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.

The Copycat

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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!

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.

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?'.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wegmans

I adore Wegmans. It's a pure love, fueled by their bakery (foccacia bread, nonna's cheese bread and do not get me started on their unbelievable 'ultimate chocolate cake'!), their prepared foods, the ingenious recipes and cooking stations, and the beauty that is their drive up service. (Helping Hands guys, you rock my world. Seriously.)

But I think I could love Wegmans even more. I could. Really! If only I could convince the kiddies to enjoy an hour or so in the beauty that is WKids - climbing, playing, coloring with all the other happy kiddies. (Oh, not only do those kiddies look so happy in WKids, but I have seen some pretty joyful faces on the mommies after the WKids drop off too.)

Unlike all the other children at Wegmans, my boys prefer to enjoy their grocery shopping with me. All three of them. With me. Helping and Hugging me and Feasting aisle after aisle. No WKids for them, no sirree. We must be with our mommy All. The. Time. (Yes, I am currently authoring my own book on how to raise codependent children. Look for it at bookstores near you.)

But I was determined this morning would be different. My friend Christine agreed to meet me at Wegmans with her adorable and WKids aficionado girls Ellie and Casey to entice my children to the wonders of the WKids experience. Aidan and Brennan were psyched. Go WKids, Hurray! Drop off was a success. I set off from WKids with only one child in tow. I was one of those joyful mommies! (It's amazing how easy grocery shopping is with only one child to entertain.)

Blissful, blissful Wegmans. My love deepened for you in the bakery aisle, through the produce and up to the deli counter. But while perusing the meat counter, I faintly heard my name being announced over the loudspeakers. Hmmm, is that my name? Me? I look at my friend Christine with confusion in my eyes. She's already laughing. Yes, after only two aisles of one-child shopping bliss, I am being beckoned to return to WKids to retrieve my other two children. Damn it. DAMN IT.

I hoof it over to WKids in record time and see Aidan and Brennan standing by the entrance with tears in their eyes. I immediately think something happened, someone was hurt, some emergency must have occurred to set them off.

Nope. They just missed me. They just wanted to shop with me. They just wanted to be with me. Sigh.

After a sad, forlorn wave to Christine's kids, happily playing in WKids with all the other jubilant, engaged kiddies, I turn back to grocery shopping with a heavy heart. The joy is gone. Wegmans, I still love you - but oh, the potential is there for our relationship to go to the next level. If only my boys would cooperate.

As an added bonus to my grocery shopping, I heard Brennan singing to himself as we walked out of the store after check out. His singing was low - loud enough for me to know he was singing, but not quite loud enough for me to understand his words. Until we got outside. The wind picked up his voice and I made out a sing song, "My mommy has a v*gina, but boys have p*nises. No v*ginas for the boys only for the mommies." I started to laugh - a full out hysterical belly laugh that had tears streaming down my face. Anyone who may have seen me in the middle of the parking lot, clutching my side howling with laughter, holding a forty pound one year old with a five year old and three year old hanging on to my jacket, must have concluded I have gone and lost my mind. No worries. My mind has been gone for quite some time now.

The Story of the Necklace

Chris asked me to throw him some hints and wishes for Christmas gifts this year. I obliged and showed him a pretty beaded necklace I saw online. The necklace was strewn with beads of different colors and would assist me in my attempts to learn accessorizing. But Chris took one look at it and refused.

"Please," he said, "100$ for that necklace!? It's ridiculous. They are just some beads someone threw on a chain and called it jewelry."

I gasped. "Those beads are vintage! And it's pretty! It takes talent to create something like that." I argued while I gestured to the picture of the necklace on the computer screen.

Chris laughed. "Vintage is just a clever way to sell some old beads some lady found in her basement. And talent? I could make that without even trying."

"You so could not."

"I could."

"Fine then. All I want for Christmas is for you to make me a necklace."

I figured I shouldn't hold my breath on that wish though.

On Christmas morning I opened a large white box. Resting on top of the tissue paper inside of the box was a small card folded in half. Inside the card read:

"Vintage 2007 Christmas necklace. Created with love exclusively for Tara. Artist signed..." with Chris's signature.

I started to laugh as I yelled, "You didn't!" Chris laughed in response and told me to open the tissue paper.

It was the necklace.

"You did NOT make this." I laughed with tears in my eyes. Chris just nodded yes in response. I laughed uncontrollably. "There is no WAY you made this!" I yelled.

By this point, we were both laughing so hard we had tears streaming down our faces.

It was truly, really the necklace. And he made it. I didn't believe he actually made it until he showed me his jewelry tools and left over beads. My sweet darling husband - beaded for me. I am not quite sure if it was out of love or just a plain stubborn desire to prove me wrong.

The necklace is beautiful. I wore it all day Christmas. In fact, I love it so much I told him I want him to make me another one for my birthday. His response: "Oh no. We can't mass produce these things or your exclusive design will lose its value." Uh huh.

Christmas Parts Two, Three, Four and Five or Is It Over Yet?

Christmas is not just a day in our family. Christmas is a stream of days marked by a gluttony of food, drink and presents.

We continued our Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve morning with Chris's parents and brother. The boys were on overdrive, awed at the amount of toys infiltrating our home. We just managed to organize the bounty of toys and gifts, clean up the wrapping paper and minimize the chaos, when it was time to set off for Christmas Eve dinner at my grandparents' house.

There are no words to describe how much I love Christmas Eve dinner. It is, simply put, my most favorite and special day of the year. All the people I love most gathered in one place to eat, to drink and to enjoy each other. My grandmother dishes out an Italian feast of epic proportions: homemade sauce and pasta, meatballs, braciole and veal - it is a meal a cut above all other feasts. We drink much wine. My aunt mans the bar and tempts us with her artfully made cosmos. The kids run wild - the older children watching out for and playing with the younger ones.

We stayed at Christmas Eve well past the kiddie's bedtimes, relaxed from the wine and conversation, giggling over the antics of the kids. The chaos was unbelievable, but also captivating. My cousins set up a skeet shooting game in the kitchen and practiced shooting targets in between the stream of family stealing dessert. The older kids challenged each other to Wii games of tennis and bowling in my grandparent's bedroom. ( I think Aidan reigned as champion - beating both Uncle Travis and Uncle Seth!) My grandfather engaged in a fake snowball war with Brennan - conjuring snowballs out of scraps of wrapping paper littering the living room floor.

I next see Brennan wrestling on the couch with his Uncle Seth while Aidan buried himself under mounds of discarded wrapping paper next to the Christmas tree.

Griffin refused to miss even one minute of fun and protested our attempts to put him to sleep in an empty bedroom in his pack n' play. Instead, he stayed up with the big kids and entertained Jenna, Aunt Tennille and Aunt Linda with his artfully worn beret, a gift to Tennille, just unwrapped.


We oohed and ahhed over everyone's presents. As tradition goes, the kids all put on their pjs and cavorted around the house strung out on too much sugar. We finally had to call it a day at 10 p.m., well past the normal 7 p.m bedtime. Of course, we were the first of my family to leave. They would be at the revelry for hours.

I thought the late night would guarantee the boys would sleep in a bit for Christmas morning. I was wrong. 7:01 a.m: Aidan jumped into our bed, eager to see the Santa bounty. The presents were opened and the stockings dumped out in glee. When the dust settled, Chris was put to work, assembling and constructing in a frenzy. (I am grateful I possess zero skills in this area. I can barely make a lego house, let alone a lego star wars naboo command fighter.)



After a relaxing day of play in our pjs, we enjoyed Christmas dinner at my Aunt's. The boys were back in heaven, chasing cousins and uncles, in a frantic, sleep deprived state.

And now it's over. Christmas 2007 in all its glory.

Christmas: Opening Day

We started off the excess of toys, presents and good cheer last night with festivities with my mom, brothers and sister in law. After some pizza, a little wii playing and the boys all time favorite "tackle the uncles", the frenzy of present opening began. The boys were lost in a haze of wrapping paper and toy glory - going from one present to another with barely a thought or breath in between.

When the wrapping paper had settled, it was clear the boys loved all their presents, but it appears my brother Travis hit the home run this year with this and this. Yes, helmets the boys can wear that change their voices into either Darth Vadar or a Transformer. They are addicted. And I can now blame my brother for at least one year of Griffin's therapy when he is driven into psychosis because of his older brothers stalking him with freaky helmets and even freakier voices. (They even sort of freak me out a little bit.)

Baby Jedi

A sign, perhaps, we should play less Star Wars around the house and spend more time attending to my children's spiritual development:

"Let's play house Brennan, okay?" yelled Aidan.

"Okay." Brennan replied, always game.

"Okay, I am Joseph, Mommy is Mary and you are the baby Jedi."

Highs and Lows

Today was a day of highs and lows. I started the day with great expectations - Friday! A Mommy Day! The weather was warmer than usual for December - perhaps the kiddies and I would take a nice long walk and enjoy the Christmas decorations. And bake more cookies! And play! And...

I got a migraine. Hell is being home alone with two children three and under, losing your vision and feeling as if your head was being split in two by a giant hacksaw. I don't get migraines often, but when I do, they come on quickly and always manage to scare the pants off me. I have a gradual loss of my vision until I can barely manage to see shapes lost in a blurry mess. All I can do is get myself to a dark room and ride the waves for an hour or two.

So, I shut the doors to the playroom, locking the boys and me in, and called the hubbie in a panic. He managed to make it home in record time to rescue me.

It was not the Friday morning I had planned.

I did manage to rally to enjoy our planned and eagerly anticipated date night. My mom watched the boys so Chris and I could escape to the Sabres game. Great game, a chance to meet up with many friends and enjoy a child free night out. At least my Friday night went as planned!

Large and In Charge

"Mom, I'm in charge when my teacher leaves the classroom," Aidan declares with serious eyes over dinner.

"Aidan, I know you like to be in charge and stuff, but you really can't just boss your classmates around the minute the teacher leaves the room. Okay?" I say in my best 'I love you even though you're bossy' voice.

"No, Mom. Really. I'm in charge."

"What?"

"The teacher said so. When she has to leave, I'm in charge. Isn't that great?" He laughs and throws me a huge grin.

"Well, what do you do when she leaves the room?"

"I watch everyone. And no one is allowed to get up from their seats. I watch them to make sure. And they don't get up because they know I'm watching them." He shoots me a smile full of self congratulations.

Oh dear lord, does this teacher have any idea of the Pandora's box she has just opened? Give this kid a little power and he may soon be staging a kindergarten coup. She knows not what she does.

Too Much Christmas?

Signs we may be on Christmas overload at our home:

"I would like 'roast beast'." Brennan, channeling the Grinch, in response to my question on what he would like for dinner tonight.

"Can you hear it Mom? Can you? Can you hear it?" Aidan asks as he incessantly and repeatedly shakes a small silver bell on a ribbon. On hearing that I, indeed, can hear it, he smiles and replies "that's because you believe in the spirit of Christmas." Perhaps Aidan has seen and read the Polar Express one too many times this holiday season.

In related Christmas topics, my Christmas song of the year has to be Josh Groban's rendition of "Angels We Have Heard on High". I'm obsessed with it and have started pretending that I am actually singing the duet with Josh instead of Brian McKnight. (Yes, I do have an active fantasy life, thank you very much.)

Brennan at Three

Happy three my sweet little boy.

You are a bundle of joy and humor wrapped up in the sweetest little boy. You love to make people laugh and will go to great comic lengths to achieve a suitable reaction from your audience. You love to giggle, run and jump. You are fearless and greet each day with energetic exuberance.

You are so full of love. You pronounce your love for me, your Daddy and your brothers as many times as you can - eager to let us all know how much we mean to you. You love to hug and cuddle. And you love to steal away for a quiet moment of cuddles with just you, your blankie and your ever faithful bink in your big boy car bed.

You love to eat, especially pizza, mac n' cheese, blueberries and yogurt. Your favorite meal is breakfast - two eggs over easy, bacon and toast, all shared with your Daddy as you sit on his lap.

Your favorite television show is Caillou. Your favorite movie is Monsters Inc. or Shrek. We could probably all recite Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by heart.

There is nothing that brings a smile to your face like hearing today is a mommy day. You are always eager to help me bake and cook. We love to share our lazy mornings of pjs and reading books in bed after we put Griffin down for his morning nap. You are my grocery shopping buddie and eagerly anticipate our next visit to Wegmans.

Your smile, your face, your heart brings us joy each and every day. Happy three to our B.

The Concert and the Tie

Aidan's Christmas concert was last night. His very first concert required his very first shirt and tie combo and his very first lesson with his Dad on tie tying.


The concert was cute. Brennan was beyond delighted when he spotted Aidan up on the risers on stage. He gasped and yelled, "I see Aidan. I see him!" And before I could shush him, he yelled again, "Hi Aidan! Hi!" as he waved furiously to his big brother. Aidan basked in the attention and confidently sung every one of the three christmas ditties with his classmates.

It's only a matter of time before he has graduated to prom and a tux, right? Sigh.