Summer is here at last!

OK, so officially it wasn't really late. But after some gorgeous spring weather taunted us briefly, we've had a long stretch of not so great days, weatherwise. But the sun is shining and the boys are playing in their wading pool, which may be the best wading pool ever. They laughed and laughed and giggled and played and kept getting back in the pool throughout the day. Finally as the sun was setting and the temperatures were cooling, they wanted to get in again and Mama let 'em skinny-dip before a bath, as if to prove to them that it was, indeed, too damn cold to swim.

All in all, a joyous day for the boys -- they played and played and played some more out in the sunshine with their Moms. Eddie keeps telling me he doesn't want me to go anywhere. Alas, my boy, I'm not leaving you anytime soon. Although I may want to sneak out to see Superman Returns next week....

Most. Excellent. Train track. Ever.

So Chas was verry clear on what he wanted to "earn" yesterday by going poopy: Train track including a turntable. This is what I made with it. It may not be the best track ever, but it's pretty danged cool if I do say so myself. Right now Eddie is singing and playing about trains puffing along, being clever, etc. It's very sweet that every night Eddie has to make sure Percy is safely tucked into his roundhouse.

s for potty training, I think it's going OK. Except that Eddie doesn't really go in the potty unless there's a prize he wants. Hmm.

Meanwhile, I must do some research on storage options because I am taking an ungodly amount of photos with my new camera. Excuse me, my bitchin' new camera. I could certainly start taking them at something less than 8 megapixels, but I have a coupon for two free poster sized prints that expires on July 1 so until then, I'm shootin' large.

Potty Training Update

Chas is pretty close to daytime trained. He had a teeny accident yesterday but caught himself. Eddie has made it through today and, most excitingly, pooped in the pot today. This is only his second time. He was really working for a prize.

The bad news is the poopy prize box is down to four prizes. So we'll find out soon whether they will return to soiling themselves once there's no new toy in it for them. I have my doubts.

This is a game and the game is over.

This evening at the Target Train, the boys were as violent and physical as I've ever seen them. And they laughed the whole damn time. I swear, the other parents must have thought I let them watch professional wrestling or something. The highlight was when Eddie would pull Chas to the ground, then stand over him and jump up, landing knees-first on the prone Chas. Chas responded to this, appropriately enough, with hysterical laugher and cries of "Again! Again!"

After several minutes, Eddie must have gotten tired. He walked away, telling Chas, "This is a game. And the game is over."

We've killed potato bugs for less.

Soon the wasp Armegeddon will be upon the yellow jackets of Milton. Or at least those around our house. Today Chas let out a horrendous scream and kind of fell. I thought he'd broken something or perhaps punctured a lung. He stumbled to me clutching his side. I lifted his shirt and saw a tiny dot of red. He was madly scratching at it. I thought not too much of it other than it was a heck of a reaction for such a small injury. Then he asked me to get the bug off of him. Bug? There's no bug! But he insisted there was, indeed a bug that had hurt him. A yellow bug. Now we definitely have wasps around here and I've even seen them in the house on occasion so it shouldn't have been a huge surprise. I looked again and sure enough there was a small hive forming around the "injury." Being the ace investigator that I am, I had him look at a bug lineup on the internet. He quickly identified a wasp photo as the "yellow bug" in question.

Armed with this uncontrovertable evidence, I have convicted wasps of the crime of stinging my boy. I will take on the task of destroying their homes, killing any of them I can safely exterminate without risking my own sting and just generally make them wish they'd never come to Milton. I would feel bad, but in staining the boy's play set this weekend, we inadvertently executed via stain fumes (and possibly drowning) numerous potato bugs whose only crime was taking up residence in a glorified swingset. I'm no moral relativist, but I figure in this case the wasps certainly don't deserve to live given what the harmless potato bugs faced. I have no guilt and, when it comes to things that sting my boys and make me worry about allergic reactions, no mercy.

42

Sigh. Yes. I'm officially 42. And about 24 hours. But who's counting?

So for my 42nd birthday (43rd if you count the actual day of my birth, but I need that number to be bigger like I need a hole in the head) I got Superman DVDs -- I & II. Chas told me shortly before I got them. Not so good with secrets, that boys.

That was from the booys onn the day befoe my actual birthday. For my birthday proper I got, among other things, a Canon Rebel 35 mm digital camera. These photos were taken with it. I find it, in a word, bitchin'. But then I'm a geek. It has a way cool (to me anyway) 3 fps burst mode. This is the sort of feature that would have made the adolescent and teen me positively orgasmic. It's the modern equivilant of the holy grail of my young photo fantasies: a motor drive. Best of all, with digital, I can goof around and take 300 or so pictures with it, fooling around with settings etc. and not have to go into bankruptcy or prostitution just to get them processed. Oh, the young geek in me rejoices at this new toy. Her heart sings. Hell, the 42-year-old me is still pretty damned happy about it.

The other big news of late is that Chas is no longer afraid of the battery-operated ride-on car that we gave them for their birthday. In March. This was heralded by screams of joy from Eddie as he drove his brother around the cul-de-sac: "Mommy! Look, Chas isn't scared anymore."

Look! There's a duck in the lake!

The great fruit fight of '06

Nice long nap for boys. (And Mommy). Moods should be good, no? No.

Eddie is first up and finds fruit cup from his lunch. Tries to share with a sleeping Chas. "Do you want a grape, Chas?" Mommy listens from bed and is amused.

Then, Mommy and Chas get up. Chas finds fruit cup. Takes grapes. Eddie yells. Chas stuffs grapes into his mouth. More yelling. Chas and Eddie both head back to the fruit cup, this time it's the apple that is left. Both grab some. Eddie runs down the hall. Chas tackles him, but Eddie manages to get his piece of apple in his mouth, chews and swallows.

Chas shrieks, falls on the floor, kicks and cries about his apples. "I grab them They not Eddie's!"

"The apples are down in my belly," Eddie announces.

"Stop!" Mommy screams as she grabs a knife and starts cutting up another apple. Eddie is pleased. Eddie eats some freshly cut apple and gladly takes a baggie full of sweet, fruity good morsels. Chas is offended at the thought that Mommy would try to subsitute this obviously inferior apple for the apple that is, indeed now in Eddie's tummy. Continues to cry and scream even as Mommy ups the ante by adding a banana to the mix.

Mommy starts to blog in frusration. Chas climbs up on her lab, still crying. Only then does Mommy realize that hee still has two pieces of the original apple clutched tightly in his fists.

Eddie goes outside. Comes back in. "Chas, come see the bees." "I can't," Chas replies, "I want to cry." He continues mumbling about the injustice of the apples. Mommy also wants to cry but seeing as she's the grown-up, she simply blogs.

Soon Mommy will put the basketball shirts on in place of the Thomas shirts. This will make the fruit fight seem like a party.

And so goes another day with the three year old joys of my life.

Vaccines and doctors and earwax...

OK, so for the past week or so, Sir Eddie has been complaining sporadically about having water in his ears. "Oh! Oh! My ear has water in it! Get it out! Get it out!" (His cousin in Hawaii once had a bug come out of her ear, but I wasn't expecting anything as dramatic as that -- just perhaps some badly impacted earwax, maybe a small toy or a bean shoved up there by his brother.) So yesterday I took him to the doctor. He sobbed at being called back to the exam room, which is a first. But when the doctor finished looking in the first ear he quietly turned his head so she could look in the other -- a very sweet little move. Looking into his ears she saw... nothing. Well, there was some wax covering his eardrum on the right, but she got a little scooper thing and got a bunch of it out. It was soft, which was good, she said. All I know is that this morning Eddie literally woke up singing: "My earrrr... is feeeeeelin'" (at this point I'm cringing...) "Better!" Thank heavens.

Anyway, today, in order to do some work for the hospital next week, I had to go get a TB test and MMR vaccine (totally pointless, but hopefully it won't kill me.) The boys came along and were intrigued to see Mommy get a shot. A bit scared, but clearly relieved when neither of them was summoned to the nurse. Anyway, the shot was in my left arm. And I can definitely feel it. In my right arm. If I think about it, I can also feel it in my left arm, but I suspect it's either all in my head or just the way my arms feel at the end of a long day.

And so my sore arms and I say good night and good luck.

More Sandbox surprises...

Pleasant and not-so-pleasant. First, the photo of our froggy visitor. It's blurry, but you can see I was not kidding.

However, yesterday as the kids and their cousins played in the sandbox, we found a dreaded "wet spot." After much smelling, we decided it was cat piss. Of course, we then proceeded to smell cat piss just about everywhere, so who knows. The lid was off only briefly while the box was unattended. But it is a rather luxurious outhouse so.... Emptied (mere hours after fresh sand was put in) and vigorous cleaning will follow soon. We are dismayed.

To top it off, a neighbor kid swears she saw a weasel in our yard the other day. There was a bear in the U. District last night, so a weasel in the 'burbs isn't exactly earth-shattering. But it is weird. Damn aimals. Whose planet do they think this is, anyway??

The boys have passports

Photos (No longer) TK.

To put this in perspective, I was 34 when I first got a passport. They are 3. Admittedly, they aren't going anywhere more distant than Canada in the foreseeable future but still. They don't know how lucky they are.

And while I'm typing this I'm thinking about "photos TK." Does everyone understand that TK mean "to come?" Or is that another one of those arcane and ridiculous journalism things?? Why???? Not that I'm complaining. Only because of being in a newsroom do I know the correct use of the word "penultimate." And that is the penultimate thing I have to say in this post.

I am the Mighty CD player repairwoman

The other day the boys got into the van and shoved a college fund worth of coin into the CD slot Needless to say it stopped working. In fact, when we turned, we could hear coins jingling. A few months ago they did this and I -- not realizing what had happened though in fairness sort of suspecting it -- took it in for repair under warranty. They replaced it, then brought me the change and told me to tell my kids it's not a piggy bank. So purely from the humiliation factor, I wasn't going that route again.

So I was feeling lame about something completely unrelated andn decided to see if I could redeem myself. Using Internet directions, I ripped the dash apart, then used my own guesswork to take the cd player apart enough to get the coins out. I was stunned when I put it back together and it worked. I'll be even more stunned if that's the last time I have to do it.

The great mystery crap of '06

For as long as we've had a sandbox, roughly two years, I've been concerned -- bordering on paranoid -- about keeping the sand clean. This completely violates the whole spirit but I gotta be me.

I've also been worried/paranoid about neighborhood cats deciding that we had simply installed a luxurious outdoor toilet for their use and convenience. Every time we would forget to cover it, I would make Steph come do a search for poop. I would look for telltale pawprints if she was at work. Over the months, she continually reassured me that with the plethora of pointy plastic and in some cases metal toys scattered throughout the sandbox that no cat would want to come and, let's say, sit a spell. After many, many forgetful nights of coverless sandbox and no turds, I actually began to believe she knew what the hell she was talking about. When will I learn?

So a couple of days ago, the boys run out back and I follow them at a leisurely pace since this is becoming something of a habit. I glance at the open sandbox. Horrors! There is a gigantic turd right there in the box! It mocks me as I frantically try to cover the box and ascertain if the boys have already played with it. Now, I understand that for most people, scooping out a cat box is an unpleasant perhaps, but entirely reasonable task. I'm not most people. Excrement of any kind -- with the exception of that coming out of the nether regions of my or other adorable young infants/toddlers -- immediately triggers my gag reflex.

I told the boys to stay away and did what to me seemed an admirable job of not freaking out. However, I spent a few minutes devising the manner in which Steph would deal with this. (I briefly considered that we might need an entirely new sandbox, but I was talked down from this position.) Then I discover two -- TWO cat turd "groupings" in our front yard. I feel surrounded by excrement.

So I made Steph scoop up the yard turns, then soak all the toys in a tub full of water and probably too much bleach. She emptied the remaining sand into the field next door and Lysol-ed the box itself. She found a second, heretofore undiscovered turd. I found a heretofore undiscovered distrust bordering on hatred of all the neighborhood cats. Each time I see one I think, "Was it you? Are you the bastard that shat in our sandbox?? In my yard? Every cat I see is a potential perp. In my mind, and I have no serious evidence to back this up, I think it's Dusty, the black cat across the street. I swear I'm not profiling. But I never liked that damn cat -- and he ran into our house the other day. All I can say is I'm keeping my eye on you, Dusty.

The next day I looked out and there in the now sandless sandbox was... a frog. A much better (and smaller) surprise. So things must be looking up.

Chas loves chips

Eddie loves guac

Eddie loves guac

Picture(6).jpg

Rain, rain, go away!

The boys were very upset with me today because I was either unable or, more likely in their minds, unwilling to stop the rain from falling and interrupting their plans to play in the sandbox with their new sand sifters. "Rain, go away!" they yelled out the window at one point. At other times, they simply pleaded, "It's not raining!" On the one hand, it's nice that they think I'm so powerful. On the other hand, I suspect it also makes them think I'm rather mean about it all.

Meanwhile, Chas (and Eddie, too, for that matter) likes me again. So of course, he says he doesn't like his Mama. Apparently he is a one-woman boy. Hmm. Steph doesn't seem to mind it yet. But trust me, it gets a bit grating after a week or so being constantly told "I don't like you, Mama."

And I'm not sure if it's the rain or what, but I could swear Chas seems a bit depressed. He gets all teary for no real reason. Actually it's been happening since I had a migraine on Thursday and it was perfectly sunny then. Gotta keep an eye on that. Speaking of the migraine, the boys brought me some "get well" artwork. I thanked them and told them it helped. This afternoon I was tired and tried to get them to let me lay down on the couch in the playroom, telling them I didn't feel too good. Pretty soon Eddie had enough and went looking for a cure. "Where are your get well pictures, Mommy?"

Rambling? You bet. But it's a posting. That's more than I expected out of myself this week.

The Little Engine That Thinks He Can

That's what Eddie calls his new favorite book, "The Little Engine that Could." We went on a boy book buying spree Sunday and that's one of the new titles. They have a ton of books and we usually just pick out new ones from the library, but we got a little crazy. Anyway, Eddie loves his new book about the engine that thinks he can.

Last night the boys were fighting over whose hand I would hold (both) and whose bed I would sit on (neither) as the went to sleep when Eddie pulled out the big guns. "He doesn't like you," Eddie said, reminding me of Chas' unpleasant little habit of reminding me that he doesn't like me. Gotta appreciate the effort, Eddie.

In other Eddie news... Took them to the zoo today. In the aquarium, we came upon the tank that holds "Nemo fish." Another mother was there telling her kids about the Nemo fish, etc., so I refrained from my usual, "Look! We found Nemo!" joke. I just pointed and told the boys to look at the Nemo fish. They both talked about the Nemo fish for a moment then Eddie clarified. "Really they're clown fish." I tell ya, that boy blows me away with the stuff he remembers. It's not quite as crazy as when he pointed and identified a tapir (I had to double check and he was right) but still cool. On the other hand, today he could NOT identify the tapir, though to be fair it was sleeping with its butt-end pointed at us.

So after a trip to the zoo, what did the boys report when Steph asked what they did today? "Heather and Auntie Cathy and Oscar came and played!" Which, while technically true -- the three did stop by for a bit this afternoon -- is a short-sighted answer that will not yield them another trip to the zoo in the near future.

OK, rambing, but at least I blogged. Which is more than I can say for most days lately. But get off my butt -- I've got a cold.

You like me! You really, really like me!

Apologies to Sally Field. Anyway, for several days, Chas has been telling me, "I don't yike you. I yike Mama." I admit that it bugs me the teensiest bit. This morning, he hugged me and said, "I like you so much." Cue the harps and the angels. He's over it now. The only people he likes are his Mama, his Auntie Cathy and his cousin Gavin. But I know the truth....

Meanwhile, another new development. The little fart told me I was scary to him because I told him "no." Later he said I was scary because I told him he could do something he wanted to do "in a little bit." It seems he has figured out that we avoid things that scare him. So he's going to be scared of being told no or wait. Sigh. But you gotta admire the devious thinking.

On our way back from the library

(Note: Somehow in editing this post I erazed the photo of the boys in the wagon with sunglasses on. I would re-send it, but after checking "last sent" on my phone, I realize that I erased the cute wagon photo in order to take one of the ginormous turd Chas left in the potty chair yesterday. I'm sure there's some meaning there, but I have no idea what.)

Going to the library it's mostly downhill. Going to the library is nice. Coming back is a bitch.

"I'm flying high like Jay Jay" Chas screams joyfully

Note, please the gigantic dirt stains on Eddie's knees.

Something has irritated Chas.

How to ensure that your scalp and your brother's are both full of sand by day's end

Chas thought himself quite daring to actually step into the sandbox..

Easter candy to die for...

OK, that's not even funny. Here's the deal. Big old candy day with egg hunts etc. At the church we sort out Chas' candy to make sure he doesn't have anything with peanuts. Fine. Get home. Tired. Boys playing with candy. Suddenly Chas screams and runs toward us crying with chocolate and PEANUT BUTTER oozing out of his open mouth. Must have caused a small reaction in his mouth. Thankfully nothing else. Just lots of spitting, rinsing, teeth brushing and prayer saying.

I can get so relaxed about the allergy thing and then something like this happens. Imagine how I'd be if he ever went into full-blown anaphylaxis. Ouch.

Anyway, much fun today at Delsa's gym with foam cube pit etc. And of course, the cutest boys ever. Oh happy Easter day indeed.

Cough cough cough

Eddie coughed his way through last night. He's doing it again tonight. Chas is beginning to join him on the cold train. It makes me so sad/helpless.

On the other hand, they've both told me today that they don't like me. They like Mama. (I gotta get her agent.)

Oh, and I am Pig. Which would be far more upsetting if it weren't for the fact that Chas is Kipper, Eddie is Tiger, Mama is Jake, Auntie Cathy is Holly and Heather is Arnold. See, I'm Pig, not A pig, but just Pig. It's a character in the Kipper world. (And Eddie was coaxing Chas tonight to "use a a-sent ((accent)) -say, 'Kippah.'")

Near death experiences and the common cold...

Last night, my uncle and some cousins were in town and we were all supposed to get together for dinner at The Black Angus, incidentally the scene of the most infamous date I was ever on. (OK, not the exact same Black Angus -- then again, aren't they all the same? Isn't that the point?) Anyway, Heather had volunteered to babysit the boys. We were excited. Dinner, out with adults. The boys were extraordinarily excited at the prospect of spending time with their beloved "Hedder."

Per usual, we were running late. So I called Heather to see if she would meet us at our house. She didn't answer the first couple of times I called. Then she did answer but was both confused and belligerent. Uh-oh. Sounds like a reaction. I admit, I got pissed. I figured she was dieting etc. and that was what caused it and that she should have been more careful since she was going to be watching the boys. We got sobs when we told them they had to go eat with us, so I held out hope we could treat the reaction, leave the boys and still have some well-done red meat.

It was fairly quickly apparent that this was no ordinary reaction. Steph did an amazing job helping Heather and eventually calling 911. The paramedics were great -- most of them. (The Milton Fire crew seemed a bit dazed and confused themselves. Perhaps we should have checked THEIR blood sugar levels.) In the midst of this, I was running back and forth between Heather in her mom's upstairs bed and my boys who had fallen asleep in their carseats. It was, for want of a stronger word, stressful. I'm not sure exactly at what point I went from pissed to worried to sorry for her -- it was very sad when she woke up scared out of her mind with a room full of emergency personnel hovering around here. I never thought it would end badly -- I knew once we got some sugar in her she'd perk up. I didn't know it would have to be delivered via IV, but still, I had faith. What scared me was the precariousness of it all. What if she hadn't volunteered to babysit? What if we hadn't stopped by to check on her? You can't live your life with people hovering around you, even if you are a diabetic. She's gong to be alone sometimes. Shit happens. It's just scary to realize how fragile a think life can be. Whether it's an insulin reaction or being hit by a bus, mortality surrounds us and we escape usually without even recognizing how close we came to death. I think that's for the best. When we realize it, it leads to poor sleep and general unease.

And now, on to the real trauma of today, which is that Eddie is getting a monster of a cold. Poor little guy. I hate it when they are sick. I mean, I hate it when I'm sick and when they are sick it's 1,000 times worse. (Truthfully, it would only be 100 times worse if I could know with some certainty that I would not also be coming down with the cold, flu or whatever the hell bug they catch, myself.) Chas seems to have passed his soy challenge, but today he had bumps under one eye and tonight his eyes were red and swollen. It's probably just exhaustion -- no nap and precious little sleep last night -- combined with hands covered with dog and cat dander. But I worry. It's what I do.

Cozy bedtime or crime scene photos?

So tonight, after several attempts to get them to go to sleep, we just left the little farts in their room. There was plenty of noise, but we figured they'd settle down eventually. After a while it got quiet. Too quiet. OK, that's not true. Just quiet enough. We figured they'd just gone to bed. On our way to bed, however, Steph looked in and found them like this. Sound asleep. We giggled quietly and grabbed the camera. They didn't stir even when we turned on the lights and got going with the flash. Please note the little waffle-marks on Chas' cheek from where he was sleeping on the foam play mat on the floor.

Steph says they are stubborn and they get it from me. I have no idea what she's talking about.

Choo-choo cheeked Chas

Voila: Blue truck and green car cheeks!

Chas was a bit nervous (read: scared out of his little mind) but decided to get a train painted on his cheek.

Cautious Chas takes careful note of what happens as Eddie gets his 2nd cheek painted.

It's free face-painting night at Round Table!

D.J. Jazzy Chazzy at the Seattle Children's Museum

Eddie does his best drive time schtick

My most excellent wife teaches Chas the fine art of tech support

These Boots Were Made for Puddle-Jumping and other oddities....

This weekend we drove up to North Bend, our favorite place to buy shoes for the boys. They were not impressed, but I think we used enough trickery to get them to at least wear their new tennis shoes and rain boots. The sandals we'll work on later. Anyway, they were very thrilled with the idea of boots made for puddle-jumping. So today, Chas comes up to me asking for his rain coat. I look at him and this is what I see. Please note the boots and their placement.

Anyway, the other "oddity" was just a funny thing Ed said. He repeated a phrase of Steph's to report on the way to the shoe store that he had spilled some of his chocolate milk. "We got spiwwage in the viwwage." (We've got spillage in the village.)

The boys and I slept though church (thank you daylight savings!) and today they were very snuggly. I love it.

Eddie says Mommy was "e-cited."

I cried. To be clear, there weren't tears literally flying off my face ala Eddie and occasionally Chas. But there was an excess of fluid pooling in my eyes. What caused this uncharacteristic eruption of elation? A phone message. It was the triage nurse from our new allergist's office. At first my heart nearly stopped and crawled into my throat because the initial words, after introducing herself as the triage nurse, were that the allergy tests were "still positive." Fear ever so briefly starts gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Until I heard the next words. "But much less so than before." Then she gave me the numbers for egg and peanut. And then the payoff. Words that I never thought I would hear. "Dr. Virant says that hopefully he will still outgrow those." Outgrow those. Not just outgrow egg. Outgrow peanut. The messaage went on to say that he was negative for dust mites and grasses and positive but very low for soy which the doctor thinks is not clinically significant.

At this point, I have tears in my eyes and I'm jumping up and down, turning in circles and frantically calling Steph to share the news.

To put this in perspective, our original allergist said there was a 50-50 chance of outgrowing egg, unknown chance of outgrowing soy and a 1 in 1,000 chance of outgrowing peanut.

Eddie noted my mood and happily -- and a bit quizzically -- noted that "Mommy is ee-cited."

All of this on a day when we find out Steph's job is uncertain. I don't even care. We're going to challenge soy. Our boy could eat a cheeseburger at McDonald's without a side trip to the grocery store to pick up a safe bun in a couple of weeks. Life is good.

The fruits of our labors ... lost.

So in the very blurry top photo, you will see the tiny, fragile sprout that popped up in one of our marigold pots this morning. Its arrival was greeted joyfully and with song about our baby flower. By late afternoon, however, a game of peek-a-boo at the window sill left the sprout and its cousins in two other pots scattered across the floor. Eddie's immediate response was, "I can't look." When it became clear that carnage had indeed been done, he quickly placed the blame on Chas. And me. We scopped it all back into the pot and we'll see what happens. By tonight we had a couple more sprouts. If they know what's good for them, they'll be fleeing.

In completely unrelated news, the boys have discovered a difference between boys and girls, or at least moms. In the shower at the Y last night, Chas told Steph, "You don't got a penis. But you got two of those," pointing at her boobs. Today, when I asked Eddie what I had, he told me "hair." It took me a second to get what he meant. But I'm slow.

And finally, we bought them Thomas sleepover beds at Costco today in the probably vain hope that it will entice them to spend more time in their beds and less time kicking the shit out of us in ours. I'll report tomorrow. No doubt, I'll be bleary eyed yet again because I can't believe it's going to be this easy to get them to sleep.

Things I don't wanna know about and Marigolds

Tonight the boys were with their auntie whilst Steph and I took in the first act of an utterly forgettable musical at the Fifth Avenue Theatre. (We left after intermission not because it was horrible but because it wasn't particularly good either.) Enroute home, we learn that Eddie choked on a lifesaver candy. (Something I recall doing numerous times as a child.) Cathy said her clue was his panicked eyes. Just as she prepared to Heimlich him, it popped out. He told me it was scary. (For his part, Chas was scared by a segment of "Goodnight Moon and Other Stories" that he watched at auntie's house. The whole segment about how you don't need to be afraid of your nightmares terrified him. He tearfully told us all about it when we got home.)

Can I just say it scared the crap out of me after it was over just to hear about my boy choking? As we left, I got Eddie to tell Cathy, "Thanks for scaring the pee(wadden) out of my brother." It got a chuckle, so it's been repeated several times.

After the trauma, quick but also traumatic showers, pjs, teeth brushing, books, cuddles and almost instant sleep for both boys. But during this, I noticed that the name train spelling "Chas" was down from its perch. Its high perch. I had gotten the "Eddie" train down yesterday for Eddie, but we replaced it. Hmm. I asked Steph if she had gotten "Chas" down. From its high perch. Its high, extraordinarily-precarious-climbing-require- if-you-are-under-5' 5'' perch. She said no. Then we looked at each other with something akin to terror and agreed we didn't want to think about how it got down. There are simply no good alternatives.

However, on a much happier note, the boys planted Marigolds today. (And some beans from their bean table.) They put the soil in the little pots, put the seeds in, covered them, watered them and then immediately expected flowers. Uhhh. So this is going to be an excrutiating lesson in delayed gratification, I suspect. We have a dozen little peat pots in window sills around the house, awaiting the miracle of sprouting. (After it was over -- and I hate to mention this for fear that no one will ever want to come over for dinner -- Chas took the spoon he'd used to scoop soil and put it back in the silverware drawer. I took it out. But I realize I'm going to have to double check the cleanliness of utensils from that drawer from here on out.

These pictures, of course, are from the planting.

Chas' honest reaction to Mommy singing in the car.

Meanwhile... Some photos from yesterday.

In the tub, the little darlings were putting these stacking blocks up to their mouths and singing Thomas the Tank Engine songs. They were actually coordinating to make sure they were going to be singing the same thing. Then they would sing, followed by gales of laughter. I swear, next week they're going to be trying to harmonize.

I'm not beautiful 'cause I not shiney.

Tonight as we begin our snuggle routine, John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy" comes on the boom box and I look at Eddie and tell him, "You are a beautiful boy." "No," he says. "I'm not beautiful 'cause I not shiney." What does this mean? I have no idea, but I thought it was funny.

Earlier we were at the Y, the boys in child watch and Steph and I working out. While in the shower, I heard an announcement but assumed it was the "Child Watch is closing in 15 minutes" thing. But I had sort of a nagging feeling that maybe I'd missed my name. Sure enough, when I got there to pick them up, Eddie was standing looking very sad. They told me he had been sobbing and they couldn't comfort him. They had paged me but I didn't hear. They said it was just about 10 minutes earlier, so it may have been what I heard while showering. I felt/feel terrible. He looked so sad -- he puckered up and almost lost it again when I saw him. He's going through such a sensitive stage.

On the way home, he told me repeatedly that he was too sad to love me and too sad for me to love him. Finally, Chas started telling me that some kid took Percy from Eddie and "That's not very nice." So possibly it was toy thievery that sparked his sadness. But we'll never know for sure. What we do know is that Eddie was sad and needed me and I wasn't there. It's unavoidable and I'm sure it will happen again and in fact it's probably happened before. But it still leaves me feeling, what? Sorrow? Guilt? Pangs of both, really, combined with a fear that next time it will be for more than a few minutes and over something more important than a toy or hurt feelings. Life is gonna make my boys sad sometimes. It can't really be any other way and I know the sadness adds a richness and dimension to their lives that unending bliss simply couldn't. But it still makes my heart ache when I think of all the hurts I can't kiss better, the pain I'll never ease and the fears I'll never soothe.

Wow. How the hell did I get so serious? Can you imagine how bereft I'll be when their first girlfriends ditches them? I'd better up my Zoloft now.

Half Sibs popping up everywhere

A while ago, I peeked at this site called the Donor Sibling Registry. It's where you can go if you've had a kid via donor sperm or iggs and register to look for genetic half-sibs. I was floored to see a couple of half-sibs for my boys. I registered and eventually got an email and found half-sibs in Florida, New York and Ohio. Then a few days ago got another email from another half-sib in California with word of twin boys in Texas and another half sib in New York. Except for the Texans and the latest New York boy, we've all exchanged photos etc. I have to say there is definitely a family resemblance between the kids -- they are all darned cut.

But it's been an interesting journey for me. I mean, I've had to come to grips with exactly how self-centered it was for me to have kids this way vs. adoption. I mean, there is a little genetic "ownership" going on, let's not kid ourselves. It's cool to see that they look kind of like their half sibs but at the same time, part of me feels like those are just parts of them that couldn't come from my genes. Not that I care really.... but it's just sort of weird. With a donor "father" I've just come to think of them as mine and Steph's. I see all sorts of things that remind me of both of us -- and sometimes I catch myself thinking they inherited some genetic trait or another from her. Until those half-sibs come into view, it's like the other half of the boys' genetic material just sort of fell from the sky. Then it's weird to think that my boys are related to all these kids I have zero relationship to. But I'm getting used to it. We're looking forward to meeting one of the half-sisters on our cruise this summer and I wonder how that will feel.

Then there are the parents. So far, in email contact only, they seem very cool and nice etc. But what if in person they are horrible, awful, annoying people? Will we have to be "friends" anyway? In reality, I sort of look at them as other parents of kids my boys' age -- we have more than average in common, too, given that we used the same donor. But in the end, it's not MY relatives we've found. It's the boys' relatives. And when they are old enough, it will be for them to decide what sort of relationship they want with them. As I see it, our job as parents is just to keep the lines open so they have the option. And if we develop friendships along the way, great.

In the meantime, I am very happy with our new allergist and eager to get the blood test results for Chas. I'm allowing myself to hope that we could add soy back to the mix which would open up so many possiblities it's crazy. Sadly, however, I've seen some sneezing today so I suspect we're in for a cold or two. Yuck.

And finally, today at storytime at the library, the story lady had to tell Eddie to be quiet. He reacted by puckering up and bursting into tears. I had to spend the rest of the time with him in a side room. When I tried to talk to him about it later, more puckering, chin quivering etc. I feel so bad for him, but I know he's going to have to get used to people not being thrilled with every little utterance from his mouth. But I don't have to like it and neither does he.

Return of the Goo

I have no idea why, but tonight after days if not weeks of going to bed without his beloved goo or pacifier, Eddie demanded it. I gave in pretty quickly as I think he'll give it up again on his own soon. Plus, I don't like it when he's sad.

So today we went to a new allergist. I can't say exactly why, but I feel much more at ease with him in charge of Chas' care. Anyway, we're cutting out the routine Pulmicort but will start it again at the first sign of a cold, along with Nasonex. Hope this works. Meanwhile, we're also getting a new allergy test. I'm eager, I think, to get the results. If the numbers are going in the right direction we may even be able to challenge soy soon. That would be HUGE. In the meantime, though, this required a blood test. Chas was very brave. He complained but didn't really cry. It helped that they had Spongebob Squarepants on a TV in the room, which is highly distracting. But it was very cute hearing him describe it to Eddie tonight in the tub. "She put it and sting me here," he said, pointing accurately at the spot on his arm. Eddie responded with a heartfelt, "That's so baaaad." On the up side, Chas got Arthur the train as a reward.

OK, more tomorrow, including news on half-siblings found etc. But now I'm just too tired to blog. How sad is that?

Three at last! Three at last!

First, I know I've been a lame blogger. But I just posted something and somehow lost it all. So I'm not claiming to be perfect, but neither am I going to take the time to rewrite everything. Suffice it to say that it was the perfect mixture of humor, pathos, drama... everything you could want in a posting and more. It was the pinnacle of blogging achievement. It involved pain and laughter. But, you missed it. Sorry.

Here's a picture of the boys from their birthday party. It's not quite the same as the missing post, but it's the best I can do for you now. Sorry.

Aaaack! Horrifying omission!

(Which is better than a horrifying emission, but that's another story.) So here's what happened yesterday, two days before their party/expensive photo session.

They're in watching Kipper or something in their room and I hear a horrible THUD followed by heart-rending scream of pain from Eddie. I run in, scoop him up and commence to comforting. As he calms and I check for broken bones, missing teeth, etc., I think we've lucked out. And then the cheek begins to show its angry color. He's got a bright red, raised right cheek with a tiny cut. It looks really painful. And did I mention pictures tomorrow? I'm so damned shallow, but it doesn't seem to bother him so I allow myself to fret about pictures. Bad Mommy!

Anyway, if that weren't enough, I took the boys swimming at the Y. At the end of the session, they asked to go dangle their feet in the hot tub. Climbing out of the big tub, Chas complained a bit about something, but I didn't see what. When we got to the hot tub, I saw bright red just to the right of his right eye. I looked closer. Small spots of blood. Near as I can tell, he must have rubbed up against the no-slip tape around the handles of the pool stairs on his way out of the big pool. They look like they've been fighting. Or abused. Steph suggests we get them boxing shorts for their photo session tomorrow. Sigh.

I want Yots of Presents.

Tis morning we awoke to remind the boys that tomorrow is the big day. Thankfully, Chas said he wanted "Bob Da Builder Du-clo," which is what his auntie, uncle and grandma have bust the bank to get him. Eddie? He's more serious. "I want yots of presents!" So glad we're raising a materialistic little bugger.

And, just so the day isn't perfectly saved, Chas has not forgotten his recent obsession. After Bob the Builder was established, he added "and a teeter-totter." Sigh.

Then, we mentioned pictures and their special "present-getting shirts" they need to wear and Eddie announced that he would run away rather than submit to our sartorial dictatorship. OK, he didn't use those exact words, but they were implied. What he said was a simple, succinct, "I run away."

Meanwhile, called the photo studio to ask about retouching his smashed up little cheek. They chuckled and said unless it's too big, they could probably handle it. Oy.

OK. Now I must clean like a machine. Or something like that.

Lazy Parenting: It works for me!

When the boys turned 2 and the pediatrician learned they still took bottles at nighttime, she raised her eyebrows and told us it would only get harder to wean them. We ignored her. A few months later, we started weakening the bottles because, really, it was bad for their teeth to have milk just before sleeping. Pretty quickly we just stopped the bottles altogether. We got maybe one or two very brief, very mild protests -- more like questions really. "Bottle?" Then it was done. No more bottles, thank you very much.

Now, it seems that Eddie has completely and of his own volition given up his "goo" or pacifier. (Short lesson on the etymology of the word "goo": When he was, oh, about 6 months old, Eddie started reaching for things he wanted and jabbering "google google google" very rapidly. Usually what he wanted was his pacifier. We started calling it his google and eventually it shortened to "goo." This seems to confuse people to no end. A paci? A binky? These are terms people understand. Goo? Not so much. But that's part of the wonder of our boys.) Chas did the same thing when he was about six months old (giving up the goo, not naming it such) and started getting teeth. But that didn't seem like quite the feat as giving up something that has been a source of comfort for nearly three years.

Many of my nephews have all held onto their pacifiers to the point where there was pleading, bribing, tears and recriminations among their parents in the effort to get them to give it up. I expected a bit of that, so being someone who likes to put off unpleasantness as long as possible I put off the idea of weaning him from the goo. And presto! He does it himself. It took him a start and stop but a few nights ago he asked me to take his goo away while he was in bed, the better to avoid temptation I guess, and we've not heard or seen a goo since.

So to sum it up, my parenting style of laziness and avoidance of unpleasant tasks seems to be working like a charm. Therefore, and without regret (I hope) I am vowing not to seat the potty training. I suspect some day soon they'll take charge like they have with everything else. I'll offer a potty. I'll suggest a potty but I'm not going to fret about it. For at least another six months.

On a happier note....

We just got back from going to see Oscar before his trip to the vet. Pink Grandma was there, too, but the boys were understandably more thrilled with the dog. I'm posting some pics, including this close-up showing Oscar's standard expression. He's clearly a little nutter and should fit right in. Meanwhile, after thinking things were going great as far as allergy boy goes.... Chas developed a single, small hive on his forehead where Oscar licked him. Weird. But if he can handle being around dogs as long as they don't lick him, well, things could be worse.

Dana Reeve died. More evidence that life is unfair.

I don't know why her death bugs me so much. It's not like I ever met her or even was familiar with her work. She seemed like a devoted wife, but how much can we ever know about the truth of someone famous? Still, she seemed cool. What really bugs me is the boy. He's 13. Both of his parents are gone. Yes, he's rich -- more money than I'll ever see in my lifetime, I'm sure. But money can't salve this wound, can't replace what he's lost. Children lose parents. Parents lose children. This case is no worse or better than thousands of others. But I don't read about thousands of others, so for me, this is worse.

Fate is cruel. She had a wonderful life to lead now as Christopher Reeve's death freed her as much as it did him from the prison of his body. Not that she didn't miss him, but come on. My mother would say that's why he died -- because he couldn't have taken the loss of her. That, mother dear, I'm sorry to say is bullshit. If God wants to take him to save him the agony of his wife's death, a more elegant solution would be to just refrain from having her get lung cancer.

Oh well. I hope that wherever they are, she and Christopher are dancing. And I hope their son is in the embrace of someone who loves him fiercely.

I want to live here with the puppy.

We visited Auntie Cathy tonight to see Pink Grandma's new puppy which she apparently tried to kill via neglect in its first day with her. I do not see a happy outcome for this dog who is adorable, friendly and doomed. Anyway, the boys love him and didn't want to leave Cathy's house. Poor Cathy. She's going to have to get up to take the puppy out to take little piddles all night. She already had to clean shit off of it. And in the end, my mother will either kill it or give it away. Hopefully not to someone who will consider it a delicacy, but you never know. The sad thing is that I knew from the moment I heard this plan that it was going to be a train wreck. But the reality is always a little worse than you anticipated. She left him cooped up in his crate all day because he couldn't go into the nursing home to visit my brother. He pooped in there and I'm hoping against hope that she didn't Bad Dog him for it because I'm sure it was a last resort.

If Chas didn't have allergies and asthma, we'd have a new pet right now I'm guessing. Meantime, do I have a great family or what? They somehow managed to find a way for me to actually be grateful for his asthma and allergies.

Anyway, I didn't bring the camera, but Steph took a dark pic with her cell phone of Chas bonding with the little Fur-ball. You can see it on her blog at www.betterlater.blogspot.com.

Eddie wants Mommy to take a time out.

So the boys are being little turds about bedtime tonight. Finally, in desperation, we tell them they are just going to have to be on their own and we leave the room. Soon, a tearful Eddie is in the living room stretching his arms out to me. I take him back to his room to rock and cuddle. He is inconsolable. Then he says, "I want to go in the other room and leave YOU here!" The second time he says it, it sounded more like "I wouldn't go in the other room and leave you here." Either way, he was pissed. He told me it was mean and naughty. Then he said he wanted me to have a time out. So that's what I'm doing. Not exactly sitting still in a corner, but having nearly four decades of experience on him, I think (hope) I can get away with it. Anyway, in the middle of Sobfest 2006, he wanted a tissue (of course. This IS Eddie I'm talking about after all.) Steph got one but he rejected it. I blotted his tears a couple of times, but he yelled that he wanted to keep his tears. I suggested it was as evidence against me and he agreed.

Before this hoo-hah, I was going to blog that Eddie and Chas are like a regular Siskel and Ebert -- they don't agree about anything. I asked them whether Brokeback Mountain or Crash would win the Oscar tomorrow night. Eddie picked Crash, while Chas picked "Broke Broke Mountain." Then tonight, Eddie recounted the fun of today and pronounced it a " lub-elly, lub-elly (lovely, lovely) day." "NO! It not a lubley day!" Chas countered. The bickered until I suggested that it was such a subjective term that perhaps Eddie's experience of the day was lovely, lovely, while Chas felt far less charitable about the merits of the day. This confused them enough that they at least ceased the argument.

OK, so now I can hear that Eddie is no longer bereft and both boys are back to being little turds so I should go to Steph's aid. But not before I choose sides. I think, for the record, that it was indeed a lovely, lovely day. The night, however, seems to be sucking.

He ain't snotty, he's my brother....

Today we reached the pinnacle (I hope) of Eddie's control freak nature. He actually wiped his brother's nose. It's just wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin.

In other news, they got haircuts today. Not great cuts, either. Chas was literally butchered -- his little ear was bleeding and he got some nicks in his neck but he didn't cry or protest so it couldn't have hurt much. I was ready to kick the woman in the head, though. So if he'd cried, I would probably be in jail now so it all worked out. Both boys' hair is bit shorter than I like. Steph says it just shows off their faces better, but we both know she's just polishing a turd.

Speaking of turds, how about our President, eh? I have a new theory on him. I think he gave up the drink, but simply replaced that addiction to an addiction with gambling. And money is just too mundane, so he likes to gamble with people's lives. Either that or he really is just a complete idiot.

The boys' colds are progressing. Eddie is several days ahead of Chas but ironically, the non-asthmatic, non-allergic kid always seems to suffer more with colds. Go figure. I'm just hoping they are well and their little noses aren't chapped when they get their birthday pictures taken next week. That seems so shallow, but it's true. My boys' breathers aren't working so hard as Eddie says and I'm worried about photo ops. Another think for them to be in therapy about.

"You proud for me, Mommy!"

Yes, these are the immortal words of Eddie after he successfully scaled (more than once) the faux rock-climbing wall on his playset all by himself today.

Meanwhile, Chas' favorite word -- at least when he's in a swing -- is "Faster! Faster!" I'll post photos soon of our little bit of playtime in the yard. I've got to see about how much it will cost to pad every surface in our house and yard first. (OK, still no padding estimate, but I've now added photos.)