I think it's love.

How is it that my parents have the kind of good fortune that results in just being given an adorable 70 lb Weimaraner, that's just the right combination of clumsiness, goofiness and just outright canine sweetness?? Shoot. I've got to find a way to smuggle this home in my suitcase.

Nat'l Lampoon's Christmas Vacation...except not as funny.

Turns out Santa is a rather accommodating guy and he brought Christmas to us a wee bit early so we could travel west to visit the fam. The kids made quite the haul and then we busied ourselves finishing up holiday treats for neighbors, and packing up the essentials for a week away. E shuffled next door with the fish bowl, because, well, we didn't want the fish to starve. It is Christmas after all. Besides Christmas loot, Santa brought us a snow storm so we did all this in a blizzard, wondering if we'd even get out of town at all. We woke up the next morning and braved the just opened highway out of town. Pack three kids and a greyhound in a van for a two-day drive, complete with a stay in a Motel 6 (because accommodation options accepting of the aforementioned dog are limited), and you've got a sure recipe for adventure. So here's how you do it:

--First, pack light. Because when you're staying at Motel 6 (in Laramie, Wyoming for Pete's sake!) you'll be lugging every last thing into the building with you so you won't lay awake wondering if someone's slim-jimming their way into your vehicle to steal the Christmas presents.

--Next, you must, MUST have a DVD player if you plan to travel with kids. A dozen movies or so (and make sure a couple of those are new, never before seen) and you'll have no problem keeping the kids in a movie-induced catatonic state in the back seat for 16 of the 17 hour drive.

--SNACKS. Snacks, snacks and more snacks. And bottles of water. And then more snacks.

--If one of two of you turn out to have a stomach virus, you can snatch all the tissues out of a Kleenex box and toss your cookies in there. Wrap that box up in a grocery bag and you're on your way once again. Later, after you've stolen the ice bucket from Motel 6, you can catch spews in there.

Quote of the week:

Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska Wonderboy asked "Is this the kind of place we call THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?" Yes, my boy. Yes.

And then about midway across Wyoming the kids became convinced that one of the small towns along I-80 was surely Radiator Springs (think Cars movie).

So we arrived without major catastrophes, although with a tummy bug or two still in tow, and here we are having a lazy Christmas break, eating more than anyone should, and giving Grandpa and Grandma and good heavy dose of kid mess and kid chaos.

Mischievous elf caught in the act.

It appears he was looking either for festive Christmas music or the perfect elf house.

A mischievous elf lives under our tree...

...and he is responsible for all kinds of elfish pranks. Our tree has been undecorated countless times - the solution to which problem is that ALL 300 ornaments are now hung on the top 24" of the tree. Wonderboy tried placing a few packages under the tree today, but that tricky little elf absconds with every label and bow! He has a language all his own that we have not been able to decipher. It's punctuated by spitting and clicking, so I think he might actually belong to the African Bushmen. And he keeps a stash of pacifiers conveniently located under the tree, because an elf never knows when one might be needed in a moment of mischief. I'm pretty sure Santa tossed him out on his ear because he's not so good at the kinds of things you would think elves would excel at. No adorable hand-made wooden toys have mysteriously appeared under the tree, and I've already mentioned the UN-decorating of the tree. He doesn't leave a trail of magical elf dust, rather a smattering of tossed-aside toys and animal crackers. And did I mention he sometimes smells really awful? I won't rehash the ladybug noshing horror, except to say that it wasn't an isolated incident. What kind of elf does that? You can see how he feels about candy canes below.

We're just hanging around...

trying our very best to stay out of trouble until Santa visits. Which will hopefully be early, then over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go.

See? Perfectly quaint and cozy!

Do I?

Don't I?

Aaaaargh!

Ok, maybe a little poll...

Feel free to vote either for:

A) Heck no! Are you insane?!? You will be living in a Tuffshed by the freeway and trekking out to a Johny-on-the-spot in the middle of the night. E's rump will be permanently flattened due to the hours logged in a train seat to and fro each day. You will effectively be a single parent and Wonderboy will have to rescind his policy on weapons given the neighborhood you will be able to afford to put up the aforementioned Tuffshed in.

or,

B) Oh ya! Forget the long commutes, the traffic and the over-inflated real estate, your kids will benefit from the rich culture and diversity, and family and friends will look forward to visiting you, as opposed to the boring place you currently inhabit. E is so crotchety anyway, a little time on a train will do him good. As for Tuffsheds, they are perfectly quaint and cozy.

Survival Mode

We've all got a little bit of cabin fever around here. Church was cancelled Sunday due to bad weather, no school for Wonderboy yesterday since his tummy was sketchy, and school is cancelled today because we're in the midst of the ice storm hitting the midwest. So what do you do with three kids who haven't been out of the house in three days? No, seriously, what do you do? We're a little desperate around here. E is working from home today, so at least there are two of us to wrangle the crazies...

Anway, we're in the Christmas spirit around here, despite being a little stir crazy, and Christmas always makes me feel a little like recreating Jr. High home-ec. E got me a serger, so I couldn't resist whipping up this little frock, although it will have to wait in the back of S's closet for spring.

And of course, you must bake and cook all kinds of treats at Christmas time. E has been domestic too. An impulsive purchase of 42 pounds of cream cheese at Costco means you've got to do something with all that cheese, right? Enter mini-cheesecakes! The kids are perplexed by and completely in love with this strange sweet food that has "cheese" in the name.

So don't worry about us folks. If we lose power and are holed up in our house without power for weeks on end in this absurd weather, we will survive on peanut brittle and cheesecake. There may only be 6 rolls of T.P. in the house, but we've got cheesecake!

And if we don't lose power, santa came early this week and brought me this shiny tool of domesticity... It's my mission to find ways to slow cook everything we consume from here on out. What can you make in the slow cooker with 42 pounds of cream cheese?

Her first performance

Princess S danced with her group for the local oldtown Christmas lighting just after Thanksgiving. She's the one with her skirt hiked up nearly under her armpits about fifth from the right with her legs a'kickin. She definitely blossoms in front of an audience. Probably the cutest thing in tap shoes I've ever seen.

And she made the front of the local newspaper. So she's famous. You can make formal requests for autographs here.

In case you're packing heat when you come for a visit...

...Wonderboy wants you to know you will be required to leave all fire-arms at the door. Seriously! This kid is so off the wall!

Word of the Day: Strefulated

As in "I'm getting strefulated!"

I believe it may be a linguistic hybridization of stressed + frustrated.

Pow-wow! and Movie Morning

"Falling Leaf" (Wonderboy's American Indian alias) treated us to quite a show Tuesday. There was dancing, songs, drumming and lots of finger plays, of course. We also watched a particularly effective "snow dance", which unfortunately resulted in a dusting of snow yesterday.

Last night I promised the kids this morning would be Movie Morning. They were so excited that I found Kai staggering about his room at 11:00 p.m. last night clutching his pillow because, he said, "I'm getting ready for Movie Morning!" I coaxed him back to bed, but both kids were ready at 7 a.m. with their pillows and blankets to crash on the floor for the movie. We nogiated baths, clean clothes and some breakfast and then they settled in.

There were a couple of tense moments...

but they loved this rare indulgence (complete with sugary kid cereals for breakfast! Ack!) and E and I have had a chance to pull together all the bits and pieces of our little Thanksgiving feast.

I'm thankful for loads of things. Just one of which is a hubby who cooks! Cheerfully to boot. Ha!

O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! ~ William Shakespeare

Happy Thanksgiving!

A hero in our midst

Last night at dinner, Wonderboy was horrified to discover a bug had landed in his glass of milk. He began shrieking, but daddy-to-the-rescue! fished that bug out and handed the milk back. Wonderboy said, "You're a hero dad." And he just chugged his milk down like nothing had happened. I won't even go into how gross it is that he drank it, and even better, that E handed it back to him fully expecting him to do just that. Anyway, he then launched into a little ditty from his favorite show "Higglytown Heroes", a strange little cartoon starring nesting dolls (why?)...


You're a Higglytown hero, brave and true,
you help the town with the things you do.
We'll work real hard in the things we do
so we can be a hero, just like you.


This morning when we all woke up and E was long gone off to work, Wonderboy was working feverishly on a little project downstairs: a hero-worthy recognition award.

Notice the Frankenstein portrait (his new favorite character), and Boo! which he proudly writes on everything. I blocked off his name because he also loves to write that on everything. Wonderboy bestowed this medal on a very honored and humbled dad when he got home from work.

In which she got lost.

A few years ago (when we'd just learned kidlet #1 was on the way), E was headed off to Africa for a week for work, so I booked myself a little trip. I took an evening flight out with plans to wake up in the Netherlands. I deboarded the plane having not slept a wink, but I was ready to see Amsterdam, even on fumes. After a brief tussle with a strung out American as I exited the train station, I decided to just hoof it to the charming and quaintly sparse room I had booked in a canal house. It was ridiculously early in the morning, maybe 5:30 a.m. there so I counted on killing some time walking. Reading maps - not my favorite thing, so I just trudged off in the general direction I thought I needed to go. Bad idea. I had no idea you could select a nudey girl of your choice through a storefront window at 5:30 a.m., but apparently you can. And while you're making you're selection, you can peruse a mind-boggling array of toys, props, and sundry accoutrement, the likes of which I would have never imagine existed. Let alone existed in one-stop, for-your -convenience shopping. I was smack dab in the middle of the red light district, and for what it's worth, there were no red lights. A little flashing red warning light would have been most helpful. Not somewhere I meant or wanted to be walking alone, but the architecture is lovely, even in the seediest part of town, and if you're not interested in the 'ladies' or all the hardware and tools for sale, what else are you looking at?

I got good and lost. And I mean LOST. Of course I did make my way on eventually, after an uncomfortable hour and a half or so. By the time I made my way out, I think I knew some of those girls on a first name basis. And, by the time I had my bearings, I knew the layout well enough to be sure not to stumble through there again.

At the end of my trip - which was otherwise completely G-rated as far as I recall - E joined me for a couple of days. We were walking through the town center one morning and passed a "Sex Shop" in the row of touristy shops. There was a group of British tourists behind us and I could hear one couple in particular talking. This was what I overheard (think best Cockney accent):

Him: Come on, now!

Her: Oh, go on!

Him: Would you come on now and STOP OGLING THE BLOODY DILDOS!

Absolutely the highlight of my trip. Laughed so hard I cried.

Today I saved a life.

Here is how it went down. Bubby was cruising around as usual, putting anything that fits into his mouth...into his mouth, as usual. I noticed he was sucking on something - and drooling a lot, so I did the old finger-sweep trick and came up with....a ladybug. Deeply disturbing right? But it was alive!! I can't explain how heebie-geebied out I was to discover its little legs awigglin. I did the heebie-geebied, spazzing-hands freak out, so the poor thing which just escaped being eaten alive now flew through the air and landed legs up in my sink. I was afraid I did it in for good with the air launch, but I think it just might make it now. Its legs are wiggling once again.

The creepy thing is that there are a lot of ladybugs in our house right now. I don't know why - do they try to get inside to escape the cold nights? Anyway, now I'm wondering how many of these things (which really should stay outside where they belong in my opinion, thank you very much!) has Bub been noshing on? Blech!

Happy Diwali!

Diwali Meaning & Significance -

Deepavali is a festival where people from all age groups participate. They give expression to their happiness by lighting earthen 'diyas' (lamps), decorating the houses, bursting firecrackers and inviting near and dear ones to their households for partaking in a sumptuous feast. The lighting of lamps is a way of paying obeisance to god for attainment of health, wealth, knowledge, peace, valor and fame. It is one time in the whole year that children volunteer to leave their beds long before the day begins. In fact, the traditional oil bath at 3 a.m, is the only chore that stands between them and the pre-dawn adventures. They emerge, scrubbed clean to get into their festive attire, and light up little oil lamps, candles and scented sticks(agarbathis), the wherewithal for setting alight crackers and sparklers. On Diwali night, little clay lamps are lit in Hindus homes, but now a days colored electric lamps are also used. What is the significance of lighting a lamp? There is a logical answer to this question. It is through the light that the beauty of this world is revealed or experienced. Most civilizations of the world recognize the importance of light as a gift of God. It has always been a symbol of whatever is positive in our world of experience. To Hindus, darkness represents ignorance, and light is a metaphor for knowledge. Therefore, lighting a lamp symbolizes the destruction, through knowledge, of all negative forces- wickedness, violence, lust, anger, envy, greed, bigotry, fear, injustice, oppression and suffering, etc. Competition is stiff, and even the little girl in silk frocks and their finery are watching out for the best sparklers and flowerpots, the rockets and Vishnuchakras, which light-up the night sky like a thousand stars. Festive bonhomie abounds.

Surprisingly enough, we have been exposed here in the middle of nowhere to some cultural variety. On one side of us lives a family from China. On the other, a couple from India. They are awesome neighbors. Miss Anjana is the kind you call when you need someone to feed the cats while you're away, and she will do it happily although she is NOT a fan of the feline species. If you're lucky they invite you to parties with amazing Indian food, and the kids are enveloped by women of all ages in brightly colored saris and gold jewelry who pat the kids' cheeks and offer them sweets. You'll feel drab dressed in your regular clothes, and secretly wish you could wrap yourself up like the women in their gorgeous silks, or the men in their comfy lango shirts.

My neighbor has recently gone to India, so unfortunately there are no Diwali festivities underway around here. But if you feel up to it, eat some curry and light some lamps. Five days of Diwali - the festival of lights - starts today folks!

In which she worked retail

Something today reminded me of my brief stint working in 'Petites' at Bloomingdales a few years back while waiting for the funding to come through for my job in D.C. and the usual hoops and legal rigmarole required to open new positions through U. Penn. I was thinking - I like clothes, I enjoy shopping now and then, maybe I'll enjoy it, right? WRONG. It was hell. If I have the misfortune of going to hell someday it will be this: an endless eternity of working retail in hell's own windowless Bloomingdales complete with lots of finicky old biddies to pander to. A couple of 'regulars' were particularly memorable, and they will surely be there in my own hell to make the experience complete.


Perhaps my favorite was a VERY old woman who truly seemed as if she had been sealed up in a brownstone for twenty years and just emerged bedecked in jewels and antique lace to do a little shopping. She demanded my complete and uninterrupted attention for the entire three hour stay in my dressing rooms while she insisted I look are her tushie to determine if the velour sweatsuit she was considering "cupped her bottom" far too much. I truly can't remember if she decided against the sweatsuit or not, but what I do recall too clearly is that I would have rather dug my eyeballs out with soup spoons than spend another moment looking at that woman's cupped behind.


In a close second was a woman with six toes on each foot. How do I know that? Because she was a frequent shopper in that department, and apparently the only shoes a six-toed woman can wear are strappy little sandals. See you just poke that sixth toe out the side between a couple of the straps and voila! you're good to go. I think she was a perfectly nice customer, but I don't like feet anyway, and those extra toes poking out were just, well, ick.


If nothing else, I have a greater respect for anyone who can work retail because my few weeks at Bloomies were sheer torture. I'd rather give pedicures for a living, and anyone who really knows me, knows that's saying something.

Boo!

The excitement around here today was palpable. A subculture of little people in dress-up, allowed to run about the neighborhood after dark begging for candy? Why, this day is nothing but pure kid bliss. And what events lead up to this day! Visits to the pumpkin patch - and later the carving of those pumpkins, costume parades at school, trunk-or-treat parties, visiting the enchanted forest complete with music, magicians and a ghost or two. Not to the mention the many, many conversations about just what costume will be the perfect costume. Princess S was emphatic about dressing as a pumpkin (NOT a tomato). Wonderboy was a pumpkin at age 3, so she simply HAD to be a pumpkin. That is until she saw other girls dressed as........PRINCESSES!! What? We saw a small girl in school yesterday in head-to-toe princessness, and she whispered in complete awestruck reverence, "Mommy, she...is...a...PRINCESS?!?" I fear I have done her a great disservice by not disclosing fully - in advance - that this was a possibility for her. Oh well. The prospects of a bag full of candy will soothe even the most acute disappointment.

Shark attack!!

Sadly, the famous shark costumes my brothers wore disintegrated in the attic over time, but grandma J came to the rescue with the pattern and - ta da! - the tradition continues.

Happy Halloween!

If the universe is listening...

I don't want to move.

Just putting it out there.

Uber-cool websites:

http://www.delight.com/index.php

Just found this one, (through the website below) and it gives you a groovy new great deal or unique product each day at noon Central. I'm all about a great deal. E wishes I wasn't.

http://www.notmartha.org/

This chick is creative and crafty. This site is worth a peek now and then, and she often has links to other interesting sites. I think she might be obsessed with cupcakes. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

http://www.etsy.com/

About the biggest darn boutique ever. You name it, you can buy it there. The kids are getting customized super hero capes for Christmas from this shop: http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5058462

http://www.kidonyc.com/home/

Perfect resource for the modern, minimalist kid in your life with discerning taste.

http://www.flensted-mobiles.com/

The coolest Danish exports I'm personally aware of. This charming little viking mobile hung in Wonderboy's room until we left the east coast and it has never surfaced since the move. Sniff, sniff. Anyway, how cool would it be to furnish a giant white room with nothing but a cushy place to lay and a smattering of mobiles hung above, AND not a thing to do all day but just lay there and watch them move gently around? Pretty darn cool if you ask me.

Adventure Buggy, how I love thee...

I couldn't babble on about absurd parenting products without paying homage to my Adventure Buggy. And I do have adventures with this Buggy. I think I may love this beloved work horse more than life itself, and I should because I had to plead and cajole my little heart out to talk E into this one. And then I had to wait twelve very long weeks for the thing to be made and make the long trek across the wide, wide ocean from New Zealand to my home here in the middle of nowhere. AND I left town the day before it's scheduled delivery by the UPS man (who is probably one of my most favorite people ever). So, so worth the wait. It's sheer genius based on the stack 'em deep approach. Mine is a lovely Mediterranean blue/aqua combination that just makes me feel perkier. The only downside to this work of art is that we never go anywhere without swarms of ogling moms - and sometimes dads - wanting to know the particulars.

And here is a glimpse of mine in action.

When did parenting get so complicated...and bizarre?

So I'm by no means an expert at this parenting thing, but I've got three who have all miraculously survived their first year of life without the help of some of the gadgetry marketed toward parents as life-altering, must-haves. Now, a few things fall under the category of CAN'T-LIVE-WITHOUT. Say, pacifiers, diapers, a good sling or other such carrier and maybe a stroller. But I'm pretty sure something is wrong with this:

That's right, little teepees for preventing those shooting streams when the cold air meets the delicate bits. If you need these, you're not fast enough at the draw, partner. And, you do not currently have enough laundry to do.

Another unbelievable product:

Why spit? Why, why, why? Ever seen those handy little travel-size box of wipes?

And the gadget that probably started this rant on ridiculousness:

The Baby Keeper. Is it me, or is this just wrong, wrong, wrong? Really. Who hasn't juggled a wee one through a restroom visit? It is a really, really complicated task, so I'd concede the idea is interesting, but wouldn't this just be asking CPS to visit your doorstep? Was it so long ago that women were being cautioned NOT to hang handbags or other valuables on the stall hook because savvy thieves were reaching over and swiping those valuables right while you're least able to do anything about it because your fanny would be hanging out? I've never seen one of these actually in use, so maybe I'm not the only one disturbed by this bizarre invention.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

I am not a green-thumb. By no stretch of the imagination am I a green-thumb. This fact alone drives my mother quite batty since she is an avid and dedicated gardener. Our scruffy yard and generally passe attitude about it throws her in to the depths of despair and disbelief. She simply cannot understand how her own offspring could be so terribly lacking in horticultural talent AND have had the misfortune to marry someone equally lacking (sorry E!).

So it is with dismay that E and I have watched one particular English rosebush in our backyard produce the most lovely peachy roses in abundance every year since we planted it four years ago. No degree of neglect or abuse that we have unwittingly dished out has thwarted this remarkable bush. In fact, it seems the less we do for it, the more it thrives (this does not hold true for any other living thing in our yard except the weeds). So it is for this reason that I must dedicate a post solely to our persevering rosebush and it's lovely, lovely buds which can be found in my kitchen from May through November...

-~-~-~-

The world is a rose, smell it and pass it to your friends. ~Persian Proverb

It's good to be 1!

Ok, so maybe it's not. Especially because this poor guy won't be opening any presents, partaking of any birthday cake, or enjoying any festivities of any kind. At least not in the next few days. And to add insult to injury he is in the worst stage of a cold: tired, whiney, and a runny nose that just won't quit.

But! We do have a small triumph to share. Bubby is officially a walker. Drum roll please.........

Not that this is exactly breaking news. He's been on his feet to varying degrees quite a lot in the last 6 weeks or so, but he's really got it down now. And he is SOOOOO proud of himself.

So, come see grandma, and maybe we can share a cupcake or something.

Burn baby burn!!

The other day Bubby, Princess S and I were walking home after safely depositing Wonderboy in school, when Princess S asked me to sing songs to her. I asked what she wanted to hear a song about and she thought for a moment and said Ladybugs! I wracked my brain for a minute and the only thing I could come up with was a little rhyme mom taught me when I was little for sending a wayward ladybug on its way home. So I sang to S, "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house in on fire and your children will burn!"...Whaaaa? Who would tell their three-year-old that horrifying little rhyme? Me apparently. And my own mom too, I guess. She looked at me in an appropriately horrified way and then began to try to sing it herself. Since that day she has asked to hear it over and over, and she sings it herself, only her version goes like this: "Ladybug, ladybug fly away home, your house is on fire and your children will be fired!" She sings the end with her best growly, demise-style voice and adds wiggly fire-like finger gestures. I've tried modifying the words to create a perky cheerful, not-depressing version, but she's not interested. She only wants to hear of the burning babies. I've created a monster who fantasizes about the sad, sad demise of ladybug babies! I've awakened a very morose and previously unrevealed facet of her personality!

Well, this morning I googled the rhyme and discovered I had it wrong. So if anyone needs to be set straight on how to appropriately send a ladybug on its way (although I'm not sure the correct version is any less horrible), here it is:

-Ladybug! Ladybug!

Fly away home.

Your house is on fire.

And your children are all gone.

All except one,

And that's little Ann

For she is hiding under the frying pan.

If the pumpkin fits, wear it!

Today we trekked out to our favorite pumpkin patch to ride a tractor-pulled wagon out to the patch to hunt for the coolest, biggest, smallest, bumpiest, greenest, fattest pumpkins we could find to pile up on the front porch. On the wagon with us was another family - 4 boys and 1 baby girl, the oldest of which was no older than our own oldest. Gulp. Each day with our own 3 busy ones is chaotic, tiring, joyful, frustrating, dramatic, aggravating, blissful, rewarding, agonizing and so much more. I truly cannot imagine having five young children (like my own mother had by my age) and maintaining any degree of sanity. But this was a happy and well-behaved brood today. Well-behaved and well mannered. It was actually my own son who busied himself telling (loudly) the wagon load of pumpkin patch visitors how funny it would be to be scared, not just out of one's pants, but also out of one's underwear, leaving one standing there nekkid. I seriously wonder if it's better to know what this kid is telling strangers, or to stick with the ignorance-is-bliss stand on things. There is a little knot in my stomach that developed when I got my parent/teacher conference appointment and I realized I will soon be face to face with one person who has probably heard A LOT of this boy's stories. I sort of take a no-news-is-good-news approach with the kindergarten teacher and his teacher at church. I generally avoid eye-contact with these two. Whatever they've heard, it probably isn't good. And if not exactly bad, at least a wee bit mortifying.

Anyway, I digress. The day was very enjoyable, although incredibly muggy - 90 degrees and 93% humidity in October?? Stupid Midwest weather. What's more, I was truly grateful that I only had to count to three when counting the number of little heads buckled in the back seats. And to be fair, Bubby is like two kids squeezed into the packaging of one.

And because you can never have too many cute-kid photos...here's a few more:

Oh, and growing older has its perks - "Lovely" ones.