Shoes

I was never all that in to shoes. I knew enough to wear appropriate shoes, but I always thought shoes were a bit dull, more of a necessity than a luxury. I hated to spend money on shoes and purchased most of my footwear at Target. On sale. (preferably clearance.)

And then came the trip that changed it all. Chris and I went to Portland, Maine last year for the weekend with two other couples who are dear friends of ours. While the men golfed, the ladies shopped. (and ate lots of ice cream, but that's neither here nor there.) We ended up spending a lot of time at a cute local shoe boutique. My friends Christine and Cynthia were in full shoe buying mode, trying on pair after pair and enjoying every single second. I was bored and a little bit cranky because I was seven months pregnant and couldn't try on one stitch of clothes as we shopped. After a few minutes, I decided to join in on the shoe fun and try on some shoes because at least shoes would fit my pregnant body.

I fell in love with my first pair. An adorable pair of red mary jane clogs. They were so comfortable and just so very cute. I wanted them. I really wanted them. I may even have started salivating. And I tried on another pair. A pair of black mary jane flats that felt like walking on a cloud to my aching, swollen pregnant feet. The next thing I knew with encouragement from my lovely girlfriends, I was handing my credit card over to a salesperson and thinking up ways I could justify the $250 I just spent on two pairs of shoes. Two!

I am not a fancy person. I am a person who loves to bargain hunt and enjoy the fact that I hate to pay full price for anything. But those shoes were so worth paying full price. (I still whisper sweet nothings to my red clogs. I heart them.)

But now, it was like Pandora's box had been opened and could never be closed. Shoes! Shoes are fun! Shoes are oh, so very, cute! I have a crush on footwear. How can I go back to exclusively buying at Target now?

Thankfully, I have my dear friend Esther who introduced me to my new favorite website called wantnot. (Thank you Esther!) This past Tuesday, the genius at wantnot alerted her readers to an amazing 80% off sale on shoes at amazon.

This morning I tried these on in my pajamas:



Hello my pretties. I love them even more because all three pairs cost me less than $70. Oh my pretty shoes, I am already in love with you too.

All is Well in Kindergarten

Chris and I met with Aidan’s kindergarten teacher for his parent/teacher conference this morning. There is something strange about sitting in those itty bitty school chairs at a table strewn with gold glitter across from a teacher. I felt like the kid, instead of the responsible parent. Even Chris made a joke when the teacher referred to us as Mr. and Mrs. and our last names. It still feels awkward for us.

Thankfully, all is well with Aidan and kindergarten. He aced his testing and was described as the “shining star” of the class. Yes, I know I am falling dangerously into bragging mommy territory, but I can't help myself. I also want to document this occasion just in case it all starts to go down from here and I am bailing him out of jail at the age of sixteen and he has left his advanced placement courses for a very rigorous program at the local vocational school. (Not that there is anything wrong with that. Okay, well, there is with the whole jail part, but you get what I’m saying.)

The Cracked Head

Brennan took a particularly nasty spill onto our ceramic tile kitchen floor yesterday. He fell flat on his back and banged the back of his head with a resounding thump. He screamed and cried as I tried to comfort him. With tears streaming down his face, he reached his hand behind his head to rub his sore bumped noggin. Almost immediately, the wailing stopped. With big tears shining in his wide eyes, he exclaimed with wonder, “Mommy, I didn’t crack my head open.”

I think I spend a little too much time yelling to the boys to stop jumping, climbing, free falling or any other ingenious death defying trick they can come up with or “for the love of God they will crack their head open.”

I have a feeling this threat of a cracked head will not have the same weight with Brennan after this experience.

Questions for Children

There are many, many things that mystify me about my children, but two immediately come to mind.

1) Do all children have an alarm akin to the bat signal hardwired in their brain that alerts them to their mother going to the bathroom? It doesn't matter what my kiddies are doing, how great the (*cough, cough*) educational dvd is at that precise moment, they will immediately stop anything and everything to follow me to the bathroom. They don't even see me headed to the bathroom. THEY JUST KNOW. It's like a freaky circus side show trick. My boys love to talk to me while I am residing on the potty. Imagine me and three children five and under conversing in our downstairs half bath. It's a picture I will not use for our holiday card this year.

Interestingly, the bat signal bathroom alarm only works for mommies. There is no similar alert to the kiddies when the daddy wants to head upstairs to the private master bathroom with some hefty reading material. He is free to go, alone, for quite some time. Alone. For a LONG time. And while he is gone, not one child will seek him out.

2) Do my children have super secret meetings during the twilight hours to negotiate who is going to bear the proud honor of being the high maintenance child for the day? Among my children, they are never all, how shall we say, "challenging" (read: high maintenance) at the same time. Rather, they trade the "challenging" persona off and on among the three of them. It appears to me that the boys understand and respect that their parents simply can't handle all three of them in challenging mode, so they negotiate responsibility for that job on a daily basis.

I have found this holds true not only for their behavior, but also for sickness. I note the last bout of the stomach flu saw me cleaning up after Brennan as he vomited from 9 p.m. until 1 a.m. and then Aidan from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m. I found it quite thoughtful of both of them to be so thorough and precise in their planning.

Welcome Christmas

I love all holidays, but none come close to the joy and excitement I feel for the Christmas season. Each year we begin our family's Christmas season the Saturday after Thanksgiving by finding our trees at a local tree farm. We find the chubbiest, biggest tree we can possibly squeeze into our living room and the sweetest, most charming little tree for the landing upstairs next to the boys rooms.

Our adventures at the tree farm:

We spent this morning decorating our house as we listened to Christmas carols. Our home is now truly decked to the halls - boughs of pine and white lights are circling our banisters and fireplace mantle, wreaths hang from our windows and the trees are lit and overloaded with ornaments. Welcome Christmas!

Thankful for the Turkey

On Thanksgiving, I asked Aidan what he was most thankful for this Thanksgiving. After a thoughtful minute he responded, "I am most thankful for the turkey." I was also thankful for the turkey made even more delicious because I didn't cook it. Is there anything better than eating a elaborate meal in your own house that you didn't slave over?

Thanksgiving turned out wonderfully well. Chris and I set a fine table adorned with our very pretty wedding china brought out of storage for oh, maybe the fifth time in the last ten years of marriage. (Note to self: must try and use china again before the year 2020 to justify the expense of each place setting.) I enjoyed the sip of the apple martinis Chris made for me and his aunt - but after that sip his aunt kept confusing my glass and hers and she ending up just drinking both of them. Heh. I love holiday drinking.

Aidan insisted he wear his Indian headdress he made at school for his Thanksgiving feast.

Aidan also got Uncle Jon (Chris's brother) to wear the hat for part of the turkey feast.

And Chris opted to play the part of the pilgrim.

Meanwhile, Griffin enjoyed his first ever taste of blueberry pie.


And while Brennan really did attend Thanksgiving with our family, he refused to take even one picture for me because, well, he is two. Oh, the joys of twoberty. It's a great age, ain't it?

We all recovered today by enjoying a day of pjs, movies and visits from my brother Travis and mom. Another best part of hosting Thanksgiving? We also got to eat tons of leftovers all day Friday in the comfort of our pajamas and the beauty of my unbrushed hair. Now that's a holiday.

Navigating the Holidays

I think the holidays are tricky after you are married. There is a lot of running around to various houses, lots of time in the car and the inevitable eating two turkey dinners. (No complaints on the two helpings of apple pie though!) For the first few years of marriage, Chris and I managed to please everyone in both our families. We did two Thanksgivings and spent Christmas running here, there and everywhere in order to keep up a myriad of holiday traditions respected by each family.

But then I had enough. I wanted to sit in peace and eat one turkey without feeling the pressure of time lingering over my mashed potatoes and gravy. I hated that Chris and I woke up Christmas morning, opened each other's gifts in a flash so he could run off to be with his family at his Aunt's house to open up more gifts and I headed to my mother's. Weren't we a family too? Aren't we supposed to create our own traditions?

My holiday discontent spread to Chris once we had Aidan. It's difficult to manage the holiday fast lane as adults, but when you add the needs of small children - it's impossible. We had to find a better solution.

Finally, after ten plus years of marriage, three children and much deliberation - we've negotiated peace. Thanksgiving is with Chris's family. Christmas Eve is with mine. Christmas morning is all our own, but we've invited both sets of parents to join us late morning for a visit. There is no more checking of the watches, fearful we've missed the seating for our second turkey dinner. There is no more dreading the long drive through the snow on Christmas night with some very cranky and overtired kiddies in the car. Our families may not have everything they want, but they have enough to appear happy. (or at least they are keeping their opinions to themselves and that's okay too.)

But this year there is a twist. Not only are we spending Thanksgiving with Chris's family, but we are hosting them too. Thankfully, Chris's mom is handling most of the food, leaving us with the job of drinks, appetizers and cleaning up the abundance of toys exploding across our home. Now I just need to figure out where in the hell I am going to seat fifteen people for dinner at our house. I doubt anyone wants to eat in the playroom amidst lightsabers and legos.

Holiday Photo Shoot

My mom and I took the boys for a holiday photo shoot yesterday. The annual photography session always feels like a rite of passage. It's painful, annoying and expensive as hell, but at least the boys looked beyond cute in their matching fair isle sweaters. (Thanks to Grandma JoJo.)

Unfortunately for us, the photo studio was packed and behind schedule. The boys were bored and things were spiraling downwards when Brennan decided to perk things up a bit. In his clear as a bell preschooler voice, he turned to me and asked, "Mom, Do you have a penis?"

My mom gasped and started giggling uncontrollably as I held on to every ounce of mommy self control I possess in front of my very interested waiting room witnesses. I gave Brennan my serene mommy smile and calmly replied, "No Brennan, I do not have a penis."

Brennan returned my smile with a mischievous gaze, clearly enjoying the attentive stares of his onlookers.

"Huh," He thoughtfully replied, "So no penis for you?"

I shook my head and responded, "Nope."

The holiday photos looked good. But what would have been a better holiday card? A picture of my mother's shocked face and Brennan's apparent glee. Now that would have been a holiday card people would have savored.

P.S. Yes, I have no idea what it is with my children and their love of penis discussion in public places. Just. No. Idea. Life with three boys is fun.

Hello Snow

After a remarkably warm fall, we finally have been graced with a smattering of snowflakes. It isn't much and it isn't sticking, but the promise of something greater has both the kiddies and me pretty excited. We (actually) love the snow. There is nothing like the excitement of the first full blanket of snow. The joy of sledding down our hill in the backyard, building endless snowmen and ending it all with hot chocolate topped with marshmallows.

Chris and I never realized how much we enjoyed snow until we lived without it for a winter in Portland, Oregon. Instead of snow, the Portland winter is mild with a fine mist enveloping the city for four months. But on one of the winter days we lived there, a winter storm dropped a foot of snow on the city. People were both shocked and astounded. The city shut down. People left their cars littering the highway and walked home. The back up of cars in the law school parking lot forced me to leave my car at school and trudge over a mile home in the falling snow. But in the midst of the angst and chaos, Chris and I were like two little kids on Christmas morning rejoicing in each and every snowflake. We found every excuse possible to stay outside and enjoy the storm. Our mutual joy in the unexpected snowstorm made us both realize we needed snow as one of our seasons. I guess it isn't much of a shocker that we ended up settling on Buffalo as our home. We are guaranteed to enjoy a generous season of snow, snow and well, some more snow. And we love every minute of it. (Okay, okay, at least up until April.)

The Bed

When I was young (I don't remember exactly how old I was, but youngish), I had a prissy, girly canopy bed frilled in yellow check linens that were almost impossible to manage into a daily make the bed routine. One Christmas, I remember my mother telling me that she was going to buy me a new comforter. A comforter so amazing, so easy, so handy that it would practically make the bed itself.

I missed the "practically" in that promise and spent many hours daydreaming of a bedspread that would have magical powers to cause my bed to instantly transform each morning into a neat and proper made bed. When I opened my new comforter, I treated it with tender care, careful not to disrupt the magic hiding inside of it. I remember waking up the next morning, jumping out of bed, and willing the comforter to work its magic. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I wished, it didn't work. My bed wasn't going to make itself. I still had to do the dirty work.

My mother tried to explain it to me, but I was still disappointed and a little sad. I also still held out some small piece of hope that my comforter would regain its magical powers.

I remembered this story when my inlaws asked if the could get Brennan a new bed for Christmas. I appreciated the thoughtful offer and immediately agreed. I had dreams of a new adorable navy stained bookcase headboard gracing Brennan's athletic themed room. I even planned out my next purchase of a dresser to match.

A few days ago Brennan announced he was getting a car bed. Not a wooden, made to last bed of my dreams. But the plastic hunk of decals racing bed of Brennan's dreams. Brennan spent every waking moment describing how he would race his car in his sleep. I tried to talk him out of it. I tried to sell the navy bookcase headboard. I even hoped he would simply forget about the plastic monstrosity of a car bed.

None of it worked. Yesterday Grandma and Grandpa ordered Brennan his car bed. Instead of my picture perfect boy room, Brennan gets his dreams of driving a racer every night.

I already hate that damn bed, but I love how happy it has already made Brennan.

The Littlest Jedi

Apparently, Aidan's little Star Wars obsession is contagious. Griffin's favorite toys include one of the three lightsabers littering our toy infested home.

Yes, the Force runs strong in our family.

Superhero!

Before I kiss Brennan goodnight, he begs me to tell him a story. There are only a few requirements to his made up mommy stories: Brennan must be the star of the story and Brennan must have his "super secret special superpowers." In other words, Brennan likes to fly in his stories. And so I comply, weaving tales of bravery in which Brennan saves the day by flying to the rescue.

Last night, I walked into the family room and found Brennan standing upright on the edge of the chaise. He stood still, concentrating and slowly brought his arms up like wings.

"B, what are you doing?" I asked

He closed his eyes, smiled and replied, "I'm going to fly Momma. FLY!"

And with that he jumped as high as he could off the edge of the couch. The moment he landed he looked at me with excitement.

"Did you see me? Did you? I flied. I flied!" He pumped his fists into the air with a cheer.

I just hope he doesn't try out his newfound super secret special superpowers by jumping off the top of our two story playhouse in the backyard. It probably doesn't help that I just bought him a superhero cape for one of his Christmas gifts.

Tooth Two

We are now officially down two teeth. I have also come to accept the reality that Chris and I just suck at the tooth fairy thing. I rock at holidays, birthdays and other child related celebrations. But for some reason, I just can't get the tooth fairy thing.

First, we lost his second tooth. Then, we wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy to explain the lost tooth situation. But, the Tooth Fairy, even with all the note writing, still forgot to exchange the note for some cash. (Chris and I exchanged mutual "damn its" this morning when we realized at 6:30 a.m. we both forgot.) We quickly concocted a story to sell to Aidan that the Tooth Fairy didn't come because the note we left her was on his bed, but not under his pillow. Tooth Fairies are picky, don't you know?

Tonight: note written and under pillow. Please dear God, please, let me remember to slip the money under his pillow. Just, please.

Musical Beds

We played some musical beds in our house last night. Chris spent the bulk of the day painting Brennan's room and by bedtime that evening the paint smell was still pungent enough for us to see the I.Q. points melting out of Brennan's ears anytime he walked into his room. So, where would Brennan sleep? Lucky me, I got Brennan in bed with me and Chris got the playroom couch. I offered to toss Brennan in bed with Chris and me, but Chris said the playroom couch would probably offer him more sleep.

Brennan is not a good sleeper. The slightest noise can jolt him awake from a deep slumber. He awakes several times a night, but thankfully, almost never wakes anyone else because he just plays quietly in bed until he dozes off again. Chris shared a bed with him on our last trip to Florida and he was amazed at how little the boy sleeps. Every few hours, Chris would be awoken by the awareness of a little boy breathing on his cheek because Brennan was wide awake and nose to nose with him in bed just staring at him. And each time this happened, Brennan giggled and said softly, "Hi Daddy." It totally freaked Chris out.

I figured I was doomed for a long night of frequent wakings by my night stalker two year old. Sure enough, I woke a few times to the odd sensation of someone staring at me. I would slowly open my eyes, see Brennan's big brown eyes gazing at me, and before I could say a word Brennan would whisper, "I love you mommy. I love you." And then he would drift back off to sleep. The "I love yous" continued throughout the night into the morning where he nudged himself into my arms for some snuggles with the "I love yous." I didn't get much sleep, but it was well worth it.

All in the Neighborhood

I had a neighborhood centric day yesterday. A new neighbor invited us over for a morning playdate. It was nice way to combine some fresh air, a morning walk, and some play for the kiddies at the end.

After the playdate, I endured Griffin melting down and raging for two hours instead of taking an afternoon nap. The dream of a shower that I had planned for my afternoon faded into oblivion.

At 4 p.m., another neighbor called unexpectedly and invited me out to the Sabres game with two other neighbors. Three hours later, instead of me unshowered and cranky settling down in my flannel pjs to watch some bad tv, I was showered, prettied up and out with three other women for drinks and hockey. And not one of them needed me to take them to the potty, get them a juice box or wipe the snot from their noses. It's all good.

Lessons

Even after being together for over half our lives, Chris and I still manage to learn new things about each other. Since Aidan has started kindergarten, we have learned that I should not be the parent in charge of negotiating our volunteer obligations. I also should not be allowed to attend any parent teacher association meetings with volunteer sign ups unsupervised.

Aidan's school has a volunteer requirement. Each family must contribute a set amount of hours, per year, divided between fundraising and school hours in some complex mathematical equation that baffles my mind. If you do not make the hours, you must write a check. This requirement not only annoyed me, but it scared me. I was terrified of being the family that couldn't make the hours because to me, it signaled that I didn't quite make the grade as a mom. (Side note: this fear was due, in part, to my run in over the summer with a member of the mommy mafia who when she found out I worked (part time!) gasped and sadly, with perfect mommy condescension, told me there was NO way I could fulfill my volunteer obligations for the school. It. Just. Couldn't. Be Done.)

Fast forward to the first parent teacher association meeting of the year. The meeting in which all the organizations and fundraisers set out sheets for parents to sign up as volunteers. I went alone so Chris could stay with the kiddies. Chris gave me strict instructions to sign him up for one committee. I agreed and headed to the school, pen in hand. Let's just say that pen got put to some good use over the course of the evening. At one point during my sign up session marathon, my inner voice of sanity cut through my madness, but I was too scared to cross my (our) name off any of the volunteer sign up sheets because, well, I signed up in pen. I couldn't erase my name. I could only cross it out. And there my crossed out name would sit, for months, for everyone to see. How would that look? Not Good.

When I arrived home that night, I told Chris I signed him up for his committee like he asked. I just omitted all the other stuff. A few days later, Aidan got a memo sent home from school.

"What's this?" Chris asked me.

"Oh, this, well, um, it's a memo for the homeroom parents."

"The homeroom parents?"

I nod.

Chris looks at me with shock, "You signed up to be Aidan's homeroom parent, really?"

Hmmmm. And then a few days later, Chris got a memo.

"What's this?" Chris asked me.

"Oh, well, this, um, it's a memo for the computer class volunteers."

"The computer class volunteers?"

I nod slowly as he reads the memo more closely. "You signed me up to volunteer in his computer class twice a month?" He asks, clearly exasperated with me.

It got worse. I signed up to be a volunteer classroom mom for Aidan's art activities. I also agreed to be on the baked goods committee and the used book committee. I volunteered Chris for his website designing expertise and offered my legal services. I even put Chris on the parking lot committee. And that is how Chris came to park cars for eight hours on Saturday for the school fall fundraiser.

So approximately two months after school began, Chris and I have fulfilled ALL of our volunteer hours under the school's policy for the YEAR. For the year. Within two months. It has been a valuable lesson for us. Chris is now in charge of all of our volunteer obligation negotiation. I just hope he doesn't make me park cars next year.

Kindergarten Hussies

I volunteered at Aidan's school on Friday. When I got to his classroom, I noticed the teacher was still finishing up an activity so I decided to wait in the hall until she finished so I wouldn't disturb the class.

The door to the other kindergarten class next door opened and two adorable little girls from Aidan's preschool days came out in the hall to head towards the bathroom.

As they passed me they both sang out in unison, "Hello Aidan's Mom!"

I smiled and replied, "Hi girls."

The girls reached the bathroom and opened the door. Before going into the bathroom, one of the girls turned towards me, smiled confidently, tossed her hair and said, "Say Hi to Aidan for me, okay Aidan's Mom?"

And so it begins. In a matter of seconds, that sweet, cute lil' cherub of a kindergartener girl just morphed into a brazen little hussy. Say Hi indeed. Humpf.

Stumped

Last night as I tucked Aidan into bed, Aidan asked if I missed him when he wasn't with me.

"I always do," I responded, "but I carry you in my heart so you are always with me, even when we are apart."

"You are in my heart too Mommy." Aidan replied.

"Thanks honey," I kissed him on the cheek and got up to leave his room.

Aidan stopped me and said, "You know who else is in our hearts Mom?"

"Who?" I asked.

"God."

"That's true. God is in your heart."

"You know God made us Mom."

"He did." I said nodding.

"And God made Jesus too."

"Yes."

"So, if God made us. And God made Jesus. Who made God?"

After a minute or two of silence, I slowly replied, "You know, Aidan, I am not sure how to answer that one."

Aidan smiled at me sympathetically and said, "Do you need to look it up on the internet mom?"

My kindergartner has stumped me in the first two months of school. I can't wait for first grade.

The Halloween Pictures

The boys enjoyed the feast of candy this year. Aidan was all about the volume of candy and often ran ahead of the group trying to reach each house in record time. Brennan was more about the experience of the night and after hitting ten houses decided he would rather head home to start eating some of his hard earned treats. Griffin, well, he spent the night wondering how in the hell a giant dog's head landed on his head. Sorry little guy - it was a hand me down costume. It's tough to be the third boy.

Our three trick or treaters went as a dog (Griffin), Buzz Lightyear (Brennan), and last, but not least my creative little Star Wars addict, Aidan, who went as "Luke Skywalker posing as a StormTrooper right before he rescued Princess Leia." Try saying that three times fast.