Fall Ball

You should see him out there.  He is something else, let me tell you.  And check out the face he makes when he runs…but only when he runs fast.  I never noticed it until I looked at the pictures. 

Boy do I love this kid. 

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Monday

Well, it was a weekend full of yuck.  I felt miserable.  Luckily The Man came home early on Friday to help me make his birthday dinner.  I started on the dessert and realized that there was no way it was going to be ready to eat with our supper–it had to chill for 4 hours after cooling to room temp (which took three hours).  So we had brownie sundaes instead, and told ourselves we would eat the pumpkin cheesecake with gingersnap crust for breakfast on Saturday.  Which we did.

Then Ella threw up because I gave her a bite of shrimp and I forgot that I think she’s allergic to shrimp because she always throws up when she eats it.  Brilliant deduction, right?  So we were both up half the night with vomit and vomity laundry. 

Saturday morning the weather was gorgeous.  I went to Henry’s t-ball game (picture to follow), and felt gross.  It actually took my mind off of being sick for an hour though, watching Henry instruct each of his teammates to throw the ball to him if they got it, so that he could get an out.  He’s nothing if not confident.  Good for him.

I came home, ate some lunch and put Ella down for a nap.  Then I watched the Hokies online because the game wasn’t televised.  They won.  It wasn’t the best performance.  But they won. 

Then I took Kate to a party where they did her hair all cute and funky with twists and braids and sparkles.  And there was some blue eyeshadow involved.  A little thick, imho, but it was cute for a little girl playing dress-up.  I was exhausted.  While the party was going on, I did a little shopping.  And I coughed a lot.

Sunday morning I felt gross.  Or gross-er if that is possible.  I did some laundry, made a grocery list, hung a fall wreath and took a nap.  (It wasn’t really a nap.  It was more like rest.  And it wasn’t even very rest-y.  Because I couldn’t breathe.)

Then I went grocery shopping.  That was un-fun.  I have to do it, though, because I’m a freak about the food we buy, and I get annoyed when The Man shops because he gets the wrong stuff.  I make life so easy for myself, don’t I?

Then I came home and did more laundry and read books with Ella while The Man made supper.  We ate, showered the kids, read more books and tucked them in bed. 

I searched for about an hour on this computer for a folder of pictures that is apparently gone.  (Did I mention that I have a new computer?  Yeah.  I have a new computer.  The other one croaked.)  I read blogs and went to sleep.  

Today, I woke up with a headache.  I’m tired.  I don’t feel well.  And I have a full week of stuff to do, not the least of which is restoring a bunch of accounting programs.  Which I have been putting off because I dread it.

Before school, William argued with me about wearing a coat.  It is 52 degrees.  I said wear a sweatshirt or a light jacket.  He couldn’t find his sweatshirt.  So he had to wear a jacket.  (I guess that is another instance of how I ruin all the fun around here for him).  This was like a repeat performance of Friday morning.  Only this time I kept it together and hugged him and told him I loved him and completely ignored his anger.

Then I got home from the bus stop, and the first thing I notice is Kate’s homework folder that she was supposed to bring to school.  And I think very briefly about bringing it up to the school for her.  But then I decide that she has to take responsibility for her work.  And it makes me almost cry because she is typically so responsible.  And I think she left it out for me to sign so it’s half my fault.  But she should have completed it before this morning, 5 minutes before we’re supposed to leave. 

Now I’m sitting here, and the reality of it being laundry day creeps in and I know I have a lot of laundry to do.  The washing, the drying, the folding.  The piles of laundry everywhere.  I am swimming in the every-day mundane tasks of motherhood.  Normally, I feel joy in the mundane.  But today, it just feels overwhelming. 

Ella is beside me.  I watch her squeeze her bagel and make a complete mess of the cream cheese and think she is just the most precious thing in the entire world.  And my.heart.leaps.  Wow.  I am lucky to be her mother. 

And then Henry asks me if I want to see his muscles.  How glad I am that I am a mother of boys. 

That was what I needed.  A God-sighting.  Right there.

I’m So Very Sorry

I just want to take this moment to apologize to the two young ladies who will eventually marry my boys.  Because hunnies, they are never ever ever ever ever ever ever going to master the fine art of putting the lid down.  Nor will they flush consistently.  Nor will they admit it when they’re the one who didn’t flush. 

Seriously, I will walk into the bathroom and the lid will be up and the water will be, um, not colorless, and no one will admit to being the one that did it.  Either that or they’ll blame each other. 

Did I mention the time I caught them “yellowing the water” together?  This was quite some time ago.  I 86′d that behavior.  But that’s normal behavior, right?  I mean for boys, that’s normal, right?  Anyone?   

Oh, and Ella drew a picture of poo, isn’t that nice?  I don’t know where she came up with that idea.  Truly.  Not one of the other children has ever drawn poo.  At least not that I can remember anyway. 

I swear we are civilized.  I swear it.  I have the pretty smelling soaps and fresh towels and I make them wash their hands.  I even put product in their hair.  And I made snickerdoodles today.  Snickerdoodles are civilized, right?

This is the Fodder.

We are back from the wilderness now.  It wasn’t really all that wild.  More on that later. 

Anyway, we’re back.  And of course, we had t-ball practice today and soccer starts Tuesday and cheering has been going on now for two weeks already and the boys need cleats and uniforms and school shoes and I still had some school supplies to buy.  And I noticed while I was packing for the wilderness that Henry really had very few decent shirts to wear for school so we had to get a few of those, too.  

Have you ever shopped with two little boys?  Mm-hmm. 

It was only slightly frustrating, to be honest.

Let me just share some of the comments I overheard:

***

William:  “Hey Henry, what if you tooted on Santa’s lap?!”  chuckles and snorts and guffaws.

***

Henry:  “Hey William, hold my finger.”

William:  “No Henry, I know what you’re going to do.”

Henry:  “Hey Mom, hold my finger.  I promise I’m not going to toot.  I’m just going to pretend to.”

***

Henry:  “Whoa, I just did a tooter.”  More chuckles.  More snorts, more guffaws. 

 

Can I just ask, what is it with the tooters?  

I live with small, insane people.  This is the fodder.

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All Boy

William.

I love this boy.  I love that he is all boy.   I love that he drinks from a hose.  Even though that is gross. 

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Visit 5 minutes for mom for more wordless wednesday photos.

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The Sprinkler

 

Summer. 

For more Wordless Wednesday photos, click here.

For Your Reading Pleasure

1.  Last week,  I found shoes under my pillow.  If you’ll remember, The Man and I have a little game going on.  I did not find the shoes to be hilarious.  It’s way funnier when I do it. 

 

2.  I must preface #2 by asking you to recall William’s rules.  Pay particularly close attention to rule #1.  The one that says ”Don’t look at me when I’m getting dressed.”  Right.  So yesterday I got a note from The Man while I was out which stated the following: 

No more Wii for William today.  When I sent the boys upstairs to change, William did a naked dance in front of Henry.

Which totally made me laugh.  I know, I shouldn’t laugh.  Anyway, just to clarify the rules, you are not allowed to look at William while he gets dressed.  Even if he does a naked dance.  

 

3.  I got this super nice award from Daniele at Life As A Mom…thank you Daniele!  The award states:  This award is bestowed on blogs that are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to how ever many bloggers you choose and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

 

I actually had to look up ”self-aggrandizement” to make sure I knew what it meant.  I had a vague sense.  I also had a vague sense of how exceedingly charming I am.    Anyway, what a nice award to receive.   

 

4.  Yesterday the kids found this…

 

 

And The Man wanted to keep it.  I don’t know why.  Because he’s a man I guess.  It’s dead.  It’s in a baggie.  In my house.      

So I took a picture of it.  Because that’s what I do.  Anyway, look how it is preserved for all eternity…in striking position.  You can even see it’s creepy little viper tongue.  In case you were wondering, it is a milk snake (which is not a viper.  But “viper tongue” sounds very snakey).  It’s harmless.  Still gross.  And the deadness doesn’t do anything to lessen the “gross.”  I’m going to put it in Mr. Pink’s mailbox.  Just for fun. 

 

5.  Speaking of whom, Mr. Pink made a nasty comment about my daffodils looking unkempt.  So I spent several hours the other day tying them up into nice neat little bundles.  Now they look very kempt.  You would not believe how long that takes, really.  And I only did about half of them.  When Mr. Pink saw my handi-work, he said it was definitely a pink job.  Mm-hm.  That topic shall never die. 

 

6.  Superfudge.  Remember that book…Judy Blume?  Mm-hmm.  I bought it for Kate.  I was so impressed with myself for choosing this book for Kate, which she devoured in about 2 days.  And then I read this passage:

When I got home that afternoon, I cornered my mother.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to let him go on believing in Santa.” 

bla bla bla…

“I do agree that sooner or later he’ll have to learn that Santa is just an idea.”  She sighed.  “But for now, he’s so enthusiastic and the idea of Santa is so lovely that Daddy and I have decided it can’t possibly hurt.  So please go along with us for a while Peter.”

bla bla bla…

“Well I think it’s a mistake!”  I said.  I turned and walked away.  I couldn’t remember ever having believed in Santa.  When I was three I caught my parents stacking presents under the tree.  And by the time I was five, I knew exactly where to look for the presents my parents thought they had carefully hidden from me.”

 

Well if that isn’t just fantastic.  Now Christmas — nay, her entire childhood — is ruined.  The magic is all over.  I know — it was only a matter of time – I know.  Actually, this was probably a pretty easy way to “find out.”  Unless she actually already knew.  Which is certainly possible.  But still.  Crap. 

The problem with finding books for Kate is that she needs something  a little advanced…like for a 11-12 year old level reader.  But she is only 8.  So I need books that are appropriate topic and material for an eight year old.  Any suggestions?  I tried The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo, and pre-read that to make sure it was appropriate.  I found the selling of a little girl by her father (who never looked back, not even once) to a man that clouts her on the ear so much that her ears begin to look like cauliflower, and the mouse blood and bones and smell of death to be a little much thankyouverymuch.  So she’ll be waiting a little while to read that one.  Sheesh.  So please, your suggestions are very, very welcome.

And that’s pretty much it for this house for this week.  Night-night! 

What I learned this week. Take note.

1.  When your child (who is having a severe reaction to an immunization) tells you “Hey mom, my pee was pink!” it will also happen to be the only time he has flushed the potty without you reminding him in the last month.   

2.  Since you didn’t actually SEE the pee, you have to google what pink pee indicates.  It indicates blood in the urine, which is what you thought in the first place.  So you google causes of pink urine.  Which brings up lots of scary kidney problems that you can’t pronounce.

3.  Google may or may not be a fear-monger.

4.  When you call the pediatrician’s office to discuss pink urine, they will not calm your fears.  The freak-out is detectable in their voice, though they try to hide it.   

5.  Little boys might not actually have pink pee when they say they do.  But then again, they might.  Hard to say. 

6.  “Pink” has many shades.

7.  When googling the causes of pink urine, you will find that eating fresh beets can cause your urine to turn pink.  Interestingly, canned beets do not have the same effect.  Also, not everyone who eats fresh beets will have pink urine.  I am curious to know how this subject comes to be discussed.  Unless I’ve had a LOT of alcohol, I can’t imagine bringing up the color of my urine at a social event.   

8.  Ella needs a daily nap.  Enough said about that.

9.  Ella is still cute as a button when she’s really cranky. 

10.  A glass of wine takes the edge off.  Okay, I already knew that.  Whatever.

11.  You can rejoice all you want when a weekday baseball game is rained out.  But be prepared for the make-up game.  Because it’s coming.  And the new date and time won’t be any better than the original. 

12.  T.G.I.F.  Okay, I already knew that, too.  Whatever whatever.

That’s pretty much all I have to say.   Visit Musings of a Housewife if you are inclined to learn more.  Hopefully no one else is posting information on urine and beets.

Today He is Seven

I hardly know where to begin what I want to say about William. 

My first son.  He woke me out of the peaceful dream of parenthood that was Kate with a vigor and volume I had not ever known.  No more were the 3 hour naps.  Gone were the 9:00am late risings.  

He was a wild, magical creature that amazed and delighted me. 

He also exhausted me.  From the moment he arrived–kicking and screaming I might add–he has not settled down.

He taught me how to trust my instincts.  He forced me into a world I hadn’t known before.  A world of therapists and orthotics and neurologists and cardiologists and worry.  And then he taught me about hard work, and commitment and triumph. 

As he grew, I appreciated what people meant by the wonderful, dirty dog smell that little boys get when they’ve been outside.     

He is the boy that for more than 4 years has said to us, every.single.night., the following words: 

“I love you.  Night-night.  Sit in the chair up here.  The one by the door.  I love you.  Night night.”

Every night, people.  Without fail.  He was two when this started.  T.W.O.  It was all about control, you know. 

Now, he is so tired at night that he can barely wait until we leave his room to begin his ritual address.  And he has told us that when he is seven he will no longer say it.  Which honestly, nearly breaks my heart.  He says he is “getting tired of it.”  But I only recently realized how much I like to hear it. 

Before the whole sit-in-the-chair speech, he used to make us sing “The Little Drummer Boy.”  Every single night.  Several times.  Year round.  Rum.Pa.Pum.Pum.  You know that version by David Bowie and Bing Crosby?  (Peace on earth…)  He hated that version.  It frustrated him.  I used to turn the radio up when that version came on and wait to see how long it took him to notice.  Just to bother him.  Because I’m such a good mother that way.

Of all the children, William is the most emotional.  He has the strongest personality.  He is also the softest.  The most tender hearted.  His sometimes demanding personality masks the little boy who is looking for acceptance and encouragement and love. 

And his voice…he has the sweetest, raspiest little voice.  Except when Ella is sleeping.  Then he’s louder than you can imagine.

He has a nose like a bloodhound.   He can smell chocolate across the room.

He loves bubble gum.  

He loves new jammies.

He loves football.

And baseball.

And basketball.

And soccer.

And the pool.

He loves his daddy.  

Today he is seven.  Today, he still wakes up, comes downstairs and snuggles into his mom and dad.  And lately I’ve just let those moments linger, because I know they aren’t going to last forever.  I know that soon enough, he’ll be 8, and then 10 and then 16, and asking for my car.  And God help me when that moment arrives.  

Being his mother has been the most thrilling, exhausting, frustrating, frightening, joyful time-of-my-life. 

Before I had a little boy, I found this quote by Alan Beck.  I wondered whether it truely described a little boy accurately.   Now I know.  This little quote may as well be entitled “William.”

   

What Is A Boy?
By Alan Beck

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood,
We find a delightful creature called a boy.
Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors,
but all boys have the same cravings.
To enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day,
and to protest with noise, their only weapon, when
their last minute is finished and the adult male packs them off to bed at night.
Boys are found everywhere, on top of, underneath, inside of,
climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping through.
Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them,
adults ignore them and Heaven protects them.
A boy is truth with dirt on his face, beauty with a cut on his finger,
wisdom with bubble gum in his hair,
and the hope of the future with a frog in his pocket.
When you are busy a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise,
when you want him to make a good impression his brain turns to jelly,
or else he becomes a savage, sadistic,
jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a composite.
He has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower,
the energy of a pocket size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat,
the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet.
The audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker,
and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice-cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books,
the boy across the street, wood, water (in its natural habitat), large animals,
dad, brains, Saturday morning and fire engines.
He’s not much for Sunday School, company, everyday school,
books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls,
overcoats, adults or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper,
nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes.
Nobody else can cram into one pocket, a rusty knife, a half eaten apple,
three feet of string, an empty Bull Durum sack, two gum drops,
six cents, a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance,
and a genuine super sonic code ring with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature,
you can lock him out of your workshop but you can’t lock him out of your heart.
You can get him out of your study,
but you can’t get him out of your mind.
Might as well give up, he is your captor, your jailer,
your boss and your master.
A freckled face, pint sized,
cat-chasing bundle of noise.
But when you come home at night
 with only the shattered pieces of your hope and dreams,
he can mend them like new with two magic words, 

 HI DAD!

 

 

Maya Angelou once said “If I have a monument in this world, it is my son.” You are my monument in this world, William. 

Happy birthday, little Bill. 

Tidbits, Because I’ve Got Nothing Else

1.  The number of lights I turned off this morning after the kids left for school:  9.  NINE.  Important to note–I did not use any of these lights.  They were all turned on by either the children, or The Man. 

2.  Kate’s second grade class is learning about matter (solids, liquids & gases).  They each had to bring in a mystery liquid and then give three clues to describe their mystery liquid.  Then the children each took turns guessing each other’s liquids.  One of the children brought in sweetened condensed milk.   Kate guessed it was “whiskey sauce.”  And I don’t even want to know what the teacher was thinking when she said that.

3.  My Henry is a charmer.  The other night he told me he was going to give me “one smooth kiss.”  He is five.  Oh boy he is a charmer.

4.  If someone sends you a wmv file, view it first before opening it in front of the kids.  Some things, like say, “pole-dancing” are best left unviewed by the under 18 crowd.  And it’s really hard to find the ’stop’ button quickly when you’re in a panic because the kids are watching pole-dancing.

5.  I don’t know why someone would send me a pole-dancing video.  You know who you are.

6.  The other day, after hearing (for the umpeenth time) a complaint about my housekeeping skillz, I decided to assign chores to the children so that they could all blame themselves when something isn’t complete.  William’s chore this week was helping me fold the laundry, and Henry, bless his heart, wanted to help him.

“Hey William, look–Mommy’s bra!”

“Ha ha ha!  Is there another one?  I’m gonna find another one.”  searching…

Henry has now strategically placed the bra in place…  ”Hey William, look at my boobies!”

(fits of laughter)

“boobies…boobies…boobies!”  The two of them frolic around like idiots.

And I wonder if I should just go back to doing the laundry myself.