.]

Birthdays:  Middle Boy turned ten on August 30th and Toddler Child will turn four next week.  Middle Boy thinks it's cool to be in the double-digits, and Toddler Child says he wants to be two, not four.  I told him I wish time worked that way sometimes too.

 

Hummingbird:  We had a hummingbird in the garage.  It flew around and rested on different brake cables of the bikes hanging from our garage ceiling.  I won't make this tale longer than it needs to be.  We were excited at the time.  You would have thought we had a bald eagle nesting on our trash can.  I have too many pictures of a hummingbird sitting on my bike's brake cable.

 

History:  We can't rewrite it.  Isn't that both a tragic and a glorious thing?  For now, this tale will remain very abbreviated.

Goodbye Summer:  I can't believe it's over!  I say this at the end of every school year, holiday, vacation, etc...  And I know I'll say it again.  I'm trying to enjoy the last few days before school starts by ignoring the toys that are left around the house, delaying wiping fingerprints where there typically are none, and avoiding yelling up the stairs, "Take it down a notch, boys!" when I hear them roughhousing.

Today I took my camera upstairs instead of requesting the boys downshift their play.

 

 

I miss the big boys already.

Almost Badass

[I wrote this post for my other blog "See Chrisy Run", but thought I'd post it here too.]

Supermodel and I completed the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase on Saturday.  Our concern about the weather was for naught.  We couldn't have asked for more perfect conditions weather-wise.  The temps were in the 40s and 50s, no wind, no rain, and blue skies.  My gear bag was packed with so many clothing options, it looked like I was going on vacation for a week.  I wore a sleeveless shirt and no gloves.  I was very comfortable.

Race Synopsis:

Mile 1:  Up

Mile 2:  Up

Mile 3:  Up

Mile 4:  Up

Mile 5:  Up

Mile 6:  Up

Mile 7:  Areyoukiddingme? Up  [Without exaggeration we climbed, using our hands, to the top of Jupiter Peak.  The peak was comprised of loose rock with weeds growing sporadically.  We could grab the weeds for balance, but there was no trail and the rocks slipped underfoot.  The view gave me vertigo and nausea, so I looked quickly... once.  Maybe another time.]

Mile 8:  Slightly Down [after scaling the Peak], but then... UP

Mile 9:  Slightly Down - Fall Number ONE for me.

Mile 10:  Down

Mile 11:  Down

Mile 12:  Down

Mile 13:  Down, Up, Down - Fall Number TWO for me.

Mile 14:  Down

Mile 15:  Down - Fall Number THREE for me.

Mile 16:  Down - FINISH!

There were varying degrees of intensity and grade with the climbs and descents, but you get the picture.

For those who haven't run a hill climb that includes a descent, running down is more difficult than one would think.  There were a few sections that were too steep to run, and the runnable sections required restraint on my part because my knees can't take the pounding.

Supermodel and I separated early in the race.  It happens.  We positioned ourselves at the very back of the pack before the start.  Once we began running, I realized we'd made a mistake.  There were people ahead of us who probably should not have been.  We were running on a forest service road for roughly the first half mile, then we all poured onto a single-track trail that was 18" wide.  The race began up a hill, so everyone was dealing with immediate oxygen debt.  I did the best I could to reposition myself before the single-track.  Supermodel was doing the same thing, but we lost each other.  We both knew the other would be okay.

This was a very difficult event, which made reaching the finish line that much sweeter.  Chris and the boys were there to support me, and Chris took several pictures.  Here I am before I noticed Chris or the boys.

With yards to go, I saw this...

Which made me so happy, I almost cried...

 

...before I finally ran across the finish line.

 

After the race, Supermodel and I hugged and congratulated one another.  It's always a bonding experience to train with someone and complete a goal together. [We still have two more events ahead of us.]  Supermodel told me all about her run, and I told her about mine.  We shared and cared about each other's aches, pains, joys, and victorious moments.  Supermodel and a few other runners were charged by a mother moose and her baby around mile four on the course! 

Supermodel also fell, only once, but she was scraped pretty badly.  We decided it's not your first trail race if you don't leave skin on the trail.  Just like, it's not a party until somebody pukes.  We're both officially initiated.

Toddler Child did not like seeing my skinned knees...

 

Supermodel and I after wiping ourselves with Wet Wipes.

Before we loaded up the car to head home, we paid a visit to the results table.  We were each handed a card with our UNOFFICIAL Overall Finish as well as our Age Group Finish.  My card said 32nd overall.  Supermodel's overall finish was very near that.  We asked the woman who handed us our cards how many people actually ran the race and she said close to 250.  Supermodel and I raised our eyebrows at each other and said, Not too shabby!

The following day, OFFICIAL Results were posted on a website.  I discovered that our "Overall Finish" results were for WOMEN only.  The race was timed as a Men's Steeplechase and a Women's Steeplechase, which is typically a subset of Official Results in other races I've completed.

I called Supermodel.

Me:  Guess what?

Supermodel:  What?

Me:  Official Results are posted and we didn't do quite as well as we thought.  We still did a great job, but it's a little deflating.  Our overall finish number was only for WOMEN.

Supermodel:  I liked thinking it was for the whole field.

Me:  Me too. 

We may not have finished quite as well as we originally thought, but we each did better than we expected we would.  And?  It's possible I finished the race with a broken wrist.  It's definitely sprained, the swelling's gone down, and my mobility's returning.  If it's not better tomorrow, I'll get an X-ray.

 

Tell me that's not badass.

Speedo-Mon

We're home for the rest of the summer so that means the boys will have to play with a hose in the backyard for fun, and we'll take an occasional day trip to check something off the list of Still To Do And See In Utah.

The good news is, our boys love playing in the hose.  Toddler Child insists on wearing his fast swimsuit [Speedo], and Mary joins our nearly-mistaken-for-Jamaican children while they play with water.  They wear plenty of sunscreen.  We're proud of our funky whiteness.

[Click on all photos to enlarge.]

 

 

A couple of days ago, Chris and I took the boys to Antelope Island State Park at the Great Salt Lake.  We've lived in Utah nearly seven years and had never taken the time to visit the lake for which the state is so famous.  I called for information and was told by a Very Nice Woman, that there was a beach, paddle boat rentals, a bistro, public restrooms and outdoor showers.  I was told the salt content in the lake is 3% higher than the ocean, only brine shrimp live in the water, and there are several brine flies at the water's edge.  The Very Nice Woman said the brine flies create a black ribbon on the beach and they will separate as you walk through them.  Don't worry, she said, they don't bite, and once you get beyond them it's just you and the buoyant waters of the Great Salt Lake!

We weren't expecting Maui, but I envisioned a long day on the "island".

We spent two hours on Antelope Island, and one hour would have been plenty. There is a beach, but it should be called something different because the connotation that goes along with "beach" left us all feeling confused and disappointed.  The bistro was run-down and closed.  The three paddle boats available for rent were filthy and full of dead brine flies and live wolf spiders.  We passed on the paddle boat rental.

There were BILLIONS of brine flies.  BILLIONS.  The ribbon the Very Nice Woman described, was several feet wide in places. The flies didn't bite; that part was true.  But they peppered the top of the water as far as my eye could see.  They were... icky.  Middle Boy, lover of all living things, shrieked as he high-stepped through them to get in and out of the water.

Chris and the boys getting ready to enter the lake.

[Chris would like it known that he does not appreciate this picture, but he won't use his Blog Power of Veto.  I think it's the outfit, old swim trunks and Super Friends t-shirt.  I reminded him he was about to enter a cesspool so it was important to wear disposable clothes.]

If you click on the following photo to enlarge, you might be able to see the brine flies [that the Very Nice Woman said would only be at the water's edge] all over the lake.

 

I brought my bathing suit, but couldn't get beyond the smell and the flies.  I kept my clothes on and waded in to my knees, but was miserable as I shooed flies, took pictures, and looked at my watch every 30 seconds hoping the kids would tire of the experience as I tolerated it.

 

Luckily the boys didn't need too much time bobbing in the brine fly water, and Toddler Child got salt in his eye.  We told him prior to getting in the water to be careful of his eyes, and we also told him there were brine shrimp living in the lake.  He confused the two and cried as we walked back to the car, "I have shrimp in my eye..."

I'm glad we saw the lake and swam in it [shudder], but I don't think we'll be returning.  It's big, salty, and interesting, but if you want to check this site off of your list of places to see, call me for information instead of the Very Nice Woman.

Still To Do And See In Utah:  Antelope Island State Park

[The Great Salt Lake from Antelope Island State Park]

The Weapon

Chris was out of town last week.  I can now manage the the kids and the house while he's away without hyperventilating or leaving teeth marks on my tongue from biting it with frustration.  Toddler Child sleeps through most nights and we deal with a nightmare, an accident, or a blood sugar issue only occasionally.  I don't think a child has vomited once in 2009.  [I know.  I shouldn't tempt fate by sharing that fact.]

The week went fairly well.  Except for one day.  It was T-minus 24 hours until Chris was to be home.  I hate coming undone when I'm so close to the end of something that requires a little more from me.  I don't know if I create a self-fulfilling or a self-defeating prophecy in these situations. But I do it almost every time.

I was singing dorkily in the car while taking Middle Boy to his guitar lesson.  His disapproving, yet ironically not disrespectful, glances told me he was embarrassed by my grooves.  I asked him lightheartedly, "Do I ever do anything that annoys you?"

"Sometimes."

"Like what?"

"Well...  I can't think of the word... but sometimes... you're... ... ..."

I knew what he was thinking.  I instantly felt it.  He truly didn't know the word, but he was thinking bitchy.  I waited.  He was innocent and thoughtful as he searched for the word to answer my question.

"... sometimes you're...  grumpy."

I asked him to explain and give me some examples.  The look on my face and the tone of my voice told Middle Boy this wasn't going the direction either of us thought it would.  He nervously described how he dropped a perfectly clean, plastic fork on the floor and I got REALLY mad.  I don't remember this, and I told him so.  I wanted more examples.  I was aware of my subtle but palpable shift to defensiveness partnered with antagonism.  My son was aware too, and chose his words carefully as he answered the assault of questions I threw at him.

When we got home from the guitar lesson I told Oldest Boy about my question to Middle Boy and the answer I received.  He could tell I was irritated and politely and diplomatically supported his brother.  He said some days I'm very patient but other days I get frustrated with them a little quicker than usual.

What did I do with this honest and valuable information from my sons?  I chastised them.  All night.  I peppered what should have been a pleasant evening with, "And ANOTHER thing..."  I reminded the boys of everything I do around the house.  I reminded them how good they have it compared to other kids.  I reminded them that the "other mothers" who are sooo wonderful have GRUMPY days too.  I reminded them that some kids don't even HAVE a mother.  They were pink-eyed and trembly-lipped a couple of times.

Toddler Child was lying low.  Happy for once that he wasn't the boy on the receiving end of one of my manic lectures.

Dinner, showers, bedtime reading routines, all were accomplished successfully.  Toddler Child had been sleeping with something to protect himself and the rest of the family while Chris was out of town.  He requested it for one more night, in case he needed to battack someone.

NOTE:  We're not a gun family.  Chris nor I were raised by parents who hunt, target shoot or have a need for a gun, so we're raising our kids the same.  Our arguments are just passionate enough that if we had a gun in the house, it's possible that one of us would eventually be referred to as "Stumpy".  Or "inmate number 35704-019".

It was after 10:00 PM and all three boys were asleep.  In a span of seconds, I was painfully aware of how heavy I'd been earlier.  Selfishly, I entered Oldest Boy's room, hugged him and apologized for my rant.  He hugged me back and said, "I forgive you."  I repeated the scene in Middle Boy's room.  He's a sound sleeper and didn't respond.  I hoped somehow my words and heart penetrated his dreams.  I would talk to him in the morning.

Toddler Child hadn't been on the receiving end of my behavior directly, so I chose to let him sleep.  I also didn't want to invoke a battack by a plunger. 

One weapon had been drawn too long.  It was time to put them all down.

He's Home

With his two younger brothers in tow, I made the 90-minute trip -- in closer to 60 -- and retrieved Oldest Boy from diabetes camp today.  He was hanging out by the swings with his cabin mates when we arrived.  As soon as he saw us approaching across the field his arm shot up in the air and he waved unabashedly at us.

Toddler Child reached him first...

Oldest Boy had a blast.  He shared stories of exciting and good things that happened at camp and a few stories that made my heart ache for him... but mostly good things.

When we arrived home, he was greeted by Mary, the dog, and Wren, the crazy parakeet, with the truest dog and bird love I've ever seen.  Because he's a boy after my own heart, he wanted a shower immediately after hugging and kissing the pets.  He took a long shower while Middle Boy sat outside the shower door listening to more stories, peppered with jokes, riddles and silly songs.  I could hear the laughter echoing in the bathroom, spilling down the stairs and over the balcony while I prepared dinner in the kitchen.  

After a show and tell session where Oldest Boy showed us all the various crafts, trinkets and treasures made and found at camp, we had dinner... a meal a little more special than usual to make Oldest Boy's homecoming as warm as possible.

The kitchen is clean, as are the three Ross boys.  They're in their pajamas in Oldest Boy's room, and he's still holding court.  I think I'll go join his admirers..

Dear George Lucas

Middle Boy [9] wrote a letter to George Lucas recently...

The poor kid wrote the letter in early March, but for some reason it took me until late April to mail it for him.  When I finally sent his letter and drawing to Mr. Lucas, I enclosed the following note...

 

Chris and I crossed our fingers and hoped, someone... anyone... would acknowledge Middle Boy's efforts.  We explained to Middle Boy that George Lucas, not unlike Santa Claus, has lots of helpers and probably can't personally reply to every piece of mail he receives.

A few days ago, a special, large envelope from Lucasfilm Ltd. arrived.  I don't know who was more excited in our house -- the boys, or Chris and I.  [Click on the image to enlarge.]

A few pieces of Lucasfilm Ltd. swag were included, and Middle Boy handled the content of the letter with surprising maturity.  He said he understood why they needed to protect themselves... said he "knows the feeling" because of his chapter book idea.  [Middle Boy won't even allow Chris or me to view some of his movie or book ideas.  You never know who will steal a good idea, he says.]

He was thrilled with receiving anything from a George Lucas employee.

The original envelope, letter and artwork were returned... but the envelope had been opened, and it was obvious his "unsolicited submission or idea" had been read and reviewed.  If an Auquatrooper shows up on The Clone Wars series?  That's our boy!

That's Gonna Cost You A Hundred Bucks!

Although I've been blogging for nearly a year, I remain technicologically arrested.  I had visions of posting video and creative photos, changing my blog design and layout, but I haven't taken the time to read the books I've purchased or use online tutorials.  I have a Mac that Chris tells me can create feature films, and I use it like a $500 PC.  Middle Boy's been working in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, so I'm hoping this summer he'll teach me how to transfer the ideas in my head to the computer.

This morning I figured out how to get a video clip to Vimeo.  I'm sure there's a faster, simpler way, than the path I took, but I did it!  It's not the most entertaining, interesting or funny video, it's just the clip I was working with and I'm too tired to scan our hours of film for a different one.  But trust me... I will!

The video was taken early last summer on a windy day.  The boys were using a sled as a sail to catch wind and move their wagon up the sidewalk.  They've done this many times before and love it. 

We have path lights that are not kid friendly and snap easily if a running child isn't paying attention and hits one.  They cost between $100 and $200.  We've replaced... several.  We've told the kids many times to please not play near them, and we feel they're old enough now and have heard their father cuss under his breath each time it happens, to understand and manage.  They have plenty of space to play.

I had reminded the boys to be careful and avoid the lights, maybe start their surfing past the lights.  They hit one.  First I laugh, then I go all Joan Crawford on them when I realized it had happened... again.  Just wanted to explain why I was so sharp and demanded "...a hundred bucks!" from my son who was ten-years-old at the time.  For the record... I never collected.

Boys Windsurfing on Sidewalk from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

My Money's on Miss Piggy

Per Wikipedia - "In colloquial speech, bullying often describes a form of harassment perpetrated by an abuser who possesses more physical and/or social power and dominance than the victim. The victim of bullying is sometimes referred to as a target. The harassment can be verbal, physical and/or emotional.

... Targets of bullying in school are often pupils who are considered strange or different by their peers to begin with, making the situation harder for them to deal with."

One of our sons has been bullied recently.  He seems to grasp what has happened and although hurt and fatigued, he has a surprisingly logical perspective about the situation.  The bully-er is not a bad or mean child and is fortunate to have a mother who received the information graciously and will redirect his behavior appropriately.  I'm confident of this.

My brother Mallory Joe was severely bullied when he was in the sixth grade.  We were raised to be lovers, not fighters.  No toy guns in our house, no hitting, no unkindness tolerated... Mother wouldn't even allow us to say the word "weird" because it was derogatory.  People aren't weird, she would say, they're... different.  

Mallory Joe didn't know how to handle the bullying.  I don't think Mom knew how bad it was.  She listened to my brother and encouraged him to take the high road, remember sticks and stones may break my bones... all the quasi-hippie, make love, not war encouraging words.  Mallory Joe did what Mom said... and continued to get. his. ass. kicked.

One day Mallory Joe came home from school, disheveled, clothing torn and clearly shaken.  Mother asked him what had happened.  I watched her make-love-not-war-philosophy fly out the window as she listened to the humiliation my brother had endured after school.

She sent Mallory Joe and one of his friends out to find the bully that afternoon.  She was calm and firm as she gave the boys specific instructions on how and what to say to the bully.

I'll never forget seeing Mallory Joe and his friend confidently ride away on their bicycles, empowered with the knowledge that amnesty for acts not yet committed awaited them when they returned home.  Mother channeled her best pissed-off Miss Piggy voice and yelled after them, "OH... AND MAKE HIM BLEED, HONEY!"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."

Miss Piggy

Easter

The boys dyed eggs on Friday evening.  I always buy one or two extra Paas egg decorating kits so we can dye eggs another time.  Once a year seems unnecessarily infrequent for something so fun, but every month seems excessive.  Two or three times a year... feels about right.

On Saturday I was running last minute errands on behalf of the Easter Bunny.  While I was away, Oldest Boy whispered in Chris' ear, "I know you and Mom are the Easter Bunny," and gave a smarmy wink.  Chris winked back and said, "Shhh.  Don't ruin it for your brothers."

Middle Boy still believes... in everything.  It's a blast.  He's nine so we know he's close to discovering the truth.  Either through his own mental gymnastics, or other kids planting seeds of doubt with their stories of revelation.

"Dad, I can't figure out how the Easter Bunny gets around the whole world.  How does he get over the oceans?  He can't just hop...  Santa at least has the reindeer.  They can fly super fast... plus they're part of the horse family." [Duh.]

Middle Boy repeated his thoughts and questions to me this morning.

"Mom, even if the Easter Bunny didn't have to cross the oceans, he has to hop way fast...  I can't figure it out.  Do you know how he delivers eggs and baskets around the world?"

"No, I don't. [looking up, faking a concerned, confused expression]  He has a way though.  I'm sure."

What I do know?  That the Easter Bunny at our house deserves the wine she drinks while dying eggs, because she hops her ass off making Easter special for the children.  [Or "shildren" if it's been a particularly long day.]  [See wine behind Oldest Boy in photo.]

Happy Easter!

Let's Dance, Baby

The boys had their final Cotillion party a couple of weeks ago.  Overall, they both enjoyed the Cotillion experience, but neither boy wanted to attend the last dance.  It was a school night, they were tired, and over it.

Being the good parents that we are, we made them go.

Oldest Boy enjoys the dancing more than Middle Boy.  He smiles and makes light conversation with his partner, like he was taught in Cotillion.  Middle Boy's expression is solemn, he avoids eye contact and discussion with his partner and he moves like he's counting the seconds until the experience is over.  I felt sorry for his partners.  The little girls love the dancing and there are always more girls than boys.  A polite boy's participation is a treasure to these girls.

Here's Middle Boy in agony on the dance floor, mad that I'm taking his picture.
[Click to enlarge all photos.]

Here's Middle Boy after I whispered in his ear through clenched teeth [resisting the urge to smack him on the side of the head] to, Be nice, smile, and fake it!

After the kids danced the parents were invited to join.  We were taught dance steps by the instructor, then our child was supposed to graciously assist.  Middle Boy didn't even enjoy dancing with me.

Here we are wrestling on the dance floor.

Here I am reminding him to, Try to have a good time.  I'll pay you if you smile.

 

Oldest Boy is a parent pleaser.  He genuinely wants to do the right thing and he's delighted when he catches an approving glance.  We recognize this won't likely last forever.  Oldest boy is either dancing with bells on because he thinks it pleases us, or... he was born to dance!

Look at the joy on his face...

I was a parent pleaser and I enjoy dancing, so Oldest Boy comes by it naturally.  Middle Boy takes a little more after his father.  Notice where Chris is sitting in this picture...

Chris was a good sport to attend the Cotillion party.  Many fathers were unfortunately not willing unable to participate.  Chris was a great photographer, but when I had the camera, he sat in the back row, near the door and he didn't dance.  Not even once.  If I give him a few drinks and make some promises... then he'll dance.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

This photo was taken last Saturday.  Oldest Boy and I were on a ski lift.

So, what's wrong with this picture?  Besides the too-bright light, too-close (arms length), unflattering angle, shot...   I'm not wearing a helmet.

Chris and the boys wear helmets on the mountain and I don't.  It's not that I'm opposed to it, I've just not taken the time to buy one.  As most skiers/boarders know, 20 years ago we didn't wear helmets.  Those of us with little or no money didn't wear goggles, or even snow pants.  Jeans and a can of Scotch Guard seemed to work fine.

I'm buying a helmet, Chris.  I promise.

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This photo was taken this morning while the boys were riveted to Clone Wars.

So, what's wrong with this picture?  We spent all day yesterday (Saturday) working in the yard.  We obviously didn't use good sun-sense.  [Notice Toddler Child's neck, but all three boys have sunburns on their arms, necks, ears and cheeks.]  Chris has had multiple squamous cell carcinomas removed over the years and our boys inherited his funky white skin.  Shame on us for not applying sunscreen.  It's rare, but it happens.

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The following photos were taken at Utah's Hogle Zoo a little over a week ago.  [Click on photos to enlarge.]

So, what's wrong with these pictures?  Nothing really.  We just had a nice time.

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A couple more... sorry.  [Click on photos to enlarge.]

 

What's wrong with these pictures?  Not much.  Although, Chris should have never photographed my butt next to an elephant's.

He Just Wanted to Say "Suck"

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy are in Arizona visiting my parents for a few days.  Their school dismissed them at noon last Friday for a two-week spring break.  We all need it.  We're trying to conserve money and minimize stress, so we chose not to take a family vacation.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were happy with the alternative we presented.  The chance to fly solo to see their grandparents, and enjoy valuable and rare one-on-one time.  The boys love it, and so do my parents.  The boys follow our rules better than Mom and Dad though.

Mom particularly enjoys pushing the limit.  She never does anything terrible, but things she knows we'd probably not do.  I don't know why she enjoys this so much.  For example, when Oldest Boy was six he was into marbles.  She said she had the perfect bag for him to store and carry his marbles.  A velvet, Crown Royal bag.  He didn't know what it was, but Mom loved the idea of a little boy carrying around a Crown Royal bag.  He still has it.

Before they were out of diapers, the boys were saying "Salud!" and trying to clink their sippy cups with other kids, thanks to Mom. 

They came home from an Arizona visit last summer with a picture of a dead snake.  Mom saw a coyote walking behind their property with the snake it's mouth.  She and the boys followed the coyote and when it dropped the dead rattlesnake, Mom took a picture of the chewed-on snake corpse for their scrapbook.  Cute.

Toddler Child declares anything gross or unpleasant, "Caca!  Kay-Kay says so!"  [The kids call Mother Kay-Kay after her attempts to have Oldest Boy call her "Nana Kaye Anna" failed.]

I called Mom and Dad's house yesterday to see how things were going.  Oldest Boy told me they were watching the movie Gremlins on television.  They'd never seen it and he was enjoying it.  Middle Boy shared the same information, but could hardly contain himself when he said, "Guess what channel the movie's on, Mom?  It's called Movies That Don't Suck."

"Hey.  You just wanted to say 'suck'."

"No, Mom.  That's what it's called.  Really."

The boys and I said our goodbyes, then Mother got back on the phone.  "Middle Boy could hardly wait to tell me about the channel Movies That Don't Suck."

"Well... that is what it's called, Honey.  There's one of those little logos on the bottom of the screen."

"Just so you know... we prefer the kids not say 'suck'."

I heard her sigh heavily, and I'm certain her eyeballs rolled back as she said, "All right.

Blindside vs. Knowing... Both Hurt

Oldest Boy has type 1 diabetes.  He was diagnosed 03.03.03 in the ER of Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah, at the age of five.  It was devastating, but we're thankful he's healthy and managing the disease responsibly.

Because of Oldest Boy's diagnosis it's not uncommon for me to check the blood sugar of Middle Boy, Toddler Child, Chris, me, and any other friend or family member.  Usually... all is well.

Middle Boy gave us a scare almost three years ago with a blood sugar near 200.  Normal is 80 to 120, roughly.  I assumed type 1 had hit him, but it had not.  Per a recommendation from Oldest Boy's  endocrinologist, we discussed with Middle Boy participating in a clinical trial for relatives of people with type 1 diabetes.  Middle Boy agreed to participate in a TrialNet Study [with our guidance, support, and input] after discovering his body is producing two of three autoantibodies that predict the onset of type 1 diabetes.  We know the freight train is heading his way.  It blindsided us with Oldest Boy.  This time we see it coming.  We can't change it's course, but we can brace emotionally for the impact.

Through the TrialNet Study, we've been monitoring Middle Boy's pancreas for two and a half years.  He consents to biannual tests requiring an IV, fasting, and a few hours of mild discomfort to see how his pancreas is performing.  We typically leave the hospital reminded that his pancreas is sputtering, but he remains diabetes free.  Stressful?  Yes.  Does it provide valuable information to researchers, ultimately helping the diabetic community?  Yes.  Does Middle Boy choose to do this?  Yes.  He receives $50 each time he participates - from the Study.  He also loves his brother and believes what he's doing will help people with diabetes and their future children and grandchildren.  Not written as a prideful mother - it's the truth.

Wednesday was a test day.  The preliminary results were bad.  We've known for some time now that Middle Boy was standing in the path of the freight train.  It's always seemed abstract - far away.  It's getting closer.  Faster.  It's painful and sad.

He does not have type 1 diabetes... today, but his blood sugars indicate it's very close.  Doctors have been wrong in the past.  We hope and pray that Middle Boy will be the exception... the miracle.  He has an appointment - as does his brother - with an endocrinologist in a couple of weeks.  One of the benefits of watching the disease approach is Middle Boy might be able to get by on a small, daily, dose of insulin to give his healthy cells a break.  It's possible he can avoid taking insulin with food for a longer period of time.  We'll see.

 

The doctor who oversees the study reviewed Wednesday's results and explained the implications.  We shared everything with Middle Boy, and called Chris who was home with Toddler Child.  Middle Boy cried.  His father and I cried.  BUT, we all reminded ourselves that he does NOT have type 1 diabetes on THIS day.

Let's go out for lunch, buy some clothes at Old Navy, gawk at the Apple Store, hit Toys-R-Us so you can spend your $50, and let's get a milkshake at Ben and Jerry's.  TODAY we don't have needles or insulin.  This is good!

While eating lunch at his favorite Asian restaurant, Middle Boy broke several moments of silence saying, "Mom, I thought about some of the things you've said.  I think you're right.  [About simply enjoying today.]  It's like what Helen Keller says about appreciating your senses.  She says, *'Smell a flower today, like you might not smell it tomorrow'.  That's what I'm going to do."

I said, "You're a bright boy... "

*NOTE:  He remembered the gist of what Helen Keller wrote at the end of her essay Three Days to See.

I who am blind can give one hint to those who see - one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf to-morrow. Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense; glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.

Published in the Atlantic Monthly, January 1933.

The Crock-pot Returns and Some Other Stuff

The All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker - I am happy to report that it was returned this morning in it's original condition and is on the pantry shelf, in the special spot.  I had a dream last night that it was returned scratched, with baked-on clam chowder.  Thank goodness it was only a dream.  The slow cooker is clean, shiny and has been well cared for.  Crisis averted.

Skiing/Boarding - Oldest Boy and Middle Boy had their final snowboard lesson on Saturday.  It was a beautiful day.  The sky was blue, the temperatures were pleasant and the snow was good.  The boys had a great time and I skied with several nice people and did not have a repeat of this day.  My Greek Moonshine supplier made good on his promise last week, so I was able to come home to a nip from the "NOT Water!" bottle.

Toddler Child - We haven't taken him to the mountains to ski or snowboard yet.  He's still in diapers [please don't judge] and we're not convinced that the money [which doesn't grow on trees at our house] and the stress involved are worth it.  He feels sad when he sees the "big boys" leave - regardless of the reason - and is thrilled when they return.

Toddler Child has an ear fetish.  He loves to touch ears.  He needs to touch ears.  Oldest Boy gets the award for offering his ear to Toddler Child the most.  Middle Boy finds it irritating and will do it occasionally if he can't take the persistent begging.  When we got home from the mountain on Saturday, Toddler Child was thrilled to see his brothers and have Oldest Boy's ear.

The Oscars - I didn't know they started at 6:30!  I know he's not popular with many people for many different reasons.  But, I dig Sean Penn.  I can't tell you precisely why.  He blows my skirt up in an unconventional way, kind of like Steve Martin, David Letterman, Owen Wilson, Liam Neeson and Daniel Craig.  Oh... Daniel Craig blows all of our skirts and kilts up in a conventional way.

The end.

We like to call it a naive charm.

Exhibit A
Oldest Boy (11) and Middle Boy (9) were laughing hysterically at something they'd seen on America's Funniest Home Videos.  I asked what was so funny.

Finishing each other's sentences, like an old married couple, the boys told me about a video with a man and a woman who were being filmed for some telethon.  The boys thought it was at a church.  The man and woman were cheerfully soliciting money for a cause.  Apparently, the man said, "I'll be your host this evening...", and the woman followed with, "I'll be your whore this evening too..." and continued talking, not realizing what she'd said.

Oldest Boy, laughing heartily said, "And Mom, they were at CHURCH!"  Middle Boy howled.  This was a real knee-slapper.

"Do you guys know what whore means?"

Again, finishing each other's sentences and clearly of the same mindset, "Yeah.  You know, like scary or creepy.  She horrified them.  Get it?  She's a horror."

Exhibit B - Part 1
All three boys shower and bathe in our bathroom, more for efficiency than anything else.  Oldest Boy typically showers but occasionally likes to take a bath.  Chris was keeping everyone on task.  Middle Boy had moved from the wash to the dry cycle, Toddler Child was being coaxed out of the tub, and Oldest Boy was still washing in the same tub.  I was in Chris' and my closet tidying things, and I heard the following...

[Loud blowing of nose sound.]

Chris:  Hey.  Don't do that, Buddy.

Oldest Boy:  Mom said it's good to get your nose clean with warm water.

Chris:  She meant in the shower.  Now all that junk's gonna float around in there.

Oldest Boy:  Ohhh.

Chris:  I'll get the bucket.

Exhibit B - Part 2
I walked in to help Toddler Child out of the bathtub.  I lifted him, placed him on the mat and started the hurried, sometimes too rough, towel dry.  "Do you want to go potty in the toilet before we put on your pajamas?"

"No.  I peed in the tub." [quick smile to punctuate]

Chris and I find comfort in the fact that, although they might someday be President and Vice President of the Chess Club, or graduates of the Pond's Institute, the boys know how to have a good time...

[They're drinking root beer and sparkling cider on New Year's Eve in our basement.  They begged to stay up until midnight (a big deal at Ross Inc.).  Toddler Child and I were sleeping, which is why they were partying in the basement - so as not to wake us.  They'll be considerate hell-raisers.  We're so proud.]

If you really loved me, you would.

Oldest Boy asked if we could rent West Side Story.  His dance and music teachers at school have been playing clips from the movie in class.  He convinced Middle boy that it was about gangs and he'd really, really, really like it.  I love old movies, especially musicals, so I was thrilled.  We found a copy at Blockbuster and grabbed Karate Kid II as well.

We watched the first half of West Side Story last week, on a school night.  On our way home from skiing Saturday afternoon, assuming they had forgotten about the Jets and the Sharks, I reminded the boys we could watch Karate Kid II.  Oldest Boy said, "Can we watch the rest of West Side Story first?"  I was so pleased.  Middle Boy was not.

We showered, got in pajamas, made our popcorn and cocktails, and finished West Side Story.

Middle Boy disappeared towards the end of the movie, but he watched longer than I thought he would.  We heard the hum of an electric pencil sharpener coming from his room. [He loves to draw with colored pencils.]

I was sitting with Chris.

Me:  Let's pretend you're Tony and I'm Maria.

Chris:  Sure! [wheels turning]

Me:  Tony has nice hair and a full mouth.  Would you consider a little filler in your lips?

Chris:  No. [buzzkill]

Me:  would you consider hair extensions?

Chris:  No. [double buzzkill]

Me:  Will you at least sing "Maria" to me?

Chris:  I can't sing.

Me:  Yes you can.  Come on.  Do it.  Please...

Chris:  No.

Me:  What about "Somewhere"?  That's so romantic.

Chris:  No.

Me:  Fine.  I'll sing my parts and your parts. [clearing throat]

Oldest Boy:  Dad, sing "Cool" or the "Jet Song".  Those are good!

Chris:  This isn't going how I thought it would.

Me:  My mother almost named me Maria you know...

There's airborne, and then there's Airborne.

The two older boys didn't have school on Friday due to Parent Teacher Conferences, so even though Oldest Boy and Toddler Child were "sick" with colds, they rallied to go sledding.  Funny how that happens.

The sky was blue, the air was clean and we headed to a park with a hill big enough for the older boys to enjoy but small enough for Toddler Child to manage.  There's nothing worse than a 40-pound toddler asking to be carried up a hill, when it's hard enough getting your own, old butt to the top.  This hill was every man for himself, and my selection strategy saved my back.  When the older boys needed more excitement, they built a jump.  Which hurt their backs.  Even Toddler Child's.

I refused to go over the little jump which disappointed the boys.  It's not my first rodeo, Kids.

Friday night we went to bed and I woke up at 1:38 a.m.  Oldest Boy's and Toddler Child's cold was now mine.  Frustrating to go to bed feeling perfectly healthy, then be hit with illness, recognizing the exact moment it infiltrates the body.  I'm sick.

As Chris and the older boys left for snowboarding on Saturday morning, and Toddler Child seemed exorcised of his cold, I thought to myself, maybe I should have taken the jump...