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.