Have You Seen My Brain?

The jet lag, she is a wicked mistress.  Jack keeps saying "Mommy? Do you need some coffee?" .  But it's not just the time difference... I am feeling the void that my girls left behind.  And nobody in my house can give a proper accessory critique.  I have worn flip-flops for 3 days now, and THEY ARE LETTING ME GET AWAY WITH IT.  If this keeps up, I will be busting out the banana clips and skorts in no time.  Save me!

It's so surreal, the being back home and doing of housework.  Oh, and lest I forget, the changing of diapers.  How lovely was it to wipe no behind but my own for 4 whole days, you ask?  SO LOVELY.  But all that was (nearly) forgotten the moment two sets of pudgy arms wrapped around my kneecaps.  It's a fine line to walk, this place between carefree city girl and pony-tailed, yoga-panted Mom.  

And I left my creativity swirling around in the ether, up with the foggy blanket over San Francisco.  I like to think it's just marinating there, soaking up a bit more of the melancholy of the bay.  Perhaps it will return to me once it is fully saturated.  Until then, I can always just post more photos of my dog in funny hats, right?  Or I could, um, plagiarize myself and take my email ramblings and put them up as today's post.  Which do you think I chose? (Mocha knows.)

And now off we go for the pre-kindergarten physical.  There will be shots, and so also tears... and then ice cream. 

I'm "Just" A Mom.

There comes a moment - say, when you are searching the entire house for your child's lost blankie for the fourth time at 10pm on a Sunday evening - when you realize that your finer aspirations - becoming, for example a modern-day female Hemingway - have necessarily fallen by the wayside.

In that moment, you have no choice but to stop, breathe deeply, and acknowledge that, no, this is not the empowered, Ayn Rand-ian existence you had imagined for yourself; that it is quite unlikely you will rewrite the rules of history or change the geo-political landscape of your time. There is a very good chance you will never see the Sahara Desert or take tea with the Dalai Lama, and it is nearly certain that you will never walk the red carpet in an organza Chanel confection.

There's also a pretty good chance distinct possibility snowball's chance in hell that you'll ever be photographed in a bikini and mistaken for the body of Angelina Jolie.

Hey, we all have our dreams. Judgment only makes the judge a smaller person. After all, I didn't comment on your childhood dreams of being a firefighter, astronaut, or whatever.

But it is, in those moments, that I find a certain kind of clarity. There's no way to predict what the rest of my life will be like, after all, and when I think of all the great accomplishments I had planned for my life they all share one thing in common - their singularity. I always thought I would do One Great Thing with my life, something I would be noted in history for.

Instead, I find that I get 3 really great accomplishments. It may be that they won't go down in the history books; I doubt I'll be numbered among the ranks with the likes of Marie Curie or Amelia Earhardt. But their names are Jack, Tobin, and (for the moment, until we change it - as we reserve the right to do) Milo. And they are some pretty amazing things, even if nobody but their father and I ever notes it.

I started my Mother's Day in a grumpy way, which remained unimproved when I realized we were out of coffee. I slept in to a not indecent hour before waking to the screams of my children, as the two boys had suddenly discovered that brothers are, apparently, each others' natural predators. Their frazzled father was just doing his best to keep them both alive and in one piece, and so I finally stumbled down the stairs in search of breakfast which was, obviously, not going to be able to make its way up to me. And I was pouting about it.

Of course, Big Daddy quickly smoothed things over. He and Jack headed up to the kitchen to make me a lovely plate of nibbles: fresh strawberries and toast with my favorite jam (amaretto peach apricot). After the nourishment made its way into mah bell-ay, I was feeling good enough to spend the afternoon wandering the mall with my menfolk. I even bought some new lip gloss at Bath and Body Works - sparkly lip gloss that smells delightfully of cupcakes.

All in all, it was a somewhat ordinary day. Me-Me the blanket was eventually located (this morning. outside in the rain. the joys.) and I found that, for all the ambitions that will likely go unrealized in this brief life of mine, I am quite content to picture an old age where I have accomplished little that the world will note... so long as I can live those days surrounded by my children, grandchildren and - of course - my pretty spectacular husband.

Reality? It's not such a bad place to live. Sometimes it even smells like cupcakes.

Failure to Communicate.

I have noticed a disturbing trend lately in the relationships that surround us.

First, I need to explain that I am incredible fortunate in my relationship with Big Daddy. We communicate - ad nauseam at times, sure - but we never fail to communicate effectively on any topic. We may have the occasional argument in which I refuse to talk about "What is the matter?" but it never fails to follow that we sit down and discuss "What, exactly, just went wrong here?"

When it comes to my friends and relations, it seems I have one of THOSE faces, the kind that people look at and immediately begin to unload their life story and most intimate problems. I've never minded; I'm a very good listener, and I know when to offer advice and, generally, when to keep my mouth shut and allow the other person to simply release their pressure valve a little.

And so it is that I am befuddled by the people around me. Especially by the married people. It seems that everywhere I turn, I am deluged with stories of marriages wherein the spouses actually speak to other as little as possible. Got a problem with your husband's failure to take out the garbage? As willing as I am to listen to how you feel that this is a serious indicator that he is taking you for granted and completely out of touch with your needs, may I suggest... you know... TELLING your husband that you feel he is out of touch with your needs? Because chances are, if you're going straight from "does not take out trash" to "doesn't understand me at ALL!", there are larger issues in play.

We know couples who have recently dealt with such topics as illness, infidelity, death of a child, loss of employment, and a whole slew of other seriously heavy issues. And yet, if what I am hearing is any indication, there is very little discourse within the marriage on .. you know "What happened here?" and "How are you doing?". Most disturbing to me is the number of women I know who have said, flat out, that they know their marriage is in trouble... but their husbands have flatly refused to even TALK about the possibility of marriage counselling. Like, at least one has said he'd rather just go ahead and split up rather than - you know - go and TALK to someone about their problems.

The most frustrating is the couple we know who are splitting up; he has stated his intention to move out and leave his wife and their children. And yet every conversation seems to be a mix of blame, accusation and resentment... without ever actually stating the actual problem. Just a lot of "It's all your fault I'm not happy" with no explanation as to in which ways, exactly, he is not happy.

Maybe I'm naive; maybe most marriages really ARE a union of two people who are "part of the marriage" without being, I dunno, part of each other. Big Daddy and I are two totally separate, distinct individuals who disagree regularly (and with gusto) but we're also completely open with each other. Totally honest. If one person isn't happy, we talk it out until there is a resolution or a compromise. We talk about our day, and I can name a half-dozen of his coworkers (most of whom I have never met or maybe said "hello" to at the Christmas party) and describe their key personality traits. He knows the names of my Mom friends and remembers to ask how my sister's health is and whether her daughter did well at her violin recital. We have parts of our lives that are separate from each other - that exist outside of the marriage - but we still do our best to give each other a glimpse into that world.

I might be weird, but I am always floored when other women tell me they have no idea what their husband does at work, who his coworkers are, or what is going on at his company right now. Even when we were both working full-time, I was interested in those things. And I like that Big Daddy can vent to me about the office; he still needs to go out with the guys once in a while to commiserate with those who Understand Better Than His Wife, and I am happy that he has that chance, but he would never discount me from that part of his life.

So maybe I am a bit of a Pollyanna when it comes to marriage; maybe I am just incredibly fortunate to be with the person that I am (scratch that, there's no "maybe" about it) but I am beginning to despair of finding more than just a handful of couples who share that with us; who don't divide into "his" and "hers" conversations at every social gathering; who are still each other's true best friend.

Of course, out of all the couples we know, nearly all of them would claim to be each others' best friend... but I keep coming back to this: When your spouse is truly your best friend you can share any truth, no subject is taboo, and no conversation too scary to have. If you have to fear any discussion with your spouse, or some topic (like seeing a counsellor when you know you're in trouble) is absolutely taboo, then you may be married, you may love each other dearly, but there's not trust there.

That may work with friends and relatives - to avoid certain topics for the sake of preserving the relationship - but it doesn't fit any recipe for a Good Marriage that I'd want to be part of.

So, assuming I'm not pouring lemonade on anyone's open wounds here, I'd love to hear other thoughts on this topic.

Ready, steady, GO!

Travel, Sports, and AHH! The Cuteness.

First off, let's all give a big Internet High Five to my husband, who circumnavigated the globe several times on miserable business travel.. and then gave me the frequent flyer miles to get me on a plane to San Francisco for the oft mentioned BlogHer '08 that I'll be attending in July.

I'm not certain yet what will be required of me in return, but I suspect it will incorporate the fact that I'm quite bendy. (Thank you, pilates.) Or, at least as bendy as a pregnant woman can hope to be.

Secondly, please stop by and give big, wet smooches to the MochaMomma, who bestowed some seroius love on yours truly. She is my internet fairy godmother. Also? Her lips are mythical in their perfection and lusciousness. Actually, her whole person is mythical that way. Everyone should be so lucky as to know someone like her at least once in a lifetime. And you are free to envy that I expect to sit on her lap and let her whisper sweet things in my ear when I stalk meetup with her at BlogHer.

So you can see that my brainpan is quite overflowing with thoughts of my upcoming San Francisco adventures. It's hard to focus on anything else, even though there are oodles of things to get done between now and then. You know, like putting away the laundry that has been folded in baskets and patiently waiting to be stowed for.. oh.. I forget.

Also, my baby - MUH BAYBEE! - has kindergarten registration next week and OHMYGAWD I am too young and how could you let this happen?!! But, um, (*sniffle*cough*hiccup*) let's not talk about that because I remembered to put on mascara this morning and I don't need to have it running down my face just now.

Instead, let's talk about Tee Ball! (Smooth transition, no?) (no.)

Jack is an amazing kid. His newest habit, for example, is getting up in the morning and setting the table for breakfast while his parents are still happily snoring away. He is quick to follow directions and incredibly eager to please.

The funny thing about watching Jack learn to play Tee Ball is watching him attempt to unlearn everything we have been telling him for the last 4 and a half years.

"Slow down! Don't run!"
"Don't throw that at your brother!"
"No hitting! NO HITTING!"

And here I thought that was just good parenting. Now we get to watch him despair at ever understanding these inept humans responsible for his care and feeding as we yell out helpful instructions for success in the sport:

"Run! As fast as you can! RUN!"
"Throw the ball to Carson! THROW THE BALL!"
"Hit the ball with this stick as hard as you can!"

So, yeah, he's basically totally over thinking his parents are infallible and has moved on to the "these people are insane and OMG when do I get to move out on my own?" phase of his childhood. Because we're awesome like that.

As we attempt to navigate these complex and highly competitive waters, however, there are a few incredibly bright spots.

First off, the cuteness of kids in uniform.

Resistance to the cuteness is futile.

Next, Jack is learning the value of being a part of a Team. Taking turns, cheering each other on, and learning from each other. Of course, with four-year-olds, learning from each other usually means things like "see how he doesn't hit the kid next to him with the bat? You, also, should not hit the kid next to you with the bat." But, hey, small but important lessons.

Bonus points if you can tell how many of them were
actively picking their noses when I took the photo.

I really didn't expect the swell of pride that comes from watching your kid whack the ball off the tee and go running for first base like a pack of wild hyenas is nipping at his heels. Seeing him listen, work hard, and actually start to improve as he learns to play the game? It's like watching him learn to walk all over again. Parenting bonus, y'all.

He hit the ball! Off the little stationary thingy that is at
exactly the right height for him to hit it! My kid is a GENIUS!
Do not attempt to convince me otherwise.

Finally, there is the incredibly awesome factor of father-son bonding. Never having played any team sports myself, I am just beginning to realize the awesome power of this. Basically, now they have quiet, serious conversations about the vital importance of baseball and they both get to laugh at my expense when I attempt to talk the sports talk. Good times.

Two peas in a red-stitched pod.
You can almost HEAR them mocking
me with their thoughts.

No, really. Very Good Times, indeed.

More Than Words.

Once in a while I realize that hope is not enough. Hoping that people will change, and grow, and learn to accept you for who you are without attempting to revise history or judge things they don't understand... such hopes are ultimately futile, because we can't ever change other people. We can't even change how they see us, once they've chosen to view us through a particular lens.

The closest I can come for today is this: THIS is what one-day-before 29 looks like.


And this is what my kids look like.



See all the smiling? This is because they have a mother who loves them, and who accepts herself as she is, follows her own heart and her own conscience. I am happier and healthier in my life NOW than I have ever been before. It took a long time to get here, to begin to learn not to be burdened by trying to squeeze my square peg into a very narrow, round hole.

To love someone unconditionally means, really, to accept them. To say that you love someone and then try desperately to change them, or to tell them who they are (even if the description is only accurate in your own head) is NOT love. Control and Love are not synonymous. Loving someone does not mean attempting to make your own vision for their life a reality... it means doing your best to understand THEIR vision for their best life, and helping them achieve those goals. Even if they're not the goals you hoped for, and even if you don't understand why.

Tomorrow I will be 29. But I'll still be me, and maybe one day I will be able to aptly articulate exactly who that is.

Suburban Serenity.

I woke briefly this morning as T climbed into the shower. Snuggled on either side of me were the boys. Two warm little bodies, quiet and still, wrapped around me from both sides. It lasted about a minute and a half before the maniacs arose and the day began.

Fed the dog our leftover scrambled eggs. Because I was feeling generous.

Decided to leave the Christmas tree up... just one more day. It cheers up the living room. I need to hang more pictures in there or something.

No appointments, commitments, or catastrophes to handle today. Just have to get Jack to preschool, grab a few things at the grocery store, and get Toby home for a nap while I settle in to catch up on the new (unscripted!) episodes of The Daily Show and Colbert Report on the TiVO and fold a little laundry.

Every day should begin this way.

And then it went KA-BOOM!

Christmas happened, and there was much gift-giving and shameless materialism and even a few expressions of sincere affection at our house.

Big Daddy T got his xbox 360 and immediately claimed it as his saucy mistress. Which is only a little awkward, since I end up chatting with his friend Chris over the headsets as often as he does while we play Halo 3. Also while I blast the effing aych-ee-double-hockey-sticks out of the alien scum. Because I'm a lady.

I didn't really ask for anything this year except the Amy Winehouse album, which T neglected to get because (as he pointed out) I can just as easily get it off of iTunes. Instead, he got me something totally unexpected and completely awesome. In lieu of a photo of the actual item (which I somehow neglected to photograph) I will share this radical shot of the scrumptious packaging...


Yes, a Coach purse. My husband is attempting to upgrade me from the ground level up, and it seems that my $10 canvas mommy bag from Walmart was as good a place as any to start. So, now I carry my fabulous (still big enough to hold a diaper and small spare wipes) purse with me everywhere I go, and try not to think about the fact that it cost as much as I would spend on clothes in a year. Okay, so for a year that number may be pitifully low. Which, incidentally, is the other part of my directive: Buy Nice Clothes. Which I will totally start working on... as soon as I lose the last 15 pounds.

The boys got too many toys to enumerate, sadly. The highlight, I think, was the kitchen set I got from JC Penney for $35. Of course, at that price, I knew there would be a catch. I just didn't know there would be 175 or so of them. You see, the kitchen came totally unassembled. I wish I had taken photos to share, but I was apparently so stricken at the realization that every. single. piece. was unconnected, I sorta blacked out for a few hours and somehow got it put together just before dinner.

Of course, after their recent introduction to Toy Story, they had to get matching Buzz Lightyear action figures.


And then their heads exploded.

After Christmas, of course, I headed to parts west for my sister's New Years Eve wedding in Salt Lake City. I have all sorts of anecdotes I am sure I could share - and still yet may - but for the moment, let's just stick to the highlights of the trip.

- The Kaboom. In the first 48 hours that I was gone, T and the boys all came down with fever and chest cough. The cat got trapped in our bedroom overnight with T and peed on our bed. The boys got into the Christmas stockings and ate, between them, an entire package of chewing gum. The boys also left the stockings laying out which brings us to the part where the dog ate 3 entire Tobleronne bars. The dog, by the way, is fine. I, on the other hand, and still somewhat grief-stricken at the loss of the chocolate. But I'll be okay. Time heals all wounds, and all that. Eventually.

- Saw "I Am Legend" with my sister Shannon and her teenage son. Their family is so fan-freaking-tastic I hardly know where to begin. Theirs is one of the few places I can walk into and feel immediately at home. We had good conversation and some lively debate, and even added a little icing to an already sweet relationship. Also, she makes me brave in my style choices and reminds me that, in all ways, just being myself is quite good enough. Even though her 11-year-old daughter can play circles around me on the violin. Hey, at least my teenage nephew (who has the most wickedly awesome hair, by the way) was willing to sit with us at the movie. So at least I haven't reached "sit three rows back and pretend not to know the adult" status. Yet, anyway.

- Got to have Sushi with Dr. Allie and another old acquaintance. The sushi was awesome, the Saki was hot, and the chance to catch up and let our hair down was priceless.

- Sat next to my last surviving Grandma at the wedding. She had one of her more lucid moments, and we had a nice chat. And she didn't comment on the pierced nose or the wild hair, just laughed at my jokes and let me put my arm around her during the ceremony and generally acted grandmotherly.

- At our wedding five years ago T and I gave the DJ explicit instructions about the type of music to play for the first few hours of the reception. With T's dad being retired military and currently in government, there were a fair few military and government-dignitary-types present. My sister, of course, did a little flirting and convinced the DJ to play Nelly's "It's getting hot in here (so take off all your clothes)" in the first 10 minutes.

It took five years, but I finally served up the payback. I had a little chat with the DJ, agreed to take any and all blame, and finally served my sis a dose of her own medicine. Being Utah, of course, she got the benefit of the DJ dubbing out the more offensive parts of the song (not so at our wedding, for the record) but still. Payback was sweet, baby.

- Watched fireworks at eye level on the 23rd floor of the Wells Fargo building in Salt Lake City at midnight. It was a weird moment - no T to kiss or snuggle up to. Just me, standing in a room of family and strangers, a little island unto myself. I was exhausted, oddly serene, and fiercely homesick. I think maybe it took being so far away from my home and our own little family to realize how much those things are the center of my life. Extended family is lovely, and it's nice to catch up once in a while, but if I had to make a choice... I'd choose T and the boys over anyone or anywhere else in the world every time.

---

All in all, more has happened in the last few weeks than I can properly record. I'm ready to move on into 2008. I'm sure I'll probably look back here and there, and toss in a thing or two I forgot, but for the most part... I have already moved on. I'm ready for something good - no - GREAT to happen. I'm ready for a new year.

As soon as I get over this gnarly chest cold, that is.

Of Sisters and (Not-So) Secrets.

My sister has a blog! Did I mention that before?

Well, I mention it now because the buyer who was supposed to close on their Utah house just lost financing. SO they are still stuck with 2 houses, and she's having a bad day. Also? Apparently someone in our faux-prudish family busted her for telling the story of how the Angel came to sit atop the Christmas tree. (Personally, I laughed the first time I read it a few years ago... and again when she posted it.)

SO I felt the urge to write her a poem. Because I am just the sort of sister who is helpful that way. I mean, really, what ills exist in life that a silly poem cannot cure? Well, a poem or a bazillion dollars. Since spiders are now nesting in my empty wallet and the bank card audibly whimpered when I paid for gas yesterday (Thank You Christmas) I opted to go the poem route.

For your reading pleasure:

A Poem.

So sorry to hear that your buyer fell through
That sucks more than a Christmas tree up the wazoo
It may be that your humor's a little askew,
But I'm your sister, and mine is, too.
When it comes to warped humor there's one thing that's true
It's not far from the oak tree that we acorns grew.

*******************************************

And now for something completely different!

For weeks I have been planning a surprise getaway with T for tonight. Before the Spinal Injections of Doom, before the Great Appendix Crisis of 2007. I have been telling him I am taking him out to dinner at a surprise location.

In truth, I arranged with the owner of a local B&B (who also happens to be another mom from Jack's preschool class) to get a room at the Inn for an incredible price, as well as have a lovely dinner and breakfast for the 2 of us there.

Now, given that he is my most avid reader, you may be saying "But how is it a surprise if you're writing about it here?" And to that, my friend, I say "Exactly."

You see for the last several months T has always worked from home on Fridays. Like clockwork. Without deviation. But, due to the aforementioned Appendix Crisis and yesterday's Christmas program at Jack's school, he has been working from home a lot lately. And so, yesterday, he announced he would be going into the office tomorrow.

I argued with as much feigned disinterest as possible. I attempted to dissuade him, to cajole him, to be insistent to the point of obnoxious -- all without divulging the secret reason for my objection.

Finally, after losing the argument and starting to panic, I spilled the beans. For which, incidentally, T is very happy. Now he can look forward to our getaway all day today, and has also made arrangements to make his schedule fit for tomorrow. So, while I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to totally blindside him (this time) (2 surprise birthday parties and 1 very arduously-attained signed copy of his favorite childhood novel having been sprung on him without a hitch) I am glad that it doesn't change the fact that we have an entire evening to look forward to. Alone. Together. With our Scrabble board.

That's not a euphemism, by the way. We always play scrabble when we have a night alone. Also, we put together puzzles. Of course we also engage in activities befitting two consenting adults with a king-size bed and a jacuzzi at our disposal, but seriously - we can do that at home. Me? I'm looking forward to the Scrabble and the trash talk over a bottle of Cabernet. That, my friends, is something much more difficult to accomplish with any peace and success at home.

May you all have a romantical-type evening (or at least a relaxing one). 'Tis the season to lose your mind in the whirlwind, after all, and we all deserve a little R&R at a B&B once in a while - or at least a reasonable facsimile.

I mean, you haven't really lived until you've played Strip Scrabble, baby.

Luck Is All Perspective.

Since we're leaving tomorrow for a early Fun Family Christmas Weekend with T's family in Virginia, I thought I ought to at least check in before we head out. You know - give you the Reader's Digest version of How Crazy My Life Is Today.

Case in point: It is becoming distressingly evident that I react to personal crises in a very particular way: Baked Goods. The Moms from my Moms Club group brought dinner in for 4 days, and it was all I could do to sit down and enjoy a lovely meal (okay, so it's possible I was curled up in the recliner in front of the television and howling for another percocet while enjoying my dinner) and not simply shove my face directly into the containers of Desserts!

Chocolate cake. White cake with chocolate AND vanilla icing. Christmas cookies. And the evil, evil chocolate cookies with peppermint hershey kisses in the center.

But was this enough, you ask, to satiate my craving for comfort sweets? Oh, No, my friends.

So it was that I found myself in the kitchen this morning.... up to my armpits in 3 different varieties of fudge (chocolate, butterscotch rum, and peppermint with little bits of soft candy cane), spiced sugar cookies, and the last batch of fresh pumpkin pies from this year's pumpkin baking frenzy.

I'll be lucky to fit in my seat when I fly to Utah in a few weeks.

Of course, I thought our days of dining in on meals not made from creatively altered macaroni and cheese were over... And then came The Box. A large, white, styrofoam box from Omaha Steaks arrived on our porch with enough food to keep us dining like royalty for days. Turns out T's friend and his wife were worried about us, what with me being poked and prodded and surgically repaired, and wanted to make sure we didn't revert to a diet of Ramen Noodles.

Soon thereafter I also received a lovely bouqet of flowers from T's office. I think it might have made them feel a little guilty, him having to jump a plane from Singapore and arriving home 24 hours too late to hold my hand while the hospital people cut me open to remove body parts. But they did hustle him home, to be fair, and let him work from home this entire week so that he could cater to my every whim.

Mostly he listened to me whine and brought me my pain meds. Well, "mostly" meaning "in between doing work-work, school-work, and caring entirely for the children and animals".

Have I mentioned I married a fairly saintly fellow? Because honestly... Why he ever thought he was getting the good end of this deal when we got married is beyond me. (He is currently assuring me it was something to do with the sex. Also possibly the Christmas cookies, but mosty it was the pumpkin pies.)

At the end of the day, I am adding up my good fortune. In the past 10 days I have had my appendix nearly rupture and be surgically removed and had needles stuck into my back to alleviate a six-month battle with a herniated spinal disc and nerve damage to my right leg... But I didn't have to focus on anything but the healing process. The boys were constantly cared for, first by an incredibly awesome neighbor and then by their incredibly awesome Dad. T's Mom made sure I didn't have to be alone in the hospital through that terrifying ordeal, and even held it together when I was writhing in agony, puking up stomach acid and CT scan contrast. T kept the house from falling down around our ears and kept me comfortably medicated and swaddled in blankets.

And so it is that, today, I got to spend the day cutting out cookies with the boys, stirring cauldrons of candy until the "soft ball" stage, and rolling out pie crusts to fill with fresh-baked goodness. The Christmas shopping is done, the house is decorated, the goodies are baked, and there's nothing left to do but settle in to enjoy all the festivities and wait for that magic day to come. I get to end this day exhausted, mostly pain-free, and coated in sweat and flour.

My friends, I lead a charmed life. Mostly.

Under The Wire, But Who Can Sleep Anyway?

Do you want to know how close I came to going up to bed, and forgetting to post today? Because it was really, really close.

BUT here I am, in under the wire. This post may be totally pathetic, but the beauty of NaBlo is that it still counts.

So, here's a quick recap of the past 12 hours:

The house - still a mess.
The husband - finally home.
The children - abed.
The pumpkin pies - baked.

And as for me? Well, tragically, I am not baked. I am simply exhausted and ready for a nice long slumber in my bed. You know - that bed over there. The one that has no sheets on it because I didn't actually get around to pulling them from the dryer and putting them on.

It has been a long, tortured month. But my husband is finally home. And - tomorrow? Well, tomorrow - when Jack comes bouncing into our bedroom at 6am demanding crepes and cartoons - I can finally say two of the most spectacular words in the English Language:

Daddy's Turn!

At least until around 7am, when I'll have to get up anyway to get us all packed for the trip to Ohio. I'm beginning to feel a serious empathy with the Energizer Bunney. This is not easy, this going, and going, and going, and going......

Still. The going gets easier with a buddy. Even if I did manage to forget just how horrifically loud he snores.

For a few minutes there I thought the dog had somehow snarfed down a chainsaw, or perhaps a wounded grizzly had wandered into our bedroom by mistake. Imagine my conflicted emotions when I realized that, no, that sound is just what I will be sharing a bed with for the rest of my life.

Then again, after the many weeks of trying to live this life without Big Daddy T giving me the occasional pep talk or slap to my backside? I guess I can re-learn to live with the snoring. And maybe invest in some breathe-right strips... After all, we need to show some compassion for the moose.

The ones making the trek from Canada to answer the mating call.

A Sudden Quiet.

I should probably have a sense of foreboding. After all, it has been a quiet and uneventful Sunday here in the hills.

Toby woke up from his nap about half an hour ago, and Jack is now quietly entertaining him while Toby contentedly remains in the crib.

Jack and I snuggled in one of the big leather recliners and watched an episode of SpongeBob while Toby napped, after the boys both actually ate their PB&J's at lunch.

Chloe the cat is sound asleep in a furry lump on my lap, while Gizmo the dog snores noisily in his favorite wing chair. Cassie the cat is in her spot-of-choice on Jack's bed, snoozing.

Pumpkins are roasting in the oven, soon to be mashed and baked into pie for Thursday's feast in Ohio.

It's a rare, perfect Sunday.

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Update: This entry was started earlier this afternoon. Before the dog threw up again. Before the boys got into UFC Deathmatch mode. Before I was elbow deep in pumpkin puree and screaming "assistants".

Still? A rare, perfect Sunday.

Truth In Advertising

As I was going through some old photos the other day - presumably preparing to someday put the mountainous pile of snapshots into some sort of album - I came across some photos from our wedding. (August 16, 2002.)

I didn't remember these photos. I vaguely have a sense that my brother Scott took them, and gave them to us at some later date.

Most of them are actually far superior to the professional shots taken by the photographer.

A few of them are the kind of priceless, spontaneous, totally honest moments that you come to treasure the most. It is among the photos fitting this category that we find undeniable evidence that - my husband? - He totally knew what he was getting himself into when he married me.

Any claims to the contrary? Mere spin, Baby.

Not so much "blushing bride" as "thppppbbbbt!"

C'mere and give ush a kish...

Words and Wisdom.

T and I spent our Friday night embroiled in another of our ongoing grudge matches. The competition was fierce, the smack-talk was furiously flying, and there was no escaping the intensity of the moment.

I speak, of course, of the continuing saga of Scrabble.

Scrabble is one of the few board games I am always willing to play. Due, mostly, to the fact that I read with an appetite most people generally reserve for hard drugs or sex addiction, I have something of a word-oriented brain. Don't ask me to do math beyond basic algebra, but when it comes to words... well, I'm something of an idiot savant. (Notwithstanding all indications to the contrary on the "savant".)

I also seem to have an uncanny knack for pulling good tiles -- as evidenced by the time I opened with Tornado on my first turn. Those just happened to be the first 7 tiles I pulled that day. Fortunately for me, it was on our vacation to Camden, Maine - which means T can never pretend NOT to remember that time that I had him beat ON THE FIRST TURN.

But I'm losing my grip. Somehow, I am slipping.. Because, in Friday night's game? The final score was 154 to 148.

I only just barely won.

At this rate? I'm going to have to actually learn how to properly play Chess. Because, somehow, winning at Candy Land just doesn't bring the same sense of satisfaction.

Also? I might need to find some new pastimes. Perhaps ones which do not scream "BOOKISH NERD!" quite so loudly.

Because nothing says "Lucky To Be Getting Laid" quite like an inability to find anything better to brag about than beating your husband at Scrabble. By six points.

Seven Deadly Sins

The following will prove, beyond doubt, that I am guilty of Greed and Pride. At least, though, I can rest easy knowing that I have inspired others to Envy... Because you must needs envy both the cake and my child.

On Monday he ate through one apple...

Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile...

Not necessarily in that order, by the way.

Also, seeing as how the party was nearly a week ago, I think we can count Sloth covered. I have no good excuse for taking so long to get the photos uploaded. I might have been busy watching Chuck on the TiVO.

The fact that we consumed enough of the cake to choke an elephant neatly covers Gluttony.

Birthday Cake Death Match. FIGHT!

Jack had Greed totally covered. The fights over Toby's new loot erupted before the gift wrap hit the floor, and ended with Jack going on a serious time-out in his bedroom - carried by his father, to whom I will assign Wrath. Because there is nothing more fun than watching your kid act like he is being raised by wild wolf-monkeys in front of a houseful of company.

This is what a toddler's face looks like when his brain explodes -
upon realizing that ALL the toys? They are his.

Last, but not least, we come to Lust.


This photo is of our friend Charlie. And it's not what you're thinking, my friends. The man once shoved my face in his stinky armpit after a showerless, 3-day Diablo II gaming marathon, Until I begged for mercy and nearly asphyxiated. So, yeah, Lust is not high on my list of Charlie emotions. (However, sisterly love and a vague sense that he may - at any moment - surprise me with a wedgie? Totally Charlie.) Nor was it his lovely wife who evoked such passion.

Oh no. It was his iPhone.

I touched it. I played with it. I lovingly stroked it and whispered sweet nothings into its electronic earpiece. I might have drooled on it just a little. (which, incidentally, might not be covered by warranty. But should be.) It almost made me want to go back to working full-time -- just so I'd have an excuse to own such an expensive status symbol. And maybe get someone else to pay for it. For a split second it seemed like a good trade.

And then I remembered why I am staying home for the moment. And I let go of the iPhone. (There may have been some prying of fingers and perhaps some tears involved, sure, but my heart was totally in the right place.)

Resistance is futile.

All in all? Two is good. Really, really good.

Funny Hats. Unexpected Parades.

Every year since 2000, T and I have gone to the Maryland Renaissance Festival. Last year, though, we had to miss it - for a variety of reasons.

So it was that we headed up to Annapolis-land on Saturday - there to meet up with our friends Matt and Sara and their two daughters. The eight of us (EIGHT! With FOUR kids! The mind boggles!) spent an entirely pleasurably day wandering Revel Grove, eating and drinking to our fill, shopping at the vendors, and listening to the comedy show.

Where does a Peg-Legged pirate eat breakfast?

...

Wait for it...

...

IHOP!

I know, pure genius, right? Okay, so it was all much funnier at the time, and that happens to be the only joke I can remember because - as we have long-established around here - I have the attention span and short-term memory of a ferret on methamphetamines and a caffeine IV drip.

Anyway, the hilights of the experience for Jack were 1) riding on a REAL! LIVE! PONY! and 2) holding hands and generally being adorable as all-get-out with his new BFF Miah. In hats.

Ah. Young Love.


I was dying of heat stroke, but I still smiled pretty for the camera.

We spent the night at a lovely hotel and spent Sunday (after a morning workout at the nearby gym - Nike+ data to follow when I get around to uploading) wandering the inner harbor. We checked out the USS Torsk, which Sara's dad served on after he returned from Vietnam. It is definitely not a choice experience for anyone with claustrophobia, and just thinking about soldiers spending any amount of time on that tin can makes me shudder. It was cool, though, and the boys - of course - ate it up.

Intrepid explorers, all. On top of the submarine.

Then we wandered around and attempted to find a restaurant that wasn't packed to the gills. This was, of course, before we remembered that the Patriots game was on, and EVERY restaurant and/or sports bar and grille (of which there is no shortage in the inner harbor) was packed to the gills.

Then there came the unexpected parade, in honor of Columbus Day weekend. The kids were delighted with marching bands, antique cars and firetrucks, Miss Maryland, and lots of free candy thrown from the passing parade-marchers.

Free candy + vintage firetrucks = Little Boy Heaven

We finally settled at the outdoor deck for ESPN Zone and meandered through the afternoon with food and drinks and conversation. All of which would have been much more enjoyable without the HEAT WAVE rolling through the eastern seaboard, but - hey - we can't have everything.

All in all, a fantastic weekend and the closest thing to a vacation we managed to get this year. Not too shabby, I'd say. Also? Still totally adore the Ren Fest. Also, also? Still not dressing up in period costume. My jeans do quite nicely for me, thank you. Although, next year? Next year I believe I will skip the sandals and wear the sneakers. The grunge gets a bit thick otherwise...

I am a dirty, dirty girl. Also? Desperately need pedicure.

The Most Important Meal of the Day

A hearty THANK YOU for all the suggestions on Toby's birthday, Internets! My cup runneth over. (Seriously. I had no idea that the number of people who sent emails and/or comments actually READ this bloggety insanity that is my little corner of the interwebs.) And none of you were even my Mom, which totally gives me more street cred.

We finally decided to round up some family and a few friends and force them to get up early on a Sunday and head their happy hineys out to the hills to join us here for a celebratory brunch.

I have never been able to comfortably eat breakfast when I wake up -- my body requires a few hours to decompress from sleep before food can sound appealing. On weekends, I make an exception because I will eat with Big Daddy T eats, but the rest of the week? The kids eat breakfast while I coffee and toast, and then I'll snack on something around 10.

So Brunch is actually the perfect meal for me.... providing a way for me to eat breakfast foods (which are my favorite and my best) (<-- Charlie & Lola reference. Because I also have street cred with the kiddies.) at the time of day when my stomach is ready to, you know.. digest food.

SO we're having a Birthday Brunch for Toby. I'm already busily compiling lists of easily-constructed brunch dishes to feed a large group with minimal effort and mess. My personal favorite is my own breakfast version of pigs in a blanket -- substitute sausage links for hot dogs. SEE! The possibilities? They will blow your mind. Fruit salad! My specialty blueberry crepes with sweetened-sour-cream sauce.

Oh, and I'm thinking... pumpkin-muffin-bread with cream cheese frosting for the birthday cake. Probably in the shape of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, since it involves cutting a bundt cake in half and repositioning the half-circles to make a squiggle shape. Did I mention I'm taking the easy route here?

And? AND! The grown-ups can join us in toasting The Baby's birthday with Mimosas. Because, as Mom always said, one should at least start the day with a little OJ. For the vitamins and minerals, of course.