Best. New Year's Eve. Ever

So I've spent new Year's Eve hopping from bar to bar in San Francisco and Seattle. I've spent it at parties with more alcohol served and enjoyed than my head liked to think about come New Year's Day. But nothing could beat this year's festivities. We turned out the lights and the boys donned their new headlamps from Santa. Then we played hide and seek. And camping under the covers of the big bed. And painting with light. And going outside to see if there is still ice in the water of our planters (there is).

I feel sorry for those poor suckers looking for a good time in Times Square or the Space Needle or any of the millions of rockin' bars around the world. Because the real good times are happening at a private party right here in Milton. Go figure.

Things my children teach me...

Last night as I was obsessively attempting to recreate one of the structures on the paper that came with the boys' new Lincoln Logs set, the boys got sick of my inability to have fun with it and pretty much moved on. Until Eddie grabbed a few pieces of log and opted to do some freestyle construction. Here's what he came up with:





Ladies and Gentlemen, a Lincoln Log Teeter Totter. Works, too. So whilst I joylessly tried to recreate what I was "supposed" to build, he kept it simple and quickly made what he wanted to build. Between that and both boys' joy at mixing up Play-Doh colors, I'm realizing that my rigid desires to do things the "right" way are hampering my enjoyment of life. (Not that I don't enjoy the bloody hell out of it already, but you know, it's not like you can ever enjoy life too much.) So though I don't typically make (OK, "keep" is more accurate) New Years resolutions, I'm going to try to follow their lead in 2007.

Because sometimes, a teeter totter is better than a stinkin' fort anyway.

Merry Freakin' Christmas (a couple of days later..)

Eddie was thrilled with "James's Ruhventures."

Getting Take Along James Goes Buzz Buzz Buzz gave Chas quite a thrill.

Eddie Gives Pink Grandma a thorough checkup.

Chas checks Pink Grandma's heart.

So Christmas went about as well as I have any right to expect. The boys loved their toys, dinner went well (slightly burnt dressing notwithstanding) and best of all, no "Christmas is over" depression. I got a mild twinge Christmas night when Eddie asked if Christmas was over.





Oh, and the boys were extraordinarily charming, running to greet and hug their grandma and grandpa when they arrived. On Christmas Eve, they were stunningly patient as all the other kids opened presents and we sort of forgot to get them something to open. (Chas asked very nicely if they had presents, too.)





The first present opened -- Thomas bikes were just out in the open -- was a doctor kit. Chas opened it and said, "Oh no. I don't like this." We laughed our butts off. Turns out he DOES like it, but immediately thought it was some sort of cruel Santa trick to get him a doctor's visit on Christmas.

Santa's Work is Never Done.

OK, actually Santa's work is done at about 12:20 a.m. December 25. At least in our house. The boys, per usual, are getting an obscene amount of stuff. The biggest and brightest among a sea of big, bright toys are two Thomas the Tank Engine bikes. Shiny, new and with James and Thomas on them, they are gong to be big hits, she said, hopefully.

Actually, given that the boys took a 3-hour nap this afternoon, I am pleasantly surprised that we got them to bed and finished up our elfly duties before 2 a.m., let alone at the insanely reasonable hour of shortly after midnight.

Oh and one other major debacle to report. Remember the nap? Well, while they napped, moms rolled out, baked and decorated a butt-load of sugar cookies for the family party. Task done. But then I went to take a brief 15 minute nap after they got up. My blissful rest was shattered by the heartbroken wail of my Eddie. "Mommy made them without me!" Now I was heartbroken as well. But we're going to make New Year's cookies, I promise. But maybe a half recipe as I'm sick to death of sugar cookies.

And finally, the evening would not be complete without a worry to share. We got home from my sister's house and Chas had hives all over his face -- no surprise as her dog licked him and that always gives the little allergy boy hives. But then Eddie starts complaining that his tongue itches. Eventually he decides that he bit it and it hurts. But I can't stop fretting about whether it's actually just the beginnings of anaphylaxis. I want to check on his breathing oh, every 30 seconds or so. this is not conducive to a restful night. We gave both boys Dimetapp for their colds, which contains and antihistamine. Then we gave Eddie Tylenol because he kept crying about how bad his tongue hurt. Which is probably overkill if he bit it. And drastically undertreating it if it's anaphylaxis. I'll rest much easier once the little bugger comes to crawl in bed with us.

Oh, and Merry Christmas!

A 21st Century Milestone...

Steph told me about this as she was getting Chas off the computer and I got the bath ready for the boys. But it didn't register until I just sat down at the computer and saw the screen.

For the first time in his life, on December 22, 2006, Chas Googled himself. The results weren't spectacular -- The Contractor's Health and Safety Assessment Scheme was the top result. But just a couple of sites down there was the Consortium on High Achievement And Success. So a rather inauspicious first google, but not too bad for a 3 1/2 year old. Sigh. They grow up so fast.

What does s-h-u-t-t-h-e-f-u-p spell, Mommy?

So Eddie's latest obsession is words and spelling them out. He wants to read so badly it's killing me. Every sign, every word every letter. He reads them all and askes, "What does that spell, Mommy?" This was cute the first 48 hours or so. Now it's just annoying. Especially since he has a tendency to run words together and start in the middle if we passed something in the car and he missed the beginning. Like if a sign says "Tacoma Next Exit," he'll ask, "m-a-n-e-x-t-e-x-i-t, what does that spell?"

The way I see it, either he learns to read before Kindergarten or it's going to be a looong year and a half.

A Snowball's Chance

Yes, yes, it's been a while. Not because there's been nothing to report, but because I've been busy with this thing called life.

Anyway, last weekend we took the boys for a train ride with Santa, known as the Snowball Express. It was lots of fun but for me it was mostly an opportunity to take lots and lots and lots of photos of my guys. So here are a few. I particularly like how Steph and Eddie share a 'tude in the first one.

Stinkin' Farts

So let me set the stage. Tonight Canadian wife and I (she's not from Canada, but that's the only place we're currently married. Oh, and I suppose in Massachusetts, sort of, but not in the eyes of the federal government, so I continue to consider her my Canadian wife) got the boys ready for bed, then put them in the van to go look at Christmas lights about 20 minutes away.

Within a few blocks, CW and I were practically high-fiving each other as the boys' eyes drooped and we made plans to do this every freakin' night. Then we hit the light display and they rallied. After a couple of loops through the light up neighborhood, we headed back and they were pretty wakeful. They insisted they wanted to go somewhere else. They were not specific about where somewhere else was, but very specific about where it was not -- home. Since we were still deluding ourselves into thinking that the lights were a temporary setback, we decided to indulge them and drive around a bit more. They wanted to know exactly where we were going, which seemed unfair since they wouldn't tell us where they wanted to go. But we settled on "looking for Christmas" which satisfied them for a while. Eventually Chas fell asleep. But not Eddie, who became convinced that we were lost.

Now, an aside on the whole pointless driving to put boys to sleep thing. Mea culpa. I am fairly certain that by the time they are grown, the cumulative total of miles driven to put them to sleep will result in 1 degree increase in global temperatures. I'm sorry.

OK, back to our story. Eventually, we decide that this is really pointless and head home. Eddie keeps asking where we're going. We tell him he'll see. Then he starts asking if we're there yet. So I tell him yes, that's why we're not stopping. This exchange happens a couple of times, then CW and I get really annoying and start telling him, "Now we're here and in a second we'll be there. Oh look, now we're here." This was, admittedly, obnoxious. But his angry response took me by surprise:

"You stinkin' farts!"

Now I've called the boys little stinkers, little farts, and in my more uncharitable moments, little stink-butts. But the rather, um, charming melding of two of these endearments took me a bit by surprise. Oh well.

Now he's in bed and I am getting him a drink of water. Can't you tell? But he's catching on and yelling for me. I'd better go before he either wakes his brother or bursts out in a streak of curses based on other words he's heard his mommy use.

Chas may have a career writing dialogue for cheesy action flicks. Or not.

This afternoon as I tried to hurry the boys to their despised Kindermusik class (ok, despised is kind of a strong word, but they aren't excited about it) they wanted to instead build a train track. I told them this could wait until we returned but Chas turned to me and said, quite earnestly, "There's no time to use (lose), Mommy!"

So I'm thinking mindless action. Until tonight when he tries to pull a game out of a pile of games and can't get it. "Oh, dear," he repeats several times. Hmm. Maybe not so macho after all.

Actually, my little entomologist, you can bite me.

This morning Chas awoke to tell me he'd been dreaming about bugs. Let me assure you, I knew instantly this was not a good dream as Chas is very, very afraid of bugs.

I actually paused a millisecond to consider just how truthful/detailed I would be in my response. Thinking of things like brown recluse spiders, should I go with "most bugs" won't hurt you or the usually but not always true "bugs" won't hurt you. I determined that the difficulties inherent in making this distinction would render the entire effort useless -- all bugs would instantly be brown recluse spiders in his frightened mind. So I went with a sin of omission.

"Bugs can't hurt you Chas," I said. "Bugs don't hurt people."

I had barely stopped speaking when Eddie weighed in, quite thoughtfully.

"Umm. Aren't wasps insects?" He asked, helpfully.

Knowing when I'd been beat, I changed the subject.

Now I know how they felt when The Beatles broke up.

Greg Wiggle is retiring due to some crazy-ass illness. I watched his farewell video, including the handing over of the yellow "skivvy" to the new guy, Sam Moran, and found myself inexplicably verklempt. Ironically, The Wiggles are Eddie and Chas' big enterainers, not mine. And yet I suspect they may not even notice that the lead freakin' singer has been replaced. But, but, it's like if the Beatles replaced Paul McCartney with Dave Clark or if Van Halen replaced David Lee Roth with Sammy Hagar. Wait, scratch that last one.

Still, it's the end of an era. I interviewed Greg Wiggle over the phone earlier this year. And now, to quote a Wiggles song, Whoop-De-Doo.

When first heard the news, I thought, 'Surely he's just stopping the live tours but he'll do the TV show." Then I realized he was hanging up his yellow skivvy altogether.

I feel so abandoned -- but it's not all about me and my feelings, is it Greg? No, it's you and your stupid illness. Why did you have to have those hernia surgeries that may have triggered this? Are you really so selfish?

OK, look, how about you just take a break for a few months -- I'm sure you'll feel better and maybe you can just cut down on some of the touring. Get one of the other Wiggles to take the wheel of the Big Red Car. Please?

Oh, God. I can't believe this is happening. I am inexplicably bereft -- hopeless and living as if in a fog rolling in off of Wiggle Bay. Everything seems so dark, like Caveland.

OK, this is it. He's really gone. I don't like it, but it's reality. I can't control Greg or his blood flow to his extremities. Nor can I control my curiousity about how this blood flow impacts him in other performance areas, if you get my drift. Life will go on, different than before, but still worthwhile.

Whew, that's a relief. I'm through with the 5 stages of grief over the loss of our Wiggles lead singer -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance -- and I can go on with life.

Godspeed, Greg Wiggle Page. At least you didn't leave to try to become a rock star like Joe's brother Steve Burns. Or get stabbed to death by a stingray. I'm grateful for that.

Would you believe I've been suffering from temporary amnesia and forgot I had a blog?

Yeah, I'm not buying it either. But really, where did the month of November sneak off to? My last post was Nov.2? Really? I suck at this. Anyway, again beating the crowds, we saw Santa before Halloween. Here, for your viewing pleasure, are the results.

We put up the Christmas Tree Saturday, to the joy and delight of 3/4 of the household. Except when the boys were left alone with the tree at the beginning. Steph and I were in the garage, either looking for something or hiding from the boys, when Chas opened the door and announced, "Eddie is really, really sorry." Uh oh. After another couple of these pronouncements, Eddie himself appeared. His eyes were brimming with tears and his lower lip was quivering quite unironically. He had broken the funnel off of the glass train ornament we got in Skagway.

Now, those who know me well would think that I would be upset by the broken ornament. But the sight of my poor, heartbroken boy made the stupid ornament seem so pointless. I held him and told him it was OK while he sobbed for a few minutes. I think that's one of those horrible growing up moments, realizing that beautiful, fragile things do indeed break. And all the mom's horses and all the mom's men can't put them back together again. Heavy sigh. One more piece of innocence lost.

OK, maybe I see why he put such meaning and import into breaking a freaking ornament.

Upon decorating the tree, the boys were convinced that it was going to be Christmas the very next day and were worried that Santa wouldn't come without snow. We told them they would have to wait many, many days and that it wouldn't snow and by golly, the next day, there was snow on the cars.

Today, there was a bit more and they are convinced that they caused it. Eddie started screaming out the window, "Snow, clouds! More snow!" Alas, it hasn't yet worked.

Sure, he was fine. He got nitrous oxide. What about me???

So today was Eddie's big day at the dentist. Two fillings which I'm absolutely certain are the result of my negligent parenting. I did my best to make him think it was a fun adventure, so much so that he quite happily left me in the waiting room to fret as he marched happily back. He must have been so shocked.

After a little more than an hour, someone came to summon me to look in on him (but not to speak aloud lest he realize I was there). He was flat on his back, tilted head-down with a little nose mask thing on and his mouth propped open seemingly watching a Thomas DVD. In theory, I guess I was supposed to relax at that point seeing as he was not screaming or crying. But I kept wondering if he was being still because he was so scared -- that's kind of his M.O. I could barely sit still in the waiting room, but pacing feverishly seemed a bit melodramatic. But that's what I felt like doing.

He came out about 20 minutes later, looking more than a little shell-shocked and with a cotton roll clutched between his teeth. The woman who brought him out told me he got a cool fish in his bag. It's bath toy sort of thing. But it was all I could do not to tell her, "Pah! I laugh at your puny fish toy!" Because let's face it, the boy was getting more than that for being such a trooper. At home he was treated to a rock mountain quarry takealong Thomas thing. He likes it a lot -- so does Chas, who has been reminded by Eddie that it isn't his prize because he didn't go to the dentist.

He seems to be doing better, perking up nicely. I, however, still need a stiff drink.

In completely unrelated news, Halloween was quite nice. The boys looked smashing and had a ball.

Mommy, I hurted myself!

So I'm in my bedroom, minding my own business, when I hear Eddie cry out, "Mommy! I hurted myself!"
Being a relatively caring mother, I inquired how he hurt himself. I was expecting either a screaching condemnation of his brother so that I could tell Chas not to hit, kick, pinch, punch or look at his brother with furrowed brow, whichever transgression he was accused of. Or I would simply be given a body part to kiss better. No. I got the following description. It's not absolutely verbatim because it took me a while to get in here to write it down. But it is the gist of how Eddie got hurted.

"I went potty so I had to wash my hands but when I went to wash my hands I saw my really good puzzle and I stopped to look at it and there were cars on it so I picked the cars up and when I throwed them off of my puzzle one of the cars bounced off the box and it came back and landed on me there (points tearfully to his toe)."

This never happened to him when he wore diapers.

Pumpkins and Trains. Doesn't get any better than that.

We took the boys on the Pumpkin Express at the Mt. Rainier Scenic Railroad Saturday. They loved it. However, enroute, we were concerned about missing the train. So Eddie had to take the map and study it to make sure we were going the right way. So typical. Anyway, the boys were jumping up and down in excitement. We rode on real steamies and even got to watch as they switched our engines from a tender to a tank engine -- JUST LIKE THOMAS. It's hard to imagine anything more exciting. Oh, and we got dirty steam water spit onto us. It was thrilling beyond measure.

Pumpkin Patch Daredevils

The boys' first school field trip was a huge success. They went to a pumpkin patch yesterday and selected small specimens to take home. But their absolute favorite part was careening down a wood chip pile in various vehicles. It's a wonder no bones were broken, and kind of unfair really -- because a classmate broke his femur over the weekend just playing at home. Six weeks in a pretty major cast. What a nightmare.

Also, the boys have become quite avid storytellers. Today as we drove to pick up Auntie Cathy from the car repair place, they told the story of the cat they first saw in our cul-de-sac. Apparently this cat ran and jumped into trees, clouds, mountains, swimming pools, valleys etc. It was a loooong story. But it's quite fun to hear their growing imaginations at work -- and to know that they are developing a sense of narrative. Chas says he wants to be a writer when he grows up - poor kid. Eddie, on the other hand, says he doesn't want to grow up.

Of course, this post is really just an excuse to post some pics from the pumpkin patch....

This boy is gonna make a great husband someday...

As the family sat down for dinner tonight, Eddie looked at Steph and announced that he had a good day. "But first tell me about your day," he said. "How was your day?"

And as she talked of widgets and matrixes and crap that makes my eyes glaze over, he actually appeared to be genuinely interested, asking questions etc. And it occurred to me that if he can maintain this attitude into his adult years he will make someone very happy. Or be a total pain in the ass. Come to think of it, both of those things are already true. He makes me (and Steph) very happy. And he is a total pain in our asses.

I'm not saying Chas is an artistic genius or anything...

But only because his work speaks for itself.

That's not nice.

So today I gave the boys a little dollop of bleu cheese dressing to go with their carrot sticks at lunch. It's egg-free, of course. But they didn't know that. Eddie looks at it and positively screams at me. "Mom! You gave him 'llergic salad dressing. That's not nice!"

I explained. But I'm not convinced they don't still think I'm trying to harm them...

Mmm, the cream is so delicious, sez Chas

Mommy's Little Insomniac

Last night, undoubtedly owing to long naps yesterday, the boys were troublesome trucks at bedtime. Chas wanted in Eddie's bed. Eddie wanted ... well, he wanted Chas out of his bed. They were semi-settled (though we kept hearing conversation) when we went to the bedroom to watch a completely unsatisfying Tivo'ed "Cold Case." I checked on them at 11 p.m. Chas was curled up asleep in the smaller of the two chairs in the room. Eddie was in ... Chas' bed. Apparently, he didn't want in his bed, he just didn't want Chas there. Whatever. He was still awake, so I asked him what he was doing in his brother's bed. "I'm just laying here quietly until I can go to the big bed," he said. I was amused, so I told him to come with me to the big bed. Then I picked up Chas who was completely terrified by being picked up while in a dead sleep.

Anyway, I put both boys in bed with Steph while I retreated to the bathroom to do my nightly rituals (which includes reading trashy mags like Entertainment Weekly). When I came to bed it was after 11:30 p.m. and Eddie was still awake. So I asked him why. "I have no idea," he sighed. Eventually, he left us to go get in his own bed. I stopped asking questions at that point and just went to sleep myself. This morning I awoke to both boys in our bed. To quote Eddie, "I have no idea" how that happened...

I'm brave, Eddie says, letting go.

Evidence that they DO hear me...

This morning Eddie marches into the living room with the bedroom remote. "Chas wants to watch TV and I told him, 'Chas! We watch too much TV.'" Of course, he only remembers that when it's Chas' turn to pick out a program. But still. I'm impressed that my nagging doesn't go in one ear and out the other. And of course reminded that Eddie thinks he really is one of the parents around here.

Chas has been soldiering through a cold. (So actually, I'd let him watch as much TV as he wanted. Don't tell Eddie.) Eddie was very animated and participatory in the library story time this morning -- shocked the heck out of the librarians who commented on how well-behaved they were. I was equally stunned. These are not the same children who pouted and clung to me last spring when I tried to get them to take part in story time.

Oh, and Eddie found the duplicate navy blue Thomas shirt. This is identical to the one he wore on his first day of school. So I let Chas wear the duplicate Jay Jay shirt. So we showed up at library story time looking very much like they hadn't changed clothes and of course one of the moms from the preschool was there. OK, fine. But tonight Eddie had a nut-out over picking out clothes for tomorrow because he wants to wear the same damn shirt. Not only that, but he doesn't want me to wash it or wear the identical one if it's clean. "I want dirty!!!" Steph says she sees my future relationship with Eddie as one long succession of battles of will. I say it ain't the future, baby, it's the here and now. Poor Steph and Chas can't do much but stand back, watch and hope we both come out of it alive. And not deaf.

And the March Away From Me Begins....

OK, so maybe I'm being a wee bit melodramatic. But the boys started preschool today. The morning began with boys boys asleep and me getting in the shower. When I came out of the bathroom, only Chas was still in bed. I went looking for Eddie and found him -- he had stripped naked and crawled onto their changing table with the Thomas shirt we set out for him the night before. I don't know what was more amusing to me -- the idea that he thinks he needs to get dressed on the changing table because that's where I dress him (purely out of convenience) or that he was so eager to get to school.

Chas was a little less excited -- he wanted to make sure Eddie was coming with him on this grand adventure. And neither boy wanted me to leave. So I happily stayed and took pictures even as most of the other parents left. Meanwhile, my phone is ringing every 15 minutes with either Steph checking on the boys or my sister checking on me and laughing at me for staying. Eddie particularly enjoyed playing with the Playdough and Chas liked the toy trains. But their favorite thing was definitely snack time. For some reason, Chas has been ravenous all day -- he kept telling me he was hungry beginning at least 30 minutes before snack time. Oh, and he's coming down with a cold I discovered this afternoon, so he probably infected all of his new friends. Eddie mostly just liked his placemat. He wants a picture of it.

But, aside from the cold, we're all doing well. Tired, but happy. Oh, and our 4-year-old neighbor, Daniel, actually came over to play. His older sister had to pretty much physically put him in the toy car to ride with the boys, but the ice was apparently broken and he followed Eddie and Chas into the house to play with trains for a while. This is good. I worry that he gets lonely. And kindergarten is going to be tough for a child who is so shy. (I know -- worry about my own kids, right?)

Oh, and the worst part? I didn't get any really good pictures of the boys on their first day of school. Oh, sure, I took 68. But none of them are too exciting.

The God Book

Eddie approached me today asking me to throw something away because it "smells pisgusting." It was the remnants of a fish oil capsule that we give them daily to ensure that when they flunk out of school or need glasses we can be assured it wasn't our fault. But I digress from my main point.

I asked him where he got it. "It was on the God book," he said.

The God book? I asked him what that was and he pulled out a "Five Minute Bible Stories For Children" book from our hall closet. Now, I think I've read exactly one story from this to the boys, several months ago. We set it aside not because we're Godless heathens but because, frankly, there are no trains, airplanes or cars. Not even a single talking dog, let alone one with a British accent I can fake badly when reading aloud. (Seriously, how DID this bible book ever become a best seller?) How does he know this stuff? He's an amazement, my boy.

And my other boy, well, he's an amazement, too. They won cheese-tastic stuffed prizes at the fair -- they selected stuff green peace signs over smiley faces. And then Chas proceeded to tell me it was "peace." And then he began describing things that meant peace -- like trees and stuff. I was befuddled until Steph reminded me of Todd Parr's Peace Book which he was apparently remembering.

So there you have it. God and Peace. Whatever my shortcomings as a parent may be -- and they are legion -- I figure boys who can talk about God and peace have gotta mean I'm doing something right.

And suddenly I have a chatterbox...

I had a meeting today with a woman for this ridiculous church thing. Which is all to say, I don't want to bother explaining it because it's not important. However, I thought we were grabbing coffee and doing a quick "Hi, How areya" kind of deal. So my sister was out of town and I thought, heck, I'll just bring the boys and they can get some chocolate milk with whipped cream and she'll be charmed by them and everyone will be happy. Only she wanted to talk to me for an hour and a half in her office. OK. So her receptionist comes and offers the boys crayons in an attempt to lure them into the other room. Of course... they went. Happily. Willingly. It was very distracting. I kept turning around and looking into the office where they were -- I could see through the glass. They seemed fine. It was weird. When I retrieved them, the two young women in the office had been entertaining them with coloring pages downloaded from the 'net etc. Then the women told me how nice the boys are, which is true. They said the boys told them about going to the fair and eating caramel apples and scones. Which means the boys talked to them. This is decidedly odd.

After we left, Eddie told me that he neglected to tell them about his trips (?!?!?) but that he also told them all about the Cars movie. Then he dropped the bombshell.

Eddie: "I frew the ball at Chas and then I frew up."
Me: "WHAT?!?!"
Eddie: "I frew up."
Me: "Where -- in there?"
Eddie: "In the potty."
Me: "In the potty where we just were -- in that potty?"
Eddie: "Yeah. I frowed up in the potty."

Now my mind is reeling. Did he throw up? Did they take him to the potty without me knowing? If he went to the potty to either "frow up" or pee, what state did he leave it in? I almost called to apologize and offer to come back to clean up. But then I realized that I didn't particularly like this organization -- or at least not the woman I met with. So if he's gonna "frow up" it might as well be there. But I can't believe he did -- without crying or fussing or anything. And he seems fine.

Odd.

If it's the mutton that gets busted, why does my head hurt?

There are times as a parent when you agonize over whether you are making the right decision, doing the right thing for your child. And then there are times when you rush headlong into a dangerous, stupid and in all ways ridiculous activity with your child without so much as a tiny voice of caution to get in your way. In other words, sometimes you take your 31/2 year old boys "mutton busting."



Mutton busting involves taking small children -- under 6 years and 60 lbs -- putting them in protective vests and helmets, sticking 'em on sheep and releasing said sheep into an arena while an audience screams and yells encouragement. I thought it was 6 and up, but our neighbor assured us it was 6 and under. So of course, that means we had to check it out and see if the boys could be convinced.

The object is to try to stay on for 6 seconds. The grand prize winner for the whole fair gets $500 or something and a fancy belt buckle. Now, I realize this is insane. But I actually found myself thinking, hmm. Maybe one of the boys will turn out to be a mutton busting genius. Wow. I hope one of them doesn't get called back to the finals and the other one not.

In hindsight, the helmets and vests should have raised some concern. Or the notion that staying on for 6 seconds is a supreme achievement. But the first real consideration that we might not be making a wise parenting choice came when a fellow parent asked, seconds before we put our children on these beasts, "What's the difference between doing this and just throwing our kids in there."
"We won't get in trouble for this," another parent helpfully answered.
"Heh heh heh. Wha?" I thought.
The first one out the shoot was a little girl. As soon as they released the sheep, she was pretty much on her butt. I don't know that it was her fall -- it happened so fast I'm not sure he saw it -- or the loudness of the crowd, but Chas quickly decided he would have none of it, despite the fact that just minutes before he had been jumping up and down in anticipation of riding a sheep.

That meant Eddie got scooped up and put on Chas' sheep. Before he could register what was happening, let alone raise a protest, the sheep was released and he was on the ground. I could tell right away he was crying. Hard. He told us his head was hurt. Before long, he fell asleep, leading Steph to wonder aloud if he could be concussed. Great, one more thing to worry about. I worried that we may have knocked some of the smart out of him, but Steph said he's still got enough intelligence to know that he doesn't want to ride a sheep ever again. I'm fairly sure, however, that we knocked at least a couple of points off his eventual SAT scores. If he just misses getting into the college of his choice, I'll be bitterly muttering "Mutton-busting!"





He remains bitter and says the sheep riding was not great. Chas is happy with his last-minute decision not to go. And I figure the $10 we paid is simply akin to a small fine for really crappy parenting.

The case of the missing sandal.

One of Chas' sandals has been missing more than 24 hours now, so I think I should make a police report. The house is cleaner than it's been in weeks, if not months. Admittedly, this isn't saying much, but still. This is not the state of the house that I expected to lose a sandal in.

It's driving. Me. Crazy.

Who the hell is Halloween for, anyway?

OK, I've known from the beginning that I had a limited number of years to pick their Halloween costumes. So year one, they were adorable as giraffes in Noah's ark. When they were 2, oh Lordy they were so cute as Minnesota Twins, even though Eddie was a very sick little ballplayer. And last year? Last year the Wright Brothers soared off the cute scale.

And somehow, I deluded myself into thinking that this year I'd get to pick their costumes again. Maybe Thing 1 and Thing 2. Or Buzz Lightyear and Woody. I was thinking hard and getting kind of excited about the whole process. Then they saw a damned Costumes Express catalog. And inside was a Thomas costume. And now they are both stubborning clinging to the thought that they will be Thomas. I briefly got excited when I saw that All Aboard Toys is getting a James costume. But I quickly realized that forcing one boy to be James would just be cruel. Percy, maybe, but not James.




Don't they know they are sacrificing a chance at originality and self-expression at the altar of Thomas? Worse, it's MY originality and self-expression they're sacrificing. And they aren't even old enough to properly experience any guilt trip I might be inclined to send them on. Motherhood is a mutha sometimes.

Progress. I think.

The boys are so excited about going to the fair today that Eddie got up, took his own PJs off and dressed himself. This is a first. I said I needed to take a shower first, so Chas told me to "go, then." OK, kind of amusing. But while I was in the shower, Eddie mysteriously disappeared. I asked him where they went. "Oh, I took them off because they are wet and I peed on them."

"Eddie, why did you pee in your pants?" "Because I was playing in the sandbox."

Now, forgetting that the response made almost no sense, this is something of a breakthrough. "Why did you pee your pants? Why did you throw water out of the tub? Why did you do that incredibly annoying thing?" The answer to these questions has always been the same, maddening thing. "Because I did."

So though playing in the sandbox makes no sense, it's at least the beginnings of a real answer. And perhaps more. Because when I went to retrieve his discarded pants they were... dry. The shorts were, anyway. The underpants had just the slightest damp spot. I looked at them and then at the bare-butted boy sitting happily in his sandbox playing and it occurred to me that his answer may have been freakishly accurate. Is it possible that the boy likes the feel of sand under his naked tushy so much that he would let loose with a tiny amount of urine to justify removing his pants so he could enjoy the gritty pleasures of half-naked sandbox time? This prospect leaves me with conflicting emotions. But I think I'm mostly amused.

Bidding a reluctant au revoir to summer...

It is becoming something of a tradition, seeing as we've done it two years in a row now, to go camping on Labor day weekend. This year we trekked all the way to Millersylvania, a wildly over-populated state park near Olympia -- all of 45 minute from home. It was our first camping trip in ages that found us in a park without a burn ban, so the boys experienced their first campfire. They were unimpressed. The dirt, however, was endlessly fascinating. By mid-day Sunday, they were quite literally walking through personal dirt clouds much like Pigpen from the old
Peanuts strips. (Eddie was clearly more into the dirt than his brother, but Chas progressed from what you see here.)


Steph, meanwhile, had to keep walking away from the fam to make conference calls and at one point actually worked on her laptop in front of the campfire because the BIR (Big Internet Retailer) she works for is on the verge of launching her product. Thus we were subjected to much talk of "launch blockers" and such. It is the worst-kept secret since John Travolta was outed. (OK, I'm sure he's just a friendly bloke. Whatever.) However, I cannot tell you what it is or I would have to kill you or gouge your eyes out or something and frankly I just don't have the energy for that kind of mayhem. Besides, since you, dear reader, are but a figment of my imagination, I can't be bothered.

But still, a grand time was had by all. Today was a different story. The best part was my dentist's appointment. No, really. I'm not being sarcastic. How's that for scary? It started with my babysitting my grandnephew Marcus, who is 6 or 7 months old now (don't give me crap for not knowing), adorable and utterly demanding of my full attention. I swear, he could sense it if I looked at him and let my mind wander. It made me marvel at the thought that I actually handled two of them at one point. But then I had exersaucers, God's own gift to parents. Regardless, any scintilla of a thought that I might want another kid was crushed by this adorable baby. I damn near called the fertility clinic to demand that they incinerate any remaining totsicles they may still have.

Anyway, Eddie had gotten up out of our bed and crawled into his bed. I thought he was just pretty tired. Then he yelled, "I'm not feeling very well." Hmm. He told me it was his tummy. Then he asked for chocolate milk, so I thought he was full of it. I got him the chocolate milk and just as I was walking in the room with it, he started throwing up. He nearly made it to the bathroom. Nearly. Big old vomit pool in the doorway, with smaller ones on the carpet in the hallway. He had skipped dinner the night before, so there wasn't much there -- but I stepped in definite wet spots with my bare feet.

So sick-o almost immediately starts agitating for ice cream with whipped cream. Or chocolate milk. Not wanting to see these things in their recycled form, I refused and gave him a pediapop. But by the end of the day, I relented. He kept it down. But then refused to have dinner. Personally, I think he was just looking for a way to get me to let him veg out naked in front of the TV all day. It worked. (Though after the dinner he didn't eat, I insisted that both boys go outside to play. And get dressed. Not in that order.)

Oh, and I have a cavity. Or rather, "decay" underneath a filling that is failing. It's probably 20 years old or more, so I can't complain. The dentist asked if I wanted to get the metal out of my mouth, he could replace another one nearby with white while he's at it. Dear God. Why would I care about metal on my molars? I'm 60-70 pounds overweight, rarely bother with makeup anymore and I'm on the dark side of 40. And he wonders if I'm bothered by a metal filling in an upper molar that I'm fairly sure no one sees. Um, no.

Ladybug, Ladybug

Steph was out doing her manly -- womanly blackberry clearing this evening. When she came it, she looked to see what was on her glasses that was blurring her vision. 'Twas a ladybug. She took it off and showed the boys who were quite eager. Eddie wanted to hold it, which he did. Chas merely danced around the edges, occassionally opining, "She's great!" At one point he said he wanted to hold her but when we got within a foot, he backed out.

After a sufficient period of ladybug torture, we decided to let her out to return to her mommy. Then she flew onto Eddie's lip, then over his nose and onto his eyelid, which produced squeals of delighted laughter. When they did release her out the back door, both boys said "Goodbye and thank you," at Steph' s urging. Then Eddie elaborated on his own. "Thank you for letting me hold you!" (It's almost enough to make me rethink my homicidal urges during the 45 minutes or so that he screamed, cried and whined for a lollypop from the toy store this afternoon.)

Now to sour this sweet moment, it should be noted that the entire episode occurred while both boys were pantless. OK, Chas had some around his ankles, but still. We're not perverts, really we're not. But our boys are.

(Chas did not remain still long enough or near enough the ladybug to be photographed.

I want breakfast and a doggy.

So yesterday morning, Eddie awoke screaming as if having a nightmare. What was he screaming? "I want a doggy!" Assuming this was just a dream he needed to get past, I told him he could have a doggy and calmed him into falling back asleep. Crisis averted, right? Until he woke up for real and announced his two desires. "I want breakfast and a doggy." Not a stuffed doggy either. A "real" doggy.

I called Steph. "I don't want a dog," she said, the panic just starting to sound in the edge of her voice. "I know," I said. "Neither do I. We are NOT getting a dog." And yet. The fear and panic made it clear that we're no longer in charge. I mean, if we were in charge, a request or even demand for a dog would not scare us because we could just say no. But I think we both feared that even our fervent desire to not be tied down with a dog would be meaningless in the face of 3-year-old insistence.

When the topic came up with Eddie again -- oh, about 3 minutes later, I told him all kinds of terrible things. Things like, "Talk to Santa about it." (Now, there is no way in hell Santa will bring him a dog. That's just not the way to do this kind of thing even if we were going to cave. But I'm much more comfortable with Santa being the bad guy. Sue me, fat man.) "Santa probably thinks you need to wait until you're older. Until you can feed your doggy and pick up his poop."

Here's where the story brightens. Because this is, after all, my child we're talking about. "I don't want a poopy doggy," he said. "I want a dog that doesn't poop."

"That's what we all want," I said. "But all dogs poop."

He pondered for a moment then made a rather significant concession. "I want a doggy that doesn't poop. I want a toy dog." Crisis averted. Or at least postponed. Because we, the grown ups in the house, really, really, really don't want a dog.

How to Tell You are Going to Have a Challenging Day

Clue 47: This morning the boys woke up in relatively good moods. Chas seems to be over his sickness, though he put his hands to his mouth and feigned nausea when I sat at the computer to write. Still, things started off well with the three of us laughing in bed. The boys started "stealing" my nose, I stole theirs back etc. Then Chas "stole" Eddie's nose. And Eddie screamed and "stole" Chas' nose. Then both boys screamed. Sobbed, really. Because each wanted his nose back. Sigh.

I wholeheartedly support this.

America, discover your materialistic side! Order lots and lots of free shit from James Dobson!!

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=54084

My Father-In-Law is Crazy.

I don't mean in that whole "what a wacky guy, he'll try anything" sort of way or that "he's such a hilarious card" kind of way. I mean in the "he's completely batshit crazy" kind of way. It's not something I didn't know before. But sometimes I'm reminded and it still sort of surprises me when I am. I can only hope that he was always thus and therefore Steph is not in danger of following in his crazy footsteps.

That was a long day and I was glad to get my own candy.

Eddie summed up today pretty well with that statement. We joined the other kids from the preschool they will be attending this fall for the annual Milton summer parade. They were supposed to throw, toss or just generally distribute to the assembled "crowd" some Smartees candies. This was not enthusiastically embraced by the fellas who thought that keeping the candy for themselves seemed a much wiser course of action. They were persuaded, reluctantly. Fortunately their Auntie and Pink Grandma had collected some candy tossed their way during the parade and provided them with all the sugar they could want.

Then at the festival, they played some carnival games, won some cheap-ass toys, played in two different types of inflatable jump-around toy things. They also indulged in free cotton candy (Chas did, anyway), free snow cones and hotdogs. Then Chas spied the area I thought we could avoid. "I want to do that!" I followed his pointing finger and thorught I was mistaken until he spoke again. "Bird houses!" So yes, with help from Mama and Auntie Cathy the boys made some bitchin' bird houses. Eddie was particularly insistent at doing his own hammering. Chas lost interest once it became clear that his nearly completed bird house would have to be dismantled and reassembled due to Auntie and Mama's inability to correctly orient the front and back.


"I was happy to get my own candy today," Eddie just said.

"My bird house ifs for birds. When a bird comes to my house I can let a bird on my bird house," Eddie said when reminded of it.

"No birds come in my birdhouse. ... My bird house is too bad for my bird," says Chas. "My bird will cocme out and will turn into butterfly." OK, we've got to clarify the whole butterfly from caterpillars thing I guess.

Chas knows he is my brudder.

While playing at the train structure outside Target the other day, Eddie came up to me looking very serious. Perturbed, if you will. As if some grievous wrong had been committed against him and indeed it had.

"Somebody touched me and pulled my shirt," he reported solemnly. "And it was NOT my brudder. Chas knows he is my brudder."

Imagine some kid who is not his brother actually touching him. Horrible.

Portrait of the Young Men as Artists

0806 Portrait of the Artists as Young Men084
Originally uploaded by MommyCheryl.

So the boys got out their paints last week and had a blast. And got paint all over the place. But laughs like this make it worth it. For the first time, Eddie drew a "face." He said he was drawing Thomas the Tank Engine and he drew a circle with eyes and a mouth.

Pretty cool.

I told you the team that beat them was young...

0706 Amazon Picnic050
Originally uploaded by MommyCheryl.

OK, so the interns were a bit older. Still, Steph clearly realized that her team needs youth. She's already started training a couple of ringers for next year's tournament.

More Supreme Jock behavior...

0706 Amazon Picnic021
Originally uploaded by MommyCheryl.

My girl the jock

0706 Amazon Picnic011
Originally uploaded by MommyCheryl.

So at her company picnic, Steph joined a bunch of mosttly 20-something guys to play something called "Broom Ball." It was mostly amusing -- the games are nice and short and very fast paced. Her team, "Search Inside The Broom," placed second. A DISTANT second to the intern team which had youth on its side. It was an interesting display of the corporate culture at Amazon and, I think, a pretty good indication of why she feels so at home there. It's almost like she joined a fraternity.

One of the most important guys in the world...

Yes, from the Amazon company picnic, here's a shot of one of the most important guys in the world. And oh yeah, there's Jeff Bezos in the background, too.

I'd always thought the boys were Democrats...

or maybe it was just wishful thinking that made me get them longsleeve t-shirts that say "Lifelong Democrat." However, I think my hopes have been confirmed for at least one of them. I left the room and they did their thing trying to mess with the computer. When I came back in it was up on a donation page for MoveOn.org. I don't know whether to be irritated that they were messing with the computer or proud that they've got their politics figured out already.

The emptiest threat of them all....

From Eddie to Chas: "You say you're sorry or I'm putting myself in timeout!"

Hmm.

Yesterday was the best day of our whole entire lives...

OK, so when you're only 3 years old and some change, that's probably not saying too much. But yesterday we spent the day out with Thomas at the Snoqualmie Historical Railway. Today, Eddie keeps crying because he can't go back. It was hotter than Hades but that didn't dampen their spirits. Eddie in particular made excellent use of the small mister that was set up. But nothingn could make the heat anything less than oppressive.

They got temporary Thomas tattoos but now they don't want to go swimming, despite the continued heat, because they are afraid the tats will wear off. Yesterday definitely rekindled the flame of their Thomas love. He is cheeky and wonderful.

Something is scaring the sheet (and blanket) out of Chas

OK, I'm sure that everyone expects a post about the cruise. But really, I'm all talked out. It was awesome. It was amahzing. It was, on one night at least, a puke-fest for the boys and very nearly for me. (On a storm scale of 1 to 10 it was a 7 said the captain. Which was about 5 too high for my stomach.) Anyway, I'll post some photos of us (and the boys' donor-sibling Casey who we met on board along with her moms, one of whom is in the photo.) I'll also post the shots Steph took of her three seasick family members. (Thank God she's got a gut of steel.)

OK, now that we have that out of the way, the latest trauma around here is that Chas seems to have developed a fear of sheets and blankets. He keeps saying there's "some-sin" in them. I told him to go to bed the other night and he stood there looking at hsi bed and saying "I try." And try he did, putting a foot on the bed only to pull it off, then trying again etc. Clean sheets and a blanket seem to have done the trick last night -- but then he wet the bed. So he gets more clean sheets tonight. I'm hoping this doesn't become a nightly requirement. Eddie, for some reason, has decided that what Chas is afraid of in the blanket is not a monster or a spider but a kitty. As in baby cat. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with my boys.