Wishing for...

This bike:

and I would add a bike basket to it, and scoot around with kids piled in the back. Perfect.

Next, The Boston Marathon.

Wonderboy and I ran the Husky Hustle tonight. I know how completely impressive that sounds. But don't be intimidated by our achievement. We all can't be fleet of foot, right? Anyway, here we are with our official numbers, waiting for the call to the starting line.

And here we are coming in for our finish. (Okay, pretend finish. Because E was hanging out at the smoothie booth instead of watching for us at the finish. And so he requested a reenactment for a photo's sake so he wouldn't appear to have slipped in his support duties.) Just look at Wonderboy digging deep as he sprints to the finish line. He's fast, that one. And he was fast the first time we finished too.

Here's the fast guy with his medal:

I will TOTALLY run a mile if it means I can have a free massage when I finish.

I fully expect to be resented for this, years from now.

But for now, he's two, and can't really do much about the way I dress him. Other than give me the hairy eyeball, which he's pretty good at already.

Meet "Daddy"

About a week ago, as we were engaged in the whirlwind and chaos that characterize every weekday morning, while I play (quite convincingly) the role of "Sargent" in Get-To-School-On-Time boot camp, I overheard something perplexing, and perhaps even a little alarming. Wonderboy, Princess S and Bubs, all in collusion, discussed tucking "Daddy" in snug with a square of toilet paper, and then bid him farewell for the day. And every day since then, "Daddy" has been around, just lying on the floor or maybe kicked under the dining table. And when he's separated from his toilet tissue for very long, because maybe I've tossed it in the trash in a futile effort to keep at least the illusion of tidiness alive, it's eventually replaced by one of my three little people - though I never seem to catch him or her in the act, so I don't know who's most responsible for the general care of "Daddy". But aside from the kind offering of the toilet paper, he's pretty much ignored for the most part.

It does raise some questions, though, doesn't it? For instance, why the need for a surrogate Daddy? And why one so...I don't know...wooden? One with a smile permanently affixed? He's certainly a quiet fellow. And he doesn't seem to mind when the little people practice the 50 yard dash across our kitchen, living, and dining rooms. Goodness, he's a cheerful and tolerant little man. All 1.5 inches of him.

...Um...Love was in the air?

With the promise of a beautiful spring day, we decided a family trip to the zoo was in order. And our first stop was the "Australia" exhibit.

Uh, hold on, what do we have here?

Hey kids, lets take this opportunity to learn a little something about life...

We saw a drowsy tiger. He wasn't being vulgar. Too bad I left my furminator home...


These antelope-thingers were also not being vulgar. They graze about peacefully under the ever watchful gaze of a pride of lions and the cheetahs. Both of which probably spend every waking moment daydreaming about the hunt. Which won't ever happen, what with all the electric fence between them. Some zoo architect has an especially sick sense of humor.

The giraffes were well-behaved.

This guy was kind enough not to eat my lens cap after I threw it at him, in a pathetic attempt at a good photo. A vigilant giraffe caretaker retrieved it for me.

And we took a little train ride...

...and avert your eyes once again.

This gang cracked me up. Like "Hey! Look at us! Who needs lions and giraffes when there are synchronized performing turtles around??"

Baby jail?

the end.

What did you do with your weekend?

Me? I furminated my cat. And it was strangely gratifying.

Also, we realized amid the tumult of Life-With-Bubs last week, that the boy had come to the conclusion, most decisively, that after so much quality time in his crib, he would no longer be spending his nights there. And that was that. So we've moved the crib out, the toddler bed in, and I have become the night-shift baby-jailer. This, too, is strangely gratifying.

He has not (yet) found a way to bust out.

(Disclaimer: Do not be alarmed. Bubs has NOT developed a cocaine habit while in the slammer. He did, however, enjoy a powdered doughnut just before the above photo was taken. And then he launched another Tantrum of Monumental Proportions just because.)

A little goodwill... courtesy of a starlight mint

This past week has been just a little bit horrific. Or should I say this past week, Bubs has been a little bit horrific? I jinxed the lovely state of harmony we had seemed to have settled into, when I remarked to E (in a pleasantly shocked sort of way) that I found myself liking our youngest offspring about 90% of the time lately. But, darn it, he WAS being charming and adorable and disgustingly sweet 90% of the time. So much so, that the 10% hardly seemed even a bleep of unpleasantness, really. It all came to a screeching end about a week ago when Bubs got a bad cold.


The other two trudge through colds with the customary whining, skulking about, and refusing to eat. Bubs, on the other hand, wakes up angry - no, ENRAGED - at the world, ready to lash out at anything, anywhere. The dude has spent A LOT of quality time sitting in his crib because we've found no other way to cope with the Tantrums-of-Monumental-Proportions, if you know what I mean.


We're beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, sort of, as his symptoms are starting to taper off. But he's really got a good firm grasp on, and pretty deep understanding of, the power of the Tantrum-of-Monumental-Proportions, and I think, to our complete horror, he may have decided to add it to the regular behavior repertoire.


So that brings us to today. This morning I returned to the gym, having taken a couple days off for the kids to stop oozing, and I'm not going to lie, it felt great to hand them over to the capable hands of Ms. Karla in the childcare room, and walk away saying a silent, pleading prayer that Bubs wouldn't have her tied and bound when I returned. Or at least if he did, let them not page me to return for my demon-child until my workout was over. I've never enjoyed sweating more. And I did return to find Ms. Karla in reasonably good shape. Phew.


So, you know, I just had to push my good luck and attempt a quick stop at Target for a few things. And there was a stinky diaper to contend with in the Target restroom. (I digress to mention this only because it was one of those instances where you come out feeling not entirely unscathed by the experience, because you can't figure out why the odor still lingers, but you know one or both of you is still contaminated in a way that will only be solved by a shower for one of you and bath for the other - know what I mean?) But things were otherwise fine until we passed the candy aisle, and I had to throw something in to appease the masses, and when I refused to allow Bubs to open it on the spot, the Tantrum-of-Monumental-Proportions began. It was in full force by the time I reached the paper goods aisle.


Maybe my memory is bad, but I truly don't recall offspring #1 or 2 ever pulling anything like that in a public place. Maybe a little unsavory behavior occasionally, but a complete and total meltdown? I don't think so. It was ugly. It was mortifying. And while I stood there next to the napkins and paper plates asking him to calm down, I realized I might be forced to abandon the whole thing and head to the car. I appreciated those few shoppers who passed by pretending not to notice the screeching demon-child wrestling with the sweaty lady in yoga pants. What I didn't appreciate was the (quite) elderly woman with a blue coif who didn't even come down the paper goods aisle, but stopped where she was passing by on her way down the main walkway to STARE at our exorcism-in-progress. Not just a brief pause and then resume shuffling, but stop, STARE and continue STARING for about 4 minutes. It took all my resolve and self-control not to turn and declare loudly, "NOTHING TO SEE HERE, Lady. Move on."


She did eventually continue on, but just when I was ready to abort the mission, here she came down the aisle, approaching me slowly. I braced myself to be told my child was being creepy (ya, I know) or that I should be spanking him and not plaguing the entire patronage of Target with his demonic screams. But she came closer with her hand outstretched clenching something, and asked, "Would this help?" I held out my hand and she dropped a single starlight mint in my palm. This stopped Bubs cold in his tracks. He looked at her. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at her, and with a bewildered "thanks" I opened the candy and he popped it in. I thanked her profusely in the lovely silence that followed and sighed an enormous breath of relief that I hadn't uttered the rude words that I had seriously considered earlier. She gave a little laugh and said she was sorry she had only one piece of candy, but isn't it funny how a little person can get so upset and sometimes we can't figure out why? Ya, funny, I thought. Freaking hilarious. And I didn't want to teach the kid that Tantrums-of-Monumental-Proportions will earn him treats from perfect strangers, but it was such a kind gesture, and had a truly magical "re-boot" effect.

I don't even like starlight mints, but I think whenever I see them now, I'll think of that sympathetic woman and her thoughtful gesture. We could use a few more kindly old ladies with starlight mints in his world. Restored my faith in human kind, it did.