Lazy Thursday

I was at home today with the boys and we were lazy. While Chris took Aidan skiing, Brennan, Griffin and I enjoyed some time with pjs, legos and play dough. (I also managed to catch up on the last episode of Project Runway at nap time - the wonders of dvr.)

Life is good.

A Different Take

I decided I would research possibly having Aidan and Brennan take ice skating/hockey lessons at a local rink. Chris and I were excited by the idea and thought the boys would love it.

I was wrong. Partly.

When I asked Aidan about possibly learning hockey, he told me he wasn't interested.

"No?" I asked surprised.

"No. I don't want to take hockey. I just like to watch it. I do like to skate though." Aidan replied.

"Okay. I have you signed up for soccer still, is that okay?"

"Oh, I love soccer! And I want to play basketball too! Just not hockey."

"Why not hockey?"

Aidan's eyes grow wide as he responds, "In hockey, they slam you and try and get you to fall. I don't want to do that. It hurts. I also don't ever want to play football. That hurts too. Just soccer and basketball."

Okay, then. Note to self - no hockey for Aidan. The next morning, I put the same question to Brennan.

"Hey B I was thinking of signing you up for lessons to learn to play hockey and ice skate. Would you want to do it?"

Brennan jumped up in joy and ran over to hug me in glee. After he hugged me, he pumped his fist in the air and said, "Yes, HOCKEY!" He jumped up and down a bit in excitement. After a minute, he turned to me and said with seriousness, "I also want to play football, okay Mom?"

I should have guessed that with three boys we are bound to have each sport covered.

Boys and Boogers

Brennan and I were snuggled up in bed tonight when he touched his finger to the beauty mark above my lips and asked, "What is this?"

"It's a beauty mark." I replied. (I refuse to call it a mole. Just the term "mole" freaks me out - like I am going to have some tiny little creature burrowing out of my face, cheek or chest. Or leg. Or arm. Damn, I have a ton of these suckers on me.)

"Huh," Brennan replied as he gazed at it thoughtfully. He removes his finger and says with a shrug, "I thought it was a giant booger."

I had nothing to say in response. I mean, really, my sweet adorable little three year old thought his mom was walking around for the THREE years of his life with a giant booger hanging from her nose? Don't you think he'd at least offer me a tissue?

TGIF

It's Friday and Chris is home. If I could dance with joy, I would. But I am honestly so exhausted from the on again, off again, single parenting gig to three young children, that all I can do is imagine a weekend morning of sleeping in and maybe an afternoon to myself.

On totally unrelated subjects... Best thing I saw on Valentine's Day? The mother sitting in her suburban in Aidan's school parking lot feverishly writing out valentine's at 8 a.m. Thursday. I must stalk her and make her my friend. She doesn't know it yet, but we are mommy soulmates.

Funniest thing to happen on Valentine's Day? Chris literally just walks in the door and his first assignment as a father is to convince Brennan to put on the only pull ups we have left in the house. Of course, the pull ups are of the very pink "Disney Princess" variety. "Wow, look at that castle Brennan! And the donkey - it's just like Shrek!" I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. Princesses, what princesses? Thank God Brennan is color blind, right?

Wednesday

I set my alarm, but the volume was off. Woke up a little late.

Griffin dyed his hands and fingers black with my mascara while I was distracted squeezing myself into a pair of Spanx.

Griffin also emptied out every single drawer in my bathroom, unloaded a basket of newly folded clean clothes and found some blue fingerpaint in the pantry and painted his formerly black hands (and shirt and cheeks!) blue. (This all occurred while I brushed my hair and loaded a diaper bag. Kid can do some serious damage in a very short period of time. It's a gift.)

Aidan mentioned he heard at school that "McCain is a president" and I had to brainwash him over his bowl of (quite nutritious) Lucky Charms that Obama is really our guy. (And make sure you mention that to your (Republican brainwasher!) teachers today okay?)

After getting one child on the bus, two children off to daycare and myself off to work and meetings and more work, I get THE call: Brennan has a fever and must be picked up from daycare. I pack up a ton of work and race out of the office in a frenzy. In order to bring Brennan home, I have to wake up poor little Griffin who finally had settled down for a nap. The ride home was a chorus of competing hysteria. (Me included.)

My Aunt Nancy who gets Aidan off the bus for me on Wednesdays offers to take Aidan with her to my cousin's basketball game to leave me with one less child. She also offers to stop at a store and fill my medicine cabinet with Motrin. Yes, she's a saint and yes, I adore her.

While most children refuse food when they have a high fever, Brennan consumes three yogurts, two bowls of plain noodles, a cup of goldfish crackers, a frozen fruit bar and a gogurt in approximately two hours. The kid has an appetite when he is drugged.

I put all three kids to bed and commence baking for Aidan's Valentine's Party at school tomorrow. And then instead of doing ANY of the work I brought home, I pour myself a large glass of red wine and watch a dvred American Idol. (and I ate some cookies too. Who knew that red wine and chocolate taste really good together? 'Cause they do.)

I think I need to go to bed now. Note to self: must remember to turn my volume up on my alarm!

Simple Sweetness

The last month or so has been a long one for me. Chris is busy, busy, busy, which leaves me in the delicate juggling act of three kiddies and work and well, life, all by myself. Single parenting truly sucks.

Last night I was particularly tired and a bit grumpy as I tackled bath and bed with the boys as a single parent. After putting Griffin to sleep, I fell into Brennan’s bed with the other two for some quality pre-bed story time.

Aidan stretched out next to me, gave me a hug and said, “You’re tired, aren’t you Mom?” I told him I was and he replied, “We can take care of you, right Brennan?”

Brennan laughed and told me to lay down in his bed and go to sleep. I feigned sleep as the boys took turns rubbing my back and Aidan instructed Brennan on the art of massaging Mommy’s feet. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of my boys rubbing my feet as I was face down in a plastic car bed or cry over the simple sweetness of my boys recognizing I was beyond worn out. I think I did a little of both.

The Dr. Phil of Kindergarten

The big lesson in kindergarten today was on feelings. Aidan got off the bus abuzz with talk about sad and happy, shy and angry. I heard him discussing his day with Brennan a few hours later.

Aidan: "What did you do at Sports Camp today Brennan?"

Brennan: "I didn't have sports camp. Too much snow. Mommy said we couldn't go."

Aidan: "Hmmm, and how did that make you feel Brennan?"

Brennan: "I don't know."

Aidan: "Were you sad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"

Brennan: Shrugs his shoulders, "I guess so."

Aidan: "Were you mad you didn't go to Sports Camp?"

Brennan: "Maybe."

Aidan smiles brightly and slaps Brennan on the shoulder, "Brennan, do you know what? Those are your feelings! Your feelings!" Brennan nods his head in some half hearted agreement.

Meanwhile, I was doubled over with muffled laughter. My child has become the Dr. Phil of Kindergarten. I fully expect his next comment to be something akin to 'how's that working for you?'.

Movie Night

With Chris otherwise engaged, I told the boys we would have a special "mommy night." We made pizza, had ice cream sundaes and ordered up a movie selected by the boys for our viewing pleasure: "Meet the Robinsons." I okayed the movie selection because it was rated G and seemed to involve a little boy going to space and inventing random stuff. What's not to love?

Hmmmm. Well apparently, the movie is really about a little boy who spends day and night pining for the mother who left him at an orphanage. Probably NOT the best selection for my mommy obsessed set. Within four minutes of starting the movie, Aidan was in hysterics crying for the lost mommy. Brennan joined him two minutes later. And then not be left out, Griffin opted for the sympathy cry and joined the cacophony of wails from his brothers. Ain't nothin' but good times in this house.

Latin Mambo Meet Choo Choo Soul

I have a goal to be active every day. I am happiest with a daily walk around the neighborhood, but when Buffalo turns to frigid winds and dark nights, a walk in my life is almost impossible. Chris tried to help me. He set up our treadmill in the basement with easy access to a television and dvd player. For a while, I was making good use of it, lured into walking in the basement by the promise of Season One Alias episodes waiting for me. (Damn, there is no better series than Season One of the beauty that is Alias. In my next life, I want to come back as Sydney Bristow.)

After a while, even the promise of Alias wasn't enough to get me down to my basement treadmill at 8 p.m. at night. I want pjs and the couch. I tried to get it going during the kids' naptimes, but I resented taking my one hour a day of peace and making it a "have to do", rather than enjoying a moment of solitude with a good book and a nice cup of tea. (My life is already filled to the brims with the have tos, I need some indulgent want tos.)

Today I decided to try something a little different. I think I have already discussed my love for the wonders of "on demand" programming, but did you know on demand offers exercise shows on demand? Really! And it's free! So today, I psyched the boys up for some family exercise time. We ordered up a little latin dance cardio rock and got busy. (Okay, okay, I really bribed them with some frosted animal crackers in order to buy me some exercise time. There is something a little bit horrible about giving your children a sugar laden snack so they can watch you make an ass out of yourself doing the mambo.)

With some begging and bribing, we made it through Latin Dance. Then to appease the boys, we switched on a little Choo Choo Soul and jumped around the house some more. Hey, exercise is still exercise if it's set to a soulful rendition of your 'ABCs' right?

Four?

I had lunch today with two women, both of whom are pregnant. As pictures of ultrasounds were passed around the table, I was asked if I would go for number four. I laughed and shook my head with an emphatic and resounding “no.”

Later that afternoon, I considered my answer. Two years ago this month, I was ready to go for baby three. I had intense baby fever, brought on by the sudden independence of Brennan turning one and rejecting cuddles in favor of chasing his older brother. The next thing I knew, it was early April 2006, and I was pregnant again. (Combine the month of March - my husband’s birthday month, a bottle (or two) of wine and a little shall we say, ahem, recklessness and well, it really does only take one time. I learned this not once, but twice. Yes, hello two children born in the month of December. )

Fast forward to the present day: now Griffin has adopted the independence of toddlerhood with fervor. He returns for a hug or a cuddle now and again, content to know I am close by him, but he is happiest running with the pack of his busy, noisy older brothers. He plays with Aidan and Brennan as an equal. Not as a baby, but as a boy. My sweet, baby of a little boy. I am always sad when he squirms to get off my lap or wiggles away from my hug, but there is joy in watching him grow and discover his own world.

I miss my boys as babies. I hold all memories of our baby days close. But I am surprised to discover I am content with my life as a mom to three boys, big and little, without yearning for another baby to join the ranks.

I guess I just have to hold my husband at bay and stay away from the wine this March to keep it that way.

Griffin: The Possessive

Griffin has decided no one, absolutely no ONE may hug, cuddle or otherwise touch his momma without facing the wrath of an enraged one year old. If you proceed to hug, cuddle or otherwise touch his momma with him in the room, he will scream a high pitched wail repeatedly until he can get his momma all to himself. He has even gone so far as to push Brennan and Aidan off my lap in order to reclaim his rightful place. He will also scowl and shoot a warning glance to Chris if he dares to reach over and give me a kiss.

While Aidan finds the whole screaming one year old thing amusing and will giggle as Griffin pushes him away from me, my middle child ain't taking it so well. This means now I get a one year old and a three year old battling for my lap with voices raised in howling fury. Thank God I have enough lap to go around.

Fun While It Lasted

After a Saturday of swimming, playing and child-friendly entertainment while Chris worked himself to the bone, we met up for an adult night out at Ryan Miller's Steadfast Foundation fundraiser: Catwalk for Charity. While it all goes to a good cause, it really is just a giant alcohol haze of a party where you can sip (or in my case gulp!) your martini and make fun of all the little hussies dolled up in outfits barely covering their extremities all because they dream of catching the eye of a Buffalo Sabre. It is a little freaky to see the players work the party and speak to people while a gaggle of adoring, barely clad women tottering on four inch heels follow them in silent adoration. (Of course, then you have clueless me and Christine, who had to ask who the tall (handsome!) gentleman speaking to our friend Mike was, right before he was introduced us to, oh, Paul Gaustad. Our husbands were not proud. Maybe we had gulped one too many martinis. I will say in our defense that we recognized the County Executive immediately even with a few martinis under our belt later in the evening. Yes, we may be geeks.)

The auction is always interesting. I have to figure out how people can afford thousands and thousands of dollars for pizza or dinner with a Sabre. I think the dinner for 8 at Tempo with Ryan Miller and four of his teammates went for $8,000. I know, I know, it all goes to a good cause - but really! That better be one hell of a dinner. And of course, the fashion show was cute. Not much fashion, just an excuse for the ladies to fawn over the players in their ts and jeans.

The night was a great adult night out right up and until we left. We exited with several other couples we had attended with and while we were the first to give the valet our ticket, all our friends' cars pulled up first and they all drove off as we stood on the curb waiting and shivering and waiting for our car to arrive. No car. Fifteen minutes passed and still no car. Chris realized that the valet he had given our ticket to was standing with an unclaimed blue Audi. We arrived in a silver Passat. (Also not our car. Chris has borrowed my grandmother's car - the Passat- while they are in Florida because he can't seem to decide on a new car and his old lease expired two weeks ago. My husband has a procrastination problem.) Anyway, we approach the valet and explain this is not our car. He looks confused and really bored. After a few moments of contemplation, he denies ever taking our ticket. Great.

We approach the women working the valet stand and explain the situation. They ask for our ticket. We tell them we GAVE them our ticket and now they brought us the wrong car. We wave to the valet standing with the STILL unclaimed Blue Audi. After a few minutes of deliberation, the valet brain trust tells us to start looking through the boards of keys in hopes of finding our car key so they can find our (my grandmother's) car. Did I mention that like 1000 people attended this event? Yeah, that's a LOT of key chains.

We look through key chain after key chain and well, it's not there. Shivering and now angry, we convince the valet to send another runner to the lot to see if there is a Passat there. Five minutes later, a valet pulls up with a Passat. Hurray! Chris and I start to get in the car - which was the SAME exact color as my grandmother's car and even had the SAME make & color booster seat as Aidan's in the back seat, only to realize it's not our (her) car.

The valet runner doesn't believe us. He argues with us. I lose my shit on the valet attendant and tell her she needs to find someone in charge (code word for SOMEONE OVER THE AGE OF 17) who will find us our fucking car right NOW because we have been standing out here for almost an hour and it appears you have lost our car OR given it to the WRONG PERSON. (And how in the hell am I going to explain that to my nana?)

The valet attendant runs inside and returns, thank you LORD!, with an adult. The adult valet looks concerned. He dispatches several runners to look for another Passat. As we wait, praying they will find our car, I realize we are now over an hour late for our babysitter.

Finally, FINALLY, they pull up in (another) Passat - that is indeed, our (my grandmother's) car.

So, in summary: great night out right up until they lost our car. Other people go out, enjoy their night and return home without a hitch. Not us. Sigh.

What a Week!

Last you left me, I was angry and baking. Then came Tuesday, with Chris flying out of town for meetings. I began my work week on Tuesday attempting to do the single working mom thing: feed, clothe, wrangle three kiddies up and out the door. It ain't easy.

But the single working mom gig gets a little harder when life throws some unexpected kinks at you, little stuff like: a Wednesday with 90 mile an hour winds, sleet, white out snow storms, and schools closed, but work open with deadlines to meet. Of course, my theory has always been that life goes to crap the minute the hubbie leaves town, but really, does that have to be true each and every time he leaves?

We braved the sleet, the snow and wind to get out of the house. Aidan was off to my friend Christine's house. (There is no greater gift than a friend who upon seeing schools are closed, calls you at 7 a.m. to volunteer to watch your child for the day.) I got Brennan and Griffin off to daycare. I then drove through miles of blowing, blinding snow to get to work, albeit late. I felt victorous when I arrived and parked in one of the last spots available at my parking garage on the roof.

Did I mention the 90 mile an hour winds yet? Yes, me on a roof in horrific, hurricane like winds. The minute I left my car I felt like the wind could have carried me off. The wind whipped around me as I walked unsteadily on sheets of ice until I was caught by a particularly strong gust of wind that blew my glasses completely off my face. I tried to catch them, but I missed. And then they were gone.

Wednesday, 10 a.m. : me, blind on a rooftop in Buffalo. I didn't know what to do. I tried to look for them, but I am honestly blind as a bat without glasses or contacts. I tried to ask for help, but the only other person on the roof, refused to get out of her car because of the wind. I knew I couldn't drive home. I didn't think I could even make it to my office from there. So I do what I normally do in these type of situations, I cried and called Chris. Let me tell you, there is nothing that a husband in back to back out of town meetings likes more than a hysterically sobbing blind wife calling his cell phone (repeatedly!) with a problem that he can not logically in any way, shape or form solve. (I am quite a catch, aren't I?)

Chris told me to call Amy. Amy is our uber assistant at work. Amy is the go to gal to solve problems, both big and small. So I called Amy, still blubbering and still blind. Sweet, problem solving Amy wrapped herself up in her winter gear and met me at my car to help me. After thirty seconds battling the wind, we opted for the only other solution. Amy drove me back to my home, back through the blizzard, white out conditions, so I could put contacts in my eyes and miraculously see again.

Have you ever driven through a snowstorm with blowing, drifting snow when you have incredibly blurred vision? It is now my worst nightmare. After we survived the drive, Amy kindly pointed out she had never heard me use so much profanity in the eight years we have worked together.

I made it back to work by noon with my sight restored. After two canceled flights, several one hour delays, Chris made it home later that night. I may never let him leave me again. Ever.

The First Cookie

I made chocolate cookies Monday afternoon, because, well that's what I tend to do when I'm angry, I bake. (Okay, I also bake when I'm happy, sad and a wide variety of other emotions - but you get the point.) But really, what better way to lick your wounds then with a mouthful of warm gooey chocolate chip goodness? Yum.

After setting Aidan and Brennan up at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies fresh from the oven, I decided it was Griffin's turn to be initiated to the wonder of the homemade chocolate chip cookie. We set him up at the kiddie table with his very own cookie. Griffin's wide eyed wonder at his first bite, with melted chocolate chips oozing onto his chin, was enough to send Aidan and Brennan into bursts of laughter. Griffin is definitely a fan of the cookie.

But only one cookie? No, Griffin wanted more. He toddled over to the kitchen counter where the other cookies cooled on wire racks and gestured to me for more. When I refused to give him more, he cried a bit, shot me the look of death and wandered off. Five minutes later, I caught him waddling nonchalantly through the kitchen as he stuffed another chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. The trail of cookie crumbs and overturned glasses of milk were my only clues. Through some impressive reaching, stretching and fantastic tip toe balancing action, my little cookie monster stole his older brothers' cookie leftovers off the kitchen table. He looked pretty proud of himself too. Or as proud as you can look when you have chocolate smeared all over your cheeks.

A Change

I knew having a child would change me. Of course, it had to change me. But I was still surprised at how I started to look at the world a little differently once I became a mother. I was more sensitive, a little more fearful of the world outside my doors, and so incredibly vulnerable.

After children, I have a harder time enjoying my favorite crime dramas or suspense novels when they depict a child in distress. I cry when I read news stories about children neglected or abused. I spend a lot of time worrying about the what ifs or the could bes, trying to control so much of the world that I can not. I feel more. I hurt more. I worry more (and more). I love more than I ever considered humanly possible. I now understand what it means when you say you would give your life for a person.

The last day or so has sucked for me personally. Old hurts and childhood memories have been unceremoniously dredged up from behind a door I thought I had closed. I had already dealt with these hurts and achieved some semblance of emotional peace. But now, I feel as if I am back to square one, reanalyzing, reliving and wondering how, what and why. And you know what? This time, it hurts more. It hurts more because I am a parent to my children. It hurts more because I would do anything and everything before I would allow emotional harm to my children. It hurts more because now I know and understand there are people who are not like me. People who become parents but don't allow it to change them at all.

I want to feel sorry for these people, this person. But I can't. I want to be the bigger person. But I won't. Because I am just too fucking angry to feel anything else.

The Wiii Miis

We got a Wii for Christmas. It was much more for entertaining Chris and me, rather than the boys, but it's nice to use the kiddies as a scapegoat for the expense.

The Wii console allows you to create an entire physical person - from hair color, face shape, to lips, that is your own mini "Mii" player. Each member of our family has selected features to create a personalized "Mii" to use as their player in the Wii games. All of our Miis share some resemblance to the person who created it, but in an exaggerated fashion. Almost like caricatures. Except, of course, for Brennan's selection of a Mii.

Brennan's Mii is a heavyset black man with a bleached blonde Mohawk, a goatee, sunglasses and a gigantic nose.

I have no idea either.

My Future Date

I volunteered in Aidan's class today. After school, Aidan announced that one of the girls, (a girl from Aidan's class for whom I have a particular soft spot) told him she thought I was great.

"That's so nice of her," I replied. "Aidan, I have to tell you, I see lots of future dating potential for you in her." I said with a wink, joking.

Aidan shook his head seriously. "No, I'm not going to date her. I already know who I'm going to date."

"You do?" I asked with a smile.

Aidan hugged my legs, looked up to my face with a smile and said, "I'm going to date you, Mom."

That's my boy...

How do I look?

Today I selected a new shirt to wear to work. In my haste to leave the house, I forgot to cut the tag off of it. I didn't even realize it was there until I scratched my neck, laughed hysterically as I felt the tag and a co-worker jumped in to assist me with removing the it. It was at that point, I looked down and saw the small round circle sticker displaying XL resting nicely on my nipple.

Sometimes I am not quite sure how I make it through the day.

A Date

Brennan and I had a date tonight. I told him I would pick him up from school and take him, alone (!), to any restaurant he wanted for dinner. The only small little catch was that on the way home from dinner, we had to do a quick stop off at the um, doctor's office, for Brennan's annual check up. Brennan gleefully picked Moe's for dinner and spent much time debating between his ultimate dinner choice of either a burrito or a quesadilla. (He went with the quesadilla and then ate half my burrito anyway.)

We had a nice, relaxed dinner - just the two of us. It is always a treat to get any of my children for some one on one time. At Moe's, Brennan was giddy. He spent most of the dinner two fisting his dippers into the queso, alternating between chunks of quesadilla and chips, as he bounced back and forth to the music. (His most rambunctious bouncing was encouraged by the playing of "Super Freak.") Every once in awhile throughout dinner, Brennan would stop, catch my eye, smile and say, "I love you mom." Yes, it was a perfect dinner.

After dinner, it was off to the doctor for Brennan's third year check up! (Yes, I'm a little late. But then, what else is new?) Brennan got a clean bill of health, received some nice praise for his love of all fruits and veggies, and continued his trend of growing right off the percentile charts for both height and weight.

Brennan's Bliss

Brennan has spent the last three years of his life following in Aidan's footsteps. He watched two years of Aidan's swimming lessons, witnessed all of Aidan's soccer games and endured Aidan's gym classes at the Y umpteen times. I was thrilled when it was his turn. At three, he finally can enjoy a class or two on his own, instead of sitting on the sidelines.

I considered a music class. (Brennan loves to sing and bust a move.) I thought about messy art. (Brennan has already made getting messy an art form.) And I even thought out a preschool university class to assist him in some color recognition. (Ask Brennan to name a color and it's yellow. Always yellow. He may be color blind.)

But what Brennan loves above all things, is sports. While Aidan at three was happiest building legos or playing with trains, Brennan at three runs to set up the hockey net to take shots or makes up his own game of football where he tackles himself before he runs for the touchdown. He wants to play soccer and baseball. He wants to run and tackle. His first choice for play is a sport. Always a sport.

We went with Superchamps Sports Camp for Brennan's first "big boy" class. Each week for an hour, a kind, patient, sweet "coach" teaches Brennan and five other three year olds a new sport. Our first week was basketball. I have never seen Brennan's eyes so wide as he contemplated learning how to dribble his ball towards a net. I have never seen Brennan so enthusiastic as he made attempt after attempt (after attempt) to shot his very own basket. He was sweaty and happy and completely in his element.

At the end of the first class, he turned to me with sad eyes, "But I don't want it to be over. I want to stay here forever Mom." I only convinced him to go by assuring him we could return next week. He perked up when he discovered next week's sport was hockey.

Brennan has found his bliss. Now if we could only get him to work on his colors.

Happy, Happy, Joy Joy

It's Sunday and we are all well. No fevers. No vomit. No runny noses. Just three healthy kiddies. Thank the LORD.

I celebrated my family's spectacular health last night with time out with the girls, Christine, Cy, and Danielle. We broke in the new Melting Pot (melted cheese! melted chocolate! Hoohaa!) and did a little retail therapy. (I think we all bought the same sweater in four different sizes. Let's just pretend that I was the XS instead of the XL. But, they were on clearance - hurray!)

Chris and I conquered Wegmans with the boys this morning. I have to admit, it was nice to have Chris along for the grocery shopping excursion. I tend to do most of the grocery shopping for our family and most of this shopping is done with my three kiddies in tow. It's not easy to shop with the boys, but I have gotten to the point where my insanity has become the norm. Thus, nothing really fazes me. Chris, on the other hand, makes an odd grocery trip here and there, but always sans children.

I could tell by the time we reached the check out line Chris had enough. As we unloaded the cart (and the boys fought over who got to rearrange the boxes of chocolate bars on display), Chris turned to me and said, "Just so you know, from here on in, you get a free pass everytime and anytime you want to come to Wegmans without kids. As far as I'm concerned, you should never have to come to Wegmans with the kids again. Because I don't know how you do this."

Yes, the heavens did open up and shine light upon my happy face. There is nothing like hearing your husband admit the stuff you do as a mom is tough.

We ended our Sunday with dinner at our friends' Christine and Dylan's. The kiddies played dress up and got Brennan dolled up in quite the happenin' pink feather boa. He rocked the pink and the feathers, tossed the boa over his shoulder and said to me, "The girls and me are goin' to lunch, Mom." Poor Aidan had to make do with a leftover scraggly mini blue boa. It didn't have quite the same effect.

Happy, healthy weekend. Joy, joy indeed.

Got Sleep?

It has been a week and a half since we have all slept through the night. A week and a half of long mind numbing nights spent jumping up and down like a jack in the box wearily running from bedroom to bedroom to console, to clean up and to administer medication by the glow of a nightlight.

I am back to my mommy fantasy dream of me alone in a hotel room for a weekend with nothing to do but sleep. But! There's hope! Griffin's three day fever of 103 finally broke at 4 a.m. last night. I am trying not to get my hopes up, but tonight could just well be the night we all get some rest. Maybe if I begged?

I Hate January

If it's January, then we are sick. It's like all those pesky little germs hiding under the surface burrow their way into our lives the minute the calendar reads January 1st. January sucks the lifeblood right out of me.

It started with Aidan and a nice bout of a stomach bug. Deep down, I know, I KNOW that the invasion of one child with a stomach virus pretty much guarantees the whole family will be vomiting in the upcoming days. But I like to delude myself into believing I have some power over the situation. I scrub. I clean. I disinfect. I wash my hands with soap and hot water until they crack under the pressure. We can keep that bug at bay if only I arm myself with enough Lysol wipes and elbow grease to fight the good fight.

I should know better.

The stomach bug spread to me, announcing its impromptu arrival Saturday night as we finished up dessert at a lovely date night out with our good friends Dan and Kristy. I had to beg Chris to get the check NOW and run outside of the restaurant in fear I would become quite the public spectacle. I am a great Saturday night date. People are lining up to book us for a couples' night out.

Chris didn't feel great on Sunday. Griffin got a fever and threw up on Tuesday. And last night, the stomach bug got to our last hold out, Brennan.

Bleary eyed on two hours (maybe) of sleep, Chris tried to remain upbeat this morning. He turned to me as I contemplated the possibilities of injecting caffeine right into my veins and said, "Well, on the plus side, we must be all done with the flu now, right?"

We better be. We damn well better be.

Swimming, Swimming In a Swimming Pool...

Today marked Brennan's introduction to swimming classes at the Y. (Before the age of 3, the Y requires the parent get into the pool with your child for the lesson. Ha! I'm not that good or devoted of a parent.) Brennan adjusted well. He laughed. He did some doggie paddles. He kicked. All good.

Aidan, meanwhile, has been a part of the swimming program at the Y for 2 1/2 years. In that 2 1/2 years, he has managed to move up one level. ONE level. We used to coordinate the swim classes with friends, but their children have moved up and on to swim in the starfish and ray levels, leaving us behind to enjoy the eel level. (again.. and again... and well, again.)

When Aidan was three, his first swim lesson was marked with screaming, tears and threats (mine.) But today, after 2 years, he finally skipped off to enjoy his lesson without one backward glance at me. He jumped. He kicked. He even got his hair wet.

I am trying to not get my hopes up, but this just may be the session we move up and out of eel.

Making It Work

In order to make the whole part timer thing work, I have had to take some phone calls from work in some very interesting places and times. They all usually involve some form of my children screaming, in unison, in the background. My favorite, up until today, was the conference call I took with a CEO and CFO of a client. I huddled in the basement, hiding behind shelves of boxes hoping to muffle the sound of my children banging on the basement door and screaming for me. I felt very professional.

I have to note that last year I managed to get one of my generous colleagues to stand in for me on a call a client wanted me on with some of our counterparts in Hong Kong. That call totally would have won the trifecta award for best time/place/circumstance. Me, cruising in a minivan with six kiddies on the interstate headed for the Strong Museum of Play in Rochester trying to tackle serious legal issues with people thousands and thousands of miles away that I must impress with Hi5 singing in the background of the call. I (and my career and professional reputation) dodged a bullet on that one.

So today! A little work crisis emerged as I had my own children and a friend of Aidan's battling with light sabres. I took the call, hidden in the laundry room trying to talk legalese as I hunkered down in piles of dirty towels. Brennan discovered my whereabouts and banged on the door repeatedly while he screamed, "MOMMY! MOMMY? I WANT A NEW SWORD TO BATTLE! MOMMY? A NEW SWORD MOMMY! I MUST HAVE A NEW SWORD. MOMMY WHERE ARE OUR SWORDS? CAN YOU FIND ME A SWORD MOMMY? MOMMY? MOMMY? SWORD? I WANT A NEW SWORD." His screaming gave way to hysterics until I could barely make out one word two of the higher ups from my Firm were trying to convey over the phone. I think they finally gave up.

Let me tell you, people, I am SO going places. (Let's just hope those places do not involve me with a pink slip.)

Sharing

Sometimes I am amazed at what my children will go along with just because I say so. I know I am the mom, the person “in charge” so to speak, but it still surprises me when they follow along with some of the doozies I dig up on a whim.

Like my solution to taking turns, for example. Aidan and Brennan spend most of their waking hours fighting over one toy. It’s not one specific toy, but it is just the one toy that the other happens to have fixated on, thereby created an urgent need for the other child to have that same toy right NOW. This struggle gradually escalates until someone is shouting, screaming or crying. While I manage to start off with the appropriate parental responses about the goodness of sharing, it gradually ends up with me shouting or screaming something to them along the lines of “Share that toy with your brother right NOW or neither of you will ever EVER see that toy again so help me God, do you understand?” It isn’t one of our finest moments.

But a few weeks ago, I had a whim. The boys battled over some action figure guy. (We have like a million of these damn things, but Must. Fight. For. This. Specific. Guy. is the code of children everywhere.) They ran crying to me to settle their toy dispute. I told them to take turns and informed them we will do “five minutes in mommy’s head" to determine the length of the turns.

Strangely enough, it worked. Anytime I yelled out, “five minutes in my head,” the bickering, the screaming, the fighting just ceased. Just like that. At the end of my self determined five minutes in my head, the toy wielding child would willingly turn over the toy to his brother. Huh. There is no questioning, no arguing - just total acceptance of the five minutes in mommy's head.

A few days later, a fight brewed over a matchbox car. (Yes, again, we have enough matchbox cars for every child east of the Mississippi river, but still, they must battle over this specific car! Kids are great that way.) The boys ran to me and yelled, “Five minutes in your head Mommy?” I smiled and nodded yes. Chris looked at me confused.

“Five minutes where?”

“In my head.”

“Your head?”

I smile and nod, "Do you want to try five minutes in Daddy's head?"

Although to be perfectly honest, I don't think it has quite the same ring to it.

My Alter Ego

I have an alter ego. My alter ego was created to help get me through the tough mommy times, times when I am honestly minutes away from banging my head repeatedly against the wall in frustration. My alter ego always has a calm demeanor. She doesn't yell or swear. She often speaks in a sing song tone and displays a sweet smile for the kiddies.

I call her: Sedated Mommy.

Sedated Mommy loves to play legos and Star Wars for hours and hours and hours. She especially loves it when the boys dump the bins of legos all over the house and she has to spend the day digging legos out from under the furniture. Sedated Mommy just grins when the boys all scream and cry in unison - no matter how loud they scream or how bad her headache is pounding in her head. Sedated Mommy loves to wait on her children, fetching juice after crackers after napkin and oh, yes, I will wipe your bottom too. Sedated Mommy loves when her children hang on her and whine and fight. It's all good. Because she's Sedated Mommy.

Sedated Mommy is my happy place. Because if anyone really knew what I was thinking half of the time or what I wanted to do some of the time, well, it wouldn't be good. Crazy Mommy just isn't as nice as Sedated Mommy. Crazy Mommy really hates legos and wiping butts. She thinks whining is like nails on a chalkboard. And if Crazy Mommy watches one more episode of Caillou she may throw something at the television. (I mean, really, is there any television character MORE annoying than that damn Caillou? And the theme song! Ugh.) Crazy Mommy set her boys' bedroom clocks fifteen minutes behind so she can get just a few more minutes sleep in the morning. She is not a woman you want to wake up in the middle of the night unless you have a really, really good reason. (And for future reference, fetching you the stuffed turtle from your bedroom floor because you are lonely at 2 a.m. is so NOT a good reason.) Crazy Mommy keeps a bag of Hershey Kisses hidden in the car so she can bribe the kids with chocolate for peace n' quiet while she's driving. She lets her one year old play in the open refrigerator and with condiments just to give her five minutes to make dinner. And last night Crazy Mommy had to actually stop and think to remember the last time the kiddies had a bath in the last week.

Sedated Mommy, meet Crazy Mommy. Sometimes, I'm not sure which personality is winning the battle for my mommy soul. I think I am rooting for the crazy one.

The Smell to End all Bad Smells

Chris decided to break in the stove top cast iron smoker I got him for Christmas with a recipe for homemade beef jerky. (yes, I agree. Ick! Yuck! But, the guy loves his beef and if he's happy, then I'm happy.)

Meanwhile, Aidan decided to bust out with round twenty of yet ANOTHER bout of a stomach bug and vomit all over the upstairs carpet. I think he managed to hurl everywhere except, of course, in his tiled bathroom or the toilet.

Combine the smell of smoked cured beef with buckets of vomit and it's enough to make me want to self induce some vomiting. It's a bad smell. A very bad smell. It's a smell that refuses to dissipate despite the numerous lit candles, the jillion spent Lysol wipes and the freezing cold open windows.

This may keep us from having people over for quite some time.

Movie Friday

It was a rockin' party night at our house last night. While Chris watched the Sabres game downstairs, I retreated to the bedroom to mindlessly flip through channel after channel of god-awful Friday night television.

I fell onto a station airing "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." It was a cute movie. But beyond it's value as entertainment, it reminded me of when I first saw this movie at the theater. I was nine months pregnant with Aidan and desperate, DESPERATE to have the baby already. It was also the afternoon of my thirtieth birthday. Not only was I ready to burst and waddling on swollen ankles the size of hot air balloons, but I was also recovering from a bout of a severe stomach flu that saw me hospitalized and put on an iv. Ah, good times. Happy thirty to me.

This walk down memory lane made me stop and appreciate other movies that have gone beyond just two hours of entertainment, but remind me of a time in my life.

Air Force One: This movie still makes me break out in cold sweats and hives. I saw a late night viewing in a desperate attempt to keep my mind of the fact that I was taking the N.Y. Bar Exam the next day. Unfortunately, even Harrison Ford couldn't make me forget.

The Second Bridget Jones Diary: Similar situation to My Big Fat Greek Wedding - I was one week away from my due date with Brennan. But this time I was the personification of angry pregnant lady. Even the antics of Bridget Jones could not break my rage. After a half an hour, I left the movie muttering to myself of how "stupid" the whole thing was anyway. I then drove around in a crazy fit of red mist just willing myself into labor. It didn't work. I was still pregnant and still angry. I was induced a week later.

A Stinky New Game

We have enough toys and games in our post-Christmas stocked house to entertain a small country of children of all ages. But instead of playing with our toys or games, Aidan and Brennan, my inventive, imaginative little geniuses, made up a whole new game:

Stinky Butt.

It’s loads and loads of fun this ol’ stinky butt game. All it requires is for one child to chase another child around in their undies while yelling, “I’m going to get you with my stinky butt.” The child being chased screams and yells over and over until he is caught by the underwear beast/child. Once the underwear beast/child catches the fleeing/yelling child, he must attempt to rub his butt on said child while they all scream at decibels that could crack glassware. (or give you a headache. A nice, pounding headache.)

My friends who are mothers to girls get to play games that involve High School Musical karaoke or Cinderella dresses. I, on the other hand, have to endure Stinky Butt. And I have to tell you, it is, indeed, quite a stinky butt. (whew.)

On Demand

A few months ago, a friend introduced me to the wonders of “On Demand” children’s programming. It’s all the shows from PBS, Noggin and Nickelodeon that the kiddies adore at your fingertips with just a touch of the remote. For free! 24 Hours a Day! Whooha! And while, I swear, (truly!) that I do not allow my children to watch tv all day and all night, there is something comforting of the 24/7 availability of Caillou, Franklin and the rest of our television friends.

I loved it. Until yesterday. Yesterday, I dialed up an episode of our ever faithful Caillou for the boys to keep them entertained while I wrestled with dinner. The “PBS Sprout” on Demand introduction started with the oh, so familiar music and the boys started singing.

Chris: “What are the boys singing?”

In the background: "Day or night and online too... Sprout is always here for you!"

Me: Listening closely, “Hmmm, it sounds like they are singing the theme song to PBS on Demand.”

Chris: “They know the words to the whole song?”

Sigh. I guess all good things must come to an end, right?

Hey – has everyone heard about Noggin broadcasting for 24 hours now? No? Just me. Okay then.

Wegmans

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Story of the Necklace

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

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

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

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

"You so could not."

"I could."

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

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

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

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

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

It was the necklace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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



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

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

Christmas: Opening Day

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

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

Baby Jedi

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

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

"Okay." Brennan replied, always game.

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

Highs and Lows

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

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

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

It was not the Friday morning I had planned.

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

Large and In Charge

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

Too Much Christmas?

Signs we may be on Christmas overload at our home:

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

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

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

Brennan at Three

Happy three my sweet little boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Concert and the Tie

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


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

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

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.