One

I love one. My children at one are delights. They amaze me with the new words they pick up every day, their new quirks, their developing personalities. I love getting to know them as little people, with likes and dislikes. I love the joy with which they view the world. One is a fantastic age. (My love for this age probably explains how I thought getting pregnant again with a one year old (or a one and a three year old) at home was a good idea. Or I just have a really good sense of humor and a really bad memory.)

Chris and I are in love with Griffin at one. He wakes up with glee and within moments is dancing in the kitchen to a song only he can hear. He spends most of the day hugging each member of our family, grabbing legs or arms or any part of you he can reach to show his love. Each day brings a new word – chair, ball, book, cup, juice, sit, milk, no, momma, daddy, balloon, belly, out, up, down, jump… He loves to show off his belly and if you ask him to touch his nose he prefers to shove his fingers up his nose.

He loves to sit and look at books. His favorite book is Goodnight Moon and if you ask him for “Moon” he will run to the book shelf excited to grab his book and sit on your lap to read it again, and again. And when you get to the part where the old lady speaks in a hush, Griffin will start to whisper in a baby language as if he fears he could wake up the little bunny trying to get to sleep.

Griffin has abandoned his high chair for good, in favor of eating next to his brothers. He refuses to use a sippy cup and must use an identical cup as his big brothers, even if it means that most of his milk ends up on the floor. He will try any and all food – from broccoli to spinach to steak. He eats it and loves it. He has a love affair with Oreos, but if you try to give him only one cookie at a time, he cries because he believes he should have one for each hand.

Griffin will chase Aidan and scream until Aidan sits on the floor just so Griffin could climb up into his big brother’s lap to play. He loves music and will point to my IPOD to tell me to turn on music so he can bust a move. He is desperate to learn how to jump. You will find him alone in a room throwing his arms up in the air and trying to get his little body off the ground. He does it again and again, hoping next time he will do it. He loves to mimic his big brothers, including copying Brennan's giant burp at dinner tonight down to even a "scuze me" tied into the end.

Griffin is a delight. He is a joy. He is a love.

Sometimes I wish I could freeze him at this age and keep him like this forever. My last little baby at one.

How The Mighty Have Fallen

As of today, the flu has fallen all of our family of five. This morning, after he admitted he almost passed out in the shower, Chris turned to me and weakly said, "Strong like bull fall like lamb.

Heh.

It was funny right up until he was bedridden and I was left alone with three sick screaming kids. Then, not so funny. Not at all.

The Germs are Giggling at Me

Approximately two weeks ago, I was kicked in the head (and stomach) by a vicious stomach bug for four days straight. When I finally felt better and it looked as if all the kiddies were well again, I jinxed myself by believing once and for all we were set to welcome spring and say goodbye to the season of the flu.

Fuckin’ germs are giggling at me right now as they multiply around my house. All three kids are down and out with sore throats, fevers, chills and the rest of the flu rigmarole. I have also been taken hostage and generally feel like crap. I managed to rally last night just long enough to help Chris get the kiddies in bed and then I was out from 7:30 until 6:30 this morning. (Helped along, I am sure, by my marvelous nightcap of a heaping dose of lovely Nyquil. I heart you Nyquil. You rock my world. Particularly the cherry flavor.)

The only one not to succumb to the vicious flu is my darling husband Chris. This has led to Chris romping around the house in various strong man poses as he yells in a deep voice, “I am strong like bull.” The boys are even saying it now: “Daddy, strong like bull.” Because Mommy can eat her veggies, take a daily vitamin and wash her hands until they crack and bleed but I am still going to contract every fuckin’ virus that hits our house thanks to my germy kiddies.

Bitter, much? Yes, very much so, thanks for asking.

So three kiddies and me sick, sick, sick and is it wrong that what I am really concerned about is my ability to get to my appointment to have my hair cut tomorrow? Because that hair appointment has been like the highlight of MY MONTH and if some runny noses, coughs and sore throats keep me from dying my roots I am NOT going to be a happy camper. Yes, Mother of the year, huh? I like to think so.

The Pants

A conversation Easter morning as Chris and I attempt to wrangle the boys into their Sunday best for the holiday.

Over a howling Griffin, Chris yells to me as I am getting dressed upstairs: "Are these the only khaki pants you have for Griffin?"

Me: "No. But they're brand new. Why?"

Chris: "I can't get them buttoned over his belly. And he hates them. He screams anytime I try to button them."

Me: "What? They are size 2T! They have to fit! He's 15 months old for the love of God."

Chris: "I am telling you - they do not fit over his belly. It's impossible. Do you have any 3T pants I can try?"

At this rate, I am going to have to forget about hand me downs because Aidan, Brennan and Griffin will all be in the same size by the end of the year.

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My dear friend Cynthia invited me out for a girl's night at the Sabres game last night. We had a great time over dinner and drinks and even at the abomination that was the hockey game. It was a perfect break from the life of a mom.

It always surprises me though that I return home after being away from the kiddies all day and all night and I miss them so much it hurts. I always creep into each of their rooms to watch them as they sleep for a few minutes. And a part of me always hopes they will roll over, wake up and allow me to give them a hug. None of them did, so I settled with a gentle kiss goodnight on their sleeping heads.

Take IT

Could someone please, pretty please - forcibly remove the abundance of easter chocolate gracing my home (and my lips)? I can resist the Russell Stover giant easter bunnies and the Hershey's assortments littering their Easter baskets. But I can not fight off the luscious chocolate from Wahls or Watsons so generously bought for my boys from family.

Sidenote: I love how the chocolate I bought for their baskets was all on sale at Target. Meanwhile, other family members spring for the gourmet stuff. Like the kids know the difference, right?

You know who DOES know the difference? Me. I knew the difference when I ate two of the mini bunnies last night. I knew the difference when I sacrificed a chocolate lamb this morning. And I definitely pondered the difference when I just popped two chocolate eggs in my mouth as I MADE DINNER FOR THE BOYS. I also tried to hide all evidence of the chocolate stealing. (What do you mean what's in my mouth? I don't have anything in my mouth. Now go eat your carrots.) I mean, really - what type of mother eats all the GOOD chocolate from their children's easter baskets. Apparently me. And yes, I am so very proud.

So proud I may have to reward myself with that cute little chocolate chick waiting for me.

I have a problem.

A House Full

My house was bursting at the seams with kiddies yesterday. I was outnumbered six to one - with kiddies ranging from thirteen to one years of age. Thankfully, I had planned ahead and we had activities galore. You know you are a mother of young children when you can honestly say you have:

- colored an easter bunny, several easter eggs, and completed an easter word hunt
- did an easter egg hunt TWICE around the house
- ate said treats derived from the easter egg hunt
- baked cupcakes
- frosted cupcakes
- watched Franklin (twice!)
- made easter theme door hangers
- went sledding in the backyard
- endured webkinz, upon webkinz, upon awful horrible webkinz
- danced your head off to Chugga Chugga Soul

ALL BEFORE 11 A.M.

Chris was surprised when he walked through the door last night and found me with a very well deserved glass of wine already in hand. (I was surprised that it was only my first glass of wine. Surely I should have already been well into my second glass by then.)

We recovered with a quiet night at home. I was in bed by 9. We are party people at our house on Friday nights.

Growing

"Mom, are you still growing?" Aidan asked me as I put him to bed tonight.

"Nope. I'm all done. But you'll keep growing and growing - until you are taller and bigger than me." I replied.

"But then how did Grandma and Grandpa grow to be SO old?"

I am sure my in laws would not appreciate this characterization of their age, but I tried to keep the chuckles to a minimum as my response. After a few minutes of discussion on aging vs. growing, Aidan gave me a hug and said to me, "I don't ever want you to grow old Mom."

And my heart broke a little as I had to confess that I never really want him to grow old either.

Last Minute

A kind reminder to teachers everywhere: sending home a note with my child regarding a mandatory school presentation in which my child has to be at school by 7 p.m. that very evening is NOT ADEQUATE NOTICE.

I walked through the door at 5:45, read the note and wished Aidan would say the teacher was kidding. Instead he was already jumping up and down with excitement over his class's presentation on the history of his school. (Do they do this stuff just to torture the parents? ) Chris walked through the door at 6:10 and after reading the note, laughed, turned to me and declared, "I'll flip you to see who has to go."

I lost. But I told Chris if he got to stay home, then he had to pick up the playroom so our dear cleaning lady could actually vacuum the rug tomorrow.

Aidan insisted his public appearance required a shirt, tie, pressed khakis, and dress shoes. He looked beyond adorably handsome, but of course, he was the only boy in kindergarten in a tie. He's like my very own version of a mini Alex P. Keaton.

Each grade, starting with pre-K, put on a short presentation, some with songs and exhibits!, on the history of their school. In short, it was alot of singing and reciting of people who have died during the course of the school's history. The father sitting next to me grimaced and whispered to me, "This is very uplifting." Heh.

I figured we could sneak out after Aidan's class did their thing, but, of course!, Aidan wanted to stay and watch some of the presentations. Until he heard the school was serving ice cream upstairs - then we were good to go. (Thank goodness for the bribe of a good sugar rush. Nothing works quite like it.)

Those Crazy Leprechauns

Aidan jumped off the bus from school today, ran to me and yelled, "You are NEVER going to believe what happened at school today Mom!"

"What happened?" I asked as I helped him take off his jacket and hat.

"The Leprechauns broke into our classroom, stole our supply buckets and even knocked over some chairs!" He said with so much excitement that his words almost tripped over themselves as he spoke.

"They did?"

"Yes! And they left green dust EVERYWHERE. And a mess!"

"Green dust?"

"Yes, and it SPARKLED! On the FLOOR! And you know what?"

"What?"

Aidan's eyes gleam with excitement as he leans over to me, opens his palm and reveals two gold chocolate coins, "They left us a pot of their gold too."

"Wow."

"They were crazy leprechauns!" He giggled as he ran into the kitchen.

Aidan is so entranced with the idea of leprechauns gone wild he is determined to stay awake tonight just in case a few green munchkins are planning on some mischief at our house. I am supposed to nudge him if I catch him dozing off when I check on him later. I just wish I had some green dust to decorate his room.

To Hell and Back

The little stomach bug that took Aidan out for 12 or so hours ravaged me, beat me and knocked me out hard for four days straight. I finally feel human again. Thankfully, Brennan and Griffin have been spared. I say we just call an end to flu season and welcome spring already, okay?

Stomach Flu Stalker

The stomach flu likes my house. Really, really, really loves to stalk my house and my three children. Either we make really great vomiters or we just have no immune system to speak of, because - really, if a person merely walks past the front door of our house with one little stomach virus germ clinging to them - that germ will stop, wait until our front door has opened and settle on in and make themselves at home. For quite some time.

I find this exceptionally unfair. I have friends and their children who, honestly, could get vomited on and STILL not catch the stupid bug. Not fair. We scrub our hands of germs. We keep a clean (if disorganized and chaotic) home. We take daily vitamins! Can't we have a pass on the damn vomit brigade just once?

Therefore, I propose the following: I think anyone who gets the stomach flu should get an automatic pass for (at least!) one year after the vomiting event. Sort of like a get out of jail free card, but better, really, because having young children vomiting all over the house is WAY worse than jail. (In fact, I think I'd volunteer for jail instead of catching vomit in a bucket at 3 a.m., but that's just me.)

Can you tell from the run on sentences and endless babbling that I slept all of two hours last night? I went to bed at 10:30, caught vomit duty in Aidan's room from 11:30 until 5 a.m., slept from 5 a.m, until 6 a.m, and then yelled repeatedly at my poor husband when he tried to wake me up at exactly the time I had asked him, under pain of death, to get me out of bed.

Chris and I negotiated a split of our sick child duties. I got Brennan and Griffin off to school and myself off to work while Chris stayed home this morning to nurse Aidan back to health on saltines, ice water and lots of XBox 360. We traded jobs half way through the day. In the afternoon, I worked at home while Aidan napped while Chris was off to work. After nap, I played some abysmal Sonic the Hedgehog leading my 5 year old to feel so sorry for me that he actually let me win.

I have spent every other spare second of my time praying to the gods of sickness to please, pretty please, spare my two other children from yet another round of this stomach bug. I disinfected and scrubbed any surface I could find and washed sheets and blankets in steaming hot water. We deserve a pass. It has only been TWO whole months since we were all vomiting in consecutive horror.

Keep your fingers crossed for us. Say a prayer. Until then, you may want to steer clear of our house and send some Clorox wipes my way.

And So It Begins

I thought I had time. A few years at least, maybe (hopefully) more. But today, it began. Aidan got off the bus and after only a few minutes of quality time, the phone rang. It was a girl. And it was for Aidan.

I know I am doomed to a life as the pyscho mother to three boys. Today I had to hide slight tears gathering in my eyes as I handed that first phone call to Aidan. Evidence, of course, that my pyscho mommy days are closer than I would like them to be.

The first conversation lasted only a few minutes. Aidan told me she had to get off the phone because "her dog pooped and she had to clean it up." Ah, such is the stuff of kindergarten romance.

Not to worry though. She called back another EIGHT times over the course of the evening, until we finally put a stop to it at 6:30.

I am not ready for this. Just not ready at all.

Questions on Marriage

Like most parents, I am stumped by certain questions posed to me by my children. I just haven't reached the point yet in my parental development where I can answer the tough questions with ease and appropriateness. (I am, of course, assuming you reach a point as a parent where you do all things easily and appropriately. This may be untrue, but I need to have a goal to keep myself on the straight and narrow.)

So, imagine my paralysis when Aidan turned to me over dinner and asked, "Mom, can two boys get married?"

A million and one thoughts ran through my head in a matter of a second. I wanted to give him the perfect answer, but all I could come up with was: "It depends." This led Chris to debate me on my clearly hedging answer and respond with, "Not legally." At which I respond, "Yes, legally - in some places." Finally, I looked at Aidan and said, "Sometimes two boys do fall in love and yes, in some places they can get married. And that's okay."

He nods, takes a bite of pizza and asks: "Can you marry two people at the same time?"

Chris grins and responds, "Only if you live in Utah..." I shoot Chris a quick look and manage, "No. People can marry two people, but you have to end one marriage before you enter into another marriage. Sometimes, a marriage doesn't work and people get divorced."

Aidan nods again and says with serious eyes, "I think I know that. And you know what happens then mom? Then the dad has to marry someone else. Someone else called a stepmother!"

Just another relaxing family dinner in our house.

Friday at the Museum

Aidan had a day off school today. (I swear the number of school holidays is unbelievable.) The day off inspired us to head out for a little friday field trip. With two cousins in tow, (leaving me in a car with five (5!) children - from ages 13 to 1!), we set off for Explore and More for a little fun.

Aidan and Brennan loved the construction section and spent most of the morning "building a house."




Griffin's personal favorite was the international culture section of the museum, specifically the tribute to Mexican music. He busted many a move as he shook a few maracas.

My personal highlight of the morning was my obnoxiously hysterical laughter when a mother asked me if all five children were mine. I managed to stop laughing long enough to reply, "I am just not that strong of a person." She laughed and said, "You did look pretty calm for being a mother to five." Yeah, if she only knew.

After the museum, we enjoyed a gourmet lunch at the culinary bistro known as Burger King. (It was Aidan's choice.) Does ketchup count as a vegetable? If so, Griffin had a full day's worth of veggies after he sucked down three plastic cups of ketchup. (The smell of ketchup is still stinging my nostrils. Whew!)

Huggers Unite!

Brennan loves to hug. This love for a hug extends beyond his family. He insists before he leaves school he must hug each one of his friends goodbye. It is sweet to see your three year old boy in a hugging frenzy at the end of each day. (It is also somewhat comical to see Brennan hugging his classmates since he towers over most of them and looks like he could pick them up on a whim and carry them off.)

Brennan’s teacher and I always share mutual amusement over Brennan’s end of the day hugging antics. A few weeks ago, she told me Brennan was one of two huggers from his class, but the other hugger, a little girl, had been forbidden from any further hugging.

Yeah, no more hugging or else! Apparently, the mother of the other hugger called the school and informed them her daughter is no longer allowed to hug her classmates. This little girl may wave or smile to her friends in greeting, but absolutely, positively no hugging! I shook my head with incomprehension as I asked, “Why? Why would the mother stop her from hugging?”

The response: “The mother told us she doesn’t want her daughter to grow up to be that type of girl.”

I have no idea what this means. I want Brennan to grow up to be exactly this type of boy. A boy who shares affection and love with his friends and family with comfort and joy. I am not sure how this could ever be a bad thing.

But even Brennan’s hugging is now under attack by another teacher. He sadly informed me last night that one of the other teachers has put a stop to his hugging. I found myself asking, once again, why?

Brennan made a scrunched up face, shook his head and said sadly, “All that hugging spreads too many germs mom.”

I gave him a hug and whispered, “You just keep on hugging B – germs and all. Okay?”

He giggled and said, “Okay.”

We may just start our own little hugging revolution.

Signs of Spring

I always forget how desperate we are for the warmth of spring until we have a bizarre day of warmth and sunshine smack dab in the middle of winter. Today was such a day. It was sunny and warm. The perfect weather to counter the winter blahs. I got the boys outside as soon as we could throw on boots and jackets. They stomped in every puddle they could find, spattering mud and goop on them, on each other and on me. They threw rocks into a frozen lake, trying to crack the surface of the ice with brute force. And we walked and walked some more, enjoying the warm wind on our faces. There is nothing like a little warm sunshine to put a smile on a child's face.

We made it out again after nap time. The boys entertained themselves for an hour, cracking ice and digging in mud puddles. They were covered, head to toe, in dirt and sloppy mud for the second time of the day. It was a perfect promise of the spring to come. Until, of course, it snows tomorrow morning.

Long Time Gone

Aidan and I always spend a few minutes cuddled up on his bed before I kiss him goodnight. We always talk a bit, usually about our days, but he has another favorite topic: it's called let's discuss how many times/days you have gone away without me. Yep. My sweet boy likes to dissect each and every time I had to leave him overnight. This includes a discussion of the length of each time away and the reason. From stolen weekends away to hospital stays to arrange the arrival of his little brothers, Aidan wants to recount each occurrence again... and again.. and again.

The first time he sprang this topic on me, I panicked under the pressure of guilt and told him I was only away for a day or two in the hospital to have Griffin. He shook his head at me and FROM MEMORY told me the number of days I was gone, including the day of the week I left and returned. I think he scares me a little bit.

Bye Bye Baby Locks

Chris took the boys for a hair cut this morning. We discussed Griffin's hair before he left. I asked Chris to get Griffin a trim, just enough to get rid of the little mullet action he was sporting, but not enough to take away his sweet blonde baby locks. Imagine my reaction when I returned from grocery shopping and was greeted with this:





Yeah, NOT a trim, right? It looks like someone took some serious shears to my baby's locks. At first glance of my baby's balding head, I dropped my purse and bags on the floor and, of course, started to cry. It wasn't a pretty cry either, it was the wailing of a mom faced with her last little baby looking at her as a little boy. And then Chris and I commenced our debate (read: fight) on the definition of trim vs. hair cut. ( I also can't figure out if this is just his clever way of getting out of hair cut duty for the foreseeable future. If so, it may be a stroke of genius on his part.)

On the bright side, I guess my baby's sweet locks will grow back. Someday. Sigh.