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.