The Concert and the Tie

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


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

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

Veggie Subterfuge

Aidan is a picky eater above and beyond all picky eaters. He eats because he has to eat to survive, but beyond a deep affection for pepperoni (blame his father) and baked goods (totally my fault), his food intake is at a minimum. It gets even worse when we talk veggies. It's a daily struggle to get some form of veggie in that kid's body. He probably end up with scurvy or some other horrific disease that leads to the doctors concluding it is ALL the mother's fault because I didn't force feed him more veggies. (Because, yes, it really is all about me, isn't it?)

So then I saw Jessica Seinfeld on Oprah with her genius little book Deceptively Delicious. I loved the idea of hiding the veggies in my kiddies' food and I thought about getting the book. I never did it, but I really pondered it. (I get good mom points for the thinking about it at least, don't I?) And then my friend Danielle (an amazing mother) got the book and upon hearing I was interested in reading it, photocopied the whole flippin' book for me and dropped it in my mailbox. (amazing friend too!)

It's a cool idea - this veggie subterfuge. I like it. As a mother to children who eat mac n' cheese at least once a day, I love the idea of hiding some veggies in with all that cheesy processed goodness. But - oh lord, who has the time to clean, steam and puree all those vegetables? I mean, I consider the day a success if I shower, let alone puree? Based upon my reality, I determined my kids were just doomed to their veggie nonexistent life.

But then! I was making yet another box of mac n' cheese the other day and I happened to spy a leftover jar of Griffin's butternut squash baby food. Hmmmmm. My mind started working overtime. What is baby food except pureed veggies? So I tempted fate, threw that jar into the cheesy mix, and served it to my boys with bated breath.

They ate every last bite. Not a word of complaint. Their lunch actually had some nutritional value. This is so unbelievably great. I am like the lazy version of Jessica Seinfeld. Slacker moms of the world unite!

My Christmas Gift

Wednesday was a big Christmas present to me, all wrapped up in some shiny paper with a big fancy bow.

I took a day off work. I sent the kiddies to school. I was alone in my house. Alone! Do you know how long it has been since I’ve been alone in my house? No? Me neither. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say it has been about a year. As the door shut behind Chris and the boys, my huge sigh of relief was overwhelmed by the need to run leaping from room to room in jubilant glee. Whee! I’m all by myself!

Instead of leaping, I got myself a fresh mug full of coffee and enjoyed twenty minutes of my buddies over at the Today Show. It was delightful. I followed this with some unencumbered time playing with my ipod and itunes. I made myself a mixed cd of my favorite Christmas tunes. Next came a blasting of Christmas music as I prepared some cookie dough to bake with the boys on Friday. I loved each and every second of it. Of course, time went in a flash.

I bet you thought it couldn’t get any better than me in a house alone, right? But after my solo morning, I joined my lovely friend Christine at the spa where we indulged in massages, pedicures and facials, oh my!

And then. And then! Dinner with the girls. Yes, dinner out with my girlfriends, the amazing and wonderful Carolyn, Cynthia, Christine and Danielle at the incredible Stillwater with many bottles of delicious red wine. And cheesecake. And some peppermint schnapps hot fudge. (Must figure out how to duplicate that stroke of culinary genius at home.)

Merry Christmas to me. I wish I could give all my fellow busy mommies a Wednesday to themselves for Christmas. We sure as hell all deserve it.

Ladies Holiday Extravaganza

My neighborhood association throws an annual ladies' Christmas cocktail party at the local country club. The whole thing has a definite Desperate Housewives vibe to it. I admit to finding it all very amusing and planned to attend more for the amusement and snark value than anything else.

I was pleasantly surprised this evening to find the party, well, nice. The women were friendly and kind. We each donated an item for a silent auction and in two hours raised over 1200$ for charity. There were appetizers to nibble, wine to gulp and gossip to share. I didn't find one thing to snark over. Not a thing. (Okay, maybe just one thing. I had to giggle over the gaggle of women who moved as a collective group and looked exactly alike with their bleached blond hair, fancy jeans with sparkly tops and size zero frames. I swear I couldn't tell one from the other.)

I even managed to bid and win on an elaborately decorated gingerbread house for the boys to make up for our attempt at a gingerbread house that had some, well to put it mildly, construction issues. I am leaving it on the table to surprise them at breakfast. Elves deliver gingerbread houses to good little boys. It's a new Santa service.

The Mall Rollercoaster

I made the questionable decision this morning to hoof it over to the mall with Brennan and Griffin. The mall at Christmas is at best, stressful and overcrowded. (and filled with Canadians! Hello there half of Ontario, welcome to Buffalo!) But when you add in two children three and under to your shopping (and hello double stroller!), the mall is a bit of a roller coaster ride with pronounced highs and lows of emotional giddiness.

High? Brennan shouting "Hey there Santa! Whatcha doin'?" to the delight of many onlookers who stopped and just laughed at the shouted conversation that ensued between Brennan and the Mall Santa. Brennan finished his little gabfest, grinned at his audience, waved to Santa and walked off yelling, "Yeah, so see you Christmas then Santa, okay?"

Low? Brennan yelling, "I have to pee! Oh boy do I ever have to pee!" in the Disney store as he grabbed his penis as if he was hanging on to each drop off urine by pure force. He continued holding his private regions and yelling about how he had to pee as I ran through the mall desperate for a sign of a bathroom. (Pottery Barn, god bless you, your very nice bathroom and the hysterically laughing sales associate who held the door to the bathroom open for me and my double stroller from hell.)

High? Griffin trying on his very first "real" pair of shoes and enjoying his very first ice cream cone.

Low? Griffin also apparently had his very first shop lifting experience. He had shoved some small "stocking stuffer" items under his seat from an (ahem) unnamed specialty store that I didn't discover until we were on our way home. Ah, his very first misdemeanor. I am so exceptionally proud. Can a one year old have a rap sheet?

High? We passed through Macy's on our way out to the car and I spied the most perfect necklace to go with my outfit for a holiday party tomorrow evening. And it's on sale. And I have a gift card left over from last Christmas. Score!

Low? Turning away from Brennan for, I swear, thirty seconds, and finding him with bracelets and jeweled watches on both arms from his wrist to his elbow. How is it that it takes me twenty minutes to undo something an (almost) three year old can do in thirty seconds? How?

High? Brennan hugging my arm after we sat down to lunch and telling me "I love you momma."

Low? Griffin discovered ketchup by the handful. Ugh.

The Price of a Shower

I really, really wanted a shower this morning. I didn't want to wait until nap time. After daydreaming of clean hair and shaved legs for most of the early morning hours, I decided to throw mommy caution to the winds and attempt to shower while home alone with Brennan and Griffin. I took all necessary precautions. I locked the doors to my bedroom. I turned on good tv and left an abundance of attractive toys for play. It was go time.

I got through the first minute or two of the shower by playing peek a boo with Griffin who had placed his nose up against the glass of our master bathroom shower. I had just lathered up my hair when Brennan burst into the bathroom and declared he had to go potty NOW! As in right now. As in no time to rinse even though I begged and pleaded with him just to hold on for one second so I could help him.

Brennan peed all over himself and the bathroom floor. And then before I could get out of the shower, Griffin played in the puddles of urine.

This is the price I paid for coveting shaved legs and clean hair. I'm still debating if it was worth it. It might just be.

Odds and Ends

Randomness from my day:

I swore I was going to run into Old Navy and do a quick return. NO new purchases, just a quick return. But, I was stymied by the wonder of the 20% Friends and Family discount. Return plan thwarted! I had to do a quick shop of the boys section. As I shopped, a little girl who was maybe four or five walked up to an Old Navy salesperson (probably in her late teens) and tells her she can't find her daddy. I start to eavesdrop because I am a nosy nellie and I can't help myself.

"You can't find your daddy?" The salesperson asks wide eyed.

"No." The little girl looks around the store sadly.

"Oh. Well, Hmmmm. Um, Okay. Hm, well." The Old Navy customer service wunderkind is at a loss. She honestly goes on like this for a solid two minutes until the little girl interjects with, "Maybe we should look for him?"

"Okay." The salesperson agrees in a relieved tone as if she has finally uncovered the right answer.

"I'm going to go look for him now." The little girl tosses this over her shoulder as she starts to walk AWAY from the salesperson and rounds a corner into the big bad store. ALONE. And the salesperson just stands here nodding as the little girl walks away.

Um, really? These are the geniuses we have working in customer service? I can't help myself. I shoot the salesperson an exasperated look and yell, "You can't just let her walk away by herself." I turn to chase the girl around the corner to ask her where she left her daddy. By the time she's finished explaining, a harried looking man walks up to claim her.

The entire time? The salesperson never moved. She never called anyone for help. She just stood there and let that adorable little girl walk off on her own in search of her parent. Yeah, note to self. Keep an eye on your kiddies in the store. Most of our four year olds are smarter than the people working as Christmas help.

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I am directionally challenged. I can get around the greater Buffalo area reasonably well, but I have a bad tendency to get lost if I move outside of my comfort zones. My husband, however, is a directional whiz. He knows how to get anywhere and everywhere here in Buffalo. He has no direction limitations. I like this because this means he can always direct me when I lose my way. It's a win win situation. Except, I get lost alot. This means I call him for directions a lot. And I have a tendency to call him for directions no matter where he may be at that moment. In the past six weeks, he has given me directions in Buffalo while he has been working in Boston Mass, Park City Utah and Portland Maine. On two of those three occasions, I may have even cried because I was both lost and late. He never complains. He is patient. He always gets me where I need to go. I hung up my cell phone today after seeking directions from him while he is in Utah and I had a flash of self awareness. I think I might be a little bit high maintenance. But just a little bit.

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Aidan's class gets tested once or twice a month on their reading comprehension. So far he has done well, earning a 100% on each test. Today he came home and told me he got another 100. Then he remarked, "I think I like getting 100%. I'm going to get 100 on every test. But only until fifth grade, Mom. Then I'm done. No more 100s."

I guess I better enjoy it while it lasts.

My Last Baby is One

Happy Birthday my littlest boy. You turn one today. Before you joined our family, I worried you would lack for attention as the third child. But now, that fear just seems ridiculous. You are the center of our family. Your grin, your giggle, your infectious howls of excitement bring joy to not only your mom and dad, but your big brothers too. Your brothers compete over who can make you smile more, who you hug more and who you want to play with more. You are fawned over, hugged and cuddled to death, you are loved. So very loved.

You have the sweetest disposition. You love to give hugs. You wrap your arms around a person, squeeze them tight and yell "aaaahhhhhh." You love to laugh and run. You believe you can keep up with your brothers, regardless of age. You have learned to tackle and chase, crumble forts and throw a ball.

You are so very stubborn. You have an amazing streak of independence. You like to do things your way.

You are the first of my boys to be as equally a mommy's boy as a daddy's boy. Your love for your daddy is fierce. You squeal with delight the minute he walks into a room, toddling as quickly as your legs will carry you to jump in your daddy's arms.

You love to dance. At the littlest sound of music, you will start to bust a move, giggling and grinning as you shake yourself back and forth.

You are such a joy my little one. You are a gift to us. I thank God for you each and every day.

Twas the Night Before Griffin's Birthday

My last baby turns one tomorrow. With each of my children, I am always a little sad about their birthdays. It is such a cliche to talk about how fast they grow, but they do. They grow up before our eyes in a flash. But with Griffin's birthday approaching, I am feeling a little more melancholy than usual. He's my last baby. And it breaks my heart to see him leave babyhood behind and go stomping into toddlerhood.

You celebrate so many firsts with your children. Their first smiles, first steps, first words. I spent a lot of Griffin's first year mourning the last "firsts". The last first smile. The last first steps. The last first words. The last time I would snuggle with a baby under a blanket nursing in a room lit only by the moon outside. The last time I would feel my child's tiny fingers clinging to mine for the first time. The last time I would wake with a newborn cuddled into my arms fast asleep. And tomorrow, the last first birthday.

I wanted to spend some extra time loving Griffin up tonight as I put him to bed. I fed him his bottle, rocked him and sang softly to him. I had tears in my eyes as I held on tight to his fingers and held his loving gaze. I was in full on mushy mommy mode. Griffin finished his bottle, sat up in my lap and hit me in the face. He laughed and yelled, "Ouch" and then tried to do it all over again. I guess it was an appropriate response to my self induced mommy melancholy. My last first encounter with my toddler's sense of humor.

Christmas in Whoville

Whoville celebrated Christmas last night with their annual Holiday in the Village extravaganza. We had to drive around for a good fifteen minutes to find a parking spot at which Chris commented, "People are insane in this town. This many people want to come out and sing carols and hang with Santa?" Why yes they do want to. Because it's the Whoville thing to do. (Yes, I am channeling Dr. Seuss.) Oh, did I happen to mention that it was all of 20 degrees out last night?

Brennan was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing Santa. As we walked to the festivities, he kept shouting, "Santa! Santa?" in the hopes Santa would just hop out from behind a tree with Christmas greetings. The local library was set up with arts and crafts - and the boys made some Christmas trees:

We saw the local dance studio dance their tails off to some Christmas tunes, passed on the face painting and met Mrs. Claus before she sat down for story time. Griffin enjoyed some quality time with Daddy while the boys arts and crafted to death.

Then we left the library to walk to the local train depot for more Whoville fun - Santa and caroling. The boys shocked me at how easily and readily they hopped on Santa's lap to whisper their Christmas wishes in his ear. (It may have been the promise of the giant candy canes full of M&Ms they had seen passed on to the other kiddies after their visit with Santa. Candy will do it every time.)

We were all set to jump on the hay ride and go caroling after our visit with Santa, but, well, it was just too damn cold out. We called it a night and headed home for hot chocolate and marshmallows. (Many, many marshmallows.)

Next week: Whoville does breakfast with Santa. I so love this town.

The Love of a Deal

As I may have mentioned yesterday, I hate to pay full price for anything. This may be a good personality trait, but sometimes I get a little over excited about a good deal. I can't help myself. And as Chris likes to remind me, "all those good deals start to add up over time." Sigh.

Yesterday, a friend invited me to the employee sale at Fisher-Price. The prices were almost 40% off the regular price of items. 40%!!! The scene was complete chaos, people grabbing toys every which way (but doing so with good cheer and utmost politeness!) and the lines to check out stretched the length of the store - both ways. It was SO much fun.

I got a little caught up in the bargain mayhem. Rather than sticking to my list of two or three things I needed to finish off the holiday shopping from the boys, I filled a cart to the brim with so much stuff, the cart couldn't even manuever up and down the aisles without toys toppling off the sides. I had a harsh dose of reality when I checked out. Because yes, those bargains really do add up when you grab a million and one of them.

Sigh. Now I have to figure out what I am going to return and what I am going to keep. I think I just made a whole lot more work for myself. Unless, anyone have a need for a Fisher Price toy this holiday season? I have a few I could sell.

Shoes

I was never all that in to shoes. I knew enough to wear appropriate shoes, but I always thought shoes were a bit dull, more of a necessity than a luxury. I hated to spend money on shoes and purchased most of my footwear at Target. On sale. (preferably clearance.)

And then came the trip that changed it all. Chris and I went to Portland, Maine last year for the weekend with two other couples who are dear friends of ours. While the men golfed, the ladies shopped. (and ate lots of ice cream, but that's neither here nor there.) We ended up spending a lot of time at a cute local shoe boutique. My friends Christine and Cynthia were in full shoe buying mode, trying on pair after pair and enjoying every single second. I was bored and a little bit cranky because I was seven months pregnant and couldn't try on one stitch of clothes as we shopped. After a few minutes, I decided to join in on the shoe fun and try on some shoes because at least shoes would fit my pregnant body.

I fell in love with my first pair. An adorable pair of red mary jane clogs. They were so comfortable and just so very cute. I wanted them. I really wanted them. I may even have started salivating. And I tried on another pair. A pair of black mary jane flats that felt like walking on a cloud to my aching, swollen pregnant feet. The next thing I knew with encouragement from my lovely girlfriends, I was handing my credit card over to a salesperson and thinking up ways I could justify the $250 I just spent on two pairs of shoes. Two!

I am not a fancy person. I am a person who loves to bargain hunt and enjoy the fact that I hate to pay full price for anything. But those shoes were so worth paying full price. (I still whisper sweet nothings to my red clogs. I heart them.)

But now, it was like Pandora's box had been opened and could never be closed. Shoes! Shoes are fun! Shoes are oh, so very, cute! I have a crush on footwear. How can I go back to exclusively buying at Target now?

Thankfully, I have my dear friend Esther who introduced me to my new favorite website called wantnot. (Thank you Esther!) This past Tuesday, the genius at wantnot alerted her readers to an amazing 80% off sale on shoes at amazon.

This morning I tried these on in my pajamas:



Hello my pretties. I love them even more because all three pairs cost me less than $70. Oh my pretty shoes, I am already in love with you too.

All is Well in Kindergarten

Chris and I met with Aidan’s kindergarten teacher for his parent/teacher conference this morning. There is something strange about sitting in those itty bitty school chairs at a table strewn with gold glitter across from a teacher. I felt like the kid, instead of the responsible parent. Even Chris made a joke when the teacher referred to us as Mr. and Mrs. and our last names. It still feels awkward for us.

Thankfully, all is well with Aidan and kindergarten. He aced his testing and was described as the “shining star” of the class. Yes, I know I am falling dangerously into bragging mommy territory, but I can't help myself. I also want to document this occasion just in case it all starts to go down from here and I am bailing him out of jail at the age of sixteen and he has left his advanced placement courses for a very rigorous program at the local vocational school. (Not that there is anything wrong with that. Okay, well, there is with the whole jail part, but you get what I’m saying.)

The Cracked Head

Brennan took a particularly nasty spill onto our ceramic tile kitchen floor yesterday. He fell flat on his back and banged the back of his head with a resounding thump. He screamed and cried as I tried to comfort him. With tears streaming down his face, he reached his hand behind his head to rub his sore bumped noggin. Almost immediately, the wailing stopped. With big tears shining in his wide eyes, he exclaimed with wonder, “Mommy, I didn’t crack my head open.”

I think I spend a little too much time yelling to the boys to stop jumping, climbing, free falling or any other ingenious death defying trick they can come up with or “for the love of God they will crack their head open.”

I have a feeling this threat of a cracked head will not have the same weight with Brennan after this experience.

Questions for Children

There are many, many things that mystify me about my children, but two immediately come to mind.

1) Do all children have an alarm akin to the bat signal hardwired in their brain that alerts them to their mother going to the bathroom? It doesn't matter what my kiddies are doing, how great the (*cough, cough*) educational dvd is at that precise moment, they will immediately stop anything and everything to follow me to the bathroom. They don't even see me headed to the bathroom. THEY JUST KNOW. It's like a freaky circus side show trick. My boys love to talk to me while I am residing on the potty. Imagine me and three children five and under conversing in our downstairs half bath. It's a picture I will not use for our holiday card this year.

Interestingly, the bat signal bathroom alarm only works for mommies. There is no similar alert to the kiddies when the daddy wants to head upstairs to the private master bathroom with some hefty reading material. He is free to go, alone, for quite some time. Alone. For a LONG time. And while he is gone, not one child will seek him out.

2) Do my children have super secret meetings during the twilight hours to negotiate who is going to bear the proud honor of being the high maintenance child for the day? Among my children, they are never all, how shall we say, "challenging" (read: high maintenance) at the same time. Rather, they trade the "challenging" persona off and on among the three of them. It appears to me that the boys understand and respect that their parents simply can't handle all three of them in challenging mode, so they negotiate responsibility for that job on a daily basis.

I have found this holds true not only for their behavior, but also for sickness. I note the last bout of the stomach flu saw me cleaning up after Brennan as he vomited from 9 p.m. until 1 a.m. and then Aidan from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m. I found it quite thoughtful of both of them to be so thorough and precise in their planning.

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."

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

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.)

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

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.