My Son, the Hand Model... Really!

It was Fisher Price day at our house. Brennan was asked to model for some new Fisher Price packaging. I said yes, but with some hesitation after our last modeling experience with Aidan. To put it mildly, Aidan's last shoot did not go all that well. I had to pack up all three kiddies and drive in the beeping minivan from hell. Griffin was in a mood and howled the whole time. And then I, of course, looked like death warmed over with hair that I am not quite sure that I even brushed that day. (Figures - the stylist on the shoot turned out to be a girl that I haven't seen since high school (isn't that always the way?)I can only imagine what she was thinking). After all that, Aidan refused to take any pictures and did so with some fine preschool melodrama and tears. Big, huge, meltdown in the waiting room. It was lots of fun.

Anyway - although Chris chuckled when I told him I was going to give it another try, I decided Brennan deserved his turn at the photo shoot thing. So off we went, all three of us, minus the mini van and this time I remembered to brush my hair. Surprisingly, Brennan did fantastic. He smiled, loved the chance to play with a new toy and seemed to just have fun.

As we were getting ready to leave, the stylist asked if Aidan would be interested in taking some shots. Aidan looked worried, but she said they only needed him for some hand pictures. Hand modeling! He didn't have to smile or look interested in the toy. He just needed to follow directions and hold a bunch of stuff. And of course, he loved it. He not only loved it, but he was good at it too. So good, they asked if they could have him back for some future hand modeling gigs. Heh. My son is a hand model.

Doctors, Monsters and Babies, Oh My...

Long day, yesterday. I worked. Picked up Aidan and Brennan at school. Ran home to drop off the boys to my mother in law and pick up Griffin for a doctor’s appointment. The doctor’s office called twice to ask us to come earlier than our scheduled appointment time of 6:15. So we did. But we got there, and after meeting with the nurse, waited almost an hour in that tiny little examination room. I was a little frustrated and Griffin on the edge of a full out meltdown, when our doctor came running down the hall and apologized for the wait. She inquired about my appointment time and I told her that I was told (twice!) to come early. Her entire face turned bright red and she stormed off to the front of the office. Apparently, the little teenage girl manning the reception desk decided it was too nice a day to stay at work so she took it upon herself to call parents and ask them to come earlier than their appointment times.

There is a special place in hell for this girl. Seriously. I look forward to the day she becomes a mother and has to wait somewhere for what appears to be eternity with a tired, fussy and scared baby that feels like a lead brick after pacing the floor with him in your arms for an hour. I wanted to strangle her with her hair extensions and tie them shut with her enormously large hoop earrings.

And what is up with me, my children, the bad luck with visits to medical professional’s offices and the weird loony people that work at these offices? Do we need to discuss the “mad dentist” again?

Big Sigh. Anyway – Griffin is well and healthy at six months. He is just under 21 pounds and is in the 90% for height and weight.

I returned home just in time to help Chris put the other two boys to bed. Brennan had other ideas though. He found an old pair of sunglasses, put them on upside down, and ran around yelling:

“I am a monstah. Roar! I am a monstah!” After a few more roars, he would stop, take off the sunglasses, look intently at you and ask, “Did I scare you? Did I?” And then off he would go to scare another member of our family.

The boys were all in bed by 8 pm and I had to start making a few million muffins as a favor to a family member. I finally finished up at 9:30 pm. And then my bestest friend Diane called from Oregon to say she is being induced tomorrow with her third baby, a little girl. We all just can’t wait to meet their newest little one. So many babies lately. (Have you seen gorgeous Miles?) It makes me feel like my baby is all grown up at six months.

Speaking of all grown up, Aidan’s preschool graduation is next week. I am taking it as a bad sign that I can not even READ the graduation announcement on his bulletin board at school without tears welling up in my eyes. This could be bad. Very, very bad. Can I be sedated for a preschool graduation?

So Long Sallie Mae...

I graduated from law school in May of 1997. Today, we paid off the rest of my student loans. TEN YEARS LATER. Ten whole years.

Just don’t ask me if it was worth it. Just. Don’t.

Missing Them...

I miss my babies today.

I miss Brennan’s obsession with his booboos and band-aids. He wore two band aids to school today. Thankfully, I am stocked with band-aids in a variety of flavors – including Cars, Batman, Dora and fun neon designs. This morning, Brennan traded in a green neon band-aid for two Cars band-aids.

I miss Griffin and his constant blowing of raspberries. After he blows a raspberry, he gets so excited that he squeals in delight.

I miss Aidan and his non-stop chattering about all things Star Wars. I blame his father for the Star Wars obsession. Ever since he rented Aidan the Star Wars Lego Game for our XBox, it has been non-stop Star Wars. Aidan even has the old school Star Wars figures to play with, thanks to my mother in law, who saved all of Chris’s old figurines. We have Storm Troopers and R2D2. We have Luke and C3PO. Thankfully, I can assist Aidan with the correct name for each figurine, thanks to a childhood as the neighborhood Princess Leia. (My mom even figured out how to turn my hair into the infamous Leia “do.”)

I miss Brennan’s hugs. He squeezes you as hard as he can while he grunts and groans from the exertion of it all. I also miss how he calls me “my momma.” And I always respond with, “my Brennan.”

I miss how Aidan will stop whatever he is doing and walk over to me to ask for a big hug. A big hug requires that I pick him up and hold him tight. It almost helps me forget he is growing into a boy, rather than my baby.

I miss how Griffin will turn his face into my neck to snuggle into me.

I miss their faces and their smiles. I just miss them.

Listen Up

On the way home after a morning of swimming, Brennan says to me, "Momma, I'm leakin'."

I reply, "No, honey. You're just wet from the pool. I'll change you into some dry clothes when we get home."

A few minutes go by.

Brennan: "Really, Momma, I'm leakin'."

Me: "You're fine, Brennan. Fine."

Brennan: "Noooo. I'm wet. ALL over. Wet."

Me: "Just a few minutes more Brenn."

We arrive home. As I am getting dry clothes together for the boys, Brennan runs up to me and yells:

"Now I am really leakin'! Leakin' ALL OVER. I peed Momma ALL OVER."

"Brennan, I am sure you are fine... You, " I stop as I go to change his swim diaper and discover that the poor child, is indeed, leaking urine all over the flippin' place.

"Oh, Brennan," I say, "I am so sorry. You really are leaking."

He looks at me with exasperation and says "I tol you Momma. I tol you!"

He told me. He did.

And then five hours later, Brennan decided to sneak my car keys out of my purse while we were at Aidan's swimming class at the Y. I didn't realize the keys were gone until we got to the car and were trying to leave. No keys in my purse. No keys in my pockets. No keys.

I mutter out loud to myself, "Where did my keys go?" as I rummage through my purse in desperation.

Brennan laughs and says "I took 'em."

Me: "What? You took my keys?"

"Oops. Sorry Momma."

Aidan concerned that his brother may be facing some trouble says to me, "I am sure it was an accident, right Brennan? An accident, right?"

We all trudge back into the Y and begin the search for the missing keys. Some time later, we finally found my car keys on the floor of the locker room.

My life is many things, but it is never dull.

Happiness

Happiness is... swinging in a hammock on a lazy Sunday morning with two of your little boys tucked under each of your arms.

It was a crazy busy weekend. I spent Friday morning at the bank finishing up house closing nonsense with three very patient, wonderful little boys. (I bribed them with a toy at Target later that morning.) We hosted Chris's mom's 60th birthday party on Saturday. I had a wedding shower Sunday afternoon. Sunday evening we headed to our friends' Christine and Dylan's for a leftover party. I felt like we barely stopped moving or preparing stuff to get ourselves someplace else.

But for a few minutes on Sunday morning, I was quiet and calm and did not have to be anywhere but where I was at that very moment, at home in our backyard. Aidan tucked himself under one of my arms and Brennan snuggled into the other. We swung back and forth on the hammock, all three of us, cuddled up as one. I made up some silly stories. We sang a few made up songs. It was peaceful and so very perfect.

Goodbye House

I hold in my hand the checks from the sale of our old house. We finally (FINALLY!) sold our home and closed yesterday. The checks arrived via overnight mail this morning. While there is some relief the deed is done, there is some sadness mixed in. We put so much of ourselves into that house. Every project, each room, every wall had our stamp on it. We painted, we sanded, we knocked out walls. We redid cabinetry and landscaping. We picked each color for every single room with great care and deliberation. I painted trim for months. Chris learned how to put in a bathroom sink and shower. I painted doors. Chris learned how to tile a kitchen floor. For years, we became home improvement junkies and put our heart and soul into creating a home.

We brought two of our babies home from the hospital to that home. We celebrated Chris's MBA graduation and two first birthdays. We laughed and cried in that home. I loved the swingset in the backyard, a hand me down from our neighbors across the street. I loved the lilac trees that bordered our property line and the abundant trees gracing our property. I loved our newly remodeled kitchen and beautiful tile. I loved to read in the family room or spend time watching the trees sway in the breeze. I loved the hardwood floors, the fireplace, and our huge living room. I loved the memories we made in our home.

That home is now someone elses. We left them a bottle of champagne to celebrate their new home and wished them many years of happy memories. I hope they have as many wonderful memories as we did. I hope that house becomes their home.

Goodbye Home.

For the Love of.... the Boobie?

There are a lot of benefits to being a breastfeeding mom to a bebe. Health benefits to the baby, of course. And the side benefit to me of the oh, so very wonderful burning of an extra 500 calories a day. (Unfortunately, those extra calories have not come off of my ass which, despite delivery six months ago, still looks four months pregnant.)

There is the sweetness of cuddling my adorable little boy after a long working day away. The wonder of feeling his little hand hold mine as he nurses. The stolen moments of just the two of us in the early morning hours.

But who knew that I could use the breastfeeding thing to get out of a fire drill and building evacuation? Hmmm, walk down 33 flights of stairs in a crowded, 80 plus degree stairwell in my uncomfortable fancy work shoes? Oh, sorry, I can’t possibly! I have to pump. Hee. This almost makes up for the male colleague who walked in on my pumping session my first week back at work. Almost.

A Cry for Help

I have already confessed that I am NOT the most together person. But sometimes, even I manage to surprise myself. Today, I wore my sweater inside out. To work. I wore my sweater inside out TO WORK. I didn't even notice. Nope. Thankfully, after an hour or so at the office, a kind co-worker noticed. When she told me, I didn’t believe her. And then I looked down and started to laugh so hard, I snorted. Who does this? Who can’t even manage to dress themselves appropriately in the morning? Who?

I was still giggling five minutes later. I need help.

We All Scream For...

The ice cream truck stalks our neighborhood. This was not a problem for us in years past because we told the boys the truck was a music truck. (A special shout out and thank you for this genius parenting technique courtesy of Diane and Scott.) Ice cream? What ice cream?

Sweet boys that they are, Aidan and Brennan loved the music truck and it’s tinny, repetitive, somewhat annoying tunes it played on its daily, often thrice daily trips around our streets. But at the end of last summer, Aidan’s dear friend Ellie filled him in on the secret of the music truck. He was astonished to discover that the music truck not only plays music, but it serves ice cream too. The jig is up.

We celebrated the beginning of summer last week with the boys’ first visit with the music and ice cream truck. Although Aidan informed me, “Mom, it’s not really an ice cream truck because it only serves popsicles.”

Hmm, the music/ice cream/popsicle truck perhaps?

A Little Problem

I have a reading problem. When the new Borders opened five minutes from my house, I quipped to my father in law that “it is almost like opening up a crack house next door to a crack addict.” My credit card would agree.

When I teased a friend because I discovered she knows her credit card number by heart, I admitted, “the only number I know by heart is my library card number.” Yes, sadly, now she can make even more fun of me.

I get antsy when I do not have a book to read. It does not matter if I may not have the time to actually read the book. I just have to know that a book is available just in case I can get to it. I also never travel anywhere without a book tucked into my bag. One of my greatest fears is being stuck somewhere, sometime without something to read. I even keep a book in my desk drawer at work.

When we go on vacation, I have to pack a book for each day of the trip. And one for each plane ride. But, if it’s a super long plane ride, then I have to pack two. Just in case.

It’s beyond an addiction. I need Bookaholic’s Anonymous. The first step is admitting you need help, right?

(To continue on with this random of nothingness, right now I am reading this and this. I just finished this, this and this. I have this and this waiting for me to read. I would also like to read this , this and this.)

Sweetness

I watched the boys play oustide yesterday for hours. The new kiddie pool is quite a hit and the boys entertained themselves with buckets and cups of water. Brennan decided to use his cups of water to make me some pretend coffee. He brought the coffee over to me and with flourish said, "Here you go Momma, coffee for you". I smiled at him, said thanks and just soaked him in for a moment. His little pot belly hanging over his bathing suit, his hair standing up in a million places and his face stained with grape juice and oreos.

"Brennan, Are you just the cutest little boy ever?" I asked.

He grinned at me and replied after a beat, "Yes, Momma, I am."

Yes, he truly is.

------------------------------------

The boys and I headed to our friends' house this morning for some pool and backyard fun. As I unloaded the multitude of plastic bags filled with the enormous amount of stuff it takes to bring three children anywhere, Aidan looks at me and asks, "Mom, Can I take those bags for you?"

"Um, sure," I respond as I hand Aidan the bags. "Thank you, Aidan. That's a huge help to Mommy."

"No problem," He says with a smile, "I know how hard it is for you to carry baby Griffin and all this stuff." He walks away before I can grab him and smother him with hugs and kisses. My sweet, sweet grown up of a boy.

A Food Diary

At the boys' school, you get a daily report card of the kiddies activities when they are in the toddler programs. I love the little report card. It gives me an idea of the nitty gritty of their day - did they nap? what did they eat? did they poop? (Yes, really.) It also always includes a narrative of the activities performed, books read, walks taken about town or fun arts and crafts made. Once the kids grow up and move on to the preschool rooms, there are no more report cards. I missed it once Aidan left the toddler programs, but I still get to enjoy Brennan's reports.

Brennan's report card, however, is a little different than the notes I received on Aidan. In Brennan's case, his teachers love to narrate not only what Brennan ate at snacks and lunch, but the sheer amount of food he consumes. Yesterday, Brennan's teacher wrote that he ate cheese ravioli for lunch, but had to put an extra note in parentheses next to it that said in bold ("SIX!!!"). Last week when he had chicken nuggets for lunch, his teacher wrote ("Lots and Lots!"). The week before they had mac and cheese ("Many Helpings!"). After another mac and cheese day, she wrote ("Loves his mac n' cheese!!! Ate ALOT!). Heh.

Brennan likes his food and he is certainly not bashful about it.

Little Things

Sometimes, it is the little things that keep me smiling. Lots of little things today.

I smiled because Griffin giggled in his crib when he saw my face this morning.

I smiled when I listened to Brennan singing to himself in bed this morning.

I smiled when I sang songs with the boys the whole car ride to school. (Snuggle Puppy is a current favorite.)

I smiled because I overheard this argument between the boys over their bowls of Lucky Charms:

Brennan: "Where'd my momma go?"

Aidan: "She's my mommy too you know."

Brennan: "No. MY MOMMA!"

Aidan: "No, she's MINE TOO."

Brennan: "MYYYYYY MOMMA. MYYYYY Momma! Mine!"

Aidan: "You can't just keep her all to herself. You have to share her, Brennan!"

Brennan starts to cry. I step in to intervene, trying to keep the giggles and smiles in check.

I smiled because I wore my red shoes today. (LOVE THEM! And I keep glancing at them to keep me smiling, even when I was in a meeting this morning. Hee!)

I smiled because the angel watching Griffin for us this month, my best friend Diane's mom, Celia, made me lunch today in the cutest little brown bag. I smiled even more when I realized she even buttered the roll she included in the lunch.

I smiled when I heard my husband's voice from 3,000 miles away and realized he would much rather be home with us.

I smiled when I saw how very pregnant and beautiful my friend Esther looks today. (And no it's NOT twins people. For the LOVE of God already!)

I smiled because damn, spanx are totally the best invention ever and made me look so much cuter in the skirt I am wearing today.

I smiled because I discovered this morning that my aunt dropped three books in my mailbox for me to read. And to me, books are better than candy.

I smiled when I found a bag of peanut m & ms in my desk drawer that I am eating right this very minute!

More smiles to come. I hope. (Glance at red shoes, smile again!)

Long Weekend!

A Long Weekend. Although, technically, due to my part time work schedule, my whole life is a long weekend.

My brothers, Seth and Travis, sister in law, Tennille, and my brother’s girlfriend, Lynda, all came home from NYC for a visit. They all spent lots of time with the boys engaged in tackle, kite flying, water fights, flubber, and coloring. My heart melts a little every time I saw my boys hug their uncles. Aidan loved to hold Travis’s hand. Brennan wouldn’t let Seth get up from the couch while they watched a movie. Griffin managed to drool or spit up on both Tennille and Lynda.

We all had an adult night out at my cousin’s graduation party. Open Bar. Hello apple martinis for me. Dinner afterwards brought many bottles of wine. Drinks after dinner gave me a never ending glass of wine thanks to Tennille’s friend the bartender. This all made for a very tired, cranky and somewhat hung over mommy the next morning.

On Sunday, Chris left for a week long business trip. We are two days in and I count it a success that no one has been locked in the basement. I had a minor nervous breakdown when I realized after he left that I was out of coffee grounds. It was a debate of epic proportions. Load three children into the car just to go to the store for coffee or endure the lack of caffeine while I suffer the sleep deprivation of a single working parent this week? My mother came to the rescue and dropped off coffee for me. (Seattle’s Best, Cinnabon! Mmmmm.) Life is good. Now if I can just keep myself out of the basement for three more days...

Need an Opinion?

Fisher Price Play Lab called today to ask if they could send us a DVD for Brennan to watch. We need to watch the DVD and complete a short survey. In return, we get to keep the DVD and get $15 cash. Um, is this a no brainer, or what? Free DVD, children entertained and happy for at least a half an hour and I get $15?

If I add the $15 to my already earned "Nielson family" salary of $30 - I am up to $45 for simply giving my opinion. This is fun. Lots and lots of fun. If I knew I could get paid for being opinionated, I would have skipped law school all together.

I Want My TV!

Today is our last day as a Nielson family. What is a Nielson family you ask? A Nielson family is asked to record their tv viewing habits for one week. The fancy, important Nielson people take our records and using some complicated mathematical algorithm, come up with tv ratings. Boring stuff, huh?

NOT IN THE LEAST! I was almost too excited to be "part of the Nielson family." (Yep. They really do describe it that way. Cute huh? Little culty, but cute.) First, we got a postcard in the mail to alert us that a customer service rep would contact us by phone to see if we were interested in "joining the Nielson family." I was all a quiver with excitement. I kept asking Chris, "But what if we miss the call? Will they still let me be part of the family if I miss the call?" (Yes, it is amazing he has stayed with me for all these years.)

But we didn't miss the call! Hurray for me! Except, the call came in at probably the worst possible time. Two kiddies in the bath engaged in a heated water fight, one infant screaming his head off, and me trying to fold three tons of laundry. Yet when they asked me if it was a good time, I put on my best enthusiastic family voice and said unequivocally - yes! And then I hung up on them.

It was an accident. I was trying to pick up Griffin, talk on the phone and give the other two boys my best warning look. I was doomed. I hit the phone with my ear and hung up on the Nielson guy. And what does any sane person do in this situation? Well, I cried. Chris was ready to commit me. Seriously, put me away.

"Honey, they will call back," Chris says in a gentle, reassuring, my wife has gone bonkers tone of voice.

"Nooooo, they won't call back," I wail back "We lost our chance! We lost it!"

"They'll call back."

"We'll never be part of the Nielson family! Never!" I cry in hysteria.

Chris gives me a look that suggests I have gone and lost my mind for good this time. I respond with, "Don't you want the shows you watch to get good ratings? Don't you? How would you feel if all we had to watch day in and day out was something like Dancing With the Stars?"

That shut him up. After a few minutes - they called back! And so it was - we became part of the Nielsons. I have tried to be as honest and as accurate as possible in our reporting. (Well, except I told my friend Christine that I would lie and say I watch Brothers and Sisters even though I don't because it is her very favorite show and she may cry if it gets canceled. But other than that - I swear - total honesty. )

I was proud to mark down the time I watched a show on PBS, but embarrassed to record that I watch the Bachelor. (I know - it's like a car wreck and I. Just. Can't. Stop. Watching.) I was a little ashamed at the amount of tv the kiddies watched last Sunday morning, but hey - sunday morning tv equals a mommy who gets to read the sunday paper. I learned that Chris never remembers what he watched on tv the night before and he describes every show he watches as "some kind of law and order thing." I also learned that I never, ever get to watch the news, unless you count the ten minutes I get dressed to the sounds of the Today show on my working days.

All in all, it has been interesting. And they paid us $30 too!

A Legal Field Trip

My adventures in law took me to Roswell Park Cancer Institute today. It was my first visit to Roswell and I was beyond impressed by the facilities and the people. It says volumes to me when a cancer hospital and research center houses its executive offices within the hospital.

The people who work at Roswell devote such focus and enthusiasm to the treatment and cure of cancer. Their focus and dedication are admirable. They believe in what they do. Their energy and drive make a difference. I was in awe of them, while at the same time a little jealous of them too.

After watching the pain and emotional roller coaster ride suffered by Chris's aunt and uncle when his cousin passed away from cancer last year, I have a new found respect for the amazing level of care and research in Buffalo. We are so fortunate to have Roswell available to us here, in our very own backyard.

On the Move

Pack up the itty bitty army men, the mini legos and marbles. Put away the connect four pieces, the little trains and puzzle pieces. Griffin is trying to crawl. He can get himself up and push himself just a teensy bit forward by straining with his legs. It's only a matter of time before this child is on the move.

We will now accept wagers on how long it will take for Griffin to injest one of the million and one toys littering our floor. Let the betting begin!

Sunday, Sunday

On Sunday, Brennan slept in until 8:30 a.m. For those of you without children, the use of "sleep in" with the time of "8:30" may seem like a typo. It's not. For parents with young kiddies, 8:30 seems like middle of the day.

Brennan awoke with an exuberant enthusiasm brought on by an abundance of sleep. He ran from his room yelling, "I'm awake! Momma, I'm awake." While he came down the stairs, slowly, step by step, he kept yelling, "Momma, I'm awake!"

I yelled from the kitchen downstairs, "Who's awake?"

"Me!" He yelled back.

"Who?"

"Me!" He jumped down the last step, ran into the entrance of the kitchen and threw his arms wide. "I'm awake!" He paused. "And I want bacon!"

I almost spit out my coffee I laughed so hard. "Bacon? How about some cereal or waffles to go with that bacon?"

"No, Momma. Just bacon! Mmmm, Bacon!"

How can you not just adore this child?

After the bacon was eaten and a (ahem) few Max and Ruby's later, we headed out for a family portrait. Chris's mom will turn 60 next month. In honor of her birthday, we all got spiffed up for a family picture day. As the only contingent of the family with young children, I was a tad stressed. I knew pictures could go either really, really well or be, well, hell. Surprisingly enough, it went fine. The boys held up well. No tears (not even from me - who hates to get her picture taken! Hate!) And I think we even took a few good shots. Our individual family shot actually turned out okay too. See?



Don't we look like one big happy family?

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

We made it through the tour of the classrooms without incident. (By without incident I mean no tears or crying. By we, I mean Aidan and me - as the odds of Chris crying or tearing up at kindergarten orientation are slim to none.)

We made it through the chatting with the teachers and the walk around the school. Aidan made it through the bus safety video, while I, um, well, had to choke back tears maybe once or twice. I have no idea what exactly in the bus safety video from circa 1983 set me off, but I had to pinch myself to keep the tears from flowing. I must have been doing a pretty bad job of hiding the emotional rollercoaster though, because Chris caught a glimpse of my face and actually asked if I was okay. Me, okay? Sure - please, it's a safety video. (Blink back tears, pinch leg, try to smile.)

After the video, the teachers asked the kiddies to line up next to the door for the bus ride. Aidan started to get in line, looked behind him and realized I wasn't joining him in the line, and it all sort of went downhill from there. He may have clutched my leg, cried a bit, maybe even engaged in some screaming. I froze up with a polite embarrassed smile on my face while every other mother watched their child walk in a single file line with excitement to get on the bus ride. Mr. Bus Driver took pity on me and invited me along on the bus ride with the kiddies. Thankfully, there was another mother with a hysterical child who got to enjoy the bus ride with me. Otherwise, it was us, the bus driver and approximately thirty kindergarteners out for a spring drive around town.

And the wheels on the bus go round and round...

Dreams

I used to dream of adventures and of travels. I used to dream of goals I would accomplish and people I would meet.

Now, three children later, I dream of sleep. Sweet, uninterrupted, blissful sleep. A sleep where I would slowly wake up entirely on my own with a yawn and a sigh, content to roll over for ten minutes more. Sleep without cries of children in the distance. Sleep, sweet, sweet sleep. Just sleep.

Don't Be That Mom

Tomorrow morning is Aidan's kindergarten orientation. Kindergarten ORIENTATION. My baby has to be oriented for kindergarten. As part of the orienting, the kiddies get to take a bus ride with their new classmates. I have been preparing Aidan for the bus ride and orientation to avoid the inevitable breakdown. I also, well, have been preparing myself for the bus ride and orientation to avoid my inevitable breakdown. Literally, I have to have pep talks with myself about not crying. I do not want to be THAT mother. The mother crying and clinging to their child like a complete lunatic. Even though, well, I have a strong suspicion I just might sort of be that mother.

As I put Aidan to bed tonight he asked me questions about what to expect tomorrow. After a few questions, he was quiet for a little bit and gave me a long, hard hug. Then he turned to look at me and asked, "At kindergarten, can I take my blankies with me to hug?"

Tears in my eyes. I gave him a hug and played the mom card of "we'll see."

If I can't make it through the discussions about the orientation without crying, how in hell am I supposed to survive the actual orientation? Or even worse, (sigh) the actual kindergarten? I am so going to be the hysterical pyscho mom. Let the therapy for my child commence.

The Dance of the Grumpys

Grumpy morning for me. Chris nudged me at 6:15 to wake me for the shower. I had just fallen back asleep after feeding Griffin at 5 am. I may have bitten Chris’s head off just a lil’ bit, but I finally crawled out of bed and made it to the shower muttering grumpy, pitiful platitudes about a lack of sleep.

The kiddies didn’t want to wake up. I forgot to make the bottles last night. The shirt I wanted to wear needed to be ironed. Griffin wanted just one more feeding before I left for work. In other words, we were all going to be late.

My grumpiness increased until I was officially on edge. I was trying to make my lunch as I yelled to the boys to get their shoes on NOW. Brennan was playing with magnets on the fridge. He found the magnet that played music, pushed the button to make the music play and yelled to me, “Dance, momma, dance!”

“Brennan, Mommy is trying to make her lunch, so…”

He pulled the magnet off of the fridge, walked over to me and pushed the button again.

“Dance, Momma, Dance!” Aidan walked over to me giggling and joined in the fun.

“Come on Mom,”Aidan said as he laughed, “Dance.”

And so I did. I made my turkey sandwich and danced around the kitchen. I wiggled my hips, kicked my legs and moved my butt. The boys dissolved into laughter. We all danced and the grumpiness was gone. Just like that. I left for work smiling without a grumpy thought or pitiful sigh in sight.

Years from now, we aren’t going to remember the grumpy mornings, but I hope we all remember that we danced.

But Why?

Chris and I both had early meetings this morning so I had to wake up the boys to get to school. When I woke Aidan up, he smiled at me, sat up quickly and asked: "Did we win, Mom?"

I rubbed his back absentmindedly and asked "What?"

Aidan jumped out of bed and asked again, "Did we win? Did the Sabres win their game last night?"

"Oh, no honey, the Sabres didn't win. We lost."

"We did? We lost?" Aidan's face was a mixture of disappointment and confusion. "But Why?" "Why did we lose?"

Sigh. I only wish I knew why. I wish I knew. Aidan's expression of disappointment and confusion will be echoed across the faces of all of Buffalo this morning. But why?

If Only

Home, to me, means to live amongst family. I live surrounded by family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, moms - we have them all here.

It's wonderful, but sometimes I am selfish. Because what I don't have here are my brothers. My brothers left with lofty goals and found greener pastures in Manhattan. They live fancy lives in sophisticated Manhattan. They jet set. They party at hours when I am doing middle of the night feedings. And they are not here at home. They are someplace else.

I know Manhattan is not all that far away, but sometimes it feels as if it is at the other end of the world. This distance grew once I had children. I want my boys to know their uncles. I want my children to learn from them, to laugh with them, to turn to them when they need help. I want them to love each other. If only they lived closer. If only they moved home. It's hard to build a strong relationship with such a distance. If only.

But I have hope. I watched my little boys play with abandon on Sunday with their uncles. It was enthusiastic games of tackle and chase, video games and lots of jokes and laughter. It was only a couple of hours, but it gave me hope that sometimes the distance doesn't really have to matter at all.

Mother's Day Social

Friday was the boys' school mother's day social. It is always a cute affair. Each class sings songs or provides some sort of entertainment and the classrooms are decorated with mom inspired posters and designs created by the kiddies.

This year we missed the entertainment because we were ten minutes late. Sigh. I was the only mother late, but trying to get three children out of the house prevents me from arriving anywhere on time, even with an abundance of effort and good intentions. Nonetheless, the true entertainment for me was the posters Aidan's class created entitled: "When I am at School My Mother is..."

..."working"
..."sitting in a chair all day long"
..."doing pilates"
..."working on the treadmill." I howled at the last two. And who are the yummie mommies in the class? Hee.

Thankfully, the kids prepared those posters on a day Aidan is not at school, so I did not have to endure Aidan's take on my day.

Aidan's class also drew pictures of their moms and completed several sentences provided by their teachers on the picture. My picture gives me both a nice yellow blonde hair color with black mixed in. I think Aidan is trying to tell me it's time to get my roots done. As for the sentences about his mom, Aidan's went like this:

My mom is: "a lawyer."
My mom likes to: "clean the playroom." This is beyond funny if you could actually see our playroom.
My mom says this all the time: "I love you."
I love my mom because she "gives me lots of hugs and kisses."

Good son. Good, good son. When I think of the things he could have written, I shudder just a bit.

It reminds me of the week his last class was learning about feelings. The teacher had an inspired moment when she did posters entitled, "I feel sad when..." and the kiddies had to complete the sentence. I think there were alot of mother's drinking after the public humilation caused by the display of those posters.

I feel sad when "my mommy yells at me"; "my mommy tells me to be quiet"; "my mommy goes to work". Yeah, you get the picture. Aidan's poster? I feel sad when "my mommy won't get me a book." Great, huh? I am the mom who refuses to allow her child to read! Humpf. I think the teacher reconsidered that lesson plan.

In related child news, Griffin is now a mad roller. He rolls over and promptly screams in frustration when he discovers he is on his belly. You roll him back on his back and in less than a minute, he is back on his belly. Lots of fun. Griffin is also onto food. So far both prunes and sweet potatoes are a hit. Cereal, not so much. He spits it out with a face of disgust. I can't say I blame him.

Last Day was the Hardest

My last day of my first week back at work was, strangely enough, the most difficult. I sailed through day two, but hit a wall on day three. I missed the kids. I questioned my decision to work. And the politics of life in an office annoyed the hell out of me.

The worst moment of my day? At 4:30 p.m, Chris and I were offered tickets to last night's Sabres game by my very kind uncle. But - two and a half hours before the first face off, what are the odds I could find a babysitter for my three children? You would think the odds would be pretty good considering I live within a mile of my entire family. Nope. Not a babysitter to be had. Not a one. So with tears in my eyes, I admitted defeat, took one for the team and told Chris to invite a buddy to the game. It killed me to miss the chance to see the playoffs in person. KILLED me. Sigh.

I put the kiddies to bed and watched the game at home, by myself, while I munched chocolate chip cookies and drank a corona with lime. An odd combination, but it worked for me and my pisser of a mood.

Dandelions are Flowers Too...

When I picked Brennan up from school yesterday, he handed me a clump of wilted dandelions he had clenched tightly in his fist.

“I picked ‘em for you Momma,” he said with a wide grin as he gave me a hug and handed me the sad, sad dandelions. The teacher smiled and told me Brennan had picked the flowers during their morning walk. He clutched those dandelions all through the morning, all through lunch, during nap, while eating his snack and while he patiently waited for me in the afternoon. The dandelions were crushed and pretty sad as flowers go, but they were the most beautiful buds I had ever been given. I could not have loved them more.

Sidenote: Take that you horrible, mean, elitist neighborhood association that complained because we may have had a few dandelions littering our lawn! See? Dandelions can be beautiful too.

Day Two

Day two is easier. I loved Griffin up this morning, but while I was sad when I left him, I managed not one tear. I confess to a tear or two mid-day, but it's still progress.

Only one day to go in my work "week!" And then I get four in a row with my boys. How can I ask for anything more?

Lawn-gate

We moved about a year ago. Our new house is only a mile or so away from our old house, but it is a little newer and within walking distance to my entire family. After a year (A YEAR!) of offers and counteroffers, walking away from the table and back again, we negotiated a fantastic deal on our lovely home.

Our lovely home sits in a pretty nice neighborhood. A neighborhood of much larger homes and fancier lifestyles than ours. Our lovely little home is the smallest and most modest of the lot of homes.

Our neighborhood has a mandatory neighborhood association. The association requires that we pay dues so we can enjoy the private park and pond, and attend such fun activities as the neighborhood family picnic and women’s Christmas cocktail party. (I was giving birth during the Christmas party last year, but I so can’t WAIT to rock out at next years!)

Apparently, the association also has rules and regulations as to how we keep and maintain our home. We did not know this until Saturday when the Board Association President gave us a nice friendly call to discuss the state of our lawn. Yep. Our lawn.

Do we have trash strewn about the grass? Nope. Do we have a car without tires up on blocks in our driveway? No. We just haven’t put forth “enough effort” into the landscaping and maintenance of our lawn. We may have a couple dandelions or so. (Hey – Aidan thinks they are flowers and he likes to pick them for me! I keep them in a vase on the kitchen counter.) And our lawn may not be as green or as well fertilized as our neighbors (who all have professional landscaping services!), but it’s not overgrown or embarrassing. I swear.

We were told we have to put forth “more effort” into the landscaping of our lawn. Our lawn should look as nice or more so than our neighbors. Are these people truly, really, for real?

It’s official. We are SO the white trash of our neighborhood. While this has kept me in a constant state of laughter and general hilarity, Chris does not find it funny in the least. He has been weeding, mulching and planting pretty much non stop since Saturday.

As payback? I am so going to be the drunkard dancing on the tables at the ladies’ Christmas social. That should really set the tongues wagging.

Day One

I snuggled Griffin a little longer this morning, gave him extra kisses and love, but it still did not diminish the guilt I felt at leaving my sweet little baby today. His eyes seemed sad, as if he sensed something was up, but it could just be my projection of maternal guilt.

I cried in the driveway, cried in the car, cried in the bathroom and cried in my office. I also cried while pumping - breast milk mixed with some tears.

I made it through my first meeting of the day. The meeting was supposed to last all of forty five minutes, but went for two hours. It was at one hour, fifty minutes that I remembered I forgot to wear breast pads. I spent the next ten minutes of the meeting sneaking glances at my own chest to ensure that breast milk wasn't leaking all over my shirt. At the first sign the meeting was adjourned, I ran out of the conference room, arms crossed tightly across my chest, seeking the safety of my office and breast pump.

Mid pump and cry fest, I realized I forgot ice packs for my pump cooler. Sigh. Now what? Well, I am storing my breast milk in the fridge for my practice group. How's that for family friendly policies, huh? Let's hope no one mistakes the milk for a refreshing mid-day drink.

I miss my baby. But I know I need to work, both for my sanity and my family's financial survival. This does not make me less sad. This does not make me feel less guilty. I guess it is all part of being a working mom.

P.S. Yes, I do have two other children, but while I love them both dearly, they had no idea that there was anything special or out of the ordinary about today. It was a school day, just like any other school day for most of their lives. The only difference from the last five or six months? I came downstairs all dressed in my professional working clothes instead of my regular morning attire of stained, pilling flannel pjs. Aidan even took a break from watching "HigglyTown Heroes" to comment on how much he "loved" my pearls.

Last Day

Today is my last day of maternity leave. I don't want to leave Griffin tomorrow. I want to go back to work. How is it possible to feel such conflicting emotions at once?

DENTIST FROM HELL PART TWO: The Aftermath

Aidan peers at me over his cereal bowl, "Mom, why did the Mad Dentist have such a big mask on?"

Me: "Mad dentist, who?"

Aidan: "You know, Mom - the Mad Dentist from the bad dentist's place?"

Me: Thinking to myself, oh, shit - this will just never die, will it? Then in my understanding mommy voice, "Oh, that dentist."

Aidan: "Why did he have such a big mask on?"

Me: Trying to come up with a safe, nice, puppies and rainbows type of answer, but after only two sips of coffee and a brain muddled with sleep deprivation, I can only come up with : "Um, hmmm, well..."

Aidan jumps into the silence with a thoughtful: "Is it because of the blood mom? I bet Mad Dentist wears the big face mask because of all the blood."

Brennan chimes in : "I hate the dentis! I no wanna go to the dentis!"

I hang my head and know that when my children's teeth rot and fall out because of their staunch refusal to ever go to a dentist again, I will deliver those teeth right to the doorstep of that damn "Mad Dentist".

DENTIST FROM HELL

No one likes to go to the dentist. Hell, I HATE to go to the dentist. And even more than I hate going to the dentist, I feared taking my children to the dentist for the first time. I knew it was a requirement of parenthood, but I dreaded it just the same. (This is somewhat apparent given that Aidan is four and well, (sigh) he had not yet been to the dentist. I know, I know - I am hanging my motherly head in abject shame. SHAME ON ME. Bad mother, bad!)

So today, both Aidan and Brennan had appointments at the dentist. I made appointments at a regular dentist who assured me they also performed pediatric dentistry services. I thought this would work fine. Who needs a pediatric dentist's office? Heh. Rookie mom move. You do really need a pediatric dentist or at least an office that doesn't have their collective head up their giant ass.

We arrive and wait twenty minutes in the beautifully appointed waiting room with antique furniture. Toys? Nada. Reading materials? Sure - some lovely, fancy schmancy coffee table books including one on the history of James Bond. (I have no idea either.)

We are finally ushered into the back of the office. But, instead of bringing us right to our dental "cubicle", the hygienist would like to give us a tour of the office. Um, okay? I didn't know what to say or do in response to this. So, off we went - me, a scared shitless two year old, a pretty nervous four year old and an infant carrier with infant that weighed about ninety pounds or so. The first part of the tour? We got to watch an actual procedure being performed by a dentist. A real life actual procedure - needles and all. BIG needle. BIG HUGE NEEDLE being inserted into a patient's gums. And now both children are clutching my legs in terror as we continue onto the tour. I am not even sure how I managed to walk - with Aidan on one side holding onto my leg, Brennan grabbing my other leg and me maneuvering the infant carrier. But, there's more! We stop the tour so the hygienist can take five minutes to drone on about the wonders of Zoom Teeth Whitening treatments. The kids look like they are about to completely melt down and this woman is trying to sell me teeth whitening. I wanted to haul off and smack her. Really. There should be a special place in hell for people like this. If not hell, then at least purgatory.

Finally, we make it to our dental cubby. The hygienist points out the chair in the center of the cubby and tells Aidan to hop on up into the chair so they can get to work. Then she turns to me and tells me that I have to wait outside of the cubby. Aidan's head snapped so fast to look at me that I honestly thought it was going to come off of his body. I was honestly speechless. He's FOUR. FOUR!!!!! NEVER BEEN TO A DENTIST. Are you serious? Truly? She was. She honestly believed that he was going to just hop into the chair and happily have his teeth inspected by complete strangers. Hee, funny lady.

I told her that I was going to stand by Aidan during the treatments. The hygienist then told me it was "some sort of state law or something." But she "wasn't sure, 'cause she's new." I told her in the politest tone I could manage, that I wasn't going to wait outside of the cubby. She looked nervous and left for reinforcements. The kids took this as a sign to just completely and totally lose it. So they cried hysterically, at full volume, in perfect harmony. It was a miracle of miracles that Griffin did not join them.

A neighboring dentist took pity on me and decided to help me comfort my children. Only he forgot to take off his face mask. My children are already screaming in fear and confusion when a tall, strange man with a large face mask leans down to try and talk to them. He looked like something out of a horror movie. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry right along with them.

Then another dentist joins us. Wait - she's our dentist! She tells me that she can not allow me to stay in the cubby with the kids because it is "her rule" and "sometimes mothers can be part of the problem." Oh, yes she did. I gave her a smile and asked her if she had children. She said no. I smiled at her again and said, "I didn't think so." And then we left.

My anger and frustration at that dental office can not be adequately expressed. Aidan can't stop talking about the needles. Brennan keeps muttering to me, "Momma, I hate the dentis! Hate the dentis!" Great. If I thought the dentist was going to be hard before this all happened, now I have my work cut out for me.

I took them out for ice cream to dull all of our pain. What's a few more sugar induced cavities, right?

Mmmmmm.. cheesecake!

I had lunch today at the Cheesecake Factory. I have to say, I am not a fan of chain restaurants and will avoid them like the plague. This is easy to do in Buffalo with our wide variety of damn good dining options. But today, I hit our brand spankin' new Cheesecake Factory because well, it's cheesecake people. Cheesecake! How can that possibly be a bad thing, right? Cheesecake! (I like to say it about as much as I like to eat it.)

And speaking of chain restaurants and cheese, come to find out that Buffalo is also getting their very own Melting Pot. Cheese! Because how can melted cheese be a bad thing? And melted chocolate? Oh, the possibilities are endless.

The chains are discovering Buffalo. And my very favorite chain set to be open here this week? SEPHORA! It opens Friday and I am in love. I literally had my nose pressed up against the glass of the closed store today. I could see Philosophy and my Amazing Grace! I could see pretty little brushes and tubes of goop!

I literally barely wear make up and I am more excited for this store than I should be. I just may come out of the store all foundationed and fake eyelashed to the hilt. And then I'll go eat Cheesecake! Or Melted Cheese! Hmmmm, what did I say about hating chains again?

I'm Fine

I thought I was fine about going back to work. I like my job. I love my part time schedule - three days a week is perfect for me. I love the people I work with at my job - both my clients and colleagues. I like doing something for me. So, I'm fine.

My best friend Diane called me today to see if I was concerned about going back to work in one week. Are you feeling okay?, she asked. I'm fine, I assured her. I like to work. I need to work and so, I'm fine.

My mom called today, upset, because she will be overseas when I go back to work next Tuesday, and therefore, unable to call to make sure I am okay. I'll be fine, I told her. Fine. I love my schedule and my job. Griffin will be okay. I'll be fine.

My friend Christine asked me to go to lunch tomorrow to celebrate my last days of leave and cheer me on to work. More concern, but I knew, I'd be fine. I have gone through this twice before, with Aidan and then Brennan. I'm a pro. I'll be fine.

I felt fine as I got dinner ready tonight. Griffin was in his exersaucer chomping on a toy with his shiny new teeth. I was singing along to my ipod as I tossed a salad. I looked over at Griffin and saw his eyes follow me. They followed me to the fridge and back again. They smiled as I sang. They continued to watch me, reassured that I was close to him. And then, just like that, I wasn't fine at all. An ache bubbled up inside of me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I cried. I picked Griffin up and held him close to me. I sang more softly and slow danced with him. My heart broke a little. I guess I am not fine. Not fine at all.

The Countdown...

In one week, I head back to work. One week. Today and tomorrow are my last days alone with Griffin. After that, he becomes one of the "pack."

Where did six months go?

One week. One sad, sad week.

You Go Al!

Al Gore has convinced me we need to start recycling and use those cute little reusable shopping bags my beloved Wegmans has offered.

Thanks to my wonderful friend Christine, I had the chance to see Al Gore speak last night at the University of Buffalo. It was informative, interesting and funny (!). Yeah, he's funny too. Who knew?

If only we could turn back time. But I won't get into that right now.

Toothless No More

Griffin has teeth. TWO TEETH. They popped up sometime between last night and this morning. This may explain the crying fits and the two hours of sleep we all collectively enjoyed last night. Teeth. My baby, my last little baby has teeth.

EDITED TO ADD: Yeah, I am already done with the sweet nostalgia from Griffin's two little teeth. He has already bit me once and those little vampire baby teeth hurt to high heaven (or hell.) I am going to threaten him with immediate weaning if he doesn't keep his fangs to himself.

We are Back

We are tan, happy, and back from our week long jaunt to Florida. It was spectacular. We soaked up as much sunshine and outdoor time as we could possible squeeze into one week. Our first morning, Aidan was up at the crack of dawn, dressed himself in his swimsuit and asked to go down to the beach at 7 a.m. We managed to hold the boys off until 8:30 am. But once at the beach, the boys were like wild animals escaped from their cages. They simply ran and ran some more until they collapsed into a sand pile with a shovel to dig. It was the theme of the vacation. Run, jump and dig. For preschoolers, that may be the perfect vacation.

Aidan and Brennan both declared they never wanted to go home. The first time we got them back into the car to go out to dinner, Brennan erupted with tears and wailing.

"I don't wanna go home, " He yelled with tears in his eyes, "I stay at the beach." While we assured him we still had plenty of time left on our vacation, he remained on edge anytime we had to get in the car to go anywhere. He was convinced we would sneak him back to Buffalo and cold, cold snow.

We enjoyed the sun, but we also enjoyed the chance to spend time with my grandparents. Chris and I get such a kick out of my nana and grandpa. They are their very own 'Stan and Ethel' variety show come to life. Some of my favorite grandparent exchanges:

My grandmother put together a pile of papers and old magazines to take to the recycling bin in their building. She left and returned a short time later, carrying a pile of new magazines and papers. I assumed she had picked up her mail on her way back to their condo. My grandmother settled in to read one of the newspapers in the chair next to me. My grandfather walks into the room, eyes the paper she is currently reading and asks in a teasing voice, "Jennie, did you pay for that newspaper?" My grandmother looks guilty and hides behind the paper. We come to find out that my grandmother likes to shop the recycle bin for new reading materials. Heh.

Another favorite: I was a little stressed our first night in Florida because the boys would not settle down to sleep. It was way beyond their normal bedtime, and they still stubbornly refused to drift off. My grandfather saw I was stressed and told me to let it go.

I replied: "But they're going to be unbearably cranky tomorrow."

He laughed and said, "Then let them be cranky."

I gave him wide eyes and said with exasperation, "But this is my vacation and I don't want to deal with cranky kids."

He laughed, shook his head and said, "Honey, you're not on vacation. The kids are on vacation. You are not on vacation. You want to know who is on vacation? Your grandmother and I are on vacation." Funny and a wise man too.

Griffin also enjoyed his first trip to both the pool and beach. He survived having his toes put into the somewhat cold Gulf of Mexico, but seemed a little astonished by the bright Florida sun. (That's what happens when you are born in December in Buffalo!)

All in all - a good time was had and memories were made.

P.S. I also must express my absolute devotion, adoration and just plain love for JetBlue. If I could, I would fly JetBlue with my children everywhere. We sat down in our seats, the boys popped on their headphones and sat QUIETLY while they watched Dora and Diego on their individual tvs. JetBlue, I truly love you. And our fellow passengers who eyed us with suspicion upon seeing that we were traveling with three children four and under, well, they love you too.

Vacation All I Ever Wanted

Caution - Discussion of Bodily Functions and/or Fluids Ahead...

There is something about becoming a parent that allows you to discuss bodily functions and/or fluids with relative comfort. My day today has been all about bodily functions and fluids and it is only early afternoon.

This morning I negotiated a truce between Aidan and Brennan as they brawled over the ownership of a rescue hero action figure. (Mind you - we have like fifteen of these same silly action figures - but they both had to have THIS specific one or else!) I negotiated this truce from the comfort of the porcelain throne in my downstairs bathroom. Privacy? Please, not to the mother of three. You better be prepared to conduct your business and settle sibling disputes while your drawers are down.

Later this same morning, I dusted off my trusty ol' breast pump determined to put some milk away for my return to work in one month. As of today, I have NO milk in reserve. NONE. And since Griffin has taken an absolute dislike of any and all formulas, I should really get a pumpin'. I was inspired to begin my pumping program by my amazing friend Danielle who has enough milk in reserve for her nine month old that he may be able to use breast milk as a chaser in college. Yesterday, Danielle managed to pick her husband up from the airport, endure three flight delays, and drive herself to meet a bunch of us girlfriends for brunch while she pumped. WHILE she drove. If there was a La Leche award for breastfeeding super hero of the year, Danielle should totally get it. As it is though, my freezer is empty and the clock is a tickin'. And so I commenced the pumping session. Within two seconds, I am surrounded on both sides by curious eyes. I sit in a chair, pump a pumpin', with Aidan on one side and Brennan on the other. This is the exchange that occurred:

Brennan: "Whacha doin' momma?"

Me: "I'm pumping milk for Baby Griffin."

Aidan: Peers closely at the still empty bottles hanging from my breasts, "Where's the milk?"

Brennan: "I see some! I see some!"

Aidan: "Where?"

Brennan: "There! There it is! Good job momma!"

Aidan: "Hmmm, that's not much though." Looks at me with concern, "Are your boobies still warming up mom?"

Yeah, I gave up with about 1/2 an ounce of milk.

And later, later this morning, Brennan has to go poopies. Brennan likes everyone and anyone in his vicinity to know that he is about to go, is going, and has gone poopies. He will pop a squat wherever he may be and do his thing. This is the exact opposite of his brother Aidan who would disappear for fifteen minutes to go do the deed and then afterwards deny it until the smell became unbearable.

Brennan is still in diapers. I know that I should encourage him to go use the potty once he has announced his intention to go poopies, but I am just too damn tired and well, lazy, to do the follow through on this. I do manage to halfheartedly ask Brennan each time if he would like to try on the "big boy potty", but he always declines.

So, this morning - Brennan announces he has to go poopies as we are all in the playroom. He proceeds to squat and lean on our Fisher Price ramps around garage as he apparently takes care of business. He grunts. He groans. All at full volume. Brennan then starts narrating the progress of the poopy.

Grunt, Groan.. and then "Oooo - it's a hard one Momma. A hard one."

Interested despite himself, Aidan starts to cheer Brennan on with his hard work.

"Keep at it Brennan. You can do it."

I am just trying to keep a straight face. Finally, Brennan straightens, pumps his hands into the air and yells, "AWWLLLL DONE!" Aidan claps. I go get wipes and a clean diaper.

And even later, later, later this morning. Aidan has his own quality time in the bathroom working out his very own poopie. Aidan, however, likes his privacy during the deed. But after it is all finished and complete, I hear a shout, "Brennan, come see my poopies!"

Brennan, in the next room, shouts back, "Okay Aidan."

I hear Brennan running into the bathroom. There is silence. I then hear Brennan, "Wow, that's a big one Aidan."

Aidan: "Thank you Brennan."

Brennan: "You're welcome."

Welcome to crazy. This is my life. And it isn't even over yet for the day.

He's a Sweet Baby, I Swear...

Griffin is the sweetest baby. A snuggler who loves to be kissed and held. He nurses wonderfully well, takes three naps a day, and wakes only once at night to be fed. A sweet delightful dream of a baby who smiles easily and loves to giggle. This is all true. It's just that to be all the above, Griffin has to be with me. Only with me. Otherwise, he turns into what Chris has affectionately nicknamed, "the beast."

He cries and wails. He refuses to eat. He has spit formula back at his grandmother and has clamped his lips shut when offered a bottle. He howls so loud that his whole face turns purple. There is no consoling the beast unless and until I return.

We are blessed to live close to family who are always willing to babysit. The boys are loved and cared for by grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. But even Griffin's grandparents have become a little scared of him. On the rare occasions that I have left him, I return to tales of horror. He refused to eat or sleep. He cried so much and so loud that Brennan walked around the house with his hands clamped over his ears. Miraculously, once I return and hold him, the beast transforms into the sweet baby Griffin that I know and love. It is an instantaneous and amazing transformation. It baffles my husband and boggles the mind of his grandparents.

I am not sure how to help Griffin deal with our separation. I go back to work in one month. In one month, he will be away from me for three days a week, nine to ten hours a day. This will be difficult for us both and it seems almost impossible for Griffin. How do I make it easier? What can I do? I feel like the clock is ticking and I don't know how to ease this transition.

The thing is - I am excited to get back to work. I enjoy my three days at the office. But how can I look forward to something that will be so difficult for my baby? I am at a loss.

In better news, Griffin is now four months. FOUR MONTHS! He is 18 pounds - and in the 95% for both weight and height. My little chunker of a baby. My little love of a beast, what are we going to do with you?

Love and HBO

I have moments with my husband that confirm that we are indeed meant to be together. I am not talking about romantic walks on the beach moments or lovey dovey we are so in love moments, but rather flashes of insight in the minutia of our daily lives that no one else would really understand.

For instance, remember when Aidan was projectile vomiting during our road trip to Florida? The collective response of Chris and I was full out tears dripping down our face, holding our sides laughter at our predicament. Our joint ability to find humor in that instance reminded me why we found each other.

This weekend we had free HBO. FREE HBO! To say we were excited over our FREE HBO would be a slight understatement. Free HBO means FREE HBO ON DEMAND. And FREE HBO ON DEMAND meant we could watch a whole season of Entourage during every moment our children slept. We went to bed Sunday night a little sad with the knowledge that our FREE HBO would be gone come Monday, but - we were content to know we sucked every little last bit of preview out of that FREE HBO.

I had just finished putting the last child to bed on Monday night and was changing into some comfy pjs, when Chris walked into our room and asked if I was coming downstairs to watch tv. I told him I had a few things to do, but I'd be right down. And with glee in his face, he replies, "Okay, but come down soon, we still have FREE HBO." At seeing the happiness this gave him, and the joy it brought me, I know that no one, absolutely no one, would have either one of us. Truly.

Fun.. and then Not So Much

What's Fun? Trying on all your summer clothes for our upcoming trip to Florida and discovering that they all fit. Yipee!!!

What's Not So Fun? Literally, two minutes later, loaning a pair of sweatpants to your mother in law and witnessing in person what my gigantic clothes actually look like on someone who wears a size four. Yep. Not fun. Not so much fun at all.

Hello Blue Eyes...

I have brown eyes. Chris has green. Aidan and Brennan have brown eyes. And then there is number three, little Griffin, with the eyes that are of the bluest blue.

Let's Go to the Beach...

We are off on our annual family trip to Florida in a couple of weeks. With the way we are all talking about it, you would think we were leaving tomorrow. The sun, the sand, the beach, the sun, the ocean, the sun, and oh, the sun. Did I mention the sun?

This year we are travelin' in style baby. Jet Blue and their roomy, comfy leather seats and all the television my kiddies can stomach. This is in stark contrast to our travels of last year. The Griswold family 24 hour overnight driving excursion to Florida. A three year old, one year old, hubbie and newly pregnant and oh, so nauseous me all shoved into an SUV. Let the games begin! Yeehaw.

Chris and I were so naively enthusiastic about our road trip with the kids. We would save money, have fun and truly bond as a family all at the same time. I start to giggle when I think about it. And then outside of Pittsburg, about six hours into the trip, Aidan started projectile vomiting in bumper to bumper construction traffic. I desperately tried to catch as much vomit as I could in an empty Target bag, but the sheer force and volume of the vomit had me beat. We had to pull over at a truck stop to fumigate the car. While Chris cleaned up buckets of puke from the back seat, I begged and pleaded for the boys to stop collecting all the cigarette butts littering the parking lot.

This was six hours into the trip. SIX hours. We all had to get back into the family car and drive the rest of the way with the stench of dried puke coloring the air. This was a hurdle for any person, but a first trimester pregnant lady? Forget it. I basically had to drive with my head out the window to stop myself from dry heaving.

Aidan swore he felt much better after his little fit. Hours later we stopped at a Wendy's in West Virginia for dinner. I have never received so much attention at a Wendy's before in my life. The heads swiveled and turned to follow our progress throughout the restaurant. If that wasn't enough, my children decided to add to the entertainment. As I waited with Aidan and Brennan at the table, Aidan glanced at me, and asked in that bell clear preschool voice, "Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Do you like penises?"

My head snapped as I turned to face him. "What?" I hissed. And then as I took in the horrified stares of the other customers, I whispered to Aidan, "We can talk about this in the car."

"Why mom? Why are we going to talk about penises in the car?" Just then Chris walks up to the table, shoots me a look and interjects, "We're going to talk about what in the car?"

Sigh. Just another Rockwell Family Vacation.

While the rest of the road trip passed somewhat uneventfully, I realized that Aidan had been somewhat scarred from the 24 hour ordeal. We arrived in Florida and headed straight to the beach to allow the kids to play with family that had already arrived. As it got close to bedtime, we told the boys it was time to go so we could all get some much needed rest.

Aidan looked scared for a second and then asked in a shaking voice, "Am I going to sleep in my seat in the car?" Poor kid thought vacation meant sleeping overnight in the family car. Heh.

Florida here we come... in two or three more weeks that is. Until then, Brennan is practicing wearing his swim goggles around the house:

And it all goes to crap...

Why is it that the minute my hubbie gets busy and is forced to go MIA from home to be a busy working guy, home life feels like it all goes to crap? It is like the kiddies can sense my fear and know that I am hopelessly outnumbered. Chris has been up and out of the house before we awake and home well after we all are in bed. I felt sorry for him right up until he had an important business dinner at (ahem) Left Bank. Then I just got a tad bitter.

Aidan and Brennan were wild. They fought, they cried, they refused to go down for naps. Griffin cried for what felt was three days straight. And I was tired. Oh, so very deeply tired. But tonight, the balance shifted the moment Chris rejoined our family. Boys? Totally and completely well behaved. Griffin? Not even a whimper or a tear. Chris thought I made it all up. In fact, my life of a mom home with three boys seemed like a cake walk compared to his busy working days. Right. Sure.

Chris and I used to joke that the moment he left on a business trip, it seemed as if anything that could go wrong, would. Witness the freak week of hell from late fall 2005. Chris was out of town for a week:

On Monday: Brennan, who was one at the time, managed to open the doors to our food pantry, take down a jar of strained peas, and smash the glass so he could SUCK THE PEAS OUT OF THE SMASHED GLASS JAR. I found him, lip bleeding, on the floor covered in green peas. Mind you, this was after he had eaten a dinner that consisted of no less than four stuffed shells, three meatballs, a banana and a yogurt. The kid can put it away.

Tuesday: After work, I ran downstairs to our basement laundry room to throw in a quick load of laundry. Upon walking up the stairs, I heard Brennan and Aidan giggling next to the closed door. I tried the knob to the door and, well, it's locked. Locked. My three year old and one year old locked me in the basement. Did I mention that my husband was like a thousand miles away? I had no phone in the basement. No means of escape while my one year old and three year old ran wild in the home ALONE.

From behind the basement door, I told Aidan to turn the knob to unlock the door. "I can't mom," he replied, "It just keeps turning." Ah... that's right. Because we managed to baby proof the knob to the basement door, but forgot all about the little lock. I ordered Aidan to keep working on the door, while I rummaged through the basement to find something, anything to get me out of this situation.

Ten minutes later, I was at a loss. There was nothing even remotely helpful hidden in our basement. I walked up the stairs again and heard the basement knob turning.

"Aidan?" I asked.

No response. "Aidan? Any luck on the door?" Aidan finally replied, "Mom, that isn't me at the door - that's Brennan. I'm watching tv 'cause the Backyardigans are on."

I bellowed as loud as humanly possible, "Aidan Christopher - Get over to this door immediately." When he was at the door I told him, "Go to where Mommy keeps the knives and get me a knife. Okay?" (Oh, yes I did ask my three year old to fetch me a knife. I plead insanity. My mind was broken down by two toddlers.) I told him once he had the knife, he had to slide it under the basement door to me so I could pop the lock.

After Aidan had the knife in hand, I hear some scuffles from behind the door. "Aidan?" I yelled.

"Mom, Brennan keeps trying to grab the knife." Oh Dear Lord. I screamed in a hysterical high pitch voice, "Whatever you do, DO NOT GIVE YOUR BROTHER THE KNIFE. DO NOT GIVE HIM THE KNIFE." More scuffles. "Aidan?" I screamed. And then a knife appeared under the door.

I popped the lock and opened the door to find Aidan and Brennan standing next to each other, grinning, as they stared back at me. As I looked at them, I was at a loss for words. Finally, I knelt down to their eye level and said in a deep, stern voice, "We will NEVER, EVER do that again. Is that understood?" They nodded their heads in unison with their eyes wide.

Wednesday, early a.m.: We lost power. I had to get two children and myself to work and school without any electricity. But, I still, even after the last few days, managed to remain positive - until:

Thursday. We had a freak early fall snowstorm Thursday morning. It dumped about a foot and a half of snow in our driveway. Chris, still about a thousand miles away, had promised before he left to hire a plow service for the season. Guess what? He forgot. He FORGOT. I had a deadline for work that morning that required I get to the office. And so, I shoveled. And shoveled. The boys wanted to be out in the snow with me. I wouldn't let them and so they screamed and screamed with their noses pressed up against our glass door watching me as I shoveled the snow that would NOT stop. I also started to cry. Once I started crying, I couldn't stop. Big fat tears froze on my face as I shoveled a foot of snow.

Huge breakdown for me at this point. I came in from shoveling, called Chris on his cell and screamed at him so loudly that he, to this day, says everyone in the hotel where he was staying could hear me. Let's just say that he managed to find a plow to come plow me out pretty damn quickly after hearing my major meltdown on the phone. A very well deserved meltdown.

When Chris returned later that night, all was back to normal. The driveway was plowed and the snow had stopped. Life was good. Until the next time...

Mommy, Momma, Mom

When Aidan was toddling and babbling around the age of one, I had sweet mommy fantasies about the day he would utter the word "mom." Momma, mom, mum, mommy - it didn't matter. I just couldn't wait. It knew it would be the sweetest words I had ever heard in my life. And when it happened, it was. I think I probably even cried.

But now - I want it all to stop. I want my children to forget they ever knew how to phrase the word "mom." Stop the mommy. Abandon the mommas. Let go of the mums. I spent many a day wishing for my children to say my name and now I want them to STOP. Please stop.

This morning the boys used the word mom, mommy or momma 72 times. SEVENTY TWO times people. And I only counted for two hours. So roughly from 8 am until 10 am, they called my name 72 times. And Griffin can't even talk yet. YET. Just imagine when I have three children using my name in vain. It's enough to drive you to drink.

Sweet, Sweet Baby of Mine...

It Was the Hair That Would Not Be Tamed

Before children, I swore I would never let my children out of the house with bedhead. I was a superior, judgmental idiot without children who swore a whole bunch of things about how *I* would do things when I have kids. Four years and three children later, I have let go of all my silly vows of how you are supposed to do things. TV? Check. Sugar cereals? Got 'em. PJS all day long? Why not? And messy, unkempt hair from hell? Rock on.

Brennan went to our gym class on Friday sporting this lovely do:

It was hair that refused to be tamed. This brave head of hair defeated water, refused combing, defied mousse and angered hair gel. It just wanted to be let alone. And so we let it alone. And I became the mom with the bedhead kid. And you know what? He was still one of the cutest kids in class - bedhead and all.

Toddlers are Vampires

Brennan was bit by a vampire posing as a toddler in his classroom. There are teeth marks on my angel's back and I would like some toddler vampire blood in retaliation. However, being the smarty pants that they are - the school refuses to tattle tale on the biter. Instead, you get an "incident report" which refers to the biter in code with an alias like "Brennan's little friend" or "Brennan's playmate." Yeah. Brennan's little friend who chomped on his back until it bled. Sure.

Anyway. So with the secret identity of the biter secured, I picked up Brennan from school yesterday. I walked into the classroom as Brennan was standing next to a tiny little slip of a boy who barely reached Brennan's shoulders. Brennan saw me, hugged me and then said "Look momma, Look! This is Johnny. He bites me." Ahha! Angry, vengeful mother meet the toddler vampire.

I hugged Brennan and replied, "Wow, Johnny's such a cute little guy. It looks like you have about fifteen pounds on Johnny, Brennan. I think that if you needed to, you could totally take him out." I smiled and turned to the teacher. "I'm kidding, " I say, "Well, sort of." And I gave little Johnny a nice long, hard look.

I think Johnny needs to watch his back. I'm kidding, of course. Well, sort of.

Steak and B-Ball

We celebrated Chris's birthday last night by indulging in some of Buffalo's finest steak at Buffalo Chophouse. Lo and behold, a bunch of very tall gentlemen entered the restaurant after us and were seated close by. We later learned they were the Duke Basketball Team who had just arrived for a lil' slice of March Madness in Buffalo. I was tempted to ask them to help me sing Happy Birthday, but I had a feeling Chris would have divorced me.

Can you imagine the bill to feed all those guys at the Chophouse? They must have a nice meal budget for their athletes at Duke.

Happy Birthday to You...

Happy Birthday to my lovely, dearest, MacGyver of a hubbie, Chris. He is an amazing husband, a patient and loving father and a damn good entrepreneur too.

Chris turns the corner towards 40 as he hits 36 today.

His birthday also marks the date on which he has now officially been with me throughout his life as long as he has been without me. We aren't going to ask him which part of his life he prefers though.

Happy Birthday my love.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Man Sized Burp...

Brennan and I were softly singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star as we shared some goodnight cuddles. About half way through the song, Brennan let out a belch that I can only describe as "man sized." After the burp, Brennan laughs and says : "Wow, momma. That was me." Then he laughs again and continues, "Momma, I LOVE to burp."

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We finally got my Explorer back a week or so ago with a spankin' brand new transmission. Yipee! So long rented minivan. Good bye annoying beeping sound whenever I drive too close to something. I will not miss you. My kiddies, on the other hand, fell in love with you. They adored your roominess. They oohed and awed over your automatic sliding doors. And they loved your incessant beeping even as it drove their mother insane.

As we pulled into the garage the other night, I drove the Explorer a wee bit too close to the garbage cans. After the close call, Aidan quipped from the back seat, "I don't know, Mom. I think you sort of needed the beeping to keep you from crashing." Sigh. I get no respect. None.

Where Did the Time Go?

There are times that I wake up in the morning and I am slightly shocked to remember that I am a parent. A parent to three little boys. This means that I must be all grown up and responsible - in other words just plain old. I don't feel old. I often forget that I am going to hit thirty five at my next birthday. 35!!! That's old, isn't it?

I certainly felt old as we toured Aidan's school at open house yesterday. Aidan starts kindergarten in September. KINDERGARTEN. When did this happen? He's still a baby, damn it. And in September, I have to be a grown up and put this little guy on a yellow school bus all alone. Alone. Sigh. (Okay, in reality he's going to have like, four cousins on the bus with him since we live in the same neighborhood with my entire family - but it still boggles the mind, okay?)

I felt even older since the school we toured, the school Aidan will attend, is the same school I attended. My math teacher is now the principal. My social studies teacher is still there. It eerily looks so much the same now as it did then. I felt a sense of nostalgia as we peeked in the classrooms. I also felt that slight surprise - that I am no longer the student, but my son is going to be. I worried that I would expose myself as a fraud. I am not really a responsible adult. Nor am I truly a 'real' grown up. But I held it together enough to act as I was both.

I wonder if I will ever feel like I am a mature, responsible parent. Does anyone?

Funky Feet

I love baby feet. I can't help myself. I smother Griffin's toes with kisses whenever possible. Up until a few weeks ago, I would kiss Brennan's feet to death at every diaper change. But, lately his feet just aren't as kissable. They have become, well, a little funkified. The sweet baby smell has been replaced by something almost boyish and it ain't good - even to a head over heels in love mom.

I noticed Brennan watching me the other day as I gave Griffin's feet a little kiss and snuggle. Later that night, I was mid diaper change with Brennan when he lifted his big toddler feet to my face and demanded, "Kiss 'em!" When I didn't respond right away, he yelled, "Kiss 'em momma! Kiss 'em." So I did. I kissed them. No one tells you that part of being a mom is kissing funky feet. If they had told me, I probably wouldn't have believed them.

The Dominos

The boys can take any toy or household object and find a completely different use for it other than the one for which that object is intended. Yesterday, I learned that dominos can also act as hockey pucks. Who knew?