The First Cookie

I made chocolate cookies Monday afternoon, because, well that's what I tend to do when I'm angry, I bake. (Okay, I also bake when I'm happy, sad and a wide variety of other emotions - but you get the point.) But really, what better way to lick your wounds then with a mouthful of warm gooey chocolate chip goodness? Yum.

After setting Aidan and Brennan up at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies fresh from the oven, I decided it was Griffin's turn to be initiated to the wonder of the homemade chocolate chip cookie. We set him up at the kiddie table with his very own cookie. Griffin's wide eyed wonder at his first bite, with melted chocolate chips oozing onto his chin, was enough to send Aidan and Brennan into bursts of laughter. Griffin is definitely a fan of the cookie.

But only one cookie? No, Griffin wanted more. He toddled over to the kitchen counter where the other cookies cooled on wire racks and gestured to me for more. When I refused to give him more, he cried a bit, shot me the look of death and wandered off. Five minutes later, I caught him waddling nonchalantly through the kitchen as he stuffed another chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. The trail of cookie crumbs and overturned glasses of milk were my only clues. Through some impressive reaching, stretching and fantastic tip toe balancing action, my little cookie monster stole his older brothers' cookie leftovers off the kitchen table. He looked pretty proud of himself too. Or as proud as you can look when you have chocolate smeared all over your cheeks.

A Change

I knew having a child would change me. Of course, it had to change me. But I was still surprised at how I started to look at the world a little differently once I became a mother. I was more sensitive, a little more fearful of the world outside my doors, and so incredibly vulnerable.

After children, I have a harder time enjoying my favorite crime dramas or suspense novels when they depict a child in distress. I cry when I read news stories about children neglected or abused. I spend a lot of time worrying about the what ifs or the could bes, trying to control so much of the world that I can not. I feel more. I hurt more. I worry more (and more). I love more than I ever considered humanly possible. I now understand what it means when you say you would give your life for a person.

The last day or so has sucked for me personally. Old hurts and childhood memories have been unceremoniously dredged up from behind a door I thought I had closed. I had already dealt with these hurts and achieved some semblance of emotional peace. But now, I feel as if I am back to square one, reanalyzing, reliving and wondering how, what and why. And you know what? This time, it hurts more. It hurts more because I am a parent to my children. It hurts more because I would do anything and everything before I would allow emotional harm to my children. It hurts more because now I know and understand there are people who are not like me. People who become parents but don't allow it to change them at all.

I want to feel sorry for these people, this person. But I can't. I want to be the bigger person. But I won't. Because I am just too fucking angry to feel anything else.

The Wiii Miis

We got a Wii for Christmas. It was much more for entertaining Chris and me, rather than the boys, but it's nice to use the kiddies as a scapegoat for the expense.

The Wii console allows you to create an entire physical person - from hair color, face shape, to lips, that is your own mini "Mii" player. Each member of our family has selected features to create a personalized "Mii" to use as their player in the Wii games. All of our Miis share some resemblance to the person who created it, but in an exaggerated fashion. Almost like caricatures. Except, of course, for Brennan's selection of a Mii.

Brennan's Mii is a heavyset black man with a bleached blonde Mohawk, a goatee, sunglasses and a gigantic nose.

I have no idea either.

My Future Date

I volunteered in Aidan's class today. After school, Aidan announced that one of the girls, (a girl from Aidan's class for whom I have a particular soft spot) told him she thought I was great.

"That's so nice of her," I replied. "Aidan, I have to tell you, I see lots of future dating potential for you in her." I said with a wink, joking.

Aidan shook his head seriously. "No, I'm not going to date her. I already know who I'm going to date."

"You do?" I asked with a smile.

Aidan hugged my legs, looked up to my face with a smile and said, "I'm going to date you, Mom."

That's my boy...

How do I look?

Today I selected a new shirt to wear to work. In my haste to leave the house, I forgot to cut the tag off of it. I didn't even realize it was there until I scratched my neck, laughed hysterically as I felt the tag and a co-worker jumped in to assist me with removing the it. It was at that point, I looked down and saw the small round circle sticker displaying XL resting nicely on my nipple.

Sometimes I am not quite sure how I make it through the day.

A Date

Brennan and I had a date tonight. I told him I would pick him up from school and take him, alone (!), to any restaurant he wanted for dinner. The only small little catch was that on the way home from dinner, we had to do a quick stop off at the um, doctor's office, for Brennan's annual check up. Brennan gleefully picked Moe's for dinner and spent much time debating between his ultimate dinner choice of either a burrito or a quesadilla. (He went with the quesadilla and then ate half my burrito anyway.)

We had a nice, relaxed dinner - just the two of us. It is always a treat to get any of my children for some one on one time. At Moe's, Brennan was giddy. He spent most of the dinner two fisting his dippers into the queso, alternating between chunks of quesadilla and chips, as he bounced back and forth to the music. (His most rambunctious bouncing was encouraged by the playing of "Super Freak.") Every once in awhile throughout dinner, Brennan would stop, catch my eye, smile and say, "I love you mom." Yes, it was a perfect dinner.

After dinner, it was off to the doctor for Brennan's third year check up! (Yes, I'm a little late. But then, what else is new?) Brennan got a clean bill of health, received some nice praise for his love of all fruits and veggies, and continued his trend of growing right off the percentile charts for both height and weight.

Brennan's Bliss

Brennan has spent the last three years of his life following in Aidan's footsteps. He watched two years of Aidan's swimming lessons, witnessed all of Aidan's soccer games and endured Aidan's gym classes at the Y umpteen times. I was thrilled when it was his turn. At three, he finally can enjoy a class or two on his own, instead of sitting on the sidelines.

I considered a music class. (Brennan loves to sing and bust a move.) I thought about messy art. (Brennan has already made getting messy an art form.) And I even thought out a preschool university class to assist him in some color recognition. (Ask Brennan to name a color and it's yellow. Always yellow. He may be color blind.)

But what Brennan loves above all things, is sports. While Aidan at three was happiest building legos or playing with trains, Brennan at three runs to set up the hockey net to take shots or makes up his own game of football where he tackles himself before he runs for the touchdown. He wants to play soccer and baseball. He wants to run and tackle. His first choice for play is a sport. Always a sport.

We went with Superchamps Sports Camp for Brennan's first "big boy" class. Each week for an hour, a kind, patient, sweet "coach" teaches Brennan and five other three year olds a new sport. Our first week was basketball. I have never seen Brennan's eyes so wide as he contemplated learning how to dribble his ball towards a net. I have never seen Brennan so enthusiastic as he made attempt after attempt (after attempt) to shot his very own basket. He was sweaty and happy and completely in his element.

At the end of the first class, he turned to me with sad eyes, "But I don't want it to be over. I want to stay here forever Mom." I only convinced him to go by assuring him we could return next week. He perked up when he discovered next week's sport was hockey.

Brennan has found his bliss. Now if we could only get him to work on his colors.

Happy, Happy, Joy Joy

It's Sunday and we are all well. No fevers. No vomit. No runny noses. Just three healthy kiddies. Thank the LORD.

I celebrated my family's spectacular health last night with time out with the girls, Christine, Cy, and Danielle. We broke in the new Melting Pot (melted cheese! melted chocolate! Hoohaa!) and did a little retail therapy. (I think we all bought the same sweater in four different sizes. Let's just pretend that I was the XS instead of the XL. But, they were on clearance - hurray!)

Chris and I conquered Wegmans with the boys this morning. I have to admit, it was nice to have Chris along for the grocery shopping excursion. I tend to do most of the grocery shopping for our family and most of this shopping is done with my three kiddies in tow. It's not easy to shop with the boys, but I have gotten to the point where my insanity has become the norm. Thus, nothing really fazes me. Chris, on the other hand, makes an odd grocery trip here and there, but always sans children.

I could tell by the time we reached the check out line Chris had enough. As we unloaded the cart (and the boys fought over who got to rearrange the boxes of chocolate bars on display), Chris turned to me and said, "Just so you know, from here on in, you get a free pass everytime and anytime you want to come to Wegmans without kids. As far as I'm concerned, you should never have to come to Wegmans with the kids again. Because I don't know how you do this."

Yes, the heavens did open up and shine light upon my happy face. There is nothing like hearing your husband admit the stuff you do as a mom is tough.

We ended our Sunday with dinner at our friends' Christine and Dylan's. The kiddies played dress up and got Brennan dolled up in quite the happenin' pink feather boa. He rocked the pink and the feathers, tossed the boa over his shoulder and said to me, "The girls and me are goin' to lunch, Mom." Poor Aidan had to make do with a leftover scraggly mini blue boa. It didn't have quite the same effect.

Happy, healthy weekend. Joy, joy indeed.

Got Sleep?

It has been a week and a half since we have all slept through the night. A week and a half of long mind numbing nights spent jumping up and down like a jack in the box wearily running from bedroom to bedroom to console, to clean up and to administer medication by the glow of a nightlight.

I am back to my mommy fantasy dream of me alone in a hotel room for a weekend with nothing to do but sleep. But! There's hope! Griffin's three day fever of 103 finally broke at 4 a.m. last night. I am trying not to get my hopes up, but tonight could just well be the night we all get some rest. Maybe if I begged?

I Hate January

If it's January, then we are sick. It's like all those pesky little germs hiding under the surface burrow their way into our lives the minute the calendar reads January 1st. January sucks the lifeblood right out of me.

It started with Aidan and a nice bout of a stomach bug. Deep down, I know, I KNOW that the invasion of one child with a stomach virus pretty much guarantees the whole family will be vomiting in the upcoming days. But I like to delude myself into believing I have some power over the situation. I scrub. I clean. I disinfect. I wash my hands with soap and hot water until they crack under the pressure. We can keep that bug at bay if only I arm myself with enough Lysol wipes and elbow grease to fight the good fight.

I should know better.

The stomach bug spread to me, announcing its impromptu arrival Saturday night as we finished up dessert at a lovely date night out with our good friends Dan and Kristy. I had to beg Chris to get the check NOW and run outside of the restaurant in fear I would become quite the public spectacle. I am a great Saturday night date. People are lining up to book us for a couples' night out.

Chris didn't feel great on Sunday. Griffin got a fever and threw up on Tuesday. And last night, the stomach bug got to our last hold out, Brennan.

Bleary eyed on two hours (maybe) of sleep, Chris tried to remain upbeat this morning. He turned to me as I contemplated the possibilities of injecting caffeine right into my veins and said, "Well, on the plus side, we must be all done with the flu now, right?"

We better be. We damn well better be.

Swimming, Swimming In a Swimming Pool...

Today marked Brennan's introduction to swimming classes at the Y. (Before the age of 3, the Y requires the parent get into the pool with your child for the lesson. Ha! I'm not that good or devoted of a parent.) Brennan adjusted well. He laughed. He did some doggie paddles. He kicked. All good.

Aidan, meanwhile, has been a part of the swimming program at the Y for 2 1/2 years. In that 2 1/2 years, he has managed to move up one level. ONE level. We used to coordinate the swim classes with friends, but their children have moved up and on to swim in the starfish and ray levels, leaving us behind to enjoy the eel level. (again.. and again... and well, again.)

When Aidan was three, his first swim lesson was marked with screaming, tears and threats (mine.) But today, after 2 years, he finally skipped off to enjoy his lesson without one backward glance at me. He jumped. He kicked. He even got his hair wet.

I am trying to not get my hopes up, but this just may be the session we move up and out of eel.

Making It Work

In order to make the whole part timer thing work, I have had to take some phone calls from work in some very interesting places and times. They all usually involve some form of my children screaming, in unison, in the background. My favorite, up until today, was the conference call I took with a CEO and CFO of a client. I huddled in the basement, hiding behind shelves of boxes hoping to muffle the sound of my children banging on the basement door and screaming for me. I felt very professional.

I have to note that last year I managed to get one of my generous colleagues to stand in for me on a call a client wanted me on with some of our counterparts in Hong Kong. That call totally would have won the trifecta award for best time/place/circumstance. Me, cruising in a minivan with six kiddies on the interstate headed for the Strong Museum of Play in Rochester trying to tackle serious legal issues with people thousands and thousands of miles away that I must impress with Hi5 singing in the background of the call. I (and my career and professional reputation) dodged a bullet on that one.

So today! A little work crisis emerged as I had my own children and a friend of Aidan's battling with light sabres. I took the call, hidden in the laundry room trying to talk legalese as I hunkered down in piles of dirty towels. Brennan discovered my whereabouts and banged on the door repeatedly while he screamed, "MOMMY! MOMMY? I WANT A NEW SWORD TO BATTLE! MOMMY? A NEW SWORD MOMMY! I MUST HAVE A NEW SWORD. MOMMY WHERE ARE OUR SWORDS? CAN YOU FIND ME A SWORD MOMMY? MOMMY? MOMMY? SWORD? I WANT A NEW SWORD." His screaming gave way to hysterics until I could barely make out one word two of the higher ups from my Firm were trying to convey over the phone. I think they finally gave up.

Let me tell you, people, I am SO going places. (Let's just hope those places do not involve me with a pink slip.)

Sharing

Sometimes I am amazed at what my children will go along with just because I say so. I know I am the mom, the person “in charge” so to speak, but it still surprises me when they follow along with some of the doozies I dig up on a whim.

Like my solution to taking turns, for example. Aidan and Brennan spend most of their waking hours fighting over one toy. It’s not one specific toy, but it is just the one toy that the other happens to have fixated on, thereby created an urgent need for the other child to have that same toy right NOW. This struggle gradually escalates until someone is shouting, screaming or crying. While I manage to start off with the appropriate parental responses about the goodness of sharing, it gradually ends up with me shouting or screaming something to them along the lines of “Share that toy with your brother right NOW or neither of you will ever EVER see that toy again so help me God, do you understand?” It isn’t one of our finest moments.

But a few weeks ago, I had a whim. The boys battled over some action figure guy. (We have like a million of these damn things, but Must. Fight. For. This. Specific. Guy. is the code of children everywhere.) They ran crying to me to settle their toy dispute. I told them to take turns and informed them we will do “five minutes in mommy’s head" to determine the length of the turns.

Strangely enough, it worked. Anytime I yelled out, “five minutes in my head,” the bickering, the screaming, the fighting just ceased. Just like that. At the end of my self determined five minutes in my head, the toy wielding child would willingly turn over the toy to his brother. Huh. There is no questioning, no arguing - just total acceptance of the five minutes in mommy's head.

A few days later, a fight brewed over a matchbox car. (Yes, again, we have enough matchbox cars for every child east of the Mississippi river, but still, they must battle over this specific car! Kids are great that way.) The boys ran to me and yelled, “Five minutes in your head Mommy?” I smiled and nodded yes. Chris looked at me confused.

“Five minutes where?”

“In my head.”

“Your head?”

I smile and nod, "Do you want to try five minutes in Daddy's head?"

Although to be perfectly honest, I don't think it has quite the same ring to it.

My Alter Ego

I have an alter ego. My alter ego was created to help get me through the tough mommy times, times when I am honestly minutes away from banging my head repeatedly against the wall in frustration. My alter ego always has a calm demeanor. She doesn't yell or swear. She often speaks in a sing song tone and displays a sweet smile for the kiddies.

I call her: Sedated Mommy.

Sedated Mommy loves to play legos and Star Wars for hours and hours and hours. She especially loves it when the boys dump the bins of legos all over the house and she has to spend the day digging legos out from under the furniture. Sedated Mommy just grins when the boys all scream and cry in unison - no matter how loud they scream or how bad her headache is pounding in her head. Sedated Mommy loves to wait on her children, fetching juice after crackers after napkin and oh, yes, I will wipe your bottom too. Sedated Mommy loves when her children hang on her and whine and fight. It's all good. Because she's Sedated Mommy.

Sedated Mommy is my happy place. Because if anyone really knew what I was thinking half of the time or what I wanted to do some of the time, well, it wouldn't be good. Crazy Mommy just isn't as nice as Sedated Mommy. Crazy Mommy really hates legos and wiping butts. She thinks whining is like nails on a chalkboard. And if Crazy Mommy watches one more episode of Caillou she may throw something at the television. (I mean, really, is there any television character MORE annoying than that damn Caillou? And the theme song! Ugh.) Crazy Mommy set her boys' bedroom clocks fifteen minutes behind so she can get just a few more minutes sleep in the morning. She is not a woman you want to wake up in the middle of the night unless you have a really, really good reason. (And for future reference, fetching you the stuffed turtle from your bedroom floor because you are lonely at 2 a.m. is so NOT a good reason.) Crazy Mommy keeps a bag of Hershey Kisses hidden in the car so she can bribe the kids with chocolate for peace n' quiet while she's driving. She lets her one year old play in the open refrigerator and with condiments just to give her five minutes to make dinner. And last night Crazy Mommy had to actually stop and think to remember the last time the kiddies had a bath in the last week.

Sedated Mommy, meet Crazy Mommy. Sometimes, I'm not sure which personality is winning the battle for my mommy soul. I think I am rooting for the crazy one.

The Smell to End all Bad Smells

Chris decided to break in the stove top cast iron smoker I got him for Christmas with a recipe for homemade beef jerky. (yes, I agree. Ick! Yuck! But, the guy loves his beef and if he's happy, then I'm happy.)

Meanwhile, Aidan decided to bust out with round twenty of yet ANOTHER bout of a stomach bug and vomit all over the upstairs carpet. I think he managed to hurl everywhere except, of course, in his tiled bathroom or the toilet.

Combine the smell of smoked cured beef with buckets of vomit and it's enough to make me want to self induce some vomiting. It's a bad smell. A very bad smell. It's a smell that refuses to dissipate despite the numerous lit candles, the jillion spent Lysol wipes and the freezing cold open windows.

This may keep us from having people over for quite some time.

Movie Friday

It was a rockin' party night at our house last night. While Chris watched the Sabres game downstairs, I retreated to the bedroom to mindlessly flip through channel after channel of god-awful Friday night television.

I fell onto a station airing "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." It was a cute movie. But beyond it's value as entertainment, it reminded me of when I first saw this movie at the theater. I was nine months pregnant with Aidan and desperate, DESPERATE to have the baby already. It was also the afternoon of my thirtieth birthday. Not only was I ready to burst and waddling on swollen ankles the size of hot air balloons, but I was also recovering from a bout of a severe stomach flu that saw me hospitalized and put on an iv. Ah, good times. Happy thirty to me.

This walk down memory lane made me stop and appreciate other movies that have gone beyond just two hours of entertainment, but remind me of a time in my life.

Air Force One: This movie still makes me break out in cold sweats and hives. I saw a late night viewing in a desperate attempt to keep my mind of the fact that I was taking the N.Y. Bar Exam the next day. Unfortunately, even Harrison Ford couldn't make me forget.

The Second Bridget Jones Diary: Similar situation to My Big Fat Greek Wedding - I was one week away from my due date with Brennan. But this time I was the personification of angry pregnant lady. Even the antics of Bridget Jones could not break my rage. After a half an hour, I left the movie muttering to myself of how "stupid" the whole thing was anyway. I then drove around in a crazy fit of red mist just willing myself into labor. It didn't work. I was still pregnant and still angry. I was induced a week later.

A Stinky New Game

We have enough toys and games in our post-Christmas stocked house to entertain a small country of children of all ages. But instead of playing with our toys or games, Aidan and Brennan, my inventive, imaginative little geniuses, made up a whole new game:

Stinky Butt.

It’s loads and loads of fun this ol’ stinky butt game. All it requires is for one child to chase another child around in their undies while yelling, “I’m going to get you with my stinky butt.” The child being chased screams and yells over and over until he is caught by the underwear beast/child. Once the underwear beast/child catches the fleeing/yelling child, he must attempt to rub his butt on said child while they all scream at decibels that could crack glassware. (or give you a headache. A nice, pounding headache.)

My friends who are mothers to girls get to play games that involve High School Musical karaoke or Cinderella dresses. I, on the other hand, have to endure Stinky Butt. And I have to tell you, it is, indeed, quite a stinky butt. (whew.)

On Demand

A few months ago, a friend introduced me to the wonders of “On Demand” children’s programming. It’s all the shows from PBS, Noggin and Nickelodeon that the kiddies adore at your fingertips with just a touch of the remote. For free! 24 Hours a Day! Whooha! And while, I swear, (truly!) that I do not allow my children to watch tv all day and all night, there is something comforting of the 24/7 availability of Caillou, Franklin and the rest of our television friends.

I loved it. Until yesterday. Yesterday, I dialed up an episode of our ever faithful Caillou for the boys to keep them entertained while I wrestled with dinner. The “PBS Sprout” on Demand introduction started with the oh, so familiar music and the boys started singing.

Chris: “What are the boys singing?”

In the background: "Day or night and online too... Sprout is always here for you!"

Me: Listening closely, “Hmmm, it sounds like they are singing the theme song to PBS on Demand.”

Chris: “They know the words to the whole song?”

Sigh. I guess all good things must come to an end, right?

Hey – has everyone heard about Noggin broadcasting for 24 hours now? No? Just me. Okay then.