In many ways, the third child is easier because he mimics the behavior of his brothers. This works to your advantage most of the time, but alas, not all the time.
Instead of building with our Tinkertoys this morning, Brennan decided to see how many he could STICK UP HIS NOSE. I caught him as he had several up both nostrils. When I gasped at him, he defended himself by telling me he had just been trying to look like a bunny rabbit. A bunny rabbit with Tinkertoys up his nose? I have no idea. I promptly packed up the nose candy and threw it in the kitchen sink for some good scrubbing.
Ten minutes later, I caught Griffin walking around with two more Tinkertoys shoved up his nose. And while Brennan tried to act contrite for teaching his little brother new tricks, I think I saw a quick gleam of pride in his eyes as he glanced at his own little pliable copycat. I fear what Brennan may have in mind for Griffin next.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad THREES
If asked if I have enjoyed my children at all their stages and ages of life, I will tell you I did and do. But if I am pressed, I will admit that I loathe what I have now dubbed as the "terrible threes."
Yes, I know. It's supposed to be the terrible twos, isn't it? The twos gets all the hype, all the fear, and probably its very own chapter in most parenting manuals. But for me, it's not the twos. We SAIL through the twos. And just when we breath a sigh of relief, certain we have survived the stage that is billed as one of the worst for the toddler/preschool set, then comes the third birthday.
My sweet, charming little two year old morphs before my eyes into a whining, defiant, mean spirited three year old. He whines from sunrise to sunset. He refuses to do anything he is told. He may even put his little hands on his hips, glare at you after a nice ol' eye roll and say something akin to "I'm not going to argue with you mom, but I am still NOT GOING TO GO TO THE POTTY." (Um, yes - are you three or thirteen?) He throws some spectacular tantrums. He will be put in time outs again and again and again until, he just really doesn't care. He forgets how to share. He choses the opposite of anything and everything you want him to do. And most of all, he must do everything, absolutely everything himself - with no help or assistance from anyone, unless of course - it's something you have asked him to do.
I remember the dawn of three as a challenging time for me as a parent to Aidan. We adjusted and slowly, eventually, three got better until we rejoiced in the arrival of four. But now, Brennan has turned three. My easy, happy go lucky boy who always rolls with the punches has, overnight, jumped head first into the terrible threes. I miss my sweet two year old. The three year old wipes me out. I try to remember it's temporary. Still, I end most days defeated, hoping and praying for the patience to make it to four.
I know it is a child's job to test their parents and the limits we set for them. But sometimes, I wish they didn't do their job so frustratingly well.
Yes, I know. It's supposed to be the terrible twos, isn't it? The twos gets all the hype, all the fear, and probably its very own chapter in most parenting manuals. But for me, it's not the twos. We SAIL through the twos. And just when we breath a sigh of relief, certain we have survived the stage that is billed as one of the worst for the toddler/preschool set, then comes the third birthday.
My sweet, charming little two year old morphs before my eyes into a whining, defiant, mean spirited three year old. He whines from sunrise to sunset. He refuses to do anything he is told. He may even put his little hands on his hips, glare at you after a nice ol' eye roll and say something akin to "I'm not going to argue with you mom, but I am still NOT GOING TO GO TO THE POTTY." (Um, yes - are you three or thirteen?) He throws some spectacular tantrums. He will be put in time outs again and again and again until, he just really doesn't care. He forgets how to share. He choses the opposite of anything and everything you want him to do. And most of all, he must do everything, absolutely everything himself - with no help or assistance from anyone, unless of course - it's something you have asked him to do.
I remember the dawn of three as a challenging time for me as a parent to Aidan. We adjusted and slowly, eventually, three got better until we rejoiced in the arrival of four. But now, Brennan has turned three. My easy, happy go lucky boy who always rolls with the punches has, overnight, jumped head first into the terrible threes. I miss my sweet two year old. The three year old wipes me out. I try to remember it's temporary. Still, I end most days defeated, hoping and praying for the patience to make it to four.
I know it is a child's job to test their parents and the limits we set for them. But sometimes, I wish they didn't do their job so frustratingly well.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Bust a Move
All my kids like to dance. We regularly turn on tunes and get a groove on in our household as a sure fire way to burn off some energy. But, Griffin doesn't just like to dance - he loves to dance. It's almost like he can't help himself. If there is music, he must bust a move. His dancing starts with a sway of his little hips and a few turns joined by much punching and arm action. It's honestly one of the funniest and sweetest things I have ever seen.
My goal is to record Griffin's groove for posterity's sake. (Who doesn't want to whip out some long forgotten about video of their child dancing across the living room to torture their child in their teen angst years?) But unfortunately, for me, Griffin is camera shy. The camera comes out - and he loses that dancing feeling. Chris has come the closest to catching any of it on film. And while the video does not capture his groove in the slightest and is only a smidgen of the dancing show he usually provides, I still had to share the video of my one year old rockin' to Spoon.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
A Sledding Kind of Weekend
On Saturday morning, I took the boys to meet some friends at a small hill in our little town of Whoville to do some sledding. The hill is perfect size for the kiddies, just big enough for some thrills, but not big enough that they can't manage to get back up for another run. (There would be no sledding in a world that required I carry a child up a hill. No sledding at all.)
The kids all had a blast. The adults did too. We raced. We giggled. We enjoyed a perfect winter day with sun glistening off the snow. It was such a good time, in fact, that the phone rang Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. to ask if we were all up for another round of sledding fun. We suited up and hit our sledding slope. The kids were, once again, gung ho, sledding any which way, backwards, forwards, on bellies and laying down. Not to be shown up by the kiddies, the adults raced and belly flopped onto snow tubes. A sledding good time was had by all. Well, almost all - Griffin wasn't too fond of all the snow and cold and sledding action. But we have great hope for him next year.
The kids all had a blast. The adults did too. We raced. We giggled. We enjoyed a perfect winter day with sun glistening off the snow. It was such a good time, in fact, that the phone rang Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. to ask if we were all up for another round of sledding fun. We suited up and hit our sledding slope. The kids were, once again, gung ho, sledding any which way, backwards, forwards, on bellies and laying down. Not to be shown up by the kiddies, the adults raced and belly flopped onto snow tubes. A sledding good time was had by all. Well, almost all - Griffin wasn't too fond of all the snow and cold and sledding action. But we have great hope for him next year.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Lazy Thursday
I was at home today with the boys and we were lazy. While Chris took Aidan skiing, Brennan, Griffin and I enjoyed some time with pjs, legos and play dough. (I also managed to catch up on the last episode of Project Runway at nap time - the wonders of dvr.)
Life is good.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A Different Take
I decided I would research possibly having Aidan and Brennan take ice skating/hockey lessons at a local rink. Chris and I were excited by the idea and thought the boys would love it.
I was wrong. Partly.
When I asked Aidan about possibly learning hockey, he told me he wasn't interested.
"No?" I asked surprised.
"No. I don't want to take hockey. I just like to watch it. I do like to skate though." Aidan replied.
"Okay. I have you signed up for soccer still, is that okay?"
"Oh, I love soccer! And I want to play basketball too! Just not hockey."
"Why not hockey?"
Aidan's eyes grow wide as he responds, "In hockey, they slam you and try and get you to fall. I don't want to do that. It hurts. I also don't ever want to play football. That hurts too. Just soccer and basketball."
Okay, then. Note to self - no hockey for Aidan. The next morning, I put the same question to Brennan.
"Hey B I was thinking of signing you up for lessons to learn to play hockey and ice skate. Would you want to do it?"
Brennan jumped up in joy and ran over to hug me in glee. After he hugged me, he pumped his fist in the air and said, "Yes, HOCKEY!" He jumped up and down a bit in excitement. After a minute, he turned to me and said with seriousness, "I also want to play football, okay Mom?"
I should have guessed that with three boys we are bound to have each sport covered.
I was wrong. Partly.
When I asked Aidan about possibly learning hockey, he told me he wasn't interested.
"No?" I asked surprised.
"No. I don't want to take hockey. I just like to watch it. I do like to skate though." Aidan replied.
"Okay. I have you signed up for soccer still, is that okay?"
"Oh, I love soccer! And I want to play basketball too! Just not hockey."
"Why not hockey?"
Aidan's eyes grow wide as he responds, "In hockey, they slam you and try and get you to fall. I don't want to do that. It hurts. I also don't ever want to play football. That hurts too. Just soccer and basketball."
Okay, then. Note to self - no hockey for Aidan. The next morning, I put the same question to Brennan.
"Hey B I was thinking of signing you up for lessons to learn to play hockey and ice skate. Would you want to do it?"
Brennan jumped up in joy and ran over to hug me in glee. After he hugged me, he pumped his fist in the air and said, "Yes, HOCKEY!" He jumped up and down a bit in excitement. After a minute, he turned to me and said with seriousness, "I also want to play football, okay Mom?"
I should have guessed that with three boys we are bound to have each sport covered.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Boys and Boogers
Brennan and I were snuggled up in bed tonight when he touched his finger to the beauty mark above my lips and asked, "What is this?"
"It's a beauty mark." I replied. (I refuse to call it a mole. Just the term "mole" freaks me out - like I am going to have some tiny little creature burrowing out of my face, cheek or chest. Or leg. Or arm. Damn, I have a ton of these suckers on me.)
"Huh," Brennan replied as he gazed at it thoughtfully. He removes his finger and says with a shrug, "I thought it was a giant booger."
I had nothing to say in response. I mean, really, my sweet adorable little three year old thought his mom was walking around for the THREE years of his life with a giant booger hanging from her nose? Don't you think he'd at least offer me a tissue?
"It's a beauty mark." I replied. (I refuse to call it a mole. Just the term "mole" freaks me out - like I am going to have some tiny little creature burrowing out of my face, cheek or chest. Or leg. Or arm. Damn, I have a ton of these suckers on me.)
"Huh," Brennan replied as he gazed at it thoughtfully. He removes his finger and says with a shrug, "I thought it was a giant booger."
I had nothing to say in response. I mean, really, my sweet adorable little three year old thought his mom was walking around for the THREE years of his life with a giant booger hanging from her nose? Don't you think he'd at least offer me a tissue?
Friday, February 15, 2008
TGIF
It's Friday and Chris is home. If I could dance with joy, I would. But I am honestly so exhausted from the on again, off again, single parenting gig to three young children, that all I can do is imagine a weekend morning of sleeping in and maybe an afternoon to myself.
On totally unrelated subjects... Best thing I saw on Valentine's Day? The mother sitting in her suburban in Aidan's school parking lot feverishly writing out valentine's at 8 a.m. Thursday. I must stalk her and make her my friend. She doesn't know it yet, but we are mommy soulmates.
Funniest thing to happen on Valentine's Day? Chris literally just walks in the door and his first assignment as a father is to convince Brennan to put on the only pull ups we have left in the house. Of course, the pull ups are of the very pink "Disney Princess" variety. "Wow, look at that castle Brennan! And the donkey - it's just like Shrek!" I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. Princesses, what princesses? Thank God Brennan is color blind, right?
On totally unrelated subjects... Best thing I saw on Valentine's Day? The mother sitting in her suburban in Aidan's school parking lot feverishly writing out valentine's at 8 a.m. Thursday. I must stalk her and make her my friend. She doesn't know it yet, but we are mommy soulmates.
Funniest thing to happen on Valentine's Day? Chris literally just walks in the door and his first assignment as a father is to convince Brennan to put on the only pull ups we have left in the house. Of course, the pull ups are of the very pink "Disney Princess" variety. "Wow, look at that castle Brennan! And the donkey - it's just like Shrek!" I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. Princesses, what princesses? Thank God Brennan is color blind, right?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Wednesday
I set my alarm, but the volume was off. Woke up a little late.
Griffin dyed his hands and fingers black with my mascara while I was distracted squeezing myself into a pair of Spanx.
Griffin also emptied out every single drawer in my bathroom, unloaded a basket of newly folded clean clothes and found some blue fingerpaint in the pantry and painted his formerly black hands (and shirt and cheeks!) blue. (This all occurred while I brushed my hair and loaded a diaper bag. Kid can do some serious damage in a very short period of time. It's a gift.)
Aidan mentioned he heard at school that "McCain is a president" and I had to brainwash him over his bowl of (quite nutritious) Lucky Charms that Obama is really our guy. (And make sure you mention that to your (Republican brainwasher!) teachers today okay?)
After getting one child on the bus, two children off to daycare and myself off to work and meetings and more work, I get THE call: Brennan has a fever and must be picked up from daycare. I pack up a ton of work and race out of the office in a frenzy. In order to bring Brennan home, I have to wake up poor little Griffin who finally had settled down for a nap. The ride home was a chorus of competing hysteria. (Me included.)
My Aunt Nancy who gets Aidan off the bus for me on Wednesdays offers to take Aidan with her to my cousin's basketball game to leave me with one less child. She also offers to stop at a store and fill my medicine cabinet with Motrin. Yes, she's a saint and yes, I adore her.
While most children refuse food when they have a high fever, Brennan consumes three yogurts, two bowls of plain noodles, a cup of goldfish crackers, a frozen fruit bar and a gogurt in approximately two hours. The kid has an appetite when he is drugged.
I put all three kids to bed and commence baking for Aidan's Valentine's Party at school tomorrow. And then instead of doing ANY of the work I brought home, I pour myself a large glass of red wine and watch a dvred American Idol. (and I ate some cookies too. Who knew that red wine and chocolate taste really good together? 'Cause they do.)
I think I need to go to bed now. Note to self: must remember to turn my volume up on my alarm!
Griffin dyed his hands and fingers black with my mascara while I was distracted squeezing myself into a pair of Spanx.
Griffin also emptied out every single drawer in my bathroom, unloaded a basket of newly folded clean clothes and found some blue fingerpaint in the pantry and painted his formerly black hands (and shirt and cheeks!) blue. (This all occurred while I brushed my hair and loaded a diaper bag. Kid can do some serious damage in a very short period of time. It's a gift.)
Aidan mentioned he heard at school that "McCain is a president" and I had to brainwash him over his bowl of (quite nutritious) Lucky Charms that Obama is really our guy. (And make sure you mention that to your (Republican brainwasher!) teachers today okay?)
After getting one child on the bus, two children off to daycare and myself off to work and meetings and more work, I get THE call: Brennan has a fever and must be picked up from daycare. I pack up a ton of work and race out of the office in a frenzy. In order to bring Brennan home, I have to wake up poor little Griffin who finally had settled down for a nap. The ride home was a chorus of competing hysteria. (Me included.)
My Aunt Nancy who gets Aidan off the bus for me on Wednesdays offers to take Aidan with her to my cousin's basketball game to leave me with one less child. She also offers to stop at a store and fill my medicine cabinet with Motrin. Yes, she's a saint and yes, I adore her.
While most children refuse food when they have a high fever, Brennan consumes three yogurts, two bowls of plain noodles, a cup of goldfish crackers, a frozen fruit bar and a gogurt in approximately two hours. The kid has an appetite when he is drugged.
I put all three kids to bed and commence baking for Aidan's Valentine's Party at school tomorrow. And then instead of doing ANY of the work I brought home, I pour myself a large glass of red wine and watch a dvred American Idol. (and I ate some cookies too. Who knew that red wine and chocolate taste really good together? 'Cause they do.)
I think I need to go to bed now. Note to self: must remember to turn my volume up on my alarm!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Simple Sweetness
The last month or so has been a long one for me. Chris is busy, busy, busy, which leaves me in the delicate juggling act of three kiddies and work and well, life, all by myself. Single parenting truly sucks.
Last night I was particularly tired and a bit grumpy as I tackled bath and bed with the boys as a single parent. After putting Griffin to sleep, I fell into Brennan’s bed with the other two for some quality pre-bed story time.
Aidan stretched out next to me, gave me a hug and said, “You’re tired, aren’t you Mom?” I told him I was and he replied, “We can take care of you, right Brennan?”
Brennan laughed and told me to lay down in his bed and go to sleep. I feigned sleep as the boys took turns rubbing my back and Aidan instructed Brennan on the art of massaging Mommy’s feet. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of my boys rubbing my feet as I was face down in a plastic car bed or cry over the simple sweetness of my boys recognizing I was beyond worn out. I think I did a little of both.
Last night I was particularly tired and a bit grumpy as I tackled bath and bed with the boys as a single parent. After putting Griffin to sleep, I fell into Brennan’s bed with the other two for some quality pre-bed story time.
Aidan stretched out next to me, gave me a hug and said, “You’re tired, aren’t you Mom?” I told him I was and he replied, “We can take care of you, right Brennan?”
Brennan laughed and told me to lay down in his bed and go to sleep. I feigned sleep as the boys took turns rubbing my back and Aidan instructed Brennan on the art of massaging Mommy’s feet. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of my boys rubbing my feet as I was face down in a plastic car bed or cry over the simple sweetness of my boys recognizing I was beyond worn out. I think I did a little of both.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Dr. Phil of Kindergarten
The big lesson in kindergarten today was on feelings. Aidan got off the bus abuzz with talk about sad and happy, shy and angry. I heard him discussing his day with Brennan a few hours later.
Aidan: "What did you do at Sports Camp today Brennan?"
Brennan: "I didn't have sports camp. Too much snow. Mommy said we couldn't go."
Aidan: "Hmmm, and how did that make you feel Brennan?"
Brennan: "I don't know."
Aidan: "Were you sad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"
Brennan: Shrugs his shoulders, "I guess so."
Aidan: "Were you mad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"
Brennan: "Maybe."
Aidan smiles brightly and slaps Brennan on the shoulder, "Brennan, do you know what? Those are your feelings! Your feelings!" Brennan nods his head in some half hearted agreement.
Meanwhile, I was doubled over with muffled laughter. My child has become the Dr. Phil of Kindergarten. I fully expect his next comment to be something akin to 'how's that working for you?'.
Aidan: "What did you do at Sports Camp today Brennan?"
Brennan: "I didn't have sports camp. Too much snow. Mommy said we couldn't go."
Aidan: "Hmmm, and how did that make you feel Brennan?"
Brennan: "I don't know."
Aidan: "Were you sad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"
Brennan: Shrugs his shoulders, "I guess so."
Aidan: "Were you mad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"
Brennan: "Maybe."
Aidan smiles brightly and slaps Brennan on the shoulder, "Brennan, do you know what? Those are your feelings! Your feelings!" Brennan nods his head in some half hearted agreement.
Meanwhile, I was doubled over with muffled laughter. My child has become the Dr. Phil of Kindergarten. I fully expect his next comment to be something akin to 'how's that working for you?'.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Movie Night
With Chris otherwise engaged, I told the boys we would have a special "mommy night." We made pizza, had ice cream sundaes and ordered up a movie selected by the boys for our viewing pleasure: "Meet the Robinsons." I okayed the movie selection because it was rated G and seemed to involve a little boy going to space and inventing random stuff. What's not to love?
Hmmmm. Well apparently, the movie is really about a little boy who spends day and night pining for the mother who left him at an orphanage. Probably NOT the best selection for my mommy obsessed set. Within four minutes of starting the movie, Aidan was in hysterics crying for the lost mommy. Brennan joined him two minutes later. And then not be left out, Griffin opted for the sympathy cry and joined the cacophony of wails from his brothers. Ain't nothin' but good times in this house.
Hmmmm. Well apparently, the movie is really about a little boy who spends day and night pining for the mother who left him at an orphanage. Probably NOT the best selection for my mommy obsessed set. Within four minutes of starting the movie, Aidan was in hysterics crying for the lost mommy. Brennan joined him two minutes later. And then not be left out, Griffin opted for the sympathy cry and joined the cacophony of wails from his brothers. Ain't nothin' but good times in this house.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Latin Mambo Meet Choo Choo Soul
I have a goal to be active every day. I am happiest with a daily walk around the neighborhood, but when Buffalo turns to frigid winds and dark nights, a walk in my life is almost impossible. Chris tried to help me. He set up our treadmill in the basement with easy access to a television and dvd player. For a while, I was making good use of it, lured into walking in the basement by the promise of Season One Alias episodes waiting for me. (Damn, there is no better series than Season One of the beauty that is Alias. In my next life, I want to come back as Sydney Bristow.)
After a while, even the promise of Alias wasn't enough to get me down to my basement treadmill at 8 p.m. at night. I want pjs and the couch. I tried to get it going during the kids' naptimes, but I resented taking my one hour a day of peace and making it a "have to do", rather than enjoying a moment of solitude with a good book and a nice cup of tea. (My life is already filled to the brims with the have tos, I need some indulgent want tos.)
Today I decided to try something a little different. I think I have already discussed my love for the wonders of "on demand" programming, but did you know on demand offers exercise shows on demand? Really! And it's free! So today, I psyched the boys up for some family exercise time. We ordered up a little latin dance cardio rock and got busy. (Okay, okay, I really bribed them with some frosted animal crackers in order to buy me some exercise time. There is something a little bit horrible about giving your children a sugar laden snack so they can watch you make an ass out of yourself doing the mambo.)
With some begging and bribing, we made it through Latin Dance. Then to appease the boys, we switched on a little Choo Choo Soul and jumped around the house some more. Hey, exercise is still exercise if it's set to a soulful rendition of your 'ABCs' right?
After a while, even the promise of Alias wasn't enough to get me down to my basement treadmill at 8 p.m. at night. I want pjs and the couch. I tried to get it going during the kids' naptimes, but I resented taking my one hour a day of peace and making it a "have to do", rather than enjoying a moment of solitude with a good book and a nice cup of tea. (My life is already filled to the brims with the have tos, I need some indulgent want tos.)
Today I decided to try something a little different. I think I have already discussed my love for the wonders of "on demand" programming, but did you know on demand offers exercise shows on demand? Really! And it's free! So today, I psyched the boys up for some family exercise time. We ordered up a little latin dance cardio rock and got busy. (Okay, okay, I really bribed them with some frosted animal crackers in order to buy me some exercise time. There is something a little bit horrible about giving your children a sugar laden snack so they can watch you make an ass out of yourself doing the mambo.)
With some begging and bribing, we made it through Latin Dance. Then to appease the boys, we switched on a little Choo Choo Soul and jumped around the house some more. Hey, exercise is still exercise if it's set to a soulful rendition of your 'ABCs' right?
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Four?
I had lunch today with two women, both of whom are pregnant. As pictures of ultrasounds were passed around the table, I was asked if I would go for number four. I laughed and shook my head with an emphatic and resounding “no.”
Later that afternoon, I considered my answer. Two years ago this month, I was ready to go for baby three. I had intense baby fever, brought on by the sudden independence of Brennan turning one and rejecting cuddles in favor of chasing his older brother. The next thing I knew, it was early April 2006, and I was pregnant again. (Combine the month of March - my husband’s birthday month, a bottle (or two) of wine and a little shall we say, ahem, recklessness and well, it really does only take one time. I learned this not once, but twice. Yes, hello two children born in the month of December. )
Fast forward to the present day: now Griffin has adopted the independence of toddlerhood with fervor. He returns for a hug or a cuddle now and again, content to know I am close by him, but he is happiest running with the pack of his busy, noisy older brothers. He plays with Aidan and Brennan as an equal. Not as a baby, but as a boy. My sweet, baby of a little boy. I am always sad when he squirms to get off my lap or wiggles away from my hug, but there is joy in watching him grow and discover his own world.
I miss my boys as babies. I hold all memories of our baby days close. But I am surprised to discover I am content with my life as a mom to three boys, big and little, without yearning for another baby to join the ranks.
I guess I just have to hold my husband at bay and stay away from the wine this March to keep it that way.
Later that afternoon, I considered my answer. Two years ago this month, I was ready to go for baby three. I had intense baby fever, brought on by the sudden independence of Brennan turning one and rejecting cuddles in favor of chasing his older brother. The next thing I knew, it was early April 2006, and I was pregnant again. (Combine the month of March - my husband’s birthday month, a bottle (or two) of wine and a little shall we say, ahem, recklessness and well, it really does only take one time. I learned this not once, but twice. Yes, hello two children born in the month of December. )
Fast forward to the present day: now Griffin has adopted the independence of toddlerhood with fervor. He returns for a hug or a cuddle now and again, content to know I am close by him, but he is happiest running with the pack of his busy, noisy older brothers. He plays with Aidan and Brennan as an equal. Not as a baby, but as a boy. My sweet, baby of a little boy. I am always sad when he squirms to get off my lap or wiggles away from my hug, but there is joy in watching him grow and discover his own world.
I miss my boys as babies. I hold all memories of our baby days close. But I am surprised to discover I am content with my life as a mom to three boys, big and little, without yearning for another baby to join the ranks.
I guess I just have to hold my husband at bay and stay away from the wine this March to keep it that way.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Griffin: The Possessive
Griffin has decided no one, absolutely no ONE may hug, cuddle or otherwise touch his momma without facing the wrath of an enraged one year old. If you proceed to hug, cuddle or otherwise touch his momma with him in the room, he will scream a high pitched wail repeatedly until he can get his momma all to himself. He has even gone so far as to push Brennan and Aidan off my lap in order to reclaim his rightful place. He will also scowl and shoot a warning glance to Chris if he dares to reach over and give me a kiss.
While Aidan finds the whole screaming one year old thing amusing and will giggle as Griffin pushes him away from me, my middle child ain't taking it so well. This means now I get a one year old and a three year old battling for my lap with voices raised in howling fury. Thank God I have enough lap to go around.
While Aidan finds the whole screaming one year old thing amusing and will giggle as Griffin pushes him away from me, my middle child ain't taking it so well. This means now I get a one year old and a three year old battling for my lap with voices raised in howling fury. Thank God I have enough lap to go around.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Fun While It Lasted
After a Saturday of swimming, playing and child-friendly entertainment while Chris worked himself to the bone, we met up for an adult night out at Ryan Miller's Steadfast Foundation fundraiser: Catwalk for Charity. While it all goes to a good cause, it really is just a giant alcohol haze of a party where you can sip (or in my case gulp!) your martini and make fun of all the little hussies dolled up in outfits barely covering their extremities all because they dream of catching the eye of a Buffalo Sabre. It is a little freaky to see the players work the party and speak to people while a gaggle of adoring, barely clad women tottering on four inch heels follow them in silent adoration. (Of course, then you have clueless me and Christine, who had to ask who the tall (handsome!) gentleman speaking to our friend Mike was, right before he was introduced us to, oh, Paul Gaustad. Our husbands were not proud. Maybe we had gulped one too many martinis. I will say in our defense that we recognized the County Executive immediately even with a few martinis under our belt later in the evening. Yes, we may be geeks.)
The auction is always interesting. I have to figure out how people can afford thousands and thousands of dollars for pizza or dinner with a Sabre. I think the dinner for 8 at Tempo with Ryan Miller and four of his teammates went for $8,000. I know, I know, it all goes to a good cause - but really! That better be one hell of a dinner. And of course, the fashion show was cute. Not much fashion, just an excuse for the ladies to fawn over the players in their ts and jeans.
The night was a great adult night out right up and until we left. We exited with several other couples we had attended with and while we were the first to give the valet our ticket, all our friends' cars pulled up first and they all drove off as we stood on the curb waiting and shivering and waiting for our car to arrive. No car. Fifteen minutes passed and still no car. Chris realized that the valet he had given our ticket to was standing with an unclaimed blue Audi. We arrived in a silver Passat. (Also not our car. Chris has borrowed my grandmother's car - the Passat- while they are in Florida because he can't seem to decide on a new car and his old lease expired two weeks ago. My husband has a procrastination problem.) Anyway, we approach the valet and explain this is not our car. He looks confused and really bored. After a few moments of contemplation, he denies ever taking our ticket. Great.
We approach the women working the valet stand and explain the situation. They ask for our ticket. We tell them we GAVE them our ticket and now they brought us the wrong car. We wave to the valet standing with the STILL unclaimed Blue Audi. After a few minutes of deliberation, the valet brain trust tells us to start looking through the boards of keys in hopes of finding our car key so they can find our (my grandmother's) car. Did I mention that like 1000 people attended this event? Yeah, that's a LOT of key chains.
We look through key chain after key chain and well, it's not there. Shivering and now angry, we convince the valet to send another runner to the lot to see if there is a Passat there. Five minutes later, a valet pulls up with a Passat. Hurray! Chris and I start to get in the car - which was the SAME exact color as my grandmother's car and even had the SAME make & color booster seat as Aidan's in the back seat, only to realize it's not our (her) car.
The valet runner doesn't believe us. He argues with us. I lose my shit on the valet attendant and tell her she needs to find someone in charge (code word for SOMEONE OVER THE AGE OF 17) who will find us our fucking car right NOW because we have been standing out here for almost an hour and it appears you have lost our car OR given it to the WRONG PERSON. (And how in the hell am I going to explain that to my nana?)
The valet attendant runs inside and returns, thank you LORD!, with an adult. The adult valet looks concerned. He dispatches several runners to look for another Passat. As we wait, praying they will find our car, I realize we are now over an hour late for our babysitter.
Finally, FINALLY, they pull up in (another) Passat - that is indeed, our (my grandmother's) car.
So, in summary: great night out right up until they lost our car. Other people go out, enjoy their night and return home without a hitch. Not us. Sigh.
The auction is always interesting. I have to figure out how people can afford thousands and thousands of dollars for pizza or dinner with a Sabre. I think the dinner for 8 at Tempo with Ryan Miller and four of his teammates went for $8,000. I know, I know, it all goes to a good cause - but really! That better be one hell of a dinner. And of course, the fashion show was cute. Not much fashion, just an excuse for the ladies to fawn over the players in their ts and jeans.
The night was a great adult night out right up and until we left. We exited with several other couples we had attended with and while we were the first to give the valet our ticket, all our friends' cars pulled up first and they all drove off as we stood on the curb waiting and shivering and waiting for our car to arrive. No car. Fifteen minutes passed and still no car. Chris realized that the valet he had given our ticket to was standing with an unclaimed blue Audi. We arrived in a silver Passat. (Also not our car. Chris has borrowed my grandmother's car - the Passat- while they are in Florida because he can't seem to decide on a new car and his old lease expired two weeks ago. My husband has a procrastination problem.) Anyway, we approach the valet and explain this is not our car. He looks confused and really bored. After a few moments of contemplation, he denies ever taking our ticket. Great.
We approach the women working the valet stand and explain the situation. They ask for our ticket. We tell them we GAVE them our ticket and now they brought us the wrong car. We wave to the valet standing with the STILL unclaimed Blue Audi. After a few minutes of deliberation, the valet brain trust tells us to start looking through the boards of keys in hopes of finding our car key so they can find our (my grandmother's) car. Did I mention that like 1000 people attended this event? Yeah, that's a LOT of key chains.
We look through key chain after key chain and well, it's not there. Shivering and now angry, we convince the valet to send another runner to the lot to see if there is a Passat there. Five minutes later, a valet pulls up with a Passat. Hurray! Chris and I start to get in the car - which was the SAME exact color as my grandmother's car and even had the SAME make & color booster seat as Aidan's in the back seat, only to realize it's not our (her) car.
The valet runner doesn't believe us. He argues with us. I lose my shit on the valet attendant and tell her she needs to find someone in charge (code word for SOMEONE OVER THE AGE OF 17) who will find us our fucking car right NOW because we have been standing out here for almost an hour and it appears you have lost our car OR given it to the WRONG PERSON. (And how in the hell am I going to explain that to my nana?)
The valet attendant runs inside and returns, thank you LORD!, with an adult. The adult valet looks concerned. He dispatches several runners to look for another Passat. As we wait, praying they will find our car, I realize we are now over an hour late for our babysitter.
Finally, FINALLY, they pull up in (another) Passat - that is indeed, our (my grandmother's) car.
So, in summary: great night out right up until they lost our car. Other people go out, enjoy their night and return home without a hitch. Not us. Sigh.
Friday, February 01, 2008
What a Week!
Last you left me, I was angry and baking. Then came Tuesday, with Chris flying out of town for meetings. I began my work week on Tuesday attempting to do the single working mom thing: feed, clothe, wrangle three kiddies up and out the door. It ain't easy.
But the single working mom gig gets a little harder when life throws some unexpected kinks at you, little stuff like: a Wednesday with 90 mile an hour winds, sleet, white out snow storms, and schools closed, but work open with deadlines to meet. Of course, my theory has always been that life goes to crap the minute the hubbie leaves town, but really, does that have to be true each and every time he leaves?
We braved the sleet, the snow and wind to get out of the house. Aidan was off to my friend Christine's house. (There is no greater gift than a friend who upon seeing schools are closed, calls you at 7 a.m. to volunteer to watch your child for the day.) I got Brennan and Griffin off to daycare. I then drove through miles of blowing, blinding snow to get to work, albeit late. I felt victorous when I arrived and parked in one of the last spots available at my parking garage on the roof.
Did I mention the 90 mile an hour winds yet? Yes, me on a roof in horrific, hurricane like winds. The minute I left my car I felt like the wind could have carried me off. The wind whipped around me as I walked unsteadily on sheets of ice until I was caught by a particularly strong gust of wind that blew my glasses completely off my face. I tried to catch them, but I missed. And then they were gone.
Wednesday, 10 a.m. : me, blind on a rooftop in Buffalo. I didn't know what to do. I tried to look for them, but I am honestly blind as a bat without glasses or contacts. I tried to ask for help, but the only other person on the roof, refused to get out of her car because of the wind. I knew I couldn't drive home. I didn't think I could even make it to my office from there. So I do what I normally do in these type of situations, I cried and called Chris. Let me tell you, there is nothing that a husband in back to back out of town meetings likes more than a hysterically sobbing blind wife calling his cell phone (repeatedly!) with a problem that he can not logically in any way, shape or form solve. (I am quite a catch, aren't I?)
Chris told me to call Amy. Amy is our uber assistant at work. Amy is the go to gal to solve problems, both big and small. So I called Amy, still blubbering and still blind. Sweet, problem solving Amy wrapped herself up in her winter gear and met me at my car to help me. After thirty seconds battling the wind, we opted for the only other solution. Amy drove me back to my home, back through the blizzard, white out conditions, so I could put contacts in my eyes and miraculously see again.
Have you ever driven through a snowstorm with blowing, drifting snow when you have incredibly blurred vision? It is now my worst nightmare. After we survived the drive, Amy kindly pointed out she had never heard me use so much profanity in the eight years we have worked together.
I made it back to work by noon with my sight restored. After two canceled flights, several one hour delays, Chris made it home later that night. I may never let him leave me again. Ever.
But the single working mom gig gets a little harder when life throws some unexpected kinks at you, little stuff like: a Wednesday with 90 mile an hour winds, sleet, white out snow storms, and schools closed, but work open with deadlines to meet. Of course, my theory has always been that life goes to crap the minute the hubbie leaves town, but really, does that have to be true each and every time he leaves?
We braved the sleet, the snow and wind to get out of the house. Aidan was off to my friend Christine's house. (There is no greater gift than a friend who upon seeing schools are closed, calls you at 7 a.m. to volunteer to watch your child for the day.) I got Brennan and Griffin off to daycare. I then drove through miles of blowing, blinding snow to get to work, albeit late. I felt victorous when I arrived and parked in one of the last spots available at my parking garage on the roof.
Did I mention the 90 mile an hour winds yet? Yes, me on a roof in horrific, hurricane like winds. The minute I left my car I felt like the wind could have carried me off. The wind whipped around me as I walked unsteadily on sheets of ice until I was caught by a particularly strong gust of wind that blew my glasses completely off my face. I tried to catch them, but I missed. And then they were gone.
Wednesday, 10 a.m. : me, blind on a rooftop in Buffalo. I didn't know what to do. I tried to look for them, but I am honestly blind as a bat without glasses or contacts. I tried to ask for help, but the only other person on the roof, refused to get out of her car because of the wind. I knew I couldn't drive home. I didn't think I could even make it to my office from there. So I do what I normally do in these type of situations, I cried and called Chris. Let me tell you, there is nothing that a husband in back to back out of town meetings likes more than a hysterically sobbing blind wife calling his cell phone (repeatedly!) with a problem that he can not logically in any way, shape or form solve. (I am quite a catch, aren't I?)
Chris told me to call Amy. Amy is our uber assistant at work. Amy is the go to gal to solve problems, both big and small. So I called Amy, still blubbering and still blind. Sweet, problem solving Amy wrapped herself up in her winter gear and met me at my car to help me. After thirty seconds battling the wind, we opted for the only other solution. Amy drove me back to my home, back through the blizzard, white out conditions, so I could put contacts in my eyes and miraculously see again.
Have you ever driven through a snowstorm with blowing, drifting snow when you have incredibly blurred vision? It is now my worst nightmare. After we survived the drive, Amy kindly pointed out she had never heard me use so much profanity in the eight years we have worked together.
I made it back to work by noon with my sight restored. After two canceled flights, several one hour delays, Chris made it home later that night. I may never let him leave me again. Ever.
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