Now all he needs are a hat, some water, and a bunch of kangaroo jerky and he'll be ready for the outback.
Monday, June 30, 2008
G'Day, Mate!
My parents just returned from a three week vacation in Australia. They brought back boomerangs for the grandsons. Nathan loves his, of course, and has devised a brilliant carrying system.
Now all he needs are a hat, some water, and a bunch of kangaroo jerky and he'll be ready for the outback.
Now all he needs are a hat, some water, and a bunch of kangaroo jerky and he'll be ready for the outback.
God Bless America
On Saturday night we had the pleasure of doing our first bit of patriotic celebrating for this summer season. The city where my in-laws (and my parents, for that matter) live holds their big celebration the weekend before the 4th of July. Each year we have dinner with Kev's folks, hang out for the evening, and finish up the festivities with the fireworks display. This year Kev's siblings and their families were able to join us and we had a wonderful time.
Nathan, in spite of his excitement, was still nervous during the fireworks. He has always been that way. I think the noise is what bothers him. When he was one (and even two, I think), he wouldn't even watch. He would just bury his head in someone's shoulder, cover his ears, and wait for it to end. He watched the year he was three, but I think Aunt Connie covered his ears the entire time. And last year was even worse. He had tubes put in his ears in May, and after nearly a year of muffled hearing due to all the fluid in his ears, the noise was almost more than he could handle. This year he was determined to be brave. He started off sitting next to one of his cousins, but after about five minutes he hastily relocated to where Kev and I were sitting. But as long as one of us was close, he was okay.
Daniel was nervous the first year or two that he watched fireworks, but got over it quickly after that. Now it is an event that he truly looks forward to. It is fun to watch fireworks with Daniel because he yells and cheers when he is impressed. He really has no inhibitions about expressing his enjoyment of any event! As usual, the finale was fabulous. They very literally light up the sky. And Daniel loved it so much he drew a picture of the finale to share with everyone.
Matthew is the first of our children to enjoy the fireworks at the ripe old age of one. When the first one went up, his eyes got very big and then he laughed. He continued to grin and clap until he got too tired. Since his usual bedtime is 8:00 and he gave up clapping about 10:30, I think he did amazingly well!
So we had a great time. And I love that the boys are quickly gaining a sense of patriotism and the blessing it is to live in this country.
Nathan, in spite of his excitement, was still nervous during the fireworks. He has always been that way. I think the noise is what bothers him. When he was one (and even two, I think), he wouldn't even watch. He would just bury his head in someone's shoulder, cover his ears, and wait for it to end. He watched the year he was three, but I think Aunt Connie covered his ears the entire time. And last year was even worse. He had tubes put in his ears in May, and after nearly a year of muffled hearing due to all the fluid in his ears, the noise was almost more than he could handle. This year he was determined to be brave. He started off sitting next to one of his cousins, but after about five minutes he hastily relocated to where Kev and I were sitting. But as long as one of us was close, he was okay.
Daniel was nervous the first year or two that he watched fireworks, but got over it quickly after that. Now it is an event that he truly looks forward to. It is fun to watch fireworks with Daniel because he yells and cheers when he is impressed. He really has no inhibitions about expressing his enjoyment of any event! As usual, the finale was fabulous. They very literally light up the sky. And Daniel loved it so much he drew a picture of the finale to share with everyone.
Matthew is the first of our children to enjoy the fireworks at the ripe old age of one. When the first one went up, his eyes got very big and then he laughed. He continued to grin and clap until he got too tired. Since his usual bedtime is 8:00 and he gave up clapping about 10:30, I think he did amazingly well!
So we had a great time. And I love that the boys are quickly gaining a sense of patriotism and the blessing it is to live in this country.
Friday, June 27, 2008
"Monkey On A Pedestal"
On Wednesday evening I had the pleasure of a girls' night out with one of my oldest friends. I'm sure you've all heard that adage that old friends are the best. I believe that's true, although I'm not sure if it's because we actually like them more or because they have way more blackmail material on us and we don't want to tick them off. :-) But seriously, I've known Lisa since we were five and she is the one that knows all my deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets. Although we keep in touch via e-mail and blog, we don't see each other nearly as often as we should. So it was a real pleasure to have an evening together!
We went to dinner and then we saw "The Drowsy Chaperone" at the Capitol Theater (Thank you, thank you, Lisa!!). I walked in knowing nothing about the show (an unusual circumstance for me) and was overwhelmingly surprised by how much I loved it. The narrator in the show (Man In Chair) was played by a Canadian actor by the name of Jonathan Crombie. That's right, ladies. Gilbert Blythe. In the flesh. Of course, the character he played in this production wasn't exactly the strong, sensitive man that Anne fell in love with. In fact, it wasn't even close. But in spite of that, listening to the chit chat before and after the show was like being caressed by a constant whisper of, "Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert . . ."
The show itself was a romp through the world of musical theater. It mocked (to the glee of the audience, of course) many common and often overused plot devices that occur in musicals. We're talking about the classic dumb blond, the gangsters disguised as regular folk (pastry chefs on this occasion), the European self-proclaimed ladies' man, lovely melodies coupled with really lousy lyrics, etc, etc. We were also provided with a running commentary on theater etiquette and what runs through one's head while watching a show. I laughed myself silly.
I won't bore you with more, but will conclude with one completely true fact I gleaned from the show: "Everything always works out in musicals. In the real world, nothing ever works out and the only people who burst into song are the hopelessly deranged." Which means, of course, that I'm definitely deranged. And so is most of my family, for that matter. And also a large percentage of my friends . . .
We went to dinner and then we saw "The Drowsy Chaperone" at the Capitol Theater (Thank you, thank you, Lisa!!). I walked in knowing nothing about the show (an unusual circumstance for me) and was overwhelmingly surprised by how much I loved it. The narrator in the show (Man In Chair) was played by a Canadian actor by the name of Jonathan Crombie. That's right, ladies. Gilbert Blythe. In the flesh. Of course, the character he played in this production wasn't exactly the strong, sensitive man that Anne fell in love with. In fact, it wasn't even close. But in spite of that, listening to the chit chat before and after the show was like being caressed by a constant whisper of, "Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert . . ."
The show itself was a romp through the world of musical theater. It mocked (to the glee of the audience, of course) many common and often overused plot devices that occur in musicals. We're talking about the classic dumb blond, the gangsters disguised as regular folk (pastry chefs on this occasion), the European self-proclaimed ladies' man, lovely melodies coupled with really lousy lyrics, etc, etc. We were also provided with a running commentary on theater etiquette and what runs through one's head while watching a show. I laughed myself silly.
I won't bore you with more, but will conclude with one completely true fact I gleaned from the show: "Everything always works out in musicals. In the real world, nothing ever works out and the only people who burst into song are the hopelessly deranged." Which means, of course, that I'm definitely deranged. And so is most of my family, for that matter. And also a large percentage of my friends . . .
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Snips and Snails, And Puppy Dog Tails
Today was laundry day. Besides clothes, this is what I pulled out of the washer:
Just another reason why life is fun with a house full of little boys!
The Yucky Mouse Club
I just read about a friend's recent mouse trouble and it reminded me of the fact that I have mouse trauma. We're talking serious fear of the mouse. Trauma of the full-body-shudder type. Want to hear about it?
When I was growing up, we had rodent trouble. In spite of my Dad's zealous efforts, the little vermin just kept on getting in. And since my bedroom was in the basement, I learned at an early age what it sounds like when there are mice in the walls. I used to lie awake at night, cringing at the little skritching sounds. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I'd bang on the wall and it would immediately go silent. But more often than not, only a few minutes would pass until the scratching sounds started again. Are you cringing yet? Just wait! It gets better!
My first serious mouse related trauma occurred when I was seven or eight. It was Sunday morning and, as usual, my parents were vainly attempting to get all of their children to move faster so we wouldn't be late for church. I don't remember what I was doing, but I was not headed in the direction of church and my mom was starting to get steamed. Everyone else was heading out the door and I was still standing around with no shoes on. So I ran down to my bedroom, grabbed some socks without taking time to actually put them on my feet (These were the very cool, ribbed, white knee highs! Very trendy in the early eighties!), sprinted to the closet, and shoved by bare feet into my shoes. Only to find that one of them was already occupied. At which point I shrieked. Loudly. I mean, how would you react if you stuck your naked toes into a shoe that was housing a completely hair-free baby mouse? I don't remember what happened next; who got rid of the mouse, whether or not we actually made it to church on time, etc. But I do remember thinking that the worst part of this whole adventure was that due to the fact that I'd been busy outgrowing all my clothes, I only had one pair of shoes that fit. SO I HAD TO WEAR THEM!!! I would have gladly risked eternal damnation and gone to church barefoot, but the wrath of Mother was a worse fear in those days.
So my ability to live peacefully with our unwelcome visitors decreased significantly that day. Little did I know that there was more to come.
My second, and equally enormous, mouse trauma happened when I was thirteen and in the seventh grade. I was not a morning person in my youth (imagine my surprise several weeks ago when I realized that in my old age I actually feel better when I don't sleep too late!) and as such, was usually pretty darn groggy when my alarm went off every school morning. On this particular morning, I was as out of it as ever. I slid out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. Only to step on a stair about a third of the way up and have it move under my bare foot! Yuck! Yuck!! Yuckity, yuck, yuck!!! But in all fairness, experience #2 was just one iota less yucky than experience #1 because 1) the mouse actually had fur and 2) and at least I didn't have to wear that particular stair for days until I could get new ones.
After that, slippers and socks became my constant companions downstairs. To this day I cannot go barefoot in my parents' basement. And every time I even think about mice, my toes curl up. Literally. And I have to pull my feet up off the floor.
Isn't it funny that we love sharing our most horrifying experiences with all those we know and love? There's just something about knowing that I've made bloggers near and far shudder in revulsion that makes me smile. Of course, I'm sitting here with my feet on the chair and my toes curled up, so apparently sharing has its downside as well!
When I was growing up, we had rodent trouble. In spite of my Dad's zealous efforts, the little vermin just kept on getting in. And since my bedroom was in the basement, I learned at an early age what it sounds like when there are mice in the walls. I used to lie awake at night, cringing at the little skritching sounds. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I'd bang on the wall and it would immediately go silent. But more often than not, only a few minutes would pass until the scratching sounds started again. Are you cringing yet? Just wait! It gets better!
My first serious mouse related trauma occurred when I was seven or eight. It was Sunday morning and, as usual, my parents were vainly attempting to get all of their children to move faster so we wouldn't be late for church. I don't remember what I was doing, but I was not headed in the direction of church and my mom was starting to get steamed. Everyone else was heading out the door and I was still standing around with no shoes on. So I ran down to my bedroom, grabbed some socks without taking time to actually put them on my feet (These were the very cool, ribbed, white knee highs! Very trendy in the early eighties!), sprinted to the closet, and shoved by bare feet into my shoes. Only to find that one of them was already occupied. At which point I shrieked. Loudly. I mean, how would you react if you stuck your naked toes into a shoe that was housing a completely hair-free baby mouse? I don't remember what happened next; who got rid of the mouse, whether or not we actually made it to church on time, etc. But I do remember thinking that the worst part of this whole adventure was that due to the fact that I'd been busy outgrowing all my clothes, I only had one pair of shoes that fit. SO I HAD TO WEAR THEM!!! I would have gladly risked eternal damnation and gone to church barefoot, but the wrath of Mother was a worse fear in those days.
So my ability to live peacefully with our unwelcome visitors decreased significantly that day. Little did I know that there was more to come.
My second, and equally enormous, mouse trauma happened when I was thirteen and in the seventh grade. I was not a morning person in my youth (imagine my surprise several weeks ago when I realized that in my old age I actually feel better when I don't sleep too late!) and as such, was usually pretty darn groggy when my alarm went off every school morning. On this particular morning, I was as out of it as ever. I slid out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. Only to step on a stair about a third of the way up and have it move under my bare foot! Yuck! Yuck!! Yuckity, yuck, yuck!!! But in all fairness, experience #2 was just one iota less yucky than experience #1 because 1) the mouse actually had fur and 2) and at least I didn't have to wear that particular stair for days until I could get new ones.
After that, slippers and socks became my constant companions downstairs. To this day I cannot go barefoot in my parents' basement. And every time I even think about mice, my toes curl up. Literally. And I have to pull my feet up off the floor.
Isn't it funny that we love sharing our most horrifying experiences with all those we know and love? There's just something about knowing that I've made bloggers near and far shudder in revulsion that makes me smile. Of course, I'm sitting here with my feet on the chair and my toes curled up, so apparently sharing has its downside as well!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Wall-What?
Daniel and Nathan are having their first full blown movie fetish, which is different than the toddler movie obsessions we have already experienced. The toddler version is the one where you watch the same movie at least once a day, every day for three months, until mom declares that if she hears "I've Got a Friend In You" one more time she will pull all her hair out and then discreetly loses the dvd for a couple of months. No, this is something completely different.
It began several months ago when we saw "Horton Hears a Who" in the theater. Before the movie we saw a preview for Pixar's newest film, Wall-E. My boys were smitten. They talked about it for a few days, then it went on the back burner. Their fetish was reignited last week when we started swimming lessons. Between our house and the pool there is one particular bus stop shelter that has a poster for Wall-E adorning one side. Every day we have a conversation in the car about when this movie opens. Both Daniel and Nathan can tell you exactly when the movie will be coming to theaters. And they are counting down the days. Out loud. Every day. More than once.
Yesterday their fetish reached a new stage. They both drew a picture of Wall-E, and did amazingly well considering they have yet to see the movie and are pretty much basing their drawings on one viewing of the movie trailer and repeated glimpses of a poster while driving at 40 m.p.h. Then Daniel very neatly printed on both pictures the date of this movie's release and the fact that it will be in theaters. And then they hung them from the windows in the car, facing out, so that everyone will see them and know that Wall-E is coming to theaters on June 27. I've discovered that the reason Disney pays for advertising is so that small children all over the country will do just this sort of thing and provide them scads of additional advertising, free of charge. I don't think it is in the cards for us to see Wall-E on June 27th, but I'm pretty sure that on June 28th you will find me at the Cinemark.
So go ahead. Ask my boys about Wall-E. I dare you.
Nathan's Picture with Daniel's Writing
Daniel's Picture
Free Advertising For Disney
It began several months ago when we saw "Horton Hears a Who" in the theater. Before the movie we saw a preview for Pixar's newest film, Wall-E. My boys were smitten. They talked about it for a few days, then it went on the back burner. Their fetish was reignited last week when we started swimming lessons. Between our house and the pool there is one particular bus stop shelter that has a poster for Wall-E adorning one side. Every day we have a conversation in the car about when this movie opens. Both Daniel and Nathan can tell you exactly when the movie will be coming to theaters. And they are counting down the days. Out loud. Every day. More than once.
Yesterday their fetish reached a new stage. They both drew a picture of Wall-E, and did amazingly well considering they have yet to see the movie and are pretty much basing their drawings on one viewing of the movie trailer and repeated glimpses of a poster while driving at 40 m.p.h. Then Daniel very neatly printed on both pictures the date of this movie's release and the fact that it will be in theaters. And then they hung them from the windows in the car, facing out, so that everyone will see them and know that Wall-E is coming to theaters on June 27. I've discovered that the reason Disney pays for advertising is so that small children all over the country will do just this sort of thing and provide them scads of additional advertising, free of charge. I don't think it is in the cards for us to see Wall-E on June 27th, but I'm pretty sure that on June 28th you will find me at the Cinemark.
So go ahead. Ask my boys about Wall-E. I dare you.
Nathan's Picture with Daniel's Writing
Daniel's Picture
Free Advertising For DisneySunday, June 15, 2008
The Name Game
You know the syndrome that all parents get about 2 seconds after their second child is born, the one where they can never get the right name with the right child? I will be the first to admit that I have a terrible case of the Sibling Name Syndrome. It is a rare day when I don't call anyone by the wrong name. At least I haven't deteriorated to the point of just saying, "Hey you! Come here!" However, I fully expect to be at that point by the end of the summer. I always promised myself I wouldn't call my children by the wrong name, but it has kind of crept up on me.
On Friday we had an occurrence that made me feel a whole lot better about my inability to remember who my children are. I was running errands with all three boys, desperately trying to get done in time to take the boys to the park for a picnic and the free concert. (I had promised you see, and even used Lunchables as blackmail for good behavior in the store. So I had to get them to the park on time!) After the grocery store stop, I gave each of the big boys a job: Daniel was going to help me take the groceries into the house so the frozen food wouldn't get defrosted and Nathan was going to sit in the car with Matthew so we could be on the road again as soon as possible. After issuing these instructions, I asked each one what their job was. (Ask any teacher. This is a very important step in getting your children to remember anything you tell them. Making them repeat it back to you ensures that they understand . . . and that they were actually listening in the first place.) Daniel answered correctly and then Nathan summed up his job. "I'm going to stay in the car with Nathan . . . I mean Matthew."
It never occurred to me that my Syndrome might be contagious, but it appears that I have passed it on to my children. But in spite of the fact that I can only get my children's names right on a good day, at least I can always remember my own name!
On Friday we had an occurrence that made me feel a whole lot better about my inability to remember who my children are. I was running errands with all three boys, desperately trying to get done in time to take the boys to the park for a picnic and the free concert. (I had promised you see, and even used Lunchables as blackmail for good behavior in the store. So I had to get them to the park on time!) After the grocery store stop, I gave each of the big boys a job: Daniel was going to help me take the groceries into the house so the frozen food wouldn't get defrosted and Nathan was going to sit in the car with Matthew so we could be on the road again as soon as possible. After issuing these instructions, I asked each one what their job was. (Ask any teacher. This is a very important step in getting your children to remember anything you tell them. Making them repeat it back to you ensures that they understand . . . and that they were actually listening in the first place.) Daniel answered correctly and then Nathan summed up his job. "I'm going to stay in the car with Nathan . . . I mean Matthew."
It never occurred to me that my Syndrome might be contagious, but it appears that I have passed it on to my children. But in spite of the fact that I can only get my children's names right on a good day, at least I can always remember my own name!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Thoughts On Blogging
In the three and a half months I have been blogging, I have realized that I really enjoy it for several reasons. First of all, I have always enjoyed writing. I have never been a great writer of fiction, but I found I have a unique way of looking at life and am able to express that on paper (or computer screen). In high school and college I wrote all the time, and although none of it was great literature, I did have several things published in my high school's literary magazine. But most of it was simply a way of expressing my feelings and dealing with my life. In fact, I went through reams of paper trying to work through the angst that is the life of a teenage girl. But as I got older and gained a better perspective on life, I continued to write. In college I discovered a great joy when the words came together in just the right way. And there was something about making people laugh that was altogether euphoric. In the process, I learned to laugh at myself and was much happier for it. However, once I graduated from college and my structured opportunities to write disappeared, I gradually stopped. And lost that bit of happiness and self revelation in the process. So for all of you who encouraged me to blog, thank you for helping me find my way back to a skill that helps me make sense of the insanity that is my life.
All the way through school, college included, I was lucky enough to have really amazing girlfriends. There were different ones at different times of my life, but I always had a good group of pals surrounding me. These were the friends that were always there. We spent all our time together, knew everybody's deepest, darkest secrets and knew that no matter what happened, they would always be there. Although I have kept in contact with many of these dear friends over the years, once I graduated from college I lost the benefit of daily contact with the last of these comrades. Which leads me to the second reason I have learned to love blogging. I'm not the most outgoing person and it takes me a long time to make friends. As a busy stay at home mom, pretty much the only time I was seeing any other females my own age was on Sunday. And there just isn't time to get to know people in between "Do As I'm Doing" and "Shhh! That's not being reverent!" So in addition to participating in some wonderful weekday activities (I love book club!), participating in the wide world that is blogging has given me a chance to connect with other moms every day. I've gotten to know some of you fine ladies much quicker because I've been able to read about your daily joys and frustrations, many of which mirror my own. I've missed the camaraderie of a good group of girlfriends and I feel that I'm gaining that back, just with a twist of technology.
So there you have it. My top two reasons for my love of blogging. And just so you know, I just asked my one year old if I could sniff his bum. That is truly a question that would only be uttered by the tongue of a mother.
All the way through school, college included, I was lucky enough to have really amazing girlfriends. There were different ones at different times of my life, but I always had a good group of pals surrounding me. These were the friends that were always there. We spent all our time together, knew everybody's deepest, darkest secrets and knew that no matter what happened, they would always be there. Although I have kept in contact with many of these dear friends over the years, once I graduated from college I lost the benefit of daily contact with the last of these comrades. Which leads me to the second reason I have learned to love blogging. I'm not the most outgoing person and it takes me a long time to make friends. As a busy stay at home mom, pretty much the only time I was seeing any other females my own age was on Sunday. And there just isn't time to get to know people in between "Do As I'm Doing" and "Shhh! That's not being reverent!" So in addition to participating in some wonderful weekday activities (I love book club!), participating in the wide world that is blogging has given me a chance to connect with other moms every day. I've gotten to know some of you fine ladies much quicker because I've been able to read about your daily joys and frustrations, many of which mirror my own. I've missed the camaraderie of a good group of girlfriends and I feel that I'm gaining that back, just with a twist of technology.
So there you have it. My top two reasons for my love of blogging. And just so you know, I just asked my one year old if I could sniff his bum. That is truly a question that would only be uttered by the tongue of a mother.
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