Station Wagon Tales

A letter from my loving daughter...

2012-02-06T20:39:00.004-06:00

Here is a note I got from Alison tonight. It's pretty awesome. I found it folded up on my pillow, bound with a hair rubber band and flower clip. On the outside it said "I'm sory". Here is what she wrote on the inside:

Dear mom
i love you
you can be a pane sometime
i still love you
your still my mom
Love,
Alison!

P.S. test tomoro

We'd had an argument right before bed about her spelling words. She wanted me to give her a test, I said I wouldn't because 1) she was supposed to be in bed in five minutes, and 2) she'd only copied them down one night. We save the practice tests until Wednesday or Thursday, after she's had a few nights to copy them down in preparation for her test at school on Friday. As you can see above I'm hoping soon she will be bringing home "pain", "tomorrow", and "sorry".

I can't wait until she has a daughter of her own and I can show her this note.

Simmer down. No one is going to be killed.

2012-01-11T19:59:00.000-06:00

Ah, parenting. The joys. The sorrows. The frustrating moments. The times where you think you may just know what you're doing. The times when your husband is traveling and you've dropped kids off at school. Picked kids up from school. Taken the dog to the vet. Prepared meals. Cleaned up after those meals. Reinforced some books for the school library. Gotten snacks. Nagged children to do their homework. Nagged children to clean their room. Nagged children to clean up the playroom. Wonder if you are making any sound with your mouth parts while nagging children. Done one or two or eleventy billion loads of laundry. Looked longingly at the book you are trying to read mocking you from the kitchen table while you walk by with the laundry basket. Send text messages to your husband like this:

This is the conversation I had with Oliver just as I was uploading this photo:
"Mama, I hope I am never without you."
"You're never going to be without me, buddy."
"But what if I go to college?"
"I'll always be here for you, Little Man. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."
Then he wrapped his arms around my neck and gave me a big hug. (You should know he was wearing Batman footie jammies. Yea. Uber cute.) So, I guess I can wipe up sticky messes and make countless meals and nag until I'm blue in the face. It's all worth it.

Edited to add:
After reading books before bed Alison gave me a little note and a snack bag full of my favorite candy, M&Ms. How great are those kids?

Frilly Unmentionables

2011-11-18T13:47:00.001-06:00

Wow. I've got a million blog posts rolling around in my head right now. OK, maybe three. Maybe. More probably two. The children each had a birthday, and quite frankly, the fact that parenting is getting harder suddenly clobbered me over the head last night. This post, however, is going to be light hearted, because a stranger saw my underwear today.

So. Laundry. It's gotta' get done, right? In my house I do it. Just another one of those housewifey duties I took over when I got knocked up, walked up to my boss, and told her I would no longer like to show up to work every damn day.

Laundry is a chore that never fails to sneak up on me. I'll spend two days doing it, then walk around all smug and proud that everyone's got clean clothes and sheets and there are plenty of towels and man, I'm good at this whole being a housewife thing. Meanwhile my family is walking around wearing clothing and taking showers and sleeping in their sheets. Before I know it it's two weeks later and those same clothes are sitting in hampers scattered around the house waiting to be washed again. "But, I just did the laundry!" I think. Like those two weeks just didn't happen.

Every once in a while I let it go WAY too long, though, and then I have an epic, epic amount of laundry to do. I could die in the basement in a pile of laundry and it would take weeks to find me. One night this week after Oliver was done with his shower he went to find a clean pair of underwear and declared he was 'all out'. I didn't believe him, because of course I'd just done laundry, so I checked in his drawer and sure enough, no underwear in there. Then I turned around to look at their overflowing hampers. Perhaps I hadn't JUST done laundry.

For the last two days I've been doing laundry. Load after load of laundry. I haven't even touched the towels yet. Which means I've been folding load after load of laundry in the living room. Sometimes an article of clothing spills out of the hamper and I'm unaware of it, or I'm aware of it, but my hands are full and I'll just get it later. So, today, after dropping the kids off at school (and helping with breakfast and cutting out some frog faces for the preschool classroom and getting a box of books to get ready for the library) I came home just in time for the piano tuner to show up. I let him in and he walked over to the piano to take the stuff off the top so he could start his job when I saw them. There, in the middle of the living room rug, was a pair of my underwear. All crumpled up, with a neon arrow pointing at it, shouting "LOOK AT ME! THIS WOMAN IS DISGUSTING! SHE LEAVES HER UNDERWEAR ON THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR FOR STRANGE MEN TO LOOK AT!" These were not, of course, modest mom panties. Nope, if I'm going to leave a pair of underwear laying around, they are going to be humdingers.

What to do? I'm fairly sure at this point he hadn't seen them. I didn't want to draw attention to them, but I couldn't just let them lay there. He was talking pleasantly and I was trying to form coherent sentences and answer his questions and not seem like a total mute freak who leaves her underwear on the floor. I don't know how he couldn't have seen them, because to me they were lit up with a spotlight while the rest of the room lay in darkness. "Get them!!" my brain screamed at me. Still, I didn't want to draw attention to them. I tried melting them with lasers from my eyes but that didn't work (never does), and then I came up with an elaborate plan to pretend to fall and land on them and do some sort of rolling move where I could put them into my pocket without him noticing. Right before I was about to pull the trigger on my tuck and roll move he sat on the piano bench and turned his back to the rest of the room. I quickly scooped them up, stuffed them into my pocket (classy), and then I went out in the back yard and burned them.

Things I will not do. Ever.

2011-09-21T13:52:00.001-05:00

Now that I've been a mother for seven years and an adult for an amount of time I will not currently specify, I've realized that you should probably not say "I will NEVER do that" very often. Almost never, really. I was the best parent in the world before I had kids. "Oh, I'll never let my kids do that", I'd say to my husband, and we sipped coffee and silently passed judgement on the people around us who had procreated. The reality, of course, is the that you don't 'let' your children do anything. Children are going to do stuff, bad stuff, no matter how great of a parent you are, and it's got nothing to do with the fact that you force them to eat vegetables or not. A good parent knows what battles to fight, and the longer you are a parent, the less battles you're willing to fight.

That being said, there are a couple of things I'm not going to do. Mainly because they are stupid. Also maybe a little bit because I'm old(er) and didn't grow up texting and using the internet. Al Gore hadn't invented it yet when I was a kid. I also didn't hang out in coffee shops much in good ol' Fond du Lac, WI, because there weren't any coffee shops there. When we were in high school the cool (I use the term cool very loosely here) thing to do was to go to the Country Kitchen and drink coffee there. We were rebels, that's for sure.

OK, here they are. Number one, I will not use abbreviations while texting or tweeting, etc. that mean "rolling on the floor laughing", or "laughing out loud", or anything like that. I won't do it. It's dumb. Really? You're rolling on the floor laughing right now? Literally rolling around on the ground of wherever you are, be it in the privacy of your own home or out and about in public? I don't think you are. Perhaps you think what you just read was very amusing, but let's not get too carried away here.

As for "laughing out loud". Well, that's great. Laughing is awesome. You know what isn't? LOL. That, right there, is the first and last time I have typed and or written those letters together as a stand alone abbreviation.

The same goes for all of the other abbreviations people use. I'm going to tell you right now, if you use an abbreviation while texting me, I probably won't know what it is. I just recently learned that IDK means 'I don't know'. I know this makes me sound old, but I don't care. Just say what you mean. We're raising a whole group of kids who are actually going to say things like LOL (whoops, I lied up there), ROFL, IDK, WTH, etc. Words are good. Use them.

The other thing I refuse to do is use coffee shops' terms for small, medium, and large. No, I don't want a grande. I want a medium. The middle size. A tall* is not a small. Some may say it's the opposite of small. I, for instance, am not tall. Today I went to Target and decided to stop at the Starbucks for a pumpkin spice latte. I rarely get fancy coffee drinks, but it was rainy and dreary and windy and I had no kids with me. It was clearly time to celebrate.

"Hello! What can I get for you?"

"I'll have a pumpkin spice latte with skim milk."

"What size?"

"Medium"

"Would you like whip on that?"

(Is it really so hard to say whipped cream?)

"Nope"

"OK, that's a grande skinny pumpkin spice latte with no whip..."

Is it just me or does that sound kind of ridiculous?

I know this whole post makes me sound like some crotchety old person who has nothing better to do with her time than complain. I know that. Yet I still wrote it, which is another nice thing about growing up and getting out of your twenties and starting to feel really comfortable in your own** skin. You care less and less what people think of you.

*Full disclosure. I totally had to go to the Starbucks and Caribou coffee websites to see what their sizes were. I now know that at Starbucks a small is a small, the next size up is a tall, then the top two sizes are grande and venti. I still have no idea what they are at Caribou.

**I proofread this and the first time I typed it I said "old skin" instead of "own skin". Wow. Freudian slip much?

Hair is what almost brought me down today.

2011-08-29T17:06:00.004-05:00

Today was the first day of school for Alison. Hooray! Except not hooray because I love having both of those kids home with me. And next week Oliver starts preschool. And Alison is getting so old! And what am I going to do when Oliver goes to school full time next year? And also, my Grandma died. So, yea. This has been a tough week. My emotions are a bit...unstable.

Today we went to get the kids hair cuts after picking Ali up from school. I am not a vain person. (Silas's head just exploded because maybe I am about my hair. A little bit.) I don't treat my children like living dolls (although I totally could, have you seen my children?).

We have been swimming at my in-laws' pool a lot this summer. Two years ago after another summer of swimming Alison ended up with hair that closely resembled that of those trolls that crazy people bring to Bingo halls and rub for good luck. She cried every time I brushed it, but refused to have it cut. I didn't want to go through that again, so I've been spraying it with watered down conditioner before she goes in the pool and washing it with swimmers shampoo I bought at the very salon we were getting their cuts at. Mostly because they were on sale two for one, but still, I was trying.

So, the kids are getting their cuts side by side. The woman who is cutting Ali's hair starts brushing it and says over her shoulder at me: "Do you use a clarifying shampoo after she is in the pool, mom?" I'm sorry, but when people call me "mom", and their names are not Alison or Oliver, it tends to drive me nuts. CRAZY. My name is not mom. I am not your mom, in fact, I'm not even close to old enough to be your mother. Maybe, JUST MAYBE, you are even older than I am, in which case it would be physiologically impossible for me to be your mom.

Anyway, I dug my fingers into my palms and said, while perusing Alison's planner, and in the breeziest manner I could, "yes".

"Oh, which one?"

"The one I bought from here." I said this rather smugly. 'I've got her now!', I thought.

"Which brand, was it the Malibu?"

OK, really, is she even serious? Which brand? It's shampoo for my kid. It said swimmers shampoo on it. I couldn't tell you even now, after I had this inane conversation, which brand it is. I finally looked up from my inspection of Ali's planner, which I'd read about five times now, since it was just the first day of school and it turns out there was really nothing to read, and looked at the shelves of products in front of me. I pointed to one.

"That one, with the picture of the little girl on it." To demonstrate the fact that I. do. not. care. At all.

"Oh", she says, "next time buy the Malibu, it is probably a little better and would do a good job of getting out the chlorine residue. Her hair feels like adult hair, with all of the texture in it already."

I stopped pretending to read Alison's planner and looked up.

"In fact", she continued, "you should think about a Malibu treatment. It would really improve the texture of her hair."

I stared at the top of her feet because I couldn't look her in the eye. Had this woman seen directly into my soul? If there is one thing I want more than anything in this world it is for my children to maintain their child-like innocence for as long as possible. No, not just child-like. YOUNG child-like. You know, before they realize that cynicism is even a thing. Before they worry about someone making fun of them for what they wear, or lose that glorious confidence that young children seem to have in abundance. Before they develop, God forbid, hair with the texture of an adults. I'm being serious. This comment really bothered me. I mean, one minute she's telling me how much she loves me and the next she's making me pick her up from school around the corner with Oliver hiding under a blanket in the back seat. It's a slippery slope.

I'm seriously contemplating the Malibu treatment. There isn't much I can control in my life right now, but so help me, I CAN make sure my daughter has soft, child-like hair for as long as humanly possible.

Daylight and a promise.

2011-08-10T15:41:00.002-05:00

I need to write a post for Alison's birthday, as I've done every year since I started this blog (which means she was 3 years old the first time I wrote her a birthday post!), but what "they" say is true. (Who are "they"? "They" sure seem to say a lot of things, and have a lot of opinions, but I've never met them.) The older I get, the older the kids get, the faster time passes. Maybe it's because I don't seem to be struggling to burn daylight as much as I did when I was home all day and they were tiny people who couldn't do anything for themselves and we ate, nursed, changed diapers, read books, played, rinse, repeat. Not that I'm complaining about that, because I enjoyed all of that, but sometimes it got, well, it got a little tedious. Now I'm struggling to fit in all of the things I want to do with them while trying to keep the people in this house with clean laundry and full bellies, going to work one or two, or, if it's a REALLY busy week, three days a week, and struggling to do it all before Alison goes back to school in the fall. And, gasp, Oliver starts preschool this year, too, and before you know it my life will once again consist of driving to and from school, doing homework, going to dance, chaperoning field trips, and still going to that pesky job a few days a week. What I'm trying to say is that yes, there will be a birthday post, but it's going to have to wait. Right now we're busy drawing with chalk and playing T-ball in the yard. After that it'll be time to make dinner, and there is talk of baking something with the blueberries in the fridge. Before you know it all of the daylight will be burned and another day will start. We'll fill that one up no problem, too.

Also, Alison is upset there aren't more two dollar bills in circulation

2011-06-10T14:24:00.003-05:00

We've been at this summer vacation thing for two weeks now, and the kids are still figuring out how to be together for large amounts of time. Well, pretty much ALL of the time. They share a room and also go to daycare together the days I work. I don't remember there being a large adjustment time for them last year, but apparently two years of being sister-free for the majority of his days has made Oliver more independent, and being told what to do for those same two years as had Alison more angry when Oliver doesn't obey all of her specific instructions. One morning this week they decided they weren't talking to each other (it didn't last long).

This morning the kids woke up at 6:59 on the dot. Oliver wanted to set up his Thomas train track, but in order to do that they needed to clean the playroom. They did, without complaining. I should've known something was up then, but I hadn't had much coffee so my brain wasn't working properly.

I needed a shower, so I told them to work together to build a track while I was showering, and when I got out if they needed help I would help them. I urged Alison to listen to Oliver and allow him to have some control over the building, then got in the shower, expecting to hear arguing and find them at opposite ends of the room when I got out.

Instead, I stepped back into the playroom to see both of them sitting around a track they had built, not arguing, and playing a game with the trains. When they saw me they announced, rather proudly, how they had worked together to build the track. I expressed my approval in glowing terms. Then I noticed that Oliver had two dollar bills next to him. Because my children are so very innocent, and haven't learned the word 'bribery' yet, they immediately explained what was going on without any questions from me.

Apparently when Oliver didn't want to listen to Alison's ideas for the track she told him that if he listened to her (which also means 'do what I say' in Alison speak) she would give him two dollars. Oliver agreed, Alison built the track the way she wanted, and then gave her brother two dollars she had earned during a fundraiser at school this year. Oliver was happy with his two dollars, even though I'm sure he has no idea the value of money or what he could do with it. Case in point, after proudly showing me the crumpled bills he said he wished he had a hundred dollar bill, then asked me how much that would cost.

I feel like this is a great social experiment I didn't even have to set up. Look, I've never bribed anyone in front of the kids. At least I don't think I have. I have, of course, being a parent, bribed THEM countless time with promises of extra books before bed, movie watching, treats, Wii playing, a ride home instead of walking, and the privilege of continuing to live here for free, but never with cold, hard cash. Perhaps I should try a new tactic, it gets amazing results. The kids have gotten along ALL DAY. Right now I'm pretty sure I could leave and they wouldn't notice.

Money talks, even to those who don't have any appreciation or understanding of its value.

That's Coach McAghon, to you.

2011-05-24T16:34:00.003-05:00

A few things you should know about me before I tell this story:

1. I love baseball. I played softball growing up, and I loved it. I watch the Twins religiously.

2. I don't know a lot about soccer. I stopped playing it in the 8th grade. I never watch it on TV.

3. I hate using the telephone. My palms get sweaty if I have to call anyone I don't know that well, or even sometimes someone I do know well. I hate making appointments-Dr, hair cuts, whatever-because it means picking up the phone and talking into it.

4. I am not organized, nor am I good at organizing. Anything.

5. I really, really like having free time.

This summer we took the plunge and signed the kids up for some sports. Oliver is playing T-Ball, and Alison will be playing soccer. Oliver's season has started already, and so far he is enjoying himself. Unless it gets too hot, which it did, one night, and you would've thought we were inflicting Chinese water torture on the kid.

During the games I'm more than willing to make sure the kids on the bench are sitting in order and ready when it's there turn to be up, to coach bases when they need me, and bring treats when it's my turn. I really, REALLY enjoy T-Ball and have a hard time sitting down and watching the game. "I really should've signed up to assistant coach", I thought to myself, what with my love of controlling everything I possibly can coupled with my love of baseball. Coaching, however, seemed like way too much work--sending out emails, making sure everyone got their shirts and hats, setting up a treat schedule, setting up the lineup and positions for every game--it all seemed like a hassle.

Alison's season was supposed to start last week, however because of the weather, and a problem finding enough coaches, it will start this week. Yea--a problem finding enough volunteers. Isn't that almost always a problem? After a few emails, each sounding more desperate than the last, I wrote to the coordinator and said I would be willing to help out. HELP OUT. I admitted, in this email, that I didn't know much about soccer and hadn't played since 8th grade. The night I wrote that email the guy called me and said "Hey, thanks for volunteering! You are now the coach of team #6."

Oh, I forgot another thing you should know about me: I can't say no. If you ask me to do something, and your name isn't Alison, Oliver, or Silas, I will probably say yes, even if it's nearly impossible for me to do it. It's not a good thing, at all. I don't do it because I think it makes me look like a good person, I do it because...I don't know, I'm a wuss? I hate confrontation? I'm sure a therapist cold tell me, but that sounds expensive.

So, when Rec Coordinator man said that, instead of saying "Oh, hell no, there is no way I am going to coach a soccer team. You could not pick a sport other than auto racing or golf that I know less about", I said "Um. OK, but I really don't know a lot about soccer." Then Rec Coordinator man assured me that it would be fine. He said lots of words, and through the ringing in my ears I heard him say that one of the moms has coached for him before and would be willing to help, she just couldn't make all of the games. I started to feel a bit better. Then he said "So you'll be in charge of equipment and handing out uniforms. Oh, and calling the parents..." I heard nothing after that because I passed out for a second. When I came to he was talking about emailing me a roster and rules, etc. I numbly hung up the phone and told Si I was now a soccer coach.

After a night thinking about the phone, and how I was going to need to dial the phone, and talk into it, to people I didn't know from Adam, I decided this probably wasn't just going to go away. I printed out all of the stuff he emailed me (roster, ideas for practice, rules for the games

--guess who referees? the coaches!--equipment list) and started screwing up my courage to make the dreaded phone calls.

On Sunday, while I was at work on my break, I took the roster list with me into the break room. With shaking hands I slowly unfolded it. My heart started beating a bit faster. I took a few deep breaths and looked down at the script I had written out in case I got on the phone and completely blanked on what I was going to say. I wrote out a script. I am pathetic. My first call was to soccer playing, assistant coach mom. She was very nice, very willing to help, assured me she'd be at our first game, but said she couldn't make the practice I had decided to schedule. "Fine", I thought, "I can hold a practice, she'll help me with the games, this might not be so bad". I called the next few people and left messages, talked to a very nice dad who seemed genuinely excited to start the season, and then got to the last name on my list.

"Hola", answered a man's voice. "Crap", I thought. I hesitated for a moment but then figured I had no choice other than to launch into my speech and hope he understood. After I got done talking there was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry", said the voice, in heavily accented English, "I speak Spanish". Now, this person did not have an email address listed, so the only way I could communicate with him was through the phone. During the pause that ensued my brain frantically tried thinking of some of the Spanish I learned in high school, or something I may have picked up while helping Ali with her homework. I came up with some fragments. "Futbol", I thought, but I figured he knew what soccer was. I mean, he'd signed his kid up for soccer, and there was no Spanish on that website. "Man, how do you say 'practice' in Spanish? How about times?" When I realized that there was no way I could communicate to him in his native tongue I just did what every good, English speaking person does to someone who doesn't speak it, I said exactly what I had to say, in English, but slowly and over-annunciated.

It worked. He even repeated the times and places back to me so I was sure he knew what I was talking about. I'm really looking forward to meeting him at practice tomorrow so I can hand him his schedule and then ask him to sign up for a night to bring treats. I should probably look up how to say that in Spanish now. I have never regretted taking Spanish 1 and 2 in college even though I'd had two years of it in high school just so I could get the easy A more in my life.

Tonight the assistant coach for Oliver's T-Ball team couldn't make the game so the coach handed me the lineup and positions and asked for help. I had a blast. I loved every minute. Yes, it's frustrating to keep yelling at kids to stop digging in the dirt and pay attention, to have to tell them to throw to first every time the ball is hit to them, to send them to their moms every time they have to go to the bathroom, but it was fun. I realized that I liked being in charge, it was much better than sitting passively on the sidelines. Maybe this soccer thing will work out and I'll love it. Or maybe it will be painfully obvious that I have no clue what I'm doing, the kids will find out I'm a fraud, and I will be the one crying and asking for my mom at the end of the night. I guess only time will tell.

I don't know either.

2011-05-11T14:29:00.002-05:00

A conversation between Oliver and I.

"Mommy, afta I'm done being fouw and a half will I be Alison's age?"

"You'll be five. Alison is six."

"Oh. Afta I'm done being five will I be six?"

"Yes. Are you in a hurry to grow up?"

"Yea. I want to gwow up."

"Why? Why do you want to grow up so fast?"

"Because I weally want to be a gwampa!"

"A Grampa?!"

"Yea, I weally do. Like Gwampa."

"Why do you want to be like Grampa?"

"Because, he weally likes honey."

Humans have logic bones, right?

2011-05-05T19:23:00.002-05:00

Getting gas. Not a complicated thing, right? You pull up to the pump, gawk at the price, mutter under your breath about how ridiculous it is, and then fill up anyway, because your other option is just leaving your car there. Although with Ringo it may be a viable alternative.

Tuesday on my way home I noticed the car needed gas. I figured I'd get it after I finished picking up the kids, but my feeble brain couldn't hold a thought that long and I ended up pulling into the garage, looking down at the orange light, and cursing under my breath. I told myself over and over that I would need to remember to try to leave early the next morning so we could get gas on the way to taking Alison to school. I know a huge part of my brain was all "Yea, right, because you are so successful getting her out of the door on time without an added stop", but a small part thought I could do it.

Fast forward to the middle of that night. I woke up with a horrible sore throat, took some ibuprofen, and went back to bed. I was up off and on until I finally waved the white flag, rolled over to turn off my alarm, and told Si I wasn't getting up to run because I didn't feel good. Si was nice enough to take Ali to school for me, and the thought of getting gas in the car left with him.

Later that afternoon I'm in the garage with Oliver getting out various toys. I glanced at the car and all of a sudden it came to me. Hey, I have to get gas! We'll leave a bit early to pick up Ali. I KNEW I could do that! Yay for me!

The time comes and I realize that Si was the last person to drive the car, because the seat is all jacked up. My tiny brain remembers he ran some errands last night. The thought ends there. I get to the gas station, gawk at the price, mutter under my breath, swipe my card and start pumping. The pump immediately turns off. I try again. It turns off. I look around, flabbergasted. I try again. It turns off. I pull the nozzle out just a bit and try again. It turns off. I seriously consider kicking the pump. I try again. It turns off. I pull the nozzle all of the way out, notice there is some gas dribbling out, swear, and try again. It turns off. I walk away before my temper gets the better of me, consider going in to tell the attendant this gas station SUCKS, look around and notice no one else is having problems, and try again. It turns off. I've managed to put half a gallon of gas into the car. I realize the guy next to me is leaving. "I'll try that pump", I tell myself. I get into the car, realize it's time to leave to get Ali, and also the guy next to me is re-organizing his wallet and may never leave. The thought of having to stop for gas AGAIN is making me want to punch someone, but I need to get Ali, and this gas station is obviously stupid. I turn on the car and look at the gas gauge. "I wonder if half a gallon will make he needle move at all?" I wonder. The needle indeed moves. It indicates the gas tank is absolutely, positively full. "Holy crap! I wonder if there is something wrong with the tank?! Or the gas line?! Or the car in general?!" I think, because obviously that's the most logical explanation to this whole thing. I put the car in gear and think that maybe, once I hit the gas, the gauge will go back to almost completely empty. It doesn't. I pull out onto the street, at a loss as to how this situation is occurring. Then, slowly, it dawns on me. Silas filled the car up with gas last night. I think back to getting into the car. Was there a light? I don't think so... Did it beep at me? Not that I remember...

I call Silas. "Did you get gas last night?" "Yep. Why?" "Because I thought the car was broken." Sadly, the man I've been married to for over ten years, who has known me since I was a sophomore in college, did not have a hard time believing that I ignored the fact that the gas gauge said "full, dumbass!", that the orange light was not on, that the car did not beep at me and display the stern message (in a German accent, in our minds at last) "PLEASE REFUEL".

I am so happy I didn't go in to tell the attendant "Pump number 3 is broken.", because that would've been really embarrassing. "No, ma'am, I think your logic bone is broken."

I have a really hard time trying to type Oliver's speech phonetically.

2011-04-17T20:37:00.003-05:00

This morning, I'm upstairs getting ready for church. I can hear the kids in their room talking, but no one has emerged yet to start asking for breakfast or whining about having to wear pants that button. I'm quietly enjoying a cup of coffee while finding nylons that don't have a run in them (seriously, I'm SO SICK of having to wear nylons/tights. I need it to get warm now.) when suddenly the stillness of the morning is broken by the sound of the childrens' bedroom door opening.

My hand tightens on my coffee cup, ready to start another day at the mercy of the whims of my small overlords. Then I hear this:

"Hey, look, a spider!"

(worried) "What?!? Whawe?"

"Right here."

(shouting in a worried voice) "MOM!!! I'M KIND OF NEWVOUS ABOUT A SPIDEW DOWN HEWE!"

"Just have your sister take care of it. Ali, will you take care of the spider?"

"Fine." (sounds of bathroom door, where Si is showering, opening) "Sorry, dad, I just need some toilet paper." (sound of door closing on what is probably a very confused Silas.)

(scuffling noises) "Oh, no, where did it go?"

"Undew thewe! Undew thewe!"

"Huh. I can't find it."

(sound of bare feet frantically running down the hallway)

"MOMMA! MOMMA! THE SPIDEW IS UNDEW ALI'S DRESSEW!"

And so begins a Sunday morning in the McAghon house.

(Luckily Oliver forgot about the spider by the time he went to bed tonight.)

Good thing he explained that

2011-04-01T11:33:00.002-05:00

Oliver: Wait, Daddy comes home today?

Me: Yep

Oliver: Hey, that means he might come home with pwesents!

Me: Maybe

Oliver: Yea, maybe not. He might just come home.

Me: Yes, and we should just be happy we have daddy home.

Oliver: Yea. Wait, did he go to Quebec?

Me: Yes

Oliver: Oh, he'll pwobably come home with a pwesent. It would be OK if he came home with a toy. Then I would just play with it.

Me: So, in summary, you're OK if Daddy comes home with a present for you?

Oliver: Yep. I am OK with that.

What's good for him is not necessarily what's good for me.

2011-01-25T21:05:00.003-06:00

Silas is in Quebec this week. I'm joining him on Thursday (believe me, it can not come fast enough), and his mom and dad are staying with the kids. This involved some car swapping so Si's mom could take our car up north to their condo on Mille Lacs for a few days before enjoying some quality time with her grandchildren. (Good luck to you, Claire, I'm turning off my phone the second you drop me off at the airport. Just kidding...or am I?)

We have two cars, a 2004 Passat station wagon named the McAghon Wagon. It's automatic and almost everything works on it. It doesn't have a side-view mirror, but we're working on that. Our other car is a 1999 VW new Beetle named Ringo. It runs. Other things don't work on it, though. Of course we weren't going to let Claire drive that car all the way up to Mille Lacs, so we gave her the McAghon Wagon, meaning I am driving Ringo.

I don't drive that car a whole lot, and if I do, it's just to work on the weekends, so I'm not getting kids in and out of the back seat. Let me tell you some of the things that are wrong with that car, and these are just the things we know about.

1. I have to crawl through the passenger side to get into the car.

2. I can get out of the driver's side, but then have to lean against the filthy car-hard-to close the door.

3. The levers that fold the seats are broken, so in order to get the kids in and out of the back seat we have a paint brush in the car. We stick the handle into where the levers used to be to force the latch up and fold the seats forward.

4. If you get gas there is some sort of pressure problem that makes the car stall out several times unless you gun the engine until pressure is built back up in the system. I can tell you from experience that people will think you are a dumbass. Especially if you just crawled into the drivers seat from the passenger side.

5. THE RADIO IS STUCK ON AM.

There are other things, too, like the button that rolls down the passenger window is broken, but in the winter that is just not a problem. Also, it only has one headlight working, we've gotten it fixed quite a few times (short? no. loose housing? apparently not.) and now frankly we just don't care anymore.

The radio stuck on AM? That's just like the car gods kicking us in the butt for good measure. Take that, McAghons. You like that? Yea, listen to more KFAN. That's what you get for buying VWs.

Anyway, this morning at work I was lamenting the fact that I can only listen to so much KFAN before I want to shoot myself, and a coworker said "Isn't it time to get a new car?". You know what my first reaction to that was, and this is after I spent 5 minutes listing all of the things that are wrong with the vehicle... "why, it runs?". I've become that person. That old crotchety person who complains about something but is too cheap to fix it. This coworker then went on about how we have two incomes and we should be able to get a new car and bla, bla, bla. First of all, we have one and a half incomes, second of all, not really his business, and third of all, THE CAR RUNS! It got me to work. It's paid for. So is the McAghon Wagon, for that matter. I like not having a car payment. So, whatever. I'm old and crotchety. I'll wear it like a badge. At least I'm old and crotchety with no car payment!

Of course, if I was the one who drove that car every day, you'd better believe we'd be getting a new car.

Tiger mom? I'm more of a bear.

2011-01-11T14:22:00.003-06:00

This morning I was at work in a patient's room during a bone marrow and the TV happened to be on. Specifically, The Today Show, and I'm not going to lie here. That show drives me nuts. It's like all of the anchors or reporters or whatever are caricatures of themselves.

They were interviewing a woman about a book she had written regarding 'the Chinese way to raise successful children'. I listened to the interview, and frankly, it made me feel like I was doing a sub-par job raising my children. Worse than sub-par. Somehow I was taking the easy way out of parenting, letting them watch TV and play video games and have playdates and not forcing them to practice the violin for hours every day.

I'm not kidding about that violin part. The woman actually forced her daughter to practice the violin for a few hours every day. In order to do that in this house there would have to be some bondage required.

Basically, the woman said this: (I could do some basic research here and find a name and an actual title of the book for you, but I'm not going to spoon feed you here, people. You all know how to google.) Eastern parents would be horrified by how we raise our children here in the west. We let them have sleep overs and play video games and don't push them to live up to their full potential. She said her (and their) method of parenting is basically that children are capable of doing a lot more than we, or they, think they can. It's our job to push them to live up to those expectations.

When I first started listening, I was horrified. I felt bad for her daughters (she has two). But then self-doubt started gripping me, and I thought about my two children. I thought about the Wii we had just bought for Christmas, the piano that I promised to teach Alison (she's only had about 3 lessons so far), the fact that the first thing they do when we get home from school every day is watch TV and eat a snack. I thought about the potential that Alison has shown, and how maybe I'm not equipped to parent her in a way that will make her live up to it. And then there's Oliver, who at four we just basically let have fun. I haven't MADE him learn his letters yet, or write his name. If he expresses an interest, I encourage and try to teach, but otherwise we let him be a four year old boy.

There are so many ways for us to feel bad about parenting. I think for just about everyone, it's probably the area where you feel the least confidant, where it's easiest to start to feel like you're not doing enough. I stopped reading parenting magazines because instead of feeling informed after reading them I just freaked out that I wasn't doing everything they suggested.

The more I thought about what the woman was saying, the more I realized that she and I had different goals for our children. She used the word successful a whole lot. Her focus was raising 'successful' children. She herself was a law professor at Yale and has written two books. She's married to a fellow Yale law professor. Of course I want my children to be successful, but that doesn't necessarily mean they need to have high-powered jobs and make lots of money and become piano prodigies when they are ten. What I want most for my kids is for them to be happy. To grow into adults who know themselves and are confident. Who care for other people. Who know that their parents, no matter how old they are, will always be there for them, cheering them on 100%. If being a high-powered lawyer is going to make them happy, then go for it. If being a stay-at-home mom or garbage collector is going to help them achieve happiness, then that's what they should do.

It makes me so mad that women like this get to go on TV and preach their rhetoric and make the rest of feel like we aren't doing enough. I'm not a leniant parent. I have rules, and I enforce them. Yes, my kids come home and watch TV. They get no more than half an hour, it's PBS, and the snack has to be a piece of fruit. I expect Alison to have her homework done before supper. I expect her to work hard at school, just like I will expect Oliver to work hard. I have taught Oliver how to write his name, whether he does it when I ask is another question. He knows his ABCs, colors, shapes, and can count. I didn't sit down with him and force him into it, but I looked for opportunities to teach him things when I knew he'd be receptive to it. Yes, we play Wii, but always as a family, and we have pretty strict rules for how long the kids get to play (after they go to bed, though, Si and I can play Mario Kart for as long as we want-the bonus to being a grown-up). How many times do you hear a parent brag about all the good they do for their kids? Most of the time we make self-deprecating remarks about our kids or how we are raising them. I'm not saying that there aren't parents out there who are taking the easy way out, but I think for the most part we're all just trying to do the best we can, and what we need from other people is encouragement.

I'm already keenly aware of any mistakes I make, it's the good things I tend to gloss over until I sit down and really think about it.

Tonight, instead of thinking of all of the mistakes you made all day, why don't you sit back and bask in all of the good things you did for your children. You'll go to bed much happier.

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

OK, here's a link to an NPR article: http://www.npr.org/2011/01/11/132833376/tiger-mothers-raising-children-the-chinese-way

The title of the book is "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother"

The Dark Days of Winter

2011-01-07T13:21:00.003-06:00

Recently I was listening to MPR (one of the many things Silas has influenced upon me over the years) and they were calling these months we're in now "The Dark Ages". January is historically the coldest month of the year here. A few days later I was watching the news, and the unrealistically orange weather man (who happens to be Scandinavian and therefore his pallor is all the more unbelievable) was lamenting the fact that the temps were going to return to normal after a day where it was 40 degrees and raining. The female anchor was disappointed, and indicated she preferred the 40 degree day. The day where it rained...ALL DAY. The day that turned all of our nice snow into a 2 foot crust of ice. The day that trapped us inside. It was a horrible day. I mean, weather-wise. It was a great day to hang out in the house all day in our jammies, but you can't do that EVERY DAY. Right? I mean, you could try, but I think after a while your job would notice you weren't showing up and before you know it you wouldn't have a house to hang out in at all.

I happen to like winter. I like snow. I don't even mind the cold. When it's not raining there is a myriad of activities you can enjoy outside. I love ice skating, playing hockey, sledding, and watching my children build forts. There is nothing better than coming in from the cold, tired out from whatever you were doing, and enjoying a cup of hot chocolate, while everyone's mittens and hats are drying in front of the registers all around the house.

So, to the oompa-loompa and his female, rain-loving sidekick, I have this to say: Put on a hatand mittens, get outside, and man up about it already. Or move to a place where that orange is a little more believable.

Why in God's name would anyone prefer an unnaturally warm day that turns everything into a gray slush pile to a nice, brisk winter day where the snow is sparkling and you can go sledding? Basically, here's what I'm saying: We live in a place where you can expect it to be cold and snowy for several months out of the year.

After bath, before bed

2010-12-27T20:05:00.001-06:00

Oliver is wearing underwear. Si is fully clothed.

Si: "Oliver, go potty now."

Oliver: "But I peed on my bedwoom flow, I don't have to pee anymow."

Who issued us our adult cards?

2010-12-19T12:28:00.002-06:00

Silas and I are in the living room. He's getting ready to put the plastic on the windows, because we're high class like that and have decided that a new TV is more important than replacing our 57 year old windows.

Right before Silas started the first window he realized that we never changed the screens to the storm windows this fall. He brought the storm windows up from the basement and I started cleaning them.

Si: "How did we forget to change the windows this year?"

Heather: "I don't know, but this is a perfect day to do it, don't you think?"

Si: (opens first window) "Yes, I'm opening the windows, I'm an idiot."

Heather: "Don't worry, I'm shaking lead paint chips all over the floor while I'm washing these."

Si: "Oh, we'll just get the kids in here to clean that up."

Si: (finishes that window, moves on to another one) "Oh, nice, this one isn't even locked. I wonder how long our front window has been open."

Heather: "Seriously, how did we manage to keep two kids alive this long?"

The difference a year makes

2010-12-03T13:20:00.003-06:00

I have a lot of things I could write about...for instance, on our way home from Wisconsin over the Thanksgiving holiday Alison threw up in the car. That was good times. Also, she lost her first tooth the night before we left, meaning the tooth fairy had to visit. Oliver is petrified of the tooth fairy. However, I'm overjoyed about what happened this morning, so I'm going to write about that.

The last time Oliver was at the doctor was for his 3 year well-child check-up. Yes, he's been blessed with good health, but that's not the point. That Doctor's visit will be etched in my memory for all of eternity. I am pretty sure I wrote about it, but I can't find it and I'm sick of searching, so I can't link to it. Suffice it to say it was the most unproductive appointment in the history of doctor appointments. I kind of wanted to ask for my co-pay back. Oliver refused to be weighed, measured, take his clothes off, answer any questions, have his vision or hearing checked or basically anything that was supposed to happen at that visit. At the very end he relented and let them take his blood pressure, but that was it. He threw the biggest crying and screaming fit of his life in the hallway at the office next to the scale, even stretching the limits of the patience of a pediatric nurse. A nurse who works in a doctor's office every day with small kids getting shots. Speaking of shots, I can't even talk about those...you've never seen a kid freak out so much in your life. Not because of the shots, but because of the bandaids. This is the kind of kid Oliver is. Sweet and loving, yes. Hilarious, yes. Full of weird quirks and fears, YES. (See above for tooth fairy reference, also tornados, fire, bandaids...I could go on.)

Our pediatrician moved to a new office, so I decided to stick with him and switch, too. I made Oliver's appointment this year and started casually mentioning to him that he was going to go to the doctor. You know, so the doctor could see how strong he'd gotten, how fast he could run, bull like that. What I really wanted to say was "So help me God, kid, we are going to the doctor and you are going to let them weigh you and measure you. You're going to strip naked gleefully, just like you do at home, and let him check you out. You're going to answer his questions, do what he says, make me look like the best mom in the world, AND submit to a vision and hearing screening. If you don't he is going to give you lots and lots of shots, followed by lots and lots of bandaids. Got it?" I had a feeling that angle would backfire, though.

This week has been a bit hectic and I completely forgot about his appointment until last night when I was looking at the calendar after the kids went to bed. (That'll teach me to ignore calls from numbers I don't recognize on my cell phone.) I went into their room this morning and woke them up like I always do. It was apparent Oliver was already awake, so I mentioned that today was the day he was going to go to the doctor.

He promptly started crying. Kind of dashed my hopes for a smooth appointment this time around. Once again I swallowed my initial mothering instinct ("are you kidding me with this? It's the freaking doctor, it's easier than grocery shopping. What is your deal, kid?") I tried the super patient, calm tactic. That didn't work, so I resorted to the bargaining tactic. I told him if he was good at the doctor and did everything they asked him to do and was cooperative, I would take him out for a treat afterwards. Since I was talking to Oliver, I wasn't sure it was going to work. He's been known to refuse a doughnut because it meant he had to put on shoes. This time, though, it got the desired effect, after I promised him there would be no shots (I was very, VERY hopeful.)

I talked up the doctor all morning, saying how impressed he would be with how big and strong Oliver had gotten, etc., so by the time we were getting out of the car at the clinic Oliver actually said "I can't wait to see Dr. [insert his name here]!"

You guys, he was the most cooperative kid I've ever seen. It was amazing. Stand on the scale? No problem. You want my back against the wall here so you can see how tall I am? I can do that. Is this good? You want me to move back? Have my blood pressure taken? Yeppers. He answered questions left and right. He even ran so the doctor could look at his gait (he's really flat footed, no more croc wearing for him). He was a bit hesitant on getting up on the table, but after being reassured that no shots were going to happen up there, he hopped up no problem. They even had the nasal spray flu vaccine, which he agreed to, so I was golden. Then the doctor asked if he'd ever had his hearing and vision checked. I reminded the good doctor that the last appointment was an unmitigated disaster, he nodded knowingly and said we'd try it again this time.

Oliver willingly put on glasses AND headphones. I almost fainted. His vision and hearing are perfect. I practically skipped out of there, humming showtunes. It was like unicorns were running around pooping rainbows. He could've asked for anything and I probably would've gotten it for him, but luckily, being 4, his needs are simple, so I bought him a big chocolate chip cookie he didn't have to share with anyone and smothered him with kisses until he asked me to please stop it.

Nov. 5th, 2006

2010-11-07T20:03:00.004-06:00

That is the day Oliver was born. Four years ago already. I can hardly believe it. My baby is four years old. Four! I will still carry him around if he asks me, although he asks less and less these days, and, really, I can't carry him very far. He's kinda' heavy. Also, he doesn't really ask to get carried. He walks ahead of you, gets right in front of you, stops walking and turns around with his arms up, so you either have to walk around him, over the top of him, or give in and pick him up.

Oliver is the comedian in our family. He has an uncanny sense of timing, it's pretty amazing. He loves to make us laugh, and he loves to be a ham. IF he's in the mood. He can also refuse to have his picture taken, randomly. It makes no sense to me, really. If he makes up his mind about something, THAT IS IT. There is no changing it.

I could go on and on about what an amazing kid Oliver is. He is sweet and loving, always takes his sister's side in an argument, even if I'm trying to advocate FOR him, tells me he loves me-umprompted-all of the time, and will eat just about anything you put in front of him. Except for scrambled eggs and avocados. Oliver hates bandages. HATES, with a deep, burning passion the likes of which I don't think I've seen before. He finally started going down slides by the end of this summer, before that he really had no use for them. I have no idea why. He is stubborn, yes, but so lovable. He is loved universally, wherever we go--Alison's school, my job, the grocery store, the coffee shop, it doesn't matter. People take one look at those big brown eyes and melt. Unless they are made of stone.

Alison is the person who made us parents, but Oliver is the person who completed our family, and in the most awesome way imaginable. Happy Birthday, O-Mac, you adorable, hilarious, lovable, awesome little man.

Rant

2010-11-03T20:30:00.002-05:00

Oh, yes, a rant. It's going to feel SO good. I mean, if facebook is any indication, complaining about politics in a way that is kind of general, but lets everyone know where you stand must feel good. Otherwise, why would everyone be doing it? Not that it's not annoying. Oh, wait, IT IS.

I avoid the subjects of religion and politics, at least in some social situations, almost, well, religiously. Work especially. As far as I'm concerned, everyone is entitled to their beliefs, no matter how wrong I think they may be. I don't see any good coming out of a heated discussion regarding politics at work. Or, really, anywhere I'm trying to have a good time (wait, that sounds like I'm trying to have a good time at work...OK, I am.). There is a time and a place for it, and I'm pretty sure facebook isn't that place.

Here are the two things that will happen if you decide you just have to type a polarizing political opinion as your facebook status. Everyone that shares your view will heartily agree with you. Everyone who is on the other side of the issue will get pissed off. The end. You aren't going to change anyone's mind via a one or two sentence status update. If you do, then I guess the person whose mind you changed didn't have very strong convictions anyway.

So, go ahead and complain that your state is red or blue or say everyone who voted opposite of you is stupid. Better yet, don't say, just insinuate it. That is the Minnesota way, is it not? Be passive aggressive. That gets a lot accomplished. Frankly, I do not care which way my friends lean politically. I do care if they demean me in a round about way via facebook because I disagree with them, though. Just make sweeping generalizations, that's always a good idea.

OK, deep breaths.

I just have one more thing, and this has always aggravated me. People saying they are going to move because the elections in their area didn't go the way they wanted. I mean, really? Because if you say that, my fingers itch to type a reply that goes something like this: "Don't let the door hit you in your derriere on the way out". I'm still waiting for all of those celebrities who said they were going to move out of the country if W got elected to actually leave. Well, I guess they don't have to leave now that we have Obama. Whew, good thing they waited that out. Close one. Listen, if you're going to say something that stupid, you'd better be ready to back it up.

I have a very tenuous grasp on my self control right now. One of these nights I'm going to log onto facebook or twitter to see if anyone posted new pics of their kids or get the latest one liner from Conan O'Brien, read a status update or tweet, and finally type all of the replies that have been building up over the last few days. I've had time to tweak them in my imagination, they're pretty good.

More deep breaths. I'm trying to rise above, is all. It's hard, I see why lots of people don't take the high road. I just don't think anything will ever change when there are two groups of people standing on opposite sides of a fence slinging insults at each other. I thought we could be done with that now that the political adds have ended, but apparently not.

You can't make this stuff up

2010-10-24T15:51:00.002-05:00

So, today. Today has been, well, much like living inside a sitcom. I keep waiting for the canned laughter, but so far it's just me laughing. And sometimes Silas, though usually at his own expense. Let me start at the beginning...

A couple of weeks ago I had a horrible toothache, and long story short was on Clindamycin for 10 days for an abscessed tooth. I took my last dose Friday. This morning I woke up, stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the light, and realized I was covered head to toe in a rash. Guess I'm allergic to Clindamycin, then. I was going to wear a skirt to church but decided instead on pants and a long sleeved shirt to cover as much as I could.

Our plan was to get to church a bit early, Si and I were supposed to teach Sunday School and we needed to make copies of some coloring sheets. Of course we didn't leave in time to be a 'bit early', we have problems making it to church on time so I don't know why we thought we could get there early. We get out to the garage, strap the kids in the car, and then Si looks at me expectantly. "Do you have the keys?" "No, you said you had them." Does anything good ever follow a conversation like this? I mean, unless someone looks down and realizes they've had them the whole time, but how often does that happen?

Silas swears he had them in his hand, but figures he set them down inside, so he goes back to the basement door to look. We have an electric keyless entry lock on the door down there because we've locked ourselves out of the house...a lot. The problem with this lock is that the door down there is old, and it has to match up perfectly with the hole for the lock or it decides it doesn't want to work. Add to that the fact that it rained last night and the door is swollen. Guess what? It didn't work. It. did. not. work. Si tried. I tried. Several times. Nothing. So, Silas says, "stand back", grabs a brick from the flower garden, and breaks the window. The keys were on the stairs. Finally we're off to church.

When we got to church we told the kids we had to make some copies before we could go and sit down. This is where Alison gives us a speech telling us that hearing the word of God is more important than making copies. Who is this kid? Where did she come from? Because Alison is such a devout Lutheran we let her go into the sanctuary by herself and sit in a pew to listen while the rest of us heathens made copies in the office.

When we were done with the copies we joined Ali in church. Just as I was sitting down the choir started to sing. I'm in choir. I was not singing. I totally forgot. The chances that no one in choir saw me were pretty much nil since I had just walked into church from the front and then walked across the aisle in front of everyone to sit with Alison. Then there is the fact that when they called for the children's sermon Si and I sent the kids up and then got up ourselves to once again walk across church to wait for the Sunday school kids off to the side.

Did I mention before that we weren't completely sure which lesson we were supposed to be teaching? Because we weren't. There was no teaching schedule with our materials and being the procrastinator that I am I didn't even open up the books and look until last night. We made our best guess and felt pretty confident about it, but just in case asked another teacher which lesson she was teaching. Guess what? Not the lesson we had prepared for or made copies for. Why would it be? That would not be in keeping with our morning.

I told Si I would take the kids over to the classroom and he should make new copies and bring them over. Sunday School actually went all right. No kids cried, although no one really talked either. I read them the story, had them color the pictures, but when I asked questions all I got was a bunch of stares back at me or at the table. Except for Oliver...he was the most talkative one. I'm sure it helped that his mom as the teacher. All I kept thinking was "how does anyone teach preschool?" I missed Alison and the first and second graders. I rue the day I volunteered to teach the pre-K and Kindergartners.

After church we had just enough time to make Alison a snack before she had to leave for hockey practice. Silas and Alison were going to leave early so Ali could get all of her gear on, then Oliver and I were going to meet them there once practice actually started. This is only her second practice and so far it's been pretty entertaining to watch. Picture a bunch of little kids all dressed up in hockey pads and helmets. Then put them on skates, on ice, holding hockey sticks. It's awesome.

A couple of minutes after Si and Ali walked out the door I walked out onto the deck to catch them before they left to ask which rink practice was on. I noticed the garage door was only half up. "Could you come out here and help me for a second?" Silas asked. Turns out he had left the hatch of the wagon open when he was transferring her stick from the wagon to the beetle, and on the way up the garage door had caught it and stopped. We began a delicate operation of pushing the button hoping the door would go down so it would unstick the hatch from the door. The problem was, since it sensed an object was in its path it would go up a bit and then stop. Finally it went up enough that it broke the hatch. Not off the car, mind you, but enough so that one of the poles that holds it up broke. We finally managed to unstick the stupid thing, then got the garage door all the way up so they could leave. They had about five minutes to get to practice, nevermind that Alison still needed to get her skates and helmet on.

Fifteen minutes later Oliver and I are driving down 66th street toward the hockey arena and I notice a green beetle driving in the other direction. Out of habit I look at the license plate. It was a critical habitat one with a loon on it, just like the one on our beetle. Our green beetle, the car Si and Ali had left in 15 minutes before. Suddenly I realize that I had turned all of the sounds off on my phone during church. I fumbled through my purse and found my phone. I hadn't missed any calls or text messages. I thought that was a bit weird, but I figured it was just a coincidence and kept driving. When we got to the rink, though, the beetle was no where in sight. I called Si's phone but he didn't answer. I figured he must've left his phone at home, but I really didn't want to take Oliver out of his car seat just to have to put him back in to go home. I started to go through all of the scenarios in my head: they were late for practice and it was just getting over when they got there, they forgot some important piece of equipment and Si was rushing home to get it while Alison cried in the lobby...that last one got me out of the car. Just as Oliver and I were about to open the door to the rink my phone rang. It was Silas. Practice was at 1:15, not 11:45. Because they're pretty close, right? Oliver and I drove home. The kids ate some Mac and Cheese, then we all get back into the car and drove to practice again. ALL TOGETHER.

When we got home from practice and were walking from the garage to the house I noticed a burning smell. Silas turned around, looked at me and said "Do you smell that? Our house is burning down." He thought he was being funny, but I did not. "Shut up, it probably really is, hurry up and open the door!", I replied, pushing the kids out of my way and running to the back door. Then I realized that the neighbors were burning something in their firepit.

Now I'm just sitting here waiting for one of the embers to land on our roof and set our house on fire. It could totally happen.

Today

2010-10-21T13:28:00.003-05:00

Today is the day Alison had the day off of school.

Today is the day Oliver pooped on the bathroom floor while peeing "but he was just trying to toot."

Today is the day Oliver tried to get Alison to touch his poop while I was cleaning it up.

Today is the day Alison scootered all the way to the park, out for coffee, and back home again.

Today is the day the kids played school and Oliver got to be the teacher.

Today is the day we played freeze tag and hide and go seek at the park.

Today is the day the kids rolled down the big hill we sled down in the winter over and over again until I had to tell them it was time to go home.

Today is the day Alison hugged her brother and told him how much fun she was having on her day off.

Today is the day Alison begged me to let Oliver skip his nap.

Today is the day Oliver told Alison they should have a play date, Alison pointed at him and said "you got it", and they sang their made-up play date song all the way home.

Today is the day Oliver made Alison laugh so hard she almost choked on her hot chocolate.

Today is the type of day mothers dream about.

A Girl, a Guy, and Two Kids

2010-10-20T16:54:00.004-05:00

This is the one where I explain to everyone why we have two children. No, I don't feel like I owe anyone an explanation, but it took me a very long time to go from thinking I wanted X amount of children, to actually having some children, to realizing I may not want X amount of children, to being sad I wouldn't have X amount of children, to realizing why the amount of children I have right now is right for us. That, right there, was a run-on sentence, in case you were wondering.

I grew up in a family of 4-a mom, a dad, a sister, and a brother. It seemed perfect to me, most likely because that is all that I knew. My mom's sister had 5 children. I remember going to visit them and being overwhelmed at times with what seemed, to me, to be overwhelming chaos. I realize as I look back on it that that's not what it was at all, that my aunt and uncle knew how to pick their battles, and that a house with five children in it is going to have to be louder and crazier than a house with two children in it, and they liked it that way, and that is why they had five children.

Si and I got married and we knew eventually we'd have kids. And, after being married four years, we had Alison. We always thought we wanted three kids, sometimes I entertained the thought of four, but three seemed more realistic. It seemed like a big family to me, but not huge. Two years and four months after Alison was born, Oliver came long. I was so ready for another baby, I couldn't wait for him to be born and have more than one child. Oliver grew from a tiny, helpless infant into a bouncing baby boy and I couldn't have had more fun. I had my chatty, adorable little toddler and my chubby, happy baby boy, and life seemed pretty perfect. Really, it was. I remember talking to my mom on the phone one day, Alison sitting in her booster seat eating lunch, Oliver on my hip as I walked around the kitchen doing this and that, and telling mom that I was afraid I'd be one of those women who never knew when to stop having children because I loved having a baby in the house so much.

Oliver continued to grow, he (finally) learned how to walk, started talking a little, and before we knew it, it was time to start thinking about trying for number three. We wanted them all to be two to two and a half years apart. The problem was, neither Si nor I wanted to start trying for another baby. We seemed to have things pretty good. It was getting easier to take them places, we were done with bottles and nursing, and we were enjoying things just the way they were. We had a talk and decided that maybe we just weren't ready YET, that this last one would be spaced out a bit more than the other two. So we gave ourselves a deadline, because I need a plan. Without one I feel adrift, and I hate that feeling. So, our deadline came and we had a very tearful (on my part, anyway) talk, and decided that we did not want another child. And for a little while, although I was sad I would never be pregnant again or nurse another baby or go through that magical baby phase, I felt a bit of relief. We had made a decision, and it seemed right. Until two weeks later when we were standing in church and I suddenly got a feeling that I HAD to have another baby.

We had another talk and decided to start trying. So we did. This time it was different, though. [Warning: this part may be TMI for some people, read at your own risk. The three people who still read, that is.] The first two times we made the decision to start trying I couldn't get pregnant fast enough. I felt like it was my job to get pregnant, so basically, I treated Si like a piece of meat until I achieved my goal. It worked, it took two months to get pregnant with Alison and with Oliver, well, I can't tell you because I think as soon as we made the decision to have another baby I was immediately pregnant. This time, though, I was much more casual. For the first two months we used the whole "well, we're not trying to prevent it" plan rather than the trying plan. To be honest, since it had been so easy to get pregnant before, I wouldn't have been surprised if it would've happened right away again. After two months still no baby, so we decided to actually 'try'. And still, my heart wasn't in the same place it was the first two times.

After four months of trying I still wasn't pregnant, and I wasn't all that sad about it. I tossed and turned at night thinking that I wanted to be done. Trying wasn't fun anymore, it felt more like a job I hated, not like the fun job the first two times around. A job I hoped wouldn't be successful. I was disappointed in myself for feeling this way, and sad that I may not have another baby, but I didn't know why, because I didn't think I really WANTED another baby. After talking it through again and again roughly eleventy million times, we decided we were done trying. That was it. We were going to be a family of four.

So, I made my appointment and went back to the doctor to begin birth control. My doctor, and let me preface this by saying that I like my doctor, laughed, asked me if I was sure, gave me some friendly gentle ribbing. She couldn't have had any idea how it was tearing me up inside. Because while I knew that I was sure, I was still so sad about it.

That was nearly two years ago now. We're still a family of four. My baby is going to turn four in a couple of weeks. In a few short years both of my children will be in school full-time, and I still know we made the right decision for our family. Now I can finally tell you all of the reasons why I know it was the right decision, and I'm not sad about it anymore.

Having two children for me has nothing to do with the fact that it's easier than having more. That children cost lots of money. That I would have to be pregnant for another nine months. The fact is, I wouldn't mind being pregnant again. I liked being pregnant for the most part. I also wish I was the type of person who could have a large family, maybe three or four kids, or maybe more! The truth of the matter is that I'm not that kind of a person. I can't stand chaos, at all. I'm not saying that every person with three children has a chaotic household. I'm saying if I had three children I'd have a chaotic household. I'm also the neurotic mother who is constantly afraid I'm not giving enough of myself to my children. I mean, in my head I know I am. I'm giving them a lot. I work part-time for the purpose of staying home with them as much as I can. I go on field trips with Alison's class and make dinner almost every night. I play with them. I have fun with them. I read books. I play cars. I pretend to be a doggy. But still, in the back of my head, I think "is this enough?" Because I could stay home full-time. We could cut back here and there and make it work. Am I selfish for working at all? I ask myself this all of the time. I have been asking myself this question for six years, even though I realize that working part-time really makes me a better mother. Silas can tell me I'm crazy 40 times a day and I will still wonder, it doesn't matter.

I also am constantly worried that I'm not giving them enough individual attention. While Alison is doing homework I feel guilty for telling Oliver he needs to play quietly by himself while I help her. Then I start feeling guilty that I'm trying to make dinner at the same time as I'm helping Alison. See what it's like inside my head? It's not easy. I'm crazy. I understand that. If I had the added pressure of another child I would go completely insane. As it is now I'm just barely containing my crazy enough to be out in polite company.

So, although I wish I was the kind of person to have a large family, I realize I'm not. I have finally realized that two children is perfect for me...for us. We are active, we love going places together and doing fun things, and I love that the kids are at ages now where they are like little people. Every year we say "this year will be great, the kids are at perfect ages", and every year it seems like we're right. It just keeps getting better. I'm happy we went through everything we did to come to our decision, because if we hadn't, I think I'd always wonder. Going back and forth and back and forth again and again made me really dig deep and question myself, and I am finally at peace with it.

It does take a long time to be at peace with being crazy.

We Heart Science

2010-07-30T22:40:00.002-05:00

Alison got a science kit for her birthday (Thanks, Schutters!!), and so far we've done quite a few experiments with it.

Two experiments have prompted some changes in our house which have warmed my heart beyond words. Well, besides my kids begging to do experiments, which is so awesome. We have a home-made barometer, which we made with a balloon, match, empty plastic bottle, and straw. We also have our beloved Looseys (caterpillars, long story), and another experiment involving a clay pot which Alison set up practically by herself.

While we were looking for places for our barometer (which totally works, by the way), we realized that the corner we keep the Looseys in would be perfect. Therefore Alison declared that corner of the playroom to be the the "science corner".

My life is now complete.

Six years old!!

2010-07-26T17:13:00.002-05:00

Alison turned 6 years old yesterday. She's going to start first grade in a little over a month. In the past year she has completed a year of all-day kindergarten, started growing out her bangs, learned how to tap dance, started learning how to speak spanish, grew 3 inches, learned how to read, learned how to swim, and countless other things that I am forgetting at this particular moment. She told me her favorite subjects in school are math and science. She made new friends. She brought home report cards even the pickiest parents could be proud of (unless they are picky about handwriting, and let's face it, that would make us huge hypocrites).

Going to school changed Alison into a kid. A real, honest to goodness kid who no longer resembles a toddler in any way shape or form. She talks with her hands, just like me. She thinks that being a teenager is going to be the coolest thing ever. She draws complicated chalk drawings on the sidewalk that are more like stories than pictures. She loves building things with her legos. She still manages to amaze me every single day.

My biggest fear in raising Alison is that she has this huge potential, and I really don't want to do anything to damage what she could become. I want to help her develop into the amazing, complex person she is destined to be, and this is a very difficult balancing act. Lately I've been trying to teach her a lesson that is a very hard one for anyone to learn--you are responsible for your own happiness. You can't make people act in such a way that will guarantee it's affect on you will be positive. I hope she gets it sooner than I did.

She has affected our lives in an overwhelmingly positive way, and I thank God every day that he he gave her to us; this amazing, complex, smart, funny, beautiful little girl who is growing up so fast I can hardly catch my breath.

No offense taken

2010-07-23T09:18:00.003-05:00

Silas was leaving for work this morning when this conversation took place:

Me: "I'm going to try to make Alison's birthday cake today."

Si: "Good luck."

*silence*

Si: "Let me know if you need me to pick up a cake on the way home."

Me: "I will."

For those of you that don't know, I'm attempting a home made vanilla/chocolate marble cake with homemade vanilla and chocolate buttercream frosting, then decorating it like a lady bug. I'm not artistic or creative. Or good at frosting things.

Diary

2010-05-07T09:31:00.002-05:00

Alison has a small Hello Kitty notebook she likes to write and draw pictures in. Last night she started calling it her diary. She laid on the living room floor with the markers and crayons and started drawing and writing in it. Oliver laid next to her with some construction paper and made Mother's Day cards, which he then presented to Silas, cheerily saying "This is fo you, fo Mothew's Day!!".

After Alison was done, she came up to me and told me she was going to give me my Mother's Day present. She said that her diary was only for her and I to look at, and then she sat on my lap and proceeded to explain every page to me. It was amazing. I couldn't help but think of the future, when there is no way in hell she would EVER let me look at her diary. When, in fact, I may be THE LAST person she'd ever want to see her diary. Well, me, Silas, and that boy she wrote about she has a crush on.

It's little memories like this I hope I can cherish forever. It also makes me think anew that it sure sucks they have to grow up.

The first girl to break his heart

2010-05-06T18:59:00.004-05:00

Last week Alison won a blue ribbon at the Science and Arts Fair for her science project. She made a model of the solar system. The day of the fair she also had to go into a room with a bunch of judges she told me she didn't know (see-no favoritism!), and answer questions about her project. We made her do the whole thing herself, so she knew all of the answers. Wait, I guess saying we MADE her do the whole thing herself sounds wrong. She WANTED to do the whole thing herself. In fact, when we first started talking about the science fair and what projects she could do she told Si "Dad, I want to do the one that takes the longest and is the hardest."

We were kinda' late and they gave the kindergarten awards first, so we missed it. When we walked in her teacher grabbed her and took her up to the stage so she could get her award with the 3rd and 4th graders. This is how the teacher announced her: "Before we start the 3rd and 4th grade awards we have someone...well, I guess she acts a lot like a 3rd or 4th grader, but she's actually a kindergartner."

After they gave out the awards, we got to wander around and look at the projects. Alison hung out with a bunch of her classmates. Oliver cried. "I just want to follow hew awound!" I think I felt my heart break in two. I didn't want to tell him this will probably be the first time of many he would get left behind by his big sister. Later I told Ali that Oliver missed her, and she made a point to go up to him, give him five, and talk to him a bit, before heading out with her friends again. He recovered quickly, but I didn't. I can still see the look on his face and feel his teary little cheek on my shoulder. Poor kid. I suddenly feel bad about all of the times I did the same thing to my little brother.

working out on the deck

Carrying it into school.

A Conversation

2010-04-21T18:58:00.002-05:00

Eating supper, looking out over the deck to the neighbor's maple tree, which has a large branch that hangs over our yard and shields us from the apartments but also makes it very hard to grow grass in that corner of our yard. The house is going into foreclosure and is being vacated as we speak.

"I'm debating whether to cut that branch down or leave it. It's nice the way it acts as a barrier between us and the apartment buildings."

"Yea, but it's so shady. Wait, how would you do that?"

"With a pole saw."

"Yea, with a pole saw. Cut it down with a pole saw while standing underneath it. How have you lived to be 34 years old?"

"By not having access to a pole saw."

Three and a half and other miscellany

2010-04-21T13:08:00.003-05:00

Oliver is going to turn 3 and a half years old on May 5th. Yes, yes, time is flying by. I know. I try hard every day not to think about the fact that he is now over a year older than his sister was when he was born. Watching old videos recently has not helped this fact (I can not remember Ali as a toddler. I mean, wow. Thank God we have those videos.) That is not the point of this post, however.

3 and a half has been, with both children now, a bit, well...challenging. I do a lot of deep breathing and fist clenching. I also walk away a lot. I would be lying if I didn't admit to losing my patience sometimes, too. It's just, the one thing that has always driven me absolutely bonkers as a parent is the whining. That high-pitched, nasally tone is enough to drive me to drink. And it has. Several times. Oliver does two things* if he doesn't get his way: he whines, or he completely loses it and has himself a nice crying fit about the unfairness of his young life and the evil overlords he lives with. Or maybe it's just that he can't get his shirt on. Or he's frustrated because the zipper is stuck on his jacket again. Or I, GASP, suggest he wear pants with a button on them instead of jogging pants. I mean, BUTTON PANTS? Have I completely lost my mind for suggesting such a travesty? Because no, he WILL NOT do it. And I'm sorry, but sometimes it's necessary for a boy to leave the house in something other than jogging pants. Like maybe when we go to church. Maybe I have high standards here but this particular little hang up of his drives me NUTS. (Here's where I admit I have control issues. I KNOW I DO. You don't have to remind me. You have no idea how many times a day I tamp that part of my personality down because I know I'm being ridiculous. Oliver doesn't ever tamp that part of himself down. And yes, I know he's 3 and I'm 32. SHUT UP.)

Anyway, I don't want to focus on that now. Oh, wait. I just did. Moving on, then...Lately I think he's gotten a bit better, and he has started telling me he loves me all of the time. What mother can hear that enough? I mean, man. He tells me he loves me when he goes to bed at night, when he lays down for a nap in the afternoon, when he wakes up, when I read him books, but especially when I tell him I love him. He also tells me he misses me on the days I work and he goes to Jodi's. I always tell him to remember all day that I love him very much, so when I pick him up he gets in the car and says "I wemembewed that you love me all day, mama". Then I melt into a puddle in the driver's seat of the car. Then I remember I have to drive home and solidify just in time for Alison to chime in. "...and that you're proud of me!". Sometimes it takes us a while to get home.

*I guess he does sometimes say "OK, mama" when I tell him to do something. When that happens I make a big deal about how great he is and wonder if there was some way we could rig something so confetti and balloons fly down from the ceiling every time he listens right away without whining or fighting with me.

Here is where I'm going to just put a few memorable things that have happened recently since, as I've mentioned several times on this website, I don't keep baby books.

Oliver had to pick up his toys outside the other night wearing nothing but my sweatshirt and a pair of socks. When he got out to the front porch he immediately lifted up the sweatshirt and announced "look, I outside with my penis!".

I picked up Ali from school the other day and she had a scrape on her nose. I asked her what happened. "Well, we were playing outside and my nose ran into the sidewalk!"

Oliver was playing with his remote control car a while ago, suddenly stopped, looked at me, and said "Mama, thanks for getting me this. I always wanted a bemote contwol caw in my life!".

Research

2010-02-24T16:10:00.002-06:00

If we tell our friends we are about to make a purchase, be it a camera or a car, that is probably the first word that comes to mind. Silas and I have a reputation for researching everything we buy to the point of obsession. It takes us forever to make a purchase. Well, except for that one time we went to Best Buy, saw a TV, walked over to the Don Pablos and had some margaritas, then walked back to Best Buy and bought it. (It still works, 7 years later, though now it's the laughing stock of all other TVs, but it doesn't matter because as I mentioned before IT STILL WORKS.)

Anyway, I broke our coffee maker carafe about 2 weeks ago and we still haven't replaced it. We've had this coffee maker for less than a year, and lots of research went into buying it...and, well, it's a Black and Decker 5 cup coffee maker that cost less than $20. I could explain to you all of the reasons why, after weeks of research, we ended up with that particular coffee maker, but I won't bore you with the details. Last night we were at Kohl's and Silas walked over to the cart with a coffee maker in his hands and asked me what I thought. I looked at him like he was from another planet and asked him if he knew anything about that particular coffee maker and he replied, rather sheepishly, "No. We should put this back and go home and look it up online, shouldn't we?" So, we came home and found out that lots of people didn't like it. And we're still using the aeropress to make coffee. Which is, quite frankly, getting to be too much work every morning.

Now we need a new camera. Oh, yea, you can just imagine how, if we research a coffee maker that much, we're going to research plunking down the cash for a camera. We have a deadline, too. We're leaving for Florida March 15th, so we need this camera by then. Bonus points if we figure out how to use it before we leave.

We're probably going to be buying a new car in the next 1-2 years, too. Stay tuned for the production that will be.

Who needs television?

2010-02-19T08:55:00.003-06:00

I love that Alison says things like "We come here often" instead of "We come here a lot". Or "What should I illustrate next?" instead of "What should I draw next?".

I find it amusing that Oliver looked at me this morning while he was painting and said "I think I going to get sick, mama". When I asked why, he said "Because I just ate paint".

I also love it when Alison has the day off of school and the two of them spend half an hour running around the house buck naked, acting like maniacs, before they manage to get dressed for the day. Or the fact that it takes us forever to eat breakfast because Oliver keeps making Alison laugh. I didn't even mind when Oliver looked like he had bathed in yogurt instead of just eaten it.

Me: "Oliver, how did you get yogurt in your hair?"

Alison: ***dies laughing***

I think I love Alison's days off more than she does.

Seriously, every time Si leaves for more than a day something bad happens.

2010-02-12T13:43:00.002-06:00

Alternate title: She didn't feel warm until we were on our way to the doctor. For Real.

Yesterday Alison went to school and then on a field trip. With a perforated ear drum. Oh, yes, she did. There goes that mom of the year award. Although, I probably kissed that goodbye when I started pantsing my kids for fun, but whatever.

So, yea. I feel kinda' bad. Wednesday morning started like it usually does. Alarm went off, I worked out, took a shower, and woke up the kids to get ready to take Ali to school.

The day would end with Alison, Oliver and I looking pathetic, sitting on the benches by the pharmacy at Target, waiting for a very expensive antibiotic. None of us had eaten, it was getting late, and one of us had liquid coming out of one ear.

In between there was a call from school, a few episodes of crying and whimpering, a trip to the doctor, and a near car disaster.

To be fair, and make me look even worse, I should tell you that Alison was awake at 3 and then again at 3:30 Wednesday morning. However, she never felt warm, and also-she's only had 1 or 2 ear infections in her whole life before this, all before the age of 2. When I woke them up at the normal time Wednesday morning she was her usual talkative, happy self. I asked her if her ear hurt, and she said no. She did! I swear!!

Anyway, after dropping Ali off and eating breakfast, Oliver and I went to Target. The plan was to pick up some lunch and head over to a fellow VA worker's house where I would leave Oliver and go on Ali's field trip. As Oliver and I were waiting for our sandwiches my phone rang. It was Ali's teacher, telling me Alison had been crying off and on for 20 minutes. Alison only cries at home. I mean, really. One time her teacher asked me if she ever showed any extremes of emotion, because at school she's always very stoic. The answer to that question is a resounding Yes, Alison does show extremes of emotion. Here in the comfort of her home where she knows that she can freak out and we will still love her.

The plan was for me to come to school early, with ibuprofen, and assess the situation. When I showed up at school Alison was in the office drawing pictures. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was very pale. The second she saw me tears started streaming down her face. I gave her some ibuprofen and took her over to her classroom. Her class was in the library for spanish, but her teacher was there. Within 5 minutes Ali was acting normal again, talking and making jokes. Except for being pale, she seemed fine. We made the decision that since she wasn't contagious (no liquids oozing out of her-yet!, no throwing up, no coughing or sneezing) and I was going on the field trip to just go with the plan.

Half-way through the 2 hour field trip it was obvious that Alison was very tired and didn't feel all that great, but she still wasn't complaining about her ear. We got back to school and as her classmates were putting on their snow stuff to go outside I collected Alison's things and told her teacher we were just going to go home.

Here's where the fun starts. As we were talking down the sidewalk to the car, Alison started crying because her ear hurt. I managed to get an appointment at our usual clinic, but not with our normal pediatrician, at 4:20. By the time I stopped to stock up on tylenol and ibuprofen and picked up Oliver it was 10 to 4. Alison is alternately whimpering and sleeping in the back seat, and Oliver is asking for snacks. I'm driving down a street in our fair city when the car starts making a bad sound. It's coming from the front passenger side, by the tire, and it's rhythmic. I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I have a big slush puppy pressing on the tire, but when I get out to check I don't see anything. I also don't see any parts obviously missing or hanging out the bottom of the car. Going back home to get the other car would make us WAY too late. I say a lot of bad words inside of my head, along with a prayer that we'll at least make it to the doctor's office. About 5 minutes later the sound stopped. I think I might have had some ice jammed up somewhere, but quite honestly, I don't care. When I realized the car stopped making that sound I experienced relief much like I imagine prisoners feel when they realize they've been pardoned a half an hour before their appointment with the electric chair.

At the doctor Ali was pressing her ear against my body for counter pressure, which must have been offering some relief from the pain. She was trying so hard not to cry, but when we finally got into a room and the doctor started even thinking about poking around in there she couldn't stop the tears. Since I had already given her ibuprofen they gave her a dose of tylenol. The doctor (nurse practitioner, actually, but doctor is much easier and faster to type) told me she couldn't really visualize Ali's ear drum, it was so wet in there. She was assuming it was perforated, though, because Alison had been complaining of popping and crackling sounds, and when she would hiccup or cough she would start crying from the pain. So, a scrip for antibiotics was faxed to the Target by our house. The same Target I had spent an hour in with Oliver earlier that day, buying things one buys at Target. Which means I had nothing else I needed to buy at Target. Except antibiotics, I guess.

We finally made it home at quarter to six, with McDonald's that we picked up on our way. Alison has had 3 doses of antibiotics (we’re healthy, we should get the high deductible plan! We never need prescriptions!) so far, and still needs some medicine when she first lays down to help a bit with the pain, but she is doing much, MUCH better. Her ear, quite frankly, is gross. It has had some nice, pinkish/yellowish/whitish discharge oozing out of it, which is lovely. Today is the first day she hasn't been leaving little marks behind on the pillow when she lays down. She spent all day yesterday writing out valentines, so she really wanted to go to school today. However, within 5 minutes of walking into the lunchroom at school she had tears streaming down her face from the noise. She also says some things sound "echo-y". She really did a bang-up job on that ear.

Silas comes home tonight. I'm assuming she'll be 100% tomorrow.

I capitalized the 'S' in Starwars for you, Si

2010-01-25T16:49:00.003-06:00

Back in the days when Alison was two and disgusted by her new baby brother, who drooled and spit up and pooped all over himself on a regular basis, I dreamed about a day when they would be each others' best friends. To me, having more than one child was a way to give Alison a companion for the rest of her life. Someone who would know her history, who would be able to relate to her in a way no one else really could, since they would be raised by the same crazy parents. I also thought about how much more fun it would make our family. I mean, having Alison was pretty awesome. She made everything more entertaining--from eating dinner at night to going to the zoo to grocery shopping. How could having a second child do anything but up the fun factor? Also, my hormones were screaming at me to have another baby. A tiny, helpless infant who would rely on my for everything. EVERYTHING.

So, Oliver came along, and oh, boy, he did rely on me for everything. He also reminded me that having an infant who relies on you for everything is exhausting. Exhausting in a wonderful way, but exhausting just the same. What's more, Alison really wanted nothing to do with him. It's not that she didn't like him, it's just, well, our pediatrician put it best: She was only 2. To her, he was like a toy that was broken. He didn't really do anything. Just laid around, and sometimes cried. Which is loud and annoying.

Now it's three years later, and that little blob of an infant and that little 2 year old girl have grown into two of the greatest kids in the world. Although, I may be a bit biased, but I don't think so. They have also grown closer to each other. Especially recently. Since they share a room, we made the big bedroom downstairs a playroom. I was very excited to get all of the brightly colored plastic crap out of the living room and confined to one space. However, the kids would take the brightly colored plastic crap out of the playroom, drag it into the living room, kitchen, hallway--really, whatever public space would be most inconvenient, and play with it there. This annoyed me to no end. Why have a playroom when you're stepping on weeble wobbles, kicking balls, and tripping over stuffed animals on your way to the bathroom anyway?

This has finally shifted. Now after breakfast, Oliver almost always heads straight to the playroom, where I can here him happily acting out scenarios with his cars, animals, Starwars guys, whatever. After we get Ali home from school they both head in there, most of the time to play a game together. Two weekends ago Ali had Friday and Monday off. For 4 days those kids played together almost constantly. It was one of the greatest weekends of my life. I'm not saying they never fought, they are brother and sister after all, and if they didn't ever fight I'd probably start to panic and wonder what is wrong with them. But they did act like the brother and sister I hoped they would be a few years ago when I knew I was going to make Alison a big sister. At one point they asked to go outside and told me I should stay in the house. Because I wasn't born yesterday I followed them outside to keep the damage to a minimum ( I ended up basically being a snow ball making machine).

In a couple of months we're heading to Florida to hang out at the beach and take in a Twins spring training game, and all Si and I talk about is how much fun we're going to have. Having the two of them is like bringing a play buddy for each kid! A play buddy who isn't going to go home and tell their mom how crazy the McAghons are and how the mother always laughs when someone toots. Every time. Much like a 6 year old boy might.

Class of '09

2009-12-20T19:57:00.004-06:00

We just had a pretty big weekend in our house. After 4 and a half long years, Silas graduated from St. Thomas with his MBA. He worked very, very hard, and words can't express how proud I am of him. He managed to work full-time, be an excellent husband and father, and still take two classes a semester. And do very well in those classes. There were some long weeks, like when he would go to class Monday and Tuesday nights, then go on a business trip for the rest of the week, but we all made adjustments, and now we are basking in the glow of his accomplishment.

We asked Alison if she ever remembered Daddy not going to school, and she said she didn't. The night after Oliver was born Si had class. That was probably the hardest time for me. It can be a long day with a newborn baby and a 2 year old when your partner comes home at 6. When he's not coming home until 9:30 it's REALLY long.

Friday night we went to Si's graduation ceremony. I'm not one for crying, or outward shows of emotion, but seeing Si in his cap and gown almost made me choke up a bit. Hearing his name called and listening to the kids next to me shouting "Yea, Daddy!" will always rank up there as one of my favorite memories. And afterwards, thanks to the generosity of some friends and my mom and dad, we got a night at the Westin to relax and sleep in. THAT made me choke up. Though I'm just going to say that no actual tears escaped my eyes. So, mom and Janice, you didn't make me cry.

We followed Friday up with an open house on Saturday night. It was amazing to be surrounded by so many of our friends. We are truly blessed to have such a great group of people around us, always rooting for us, and always willing to eat our food and drink our beer. There were so many times last night where I just stood and looked around at all of the conversations going on around me...it was awesome.

I'm happy that Silas won't miss out on any more nights with our kids. There were some days when he wouldn't see them at all and I would tell him stories about what they did or said, and I could tell how much he hated missing all of those little moments. Now when the kids ask me if Daddy is going to eat supper with us I can say "yes". Although they will probably be disappointed that we aren't having frozen raviolis and jarred tomato sauce as much as we used to.

The field trip that was worse than a horror movie

2009-12-02T21:04:00.003-06:00

Today I put on my Mrs. McAghon name tag and chaperoned Alison's field trip to the Minneapolis Fire Fighters Museum. I also had to take Oliver along. I wasn't too worried about it. Until I found myself laying on the floor of the museum on my stomach with a coat hanger in my hand trying to fish a car that we didn't own out from underneath some old piece of fire fighting equipment. Then there was the time when we were counting up all of the kids and we were missing one. And I couldn't figure out which one it was. It was Alison. Not only is she MY child, she was also one of the 4 kids (besides Oliver) I was supposed to be in charge of. I rock.

There was a room called 'The Fire Prevention and Safety Room". In this room was a small house with different rooms in it, and the front was covered in plexiglass so you could see inside. There was a small plastic guy falling asleep in a chair with a cigarette, a dryer with the vent full of lint, some bad wiring...the whole shebang. There was also a man hyped up on fire prevention speedballs or something, giving a group of kindergartners a talk about fire safety. He went well beyond the 'stop, drop and roll' bit. He told them about being wet and touching electrical outlets, and then made his point by making a spark come out of some room in the little house, complete with a nice, loud sizzling sound. He made the living room, where the guy was falling asleep smoking a cigarette, fill with smoke. He made the wall behind the dryer glow orange with fire. He even emphasized his point by some pretty horrific true life stories. One ended with a little boy being badly burned and scarred because instead of stopping, dropping, and rolling he ran to his father, feeding oxygen to the fire.

The whole time (well, except when I was on my stomach out in the museum fishing a car my 3 year old had stolen from the play area out from under some old piece of metal) I stood in the back of the room and watched Alison. She was on the edge of her seat. Soaking up everything that was happening in the little house, and remembering every word that guy was saying. I knew we were going to have a problem. Ever since we told her about the smoke detector and what it's there for a few months ago she has been nervous about fire. When fear monger bill was done with his speech and it was time to move on, Alison turned around with the rest of her classmates. But instead of running happily out into the museum to play on an old fire truck, she ran to me and grabbed onto my leg. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears.

I managed to calm her down, and she had fun the rest of the trip. Then we came home and before dance class she gave Oliver a speech about how he shouldn't touch anything electrical when he's wet. And she reminded him about how to stop, drop, and roll. And she asked me about our dryer's lint trap.

Then came bed time. Oh, man. At one point Oliver was showing her how to crawl out of bed and into the hallway in the event our house starts on fire to help her calm down (apparently he was paying more attention that I gave him credit for). He also very helpfully reminded her they could go out the window if there was fire in the hallway. She begged him to stop talking about it. To finally get her to bed, Silas had to promise her our house would not start on fire tonight.

I know that most of her class did not come home with a brand new fear of fire. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's the only one who took everything to heart as much as she did. That's just the way she is. She worries about stuff most kids don't worry about. Stuff that she should be trusting Si and I are taking care of. Even while I'm telling her not to worry and we've got it covered and her job is to be a kid and have fun and OUR job is to worry about everything, I know exactly where she is coming from, because I was the same way. I remember thinking that if I wasn't going to worry about this or that and remind my parents, maybe they would forget and then whatever it was wouldn't get done. And to tell you the truth, every once in a while she does remind me about something that I would've forgotten had she not said anything. It's taken me many years to learn how to not sweat the small stuff. I hope I can make her figure it out much sooner.

Although, come to think of it, your house starting on fire really doesn't fall into the "small stuff" category. More like the "stuff you don't have total control over" category. I can't really help her out with that one.

Blank Page

2009-11-30T21:06:00.002-06:00

So, I've been sitting here staring at this blank computer screen for a while. I need to update this blog. I've got nothing. I could tell you about the time a few weeks ago when I drove down 66th street past a car that was pulled over, only to see it was Si and the kids. Then when he came home he informed me that my license was suspended.

I could list a bunch of funny things the kids have said lately. There is always plenty of those little pearls.

We had Thanksgiving here and our house managed to hold 8 people from Wednesday until Sunday. It was really fun. The kids are having a hard time adjusting to real life today.

I could choose any of these things, but apparently I'm having trouble adjusting to real life today, too. I can't hold a thought in my head for more than a few minutes. In fact, it has taken me 15 minutes to type these few paragraphs. So, perhaps I'll go to bed now and have something fresh and witty for you tomorrow.

My baby is 3!

2009-11-06T13:09:00.001-06:00

In honor of Oliver's 3rd birthday I decided to ask him a few questions. A little interview with the person I spend the most time with. I realized as I was asking him these questions that if I asked them again tomorrow--or in 5 minutes--the answers to most of them would change. Except for the pants one. He is firmly anti-pants.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

space man (this means astronaut)

What is your favorite thing to play with?

Lightning McQueen

What is your favorite movie?

Cars

What is your favorite thing to do with your sister?

Play (like, duh!)

What do you like about staying home with mommy all day?

Playing (do you sense a theme here?)

Do you like wearing pants?

No. I like to be naked.

What is your favorite animal?

giraffes

What is your favorite color?

blue

What is your favorite book?

Where the Wild Things Are

And there you have it. Out of the mouth of the baby of the family. Sometimes I can't believe how different it is staying home with him all day as compared to when I stayed home with Alison alone all day. Granted, by the time Alison was his age she was no longer home alone with me, but it's amazing how much trouble Oliver can get into in just a short amount of time. For instance, Monday night while I was washing dishes after supper, Alison took that opportunity to go in the playroom and play. Oliver decided it would be fun to somehow get the doorstop out of the wall in the kitchen. Last night while I was cooking supper Alison did her homework, and Oliver took the wooden dowel out of the bottom of the shades in their room. Then today when we were outside he managed to take apart a flower bed. He took all of the rocks that were being used as a border and either rolled them down the hill or put them in his dump truck to be moved to another location. He was very proud of himself for not eating a black worm he found, though, and pointed that fact out to me several times. "Memba, mommy, that that worm tasted bad? Yuck! Phewey!" I didn't have the heart to tell him that most kids wouldn't know from first hand experience that black worms taste bad. Or maybe they would, but I only have experience with one other kid and she would've died before eating a worm.

I don't know what I'd do all day without Oliver. He keeps me company (today he told me we make a good team), he makes me laugh, he forces me to play cars over and over again. He is the entertainer in this family. If he does or says something and it gets a favorable reaction, he gets this twinkle in his eye like "oh, yea, you like that, do you?" and continues to do it over and over. He makes Alison laugh by doing this a lot, and it's pretty hilarious, because he can't help but laugh at the same time. He has an incredible imagination--his cars are always talking to each other and acting out complicated scenarios that usually involve saving someone.

Yesterday he turned 3, and while I was sad to say goodbye to 2, I realize that each year brings me something else to look forward to. It has been so much fun to watch him grow and learn, and I'm so happy I get to be a part of it. Happy Birthday, O-Mac! I know we'll laugh together this year as much as we have the past 2, Little Man.

What we're dealing with

2009-10-02T09:33:00.003-05:00

So, we have this boy, Oliver. Oliver is very cute, and he is very funny, and he can be very sweet. Most of the time when I'm laughing it's because of something Oliver said or did. However, Oliver is also very, VERY stubborn. Here are just a few examples:

I was working last weekend and Silas was getting the kids ready for church. They were all dressed except for one last step-Oliver needed his shoes on. He refused. He said he wanted to go to church in bare feet. Silas pulled out the bribe. "But Oliver, we have enough time to go get doughnuts if we leave now, and you need shoes at the grocery store." Most children would put on shoes for the love of doughnuts, but not Oliver. Oliver says he doesn't want doughnuts, and he still wants to go to church in bare feet.

Trying to get him to drink milk: Milk will give you strong bones and teeth! You'll grow into a big, strong boy if you drink milk!

"Me don't want my teeth to get bigger!"

"No, Oliver, they won't get bigger, they'll get strong."

"Me don't want my teeth to be stwong."

"Well, they'll fall out of your head if you don't drink milk and then how will you chew all of that yummy food you like?"

"Me don't want to chew."

Getting ready to go to daycare in the morning, Oliver refuses to put on pants (are you sensing a theme here?). Silas keeps repeating how much fun he always has at Jodi's playing with the other kids! and all the toys!

"Me don't want to go to Jodi's and have fun playing. Me want to stay hewe and be sad."

Night of the living two year old

2009-09-09T20:34:00.003-05:00

Here is a list of things Oliver did tonight.

Emptied all of the CDs and DVDs out of their boxes and scattered them across the living room floor.

Took all of the books out of their bookshelf and left them in a pile on their bedroom floor.

Peed and pooped in the potty.

Peed in his underwear.

Peed on the pile of books in their room.

Took all of the cars/tractors out of the basket in the playroom.

Took all of the plastic animals out of the basket in the playroom.

Threatened to throw a large metal car at his sister.

Still managed to be the cutest thing ever.

The first of 13 first days

2009-08-31T21:23:00.011-05:00

You will never believe what happened today. Alison went to kindergarten. Because she is 5 years old and is supposed to go to kindergarten. It was very surreal. Silas and I said as much to each other as we followed her up the sidewalk to school. She was very excited and not at all nervous. We were waiting in the lunchroom to go up to the opening service and she asked me while I was still there and why I just didn't go home, so I wasn't too worried about her. People must have been worried about me, though, because I fielded several calls from people concerned about my well-being. I'm here to say I'm fine! I did really well. No tears, even.

Oliver was very excited and needed to get his picture taken, too.

Showing off the all important Tinker Bell lunch box.

It was chilly this morning, but I wanted pictures of her dress without her coat, so she bucked up just like a real model and went coat-less until I had had my fill.

Walking to the garage.

Walking up the sidewalk to school.

Oliver, once again, in on the action.

Almost there!

Standing in line with her class waiting to go up to the opening service. Notice her height. Notice everyone else's. That's my girl!

She came home and declared she was ready for 1st grade. Then she fell asleep on the couch. So maybe not quite ready for 1st grade. After we put the kids to bed we could hear them talking to each other for a while.

They haven't done that all summer (mainly because they are so exhausted when they go to bed I think they just pass out) so they must have missed each other.

And so her school adventure begins. I wonder if she'll let me take pictures of her like this when she's 17?

Here, go ahead and laugh at my expense

2009-08-30T19:32:00.003-05:00

I've never been the kind of person who is overly worried about making a complete fool of myself in front of people. That's not to say that I don't care if I do, it's just not something I waste my time worrying about (which is amazing for me, because I waste a lot of time worrying about things I have no control over). Which would explain that every time I get into our VW Beetle, Ringo, I manage to make a complete idiot of myself.

Ringo used to be my car, and love him I did. It was by far the newest car I had ever driven. Silas and I took it on road trips and camped out of it. But then we had a baby and it was a giant pain to get the baby and her car seat in and out of the backseat of that car. Also, not a lot of room for baby-related accoutrements in the trunk. So, we got a new car, a gleaming new station wagon, and Ringo became Silas's car. Mainly it just transports him to and from work, because let's face it, I don't know a lot of men who want to tool around town in a green VW Beetle if they don't have to (Silas has to, it's paid for).

Well, Ringo now has about 125,000 miles on him and he's 10 years old. That's not so bad, except he has also proven not to be the most reliable of all cars ever made. I lose track of his little idiosyncracies now since the only time I ever drive him is when I have to work a weekend, which only happens about once a month. Ringo has a few things that make driving a challenge. First of all, the driver's side door is threatening to fall off. When you open it it moves out and then down about 2 inches, so closing it involves lifting it up and then trying to fit it back in place like a puzzle piece. Those doors are not small, so I can't close it from inside the car since I'm sitting down. I don't have enough leverage to lift it up. Also, there is some kind of leak in the fuel system, so whenever you open the gas cap to fill up the tank it loses pressure and has a problem starting and continuing to run for a few minutes after a visit to the pump. I am constantly forgetting about these problems with the car. Which brings me to yesterday.

I had to work at 3 in the afternoon, so I scheduled a hair cut at 1. At 12:30 I make my way out to the garage and open the driver's side door of Ringo, totally forgetting that the door is broken. So, I gingerly lift it back into place, lean all of my weight against it until it closes, then crawl into the driver's seat through the passenger door since I can't close the driver's door from the inside. Remember here that Ringo has a manual transmission. Also I am very short and need to move the driver's seat up very close to the steering wheel. I back out of the garage only to realize two things: 1. The garbage and recycling cans are blocking my way out, and 2. The neighbor from the apartment building across the alley is trying to get my attention. This is going to require me to get out of the car. And then get back in. Through the passenger door. While there are witnesses. Not just random people at the grocery store (that's happened), but the neighbor whom I see on a fairly regular basis. The neighbor tells me what he needs to tell me, I move the garbage cans, then, with my head held high, crawl into my car and drive away.

I manage to get a haircut and get back into the car without anyone watching. On my way to work however, the car beeps, telling me I'm low on fuel. I really don't like stopping on my way home at midnight to get gas, so I decide to stop before work. I pull into the gas station close to the VA, and the place is hopping. I pull up next to the only available pump, which is going to require that I back out before pulling onto the street. As I uncap the gas tank and begin to fuel I realize something. I'm going to have to crawl back into the stupid car through the passenger door with all of these people watching, and then, after they witness me shimmying myself behind the wheel, I'm going to have to start the car with large amounts of gas, then back out, all the while revving the engine to keep the car running. So I stand there, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, even the nice couple at the pump next to me who are driving the same car I have back at home with a working door and ability to start without embarrassing noises and revving engine after getting gas.

I fill the tank. I open the passenger door, crawl over the passenger seat and stick shift, slide myself very ungracefully behind the steering wheel, and put the keys into the ignition. I put my foot on the clutch and try to start the car. It struggles to turn over, I feel people watching. I start giving it large amounts of gas. It coughs to life. I shift into reverse, all the while giving it tons of gas, revving the engine which, to the casual observer, seems completely pointless. At some point I need to shift into first and go forward without stalling the car. I manage to do it, but it requires a lot more engine revving and stares from startled gas station patrons who are wondering why the woman in the green beetle feels the need to show the power of her mighty 4 cylinder, 1.4 liter engine by constantly cranking on the gas. I pull onto the street, and by the time I hit the first stop light the car is able to come to a complete and full stop without stalling even though I am no longer giving it copious amounts of gas. I look around and, of course, no one is there to witness it.

Si is the only quiet one

2009-08-17T20:28:00.004-05:00

Alison has been up at the lake with Mam the last few days, so it's just been Oliver, Si, and I. Last night we walked over to Davanni's for supper. On the way home we let Oliver wander wherever he wanted. He picked crab grass, rocks, and sticks. The entire time he kept up a running commentary. Finally Silas looked at me and said "He talks just as much as Alison". It might be true. That kid was not quiet the entire way home. We played and he talked about playing, about the ant walking by, about the crab grass (which he called 'Grandpa pies', I have no idea why), about the cars on the road, about the leaves on the trees...I don't know if it's the fact that we don't notice him talking as much when there's two of them talking, or if he talks more when he's not competing with Alison.

That night I was reading him his new book about reptiles before bed. I think he asked me about 5 questions per page. It has never taken me so long to read him one book before.

I hope to remember all of this talking someday when he comes home from school and grunts at me when I ask him how his day was, then walks into his room, closes his door, and texts his friends for the rest of the night.

I should be doing laundry...

2009-08-11T14:30:00.003-05:00

but I have rededicated myself to keeping you updated on my uber-exciting life. So, here's something Alison said on our way home from the grocery store today that took my breath away. That one song that Norah Jones sings, you know, that one (please don't make me remember right now, I'm concentrating on how I should be doing 40 million other things), was playing on the radio.

A: This song makes my heart think about when I was a little baby.

I used to sing her that song all of the time when she was a baby.

Wow, she really was a cute baby!

Make that out to Oliver, c/o Lund's grocery store

2009-08-09T20:42:00.003-05:00

Friday night we went to the grocery store with the kids. All four of us. Which, if you're OK with constantly repeating "Come on, you guys", or "No, don't touch that" is usually OK. But Friday night it was not OK.

We have one of those reusable fabric bags and Oliver was carrying it. It was empty and all folded up. We're in the nirvana that is the Lund's cheese department, and I turn around just in time to see Oliver take the bag and whack Alison over the head with it. As hard as he possibly can. It obviously didn't hurt her, but both of the kids turned to look at me. As soon as Alison saw the horrified look on my face she turned to Oliver and yelled "OLIVER MCAGHON!". I calmly looked at Si, told him I was going to take Oliver out, and wrestled the bag out of his chubby little hands.

This is the part where he starts wailing at the top of his lungs that he wants daddy. While I am carrying him from the back of the store all the way to the front. I keep repeating that we don't hit, that hitting is bad. Whatever, he doesn't care. He would please like the parent who isn't currently punishing him.

The situation deteriorates until we are all in the car on our way home, which takes about 2 minutes. Oliver is now screaming that he doesn't want to go home. We are all ignoring him. We pull into the garage. He switches to screaming that he doesn't want to live here anymore. This we can't leave alone.

"Where do you want to live, buddy?"

(heavy sniffling)"Me want to live at gwocewy sto"

"At the grocery store?"

"Yea"

"But there are no beds at the grocery store, where would you sleep?"

"Me want to bwing my bed to gwocewy sto"

This is concerning to Alison (they share a room and sleep in bunk beds):

"But Oliver, I don't want to live at the grocery store! I want to live here with Mommy and Daddy!"

(sadly,resignedly)"But me do, Ali. Me want to live there."

I guess he was just blowing smoke, though, because he's still living here.

She really is a sensitive girl. OK, maybe not.

2009-08-05T13:47:00.002-05:00

The reason I created this blog is because we live so far away from our families. There is no popping in for lunch or having grandma and grandpa able to take the kids for just a few hours on any given day. I wanted there to be a way for them to check in on us and see what's going on from day to day. Also, I don't really enjoy using the phone that often. Anyway, even though I haven't been updating very regularly recently I still like to look back on olds posts to see what we were up to.

That brings me to an added bonus of this blog. I have a horrible memory. In fact, I was just talking to a friend last night and saying that I need to take lots of pictures because otherwise I'll never remember my kids being little. I am not good about having baby books, but I do have this blog. I started it a few months before Alison turned 2. I was pregnant with Oliver. Now Alison is 5, going to kindergarten in a few weeks, and Oliver is 2 (and will not let us forget it, what with the fit every time things don't go his way). It's amazing how fast time is flying by, and I'm so happy I have this journal of sorts to look back and remember some of the more mundane, everyday things I might otherwise forget.

Today is one of those days. I got up, ran, showered. The kids woke up when I was in the shower, so Si turned on Sesame St and got them some waffles. We ate breakfast (oatmeal and blueberry smoothies), got dressed (and Oliver peed in the potty!), and went to Wood Lake Nature Center. We walked around on the short trail, then walked to the corner of 66th and Lyndale (there's a Caribou coffee and Quizno's there, what else does a person need? Oh, a bar.). We got some sandwiches and ate lunch. Then we walked to the vegetable stand in the Champ's parking lot and bought some stuff, which I then had to lug back to the car, along with a very heavy toddler who was too tired to walk any farther. The kids rolled down the hill of the VFW on the way. Then it was back home for a nap and quiet time. (Alison is upstairs right now making a potty for her Littlest Pet Shop.)

None of this makes for very good reading, but I'm happy I wrote it down, because I don't want to forget all of these little moments that make up a life together. I also don't want to forget Alison saying this in the parking lot by the vegetable stand.

Me: "Oliver, you'd better watch out or you're going to end up like that toad we saw at Wood Lake today."

Ali: "Oh, you mean the one that was squished? With its guts hanging out?"

Five, I repeat, Five years old

2009-07-30T13:36:00.004-05:00

Saturday I became the mother of a 5 year old. 5 year olds do things like ride big girl bikes and go to school all day 5 days a week. They ask inquisitive questions that you don't know how to answer. They don't take naps. They say silly things like: "Guys-I should really be on the radio. I have a GREAT voice." They say sweet things like: "When I grow up and get married I want to have a little boy just like Oliver." They make you laugh, they make you cry. They make you grit your teeth in frustration right before they give you giant bear hugs.

I, of course, think that I have the best 5 year old in the entire world. She is turning into a big girl right before my very eyes, and I'm trying to do my very best to help her along. To help her, someday, become the woman I know she can be. Because if the last 5 years are any indication, she will be one hell of a woman.

Happy Birthday to the little girl who turned me into a mother and changed my life forever.

We love you, Alison!

Mommy, Daddy & Oliver

Just so I remember

2009-05-06T20:55:00.003-05:00

Oliver and I were walking back from the park last week. We were standing by a busy road and a motorcycle drove by.

"That motocyco?"

"Yep"

"Me dive motocyco!"

"Buddy, you have to be 16 to drive."

"sixteen?"

"Yep, and since you live with Mommy and Daddy you'll have to be much, much older to drive a motorcycle"

"Oh"

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

Oliver has stopped saying 'good' instead of 'yes'. Well, actually, he said 'gooot', but we all knew what he meant. Just one more step away from his babyhood. He is talking more and more, initiating conversations, answering questions, asking questions, and using words he's heard his sister use. He turned 2 and a half yesterday and I'm becoming acutely aware of how fast time is passing. I'm trying to focus on each day, each stage, and enjoy the little idiosyncrasies they bring, because before I know it, they'll have moved on to the next thing. So, right now I'm enjoying the fact that when Oliver talks about himself he never says 'I', it's always 'me', that he starts every answer to every question you ask him with 'because', he says 'Oh, Man!' when things don't go his way (either that or he has a huge screaming crying fit), he calls downstairs 'downstairv', he loves falling asleep reading books, he loves the movie "Cars", he will throw his arms around my neck, bury his face in my shoulder and say "I wuv you!" when I pick him up, and loves to ask the question "Do you wuv it?".

I have started reading chapter books to Alison, and she loves it. So far we've read "Charlotte's Web" and "Peter Pan" and we are working on "The Little Princess". She LOVES Mondays at school because that is when she gets a new library book. This morning before school she made a picture to give to one of her classmates. She sticks up for her little brother if she feels he's being wronged, and calls us for him at night if he's calling and we can't hear his tiny little voice. She just finished dance classes and the other night in the car, in a very sad voice, she said "Mom, I miss Miss Carrie and I miss being a ballerina". The past two weeks she's been in two dance recitals, a spring concert at school, sang in church, and went on 2 field trips. She still loves bugs and spends a lot of time outside trying to pick them up and letting them crawl all over her.

On the other hand, this afternoon the kids had a fight. All I know is I was in the kitchen getting supper ready and I heard Alison crying, followed closely by Oliver crying. When I went out Oliver was laying on his back half in and half out of the sandbox and he had a scratch on his cheek. Apparently he had been burying Alison's feet and ignored her when she asked him to stop. She could only take so much and so she pushed him and somehow scratched his cheek. This is when I feel old...I made them come inside and sit in the naughty chair and step respectively. Then they had to sit on the couch, hold hands, apologize to each other, and tell eachother one thing about the other they liked. They got along splendidly for the rest of the night, but man, did I feel cheesy and old.

The long awaited pictures

2009-04-17T14:24:00.022-05:00

Today Oliver puked into my hands, then when I was carrying him up the basement stairs he had a bout of diarrhea that overflowed his pants, went onto my arm and then ran down said arm and onto the steps. Alison, on the other hand, is spending her quiet time on our bed looking out the open window and shouting "Welcome to the Neighborhood!" to the new neighbors who are out in their back yard enjoying the day. She's gotten them to wave to her a few times.

Here are some random pics from the end of winter to Easter, which we spent with Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Patrick in Wisconsin.

This is what happens when Oliver eats a ring pop. Or, really, food in general.

One morning they came out of their room wearing their new sunglasses acting all noncholant.

Eating pizza, on a bed, watching a movie after a day of playing at the waterpark. HEAVEN!

One sleeping, one faking.

Not sleeping.

Eating breakfast in the hotel room.

The bathtub zoo menagerie.

The Children's Museum.

Alison as a turtle at the Children's Museum.

This big digger showed up across the street one day and dug a huge hole in our neighbor's yard. As you can see, Oliver was completely thrilled.

Eating hot dogs at the Twins game.

Oliver's rally cap, which is what his hat looks like when he puts it on himself.

Cotton Candy soothes the sting of the loss.

Playing Wii skiing at Grandma and Grandpa's.

Filling the bird feeders.

Sharing a cute moment with Grandpa.

Found an Easter egg!

Easter duds.

Holding pattern

2009-04-06T16:24:00.002-05:00

I thought Si was forgetting to bring home our back-up hard drive but it turns out that he has been bringing it home. He just hasn't told me. I was also under the impression that anything computer related was his job, but apparently backing up the pictures is my job. With the hard drive I didn't know was here. So, still no pictures. Sorry.

In other news...we signed Alison up for kindergarten. She will be going to school all day, every day come fall. Pretty amazing. I can't believe how time is flying by. It's going to be hard to be without her every afternoon, but school gets done at 2:45. Hopefully she'll get in the car and be full of stories about her day. I'm excited for her and hope that I will be able to let go with as much grace and dignity as I can muster. That is, I'm going to try very hard not to by a big, blubbering mess her first day of school.

A Teaser

2009-03-27T14:17:00.003-05:00

*****Si forgot the hard drive, so you'll just have to wait for those pictures. Now, pick yourself up off the floor, dry those tears, and go watch The Amazing Race for me while I'm stuck at work.******

I will be posting pictures, hopefully this weekend. I have pictures from Christmas, various walks, our trip to the water park, and maybe a few things I'm forgetting. However, I am afraid to upload anything onto my computer because the squirrel that makes it run is obviously getting very, very tired. That is, Si and I are pretty sure it's about to crash. So, until Si brings the back-up hard drive home from work and we can back up all of the pictures I'm not risking it. You want to hear something else hilarious? The camera is acting all funny and making horrible noises when we use the zoom, so that does not bode well for it's life, either. Ah, electronics. How they bleed my bank account dry.

Randomness

2009-03-20T14:48:00.002-05:00

I'm posting again? Wow!! You are all so lucky. That is, if anyone still bothers to check in. I fear I may have lost my already paltry reader base. Just in case no one is actually reading this anymore, I'm not going to waste precious brain matter on this post. Here, in no particular order, are some random funny things that the kids said or did or whatever...just--here!

I told Alison yesterday that today would be the first day of spring so she insisted on wearing her summer nightgown with the short sleeves. She wore it while watching Sesame Street and eating breakfast this morning. Her arms and legs felt like ice cubes, but she insisted she was fine.

Earlier this week I got out the tee ball for the kids to play with. Alison took a few good whacks at it, as did Oliver. The wind picked up, and the ball wouldn't stay on the tee anymore, so Oliver dismantled it and started using it as a gun. He pretended to shoot birds, inanimate objects, and his sister. I feel like this is one of those innate 'boy' things, like making car noises. Si doesn't hunt, we don't own any guns, and I don't recall Curious George demonstrating how to use one on TV. I'm pretty sure I'd remember that.

Si asked Alison how I looked while getting ready to run with my new shoes. Alison said "sexy". Considering I was wearing drawstring pants, a T-shirt, and my brand-spanking new running shoes, I'm sure she has no idea what it means. However, and in the interest of full disclosure I'll just say that every bad word or phrase Alison has learned she's gotten from me, I don't routinely use the word 'sexy'. That didn't stop Silas from immediately blaming me. I, in turn, blamed listening to the radio.

Continuing with the subject. We're eating supper, there's a rare quiet moment. Alison looks at me seriously and says "Mom, remember when you said freakin' this morning? That's a bad word. You shouldn't say that."

And here's to hearing your words repeated back to you in the voice of a 4 year old girl. Once again, we were eating supper. Silas and I are trying desperately to tell each other anecdotes from our days without getting interrupted by the kids. Alison: "Mom! You shouldn't talk with your mouth full!" I dutifully stop talking. A few seconds later Silas starts talking to me. Alison raises her hand, puts up her pointer finger, waves it at him, and says "uh-uh-uh!" You know, each 'uh' higher than the previous one...you get the point.

Well, that's all for now. Maybe next I'll actually post some pictures. Well, I'll only do that if I am sure there are signs of life here. So, comment. Please? I'd really like to know if there is anyone still checking this before I go and start using my brain again.

Christmas in March

2009-03-19T20:35:00.002-05:00

First of all-I just have to say I'm sorry for neglecting this blog for so long. We seem to be in this rut where we make a big decision, feel good about it for a while, then another one appears before us and, well, I'm the kind of person who over-thinks and over-analyzes every decision I've ever made. I think and analyze so much that it becomes this giant, bigger than life thing that I can't control anymore. I know I'm doing this even while I'm doing it, but that doesn't mean I can stop. So, I guess I've been too busy thinking in circles to write on this blog.

I've been meaning to tell everyone that this Christmas was probably the best one we've had since getting married and having kids. Oliver was old enough to kind of get what was going on and Alison remembered some of our traditions. For instance, the first ornament to get hung on our tree is this glass pickle. Everyone leaves the room, I hang it somewhere, and then we make Alison and Oliver try to find it. Well, really, we make Alison try to find it. This year as we were getting out all of our decorations she kept asking me about the 'tricky pickle'. I was SO happy that she remembered! I must have hid that pickle 20 times while the tree was up, and each time she was just as thrilled when she found it.

We stayed here and hosted, and I'm just going to come out and say it...I had fear. I was really looking forward to it, but we live in a 1400 square foot house. I was wondering how it would all go. It turns out that you can make anything work. We had a nice Christmas dinner thanks to Mam and our new kitchen, plus plenty of appetizers on Christmas eve, and the kids got to wake up and open presents on Christmas morning in their own living room. I have to stop and say that Oliver was pretty pissed off when he realized that all of those cookies we were putting on the nice plate on Christmas eve were for Santa and not for him.

So, in summary, I'm crazy, we had a good Christmas, and Oliver likes cookies.

Febuary first?!?!

2009-03-03T20:54:00.002-06:00

What, really? It's been that long? I am a huge slacker. I haven't forgotten about this blog, I promise...I will start updating more regularly soon.

(See how I said more regularly? Not regulary, because let's face it, that will never happen.)

Typical Night

2009-02-01T20:07:00.003-06:00

And Boom Goes the Dynamite

2009-01-07T10:54:00.003-06:00

On Sunday, neither one of the kids slept. Those of you that know me would think that my head exploded that day, because if there is one thing that bothers me, it's a child skipping a nap. Especially 2 year old boys who need naps to be human the rest of the day.

Sunday was different, though. Alison partially moved into Oliver's room over Christmas so family could sleep in her room. Now she doesn't want to move back. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, if we completely move Alison into Oliver's room and get them bunk beds, which would make the most sense space-wise, we'd have a spare room upstairs. I have dreams of making one corner a 'book corner' for reading and having a little table for them to color and having a place that's not the living room to put their toys. On the other hand, I love Alison's room. It's girly without being too girly, and it holds a lot of memories for me. I rememer being pregnant and painting and putting the crib together and standing in there wondering what it would be like to bring a baby home and have it sleep in that crib and rock it in that chair. I remember taking the crib down and putting together her new big-girl bed (which is also perfect for that room) and how excited she was to sleep in it. I love the color of the walls and the painted trim and the flower hooks and the rug and her nightstand with books and her plant on it. It's all just so Alison.

But Alison and Oliver are also enjoying forging new memories in the room they share now. Sunday afternoon a few minutes after laying both of them down and sitting on the couch to relax and watch some television, Alison came walking out into the living room. "Oliver is sitting up in his crib", she announced. I'm pretty sure Oliver was sitting up because Alison was walking around the room gathering books to bring back to bed with her. I went back in, settled everyone down, and came back out to collapse on the couch for an hour. A few minutes later, after hearing some rustling from their room, Alison came back out again. "Oliver is talking to me", she said. This time it was Silas's turn to settle them back in. Once again, more rustling. Alison reappears. "Oliver wants to sleep in the chair because I am sleeping in the chair." This one takes a while, but after we convince them that no one is sleeping in the chair even though it's so 'comfortable', we come back out into the living room. "I'm pretty sure this time it's going to stick", I tell Silas confidantly.

We are watching T.V. when we hear giggling. We sneak down the hallway and stand outside their door. "Chicken butt!" Alison says. Oliver belly laughs. When he stops, Alison does it again. "Oliver, Chicken butt!" Peals of laughter ring out from the direction of his crib. "Addi, jhick-en butt!" Oliver says. They both start laughing.

It was about the cutest thing we'd ever heard. Si and I ended up bringing them both out to the living room to watch "Cars" where this eventually happened:

Maybe I can let go of another piece of Alison's babyhood if it means they learn how much fun it is to make each other laugh.

Mental note

2008-12-27T19:57:00.001-06:00

Dear Arm,
Please stop putting cookies in the mouth hole.

Regards,
The jeans

Money makes the world go 'round

2008-12-18T14:25:00.002-06:00

This afternoon Back Seat Girl was in her room singing songs into a "microphone", which was really the brush attachment to an old curling iron. After a few rounds of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" she announced to her audience, which consisted of Back Seat Boy and I, that "whoever tells me you like my singing two times gets a penny!". I looked at her and realized the pockets of her pants were bulging with loose coins.

So, basically, she emptied her piggy bank to bribe me into giving her a compliment. I'm going to choose to not explore the deeper meaning here.

The first in a series

2008-12-12T17:34:00.002-06:00

One of the best parts of having kids is getting the chance to see the world like a child again. You know, there is a big span of time between being a child and then having a child of your own (well, hopefully it's a big span of time...do you hear that, Back Seat Girl?).

Adults tend to run through life thinking of things to accomplish, to see only what they are looking for, while children for the most part let life happen to them. They go to the park to play on the swings, but what if you see a bunch of flowers on the way? What if someone is walking a dog and they stop to let you pet it? Hey, look! Something shiny! You get the point. One of the hardest things for me to get used to after BSG became mobile was the fact that running errands was no longer going to be something I did in an hour in the morning. It was going to take a while, but it was going to be fun! I was going to see and notice things I would never see or notice if she wasn't along. Walking to the park was no longer just a way to get to our destination--now getting there was half the fun.

It's gotten to the point now where I don't really like to run most errands without at least one of them along. I've finally realized that this is a part of my life where maybe things will take longer, but they will be a hell of a lot more fun. Now I let Back Seat Boy push the little cart at the grocery store while we pick up a few things for dinner. It takes FOREVER to get just a few things, but we do a whole lot of laughing along the way. I know that in a few years I'll be rushing through the grocery store at break-neck speed, doing a whole week's worth of shopping in the time it takes to pick up some ingredients for supper now, and thinking wistfully back to these days when every errand was an adventure. It wasn't just grocery shopping...it was a field trip. The dry cleaners isn't just the dry cleaners, it's that super cool place we bring our sleeping bags after camping trips and watch them spin around in the big machine, where one time Shrek was on the giant TV in the corner, where there is a vending machine and mom actually bought treats for us out of it.

Hopefully, even after they grow up a little and don't want to run errands with their mom because *gasp* what if someone they know sees us, I'll still be able to take time to notice the little things along the way. That's one of the many things my children have taught me.

Thanksgiving...remember that?

2008-12-08T16:05:00.008-06:00

We packed up the wagon and headed to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. Driver took a day off, so we got to spend lots of time with Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Patrick.

We got an early start, so they got to eat breakfast and wear their jammies in the car.

Helping Grandpa and Uncle Patrick fill the bird feeders.

What, you don't eat stuffing with your hands.

She asked for the leg. And I promise that's not her wine. She prefers red.

This is what your face looks like if you eat stuffing with your hands. Actually, that's better than normal.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Thank You, Pilgrims and Native Americans!

2008-11-27T11:45:00.002-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving!! Don't forget to put cranberry sauce on your leftover turkey sandwiches...it's too delicious for words.

Well, something in Show Business at least

2008-11-23T12:18:00.003-06:00

Back Seat Girl holds up a piece of broccoli:

BSG: "Look, Barack Obama!" (you know, because Barack and broccoli kind of sound the same)

We all laugh (except for Back Seat Boy, who we have decided doesn't really know what is going on about 75% of the time).

Me: "[BSG], maybe you could be a satirest when you grow up."

BSG: (in a bored, 'I've already told you this a million times' tone) "No, I'm going to be a movie
maker when I grow up."

You can still play baseball--even if there's snow on the ground

2008-11-12T14:08:00.002-06:00

Today was not the first snow here in balmy Minnesota, but it was the first snow that stuck around past nine in the morning. It was also the first time Back Seat Boy got to actually play in the snow. Last year he couldn't walk and when we took him outside spent a lot of time crying and whining because he couldn't move. I'm looking forward to getting to take them both out this year to play and go sledding.

Please ignore all of the leaves you see under the snow. We raked the front yard once on a nice fall day, but that maple tree hates us. It waited to drop the rest of its leaves until it was practically impossible to get them up before it started to snow/sleet/rain every other day. It also drops branches constantly. I'm pretty sure it's trying to kill us.

Home, Sweet Home

2008-11-11T20:46:00.002-06:00

On Halloween of this year Driver and I celebrated six years of home ownership. If you would've told me on October 31st, 2002 that we would still be living here I probably would not have believed you. The plan was to stay here for five years-TOPS, then move to something bigger and better. Well, here we are, our family has increased times two, and we manage to not run into each other too much.

It was a very scary thing for me, buying a house. I wasn't nervous at all on my wedding day, but the day we closed on this house I was trying very hard not to vomit into my cupped hands. I remember looking at that huge number and wondering what the hell I was thinking. What WE were thinking. We knew nothing about owning a house. We were going to be responsible for mowing the lawn and fixing stuff when it broke, and there was probably going to have to be some preventative maintenance. We live in a fifty year old house. Things break. Stuff happens.

I can honestly say now that I love this house. No, not because of all of the closet space or the very efficient kitchen (ha, ha), but because this house has a lot of our history in it now. We'll always remember it as the first house we ever owned, just like we wax nostalgic every time we drive into uptown and are anywhere near our old apartment or old hang-outs. We've remodeled the bathroom and stayed married. I sat down in the middle of the living room and completely freaked out when I was seven months pregnant with Back Seat Girl. I cried on the bottom step the morning I went into labor with Back Seat Boy and Mama Wonder showed up to take BSG and I realized our family would never be the same. I've read countless, countless stories in every room of this house. I've seen two children learn to walk (FINALLY) on its floors. I've cleaned up puddles of pee and piles of baby food and spent many dark nights nursing tiny babies while only half awake.

I'm not saying we're going to live here forever, because we're not. Believe me, we've thought about it-thought about remodeling or adding on, but it just wouldn't work out. I know that someday we'll be making new memories in a different house (preferably with at least two bathrooms and room for more than one butt in the kitchen), and when I look back at this house it probably won't seem so small and the kitchen won't seem so useless and having only one bathroom won't seem like so much trouble when we have company.

The thing that I will miss most about this house when we move, though, is the nice, low mortgage payment.

2 Years Old

2008-11-07T11:37:00.010-06:00

That was Back Seat Boy on 12-5-06 at one month old. This is Back Seat Boy today:

The time that has passed between the two pictures has gone by in a flash. I can not believe that my youngest is already two, but then again, it's hard for me to remember a time when he wasn't here.

How do I describe the little boy he has become? Well, he loves balls and trucks, but also likes to read books about princesses and knows that when we put in a CD he will probably end up dancing with his sister and being her prince. He loves to throw things but will also find any number of cheap plastic beaded necklaces we have around here, put them on, and declare that he is "pittee". He can hit a ball with a bat, but can also spend a lot of time sitting on the floor reading book after book after book.

He makes us laugh all day with his antics, whether it's pushing his trucks around the house, trying to tell knock-knock jokes that make no sense, tackling us or begging us to "tacko" him, wrestling with his sister, or making sure we pray before every meal by frantically repeating "Jesus, Jesus" over and over again until we all sit down and fold our hands. Maybe he's going to be a pastor, who knows? Another thing that Driver and I find funny--the fact that the things he gets mad at most often (besides his sister) are physics and gravity. I'm sorry mommy and daddy don't give you much sympathy for that, little man, but someday when we tell you some of the stories I hope you'll laugh with us.

He is scared of parts of the movie "Monsters, Inc." and also a recent episode of Curious George. It had to do with dark caves and shadows. He was sitting on my lap while watching it and suddenly tried to crawl up onto my shoulders while burying his head into my chest at the same time.

He's starting to put more and more words together now, still no complete sentences but lots and lots of phrases. Right now his favorite is "Scawy Monsto" for "Scary Monster", seeing as how it was just Halloween and we saw our share at the costume store. The kids begged to go again just to see all the scary monsters, so I took them the day of Halloween. For all of BSB's brave talk about the 'scawy monstos' he was not about to touch any of them. When we went trick-or-treating that night there was one house that had a guy dressed up in a mask, etc walking around in the yard. BSB did not want to leave that yard. The whole rest of the night we would go to another house and he would be looking around for another 'scawy monsto'.

Hey-remember when he didn't walk? Yea, that was really great. Well, now that he does that he also runs and is pretty close to jumping for real, too. He hates riding in carts at the store, insisting on walking instead. The only time I get him to ride for any length of time in a cart is by a)constantly plying him with cookies or b)puting him and Back Seat Girl together in one of those double car carts at the grocery store.

His relationship with his sister is really blossoming. They had to go to another daycare recently just for a day where they were split up, and BSB spent the better part of the morning crying and sad that he was not with BSG. The other night after dinner BSB gave BSG his last M&M, if you can believe that. I can tell you right now that I can not think of any scenario where I would give my brother my last M&M.

If there is one thing I want for him it's to always be this happy. He is honestly the happiest little guy in the whole world. I'm not saying he doesn't throw a temper tantrum now and then (yesterday he laid down in the middle of all of his toys when I wouldn't give him a candy corn), or that he never disobeys me and is the perfect child (we often say he has a head made of wood because holy cow, that kid is stubborn), but he spends most of his time happily playing, running around the house, running errands with me and charming the pants off anyone who dares make eye contact with him, and otherwise just being a general joy to be around. I'm so happy to get to share his childhood with him and I hope that he can keep his sunny attitude as he gets older and realizes that the worst thing in the world to ever happen to him will not be the fact that I told him to walk this way when he wants to go "Dat Way!". (Picture him with wrinkled brow, feet planted firmly on the floor, finger pointed defiantly in the opposite direction from where I am walking.)

Happy Second Birthday, O-Mac! I love you so much and look forward to every day I get to spend with you.

Love,

Momma

Slacker

2008-11-01T22:06:00.003-05:00

I'm going to have to start paying someone to update this blog. I don't know why I have been so terrible about this. I have had ideas about what to write, we even went to the apple orchard so I have good pictures, but for some reason I have not been able to sit down in front of the computer and type out a post.

I did just finish a book I was obsessed with (I'm sad it's done), so maybe now I can try keeping you all up on the goings-on around here. Not that there is anything TOO exciting. We don't live like rockstars around here.

That being said I'm at work right now so I'm not going to be able to post any pictures or write my usual terribly elegant posts because I'm trying to work with a hangover and it's late and I'm tired and I'm feeling very stupid and old.

Siblings

2008-10-17T14:38:00.004-05:00

I once heard that the best gift you can give your child is a sibling. I have a lot of memories of playing with my little brother growing up. I also have a lot of memories of him annoying the crap out of me, but what big sister with a little brother doesn't? The best thing about having a sibling is that you can get mad at them, you can fight with them, but they'll always be your brother or sister. There's also this great history you share with a sibling once you grow up and become adults. I've known Driver for twelve years, I've known my brother for twenty nine.

For the first year, well, really year and a half of Back Seat Boy's life, Back Seat Girl really didn't seem to take much interest in him. She wasn't jealous of him, she didn't dislike him, in fact she did profess to love him. There just wasn't that much interaction going on. I remember at one of BSB's check ups the Dr was asking me how BSG was doing with a little brother. When I told him it bordered on indifference (BSB was probably only 2 months old at this point), the Dr told me that was pretty normal. To a 2 year old, a baby is like a broken toy. It doesn't do much but eat, sleep, poop and cry. And it doesn't do those things when you tell it to, it just does them. BSG likes things that do what she tells them to.

After a while BSB began to crawl and stand up and play with things, and that increased their interaction a little. I remember one night I was cleaning up after supper and they "chased" each other around the house, BSG walking, BSB crawling. It was just a glimpse of what I get to enjoy now.

I don't know when it happened, but the two of them see to be forging a beautiful relationship. They play together, they talk to each other, they hug each other good night. BSG has even said things like "I love hugging [BSB]". Yesterday BSB kept going up to BSG just for the sake of getting a hug. If BSB sounds like he's in distress anywhere in the house BSG is constantly asking me to go and help him, and gets mad if I take too long. She is always trying to teach him new words and or how to play hide and seek correctly. He is also very often unwittingly the dad to her stuffed animals. She sends him off to work and receives him back "home" (her room). I really don't think he knows what's going on half the time, but he loves it because he loves playing with his big sister.

They definitely have their squabbles (the one toy the other has is THE BEST toy every created in the history of the world and I MUST HAVE IT), but I know they love each other. When they grow up they'll be able to talk about how crazy mom and dad were (are) and can you believe we lived in that tiny house with one bathroom or how much fun they had on our camping trips. I love watching them make memories together that they'll be able to talk about with each other long after Driver and I are gone. I love watching them form this bond that is so unique to being brother and sister.

I really hope they don't have too much to discuss in the 'Mom and Dad are nuts' area, though.

She might break my kneecaps

2008-10-01T20:16:00.009-05:00

I may have been threatened recently *cough grandma cough* by my lack of posting. All I have to say for myself is that, well, I'm trying to find new daycare for my children, and for people who can handle things like this and have good "coping skills", this may not be a big deal. However, I hate change, and when it comes to change that has to do with my children, well, let's just say that I've been trying very hard not to have a complete mental breakdown. I have been succeeding, barely.

In that spirit, here are some pictures from the Bachmann's fall festival. The first two prove that you can not make your children pose in front of a backdrop. I don't know how professional photographers do it.

Exhibit A:

OK, this one is pretty cute.
Exhibit B:

The people really responsible for the making of the scarecrows, Mom and I.

BSB in front of the BSG sized scarecrow. It's hard to help when you are chowing down apples the whole time.

Driver and I went out to the parking lot to load the headless scarecrows in our car, and some people getting out of their car behind us mentioned that it looked pretty suspicious. We told them they didn't see anything. RIGHT?

Is that dirty gross water? I need me some of that.

Driver says I dress BSG like she's running for preschool class president. I think it's cute. Please ignore that the only decent pic I could take that morning is in the bathroom.

She's outta' here. Time to talk with her classmates about the issues facing preschoolers in these troubled times.

You can't make this stuff up

2008-09-09T21:09:00.001-05:00

Back Seat Girl, coloring a picture of a cow. Specifically, the cow's udder.

"Look, mom, I'm coloring it's milking process---GROSS!"

I'm about to write exactly what I thought I would write

2008-09-03T14:15:00.009-05:00

Today was Back Seat Girl's first day of preschool. It went pretty much exactly how I thought it would go. We started off with a good breakfast of muffins and smoothie (Yes, she insists on drinking her smoothie out of that play goblet). She got dressed in new school clothes while Back Seat Boy and I put one our chauffer clothes. This part could have gone faster, but I'm dealing with BSG here, so nothing gets done at lightning speed. There also could have been less whining, but alas, four year olds are horribly misunderstood. She wanted her picture taken by the firepit, so I obliged.

Here's the serious one:

She also wanted to make a funny face:

We got there in plenty of time. The doors weren't open so we hung out outside waiting until the little yellow school bus pulled up with most of her classmates on it (she'll get to ride it on Mondays from her daycare provider's house).

Here we are waiting:

BSB and I ran to the grocery store to pick up a few odds and ends, then hung out at home for the rest of the morning. I'm hoping to become more organized at this whole thing in the weeks to come, and spend my time more wisely. I now know exactly how long it takes me to get from here to there and I realize that they aren't going to be outside of the classroom right at noon.

It was a beautiful day, so while we waited for her class to come out BSB and I played outside. He brought his baby and kept whipping it over the retaining wall, walked around to get it, and whipped it over again, and again, and again. He's very sensitive.

When her class got out she was the first one in line. She ran over to me and then immediately started asking me when she could ride the bus. (Monday, I said. Is tomorrow Monday?, she replied.) She showed me the school bag they had decorated. Her teacher came over and talked to me for a few minutes, and then it was time to head for the car. While we were driving home she said, in complete rapture "I finally went to school FOR REAL!". She told me "it was so much fun", and she can't wait to go back. Of course. I really didn't have much of a doubt.

Here's the walk back to the boring old house:

Once at home she laid at the bottom of the steps and told me she was too tired to eat lunch. I really didn't believe her, but I gave her the option of eating lunch now or waiting until after her nap. She finally decided to eat with us:

I should have believed her, though, because while I was reading her stories before her nap she fell asleep sitting next to me in the rocking chair. I guess it was an exhausting day.

Different Points of View

2008-09-02T21:15:00.002-05:00

Last Friday night Back Seat Girl and I were walking home from the neighborhood pizza place. It was just the two of us, we had gotten separated from the rest of our group. We were walking up a hill on our street and the sun was getting low on the horizon. It illuminated all of the bugs flying from tree and tree and bush to bush. I noticed this after we had seen two ant cities that were teeming with millions of ants, with more ants flying overhead.

I thought to myself "Man, late August is a disgusting time of year".

BSG inhaled sharply, stopped walking, and looked ahead of her with awe. "Mom, look at all the magic!".

Suddenly late August didn't seem so bad.

Just another day

2008-08-21T22:37:00.002-05:00

Me: OOhh, Little Man, you smell like poop.
BSG: Yea, when I was laying on the pillow and he sat on my head I could smell his poopy.
Me: He sat on your head with a diaper full of poop?
BSG: Yea.
Me: That's pretty gross.
BSG: Yea.
BSG: I was going to tell you that he had poop in his diaper but then I decided not to.

Sandbagger

2008-08-16T21:15:00.002-05:00

I have been trying to get Back Seat Girl to write her name for a while now, but she has never really wanted to try. Every once in a while she'll give a half-hearted attempt to write an 'A', but otherwise it's been a no-go. I've never really pressed her too hard, she's not really into coloring, either. I've always had a feeling she could do it, though. Tonight we were just playing around in the playroom downstairs and she busted this out after I showed her how to do it once. ONCE. She's been walking around the house spelling her name ever since. Stubborn, thy name is our children.

What you've been waiting for

2008-08-15T13:51:00.013-05:00

Girl loves her lures. After a while he started dumping buckets of water over himself.

Camping breakfast

I wanted to tell him that it will never get better than this--eating bacon and sitting on the potty.

He's totally ready for her to catch the big one.

Boys and fishes get the same reaction.

Yea, we were all grossed out.

Uncle Pat and Driver built a huge sand wall and then dared BSB to scale it.

"It's just a tiny baby perch!"

Camping is exhausting...

Holy Mother of God

2008-08-13T15:20:00.002-05:00

Yea, yea, we went on vacation. We took a camping trip with my brother and we had all sorts of fun and I have lots of cute pictures. Maybe, one day, after I get done hyperventilating over the passage of time, I will post some pictures with, I don't know, maybe a few words. Words about vacation. Right now? I'm going to tell you what I did today, and what I'm going to do tonight.

Do you want to know what I did with my morning? I packed up my two adorable kids and went to a local department store and bought them clothes. I bought them clothes today for two reasons: 1. This department store was having a sale, and 2. Back Seat Girl needed school clothes. As in clothes she will put on her body, then go to school in. SCHOOL. With a teacher. And other kids.

Guess what I'm going to do tonight? I'm going to pack up my two adorable kids again, this time with my husband, and then we're all going to ride in the station wagon to BSG's SCHOOL for orientation. Where I will get a folder containing, I don't know, whatever school orientation folders for parents contain. How am I supposed to know what school orientation folders contain? How exactly did I get to a point in my life where I would need a school orientation folder that didn't have anything to do with me going to school?

I remember 4 years and a couple of weeks ago I had a baby girl. It was simultaneously the worst and best day of my life. Luckily, as I lay exhausted in that hospital bed holding a blanket wrapped BSG, I did not know about all of the times in the coming years I would become breathless thinking about how time marches on whether or not we are ready for it.

The Day After A Birthday

2008-07-29T13:58:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday Shotgun!
Yesterday was Shotgun's birthday. Not a particularly festive one . There was no party, you even had to make dinner, but it was your favorite and there were fresh flowers on the table. And for dessert, two free Coldstone sundaes (one for shotgun's birthday, the other for back seat girl's). But, lets not forget, after the kids were in bed, you got to experience a few fleeting moment of bliss, laying in bed with your new sheets, watching the Twins shut out the White Sox, and reading some food porn.
I've seen quite a few of Shotgun's birthday celebrations in the past 10 or so years. This has to be one of the smallest. Usually the days before and after July 28th are part of a days long celebration of the shotgun's entrance into this world. It's something I always look forward to. This year was a bit more muted, but I have no doubt that the Shotgun birthday festivals will make their return sooner than later.

I love you,
Driver

Scenes from a Birthday Party

2008-07-27T13:52:00.012-05:00

Four years old

2008-07-25T16:23:00.007-05:00

This morning when you woke up you forgot it was your birthday for a few minutes. After we reminded you and got a round of birthday hugs, you were baffled. For starters, your voice didn't sound any different. Your hair was still long. No major changes had happened overnight while you were sleeping.

I wanted to tell you that no, these changes don't happen suddenly. They sneak up on you. First you're the tiny baby we brought home from the hospital, the first baby, the baby we sat and stared at and wondered what the hell we were doing. Then you were the tiny toddler who could talk in full sentences and start conversations with total strangers wherever you went. Now you're this little girl. A little girl who can't wait to go to school. A little girl who loves princesses and pink, yes, but also fishing and bugs. A little girl who really isn't scared or intimidated by much of anything -- except maybe thunderstorms.

So, Back Seat Girl, while you're terrifying us with all of this growing up, we want you to know how much we love you, how much you've taught us, and how much we can't wait to watch you grow and learn in the years to come.

Love, Mom & Dad (and your little brother)

For another great shot of BSG, click here.

Toilet water and its many uses.

2008-07-23T14:47:00.003-05:00

The days that I don't work here's how the mornings usually go around here: Kids wake up, I make breakfast, we eat, then they get down and run around the house in various stages of undress while I clean up the kitchen. They are always very good about entertaining themselves during this time, so it's easy for me to, hmm, I don't want to say "lose track" of them, but I definitely don't have an eye of them every minute.

Monday morning they were playing while I did dishes and talked to my mom on the phone. Suddenly I heard BSG say "Oh, [Back Seat Boy]!" from the bathroom in a very disapproving voice. I turned around to find BSB pushing the play mop in front of him, happily pretending to clean the floor, but this time, the mop was actually wet. "[BSG]" I called, "is that water from the toilet?" "Yea", she answered back. "Did you flush the toilet when you were done going poopy?" "No."

One word. Gross.

So I hung up with my mom and walked into the bathroom in time to see BSB plunging his mop into the toilet again. Luckily BSG's poop was very small and well-formed, so the mop wasn't actually touching poop, but still. It was touching toilet water than contained a turd in it. I took away the mop and put it where I thought BSB couldn't reach it, then flushed the toilet and started washing the trail of wet left behind by the mop.

I was in the kitchen on my hands and knees when I heard BSB's familiar little staccato steps behind me, and turned around to see him holding the mop over his head while drops of water fell into his hair. Awesome.

8 Years

2008-07-22T16:19:00.003-05:00

Happy Anniversary, Driver!

Can you believe we aren't driving home from any vacations or camping trips?

From those crazy college years, to those care-free DINK years living in uptown, to the small children and mortgage payment years, I wouldn't change a thing.

Cicada

2008-07-18T15:00:00.003-05:00

It's summer, I can't think of anything to write, here's some pictures

2008-07-18T14:41:00.007-05:00

Hi there-Man have I been neglecting this blog lately. We've been too busy around here going places and doing things and trying to wring the fun out of every last drop of summer this latitude will allow us.

It doesn't help that Mama Wonder is on maternity leave, so we've been hanging out, and every time we go anywhere I forget the camera.

Here are some pictures from the 4th of July, which we spent at my parent's house in rural WI. Bonus: my brother and Driver's sister were able to join us!

If she could roll her eyes, she would

2008-07-11T21:50:00.003-05:00

Back Seat Girl passed gas the other night, and me, being the immature person I am, immediately started laughing. BSG looked at me out of the corner of her eye and smiled. When it became apparent that I wasn't done laughing, she stopped smiling, put her hand out at me and said:
"Mom, it isn't necessary to laugh when I toot".

Then she left the room.

I lied

2008-06-19T14:27:00.007-05:00

Remember when I said I had NO pictures from the great camping disaster of '08? I do! I had exactly two. Here is the only one with the tent in it. Here is Back Seat Girl and her friend playing in our tent. Since I was posting pictures I also included the one we took during our hike this past Saturday morning, and the rest are eating smores with the Wonders in the backyard.

A sign I may not be the best person to teach them how to play sports

2008-06-12T21:04:00.004-05:00

This evening I got frustrated when my 1 and a half year old--who just started walking--and my 3 year old couldn't play baseball with each other.

I had to actually tell myself to take a step back, breathe, and think about how ridiculous my expectations were. Then I realized I will probably live longer if I just buy another whiffle ball bat and big bouncy ball.

We could have just put the tent up on the edge of a really high cliff and then all of my deepest fears could have been faced

2008-06-11T14:12:00.004-05:00

This past weekend may classify as the least successful camping trip of all time if by successful camping you mean to actually camp the nights you had planned on. Instead, I found myself in a hotel room at a well-known Wisconsin Dells resort re-heating chicken ole (a camping favorite in our family) on a camp stove sitting on a countertop while watching the weather channel. This was actually an improvement on just a few hours earlier when I was in a handicap/family shower at the campsite strategically planning the best place to put the kids so I could throw my body over them if the worst happened.

I'll spare you the details, including the part where we were driving to said bathroom in what felt like the dark of night and since it was the first time I had my back to the kids I started hyperventilating, which sparked Back Seat Girl to ask "Mommy, why do you sound like that?". Other than that instance I felt I kept it together pretty well for them. Had it just been Driver and I I'm pretty sure he'd still be trying to scrape me out of that shower. (If you're wondering what I'm talking about just google Lake Delton. That is the area we were camping in this weekend. At least tried camping in this weekend.)

Either way, we have exactly zero pictures from this weekend. Zero. Which means this is the first camping trip we've ever taken where we don't have a picture of the campsite or anything. It also means I don't have a picture of the giant orange tent, which, by the way, stayed up and relatively dry even after we abandoned it. Also-it was awesome. I can't wait to use it again. I think even people in campers were jealous of us. That is, of course, until we all fled. When Driver went back to the site on Sunday to pack up all of our stuff so we could come home he said the park was eerily quiet. He didn't see anyone.

Moral of the story: I lived through a severe thunderstorm with the threat of tornadoes and flooding while I was camping with the kids, and I feel like I should never have to do it again. You hear that weather gods? NEVER.

The big orange monster

2008-06-05T14:16:00.007-05:00

We here at Station Wagon Tales are a camping family. We love to camp, and take at least two camping trips every year. Driver and I thought it would be nice to buy a camper while walking through the fair last year. Not a big one, just a little pull-behind, nothing too fancy. Then we realized that we only have the ability to save up for one big purchase at a time, and a new house takes precedence, so we decided to buy a new tent instead. Our old giant tent had a bunch of broken poles, and to be honest, was bought for about $40 on Amazon.

So, we ordered a new tent a couple of weeks ago, and long story short, it arrived yesterday. I went out to the front porch anxious to see it. I bent down to pick it up, and realized it was too heavy for me to just pick up and carry into the house. The thing weighs a ton! I'm not wuss, but I ended up having to half drag, half roll it into the living room. We set it up last night in the yard, and even though it's only a foot wider than our old tent, it seems so much bigger. The walls are not sloped, but high, which makes it much more roomy inside, but also makes it look like we're setting up a small cottage to stay in. We're going camping this weekend, so I'll make sure to take some pictures to post later. Oh, yea, and did I mention it's orange?

Here is a bunch of pictures from May. There is no rhyme or reason to them, but I needed to slap them up there because Back Seat Boy is not going to take a good nap and I've got some major packing to do.

From the spring gymnastics show. She's the one in the middle with the navy blue and red leotard on. This picture does not do justice to how much smaller she was than eveyrone else.
In case you were wondering, yes, it is hard to be Back Seat Girl.

Where did the top of my head go.

Holding a leech!

Driver took the kids on a little nature walk one weekend while I was working, and after he showed me the pictures I said "Do you realize that BSB's shirt is on backwards? The buttons are supposed to be in the back." I still don't think he believes me.

BSB LOVES the sandbox.

He seems surprisingly taller

2008-05-27T13:44:00.002-05:00

I would like all of you to know that today Back Seat Boy WALKED into the living room. Back Seat Girl and I were in there picking up toys, and all of a sudden BSB walked in with a proud look on his face like "check me out, ladiez!". To my credit, I didn't completely freak out, but I wanted to.

He has been using those little legs more and more lately, but these last two days, and especially today, he's been walking much, much more. That's not to say I'm about to put him down at Target and see what he can do, but I am relieved he's decided it's not a bad way to get around, this 'walking' thing. He's still one hell of a crawler, though. Man, he should teach lessons.

Also, we were at Bruegger's eating breakfast this morning and there was a man at the table next to us in business attire enjoying a bagel and coffee, when BSG points at him and loudly exclaims "That guy looks like Icabod!".

And then I died. The End.

No-Pants Lance

2008-05-23T13:21:00.002-05:00

Last night when I put Back Seat Boy to bed, he was wearing jammies. Both the pants and the shirt. This morning when Driver got him out of bed, he wasn't wearing any pants. When I saw BSB, I asked Driver where his pants were. Driver looked at me with confusion and said "I thought you did that".

Upon further inspection we found his jammie pants in the crib. I really hope he doesn't figure out his diaper.

Hey, I know this guy

2008-05-19T21:50:00.003-05:00

I went to highschool with this guy. I really don't know what else to say, but click here and here, and try and tell me he's not the coolest guy you don't know.

Edited to add: I know the first link doesn't work, and now the stupid "Lawrentian" won't let me look at any articles without signing up, but if you click on the second link, just do a search and you'll be able to find the original article.

Not a Cuddler

2008-05-19T15:28:00.002-05:00

It's rainy and cold here today, and I'm in 'clean the house' mode, which is rare, and should be taken advantage of. Since we haven't really been following our weekly movie days around here now that it's finally been nice, I told Back Seat Girl she could watch a movie when she woke up from her nap. When she woke up the first words out of her mouth were "Can I watch Cinderella now?".

We went into the living room and I started the movie. Back Seat Boy was still sleeping, and BSG just looked so cute sitting on the couch excitedly waiting for her movie, that I asked if I could cuddle with her for a little while. I was already sitting next to her on the couch, and that was apparently enough for her. "You can just sit there", she told me. After a minute or so I leaned over and gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. She made a face and said "I told you you can sit next to me". Then she touched my leg with her toe and said "See, isn't this nice?"

I'm hoping she keeps this up into her teenage years. Should really reduce that teenage pregnancy risk.

Snatiation

2008-05-09T20:06:00.002-05:00

For all of you who are familiar with Driver's weird habit of sneezing after eating too much or being overly full (he often blames the 'bubbles from beer' for making him too full), here is some interesting reading for you. I don't know why we never thought to google it before, but tonight after taking the kids to our local ice cream parlor run by a huge, hairy biker full of tattoos (another reason to love Richfield), Driver was having a sneezing fit, and I casually asked if he'd ever googled 'sneezing when full' before. He immediately sat down at the computer, and a phenomenon that has plagued him for years, something I, along with many of his friends, have been teasing him about since college, finally has a name.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sneeze
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snatiation

More stubborn (and perhaps smarter) than we thought he was

2008-05-09T15:12:00.002-05:00

Dear [Back Seat Boy],
The jig is up. I know your secret. If you didn't want me to find out than you shouldn't have put on that little show at your Dr's appt. Maybe you wanted to make a fool out of mama? I tell the Dr "he still can't walk", the Dr takes you across the room, and you immediately start whimpering and walk across the room to me.

Here's something you should know about secrets. Once you let the world know, you can't make them un-know it. For instance, on Wednesday I saw you walk, without the aid of someone's hand, farther than any of the faltering, falling down steps you've taken at home. Now I know you can walk. The Dr. saw you walk and told me you can walk. I have a witness. This means that you can't pretend you don't know how when we're home. You can't crumple to the ground and crawl to me when I leave you standing somewhere and say "Walk to mommy!". You can't cry and reach for my hand when I tell you to walk the few steps between the rocking chair and your bookshelf to pick out books. You can't stand up, by yourself, in the middle of a room to throw a ball, then look right at me with that shitty grin on your face, slowly crouch down to a crawling position, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time, and crawl to get your ball.

I will admit that a few weeks ago I was heard saying that I really didn't need you to walk, because I love the way you crawl around, and I thought I was going to miss it. I figured this was the last 'baby' thing you do, and once you started walking you would stop being a baby and start being a toddler. I will probably miss the way you 'dance' while crawling, and the sight and sound of you crawling while holding something, but I have video and pictures, and quite honestly--YOU ARE 18 MONTHS OLD!! YOU WEIGH 26 POUNDS! I love you, but this is starting to wear a little thin.

In conclusion: I know you can walk, you know you can walk, and, according to the Dr, you need a little "motivation". Well, I can tell you that we will start walking across the bridge at the playground. I will hold your hand, but there will be no more crawling over all of the playground equipment. Second, I will no longer rush to you to clean off your hands when you hold them up to me, whining, because we are outside and you got tree buds or other miscellaneous pieces of nature on them crawling around the yard. If you really need to be held by someone you really don't like to find the motivation to walk, then I will find a total stranger to come over every day and hold you across the room from me until you figure out that walking is a much more efficient way to get around than crawling. Please, Back Seat Boy, please. I really think you'll have so much more fun this summer if you just get those chubby little legs underneath you and start walking around.

Love,
Mama

Ruining her chances of running for public office one post at a time

2008-05-02T08:02:00.006-05:00

This conversation took place while Back Seat Girl was sitting on the potty and the rest of us were in the living room:
BSG: OOH! I smell my poopy!
D: What does it smell like?
BSG: Yucky!!
Pause...
BSG: I've got poopy hanging out!
Small Pause...
BSG: I got rid of it!!

Here are some miscellaneous pictures. The family one was taken at the Twins game. We did some self portraits (held the camera out in front of us) which I thought were pretty cool, the problem was that half of someone's head was always cut off. I guess that's what you have to deal with in a family full of large-headed people.

Still doesn't like haircuts

2008-04-02T13:54:00.007-05:00

"Smile like this?"

concentrating

"Excuse me, but you are sitting in front of a ball I would very much like to play with."

Singing AND getting her picture taken. That's multitasking for you.

I took the kids to get some long overdue haircuts today. We always get the first appointments, and Back Seat Girl is always first. When she woke up this morning the first thing she said to Driver was "I'm going to get my hair cut today!".

Today's appointment went like the first two times I've had to take them both to get cut. The hairdresser says "Who wants to go first?" and BSG bounds over without a backwards glance. After I gave instructions for her haircut I took Back Seat Boy over to another waiting hairdresser, and as soon as he realized he was going to be put down into the chair he started crying. Frosted animal cookie? No, won't even look at it, much less grab it. Look! Barney on TV!! Nope, not looking at that either. He cried and drooled and ate just enough of his cookie that the front of his cape was wet with slightly frosted drool. Then, just to make his point, he managed to drool so much that it was running off of the cape onto the floor. He got mad. He reached for me. He got all red and splotchy. The second I picked him up, he stopped. I wish that kid would understand I'm paying pretty decent money to get his haircut and it's hard to get a good haircut when the subject is screaming and reaching for his mommy the whole time.

Meanwhile, across the room, BSG chatted happily with the girl cutting her hair. Every once in a while I can hear her say "[BSB]" in a sing-song way to try to get him to stop crying, but for the most part she's just talking away. I made my way over to her with her brother, who looked like he had a beard since his hair was stuck to his wet face, and got there just in time to hear the hairdresser ask her what color her hair was. "Blonde", replied BSG matter-of-factly. "How did you get to be so smart?" asked her hairdresser. BSG had no answer, so the hairdresser turned and told me she'd been counting and talking and carrying on. In fact, BSG was so charming she managed to get a free braid out of the deal. I'm telling you, that girl charms the pants off of strangers. I rarely go anywhere with her without having a conversation with a total stranger either about her or started by her. Really, if she's acting like a brat around you, you should take it as a compliment--she feels comfortable with you. If you're a stranger she'll be on her best behaviour.

Dear March,

2008-03-26T11:52:00.002-05:00

I know today is just a tease. You can't fool me. Don't try to get me all excited about spring again, March. I won't fall for it twice.

Hugs and Kisses,
Shotgun

He is Risen!

2008-03-23T19:36:00.002-05:00

Happy Easter!!

[insert picture of a happy family here. Not a family where the little girl is eating jelly beans out of an egg holding it just out of reach of her baby brother who is freaking out and reaching for the "ball, ball!", with a mom and dad trying to look happy and peacefull and failing miserably.]

A Poem

2008-03-19T11:51:00.001-05:00

By: Back Seat Girl

Perfume, perfume
I got a friend with two Perfumes
His name is Fred

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2008-03-17T11:14:00.005-05:00

You knew I was going to mention this eventually, didn't you?

2008-03-15T10:29:00.002-05:00

I just finished reading the "Sports Illustrated" Special Tribute Edition on Brett Favre. Cover to Cover. I read every word, every photo caption, everything, and I relished it all.

Favre played 16 years as a Packer, which means I was 14 that fateful day when Don "The Majic Man" Majkowski got hurt and he stepped up to win the game. He started every game for the Packers after that. For 16 years. That is amazing to me. I hate calling in sick to work, but I've still done it from time to time, and for the past 4 years I haven't even worked full time. Also, as I look back on my almost 8 year career at the VA, I can't recall a time when anyone has ever open-field tackled me in the lab.

I remember the terrible times before Brett Favre. All of those losing seasons. I think the last time they made it to the playoffs before Brett took them there in '93 was in 1982. That's just getting to the playoffs. They hadn't even gotten to the post season in 11 years. I remember Randy Wright (Randy WRONG), Anthony Dillweg, and, of course, Don Majkowski. I also remember Majkowski's sexified commercials on local TV, but that's beside the point.

I was in Winona during their Super Bowl years, and I felt cheated. I was in MN, where most of my classmates came from somewhere in MN, and they did not like Brett Favre or the Packers. Luckily we could get local stations from LaCrosse, so I did manage to watch a lot of Packers coverage on the news, but at my parent's house the local news is from Green Bay, and their lead story of almost every newscast during the football season was about the Packers. Everything you've heard about the mania in that state regarding their football team is true. It's something, and it's really fun to be a part of. I used to regularly argue with my teacher in gradeschool on Monday mornings about the Packers. "They should play this guy", "No, he sucks, they should stay with this guy".

I'm sad to see him go. No matter how the season was going, he was always fun to watch. I know that we probably won't hear from him much now. He'll resurface when they induct him into the Hall of Fame and then disappear again. I'm glad that I will get to tell my children and grandchildren that 'yea, I remember watching Brett Favre play', and even though they will roll their eyes and wonder why I think they care, I'll care.

So there you have it. The post I've been trying to avoid writing since I heard the sad news two weeks ago. I guess my WI roots just won't let me be quiet about the subject. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my cheesehead and get back to work.