A Tribute to Lincoln - First Grade Style

After a long day at work, what parent doesn't want to go see each class at Aidan's school from kindergarten to grade 8 put on a presentation that is a tribute to President Lincoln? (I know. Bad mommy. Bad.) But I'll admit it, I was weighing our odds of successfully escaping school presentation night at Aidan's school from the moment we entered the cafeteria. Thankfully, the school begins the night with the lowest grades. (The forlorn faces of the trapped eighth grade parents tugged at my heartstrings just a bit. I saw my future and it isn't pretty.)

Aidan and his class rocked their rendition of "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" and "Dixie" while dressed to impress in construction paper crafted pilgrim gear. While other parents brought out their impressive high tech gadgets to record the event for posterity's sake, I remembered I forgot to bring the camera and held out my cell phone. (Hey - it works, right?!)

After each class presented, they were ushered off to an ice cream social. Aidan accepted his scoop of ice cream as merely an excuse to ladle heaps of m&ms to the brim of the bowl. I even let him go up for seconds. (It's hard to say no to a boy eating ice cream in a pilgrim hat.) And I am sure even President Lincoln could appreciate a boy's love for candy coated chocolate.

Monday at the Playground

We continued to celebrate spring today. I bribed Brennan and Griffin with a trip to the playground to get us through a trip to Wegmans. It's amazing how agreeable two little boys can be after an hour in the sun running, jumping, and climbing.

Is it Spring? Could it Be?

Spring has sprung. (Well, maybe. In March, in Buffalo, spring is sort of an on again, off again proposition. Today, we enjoy sunshine and the birds chirping. Tomorrow it's a blizzard. That's how spring is ushered into Buffalo.)

But this time it could be different! Really! The weather forecast shows sun, sun and more sun for the next week! And 50 degrees baby. That's practically balmy for March in our parts.

It could not have come at a better time. Cabin fever has settled into our home. We are all a little sick of each other, of the four walls of our home, and of bitter cold temps. (It was an unbelievably, record breaking, cold winter.)

After an hour of tennis this morning, I rushed home to take the boys for a walk. We walked around the block enjoying the sunshine and sky of the bluest blue. We circled back after a bit and headed to our neighbors playground. (The boys call it the playground because while it is owned by our neighbors, it is about the size of the town playground. I am not exaggerating in the slightest. Thankfully, our neighbors graciously offered up their backyard playground for the use of all the kiddies in our locale. This may be because they are the type of people who can have like 8 kids, homeschool them and still appear unfazed.)

As I pushed Griffin in the sun, he giggled and lifted his face up to the sky. After a moment, he sighed and said, "I love the sun, Mommy."

I think we can all agree that we all love the sun. Now let's hope that mean month of March doesn't take away our sunshine please.

The 38th Year

Today Chris is 38. It's hard to imagine for me. I still see us young tykes instead of thirty somethings quickly advancing into middle age.

We celebrated his birthday with an adult dinner out at, of course, a steak house. (To Chris, steak is like chocolate. He is at his happiest with a big pile of succulent beef in front of him.) As I ate my petite filet and Chris wolfed down his 20 oz porterhouse, Chris remarked that the uber trendy couple next to us sharing a bottle of wine must be all of 12. I laughed and placed them at 23 or 24 years of age. It made us both realize our age. An age when anyone and everyone starts to look like a young un.

We are getting older. And in Chris's case, a little grayer. But if I had to do it all over again, I would still pick him to be by my side, to share my life, to grow older and grayer together.

March Roars Like a Lion

March roared its way into our life this week by taking all of us down with a nice ol' fashioned stomach bug. It's not March unless we are vomiting in our house, right? (Seriously. I checked my archives and literally a year and a week ago we all had a stomach bug. How's that for reliability?)

Our sole hold out was Brennan, who despite my being convinced he will fall at any moment, has endured and is healthy.

The stomach bug, some other health issues I have been dealing with (minor, but annoying), the gigantic piles of clean laundry tormenting me with hours of folding time, and the cabin fever settling into all of our bones has made me a little grumpy. (I say little, but I really mean alot grumpy. The kids and Chris can attest to that.)

But on Friday, I took a break from the grumpies, put boots on Griffin and Brennan and went outside to enjoy the muddy almost spring like day. The boys stomped in puddles, collected rocks and indulged their fascination with drains. I was amazed at how a simple thing like a muddy walk with a warm(ish) breeze blowing into your face can make you feel a million times better.

Shut What?

The boys were dancing to my mix of songs on my ipod when the shuffle switched to the song "Shut Up and Let Me Go" by the Ting Tings. (It's a catchy tune from one of the Apple commercials. Oh hell, I guess that's no help at all, considering ALL the songs from the Apple commercials are downright catchy. In fact, I may just well be Apple's itunes bitch because I seem to download every single song from every single commercial right after I hear it. Either that or I am just a marketing wet dream.)

The boys started strutting their stuff to the beat until Aidan let out a loud gasp at the first chorus.

I turned to him and asked with concern, "Aidan, are you okay?"

He turned bright red, shook his head and said softly, "Mom, that song just said a bad word." He turned to Brennan who danced on obliviously and yelled, "Brennan, did you hear that? A BAD WORD."

I honestly was confused and had to ask, "What are you talking about? What bad word?"

He looked back at me aghast, shook his head and walked close to me. He whispered, "Shut up. Mom, they said SHUT UP."

It was probably not one of my finer parental responses that I started giggling uncontrollably and couldn't stop for the duration of the song.

Exhaustion Sets In

I am tired. I am completely wiped out. Chris has been gone for five days and I desperately need a quiet moment, anywhere, anytime, someday. The boys, while they have certainly had their challenging moments, have on the whole been pretty good - no major incidents to report. But the lack of back up, of trading off to someone else, the inability to go to the bathroom without some little tyke banging on the door with a question or a need - it is bone deep exhausting.

The kids were especially crazy tonight, completely wound up after a pick up game of hockey in the foyer. (Our poor hardwood floors never had a chance with our brood.) The hockey game evolved into a game of tackle and wrestle. The wrestling switched into let's all climb on top of Aidan. And that's when I grabbed my phone (my pretty little iphone) and snapped this shot:



They are exhausting and crazy and they create noise levels I never knew possible. But they are mine. All mine.

Off to Ski

Chris left yesterday on his yearly guy trip to skiing wonderland. I was upbeat about the trip this year because life is easier and it will be great and we will SAIL through the five days he is gone! It will be a snap. (I'm funny, aren't I?)

Last night, Brennan woke up screaming at 2 a.m. He had a nightmare. I got him back in bed. I went back to bed. Brennan woke up screaming again at 3 a.m. Another nightmare. I get back to bed, start to drift off and Brennan decides he now has to use the boys' bathroom. He turns on every light in the hall and the bathroom and basically lights up our house as if it is Christmas Day. It is 3:30 a.m. and I am getting a little cranky.

I start to drift off yet again, but I am jolted awake by Chris's alarm clock screaming at 4 am. I resist throwing the thing across the room and attempt to get back to sleep. I snooze for an hour until I hear more screaming coming from the direction of the boys' rooms. It's Griffin and he is up. He informs me he is "ready to go downstairs now." It is 5:30 a.m.

Yep. I am starting to get alot less upbeat about Chris being gone for five days, child free, skiing with his buddies. A lot less upbeat.

Excuse me while I go hunt down an IV full of a caffeinated beverage.

Singing, Kisses and Some Hair Tangles

After we have all read books, I tuck each of the boys in their bed at night, laying down with them to hear about their day or just to cuddle.

Griffin goes first. We rock together on his chair and sing songs. His favorite song right now is "Old McDonald." I think, in part, because he laughs hysterically whenever I make an exaggerated animal noise. After we giggle our way through the farm noises, he picks another song that I softly sing to him as his head rests on my shoulder. He lets out more giggles when I lean over to steal a kiss during our song. Often, he will quietly sing along with me, watching me closely with his big blue eyes so intent.

Next on the bedtime routine is Brennan. Brennan loves to give kisses, kisses and more kisses. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my nose. I return his kisses with my own, listening to his little boy giggles when I evolve into the "Mommy Kissy Monster" who slobbers sloppy kisses on his neck. We chat about his day as he snuggles until he begs for one minute to lay on my back and play with my ponytail. Tonight, he snagged the elastic holding my hair back and claimed it as his own, hiding it in the recesses of his bed. The last words Brennan always says to me, every night, including tonight - "I love you Momma. You're the best."

And last is Aidan. Aidan loves to talk about his day interwoven with cuddles and hugs. Tonight he asked if he could untangle my mess of a hair after Brennan made off with my pony tail holder. Piece by piece, he gently unwound my hair with his fingers weaving carefully through my strands, careful not to pull or hurt me.

After a few minutes, he smiled at me and softly asked, "Does that feel nice Mommy?" When I told him it did, that I had forgotten how wonderful it was to have someone play with my hair, he smiled again and said, "I could do this for you every night! So then when you go to brush your hair at night, all the tangles would already be gone and you never would get hurt. Ever!"

I have moments where I love them so much I honestly feel like my heart could burst from the sheer force of it. My singing, kissing, hair untangling sweet boys - how will I ever stand to have them grow up?

With Confidence and Joy

9 months after I started playing tennis, I finally have won a singles match. It felt good. It was jumping up and down, hooting and cheering, unbelievably good.

I walked into the tennis club tonight with butterflies in my stomach and my hands shaking from nerves. Halfway through the match, we took a quick water break and I could barely drink from my water bottle because my hands shook so badly. My hands still shook when we handed in our score card at the end.

My goal in tennis is always to have fun, but I also hope to grow to into a player and a person who has more confidence, both on and off the court. I am just a beginner and I will probably stay a beginner for years and years, but I’d like to be a beginner who embraces the game with confidence and joy.

I have a feeling tonight’s win will go a long way to helping me achieve that goal.

Our Little Old Man

The teachers at Griffin's school call him their two year old little "old man." This nickname started a few months ago when he approached his buddy Jacob, smiled and said, "Jacob! Would you like to come over to the mat and play with me please?"

He has come out with some equally old mannish phrases and a few doozies that are fairly funny, but his teachers were lining up at the door to tell me about "terrible, terrible" last week.

One of Griffin's friends scratched him in a disagreement over a crayon. After the teacher put the little boy in time out, Griffin pointed his finger at his friend, shook it and said, "Dominick! That was terrible of you! Terrible, terrible, terrible!"

A few minutes later, the director of the center walked into Griffin's classroom and heard what happened. She asked Griffin if he was okay. He sadly shook his head no and told her, "Miss Mary, it was terrible. Just terrible, terrible, terrible."

This has become Griffin's catch phrase now. Any time we walk by a teacher from his school, they chuckle softly and murmur, "terrible, terrible, terrible."

I admit it. I sort of miss the days he was known as the toddler yelling "Go Obama!" around the school.

People!

We were sharing a family dinner when Brennan asked to be excused from the table to go to the bathroom. After ten minutes had passed, we all realized Brennan was still missing.

"Brennan?" I yelled.

"Brennan?" Aidan shouted.

"Brennan, are you in the bathroom?" Chris asked loudly.

At no response, I asked again, "Brennan, what are you doing?"

Finally, we hear a loud sigh from the downstairs bathroom. (Brennan refuses to shut the door when he is in the bathroom. There is no such thing as privacy in our life.)

After the sigh, Brennan yells back, "People! I am dealing with some serious gas issues in here, okay? We are talking about LOTS and LOTS of gas."

Never ask a question when you aren't sure you really want to know the answer.

Valentine's

I am not a huge fan of Valentine's Day. It doesn't seem like a real holiday to me, but a somewhat contrived made up day created to get people shopping in their mid-winter, post holiday gloom. We decided to opt out of the traditional romantic notion of Valentine's Day this year and instead hosted a little gathering for a few friends. Friends that, well, like to play Rock Band. For hours and hours and hours.

That's how it started at least. Then we added a mini-spa day for the ladies in the morning. We enjoyed massages, facials and much quality time on the lovely chaise lounges in the serene ladies' retreat room. We finally nudged ourselves out of the fluffy robes and went out to lunch.

After lunch, we ran home to change for our doubles tennis tournament. One hour, two tennis courts, four couples and lots of laughing. The tennis play ranged from Christine and me who started playing in June, Cynthia who has played since high school and our hubbies who barely ever get out to a court unless we drag them to the (wow, we were totally out of our league) expert levels of our dear tennis rock star friends Carolyn and Mike. It made for interesting (and really funny) matches.

The kids were at our house under the watchful eye of babysitter Nicole, who took off like a shot the minute Chris and I got home. As I watched the kids quietly enjoy a snack at the kitchen table, I commented on how they were playing so nicely and quietly. I was quite impressed with all of their behavior.

They all looked back at me wide eyed and smiled innocently until sweet little Hayden (Greg and Cynthia's daughter - almost 4 years old) commented with glee, "We are now. We were alot louder and wilder when just Nicole was here. You should have seen us then!"

I was laughing too hard to have a response.

The adults regrouped at our house after showers with pizza. We fed the kids, got them all settled into the playroom and commenced our reentry into the land of rock band. I am not sure what our slight addiction to this game says about all of us, but at least I know the addiction is shared with good company.

We stayed up way past all our bedtimes. Much, much too late.

I don't think the life of a rock star ever faced the harsh reality of the oh, too early 7 a.m. wake up call by the ever energetic kiddies. This rock star needs a nap, or maybe a nanny?

Easier

I took some time to stroll down memory lane yesterday. I read my old blog posts from the past two winters and realized, suddenly, that life has gotten easier. Not easy, mind you. Life with small children is never easy, but it's eased up a bit, allowed a little bit of breathing room. Life is easier.

This is the first year in six years that we have not added a new baby to our lives when our youngest hits two. I never got to enjoy the part where your youngest seeks independence and needs you just a wee bit less. I was otherwise engaged in the sleep deprived, nursing, all hours trenches created by a newborn. I am sad as I watch Griffin transform from sweet baby to fiercely independent (and strong willed) toddler, but it also gives me a break to do such exciting things like pick up the kitchen or throw in a load of laundry.

We have had a mild flu season this year so far. (knocking on wood!) The past two winters have been fairly horrific, but this year apart from a few colds and one mild visit from a stomach bug for Griffin, we have muddled through without major incident. Last year, we literally lived through back to back stomach bugs, flus and coughs from January through March. I shudder just to remember it.

Chris is traveling less. He will always have to travel as part of his job, but as his company has flourished he has been able to hire real life actual employees to do some of the traveling for him. He is home more. And this makes my life a hell of a lot easier. (and happier!)

I read the day to day accounts of my life from the last two years and honestly, there is a part of me that isn't sure how I did it. We sleep through the night now - until the ripe hour of 7 a.m. The boys play together, entertaining themselves for an hour or more! I get to share drop off and pick up on the days I work now, with a husband that is home to help with the bedtime routine. I have had time to rediscover myself, spending an hour, three times a week, to enjoy the game of tennis.

Life is easier. We were always happy. We always felt blessed to live our life with our three amazing, beautiful children. Our life, in the last six years, has always been a good place to live. It may never be easy, but what a welcome relief to know it does get easier.

More Whining as a Prelude to the Catwalk

Our whining started Sunday morning.

"I really don't feel like going out tonight," Chris confided over our morning coffee.

I quickly agreed and added, "Sunday nights are supposed to be spent at home."

We whined more and more as the day continued. I even whined to my brother Travis on the phone later that afternoon when he asked what we were up to that day.

"We have to go to a fundraiser - the Catwalk for Charity thing by Ryan Miller." I said and then quickly added, "But we really don't want to go. Really don't." I let out a huge sigh and continued, "But we have to."

My brother, knowing me very well, just laughed and said, "That's what you always say. I'll read on your blog how you and Chris were partying it down in a few days."

How well he does know us. We may not have partied it down. (I mean, no shots of tequila were consumed while dancing on top of a bar or anything.) But we had much, much fun. Open bar, yummy food, good friends and Buffalo celebrity sightings galore. (I mean, hello!, the principal guy from Saved by the Bell was there people. This is good stuff.)

My girlfriends and I spent a little too much time in the photo booth with a life size cutout of Ryan Miller, only to gawk at the real thing when we stepped out of the booth and found him standing right in front of us. We managed to put ourselves together a few minutes later and breezily chat him up on the money he was raising for cancer programs by hosting the shin dig. (And then Christine had to go and ruin it when he walked away by informing us he must think we are all "very, very old women." Sniff. Who you calling old?)

At one point in the evening, I got trapped in a corner behind two former Buffalo Bills - Jim Kelly and Alex Van Pelt. After a few minutes of being stuck and a few laughing glances by my friends who were engaging them in conversation, both guys realized I was there, grabbed me in a group hug and declared "I was trapped in the sweet spot." (I only wish I had taken my friend Greg up on his offer of 20$ if I grabbed both their asses at once. Damn. One more glass of wine and I would have been golden.)

The live auction continued, for the third year in a row, to be out of our bidding league. I wanted the sweet little black lab puppy so bad I even had Chris convinced we could bid on his furry doggie cuteness. Until the players' wives decided they wanted him too and bid it up to $6000. Yes, a tad bit too much for us. We also convinced ourselves that maybe, just maybe, if we got all of our friends to pitch in we could afford the Iron Chef backyard barbecue competition, complete with wine tasting and Sabres sous chefs. And then it went for $10,000. So, not so much success on the auction for us, unless you count our drooling over the deep pockets of the other fancier guests.

I also did a little bit of drooling on my newest itty bitty crush on Paul Gaustad. (Hi Paul! You handsome devil you! If you like mid thirties women who have given birth to three children, have stretch marks and regularly wear spanx, then call me, k? Let's make it happen!)

Wisdom

Brennan, Griffin and I set off this morning to Target to pick out Valentine's cards. 1 hour, 2 icees, 1 popcorn and a 100$ later, we were headed home. I am baffled by Target and the 100$ rule. It matters not what I head inside its doors for, I will inevitably walk out 100$ poorer.

My 100$ mandatory donation to Target today included an impossible to resist red trench coat. I didn't have a chance to try it on until later that afternoon. As I contemplated my purchase in the bathroom mirror, I turned to Aidan and Brennan and asked what they thought.

"Do you like it? Do you think it looks okay?" I asked as I stared into the mirror.

"Sure," answered Brennan.

"You look nice Mom." Aidan said.

After a beat he continued, "But, you know, it really shouldn't matter to you what we think. It doesn't matter what other people think. What matters is if you like it."

I like when my six year old reminds me of the important things.

Good Morning

I am not a morning person. Not even in the slightest. I take forever to wake up and once awake, tend towards the cranky until I have had a cup of coffee or two(or three.) Chris knows this. And even our boys know it. On the weekends, they never wake me up. EVER. They quietly and gently shake Chris awake and let me blissfully slumber on in peace. (My sweet boys. I have, on the occasion when I am feeling guilty, told the boys to wake me up instead of Chris on a weekend morning. But even with that request, the boys are reluctant to disturb me.)

I have come to realize I am better in the morning if I attempt to wake up before the boys. This works best on the days I work because it allows me to have a cup of coffee, slowly wake up at my own pace and get things organized for our morning rush. I enjoy my morning alone time, as much as it is possible when you must be awake at 6 a.m.

But now Aidan is on to me. He has figured out my early morning routine and sleepily will trudge downstairs minutes after me. At first, I admit, I was not happy at sharing my morning solitude. But this morning changed everything.

This morning, Aidan shuffled into the kitchen to greet me wordlessly with eyes half closed with sleep. He grabbed my hands and pulled me over to the couch. I sat down and he quietly crawled into my lap. We snuggled in the quiet of the morning, peacefully, for a good fifteen minutes. Just me and my sweet first born boy.

The first words he spoke were a good five minutes into the cuddle session. He lifted his head, smiled at me and whispered, "I love you Mommy."

It's enough to make me want to be a morning person. Almost.

Smackers, Smoochers and the Sloppy Ones

Brennan has a bedtime routine of giving kisses. He tells me where each kiss will go, but likes to surprise me with the variety of kiss he will bestow upon me. He is not done until he has kissed each of my cheeks, my forehead, the tip of my nose and my chin at least once. Often, he likes to hit them all twice. Sometimes three times.

The smacker kiss is one of his favorites. He grabs my cheek, smacks his lips together and makes loud smacking noises as he pushes his lips into my cheek. It's a variation on the smoocher where he lightly presses his lips to my forehead and makes fish like noises as he kisses me. And then there is the sloppy kiss. Let's just say the sloppy kiss is certainly sloppy, and involves a nice wet cheek when all is said and done.

At the end of the kissing, Brennan will smile and whisper to me, "And now Momma you get your nice kiss." He will lean over and barely, softly, brush his little puckered lips up against my cheek. Then for good measure, he pats my cheek and tells me to "rub the kiss in so it lasts you all night long." Every night, without fail, I obey him and rub my cheek in a circle to ensure no magic is lost from his sweet, soft little boy kiss.

The world would be a better place if we all ended our day with a smacker, a smoocher, a sloppy one and a sweet, nice kiss to last us all night long.

Sweetness

Three things, sweet things, from the mouths of my babes that I must commit to memory from this weekend.


1. Friday was a rough day in our house. Griffin caught a stomach bug and was doing his best to vomit on any area of our house that had previously been left untouched and unstained. Brennan, disturbed by all the attention being focused on Griffin by me because of said bug, decided to act out. He acted out spectacularly. My only saving grace to the day was going to be my promise of an hour of tennis that evening. And then tennis was canceled.

I was not in a good place. The boys were fighting and yelling and in a bad moment of temper, I slammed a drawer shut in the kitchen. The drawer broke off and fell onto my foot. As my foot throbbed with pain, I went into the living room, away from the kiddies for a moment for a good pity cry. I sat in the dark for a minute with my eyes closed. I opened them to see Aidan standing next to me. Wordlessly, he climbed up next to me on the couch, cuddled with me and gave me hugs.

Later that night, I thanked Aidan for coming in to give me a hug. "I really needed it, Aidan," I said to him, "Thank you for doing it."

"I know you needed it Mom. And I was the only one out of the three of us that wanted to..."

2. Saturday night was a quiet family night in our house. We watched a movie, had pizza and were simply content to hang out in our pjs. As I put Griffin to bed that night, we rocked for a minute in his rocking chair in his bedroom. He rested his head on my shoulder and snuggled into me while I rocked. After a few minutes, he lifted his head, smiled at me and said, "Momma, you're my best friend. I wuv you."

I smiled at him, resisting the urge to giggle, and replied, "You're my best friend too G."

"Thank you Mommy. I go to bed now."

That is a perfect way to send a child off to bed.

3. We celebrated the Superbowl over at our friend Christine and Dylan's home. They have an adorable golden retriever, Simon, who is loved by my boys. Unfortunately, Simon's treat that afternoon had been a giant container of peanut butter. Due to Brennan's peanut allergies, Christine locked Simon up in her bedroom.

Simon was not pleased and protested by barking loudly. When Dylan asked Christine why Simon was locked up, Brennan was listening intently to Christine's explanation about his allergies. He looked up at Dylan and said, "I can go, if you want. I can go."

It broke my heart with its sweetness. My lovely little boy willing to leave the party so the dog could be freed.

A Special Lunch

I spent lunch today with Aidan. Once a year, his school hosts a special persons lunch and each student gets to invite a person or two to share lunch in the decorated, festive cafeteria. Last year, Chris went – and this year, Aidan decided he wanted me to go.

The parents get really into the lunch and bring special menus to please the kiddies. Parents come into the school bearing pizzas, take out bags and picnic baskets. There are also the brave souls who come to the lunch to purchase the cafeteria food with the students. (I am not so brave.) I brought Aidan’s requested meal of chicken nuggets, french fries and chocolate milk. (He’s a fast food connoisseur.)

The parents gather in the cafeteria and wait for the children to come in with their class. One by one, we watch the teachers usher in their students as they walk in a single file line. The students are dismissed in a mass, off to find their “special person.” It was wonderful to see the kids’ faces light up as they spotted their mom, father or grandparent waiting for them. Kids raced everywhere, jumping up to give hugs with glee.

Aidan and I gabbed with his friends and their parents while he ate. He sat as close as possible to me, hugging my arm, rubbing his hand against my hand and softly touching the back of my hair. Near the end of the lunch, one of the other mothers smiled at me and said, “He is such a sweet boy.”

He is truly such a sweet boy. There is a part of me that never wants him to change. I wish I could box him up and have him remain my sweet little boy forever, hugging my arm - just happy to be with his mom.

Cookie Jar

I have a love-hate relationship with parents' magazines. I love to read and have amassed a startling number of subscriptions to monthly reads, including several child-parent type mags. But to be honest, the parents magazines annoy me. They always profile these freakish parents who live and breathe their kids and come up with things that I would never even dream of in order to ensure a perfect universe in which to raise their precious young'uns.

(Like the one magazine that profiled the mommy who wanted her children to eat only organic veggies so she started a completely organic garden in her backyard, complete with her own COMPOST PILE. I mean seriously. Who has time to do this? Really? In this same issue, they also profiled a mother who keeps her grocery list on her blackberry so she can buy food that only has rebates back into her children's college accounts and is on sale. Ain't she thrifty? Now, when I go to the grocery store, I'm just happy if I remember to use a few coupons, the kids are alive at the end and I haven't harmed any innocent shoppers with my gigantic, extended kiddie friendly shopping cart. (After reading this issue, I think I both canceled my subscription and wrote them a letter asking if anyone who works at their magazine actually HAS any children. I doubt it.)

Okay, I digress. Every once in a while, one of these magazines does have a cute tradition or a tip I find helpful. A few months ago one of the blurbs was about creating a winter tradition of baking cookies. A mother wrote that she had a special winter themed cookie jar she brought out at the first snow and baked cookies with her kids to keep it filled all winter long. (Now this I can get behind! Cute cookie jar and baking! Yipee.)

I picked up an adorable snowman jar at Target and with help from the boys, we got a baking. The boys love the baking, they definitely love the eating and they love peeking into our cookie jar for a snack.

This afternoon, the cookie jar was empty. Unfortunately, our cabinets were also pretty empty. Using the ingredients on hand, we improvised a chocolate cookie with mini marshmallows. I wasn't quite sure how it would turn out, but we may have hit a home run. Aidan declared it his "favorite cookie ever." Brennan concurred that it was "the bestest cookie." And Griffin yelled triumphantly, "And I make it! I make the cookie!" before he took a huge bite.

The boys glowed as we filled up our jar with our creations. And I decided that maybe, just maybe, there may be some value to these parents magazines after all.

They had us at Limo Bus

Imagine a gigantic limo bus. Now imagine that bus filled with twenty four kiddies. TWENTY FOUR kids, ages 2 to 13. Would you want to be one of the adults on that bus?

Our neighbor organized an outing to Disney on Ice. But being our neighborhood, this wasn't just a plain ol' excursion to watch Mickey skate. Oh no. They rented a limo bus. They rented out the new local kiddie gym for two hours. We would feast on pizza, let our kids bounce and jump and run their heads off, and then, only then would we make it to Disney on Ice.

I'll be honest. Chris and I could not stop giggling when the whole shin dig was explained to us. Who lives like this? Who does this? But the thought of doing it was too tempting to say no.

And that is how we came to spend a Friday night on a fancy bus with two dozen children.

My boys were so excited at all of it that I thought they would burst from sheer excitement. We live across the street from the organizers, so when that giant bus pulled up in front of our house, Aidan and Brennan were squealing with glee. It didn't help their anxiety level that I was still in my pjs. (Don't judge. It's my Friday at home - an unofficial pj day in our house.) The boys kept screaming at me to get dressed already! We can't miss the bus! The bus may leave! We must get on the bus!

After we were on the bus, the bus traveled slowly around the neighborhood to pick up other families. It was very funny to see eight other families in their driveways waiting for their bus pick up.

We all loaded up, complete with drinks (both kiddie and adult), snacks and music, and headed to the kiddie gym. The gym is new to our neighborhood and we haven't had a chance to check it out yet. The boys loved it. It was pretty amazing. They climbed up rock walls and nets. They did uneven bars and rings. They jumped into a giant pit of foam cubes. Griffin did his first balance beam. A good time was definitely had by all. By the end of the playtime, they were all a sweaty, exhausted mess.

We refortified with pizza and headed downtown to HSBC arena. On the bus ride there, the organizers passed out favors to all the kids - large, swirly glass globes on sticks that played music and lit up in psychedelic colors. The kids went wild.

And then... Disney on Ice. While the other kids stared transfixed at the ice show, Aidan and Brennan kept up a running commentary the entire first half.

"Is this real Momma? Where's the puck? Where's the hockey guys? Is the ice real Momma? What are they doing? Who are these people? Why is that girl gliding around the ice? Who is she supposed to be? Did she jump? What happens if they fall? Do they get in trouble? Is she going to fall? Is she going to trip? How did they do that? Where's the music coming from? What happened to the lights? Who's back there? What's up with the castle?" Imagine all this and more (much more) for a good 45 minutes.

My personal favorite was two quotes from Brennan: Every time they ended a number or had a break in the music, Brennan would shake his head and yell, "Is it over? Now? Is it over?" Every. Single. Time. He also finished our entire bucket of popcorn. When he reached the bottom of the bucket, he sighed and said, "Wow, I hope no one wanted any more popcorn." And then he burped. Loudly.

Griffin, meanwhile was in awe. He oohed. He ahhed. He danced with his arms up in the air. I honestly didn't care much for the show myself, but to see it through Griffin's eyes and expressions was a delight. I could have watched his face all night.

When all was said and done, we didn't get home until 10 pm - a good three hours past our normal bedtime for the boys. I said a quiet prayer the boys would sleep in this morning.

I should have known better. I really should have known better.

Scenes from the gym portion of the evening:

Fore What?

Brennan asked to give me a kiss on my head. He lightly kissed my forehead, and then asked, "What do you call that part of your head momma?"

"My forehead?" I replied, uncertain.

"Forehead?" He said unbelievably, "I like to call it my egg head. Do you want another kiss on your egg head momma?"

Sure, B. Sure.

Snowy Friday

It is bitter cold here - so cold that you want to wrap yourself up in fleece and stay inside until spring. The 20 below temps made me cave to Aidan when he wanted to stay home from school. The thought of all of us, warm in our pjs, playing and doing nothing much at all was too tempting to pass up.

We stayed in our pajamas all day. We played Legos and space ship. We made home made chocolate chip cookies and ate them warm from the oven. And then we all climbed up into my bed, popped in a dvd, and snuggled under the covers to watch it.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

It was so perfect that I almost forgot about Brennan and Griffin's yearly appointments at the doctor's office. Reluctantly, we changed out of our pjs into more presentable attire to trudge through the cold to the doctors.

In an act of maternal genius, I scheduled both boys in a group appointment. It made it go faster, seemed to keep everyone much more calm and less scared. Brennan handled the exam like a champ. He is in the 95% for both weight and height. And he also appears to be colorblind.

I had a hunch he might be color blind for about a year, but the doctor confirmed it today. My poor guy. I am honestly not at all sure what this means yet, beyond the fact that Brennan will never be able to match his own clothes!

Griffin also did great with the exam. He is in the 95% for height - and off the charts considerably for weight. He weighs about the same weight as an average three year old. He is one solid little boy, who may just be genetically predisposed for the football career he is currently obsessed with. (He will only wear clothes related to or about football. This has narrowed our choices considerably.)

After the exams, we came home and had dinner. The boys begged to watch one last show before bedtime upstairs with all of us cuddled up back in bed. Chris came home from work and found us upstairs, all in our pjs, snug as bed bugs. It's a good way to spend a Friday night.

Foreshadowing

I was changing out of my clothes from work while Aidan and Griffin played in Griffin's room. Brennan was in the boys' bathroom on a potty break. After a few minutes, I heard the toilet flush. And then it flushed again. And again. And again. And quickly, it flushed again.

Remembering Brennan was the child in the bathroom, I got a tad worried and I hightailed it to the bathroom to check on things. I found Brennan hunched over the toilet, flushing the toilet with his head almost in the bowl, watching the water go down the drain.

"Brennan?! What are you doing?" I asked (maybe screeched... just a little.)

"The water won't go all the way down Momma. It's stays up. I think it's broken."

I looked over at the toilet, saw the water resume it's normal level in the absence of repeated flushing, and assured him it was fine.

Brennan gazed at the toilet thoughtfully for a long minute. He turned to me and asked with contemplation, "Momma? What would happen if a whole lot of toilet paper got put in there? Would it stop working then?"

"That's not going to happen, so it doesn't matter, right Brennan?" I said with emphasis.

"No, no. But, if it did? If somebody did put a whole lot of stuff in there?" He asked gesturing to the toilet. "If they did do that, would the water go everywhere? Would there be a whole lot of water running all over the place?"

"Brennan. We do not put anything in the toilet, okay? NOTHING in the toilet."

"Why? Why can't we?"

"Because, it will break the toilet. And you will have no where to go potty." I said with force.

"And water would go everywhere! All over everywhere!" He said clapping his hands and with one last backwards glance at the toilet he walked out of the bathroom.

I sense trouble flowing our way. Big overflowing, watery trouble.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: My Monday in a Nutshell

The Good: Tonight, rocking Griffin in my arms before bed watching his eyes close as I softly sang "Blackbird." I stopped for a moment when I thought he was asleep, ready to put him into bed, when he opened his eyes to look at me, smiled and said softly, "More singing momma. I want more."

More Good: Tonight, watching Brennan declare he wanted to give a hug to Aidan before bed, right before he jumped on top of Aidan in bed and tickled him. They giggled together for at least five minutes. There is no sound sweeter than that of a child giggling.

The Bad: The incessant smoke alarms going off periodically for an hour because I spilled lasagna in the oven. I had to open every door and window in the house to get them all (like five of them!) to stop screeching in unison. It's winter in Buffalo. I thought we were all going to turn into Popsicles. And my neighbors may think we are a tad insane.

The Ugly: Catching Brennan in the bathroom after he dropped his mini soccer ball in the toilet. He shrugged, grabbed it out of the toilet he HAD JUST PEED IN, and them WIPED IT OFF WITH HIS SHIRT. When I gasped and yelled, "Brennan?!" He looked at me surprised and said, "What?" Because in Brennan's world - that is completely acceptable hygienic behavior.

Just an Hour, I Swear

Chris and I start almost all of our nights out with the pre-function whining. We will whine about having to leave the house, or having to get dressed up or make ourselves look presentable. We will share jointly out loud to each other our fantasy weekend night - a night at home watching a movie. In our pajamas. And then we really up the ante when we talk about how great it would be to go to bed really, really early and wake up the next day refreshed from our perfect quiet evening at home.

The whining continues as we both get dressed, as we prepare to leave, hug the kids goodbye and bid farewell to the babysitter. We then, almost always, assure the babysitter we will not be longer than an hour, because, truly we just want to be home. Quite and comfortable at home.

We mean it. We do. It just never happens. Inevitably, once we get where ever we are, join in whatever festivities we have planned, we evolve into party people. I don't know how it happens, but the next thing I know, the night has stretched from one hour into many.

Last night was such a night. We were invited to a friend's 40th birthday party celebration - Vegas style. The invite specified dressy attire. I was cranky when I was forced to bust out the cocktail dress and make up. Chris moaned about having to wear a jacket. We promised each other - an hour, maybe two - but at the most, home by 11. Sure.

The party was fantastic. We were greeted by a life size Elvis and balloons galore. Upon walking in the door, you were given a raffle ticket and each half hour a ticket was drawn for someone to spin a giant wheel of fortune wheel for party favors. And these were not your grandma's party favors. Throughout the night, we saw people winning ipods, sabres tickets and gift certificates.

Everyone was dressed to the nines, including a guest who came dressed as Elvis, resplendent in a polyester jump suit. There were five black jack tables and a roulette wheel all manned by dealers. I played black jack for hours, laughing harder than I thought possible with a drink constantly kept full by friends or the waitresses. Chris and a friend were constantly running back and forth from our spot at the black jack table to place bets on roulette. It was pure mayhem and lots of fun.

At the end of the night, guests were asked to cash in their chips for more raffle tickets. The chosen tickets got a chance for thirty seconds in a cash machine filled with two hundred, dollar bills. I can not tell you how absolutely hysterical it is to see people with many a drink in them jumping for dollars at 1 am. Dollar bills were shoved into dresses and pants as people cheered and hooted. It was a riot.

We were home late. Very, very late. It wasn't the early Saturday night at home watching a movie we had dreamed about, but I think I liked my late night gambling in Vegas just the same. But next time, just an hour, or two, I swear. Really.

The Party Circuit

Aidan's first foray into the birthday party circuit was at the age of four. He had just turned four and while he had attended parties for children of my and Chris's friends, this was his very first invite solely for him and secured by him. It was quite an occasion.

The party was at the home of his buddy Seth. (not Uncle Seth, but Seth of the Whoville, preschool set.) When we arrived the rest of the party goers were jumping with glee in a giant bounce house. The boys called to Aidan, but Aidan shook his head and clutched my legs in fear. He basically spent the first half of the party hanging on to my legs or my arms, scared to death at the whole thing. We watched all the other kiddies bounce and play, make crafts or swing, but Aidan was resolute in his determination to stay attached to me.

He started to warm up about half way into the party. He may have even let go of me for a brief exploratory moment or two, right up until he had to go to the bathroom. And that's how we spent the second half of the party. In the bathroom.

While all the other kiddies ate birthday sheet pizza and sang "happy birthday", I stayed with Aidan who was working out one hell of a poopie. He literally SCREAMED during most of the bathroom experience. ("Oh this is a hard pooopie! Oh Momma, this poopie HURTS. It's a horrible poopie!" - all yelled at the top of his lungs no matter how many times I pleaded with him to lower his voice an octave or two.) I prayed the other parents couldn't hear us over the celebratory din, but sure enough when we finally emerged into daylight, I caught the smirks and grins on the other parents faces. We were a playground story in the making, I am sure.

Today, Brennan had his first birthday party for a friend from school. Brennan is also four. And while he has attended parties for the children of our friends, this was his very first party outing that was all about him. He reveled in it from the minute he opened up the invitation. He pranced with glee when he said goodbye to his brothers this afternoon and explained to them with a slight air of superiority that he was off to a party. For his friend. His party. And he would eat cake. With his friend. At his friend's party. (I am not exaggerating. It went on like this for days.)

We got to the party. Brennan ran into the party without a backward glance to me. He barely said goodbye. And when I said goodbye to him, he gave me a half wave and barely noticed. He stayed at the whole party, without me or Chris, for an hour and a half. I am still a little shell shocked at how easy the whole thing was to do - for me and for Brennan.

We Present Our Drummer Boy

Aidan was devastated when his Christmas pageant was canceled due to a snowstorm. He was ecstatic the teacher rescheduled it for today. The Little Drummer Boy got to make his debut after all. (And the costume of choice for the Shepherd/drummer boy set? Towels! Teachers are geniuses.)

(And I swear, I only cried once. Watching the first graders, in their costumes, signing and singing Silent Night would have been an emotional moment for the strongest of people. Truly.)

Acceptance

One of the things I try to remember as a parent is to take my children for who they are and not who I want them to be. I repeated this often to myself as a mantra when Aidan would cling to my legs for hours at birthday parties while all the other boys would run off to play, leaving their moms happily forgotten. He is my slow adjuster. He warms up and will be off to play eventually, but it will take him more time than the other boys. And that is okay. This is who he is.

I haven't had to use my mantra for a while, well, until today. Today, I got Aidan set up at the kitchen table happily working on math problems and spelling words. In order to keep the other two munchkins busy I set Griffin up with coloring and Brennan up with tracing letters.

Brennan is fantastic at tracing letters, but he would prefer to stay in the dark about the actual names of the letters. Who needs pesky names anyway? Brennan doesn't. He could care less. Letters, schmetters. And deep down, this drives me insane. How can he not care? How? I realized that I am better at parenting the child who can't wait to show you what he has learned, who is eager to learn more and who wants to be the best at his letters, his words and his math. But this isn't Brennan. Brennan marches to the beat of his own drummer. And I must remember who he is, and not who I want him to be.

I haven't quite figured out how to get Brennan excited about learning. But for now, I am resolved to keep at it, with my sense of humor intact, and my mantra handy. Because the truth is, I love him for who he is, my sweet four year old little boy and I wouldn't want to change a thing. Letters and all.

Popcorn Fest

We had a lovely family day today. We shortened up nap time and took the boys to a movie, Bolt, and out for dinner. The movie was cute - truly just an excuse for the kiddies to gorge on popcorn. Brennan looked crestfallen when the closing credits ran across the screen, grabbed my hand and asked me, "Momma, Can we please do this again, soon? Please? I love this."

How can you deny that boy a thing? Really.

After the movie we went out for dinner. We each got our drink and egged on by Griffin had to toast each other with "cheers" before any of us could take a sip. The simple act of watching my family toast each other with chocolate milk across the dinner table was enough to put a smile on my face for the rest of the night. That, and the joy in which Griffin greeted his side of broccoli.

"Broccoli! Broccoli! Yum, Broccoli!" He yelled with pleasure as he feasted. There is something amazing about having a child who loves up many a fruit and vegetable and treats them as a delicacy. I think Aidan shuddered, ate a french fry, and acted generally disgusted by his baby brother's appetite for all things wholesome.

We ended the night with a sloppy kiss showdown between Brennan and me. Upon hearing the giggles, Aidan ran into the room, jumped into Brennan's bed and joined in the mess. My cheeks became a slobbery, well kissed mess after my boys were done. I told them both I would give them each one last, sweet, non sloppy kiss to end the night. At my soft kiss good night on his forehead, Brennan sweetly smiled and said, "That was the kiss, Momma. I loved that kiss. I'm going to rub that one in to make it last."

I loved each of their kisses. Even the slobbery, slimy wet ones. I only wish I could rub each of them in to make them last.

High, a Low, and a High

Motherhood is life amidst many a high and a low. I spend most of my life wanting to eat my children whole such is my love for them. This all encompassing, overwhelming love in which you believe they are truly the moon, the sun and the stars all wrapped up in this adorable package for you to love unabashedly. Love in its purest, most beautiful form.

And then there are the lows. The lows in which you question how the hell did I get here. Here! Among the noise, the yelling, the fighting, the incessant whining. How did I get here? Here! A life where I am a slave to requests for more milk, feed me, he hit me, help me, wipe me, blah, blah, blah, whiny, whiny, blah. How did I get here? Here! A place where my needs don't matter at all to the child set.

The lows are the worst not only because they are the lows, but because you hate yourself for the sheer existence of the lows. A good mother never has lows. A good mother dances through her day loving each moment with her children. How dare I not feel blessed and perfect? Pile a huge mountain of guilt on top of the lows and your shoulders are horribly weighed down by the burden of it all.

In the midst of the lows today (the fighting, the whining and the yelling - nonstop), when I felt as if my head was truly going to explode, Griffin caught my eye, smiled at me and yelled, "My Momma!." He ran to me with his arms wide open and a huge smile on his face. Without hesitation, he jumped up into my arms, hugged me close and said again, "My Momma." He put his head on my shoulder and held me as tight as I held him.

I breathed him in deeply and just like that I was back to the high. The highs make you forget all about the lows. The highs make it all worth it.

Hosting Denial

Chris and I went from having no plans on New Years Eve to hosting a dinner/wii playing party for six. I am clearly in denial about tonight's festivities as my house is a disaster (toys! toys! and gigantic plastic roller coaster!); I (and the kids) are still in pjs; and I am surfing online rather than doing anything I need to do. (Except for my lovely chocolate mocha layer cake I made this morning. Because, of course, dessert is always my priority, right?)

Denial is a wonderful thing. Happy New Year!

The Overnight

One of my gifts to Chris was a trip overnight to ski. I have to admit that the gift is as much a gift to him as it is to me. A night away to regroup, to have some quiet time and to simply enjoy each other without distractions is precious when you have little ones out and about your home.

I love the overnight trip. It's perfect. It's not too long that I feel guilty about leaving the kids. It's not too long that I miss them horribly. And it's just long enough to feel as if you have truly had a chance to get away from it all.

The overnight allows me to fall a little more in love with my husband, all over again. We laugh a whole lot. We talk more than I think possible. And I am reminded how lucky I am to share my life with this man.

Yes, it truly is a gift to me just as much as it is to him.

Christmas

I had dreamed the boys would sleep in on Christmas, given their late party night on Christmas Eve. I should know better. Aidan was the first one up, at 6:45 a.m. and crawled into bed with us to impatiently wait for his brothers to awaken.

He didn't have long to wait. The whole crew was up and downstairs by 7:30. The boys oohed and ahhed over the pile of presents and overstuffed stockings, but rather than dashing to rip open wrapping paper immediately - they each ran under the tree to get the presents they had made and bought for Chris and me. This was the most perfect present they each could have given us. To see our children more interested and engaged in the giving, rather than the receiving, made me believe, just for a moment, that we may be on the right track. (I lost this optimism an hour later when all three of them were engaged in a knock down drag out fight over the Batmobile Big Wheel. But it was truly nice while it lasted.)

Brennan made us a snowman picture ornament, complete with a picture of himself in his favorite Batman t-shirt. Aidan used his very own money to buy me a stylin', oh so fancy, pair of cubic zirconia jeweled earrings from Avon at his Elves's Magic Workshop at school. They match the jeweled ring he bought me last year. (He is so incredibly proud of both the ring and the earrings he has bought me. He calls them "my jewels." And yes, they do make me cry. Of course, they do. ) On the other hand, Aidan bought Chris a tape measure. (Last year he bought him a ruler. There may be a theme here.)

The present unwrapping was over much too quickly for all of us except Griffin. Griffin opened up one gift, his Batmobile Big Wheel, and then refused to open up another one for hours. I think all of it may have overwhelmed him a bit and he decided to take the whole thing at his own pace. Aidan and Brennan opted to dive right into as many toys as they could handle. The favorite must have been the Nerf tag set - complete with Daddy getting into the fun. (Chris may have enjoyed this toy just as much as the boys. Maybe more. The next day, my brothers also loved it so much that I need to hunt down a few more and ship it to them in NYC.)

Brennan's Batman underoos were a hit for Brennan. He promptly put them on and kept them on for the next 36 hours. It was almost impossible to convince him he had to put on clothes to go over to my Aunt's for Christmas dinner. After finally agreeing to get dressed he turned to me and said, "But, can I take my clothes off when I get there?"

And finally, fantastic photographic evidence that my husband got into the Nerf fun with great enthusiasm. If only I had time to post the video of Chris chasing the kids around the house and blasting each other. It's a keeper.


We ended Christmas day with dinner at my Aunt's and more quality time with family. We managed to sneak in even more celebration with a nice dinner out with my brothers, mom and sister in law the day after Christmas. We spent most of dinner taking turns telling stories from our formative years - trying to out do each other with our comic tales. At one point, Chris begged us to stop because he was laughing so hard he was crying. Tennille and I were also wiping tears from our eyes from giggling so hard our sides hurt. The only one not laughing? My poor mother... who may have just realized what little hellions we all were back in the day.

But wait... there's more. Christmas continued into Saturday. We celebrated Saturday morning with Chris's family. I wasn't sure we could fit even one more toy into our house, but somehow we now have a toddler roller coaster now set up in our kitchen. Color me happy. I think it's time we considered finishing the basement once and for all.

And now it's over, sort of. Today, Chris and I are off to our own celebration. As part of his present, I convinced my mother and brother Travis to take the kids overnight so we could go away on a skiing adventure. (Well, skiing for him and a whole lot of reading by the fireplace for me. It's a win/win for us both.) The quiet and peace of an empty hotel room may be the best present I could have asked for this year. (As long as I know I can return to the noise, chaos and love of the boys after I am completely (or even somewhat) rejuvenated.)

Christmas Eve: Let Chaos Reign

Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the year. My extended family gathers at my grandparents' house and decks the halls with good cheer, much wine, amazing food and lots of complete chaos. My boys go crazy at the chance to be loved up by their cousins for hours and hours. There is much laughter, a lot of running and giggling, some games, a whole lot of Wii challenges and always, our traditional Italian feast made special by Nana.

The boys partied the night away and set the record for bedtime - 9:30 pm. It was hard to tear any of us away from the celebration with family. Aidan was huddled with his cousin Patrick, learning moves for his new skateboard. Brennan was engaged in tickling contests with his cousins Casey and Bridget. And Griffin was cruising around the house on his new Star Wars scooter, entertaining everyone with his favorite phrase "No Way Jose." Chris and I, on the other hand, had many a battle over Wii tennis. (The end result wasn't pretty. And not in our favor either.)

Above all, each and every time I am among my family, I feel blessed to know each of them, to love them and to see them love my children. (Even if my brothers and my cousins kicked my ass in Wii tennis and trash talked through the whole beatings. Even then.

A Little Bit of Snow

Yes, we may have gotten just a little bit of snow on Sunday. Just a bit.

Bottle It Up

I love the smell of my children. I wish I could inhale them whole, permanently burning their smell into my brain. I spend quite a lot of time around them kissing and hugging them just so I can breathe them in with deep sighs.

I want their sweet little boy smell to stay with me forever. But I grew up with two brothers and I know I am living on borrowed time. Boys get, well, a little stinky. With their stinky clothes and smelly feet and just, well, stinky, stinky, stinky.

I worry about this. I don't want to forget their little boy smell. I wish I could bottle up their scent to hold as a memory, to stay with me when I am old and grey. But without this assurance, I just keep kissing and hugging, breathing them in and hoping against hope, that I will always remember the aroma of my little boys.

Whew

I'm tired. Take two birthdays in one month, add in the craziness of the holidays, some cocktail parties and required holiday schmoozing, and a strangely busy work world for December - and I'm beat. I'm overwhelmed. I'm just plain exhausted.

I love Christmas. I love the season - every last bit of it. But every year, I swear, I PROMISE, I will get more done ahead of time so I can relax and enjoy it. And every year, about a week out from Christmas, I want to wave a white flag of surrender. I give up. Christmas wins. Now can I go take a nap?


But today, I have a blizzard to thank for a return of a slice of my sanity. We were struck with a major snowstorm, stranding us at home with no where to go, no errands to run and no visits to make. The boys played (somewhat) cooperatively and nicely. We made cut out cookies. We all took naps. I read a book while Aidan snuggled next to me and read a book at my side. We giggled over Griffin's antics with a football. Brennan chased everyone round and round the house with his new remote control Batmobile. It was relaxing. It was stress free. It was a perfect Sunday for December.

I have to admit I am sort of hoping the snow stays put. At least for another day.

The B is Four

Today, Brennan is four.

At four, Brennan loves hockey, marbles, super heroes and Star Wars. He is still our family comedian, eager to get us giggling with his jokes and funny faces. He loves to build space ships with legos and battle light sabers with his brothers. He is our resident expert at games of Memory and can beat anyone, anywhere (even Aidan). He stockpiles little lego men, squirreling them away in his room to hide from his brothers.

He is a cuddler and loves nothing more than to be "comfy." If he could be wrapped up in a mountain of fleece, he'd be a happy guy. His favorite thing to do when he wakes up in the morning is to cuddle up with a soft blanket or two on the couch and watch a Franklin. His brothers will be running for breakfast or to play, but our B. prefers to greet the day with a sleepy smile, some cuddles and quiet time snuggled up in peace.

But once he is up to greet the day, he is truly up - enthusiastic and energetic and ready to take on the world. He doesn't tire easily and is always the last to fall asleep at night. I will hear him at night telling himself stories out loud or singing songs again and again (and again) until at last, almost reluctantly, he succumbs to sleep.

Brennan can recite the book "You Can Give a Pig a Pancake" by heart, preferring to "read" it to his Daddy, rather than the other way around. He has started to write his own name and is unbelievably proud of his letter B.

He loves the snow and will play outside until his cheeks are bright red, his nose frozen solid and his gloves streaked with ice. He spends hours with Aidan in the backyard, digging and sledding down our hill. But his favorite part of all is to retreat inside (at last) to hot chocolate and heaps of mini-marshmallows. (And when I say "heaps", I truly mean "HEAPS.")

Brennan is our happy, go lucky soul. A little boy content with a marble in his pocket, the promise of spiderman mac n' cheese and lots of hugs from his family. He says "I love you" about a million and one times a day to me. I soak it up each and every time he says it, so happy to say it right back to my sweet, loving little boy.

Happy four to our B. You bring us joy, my sweet boy - so much joy.

Rock Star

Griffin is our resident rock star, complete with a construction worker hat and backyardigans guitar. We may send him on tour.

Let's Get Dressed in the Morning

On the three days I work, Chris and I are like a finely oiled machine in the mornings. We manage to get ourselves and three boys up and out of the house in an hour. There is no messing around here, no siree. You eat. You get dressed. And we are off to conquer the day.

Sometimes this fast paced morning juggle hits a bump or two in the road. It happened with Griffin a few weeks ago. Each morning I bring Griffin downstairs and change him for school. I leave his pajama top on for breakfast (he's a messy eater!) and Chris changes him into this school shirt while I am getting dressed for work upstairs. On many mornings, the boys are already in their coats ready to go by the time I come back downstairs. This is why I never noticed this one morning, that Chris forgot to change Griffin out of his pajama top and into his shirt laid out for school.

The teachers sure noticed though when I picked Griffin up after school and I immediately burst into loud guffaws of laughter at seeing my two year old finishing his day in his maple syrup encrusted pajama top. I haven't let Chris live it down since.

Today, I was getting Brennan in his classroom at pick up when I noticed his pants were a little long. I rolled them up for him as I commented, "Wow, B. I guess these hand me down pants were still a little big for you."

The teacher heard me, smiled and said, "Yes, and they were also on backwards."

I looked at her as I stood up and asked, "Backwards? His pants?"

The teacher laughed and as if she couldn't help herself, she said with some glee, "Not only were his pants on backwards, but his shirt was on backwards too."

Great. My kid is the child who gets sent to school with his clothes on completely backwards and his parents don't blink an eye. Just a finely oiled morning machine, right?!