Welcome Christmas

I love all holidays, but none come close to the joy and excitement I feel for the Christmas season. Each year we begin our family's Christmas season the Saturday after Thanksgiving by finding our trees at a local tree farm. We find the chubbiest, biggest tree we can possibly squeeze into our living room and the sweetest, most charming little tree for the landing upstairs next to the boys rooms.

Our adventures at the tree farm:

We spent this morning decorating our house as we listened to Christmas carols. Our home is now truly decked to the halls - boughs of pine and white lights are circling our banisters and fireplace mantle, wreaths hang from our windows and the trees are lit and overloaded with ornaments. Welcome Christmas!

Thankful for the Turkey

On Thanksgiving, I asked Aidan what he was most thankful for this Thanksgiving. After a thoughtful minute he responded, "I am most thankful for the turkey." I was also thankful for the turkey made even more delicious because I didn't cook it. Is there anything better than eating a elaborate meal in your own house that you didn't slave over?

Thanksgiving turned out wonderfully well. Chris and I set a fine table adorned with our very pretty wedding china brought out of storage for oh, maybe the fifth time in the last ten years of marriage. (Note to self: must try and use china again before the year 2020 to justify the expense of each place setting.) I enjoyed the sip of the apple martinis Chris made for me and his aunt - but after that sip his aunt kept confusing my glass and hers and she ending up just drinking both of them. Heh. I love holiday drinking.

Aidan insisted he wear his Indian headdress he made at school for his Thanksgiving feast.

Aidan also got Uncle Jon (Chris's brother) to wear the hat for part of the turkey feast.

And Chris opted to play the part of the pilgrim.

Meanwhile, Griffin enjoyed his first ever taste of blueberry pie.


And while Brennan really did attend Thanksgiving with our family, he refused to take even one picture for me because, well, he is two. Oh, the joys of twoberty. It's a great age, ain't it?

We all recovered today by enjoying a day of pjs, movies and visits from my brother Travis and mom. Another best part of hosting Thanksgiving? We also got to eat tons of leftovers all day Friday in the comfort of our pajamas and the beauty of my unbrushed hair. Now that's a holiday.

Navigating the Holidays

I think the holidays are tricky after you are married. There is a lot of running around to various houses, lots of time in the car and the inevitable eating two turkey dinners. (No complaints on the two helpings of apple pie though!) For the first few years of marriage, Chris and I managed to please everyone in both our families. We did two Thanksgivings and spent Christmas running here, there and everywhere in order to keep up a myriad of holiday traditions respected by each family.

But then I had enough. I wanted to sit in peace and eat one turkey without feeling the pressure of time lingering over my mashed potatoes and gravy. I hated that Chris and I woke up Christmas morning, opened each other's gifts in a flash so he could run off to be with his family at his Aunt's house to open up more gifts and I headed to my mother's. Weren't we a family too? Aren't we supposed to create our own traditions?

My holiday discontent spread to Chris once we had Aidan. It's difficult to manage the holiday fast lane as adults, but when you add the needs of small children - it's impossible. We had to find a better solution.

Finally, after ten plus years of marriage, three children and much deliberation - we've negotiated peace. Thanksgiving is with Chris's family. Christmas Eve is with mine. Christmas morning is all our own, but we've invited both sets of parents to join us late morning for a visit. There is no more checking of the watches, fearful we've missed the seating for our second turkey dinner. There is no more dreading the long drive through the snow on Christmas night with some very cranky and overtired kiddies in the car. Our families may not have everything they want, but they have enough to appear happy. (or at least they are keeping their opinions to themselves and that's okay too.)

But this year there is a twist. Not only are we spending Thanksgiving with Chris's family, but we are hosting them too. Thankfully, Chris's mom is handling most of the food, leaving us with the job of drinks, appetizers and cleaning up the abundance of toys exploding across our home. Now I just need to figure out where in the hell I am going to seat fifteen people for dinner at our house. I doubt anyone wants to eat in the playroom amidst lightsabers and legos.

Holiday Photo Shoot

My mom and I took the boys for a holiday photo shoot yesterday. The annual photography session always feels like a rite of passage. It's painful, annoying and expensive as hell, but at least the boys looked beyond cute in their matching fair isle sweaters. (Thanks to Grandma JoJo.)

Unfortunately for us, the photo studio was packed and behind schedule. The boys were bored and things were spiraling downwards when Brennan decided to perk things up a bit. In his clear as a bell preschooler voice, he turned to me and asked, "Mom, Do you have a penis?"

My mom gasped and started giggling uncontrollably as I held on to every ounce of mommy self control I possess in front of my very interested waiting room witnesses. I gave Brennan my serene mommy smile and calmly replied, "No Brennan, I do not have a penis."

Brennan returned my smile with a mischievous gaze, clearly enjoying the attentive stares of his onlookers.

"Huh," He thoughtfully replied, "So no penis for you?"

I shook my head and responded, "Nope."

The holiday photos looked good. But what would have been a better holiday card? A picture of my mother's shocked face and Brennan's apparent glee. Now that would have been a holiday card people would have savored.

P.S. Yes, I have no idea what it is with my children and their love of penis discussion in public places. Just. No. Idea. Life with three boys is fun.

Hello Snow

After a remarkably warm fall, we finally have been graced with a smattering of snowflakes. It isn't much and it isn't sticking, but the promise of something greater has both the kiddies and me pretty excited. We (actually) love the snow. There is nothing like the excitement of the first full blanket of snow. The joy of sledding down our hill in the backyard, building endless snowmen and ending it all with hot chocolate topped with marshmallows.

Chris and I never realized how much we enjoyed snow until we lived without it for a winter in Portland, Oregon. Instead of snow, the Portland winter is mild with a fine mist enveloping the city for four months. But on one of the winter days we lived there, a winter storm dropped a foot of snow on the city. People were both shocked and astounded. The city shut down. People left their cars littering the highway and walked home. The back up of cars in the law school parking lot forced me to leave my car at school and trudge over a mile home in the falling snow. But in the midst of the angst and chaos, Chris and I were like two little kids on Christmas morning rejoicing in each and every snowflake. We found every excuse possible to stay outside and enjoy the storm. Our mutual joy in the unexpected snowstorm made us both realize we needed snow as one of our seasons. I guess it isn't much of a shocker that we ended up settling on Buffalo as our home. We are guaranteed to enjoy a generous season of snow, snow and well, some more snow. And we love every minute of it. (Okay, okay, at least up until April.)

The Bed

When I was young (I don't remember exactly how old I was, but youngish), I had a prissy, girly canopy bed frilled in yellow check linens that were almost impossible to manage into a daily make the bed routine. One Christmas, I remember my mother telling me that she was going to buy me a new comforter. A comforter so amazing, so easy, so handy that it would practically make the bed itself.

I missed the "practically" in that promise and spent many hours daydreaming of a bedspread that would have magical powers to cause my bed to instantly transform each morning into a neat and proper made bed. When I opened my new comforter, I treated it with tender care, careful not to disrupt the magic hiding inside of it. I remember waking up the next morning, jumping out of bed, and willing the comforter to work its magic. But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I wished, it didn't work. My bed wasn't going to make itself. I still had to do the dirty work.

My mother tried to explain it to me, but I was still disappointed and a little sad. I also still held out some small piece of hope that my comforter would regain its magical powers.

I remembered this story when my inlaws asked if the could get Brennan a new bed for Christmas. I appreciated the thoughtful offer and immediately agreed. I had dreams of a new adorable navy stained bookcase headboard gracing Brennan's athletic themed room. I even planned out my next purchase of a dresser to match.

A few days ago Brennan announced he was getting a car bed. Not a wooden, made to last bed of my dreams. But the plastic hunk of decals racing bed of Brennan's dreams. Brennan spent every waking moment describing how he would race his car in his sleep. I tried to talk him out of it. I tried to sell the navy bookcase headboard. I even hoped he would simply forget about the plastic monstrosity of a car bed.

None of it worked. Yesterday Grandma and Grandpa ordered Brennan his car bed. Instead of my picture perfect boy room, Brennan gets his dreams of driving a racer every night.

I already hate that damn bed, but I love how happy it has already made Brennan.

The Littlest Jedi

Apparently, Aidan's little Star Wars obsession is contagious. Griffin's favorite toys include one of the three lightsabers littering our toy infested home.

Yes, the Force runs strong in our family.

Superhero!

Before I kiss Brennan goodnight, he begs me to tell him a story. There are only a few requirements to his made up mommy stories: Brennan must be the star of the story and Brennan must have his "super secret special superpowers." In other words, Brennan likes to fly in his stories. And so I comply, weaving tales of bravery in which Brennan saves the day by flying to the rescue.

Last night, I walked into the family room and found Brennan standing upright on the edge of the chaise. He stood still, concentrating and slowly brought his arms up like wings.

"B, what are you doing?" I asked

He closed his eyes, smiled and replied, "I'm going to fly Momma. FLY!"

And with that he jumped as high as he could off the edge of the couch. The moment he landed he looked at me with excitement.

"Did you see me? Did you? I flied. I flied!" He pumped his fists into the air with a cheer.

I just hope he doesn't try out his newfound super secret special superpowers by jumping off the top of our two story playhouse in the backyard. It probably doesn't help that I just bought him a superhero cape for one of his Christmas gifts.

Tooth Two

We are now officially down two teeth. I have also come to accept the reality that Chris and I just suck at the tooth fairy thing. I rock at holidays, birthdays and other child related celebrations. But for some reason, I just can't get the tooth fairy thing.

First, we lost his second tooth. Then, we wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy to explain the lost tooth situation. But, the Tooth Fairy, even with all the note writing, still forgot to exchange the note for some cash. (Chris and I exchanged mutual "damn its" this morning when we realized at 6:30 a.m. we both forgot.) We quickly concocted a story to sell to Aidan that the Tooth Fairy didn't come because the note we left her was on his bed, but not under his pillow. Tooth Fairies are picky, don't you know?

Tonight: note written and under pillow. Please dear God, please, let me remember to slip the money under his pillow. Just, please.

Musical Beds

We played some musical beds in our house last night. Chris spent the bulk of the day painting Brennan's room and by bedtime that evening the paint smell was still pungent enough for us to see the I.Q. points melting out of Brennan's ears anytime he walked into his room. So, where would Brennan sleep? Lucky me, I got Brennan in bed with me and Chris got the playroom couch. I offered to toss Brennan in bed with Chris and me, but Chris said the playroom couch would probably offer him more sleep.

Brennan is not a good sleeper. The slightest noise can jolt him awake from a deep slumber. He awakes several times a night, but thankfully, almost never wakes anyone else because he just plays quietly in bed until he dozes off again. Chris shared a bed with him on our last trip to Florida and he was amazed at how little the boy sleeps. Every few hours, Chris would be awoken by the awareness of a little boy breathing on his cheek because Brennan was wide awake and nose to nose with him in bed just staring at him. And each time this happened, Brennan giggled and said softly, "Hi Daddy." It totally freaked Chris out.

I figured I was doomed for a long night of frequent wakings by my night stalker two year old. Sure enough, I woke a few times to the odd sensation of someone staring at me. I would slowly open my eyes, see Brennan's big brown eyes gazing at me, and before I could say a word Brennan would whisper, "I love you mommy. I love you." And then he would drift back off to sleep. The "I love yous" continued throughout the night into the morning where he nudged himself into my arms for some snuggles with the "I love yous." I didn't get much sleep, but it was well worth it.

All in the Neighborhood

I had a neighborhood centric day yesterday. A new neighbor invited us over for a morning playdate. It was nice way to combine some fresh air, a morning walk, and some play for the kiddies at the end.

After the playdate, I endured Griffin melting down and raging for two hours instead of taking an afternoon nap. The dream of a shower that I had planned for my afternoon faded into oblivion.

At 4 p.m., another neighbor called unexpectedly and invited me out to the Sabres game with two other neighbors. Three hours later, instead of me unshowered and cranky settling down in my flannel pjs to watch some bad tv, I was showered, prettied up and out with three other women for drinks and hockey. And not one of them needed me to take them to the potty, get them a juice box or wipe the snot from their noses. It's all good.

Lessons

Even after being together for over half our lives, Chris and I still manage to learn new things about each other. Since Aidan has started kindergarten, we have learned that I should not be the parent in charge of negotiating our volunteer obligations. I also should not be allowed to attend any parent teacher association meetings with volunteer sign ups unsupervised.

Aidan's school has a volunteer requirement. Each family must contribute a set amount of hours, per year, divided between fundraising and school hours in some complex mathematical equation that baffles my mind. If you do not make the hours, you must write a check. This requirement not only annoyed me, but it scared me. I was terrified of being the family that couldn't make the hours because to me, it signaled that I didn't quite make the grade as a mom. (Side note: this fear was due, in part, to my run in over the summer with a member of the mommy mafia who when she found out I worked (part time!) gasped and sadly, with perfect mommy condescension, told me there was NO way I could fulfill my volunteer obligations for the school. It. Just. Couldn't. Be Done.)

Fast forward to the first parent teacher association meeting of the year. The meeting in which all the organizations and fundraisers set out sheets for parents to sign up as volunteers. I went alone so Chris could stay with the kiddies. Chris gave me strict instructions to sign him up for one committee. I agreed and headed to the school, pen in hand. Let's just say that pen got put to some good use over the course of the evening. At one point during my sign up session marathon, my inner voice of sanity cut through my madness, but I was too scared to cross my (our) name off any of the volunteer sign up sheets because, well, I signed up in pen. I couldn't erase my name. I could only cross it out. And there my crossed out name would sit, for months, for everyone to see. How would that look? Not Good.

When I arrived home that night, I told Chris I signed him up for his committee like he asked. I just omitted all the other stuff. A few days later, Aidan got a memo sent home from school.

"What's this?" Chris asked me.

"Oh, this, well, um, it's a memo for the homeroom parents."

"The homeroom parents?"

I nod.

Chris looks at me with shock, "You signed up to be Aidan's homeroom parent, really?"

Hmmmm. And then a few days later, Chris got a memo.

"What's this?" Chris asked me.

"Oh, well, this, um, it's a memo for the computer class volunteers."

"The computer class volunteers?"

I nod slowly as he reads the memo more closely. "You signed me up to volunteer in his computer class twice a month?" He asks, clearly exasperated with me.

It got worse. I signed up to be a volunteer classroom mom for Aidan's art activities. I also agreed to be on the baked goods committee and the used book committee. I volunteered Chris for his website designing expertise and offered my legal services. I even put Chris on the parking lot committee. And that is how Chris came to park cars for eight hours on Saturday for the school fall fundraiser.

So approximately two months after school began, Chris and I have fulfilled ALL of our volunteer hours under the school's policy for the YEAR. For the year. Within two months. It has been a valuable lesson for us. Chris is now in charge of all of our volunteer obligation negotiation. I just hope he doesn't make me park cars next year.

Kindergarten Hussies

I volunteered at Aidan's school on Friday. When I got to his classroom, I noticed the teacher was still finishing up an activity so I decided to wait in the hall until she finished so I wouldn't disturb the class.

The door to the other kindergarten class next door opened and two adorable little girls from Aidan's preschool days came out in the hall to head towards the bathroom.

As they passed me they both sang out in unison, "Hello Aidan's Mom!"

I smiled and replied, "Hi girls."

The girls reached the bathroom and opened the door. Before going into the bathroom, one of the girls turned towards me, smiled confidently, tossed her hair and said, "Say Hi to Aidan for me, okay Aidan's Mom?"

And so it begins. In a matter of seconds, that sweet, cute lil' cherub of a kindergartener girl just morphed into a brazen little hussy. Say Hi indeed. Humpf.

Stumped

Last night as I tucked Aidan into bed, Aidan asked if I missed him when he wasn't with me.

"I always do," I responded, "but I carry you in my heart so you are always with me, even when we are apart."

"You are in my heart too Mommy." Aidan replied.

"Thanks honey," I kissed him on the cheek and got up to leave his room.

Aidan stopped me and said, "You know who else is in our hearts Mom?"

"Who?" I asked.

"God."

"That's true. God is in your heart."

"You know God made us Mom."

"He did." I said nodding.

"And God made Jesus too."

"Yes."

"So, if God made us. And God made Jesus. Who made God?"

After a minute or two of silence, I slowly replied, "You know, Aidan, I am not sure how to answer that one."

Aidan smiled at me sympathetically and said, "Do you need to look it up on the internet mom?"

My kindergartner has stumped me in the first two months of school. I can't wait for first grade.

The Halloween Pictures

The boys enjoyed the feast of candy this year. Aidan was all about the volume of candy and often ran ahead of the group trying to reach each house in record time. Brennan was more about the experience of the night and after hitting ten houses decided he would rather head home to start eating some of his hard earned treats. Griffin, well, he spent the night wondering how in the hell a giant dog's head landed on his head. Sorry little guy - it was a hand me down costume. It's tough to be the third boy.

Our three trick or treaters went as a dog (Griffin), Buzz Lightyear (Brennan), and last, but not least my creative little Star Wars addict, Aidan, who went as "Luke Skywalker posing as a StormTrooper right before he rescued Princess Leia." Try saying that three times fast.

Brothers

"I'm going to go watch Aidan play Lego Star Wars!" Brennan yelled and jumped down from his chair at the kitchen table.

"Okay B." I replied and continued to make dinner.

A few minutes later, I heard Chris call my name quietly. I turned, followed the direction of his gaze and saw this:



This is how a little brother watches his big brother play a video game.

Mmmmmm... Blueberries

Unfortunately, I missed the shot of Griffin after he took those yummy blueberries and gobbed them onto his hair. It was a good look for him. But the before shot is pretty cute too.

Kids are Busy

The social whirl of life with kiddies is frantic. On Friday, we went from picking up Aidan at his Halloween party (way to go Aidan!) to dinner at our dear friends Dylan and Christine's house. (Otherwise known as the kiddies run wild so the adults can chat and then we serve them a not so home cooked meal of pizza fresh from delivery.)

Saturday morning was our neighborhood's Halloween party. The party was to commence with a parade of costumes around the neighborhood and then end up at our park. We arrived at the park, on time, but other than some party decorations saw not a soul. After a few minutes, it started to rain. It began with a gentle mist and evolved into a sideways sleet from hell. In frustration, I called Chris from my cell (he had Griffin nap duties at home) to ask him to read me the invitation again. Not surprisingly, I got the instructions wrong. The parade began at the other end of the neighborhood. We could see the string of balloons and useless umbrellas snaking their way around the streets as we stood under a gazebo (dry!) watching the fun. I have never been so glad to be wrong in my life.

Saturday afternoon was Aidan's last soccer game. After the game, the teams held a pizza party.

By the end of the day, I was beat. Wiped out from the social calendar of my children. I am lame. Exceptionally lame.

Aidan's Breakthrough

As we all know by now, Aidan adjusts slowly to new social situations. This extends to his willingness to attend his friends' birthday parties. He will only attend if I go too. And so I go. I watch enviously as the other moms and dads drop off their kiddies for some fun as I try to blend in with the backdrop and watch Aidan cavort with his friends. Sometimes just for fun, I imagine all the fun things I'd do with an extra two hours if Aidan would stay at the party without me. But the odds are stacked against me.

Until today. Today we had a breakthrough. Aidan was invited to one of his new classmate's house for an informal Halloween party. The classmate who invited him has been the boy that Aidan talks about incessantly day in and day out since they started school. I thought it was a sure thing that Aidan would want to go and stay at the child party. I was wrong. He wanted me to come too. Sigh.

Thankfully, his new friend has quite a gracious mother (a mom to three boys of her own) because she endured my presence (and Brennan and Griffin!) at the party. After an hour, I decided to roll the dice and take my chances. I told Aidan I had to leave to get his brothers to bed for naps. He shrugged, smiled and said, "I'm going to stay."

He's there now. Still there. Each time the phone rings, I jump, sure I am going to have to wake up Griffin and Brennan from their naps to rescue my hysterical child. But, nothing. My little boy is ready to have his own friends and his own parties. Hmmmm, he might be ready for this, but am I?

The Class Clown to Be

Brennan is our little jokester. Chris and I already imagine the calls from his future teachers decreeing Brennan as the class clown.

He was in banner Brennan form yesterday when I picked him up from school. His teacher giggled as she hugged him goodbye and I caught him telling her something about "poopy pants."

I looked at Brennan quizzically and asked, "You had an accident today, B?"

The teacher laughed, shook her head and said, "No. Brennan did great on the potty today. But the class thought they smelled a poopy diaper when we went on the walk and Brennan thought it was me."

"What?"

The teacher giggled again and with mirth in her eyes said, "Brennan turned to me and said: 'Miss Teri do you have some poopies in your pants? Are you the poopy pants?' The kids went crazy laughing. It was quite the hit." She laughed again along with Brennan.

Alrighty then. If the teacher doesn't mind my son dubbing her the poopy pants of the class, who am I to complain?

We headed out of school and into the parking lot. Each time we passed a car, Brennan looked at the car and said jokingly, "This is not your car."

"No, not our car." I agreed. We walked by another car. Brennan laughed and said, "This is not your car."

"You're right. Not our car."

We walked up to our car. "But this, B. this is our car," I said as I unlocked the car and opened the back door for him to climb inside.

Brennan smiles, shakes his head and insists, "No momma. This isn't your car."

"Yes it is B. This is our car."

He laughs, points at the wheel of the Explorer and says to me, "See those words on the tire, Momma? You know what they say? I know what they say. They say, Momma This Is Not Your Car."

Brennan dissolves into a fit of giggles as I explode with a full belly laugh. There is nothing quite like the humor of a two year old comedian. Poopy pants indeed.

Forever

I held Aidan snuggled in my arms and cuddled with him as we rocked back and forth. He had wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and played with my ponytail full of hair. After a moment of quiet he asked, "Mom, will you be my mom forever?"

I smiled, kissed his head and said, "Of course, honey. Forever."

He turned to look at me with a smile and said, "Promise?"

"I promise. Forever."

Forever.

Who is Training Who?

Chris and I have waged a war of potty training with Brennan. Potty training just wasn't going all that well. Brennan seemed to like his pull ups and would select, at random, two or three times a week to use the bathroom. It was frustrating as hell. I had sort of given up on the whole thing.

Thursday morning, I changed Brennan out of his pull up. He smiled at me and declared he had to use the potty. Okay, I agreed half heartedly as I accompanied him to do his business. After he finished, he washed his hands, smiled at me again and told me he was ready for underwear.

"What?" I exclaimed with unmotherly like encouragement and absolutely no singing of the Potty Power song which had gone out of favor weeks ago.

"I want to wear underwear today Momma." Brennan replied grinning.

"B, if you wear underwear, you really have to use the potty, okay?" I was not so fondly remembering cleaning pee and poop off the kitchen floor from several weeks ago. Since then, it was all pull ups all the time in our house.

"Okay," He agreed as I turned to run upstairs to snag some underwear in a forgotten drawer in his dresser. Before I got halfway up the stairs he shouted, "I want Cars underwear Momma. Okay? Cars underwear!"

I grabbed the underwear, assisted Brennan in getting it on and watched him prance about in an excited dance in his new undies. I was not a believer and I gave him at most, two hours, before someone was cleaning up urine off the floor.

Today is Tuesday. Brennan has not had one accident since he declared himself ready for underwear on Thursday morning. He has stayed dry during naps, overnight and all day long.

I haven't a clue. Just have not one little clue. Perhaps with my third child, I will forgo the training thing all together and just let him decide when he's ready for potty power instead. Do you think my children will miss my singing of the Potty Power tunes? Probably not.

U.S. Airways Sucks

On Thursday, I was Maine bound. Elated, I left for the airport eager for my first trip since September 2006 without my children. NO CHILDREN. Just me, my hubbie, room service and soft plushy beds. I handled the goodbye to the kiddies without a tear, but suffered later when I decided it would be great to pass the time watching the slideshow of family pictures Chris put on my new video IPOD. Bad tactical error. I sniffled through the abyss of security for a good half hour. (I should have chosen to catch up on my downloaded episodes of Gossip Girl instead. Video Ipod, I heart you.) But, after that emotional hiccup, I sailed to my gate eager to catch my flight and meet up with my darling hubbie in Portland, Maine.

How the gods of travel must have giggled as they saw me glide to my gate. Because they knew what I did not. They knew that U.S. Airways sucks ass. They knew that U.S. Airways has been tagged as U.S. Scareways by knowledgable travelers. They knew that U.S. Airways is, at its best, an abomination. U.S. Airways, I hate you. I really do. How much? Let me count the ways...

First, our flight was delayed for a mechanical problem. I greet mechanical delays as good news/ bad news scenarios. Yes, we are delayed, but hey - your airplane can, well fly and stuff when you do actually take off. After a half hour delay, we are boarded onto our flight. The obligatory take off greetings are exchanged, the plane door starts to close, and hold it! The pilot announces that our plane never made it into service for its annual inspection. And that means, the powers that be won't let us take off. We need a new plane. U.S. Airways isn't quite sure how, when or where they will find that new plane. But they want us all of the plane so they can figure it out. And off the plane we all go.

New plane? Hmmm, maybe three or four hours. It was at this point, I realized that not one of their employees uttered an apology for the circumstances. As we exited the plane, the attendant and pilot waved goodbye to us and told us to have a nice day. But, to actually apologize for the fact that, gee, we don't actually have a plane for you? Didn't happen. Not once. NONE.

I got in line at the gate to rebook my flight since the odds were sorely against my making my connection through NYC. I was second in line. As I waited my turn, I called Chris on my phone to alert him to my delay. I also shared my frustration with him and told him I wished I had just driven to Maine instead of flying. Basically, for the price of $250, I had just bought myself twelve hours at an airport when I could have driven to Maine for $50 in nine hours. And the pundits wonder why the airlines are going bankrupt?

My turn in line. I hand my boarding information to the gate agent, smile and tell him, I was headed for Maine. He does not acknowledge my presence beyond taking my ticket and typing furiously on the keys of his computer. He does not look at me. He does not express apologies for the circumstances. He does not say one word. After five minutes, he looks up at me, shrugs and says, "I can get you to Maine probably around nine tonight."

I smile and reply in an calm, even, but firm voice, "That's unacceptable. It is 11 a.m. I was supposed to arrive in Maine at 1:30. "

He glares at me, takes my boarding pass, throws it at me and yells, "I can't help you then."

I catch my boarding pass before it falls to the floor and in a surprised tone respond, "I don't particularly care for your tone or demeanor. I haven't raised my voice or even acted frustrated with you."

He shakes his head, points his finger at me and yells, "I won't help you okay? I heard you on the phone, complaining all about the airlines. So, yeah. I refuse to help you. You can just take yourself all the way back to the ticket counter if you want some help because I won't do it."

Wow. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to do. I was at the very last gate at the airport. So I ran all the way back through security, to the ticket counter, and got back in line (again). My hands were shaking. I had tears in my eyes. I just could not fuckin' believe that this had just happened.

After a few minutes in line, I caught the eye of a ticket agent and asked for help. I explained the situation. First, he argued the status of the plane. Because according to the ticket counter records, that plane had taken off. He argued with me as the agent next to him argued with two other passengers from my plane. It was like a comedy of errors. No, the plane did not take off. Yes, we were boarded. No, the plane was not inspected. Yes, they told us they have to find a new plane. No, we don't know when that would happen. Hi, ticket counter people, why do I have to explain this to you? YOU WORK FOR THIS AIRLINE. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS. DON'T YOU PEOPLE TALK TO EACH OTHER? HUH? That's okay, we the passengers, we have nothing better to do than give you status updates on your flights. Nothing at all.

After the story was repeated a few times at the counter, the agents got considerably less hostile and disbelieving and much more efficient. But before he rebooked me he had to admonish me that, "I should have taken care of this at the gate."

I smiled, my hands shaking with the sheer effort of keeping myself calm, as I repeated my experience with the gate agent. Afte hearing my tale, his eyes widened and he said, "That's not right."

No. Not right at all. But I got rebooked! Hurray! I am now flying through Philly and I leave in fifteen minutes. My now nice ticket counter agent escorts me through security so I can attempt to make the new flight. Even with the escort, I still have to go through the metal dector and scanners. Unfortunately for me, the two elderly women ahead of me were the only people in the world who never heard of the whole ban on liquids thing. They had a backpack full of just lotions and creams and other liquidy type goos. One by one, the security guard removed their lotions and creams. And one by one, the elderly women complained and bemoaned over their lotions. The 3-1-1 rule was explained, in great detail, at least four times. After ten minutes of the great lotion debate, I knew I was going to miss my flight. Until the uprising behind me started to swell, and someone offered fifty bucks to the women if they would just throw out the lotions and get out of line already. (It wasn't me. I swear.)

After I cleared security I rushed to my new flight only to see the same jackass gate agent manning the gate for the flight to Philly. In a moment of true insanity, I decided to provoke him a bit. I walked up to him, smiled and told him in a calm, albeit slightly sarcastic tone, "I just wanted to let you know that the ticket counter was very helpful. And I arrive in Maine at 3 p.m. But, really, thanks for all your help. Really appreciate it."

He snarled at me and replied, "Yeah, they probably had to bump someone off a plane to get you into Maine and I just wasn't willing to do that for you."

I smiled at him again, leaned into the counter, and said, "And just so you know, I am already composing a letter to your airline about you and your antics. I would like your name."

He shook his head no.

"You won't give me your name?" I ask in disbelief.

He cross his arms, glares at me and yells, "No!"

"Fine, then I would like to see your identification."

And this is when he good and truly loses it. He grabs the id hanging by his neck and starts swinging it towards my face as he shouts, "You want identification? You want to see my id? Here's my id! Do you see it? Do you?"

I stand there speechless and he then points at me and yells, "You step back behind that line over there. I don't want you coming up here again."

Holy shit. Is this really happening? I manage to avoid him for the next three minutes until we board the flight. Once again, we board the plane, settle into our seats, have the customary take off warnings/greetings, only to be stopped again. Despite the aisles of empty seats, our puddle jumper plane is over the weight limit. They need to remove two people from the plane. After some cajoling and promises of free tickets, two people get off the plane and we take off.

Philly - here we come! During the flight, I notice several people ask our attendant for gate information. After several requests are made of her, she takes to the intercom to ask us to stop asking her because, well, she just doesn't know. She doesn't have any information on connecting gates or arrival gates so we just need to wait. I mention this because on my flight home this morning, the sweet attendant on my United flight took the time to walk up and down the aisle to give each person meeting a connecting flight their gate information. She also brought maps of the airport so we could find our gates. But don't you dare ask for that type of courtesy or kindness from U.S. Airways. Please.

I finally arrived in Maine - only three hours late. But after the hassle, the stress and the cost, my mantra is now - avoid the flight and just drive.

It was a lovely weekend though. Sleep, some room service, many a drink, lots of shopping and laziness. And the best part of all? My flight home was on United and not U.S. Airways. Thank God for small favors.

Good Morning

There is nothing in this world as challenging as trying to get yourself out of the house with children. Chris has been working at a furious pace, up and out before we all arise in the morning, leaving me to conquer one child on a bus, the drop off of the other two at daycare and me, dressed in a presentable fashion, hair and teeth brushed and not horribly late for work. It ain't easy.

This morning. I greeted the neighborhood in my bright red flannel pjs and red clogs as I waited with Aidan for the bus. Did I mention the unbrushed hair? I have become the mother the other kiddies talk about. Not in a good way.

I leave Griffin and Brennan happily playing as I attempt to do my "get ready for work in three minutes or less routine". (Sidenote: I love those magazine articles with fantastic tips for a make up routine in ten minutes or less! Please. Make up in ten minutes or less? Try ten seconds people. Ten minutes! I wouldn't know what to do with ten minutes.) Okay, I digress. Anyway. Three minutes or less, me getting dressed for work. As I get dressed I hear a car alarm repeatedly blasting from outside. I blame it on the neighbors. Three minutes later, I catch Griffin crawling around with my keys, repeatedly setting off my car alarm. Yep, not the neighbors.

One of Griffin's bottles for daycare explodes, leaving a mess of formula in its wake. I take the boys out to throw them in the car and my back doors won't unlock. Grrrr. I have to climb in the car from the front seat shifting around the three car seats shoved across our back seat to manually shove the doors open. I displayed a dexterity I never knew I possessed.

I just keep laughing. Just tell myself to just keep laughing. Somehow, it always seems to make it better. Kind of.

From the Mouths of Babes

Brennan: "Griffin has lots of teeth Momma. He has teeth on top and on the bottom."
Me: "I know. Isn't he so cute with his teeth?"
Aidan: "Hmmm, I think he looks like a beaver."

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Aidan gets off the bus today with a bright red ribbon pinned to his shirt. After I hug him hello, I read his ribbon which declares his opposition to "doing drugs."

"Wow, Aidan, great ribbon. Did you get that in school today?"

Aidan: "Mom, did you know that I don't have to do drugs?"

As I try to stifle outright and totally inappropriate laughter, I clear my throat and respond: "Good to know, Aidan. That's very important to remember."

Aidan nods his head yes, looks at me seriously and asks: "Mom, what are drugs?"

I respond with a full belly laugh. (I am so bad at this after school special parental stuff.)

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And then later tonight, Chris and I wrangled the boys into their pjs for bed. Aidan looks at me and asks: "Mom, do you know what personal space is?"

My response? More hysterical laughter. Yes, I must work on my motherly demeanor.

First Steps

Griffin took his first steps today. He reached for me as he stood unsteadily on his chubbly little legs and hesitantly, slowly stepped once and then twice into my arms. His face held a combination of hesitation and awe as he toddled to me. His first steps. He repeated those same steps minutes later into Chris's arms.

With all of my boys, their first steps were always steps toward me. Steps into my awaiting, eager arms. But each time, it never fails, I always feel as if those first baby steps are moving away from me, rather than towards me.

Babble

Griffin's babbles seem to be slowly evolving into a few words - three words to be precise. They probably aren't recognizable words to anyone outside of our immediate family. But they are there! Words. Babblin' little words.

The first babble to take on a wordish form was (my personal favorite), Mommmm or Mama. (I admit to coaching him a little bit on that one.) The second was, of course, dadada. Although Chris contends Griffin also uses this babble to refer to the couch, table and any other inanimate object within his cruising reach.

The latest is Griffin's addition of the word "uh oh" to his vocabulary. The "uh oh" is usually drawn out with excited fervor right before he throws the object he is holding onto the floor. We pick it up and give it back to him. He smiles, replies "Uh Oh" and throws the object again. You'd think this would get old. But well, it hasn't. (In fact, we all (meaning his two older brothers) may be encouraging that one just a wee bit.)

Mommma, Dadda, Uh oh.. what could be next? Well, today Griffin discovered volume. He can yell. And he can yell loudly. This provided endless amusement to him as he sat in his high chair at dinner yelling and then laughing from the sheer joy of hearing his own voice. Now that has the potential to grow old. Quickly.

They May Never Leave Home

If my hubbie is home, I like to try to get out for a walk after the boys are tucked into bed for the night. (Try is the operative word in the last sentence. I try. Alot. Not much success, but I try.) Aidan has discovered my early evening sojourns around the neighborhood and he Is. Not. Pleased.

A few nights ago, he nagged me into admitting that I was planning a walk after he and Brennan were in bed. This led to such a breakdown among the boys that I lied and said I stay home. (I know. I lied. Bad Mommy. Bad.) But I went for a walk anyway and well, like a highschooler trying to sneak in after midnight curfew, I got caught. Only I get caught by a sneaky little five year old.

This led to the following conversation with Aidan as I tucked him into bed the next night:

Aidan: "Mom, I don't want you to go anywhere tonight."

Me: "I'm not going anywhere."

Aidan: "No?"

Me: "No. I am going to change into my pjs and get ready for bed. Okay?"

Aidan looks at me with suspicion and holds my gaze for a minute or two. "You went for a walk last night even though you said you weren't going too."

I sigh the despondent sigh of mothers with codependent children everywhere. "Aidan, Mommies need exercise. Okay? I go for walks so I can get exercise." I am about to launch in a discussion of the current state of my giant ass, but stop when I recall my telling him when he was three that I was walking my large butt off around the neighborhood and he repeated it to his preschool teacher.

Aidan grabs my hand and says, "You can get your exercise with me, Mom. Brennan and I will walk with you. Everyday. You don't need to go alone. We want to be with you."

"Aidan, you are with me. All the time you are with me."

"No I'm not. I have to sleep alone. Can you sleep in my bed tonight?"

I shake my head back and forth trying not to smile. "No, honey, Mommy has to sleep in her bed."

"Why?"

"Because I have to sleep with Daddy."

"But why? Why do the Daddies get to sleep with the Mommies and the kids have to sleep alone? When is it my turn?"

Oh Dear Lord, my head hurts. Before I can respond with an appropriate parent response, Aidan interjects, "I know. How about when Daddy goes out of town, I can have my turn? You can just scoop me up while I'm sleeping Mom. It won't wake me. And put me into your bed. Then I can be with you."

I decide to adopt the cop out of parents everywhere and respond: "We'll see Aidan. We'll see."

I have a strange feeling that my boys are going to be those children who move into my finished basement until they are ready for retirement.

Family Fun Day!

Our Saturday of a Family Fun Day was a rousing success. As Aidan said while we drove home, "Mom, this was the funnest day ever." Well of course, it was a family fun day, wasn't it?

We started at soccer where we cheered and shouted for Aidan during his match in humid 80+ degree weather. (Global warming? What global warming?)

Aidan enjoyed his first ever break away with the ball during the game. It was quite a moment for him.

After soccer, we loaded up the car and headed to farm country and an apple orchard. We borrowed a wagon, loaded up a couple of bushel baskets and picked apples to our heart's content.

Griffin loved his first whole apple:




Brennan declared his favorite part of the day was riding in the wagon for the apple baskets.


After we had more apples than we could ever eat or for more pies than I could possibly ever bake, we headed back out to find a pumpkin patch.

The perfect pumpkins were picked and a few baby pumpkins were brought home to decorate each of the boys' rooms. On the ride back home, we picked up a pizza for dinner. A perfect dinner to end our Family Fun Day.

We were all so tired from the adventures the boys were asleep by 6:30 pm. Family Fun Day does have its advantages. (Such as me on the couch with a big glass of wine and a DVRed Grey's Anatomy by 7 pm.)

Busy, Busy, Busy

We've been busy lately. A busy that extends beyond the normal chaos that is our life at home with three children under five. Chris has been traveling a lot for work. We've had friends from out of town visiting. And we've had social obligations that have forced us to go out and about two or three times a week at night. (Gasp! Two or three times a week! For those of you without children, you are already giggling. But trust me, after you have children, going out two or three times a week without kiddies is like living the rock star lifestyle.)

Last Saturday, I went to UB with a few of my girlfriends to hear Michael Moore speak. It was both inspiring and heart wrenching. I know there are many people who love to hate Michael Moore, but I see a man who has devoted his life to asking difficult questions because he believes we can do better. I believe we can do better.

On a lighter note, last night we went to the SEASON OPENER for the SABRES! Yes, they lost. Yes, they played pretty horribly after period two. But the excitement, the crowd, the hockey love made for a great night out.

We have declared today Family Day. Just us, the boys and some quality time at the soccer field and then a pumpkin patch.

Still My Baby

This morning, I woke Aidan up and grabbed a jabbering Griffin from his crib to head downstairs. All three of us cuddled up on the couch in the early morning light. Griffin drank his bottle snuggled up in my left arm and Aidan curled himself into my right side.

After several minutes of quiet, Aidan looked over at Griffin, smiled at me and said, "I wish you could hold me like you hold Griffin. Like a baby."

I kissed the top of his head, nuzzled him and replied, "Me too honey. Me too."

He may be five, a kindergartner and missing a tooth, but he will always be my baby.

The Delicate Balance

Here's the thing: on most days, I like my part-time work schedule. I like the balance between the adult business world and the wonders of the child world. But the balance between the two is a constant struggle and sometimes, it makes me feel as if I have so many balls bouncing in the air that I am bound to wind up with one or two conking me on the head when they fall down.

One of the most difficult parts of my schedule is to accept that on the days I work, I will hardly see my children. We arise from slumber and rush about in a chaotic frenzy to get all of us dressed and out of the house. And when we return, my children are tired, hungry and oh, so very grumpy. They want to eat, they want to veg and they simply want to sleep. We are home by 6 p.m. Griffin is in bed by 7 p.m. Aidan and Brennan follow by 7:30.

Each and every week, I end my Tuesday, my first day of my work week, with a sad and heavy heart because I miss my children. I try to stay grateful that I miss them. I try to remind myself that I only work three days a week. And I try to remember that I like to work. I try. Sometimes it works and others, well, I just feel like all the balls I have balanced up in the air have already crashed down around me.

Binky Love

In an effort to wean our two (almost three) year old Brennan from his beloved binky, the binky is now only allowed in Brennan's bed. The bink has seen better days. It is, honestly, pretty much a piece of repulsive plastic, so worn and icky the germs of each illness seem permanently affixed to its surface. (The bink is so gross that Chris and I once had an entire discussion on how much money it would take for either of us to put the binky in our mouth. After much debate, we decided $500 ought to do it. Two days later, a babysitter accidentally gave Griffin Brennan's binky. After washing Griffin's mouth out with soap, we decided we should add an extra $500 deposit to Griffin's college fund as payment for the binky slight.)

Today, Brennan woke up from nap in a haze of binky love. He begged for "just one more suck Momma," before heading downstairs. He sucked, looked at it lovingly and then left binky in his bed. As we walked out of his room, he looked longingly back at his bink and asked me, "Momma, who got me my binky?"

"Um, I think I did, Brenn."

"You did?" He asked with amazement.

"I think so, " I replied nodding my head.

Brennan grabbed onto my knees, hugged me as hard as he could and looked up at me with love shining in his eyes, "Thank you Momma, thank you. Thank you for my binky."

Yeah, this kid is so going to go off to college with a dilapidated, virus ridden, worn red binky hanging from his mouth.

Toothless!

Guess who lost their very first tooth? Yes, of course, I cried. Of course, right?

Welcome Home

Chris and I both grew up in Buffalo. It is wonderful to move back to the place you grew up and be surrounded by family, particularly as you raise your own little family. But the friends we had growing up have all moved out and on, setting down roots in places far away from the place we call home. We have been blessed to make new, amazing, life long friends that have settled in Buffalo, but we still miss the old. Always have and always will.

In a bizzare coincidence, this week many of these friends planned visits to Buffalo. We have some of Chris's closest friends visiting from Charlotte and my dearest, bestest friends visiting from Oregon. It is like a dream to have them all here. We love sharing our life here with the people who share our history. There is comfort in history, a sense of ease and shared experiences.

I spend a lot of time dreaming of a life with all of them here. A life where we raise our children together. A life where we share weekly dinners together. A life where we are all there to support each other and assist each other in difficult times. We joke about buying land and all of us building our dream homes right next to each other. So we can be there, always there, for each other and our families.

But one by one, they all have to return to their lives. This morning my best friend Diane, her hubbie Scott and their beautiful three children flew back to Oregon. I know we all have blessed lives in our homes, as spread out as they may be, but I still cling to that dream. A dream of all of us settled together in a village we call our own.

Aliens Have Abucted My Children and I Like It

Wednesdays are normally tough nights in our house. It's hump day of my work week (T/W/TH) and the boys are wiped from two full days out of the house in school. It doesn't help that Griffin only naps periodically at school and Brennan has been on a complete school nap strike. By the time we arrive home, I am guaranteed some bickering and screaming leading to tantrums with tears. Lots of tears.

But then there is today. After I picked Brennan and Griffin up, we headed to grab Aidan who goes to my Aunt's house after school. Aidan hopped into the car munching on a bag of chips he clutched in his hand. I counted to ten, knowing the inevitable brawl that was about to occur when Brennan realized he didn't have chips. I was surprised to hear this:

Brennan: "You have chips Aidan?"

Aidan: "Yes."

Brennan: "Can I have some chips Aidan?"

"Sure," Aidan replies as he hands him a handful of chips.

Brennan: "Thank you Aidan."

Aidan: "You're welcome."

Hmmmm, what is this? Sharing? Manners? Kindness? I was afraid to even comment and incur the wrath that is the jinx of mommies everywhere.

We arrived home moments later. On normal Wednesdays, one or two of my children will dissolve into hysterics by the time the front door is shut. This is followed by rapid fire demands cried at me in high pitched whines. "I want to watch tv." "I want dinner." "I want milk." "I have to go potty." "I want my binky." "I want my blankie." For twenty to thirty minutes after arriving home, I manage to comply with continuous demands and extinguish the fires of hysteria brought on by sheer exhaustion in my children. And on each and every Wednesday, I question my decision to work. Because it is that bad.

Today? We walk in the house. Aidan volunteers to take Brennan's shoes off for him. I settle Griffin in the high chair with a snack and offer to put on a Caillou episode while I make dinner. I brace myself for the nightly fight over the television selection. (Brennan likes Curious George. Aidan is more a Super Why kid.)

"Caillou!" The boys yell with jubilation as they happily settle onto the couch without one demand, without one whine and without one tear.

I make dinner in a peaceful, quiet kitchen and enjoy the babbles of Griffin from his high chair. The boys eat dinner - even taking the required bites of veggies without a whine in sight. At this point, I am convinced. Aliens have abducted my children and replaced them with robots. Is it bad I may want to keep these little robots? Maybe just for a little while?

Mommy Negligence

Has anyone ever turned their back on their crawling baby for perhaps, a moment or two? And then discovered said crawling baby eating out of the garbage?

No? Just me. Good. Good to know.

On a totally unrelated topic, I have to share and document the best thing said to me today. Brennan and I were snuggled up on the couch. After hugging me for the millionth time, he smiled at me and said, "Momma, you make me happy."

It almost made me forget that an hour earlier, I had to put him in his room kicking and screaming and crying so loud I was convinced our neighbors would call the police.

I may let them eat garbage, but at least I make them happy. How's that for some maternal justification?

Free at Last

I escaped today. I managed to carve out an afternoon of nothingness. Nothingness sans children, that is. The euphoria of the child free afternoon bubbled inside of me as I danced my way out of the house to my car intent on getting myself to Borders. I ignored the screams of my children as they protested my leaving and yelled "good luck" to Chris over their hysteria. When I just had one child, I would have felt guilt at leaving when I saw the tears. After three children, I just giggle and run before my husband can change his mind.

I sipped coffee, ate a scone and browsed books to my heart's content. I did some retail therapy at Ann Taylor Loft (shhh, don't tell the hubbie) and even took in a matinee. It was perfect.

After the movie, the reality of Wegmans awaited. But Wegmans child free is a wonder. No crying, no bribes. Just me, leisurely strolling the aisles as I marked items of my list.

As I checked out, the college student/check out clerk made small talk with me. He admired the weather and noted how busy the grocery store was today. And then he asked, "Did you do anything really, truly exciting this weekend?"

I laughed. "Exciting? Hmmm, probably not."

"No?" The clerk smiled.

"Well, this is exciting for me, " I said with a grin. "I have three children under the age of five. So going grocery shopping without children in tow and hearing crying or tantrums that I have no responsibility for - well, that, to me is exciting."

The clerk's smile faded as he stared at me. Then he said, "Wow, that's pretty pathetic."

It's a good pathetic, though. I came home to a smothering of hugs and kisses from Aidan and Brennan and excited sqeals from Griffin in the high chair. I took the boys outside to push them on the swing and then sat on the grass with Griffin and watched Chris play football with the older boys. We laughed and cuddled. We chased and tackled. We enjoyed each other.

Nothing pathetic in that. Nothing at all.

Soccer!

With my hubbie otherwise engaged, the soccer duties fell to me today. While I have taken Aidan to his various toddler soccer activities, this was my first glimpse into the world of "real" soccer in the distinguished kindergarten-1st grade slot for our town's soccer league.

Pre-soccer, we had my friend Christine over with her girls' Ellie and Casey. I asked her to keep an eye on the kiddies so I could take a moment to actually brush my hair. At her laughter I responded, "Yes, I will not brush my hair for a visit with you - but for all those soccer moms, I'll break out the brushin'".

And was I so glad I did. So very glad. (I only wish I had thought to break out some lip gloss.) Because, apparently, the entire town of who-ville plays soccer. It was a mass of mini vans and SUVs descending upon the soccer fields. All for the love of five year olds who can't kick the ball and run at the same time.

But for one of those five year olds, mine, that hour of soccer was a picture of a child in pure joy. Aidan didn't score a goal. I'm not sure he even attempted a goal. But every moment he was on that field, he was laughing or grinning. He loves the game. Not the score. Not the competition. Just the game. It was such a pure emotion, so unspoiled. Just pure joy.

Tired

I'm tired. Last week, before the plague struck our home, I told Chris I seriously needed a little break. A day or two away from our beautiful children to regroup and refresh. As payment for uttering this fallacy out loud, the stomach flu from hell struck our family down one, by one. Instead of peace and rest, I was gifted with the smell of vomit stinging my nostrils. (I swear, even a week later, I swear! I can still smell it.)

And that brings us to today. Since Wednesday, Chris has been burning the midnight oil at work. He is gone before we get up in the morning and home after we are in bed. He will not be home until late tonight and is also tied up all day tomorrow. From morning 'til night, it's mommy time.

I am not sure I am going to make it. The acrobatic juggle of children, work, life, friends and family has left me spent. I do not have an ounce left to give. I feel utterly depleted. And I spend way too much time dreaming of me alone in a hotel room with nothing but a room service menu, a good book and silence.

Me and Buzz

"I love you," I said to Brennan as I gave him one last final good night hug.

"I love you too Momma," He replied back with a smile.

I turned to leave.

"You know what Momma?"

"What B?"

"I love you the best."

My heart melted as I stared down at his sweet, earnest brown eyes.

Then he paused and continued, "After Buzz Lightyear Mom, I love you the best."

Well, at least I beat out Woody, right?

Kindergarten: The Update

All is well and good in kindergarten land. Aidan is adjusted. He likes the bus. He loves his class, particularly his little friend Danny who he talks about incessantly. I asked him, yesterday, if he plays at all with Todd, a friend's child in his class.

"No, not really," he responded.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Todd is not a good listener." Aidan said emphatically. In my silence, he went on to say, "And he likes to talk when the teacher is talking. And Mom, That Is Not A Good Thing."

Okay then. Aidan is also apparently very well adjusted to the rules of the classroom.

Now we just need to convince Aidan that the entire family does not need to join him at the end of the driveway each and every morning to wait for the school bus. All five of us. Every morning. After a week at waving at the neighbors as they drive by, I have a hunch we have gone from the cute family with the new kindergartener to the freaky family out every morning to greet the neighbors in our pjs. I'm hoping they ask us to pose for a picture for the neighborhood newsletter.

The Plague

The Plague has descended upon our house. Aidan and Brennan tag teamed a happening Friday night of vomit and poo. The flu revelry was action packed and lasted all night long.

This morning, I tucked Aidan under a blanket on the couch where he sleepily watched some mind numbing tv.

"Thanks, Mom," he said with a sleepy smile. After he snuggled deeper under the blankets, he smiled again and said, "You know what? This feels just like Christmas."

Yes, because unlike other children who equate Christmas with gifts, santa and holiday cheer, my children now equate Christmas with vomit and poo thanks to the furious stomach virus that was Christmas 2006. This gives me many creative ideas for our Christmas card this year.

The Vomit Chronicles

We had plans to see Ani DiFranco on Wednesday evening at the Church. We left the kiddies with Grandma JoJo and were off to enjoy some preconcert drinks with friends.

I slurped up the last drop of my raspberry martini at Scarlett when Chris's cell phone rang. It had the ring of doom. Our night of freedom, music and fun lasted all of an hour because Griffin started projectile vomiting all over the flippin' place. He even managed to coat my mother in bile - leaving her wandering our home in her bra.

Instead of dancing the night away to Ani's tunes, we spent the better part of the evening playing catch the vomit before it hits the floor.

Just livin' the dream, one day at a time.

Bus Update and a Game of Tag

The only tears at the bus stop this morning were mine. Aidan hugged me goodbye, slapped Chris a high five, said goodbye to both his brothers and hopped on the school bus without a care in the world.

This made me cry. It’s a lot harder to send your child off to school when they are happy and not kicking and screaming. I only wish I thought to take a picture of Aidan as a happy bus goer.

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In unrelated news, I have been tagged by my dear cousin Kristen to write eight random things about me. (My first tagging, very exciting.) I think there are some rules about what to write and how to pass it on, but I’m bad at rules.

So here’s my version of some randomness about me:

1. I once rode the bobsled track at Olympic Park in Park City Utah. It was very fast and it scared the hell out of me.

2. If I was alone in the car during my long drive home from college, I would put on the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and pretend to be Belle. Really. I’d sing at full volume each and every note right along with Belle. With inflection.

3. I have been a passenger in a police car three times in my life. Two of the three times involved some (ahem) underage drinking. The third was my police ride along for my training as an assistant district attorney. During my ride along, we got in the midst of a threatened shoot out with a ‘perp” after a burglary. This made me so excited I told one of the detectives that, “I almost peed my pants.” That engendered a lot of respect for me among my friends, the cops.

4. I am a horrible liar. The only way for me to make a fib look passably believable is to convince myself that it is actually true.

5. I didn’t drive on the highway until I was nineteen. I failed my drivers test the first time I took it. (I blame it on my husband, Chris, who taught me how to drive when I was 16.) I also like to drive fast. Really, really fast.

6. I love to bake. When I first learned how to make apple pie, I was so excited that I made two or three a week until my husband had to gently put an end to my madness.

7. I once wore one brown shoe and one black shoe to work. It was two hours before I noticed.

8. I can’t sleep at night unless my husband is next to me. And I still cry when he has to go away on a business trip.

The Bus (again!)

Kindergarten: the Bus ride take two. The big yellow bus stopped in front of our driveway, opened its doors and the cousins waved at Aidan, again. And Aidan? He melted down in hysterics, again. Chris tried to nudge him up the stairs of the bus, but Aidan just screamed louder and grabbed at me. As we were about to concede parental defeat and just drive the boy to school again, the bus driver told Chris to carry him onto the bus and put him in the seat. And so he did. Chris picked Aidan up and carried him, crying and screaming, to the front seat of the bus. Chris sat Aidan down in the seat and our cousin Liam immediately sat down right next to Aidan, thereby preventing Aidan from leaving his seat.

Chris ran off the bus. The bus driver smiled at us, waved and said, “He’ll be fine.” I could still hear Aidan crying as the bus driver shut the bus doors. My son, the kindergartner, restrained and hysterical, off to his second day of school.

Chris followed the bus to school in his car in order to reassure us both that Aidan would be okay. Aidan was fine, of course. He hopped off the bus, laughing, content to stride into school among a sea of his cousins. As he passed Chris, he grinned and slapped him a high five.

Sigh. While Chris drove to Aidan’s school, I had to go in and get the other two munchkins off to their school. Brennan dissolved into a fit of tears when he found out he had to leave for the day. At first I thought he was sad to be away from me, but then I knew better. Brennan just loved having the house, Aidan’s toys and Aidan’s room all to himself. God bless that middle child.

Tonight I have my very first parent association night. I have to confess to a bit of nervousness myself. The other mothers scare me. I have a feeling they would never let their nine month old eat rice off the floor (I did yesterday) or lose their car in a parking lot (two days ago) or put carrots in the freezer instead of the fridge (last night.) It's going to be a long night.

Kindergarten: Game On

It started out well enough. We trucked the whole family out to the driveway to wait, with excited anticipation, for the big yellow school bus to arrive and pick Aidan up for his first day. See how happy he looks? So happy. So very, very happy.

There were hugs all around. Some excited waves as neighbors drove by us. And Brennan rocked his early morning fashion statement of a sweatshirt hastily thrown over his Batman pjs with crocs.



And then the bus arrived. Aidan's cousins excitedly waved from the bus as the big door swung open. Aidan made it up one stair and well, then it all just went to shit. My dream Kodak moment shot of my little boy climbing up the stairs on his first real school bus looks like this:

This is Aidan running back to grab me after making it up only one stair of the school bus. After this picture was taken, we endured ten minutes of screaming as Aidan clutched my leg, my arm or any other part of my body he could hang onto while he wailed in terror. I did everything I could to get him on that bus, including climbing right up there with him. Nothing worked. He screamed louder. Minutes ticked by and the line of cars behind the bus snaked around the block. Finally, we admitted defeat and let the bus head on to school without Aidan.

Unfortunately, we still had to get the kid to school. The meltdown continued inside the house until Chris carried him, screaming, into the car to drive him. Apparently, he cried and screamed (Aidan, not Chris - although I am sure Chris was tempted) the whole ride to school. When they arrived at school, the principal took Aidan, wailing, and told Chris she would walk Aidan to his classroom. We were told by the principal and by kind family and friends that Aidan calmed down once he was inside of his classroom.

And this afternoon? Aidan rode the bus home. Without a tear or a sniffle. Of course, I don't have a Kodak moment picture to share of his triumphant bus return because I was too busy opening my arms for a giant hug from my little kindergartner.

But if you ever want to see the meltdown to end all meltdowns? We have video of the entire morning. Chris caught the whole thing on our camcorder. I may make Aidan watch it when he's 18 and off to college.

Twas the Night Before Kindergarten

As I tucked Aidan in bed tonight, I spent a good fifteen minutes talking about what to expect tomorrow at kindergarten. We covered the bus, the class, the other kiddies. We talked about getting ready for the day, his clothes, his friends and his teacher. We went over his lunch and its contents. We even discussed the snack he wants when he gets off the bus.

After I kissed him goodnight and turned to leave, Aidan smiled at me and asked, "So, what are we doing tomorrow mom? It's a mommy day right?"

I look at him perplexed and responded with exasperation, "Aidan, you're going to school tomorrow."

"I am?" He asked with shock, "But, it's Monday. I don't go to school on Mondays."

I closed my eyes, shook my head back and forth and prayed to the god of all mothers for patience. After a beat or two, I smiled and said quietly, "You start kindergarten tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Kindergarten. Okay."

Ah, boys.

Kindergarten: The School Supply Drop Off

Who knew there were so many facets to starting kindergarten? Friday was school supply drop off day. I am happy to report we conquered school supply drop off without incident. No tears, no screaming, and no breakdowns. (Well, okay, there may have been one wee little incident. Just a small matter of my mistakenly setting off my car alarm in the school parking lot when I thought I was locking the car doors. My life is destined to be a constant spectacle.)

I liked school supply drop off day. I think it went a long way for helping Aidan feel comfortable in his classroom and with his teacher. We were told supply drop off was from 10-11 a.m. Fortunately for Aidan, I am a slacker Mommy and we arrived at approximately 10:55. By then, all the other kiddies and over achiever mommies had come and gone, leaving us alone in the new classroom with Aidan's new teacher. I wish I could say I planned that. Yep, I did! I did! (Pat self on back. )

After the supplies were all taken care of, we were off for a hand modeling gig for Aidan at Fisher-Price. I still giggle when we arrive and the stylist is all lotioning up his hands and filing his nails. The humor in this never gets old for me. Coming soon to a toystore near you - Aidan's hands will soon be featured on the package of some pirate mountain thingie. We also caught some of his earlier work at the Fisher-Price store. His hands are on the boxes of the shake and go planes. It's beautiful work, I tell ya. My hand famous little boy.

Happy Birthday Aidan!

We took this picture when Aidan was just five weeks old. I look at him today, at five years old, and my heart breaks a little to remember him as a baby. Tonight, I was so very grateful he is still young enough, still small enough, to snuggle up in my lap.

Kindergarten: The Screening

Today was kindergarten screening day for Aidan. Our appointment time with his teacher was 9 a.m. We arrived in the school parking lot at 8:52. Aidan started crying and screaming at approximately 8:53. In between his cries and general hysteria, he refused to get out of the car and yelled he didn’t want to go to kindergarten anyway.

“I’m not going!” “I’m not going!” He yelled repeatedly as his screams got louder and louder.

I sat in the front seat, taking deep breaths, furtively looking around the parking lot for other parents with their calm and happy kindergartners who would now be witnesses to my parental ineptitude. As I did this, I also fought off the temptation to just start screaming right along with him.

A good mother would have known how to calm her child down. A good mother would have been able to reason with her child. A good mother would have validated her child’s fears, but still manage to get her child to be brave.

What did I do? I smiled at him and through a clenched jaw told him that if he did not get out of the car right this very minute, I would call up his preschool and reenroll him for another year of pre-k. I went on and said, “And if you aren’t in Kindergarten, this means you can’t do many of the big boy things you like to do. Including playing Star Wars Legos on the XBox!”

He was out of the car one minute later. I didn’t reason, act calming or validating. Nope. I just threatened. Great parenting technique.

Once we were in the building, he did great. Not a tear or a hiccup in sight. I am convinced children have multiple personalities that allow them to turn their emotions on and off at a whim. They are like little Sybils.

Monday morning, the bus arrives to pick Aidan up at 7:30 a.m. I am not sure if even the threat of a world without Lego Star Wars is even enough to get my child on that bus.

Is This Normal?

I turn to Chris after an especially hellish morning with the kiddies and ask with an irritated sigh, "Do you sometimes look at the chaos that is our life and think this is just plain insane??"

He looks at me, shrugs and replies, "No. I've just convinced myself this is normal."

Lived to Tell the Tale of the Party

We did it. We successfully planned and executed Aidan's fifth birthday party. The key to our genius success? The key to entertaining sixteen five year olds? We didn't do the party at home. No clean up, no stress and how much do I just adore the local YMCA? Bunches and oodles of love and adoration to the Y.

We rented out the Y's Adventure Room. The Adventure Room is every child's dream. It's a huge two level room with slides, climbing walls, suspension bridges, cushy blocks, and one giant ass "mountain" composed entirely out of humongous gym mats. The kiddies went crazy nuts for an hour and then retreated to another room for cake and a pinata. All Star Wars themed, of course. We even gave out "Jedi Space Goop" as favors. (plain ol' flubber with a picture of Yoda.)

I may never, ever, have another child party at our home again. Ever.


Aidan and Brennan hold on for dear life on top of the mountain. And at the end, the daddies had to do some climbing too. (I kept out the pictures I have of our dear friend Dylan climbing up the mountain wall. I may just use those for some blackmailing at a later date. I couldn't resist putting in the picture of Chris having a blast though.)