Still here. Just tired.

So I haven't blogged for a while. But I have an excuse, of course. Steph was gone to a work thing for four days. I gotta say, I have newfound respect for single parents. It's just plain hard to not have another adult coming home at the end of the day to give you a break.

And yet... there was something oddly enjoyable about it. First, there was a certain novelty. As sad as it seems, it kind of felt like an adventure -- like the boys and I were roughing it and somehow proving our survival skills. And second, it freed me from all pretense of a schedule. I didn't have to worry/think about whether Steph would be home late and/or what she would want for dinner. When we got hungry, we ate. Truth be told, mostly we got hungry and ate at a restaurant -- I gotta have some luxury when I'm roughing it, after all. As tiring as it was to do everything for the boys myself at night, I missed her the most after they were asleep. That's when we get to talk/veg out in front of the TV. It's just not as satisfying to watch TV by myself -- even if when Steph is here she's only half-watching as she works nonstop on her laptop.

It was a brief change of pace that wasn't too bad. But I'm glad she's home. Maybe now I can actually get something done besides just keep the boys alive. As if.

Adding a little edge to a dental appointment.

I had to have a filling replaced yesterday. Whine, whine, whine. I found out my dentist DOES offer nitrous oxide -- aka "laughing gas" -- for a $20 charge. I decided to try it, since the boys get it (well, so far just Eddie) when they need dental work done.

I'm sure it had nothing at all to do with seeing this headline on the Seattle PI's web page just before I left for the appointment.

Anyway, I felt nothing from the gas except annoyance that I'd paid extra for it. This was even after they turned it up for me. This is the same thing I recall from my last experience with it -- but I was in high school then and I thought maybe I wasn't remembering right.

Oh, and my tooth is still sore. Whine. Whine. Whine.

Amphibians with a death wish...

As I grilled a couple of ginormous steaks tonight, I noticed a small frog had hopped up on the table at the side of the grill. The boys weren't right there, so I quickly shooed him away before they could see him and demand his capture.

Seriously, the frogs around here seem either despondent or just really stupid. First, it's a hot grill. Not the sort of thing a frog should be hopping on to or even nera. Second, there are two 5-year-old boys in residence. You should know what happened to the last frog who ventured this close. Sheesh.

Not quite "Mobile Home Disaster," but close...

The other day a couple of neighbor kids came traipsing through the house. I was in the bedroom when I overheard this assessment from one of them: "Your house is messy... But it's awesome!"

Now, when a 7-year-old boy notices your lack of general tidiness, well, there's no real positive spin you can put on it. But the second part was as nice to hear as the first part was hard to.

He's right, of course, about it being messy. On any given day, there is a miniature Nascar race reinactment paused somewhere in the living room. We're not talking one or two cars -- we're talking two or three dozen. (To be fair, they are often lined up quite neatly... just on the floor.) You will alsofind books strewn about anywhere someone might have felt like plopping down to read for a few minutes. I swear, some public libraries have fewer books than our boys -- but the libraries do a better job of keeping them shelved. You're also likely to find an easel out and/or some artwork or project drying somewhere. The dining room table is either in the process of being cleared so we can eat, or defiantly covered with someone's crafty project -- my scrapbooking (rarely) or the boys' you-name-it.

The walls? Well, at adult eye level, it's a photo gallery of a certain set of twin boys you may have heard of. At kid-level, the walls are covered with the original artwork by those same boys. I don't keep every single thing they draw, paste or otherwise create. But I sort of feel like if they make it, well, it deserves to be displayed for a little while at least. So the walls are a constantly rotating exhibit of their work.

So messy? Yup. Guilty. But to be honest, I kind of feel bad for kids who don't get to live with a little bit of a mess. Because life is messy. And fun. And you ought to have the things you love -- whether it's books, homemade art or tiny race cars around you and out where you can enjoy them as much as possible.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The Tooth Fairy has been here at last!

Last night, Eddie was finally willing to part with his teeth. Or rather, with most of them. He wrote her a note asking if he could please keep just one. Being an enormous sucker, she agreed.

This morning, both boys were in bed with moms when Chas woke up and ran back to their bedroom. Eddie was still sleeping soundly. A minute later, Chas was back, the familiar sound of coinage clinking in his little hand. I asked him what he had. "Money! It was under Eddie's pillow!"

I explained that Eddie would probably like to find it for himself and instructed him to go put it back, which he did. Then he came and woke up his brother. Eddie was quite pleased to get $12 in gold coin. (Dollars, but he thinks they are pennies. And he's still thrilled. Hmm.) He also kept one of his rooty teeth AND had a note from the Fairy thanking him for his manners in asking nicely to keep a tooth and congratulating him on his excellent oral hygiene while gently suggesting that he work a bit harder at it.

There was also a sprinkling of "fairy dust" left at the site, which Chas dismissed. "Well, I see some blue glitter," he said when it was pointed out to him. Eddie didn't care -- he was busy counting his coin. And losing one already.

It's now safely in the piggy bank. Oh, and the first point of his second adult tooth is now through the gums. Steph and my sister Cathy insist that they can tell that his first adult tooth has already started moving forward now that the baby teeth are gone. But I'm dubious.

Breaking the Tooth Fairy

While we were at Sea World last month, I noticed one of Eddie's adult teeth had broken through -- behind his baby teeth. Hmm. Today, we saw the dentist.

I broke my usual insistence that he go back alone. I had questions. He had questions. Well, actually, he had question. "Will it hurt?" So I went with him. He got nitrous, but just a little because Bad Mommy didn't think to have him avoid eating anything beforehand. Oops.

Anyway, x-rays showed some serious crowding, so the dentist said he was going to have to take four. F-O-U-R teeth. I had expected 2 at the most. I was in a little shock, but I didn't let it show.
So some nitrous, a series of shots (He only whimpered during the first few, his eyes filling with tears. Mine didn't -- but only because I was concentrating so hard on staying cool and relaxed for him.) and a few hard twists of some very shiny plier-type instruments and voila! Four baby teeth on the gauze, four nasty-looking holes in Eddie's mouth.

He's sleeping now, bloody gauze clutched in his mouth. He was exceedingly brave and very sweet about it all. And he expects some serious love from La Tooth Fairy tonight.

So here are the before and afters -- with a real after to come after he wakes up. Notice that only one of the baby teeth had a dissolved root. I guess we need to start saving for the orthodontist now. Sigh.

Last smile with a full mouth of baby teeth. (Poor kid doesn't

know what's gonna hit him.) And, as promised the new, holier grin.

The not-so-fantastic four


Sleeping it off...

SNUGGLES!!!!!!!

Last night Eddie's dry spell ended. This is bad because it's literal. In other words, he wet the bed. Then he crawled into my bed. And onto me. Once I sensed the dampness (and the pleasant odor) I pulled off his pants, changed my night shirt and decamped to the living room to spend the night on the sectional. It was a good plan. He hadn't actually wet in our bed, so it wasn't worth waking the whole family over.

About 15 minutes later, I hear his feet hit the ground and a scream much like Mel Gibson's "FREEEEEEDOMM!" in "Braveheart." But it wasn't freedom he was yelling for. It was "SNUUUUGGGLES!!!!" I yelled myself and told him to snuggle Mama. "MOOOOMMMMMMMMMYYYY SNUGGLES!" So I called him in. As he crawled onto the sectional with me I told him it was just for a minute and then he'd have to go back to bed. "OK," he said as he snuggled down between me and the backrest, sound asleep.

So that's how we slept: Side by side on, essentially, a couch. It actually wasn't too bad. I had almost as much room as he gives me in our King sized bed.

A Victoria's Secret catalogue writer he ain't...

Discussing their new favorite movie -- Wall*E in the car the other day, the boys were giggling over the best parts when Chas came up with this:

"Remember when he had his eyes covered up with one of those booby things our moms wear?"

Welcome to our campground/water park

I got the boys a cheap tent the other day and told them they could spend the night outside in it. Whoo to the hoo. So last night they very excitedly got ready for bed, hauled 42,000 stuffed animals out (I exaggerate only slightly) and climbed in. Of course, they needed a light -- though it was really only twilight outside and they could see perfectly well. So we obliged with a camping lantern. The biggest problem was our pain the tushie rear neighbor who had his back hoe or something running. Still, they settled nicely and Mama and I headed to the living room to watch The Devil Wears Prada -- which we'd downloaded about a year ago and finally had a chance to watch.

About 10 minutes in, we saw a flash in the windows. Uh-oh. Lightning or fireworks? Definitely lightning. Let's bring the fellas in. By the time we reached the hallway, Eddie was there to greet us. He wasn't scared -- no way. It was too cold out. That's his story and he's sticking to it. So they got into our bed after a brief try at their own overheated bedroom. (Moms have A.C. and took pity.)

Today I got them out their old slip n slide. On their own, they improvised and ran to the backyard to run a hose down their regular slide. I added their pool to the bottom and voila! Instant water park, according to Eddie and Chas. We had a playdate last week with friends who have a gorgeous in-ground swimming pool set in an equally gorgeous yard. Eddie and Chas said we should invite them over to see our "water slide." Hmm. Somehow, I think they will be less than wowed.

Requiem for a frog.

The other day, while getting ready to grill up some chicken, I discovered a frog on the deck. We see them fairly regularly through the summer, but I called the boys out to look. Then I agreed to go open up the frog habitat they'd gotten from a friend for their birthday. I followed all the directions to make sure it was safe for froggy -- including filling the ponds with bottled spring water. When I went to look, sure enough, froggy was still there.

We caught froggy. We put froggy out of direct sunlight. We showed froggy to Mama when she got home and even caught a small moth to feed him. Then it was time to let him go, because we don't keep wild things for our enjoyment permanently. Cue the wailing and gnashing of teeth from Sirs Eddie and Chas.

So we caved. We kept him overnight. And I checked on him the next mid-morning. Fine. The plan was to release him to the wild that evening. Sadly, froggy didn't make it. Shortly before Steph came home I checked again and it looked like he was swimming. Cute. Until I jiggled the habitat and realized he was actually just floating lifeless. Ugh.

We started off telling the boys he'd just left. But they were so angry and sad and I didn't want a repeat later that I decided the painful truth was the best. Froggy died. He went to froggy heaven. Steph even put on gloves and brought the little corpse in for a final goodbye. Eddie was particularly bereft. I told him that 100 years from now when he dies he can ask God to see Froggy Woggy (his given name) in heaven. "What if I forget?!?!" He sobbed. So he drew a picture so he will always remember.

In the end, I decided that this was probably as good an introduction to death as they'll get. And they need to learn not to try to capture and keep wild creatures.

Unless, of course, you're the World Famous San Diego Zoo. As promised, here's a panda pic from the zoo. To help make this post seem all cute and cuddly and not like the confessions of a wanton frog killer.

In preschool, it's what you'd call an "A/B pattern."

So a weird detente of sorts has been established between Eddie and Chas and the neighbor boy, Daniel. It started the other day when Eddie walked up to him and said, "We should be friends because we still know each other."

That broke the ice, for now, and they've been playing together happily. At dinner tonight,Steph asked how they liked playing with Daniel again. They said it was nice. We all agreed it's best to be friends with your neighbors if you can and I said I was pleasantly surprised by the renewal of their friendship. "It's a pattern," Eddie said nonchalantly. "Wha?" I asked. "It's a pattern," he repeated. "First we're friends, then we're not. Then we're friends again and then we're not. Now, we're friends again." Then he gave me a "whaddya gonna do?" shrug and took another bite of cous cous. (Which he and Chas have decided to call either "goose goose" or, more ridiculously, "mongoose." Don't ask.)

Home again, home again, jiggety jig...

Just returned from a week of fun in San Diego and a day in L.A. We rocked the animal world -- from dinner with Shamu to an overnight camp in San Diego Zoo's Wild Animal Park. We played at the beach, swam in the pools, fed everything from giraffes to dolphins to lorikeets. And save for the first night when we turned on the TV and learned of Tim Russert's death, we managed to avoide most news.

Oh, we enjoyed the local San Diego news -- including coverage of California's first gay marriages -- yay! And lots of talk about heat waves etc. But the constant drone was turned off. So today when I log in I'm greeted with the following: Typhoon in the Philipines, boat overturned, 700 missing. Elderly man drives into the Sound -- wife dies. Two killed in a shooting here, two more in a shooting there. Teen drowns in a local lake. Teen beaten for bringing home bad grades.

I can't believe I used to do the hard news for a living. Not just do it -- but revel in it. I loved covering the mayhem and madness. Now it just makes me tired -- Like I wanna go look at some pandas or watch my boys frolic in a pool. I know that within a day or so everything will be back to normal. But after a week of not being really plugged in, the bad news is kind of assaultive.

On a lighter note, I'm downloading the thousands of pictures and will surely have something to post soon!

And that's why they call it hard ball.

So we played T-ball in the rain tonight, this being the next to last game and no one wanting to try to squeeze in a make up game tomorrow.

Things were just fine -- the usual screw ups -- until the bottom of the second inning. Chas was "pitching," which means he stands generally in the area of the pitcher's mound (or in this case, gaping hole in the turf that seems just perfect for tripping an inattentive 5-year-old) while the opposing team hits the ball off a T.

All's well -- pitcher gets lots of action etc. Then a kid rips a line drive off the T and straight into Chas' face. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for the first time all season I was standing just behing the back stop so I had a perfect view. And the sound. Oh, the sickening sound. He fell to the ground but didn't cry for a couple of frightening seconds. I immediately ran to him -- probably faster than I've run in at least 20 years. And, just as people say happens in a time of stress, I developed complete tunnel vision. Everything around him was a blur as I ran and scooped him up. I cradled him a little too protectively as the coaches from both teams strained to get a look. I glanced up and saw that they were shaken and worried and I didn't want Chas to see that as I tried to calm him -- because the crying had triggered an asthma attack already.

Finally I pulled back to look myself, frightened of what I would see and fully expecting a trip to the hospital. He sobbed a question: "Is there blood?" In fact, there was not. The ball had miraculously hit right between his eyes. Lower and his nose would have been busted. To either side and we'd probably be looking at an eye injury if not a broken socket. But it hit at probably the hardest part of his little head.

As I carried him off the field -- he was done for the evening -- I realized the day will come in the not-too-distant future when he will be mortified to have his mother run onto the field -- especially when there's a live ball in play. But for now, kindergarten or no, he's still my baby.

Oh, and the next inning? The coach had Eddie scheduled to play pitcher. He looked at me and said he could switch positions but I told him it was O.K. It's all part of baseball. But I was mighty glad when the game ended without Eddie catching one with his face.

Finis. Until Saturday.

So after graduation (mostly for the parents) the boys and their classmates had a last day of school with pizza and root beer floats and lots of free play. Eddie and Chas chose to spend much of it with their newfound girlfriends wrapped around them. Seriously. It's the other set of twins in the class and the four of them are smitten. They had arms around each other at every opportunity. Chas likes his girlfriend because she's silly. Eddie likes his because she likes Cole and he likes Cole. Hmm. Twisted relationships in his future if he doesn't get over that one.

But Temple and Rory can just hold on -- for now the boys are still all mine to be silly with:




Even when we weren't posing for silly pictures at the end of school today, I didn't cry -- even a little bit. Though my friend spent nearly the entire night crying. But I'm definitely feeling a little odd about it all. Since they're out of preschool, I guess that makes them officially kindergartners. Of course due to the scheduling genius at the preschool this year -- NOT me, for the record -- we still have an event -- the ice cream social on Saturday. Extended goodbyes are a pain in the a**.

Commencing life with school-aged kids. Sniff. Sniff.

So here the boys are with their Pink Grandma after preschool graduation. Honestly, I don't know which was harder to get to pay attention and look at the camera: The 5-year-olds or the 83-year-old. Oh, and Grandma was sure to tell them this would be the last of their graduations she would make it to. 'Cause, you know, she's old and will die before the next one. Thankfully this seemed to go over their heads.



And here they are with Grandpa Harold. He's just happy to be here.

Balancing act

Saturday, Eddie and Chas had friends over. (We watched them and next weekend their parents will watch Eddie and Chas. The kids love spending time together and the grown-ups actually get to go do grown up things. Like shop.)

Anyway, as part of the marathon of outdoor fun, we got all confident and took the training wheels off one of the bikes. Lo and behold, Eddie can ride with no training wheels. He can't really start on his own -- we've got to work on that. But he does great once he's rolling. His friend's parents were so impressed that I got a call from them today: Their son is now doing it.

Chas, ever the cautious child, is not so keen on trying this yet. I gotta say, I understand. I was a very aged 6 years old when I first learned to ride sans training wheels. I remember I felt so old and ashamed. And it took what seemed like an entire day of my dear old dad running along beside me. But in retrospect, I doubt it was more than an hour. We celebrated by getting dangly streamers and a horn for my bike. Oh, and I skinned more knees on my bike than I care to remember. Eddie, for his inaugural attempts, was fitted with elbow and knee pads (mostly because he was wearing shorts). Oh, and always a helmet -- something I never even heard of as a kid. Despite the fact that they will be the only kids on the street who wear 'em, the boys have known since they first got on a trike that helmets are required for people in this household. It's one of the few rules I know without a doubt I'm going to be a hard ass about. Too many years of covering crime and safety for me to do otherwise.

And now a break from my children to talk politics...

So CNN reports that Hillary and Barack campaigns are negotiating an end. good. As annoying as I find it that it's over for Hillary when she's so close (and that pundits have been calling it over for waaay too long, in essence creating a self-fulfilling prophecy) it is over. Apparently the Clinton camp wants to be able to publicly turn down the VP spot or have Barack retire her campaign debt.

Barack, I know you read my blog religiously. So listen up. You need to give Hillary what she wants. Show respect, not just lip service. Because the only thing that will motivate the mighty base of over 40 women who have felt some kinship with Hillary is to have her give a stirring and heartfelt endorsement. Otherwise, we're waiting to see what happens in 2012. Remember the old slogan "When women vote, Democrats win"? Please do.

Please also remember that the general election is going to be a lot different. For one thing, its rules are more closely aligned to the Republican primary than this proportional primary thing the Democrats did this year. And to remind you, if votes were counted in the primaries the way they will be in the general and the way they have been in every election until now -- winner-take-all -- Hillary would have been the presumptive nominee for weeks.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Don't call me "Sweetie."

"Mommy, you're the best cook in the world!"

Don't get me wrong. I have no illusions about my culinary abilities. But I have, on more than a few occasions, worked hard to create a meal that would both nourish my family's bodies and their souls. I've cooked to present meals that would be a tangible expression of my love. Invariably, those efforts are greeted by "Eh" or "I don't YIKE it!"

But today, I got the payoff. Eddie said it first, and Chas quickly chimed in. My heart is full...with laughter. Here is the recipe that garnered such accolades:

Toast (with jam)

Ingredients:
2 slices of Multi-grain bread
1 pat of butter
Aprox. 1 tsp. Marionberry Jam

Take bread and insert in toaster -- one slice per slot. While bread toasts, soften butter in microwave (5 secs on high). When toast pops out, spread with butter, followed immediately by jam. Out of sheer laziness to avoid having to slice the pieces individually, put two slices together with jam and butter sides together to avoid mess while slicing (diagonally -- always diagonally!). Hand each boy a half "jamwich" without separating the pieces, again, out of sheer laziness. Repeat as necessary to quell the clamoring for more of this amazing dish.

The. Greatest. Toy. Ever.

So Eddie's discovered something great. Something amazing. Something that can fill his days and nights with fun and excitement.

And it came from the Dollar Store.

What is this miracle? A calculator. More specifically, according to Eddie, a calculator that adds and subtracts. (For the record, it also multiplies and divides and I think even calculates square roots. That's of little interest to him. I, however, am amazed to see that he can pick up for a buck essentially the same machine my Dad bought in the early '70s for aout $70. Actually, it's better in many respects. Ahh, the ever-declining price of technology!)

Eddie views this thing as his own, personal miracle machine. It has given me some respite from constantly being asked to add increasingly large numbers for him. (Kid, I became a journalist for a reason and it wasn't because I was good at math.) However, now I'm getting peppered with questions like, "Wow! Mom, did you know that 1,100 plus 1,100 equals 2,200? You did? Wow. That's a really big number isn't it?" And on. And on. All of this because his preschool teacher started the 100 Club for kids who can count to 100 by 1s, 5s and 10s. Curses for actually getting my kid interested in math!

The good news is that if this trend continues, I'll not have to worry about him getting some girl pregnant in high school....

A little too much Nascar Love

Eddie loves Nascar. Eddie, like many Nascar fans, really loves Dale Earnhardt Jr. Sadly, it's been 2 years since Junior's won a race. Last week, Eddie thought he'd do it. He didn't. Eddie cried.

This week things were looking good. With 15 or so laps to go, Junior was in 2nd and gaining on the leader. At about that point, I checked in with Eddie and his chin quivered. The cars went three wide and Junior moved into the lead in most exciting fashion. It was too much. Junior lead the field and Eddie sat crying in my lap, covering his eyes but peeking between his fingers every few seconds. "I don't want to hear who won if it's not Junior!" We were reassuring and muted the TV. At this point, even I was getting tense. With three laps to go, the dastardly Kyle Busch (who, until he won last week, was Eddie's second favorite driver) tried to pass. Somebody "got loose" and Busch hit Junior, pushing him sideways and spinning him around. Junior ended in 15th place.

Steph, meanwhile, had tried to reassure Eddie that even if Junior lost, he wouldn't cry because he'd tried his hardest and that was all that mattered. Then they interviewed Junior and by golly, the guy seemed on the verge of crying. Oy.

Anyway, we calmed Eddie but we now have a new rule. Eddie cannot watch another Sprint Cup race until Junior wins one. Until then, he's only going to watch Nationwide races, in which Junior does not compete. Oy.