Little Men of Mine

Picture Day

2006-09-15T12:17:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've ever been so happy as the day when I realized that I'd no longer have to take Charlie to Sears for pictures because he would be having a school picture taken! I'm not sure about the rest of you, but professional pictures have always been the biggest nightmare for us. Something always goes wrong. We'd have an appointment, the baby would be all happy and smiley, and then we'd end up waiting because some walk-in had grabbed our spot five seconds before we checked in (and I'm ALways early!). Then it's all about having to coax those smiles that had been there willingly half an hour earlier. Or someone spits up all over his clothes. Or someone else won't sit nicely. Or a third someone thinks the platform is a mountain and he is the king and therefore must knock everyone else off. Ugh.

I have no 2-year picture of Charlie. The only one the girl managed to snap at all featured him standing in front of the table, raging at us and clenching his fists. I was almost tempted to buy it anyway, so I could show it to him later and say, "See? This is what you put me through!" But then I would've had to pay the sitting fee, and I didn't think it was worth it.

I have no 1-year picture of Teddy. He's kind of slow-to-warm, and the photographer was a loud, in your face kind of gal--he did not take well to her attempts to cheer him up and cried and clung to me through the whole session. I also have no 3-year picture of him, but that was due to my own laziness and dread of the whole exercise. Luckily, he'll have a pre-school picture done while he's still 3 and a half-ish, so I figure I'm covered.

Lou turned two in May, and I just got him in today. I'm tired of the hit-or-miss experiences we've had with Sears, so I thought I'd try the Olan Mills Studio at our local Meier. The photographer was nice and sweet, but not very take-charge. She kept deferring to me, as in "What else would you like to try, Mom?" I do like to have some input, but I would've preferred for her to make some professional suggestions as well. We also had a hard time getting him to smile, but there was some pretty good stuff there, so I'm happy. And thrilled that it's over.

Let's see, this time next year, Lou will be in pre-school--I might never have to go to a portrait studio again!

Will It Ever Stop Raining?

2006-09-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

The answer to that question is "yes, and very soon." Do you know how I am so very certain that this will be so? Because I just spent $90 on brand new, Kidorable raincoats for all three boys (we went with the dinosaur, the frog and the dolphins).

None of them has ever had a raincoat. I think that up until now, when it was raining, we just stayed inside. But now that I have two of them in two different schools with different starting and ending times, it seems like it's done nothing but rain on us--and HARD--at least three days per week. By today, I was seriously irritated, and tired of everyone being wet all the time, in and out and in and out of the van. Now if I could just find a raincoat for myself!

Mourning the Passage of a Special Friend

2006-09-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

This has been a hard week for Charlie. Steve Irwin, the "Crocodile Hunter," was killed in a freak accident while filming an underwater special. What are the odds that he would be stabbed through the heart by a stingray? According to the stats we keep hearing, it's a pretty rare way to go.

Charlie has been into the Crocodile Hunter since he was about two and first saw him on a Wiggles video (which he then watched about 14 billion times). This summer when he started writing books, his very first one was "The Crocodile Hunter's Greatest Adventure Ever." He wanted to send it to Irwin. I had actually planned to make a color copy (no way I'd part with the original) and send it off to his hero. I never got around to it, and now it's too late.

When we first heard about the accident, Tom and I agreed not to tell him. I figured he'd find out about it eventually, but maybe after this man's importance to him had waned a little. We were successful in keeping it from him for about two days. Well, someone left the TV on in the front room, and he walked in on a newscast describing the incident. He had tons of questions, and although he never cried in front of me, the whole time he was asking about it, his face was beet red, and the little corners of his mouth were turned way down. It was all I could do not to cry myself!

Then there were his questions. "How will they (the family) get money now?" He couldn't understand how they would be able to get along if their daddy couldn't go to work. "Who will make the show?" "Who will take care of the animals at Australia Zoo?" "Will I still be able to see him on TV?" It was heartbreaking.

I'm deeply saddened by Irwin's passing. People keep saying that he was destined to go some way dramatic with all the risks he constantly took. But this was a freaky, one-in-a-million way to meet his maker. I feel so bad for his wife and two children. As big a show-boat as he might have been, he was very skilled and knowledgeable, and did a lot for conservation and preservation. I didn't feel the same way about the Crocodile Hunter as my five-year-old son did, but his death still feels so wrong, and I can't stop thinking about it.

Here Come the Guilts

2006-08-09T00:25:00.000-07:00

I seriously cannot wait until this project is over. I must have had temporary amnesia when I agreed to do this job because I failed to recall the difficulties I had the last time I worked for this person.

Two years ago, I had a deadline. I met the deadline. And on deadline day, this person suddenly discovered he had more space to fill and assigned me three more stories . . . the day before my middle son's 1st birthday party. I had a house to clean, food to prepare, a cake to make, presents to wrap; you name it, and it hadn't been done yet because I'd been busting my a-- to finish the aforementioned project. I had to move the party to the following weekend, and then half the guests couldn't come (including my brother and his family and my father). It was a teeny-tiny little party, and it was all Mr. Here's One More Story's fault.

This time, I told this guy that I needed to start the project as soon as possible so that I'd have as much time available to spread the work out as I could. It's very difficult to research, schedule interviews, execute the interviews, write the stories and follow up with the subjects when three extremely LOUD boys are all awake and going about their daily destruction. Did I mention that these projects usually entail writing about 10-15 stories in two or three weeks? So imagine my delight when Mr. Here's One More Story started getting me the assignments a full month before deadline!

Well, that's all well and good, and I did get a good jump on things. But last week, when there was another story assignment waiting every time I checked my email, it all started coming back to me. And yesterday, one week from deadline, with six stories still hanging over my head (including three elusive subjects who I still hadn't interviewed), I started freaking out. So I called my wonderful mother-in-law and asked if I could drop the boys off in the morning so I could get some quality writing time in. She agreed, and the boys were excited to go.

Here's where the guilt comes in (other than the guilt over yelling at and ignoring them for the past three weeks while I try to work). I had a lovely, productive morning alone. But when I arrived to retrieve my children, my MIL had to tell me about a mishap she'd had with Lou. While she was changing his diaper, he picked up her cylinder of Wet Ones and emptied it over his face. There were no longer any wipes in it, but there was a puddle of soapy liquid at the bottom, and he poured it right in his eyes. She had a hard time flushing them with water as the package recommended, but he seemed okay, if a little bloodshot.

Well, by the time I got him home, he wouldn't stop crying and kept telling me, "Eyes. Hurt." So I filled the sink with water and tried to splash it in his eyes. Let me tell you, that is not easy. He did a lot more yelling and crying, and then I gave up. I called my MIL to find out what the package said exactly. It recommended seeing a doctor if irritation persisted for more than 72 hours. 72 hours! So I let him fall asleep on my shoulder, put him down for a nap, and figured if he woke up complaining, I'd take him in. No way would I wait 72 hours!

Of course he woke up fine and virtually unscathed. My MIL called to check up on him, and that's when I really started to feel bad. She'd felt awful all day, worried that he could've blinded himself on her watch. I felt awful for putting her through that. I mean, being the grandma is supposed to be fun. The three of those boys together are a TON of work, especially when there's only one of you. Normally my FIL is around, but he had to take his mother to the doctor today, and I think Grandma was a little overwhelmed on her own.

I'm not going to do this to her again, and I'm not going to do it to my kids again, either. From now on, I only accept jobs from conscientious people who understand my schedule and my family's needs. Unless of course, the job pays well enough for me to hire a nanny. Yeah, right!

That Time of Year Again

2006-08-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's upon us. I'm referring to the "back to school" season, but not in the way you'd think. Of course we're cramming in last visits to the pool and field trips with our friends, shopping for new shoes and backpacks and, for the first time, a lunch box (my oldest baby's going to kindergarten--sob!).

But the back to school season I'm referencing is the one that requires my husband to work on the weekends. As a carpenter, he does a lot of work on schools, and August is always crunch month. New schools have to be ready in time for grand opening ceremonies. Work on old schools has to be completed so teachers can set up their rooms for the coming year. And everyone needs it done yesterday.

So it was no surprise that he had to work on Saturday, meaning six straight days of togetherness that featured me and the kids, exclusively. "That's okay," I just keep telling myself, "time and a half, time and a half." My dad was on a fishing trip, so my mom was home alone too, and we spent most of the morning with her for a little variety.

When my cell phone rang on Saturday night while I was scrapbooking with some friends, I immediately panicked. Other people's husbands call to chat or ask questions, or to put the kids on to say goodnight. Mine does not. We use the cells strictly for commuting updates ("traffic is horrible--I'm gonna be late") and food requests ("I'm at the store--what should I get for dinner?"). He NEVer calls me when I'm out with friends, so I thought something must be terribly wrong. Well, no one was in jeopardy, but the news wasn't good either. His boss wanted him to work on Sunday.

Now, it's no fun missing family time together or losing the "me" time I sneak in when there's another adult in the house to ride herd on the boys. But this time it's even worse because I'M ON DEADLINE! I cannot write during the day when I'm home with the kids. I can't even talk on the phone, which means phone interviews are out. The bulk of my writing happens in the evenings and on the weekends, and right now I'm about halfway through a 13-story assignment that's due by the end of the week. I have three completed interviews waiting to be turned into stories, and two more meetings scheduled for Monday. Several of my contacts can't seem to make the effort to return any of my calls, and I'm really starting to feel the pressure, big time. And now I've lost Sunday, too.

I just have to breathe deeply and keep telling myself, "Double time, double time."

Cows Are So Immodest

2006-08-04T22:17:00.000-07:00

Out of the blue today, Charlie asked, "Do you remember how the baby used to drink out of your bra?"

Wondering where we were going with this line of questioning, I answered, "Yes, all three of you did when you were babies."

"Huh," he said. "Sort of like a cow."

"Like a cow!" echoed Ted.

Exactly, except cows don't wear bras.

A Lot of People Must Drink Beer!

2006-08-02T18:02:00.001-07:00

This evening I was finishing up my grocery column for the week, and it was about specialty beers. I was having a hard time coming up with a headline, and my husband and I were brainstorming. His were cute, but not useable ("Hop on in and see what's brewing . . . it's the yeast you can do!"). I said out loud, "How about, 'Calling All Beer Lovers.'" From the next room, Charlie responded, "Why don't you just call one of them? It would take a long time to call them all."

Cautiously Optimistic

2006-08-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

I'm almost afraid to say anything, but I think we may be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel with this potty training thing. We've been working on this with Teddy for quite some time now, with quite a few setbacks.

We had some minor success in the spring. He attended a month-long free daycare that our local high school students run every year so they can practice what they've learned in their childhood development classes on real little kids. For that month, he wore pull-ups every day, and while he was rarely dry at home, he did manage to stay dry at school. We grew bold and purchased underwear, but after that month, he announced to us that there was no need for him to give up diapers now that school was over.

We tried again a few weeks later, and were making some progress. But then he had an accident with his older brother's bike that severed the tip of his thumb. With a giant dressing and bandage on his hand, he couldn't pull his pants up and down, so we abandoned the whole idea for another month while he healed (yeah, that was lots of fun).

For our next attempt, my husband decided to take a hard line and just put him in "unders," skipping the pull-ups. One Saturday, he wet at least four pairs, and when I discovered him with a giant lump of you-know-what in the fifth pair, he looked at me and said, "NOW can I have a diaper?"

So it was time to pull out the bribes. We promised M&Ms, lollies, Scooby Doo movies, cupcakes, you name it (mostly junk food--the kid loves to eat). We'd have some good days, with lots of cheering and rejoicing over his little contributions in the potty, but we had plenty of bad ones, too. Then one day, I hit on it. Since bribery wasn't working, how about some good old-fashioned deprivation? The idea didn't exactly occur to me like a thunderbolt--I more or less stumbled upon it out of frustration.

When he had yet another setback (not crazy about the word "accident"), and told me for the umpteenth time with NO conviction in his voice "I'll go peep on the potty toMORrow, Mommy," my eyes came to rest on the beloved "Cars The Movie" Happy Meal toy he'd been carrying everywhere for days. Since nothing else seemed to matter to him, I told him he had one more chance, but if he wet another pull-up that day, he had to hand over Ramone. He could earn his car back the next time he used the potty if his pull-up at the time was still dry.

Needless to say, Ramone was mine about an hour later. I felt terrible as he cried and flung himself at the refrigerator, trying to knock his beloved car off the top where I'd put it out of reach. But my husband and I resolved to stand strong. Unfortunately, my poor baby wasn't dry for the rest of the day, so Ramone had to get used to his lofty perch. He earned him back for a few minutes the next day, and then it was right back on top of the fridge.

Over the next week or so, other beloved toys joined Ramone up there as we decided to put on the pressure. I think losing his "kiki" was the final straw. He's like Linus with that blanket, and one bleak afternoon, my husband took it away. I couldn't stand to look. That night, my older son consoled him by offering his own blankey, and I found the two of them in bed together when I went to check on them.

The next morning, the first thing I did was make sure he earned back that blanket. And that day he earned back everything else, completely on his own! At the end of his first entirely dry day, he finally got to watch that Scooby Doo video we'd been dangling, and from there on out, we never looked back.

He's still wet in the morning, but I'll take my victories where I can get 'em. When I suggested underwear because he's been pretty much doing everything on the potty during the day, he told me, "When school starts, I will wear them." I think we have a deal!

Another Monday Funday

2006-07-31T15:55:00.000-07:00

Today we took the kids to a sprinkler park, as it was set to reach 100 degrees here. This time it was four moms and 14 kids, but more joined us for lunch, and we descended on Subway with 22 people. We have to go somewhere different each time because I don't think we're welcome back many places after we hit them with our big obnoxious crowd. But today was a little different because the Subway we visited is owned by one of the moms who was with us. So she called ahead and told them to reserve the back dining room for us, and we had our own, confined space. For once we didn't have to worry about disturbing other patrons with our burping contests (the 8-11 year old boys) and food flinging (the 2-3 year olds)!

The thing I love about this group is that, with all the diverse ages of the kids, everybody finds someone to pal around with, take care of or turn to for diversion. Today, we had two 11-year-old girls with us, so they took over the 2-year-olds and sat at a separate table (yee-hah!). The five 3-through-6 year olds had their own table, and the bigger boys all sat together in a corner. The moms really had the chance to talk, virtually uninterrupted (except, of course, for all of the interrupting WE do over the course of a conversation).

It's hard for me to believe that I didn't even know any of these women five years ago. A neighbor recruited me to the group right around the time my oldest turned one. Now, I 'm pretty much the only one left in the moms' group from the old gang, since their kids are all in school, and mine are still little. Of course, there are new people with babies, but I really only see them at our weekly library get-togethers. I haven't become plan-something-once-a-week, sign-all-our-kids-up-for-the-same-team-so-we-can-gab kinds of friends with the newcomers (I'm not kidding--last year we had seven 4- and 5-year-old "buddies" on the same soccer team who considered games their personal social/wrestling/goofing around time. I felt so sorry for the rest of the kids on the team who really wanted to win!).

I don't know, maybe those friendships will develop with time, but I'm really in a different place than the new moms are. Even though I still have babies, my world doesn't so much revolve around babies anymore. I've been through all those firsts three times already. My concerns and immediate goals are so different than theirs are. But on the other hand, this more experienced place is where a lot of my friends were when I started coming around, a first-time mother. And look how far we've come!

Rediscovering Youth

2006-07-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

I've been really busy this week with my latest project for the newspaper. I conducted five more interviews (three of which were restaurants--not much to get the creative energy going there!), and wrote up three of them as well as my weekly grocery "column." So when Friday arrived and I found a big blank space on the calendar, I decided we needed to do something fun.

Since it was over 90 degrees out, and I despise hot-hot weather, I thought we'd check out the pool at a neighboring community (our own local pool breathed its last last summer). I packed up the three boys, some lunches, floaties and sunscreen, and grabbed my niece (6) and nephew (8). We got there in time to get seats under a giant umbrella and then spent a blissful five hours or so splashing in the excellent pool, playing in the awesome sand area, eating sweet, drippy ice cream and enjoying each other's company. It was truly a lovely afternoon, with the exception of the nasty sunburn I sustained on my back--I did manage to slather everyone else up with sunscreen repeatedly, just not myself!

What I truly enjoyed about the day was spending the time with my niece and nephew, who are two sincerely great kids. I've seen a lot of them this summer because my brother started working from home, and they are no longer going to their babysitter's during the day. Instead, they're stuck home with their dad, who is trying to keep them sufficiently entertained while he gets his work done. He has to be on the phone a lot, and it's hard to keep them distracted and quiet, so I've been trying to have them hang out with us as much as possible.

It wasn't this way when they were littler and my kids were babies, but now it's almost like having two extra kids is no added burden! In fact, it can even make life easier. My niece and my oldest son are only a year apart, so they play together wonderfully, and even allow 3-year-old Ted to join in sometimes. My nephew is a great companion for me and likes to follow around and play with the baby. They're both courteous and respectful, and incredibly easy on the eyes. When I have them with me, it's a very strange day if at least one person doesn't comment on how beautiful they are (my SIL is hispanic, and it doesn't even seem like we could be related, they with their exotic brown skin, and us with our glow-in-the-dark pasty whiteness).

I haven't had the greatest relationship with my SIL in recent years, so I almost feel like my brother's staying home has afforded me this incredible chance to become a bigger presence in the lives of his kids. Neither of my husband's sisters have children, so these two are the only cousins my kids have. We all live in the same town and, until about a year ago when we moved, we were actually only a block apart, but rarely saw them. There's less than a month now until school starts, so I'm taking every opportunity I can find to do things with them and have fun and enable my brother to get some work done. The youth I'm rediscovering is theirs, and man, do I love them.

Recycling Tip of the Week

2006-07-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

No paper with a blank side is thrown out in our house, ever. All of a sudden, Charlie wants to draw constantly. This is the same child who never wanted to draw, color or even do crafts at school. But he's always had this insane imagination, pretending to be whoever or whatever he was into at the time. He would dress in character and even refuse to respond to us if we didn't address him as Captain Feathersword (with my husband's knit watchcap pulled over one eye to approximate a patch) or Clifford (wearing construction paper ears he made at the library) or whoever else he became on a given day.

Well, now all that creativity is spilling out on paper. He "writes" entire books. The very first one was "The Crocodile Hunter's Best Adventure Ever," and it detailed the CH's travels to a faraway land where he captures a poisonous rattlesnake. The pages and pages of illustrations were accompanied by words that he would have us spell out for him so he could copy them. These days, he doesn't even bother with words--they just slow him down. Instead, once a book is completed and stapled together, he "reads" it to us.

Now Teddy is getting in on the act. This morning, the two of them were writing "letters"--pages and pages of squiggly lines that they folded up and "delivered" to me under the bathroom door while I was showering. They wrote about 50 of these in around 10 minutes. Now do you see why we never EVER throw out anything with a blank side?

So it's a good thing that I saved every single paper, notebook, syllabus and handout I have ever received from, oh, about fifth grade on. When we moved last year, I brought all of these boxes to the new house before going through them. It had seemed like such a good idea to save all of this stuff at the time. In junior high, I figured there might be something I could use in high school; my high school stuff could only benefit me in college; those college papers and notes might come in handy in graduate school; and ALL of it could be called upon in a time of need once I had a job! Yeah. Well, I went through every book and folder, and anything printed on two sides went into the recycling bin. I pulled all of the notes out of the spiral notebooks, and sold the remaining paper at a garage sale (I'm sure wishing I'd kept all that blank paper now!). Anything with a blank side went into the scrap paper basket.

I tell you, it is cracking me up to "read" Charlie's books with my old literature papers on every facing page! All of my little handwritten notes in the margins, doodles of the name of whomever I was crushing on at the time. I just *knew* I'd need all that stuff someday! I've even gone a step further and started letting him use his school papers (of course, I saved the best ones). It's neat to see the way he progressed in his second year of preschool, juxtaposed with his burgeoning art skills. Now I just need more "gallery" space in my house!

Don't I Know You From Somewhere?

2006-07-20T20:51:00.000-07:00

This morning, I had to interview a dentist for a story in an upcoming pull-out section for our local newspaper. The thing about dentists is you have to catch them when they're not seeing patients. So we set this interview for 8:00 a.m. Now, to the average person, that's pretty early, but not so bad when you can just get up, get yourself ready and go. I, on the other hand, had to also get three little monkeys up, dressed, fed and out with enough time to drop them at my mom's and still make it to the dentist's office on time.

As a rule, my Charlie (5) and Ted (3) are up first, way before I'm ready to stir, usually around 6:00 a.m. or so. Two-year old Lou is still in a crib in his own room, so he's really at my mercy, although he does sleep later anyway. This morning, just because we had somewhere to be, no one got up--I think I can honestly say that, in nearly 6 years of motherhood, that's the first time I ever woke someone up on purpose! Since they're usually duking it out over yogurt while I'm trying to sneak in an extra 15 minutes of sleep, I really had to fight the urge to have a loud argument with myself until they couldn't help but yell at me, "Do you have any idea what time it is? Normal people are still sleeping!"

Somehow I managed to get us all out of the house in record time and with only one of them grumbling. I dropped everyone at Grandma's, made it to the dentist's office 10 minutes early, sat in my car for another five so I wouldn't be *too* early, and went in only to find out that he wasn't there yet. After 15 minutes, the receptionist came to get me, apologizing because he'd actually been there all along, and she just didn't know it, which didn't really help me because then he thought I was late.

But he shook my hand anyway as I introduced myself, and I forgot to point out his receptionist's error because then he asked me the question I get everywhere I go. "Have we met before?" It might not always come in that form. Sometimes I hear, "Do I know you?" or, "Where are you from, you're so familiar?" or, "You look just like my sister's best friend's cousin" or some such variation.

Now, I know a lot of people. I came back to live in the town where I grew up, so it's possible that I've met a lot of its residents at some time or another. But I can never find any past connection with any of the people who ask me these questions--ever! None of them actually know me or have ever met me. Likewise, I have never met any of my doppelgangers who are apparently walking around in every town in America. My poor kids--two of the three of them resemble me. Are they, too, doomed to a life of looking just like someone that everyone else knows?

Monday Funday

2006-07-18T12:22:00.000-07:00

This summer, my local mom friends and I decided that we'd do something fun with all of our kids every Monday. Some of the events are bigger, requiring coordination, carpools and cash. Other times we just pack a picnic lunch and gather at a nearby park or pool. Yesterday, we went on the coolest field trip to a real working dairy farm, where we learned all about the milking process, birth and milking cycles, and manure as a renewable source of energy, and even saw a "4-d" movie complete with vibrating seats and squirting water.

But the best part--even better than the fresh cheese and ice cream we got to sample--was seeing a calf born. When you first walk into the main lobby of the dairy, there are big "birth announcements" posted, indicating how many boys and girls have been born on that day. The website boasts that about 80 calves are born there per day! Well, we were just getting ready to go into the movie when our tour guide announced a change of plans. A cow was about to deliver, so we needed to hustle on over to the birthing barn, pronto! As our group of 6 moms and 17 kids settled onto the bleachers to watch through a window, the poor mama cow was lying on her side in a bed of hay with two hooves sticking out of her rear end. For the next 20 minutes, we watched as the contractions hit, and she'd dig her top back leg in for leverage to push. That little bugger just didn't want to come out. Finally, a birthing aide wearing a glove that reached her shoulder climbed in and began pulling on those hooves and helped the baby's head out.

My niece proclaimed it "boring," my nephew thought it was "yucky," my middle son was more interested in climbing up and down the bleachers, and my oldest pouted because his juice box was still back in the lunch room. But every other mother in that room and I stared into that mama's big brown eyes and read her pain. With every push, we grimaced and pushed with her and cheered her on. It was my first time in the delivery room where I wasn't the one having the baby, and I still wanted it to be over. And at last, it was. All of a sudden, the rest of the calf slithered out (What's black, white and red all over? A newborn calf, covered in muck!), and mama could finally rest. But about a minute later, the birthing aide made her stand up, and she got to work licking her baby clean. It was a beautiful moment, although somewhat bittersweet, considering what we had already learned at the dairy that day--the calf will be taken away to be fed pasteurized milk and raised elsewhere, while mama will begin her approximately 10 month milking cycle, hooked up to a milking-go-round twice a day until she's six months along with her next baby (cows have a nine-month gestation, just like us).

Anyway, we learned a lot and took home some valuable experiences, all for only $5 per person. And a friend kept the baby for the entire day for me, so I was only a moderately raving lunatic by the time we headed for home! Aah, Monday Funday.