It was a fine autumnal day...

We headed out to farm country Saturday for the Fall Festival at the cider mill. We watched the washing and sorting process before the apples are crushed into pomace and then pressed to produce the cider. We partook of mouthwatering, warm apple cider doughnuts (heaven!) for which E valiantly fought the long lines and sweltering shop, only to discover when we went back to fight for seconds (and thirds) that the doughnuts were 'back-ordered'. Those warm gems were selling faster than they could come out of the fryer. We scored an extra half dozen before going home - and only a half dozen. By mid-day, the store had resorted to rationing each customer to a half dozen. Phooey. Doughnut Nazis.

We returned home with very tired but satisfied kiddos. Wonderboy's highlights were the kettlecorn and the bounce house. Princess S loved the pony rides. Bubby just loved hanging out in the stroller and getting his groove on to the bluegrass band.

I have hangups and My son is...imaginitive

A two-part entry.

First, a brief blurb on hangups and neuroses in general. I realize (or hope) everyone has at least one or two -- that I'm not alone in borderline craziness. So here are a few of mine in no particular order:

~ The word "panties". Pan-teez. Ick. I have nothing against underwear in general, or this piece of underclothing in particular, but the actual phonetics of PANTIES give me the heebie-geebies. Ick. Ick. Ick.

~ I am a food segregationist. There. I've said it. I'm disturbed when my peas and mashed potatoes intermingle. Peas should stick with peas and potatoes with potatoes. I secretly long to replace all the plates in my kitchen with grade school, cafeteria-style divided trays where everything has its place and nothing touches any other thing not of its own kind. And, yes, some food is inherently superior to other food.
~ I'm phone-phobic. I don't like making or receiving phone calls. I really, REALLY don't like the phone. So the advent of email was perhaps a very bad thing for me as it provided me with a means to communicate with people in my life other than the phone. And I fully realize that a phone call now and then would surely be better than an email hurriedly shot off. I don't know why I have this problem. Oh wait! Yes, I do. I come by it genetically. My parents haven't answered their home phone in, oh, about 13 years. Note to anyone who might call me: Please don't be put off by my confession of phone-phobia. It's probably good for me to be challenged occasionally. However, do not call me tonight between 8 p.m. and 9 p.m. eastern. I won't answer.

Ok, enough of that. I sound certifiable. Now on to an unrelated (or is it?) story demonstrating my son's unique imaginative skills. Yesterday he brought a ziplock lunch bag into the bathroom and filled it with water. The bag of water houses his new pet. A speck of dirt to me, a treasured plankton pet to him. A zooplankton to be exact. He is concerned about the well being of the plankton seeing as there is no nearby ocean current for it to inhabit. For now a little tap water and a baggie are its home. He has checked on it several times in the last 36 hours. It's still there, a speck in a bag of water. He wanted to take it with him down to breakfast and later have it walk to school with him. I convinced him that zooplankton are prone to motion sickness. Also, lunch bags can and do leak. That would be catastrophic for the little zooplankton.

I'm giddy with anticipation.

Why, you ask? Because only six more days until the season premiere of "The Office"!!! Just finished watching last season's finale and the last ten seconds are sheer genius. I'm referring to Ryan telling Kelly "You and I are done" followed by her "What?!?" and his quick glance at the camera. With a hint of a smile. I love it. LOVE IT. And of course there is the anticipation of Jim + Pam. And what will Michael do with his stretch-pants-wearing, stay-at-home, recently "boob-enhanced" girlfriend? Seriously, the kids will have an early bedtime next Thursday.

And now a little something for the 20% of my readership (ok, maybe more like 33%) that believes my blog is too focused on my kids (well, DUH!) and argues that I might be too nice. This morning I trudged out to the curb with two dirty diapers for trash pickup. I just headed back out with another to discover my trash can decidedly fuller than it was just an hour ago. Well, a little trash digging and I discover a golf receipt with my across-the-street-neighbor's name on it. Who crosses the street to dump their garbage in someone else's can? Well I'll tell you who. The only consolation is that between one in diapers full-time, another part-time, and a 70 lb greyhound, mere words cannot describe the stench that rises from that trash can when opened. I seriously consider leaving a note of apology for the trash collector each week. It's just that bad.



Harrumph. I'm off to egg his house.

Squash anyone?

And other gratuitous cuteness:

Earlier today while sitting around:

Wonderboy: I like to do art. I'm really talented and I like to make lots of pictures and drawings.

Me: Hmm. That so?

Wonderboy: And I always put the lids on the markers so they won't dry out.

Me: Mmm.

Wonderboy: I'm really good at cutting too. If you need me to cut anything, I would be pleased to cut it for you.

Me: Okay.

Wonderboy: When is the world going to end?

Another first...First day of dance class

I may be the clumsiest, least graceful individual to ever inhabit this planet. I'm not exaggerating. E can attest to this fact. So to head off any potential inherited clumsiness (and we fear there may be some) on the part of my daughter, she started a combined ballet/tap dance class today. She is so excited to be a dancer because in her three-year-old mind being a dancer is equivalent to being a princess. Her teacher is Miss Nina, a very young 82-year-old woman who is old-school dance at its best. Before dismissal, the girls form a circle and in unison thank Miss Nina "for dance class today." The girls must use their manners, must wear a black leotard and pink tights and must not wear flashy hair adornments. Princess S loved every minute of it.

And here she is with her friend after class:

Sniff, sniff... Her first day of preschool

She has endured the painful and seemingly endless wait for preschool to start and the day has finally arrived. She is wearing her favorite red "flip-floppies" because, well "THEY MATCH MOMMY!!" (said in long-suffering exasperation) I explained that the mulch on the playground could prove pesky in those ridiculous flip-floppies, but she wouldn't hear it. Wonderboy gave her a drawn out lecture on the many facets of being a preschooler and potential preschool jitters. I think what she heard was "Blah, blah, blah, blahbity, blah", but she did a beautiful job of feigning interest in his sermon.

Wonderboy is convinced that after dropping him off at kindergarten, the rest of us return home to a fantastic afternoon of partying and general merriment. So, this morning he announced that since he would be the one heading home with mom while someone else stays at school, he would be having "fun, fun, fun". Reality check. He helped me unload the dishwasher, clean old papers out of the car and pick up a huge mess of wet pens and pencils in the kitchen that came clattering down every which way when I tried to mix grabbing the camera out of the cupboard, carrying a full bowl of water for the dog and trying not to injure the extra 20 or so pounds that was wrapped tightly around my left leg, namely Bubby. The laptop survived the disaster, but everything else in the kitchen was drenched. We've spent the morning doing damage control, and surprisingly, Wonderboy just told me "It's so great for a kid to be able to spend the morning with his mom." Damn he's good. Very good. So I guess the mess can wait. I'm off to spend some quality time with Wonderboy and his Legos...

Update --

First day of preschool went off without a hitch. Of course. She is in love with this idea of heading off, playing with friends, and best of all, snack time!!! Here she is with her official school tote bag:

And here is how hard they worked her on her first day of school:

She loves me...she loves me not...

There are moments when my heart will burst receiving so much love from my kiddos. Like when I get one of those priceless choke hold hugs only a little one can give.

This afternoon, however, she wasn't feeling the love. On our way home from walking Wonderboy to school, she was insistent on walking directly between me and the stroller, and after I'd nearly broken my neck a time or two tripping over her, I directed her to the side of the stroller. My decision was firm, and her reaction was equally firm. A torrent of tears it was. She was clearly in painful anguish walking NEXT to the stroller, instead of BEHIND the stroller. I must digress here to explain that she is a pretty good eater for a three year old. Among her likes are hummus, carrots, broccoli, fruit of all kinds, and many, many other healthful foods. She does NOT, however, like tomatoes. She will not touch raw tomatoes with a ten foot pole. If she feigns fear of something, anything, it is because a tomato might fall from the sky and crush her in a freak-tomato-accident. She was worried about her first visit to the dentist because a tomato might somehow be involved. She didn't want to clean up her room a few days ago because she was sure there was a tomato hiding under her bed. So you will understand the depth of her agony when she told me through her body-wracking sobs (again, this episode was all about where she was allowed to walk in relation to the stroller...) "Mommy, you are...you are,..YOU....ARE....A....TOMATO!!! And I don't like you."

You can imagine my relief when a short while later, she insisted on giving me a kiss -- apparently I was only a tomato for a very, very brief moment.

My landscaping crew...

..and a harder working or more cheerful crew I have never seen. However, the quality of the work is sorely lacking.

This weekend E took the kids to an educational park in Missouri that is pure kid heaven. The kids had a great time and then I took them for one last swim in the pool before it closes - so it was a very long day. Such a long day that our departure from the pool was accompanied by a monumental tantrum from Wonderboy for no apparent reason. The tantrum continued through our walk back to the house and our entire bedtime routine. E, in exasperation, finally told him that he had not earned any TV or computer privileges for the next day given his ridiculous behavior. Wonderboy's muttered response was, "This family really needs to change its policy on privileges!!"