A Photo Shoot

Brennan's First Field Trip

Today was a big day for our Brennan. He had his first ever field trip to a local farm for hayrides and pumpkin picking. And of course, he got to ride "the big bus."

Brennan commemorated the occasion by insisting he wear his very favorite orange shirt to school. I figure he's so cute that he even looks adorable in orange, but then, I may be a bit biased.

You are My Sunshine

I sing to the boys before bed. As they get older, we sing less and talk more, but Griffin still loves to sing songs with me as we snuggle up in bed. We sing through one of his favorites - "A Bushel and a Peck" and a few I have made up over the years, but we always end up singing "You are My Sunshine" as our last song before sleep.

Griffin sings softly along with me. We smile and giggle as we sing. Tonight we reached the verse in the song where you sing "so I hung my head and I cried."

I kept singing, but Griffin faltered. His smile wobbled, his eyes grew sad and he began to cry. His quiet tears turned into full blown sobs as he hugged me tight against him.

"Griffy - what's wrong?" I asked, perplexed, as I rubbed his back.

He gulped for air, brushed tears from his cheeks and cried, "I do cry Momma. I miss you when you go away, so I do cry. When you go away I get so sad. It hurts so I cry."

And then he sobbed all over again. I held him close to me and cried right along with him.

Finer Moments of Motherhood

After the snowflakes, the boys and I had a busy morning planned on Friday. First, we headed to Aidan's school to meet with his religion teacher. It was a special one on one meeting designed especially for me, the delinquent parent, for missing not one, but two, of the mandatory meetings to prepare our children for their first confession. I also missed the make up meeting. Yep, delinquent. And to a nun. Not just any nun, but the nun who taught me religion back in the day.

I should have been prepared for my very special make up meeting. But the snow excitement, a few work emails, and a skirmish over getting the boys dressed made us a bit late. So late that I forgot to brush the boys' hair. It was only as we raced into the school that I realized my sweater was on inside out.

I know. It's a miracle I make it through the day, isn't it. It's okay. I know.

I clutched my jacket close to my body. intent on hiding my sweater and quickly combed my fingers through the boys' hair. (And since you have seen Brennan's hair - you know that my hand comb job did no good. No good at all.)

We survived the meeting. (Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that the nun's intense discussion of the wonders of children attending church may have been brought on by our own lackluster church attendance record. And by lackluster - I mean no church attendance record.)

After leaving school, we rushed off to Wegmans to fill our very bare cupboards. I thought we made great time at our own grocery mecca as pulled up our overflowing grocery cart to the register line at 10:55 a.m., leaving us with more than enough time to get home to greet Aidan's bus at 11:30 am. (Yes, another half day. )

It should have been enough time. Definitely should have been. But I was struck by the curse of the SLOWEST grocery checker of all time. She scanned each item so deliberately, unbearably slow, and stopped every few seconds to glance at the store around her as if she was puzzled by her whereabouts. It was agonizing and I became paralyzed with fear as I contemplated that we might just not make it home in time.

We pulled out of the store parking lot at 11:25 and I was in full blown panic. I started repeatedly dialing family members in hopes of catching someone who could get to our house to get Aidan. I reached my Aunt Nancy who assured me she would drive to my house. I then called Chris, hysterical, to inform him that he had married the very worst person in the whole world to mother his children.

And then the bus garage called Chris on his other line. The bus garage called to tell him they were at our driveway and no one was home. My poor sweet boy was standing in our driveway waiting, just waiting, for anyone to come get him.

This was not one of my finer mothering moments.

Chris assured the bus garage that a family member was on their way and then clicked back to me, his hysterical wife, to convince me that Aidan would need not extended therapy to recover from this incident.

I calmed down as we got closer to our house. As I did, I realized that Brennan and Griffin had not said a word during the whole escapade. I asked them if they were okay and they both quietly said yes.

After a moment of silence, Brennan said softly, "Mommy?"

"Yes B?" I asked.

Brennan continued intently and quietly, "Mommy, I have to ask. I just have to ask. Now that they have him. The bus people? Now that they have him and we don't? Will they give him back to us mom? Can we get Aidan back?"

Great. I have not only scarred my seven year old, but my four year old too. Definitely not one of my better mothering days.

First Snow 2009

The boys were shrieking with glee at 6 am this morning. I rushed out of bed, annoyed at the noise and intent on making them all go back to bed, when I realized they were shouting that it was snowing.

Snowing. SNOWING!

The boys continued to jump up and down, giggling and laughing over the scattering of flakes dusting our yard. There was nothing to do at that point but to join in the laughter and try to forget it is still October. (and make a very large, very caffeinated pot of strong coffee.)

Aidan had to catch his bus to school, but as soon as Griffin and Brennan finished their breakfast they were donning their snow pants, parkas, boots and hats to get outside and soak up some snow. It must have been all of 7:35 am.




It had all melted away by noon, but the boys loved every second of our winter preview. I am happy to go back to fall, for a few more weeks at least.

Wild Hair Can't Be Tamed

This is how Brennan wakes up in the morning. His hair is beyond unruly. I have yet to figure out what he is up to at night that leads him to such spectacular bedhead. Until I do, I need some style solutions to tame this beast of a 'do.

Second Grade Open House

We attended Aidan's open house this evening. After visiting his classroom, admiring his desk and his artwork, he asked that we stop by his religion classroom. As we walked down the hall, he pointed out a poster he completed as an assignment for religion. He had to answer four different questions, designating a person who fulfills a certain trait to Aidan.

The first question:

"This person gives and spreads love to everyone around them:"

Aidan answered: "My mom."

Yeah, I don't remember any of the other questions. I was too busy blinking back tears and hugging Aidan tight.

I am so grateful he stills hugs me back just as tight as I hug him, even in a busy school hallway, crowded with people.

The Kids' Menu

As you get more experienced at this parenting gig, you definitely look at the years past and understand you would chose to do some things differently if you had the opportunity. One of the things I would do differently is the kids' menu we have been forced to serve at our house.

Aidan was not a huge eater as a baby. He loved to nurse. (He frequently nursed every two hours during the day as a baby! Yes, I never got to leave the house when he was an infant.) He loved his bottles. But food? He could have taken it or left it. I will never forget how excited Chris and I were to give Aidan his first taste of baby food. But surprisingly, his little face scrunched up with disappointment and severe distaste. He didn't love it. He ate because he had to, not because he loved to.

Aidan eventually got used to real food, but he did so with a severely picky appetite. He liked bland things - noodles with butter, bagels, plain crackers. As he grew up, he expanded his horizons slightly to include a few more foods, but more often than not they were kids' menu foods such as chicken fingers or pancakes. The day we discovered he liked meatballs was huge! Aidan's menu was so limited it often led to a great deal of frustration for all of us. And forget vegetables or fruits. He would eat raw carrots (when forced) and apples with all the skin cut off - that was it.

And then came Brennan. Brennan's first taste of baby food was a revelation. He was giddy as he threw back spoonful after spoonful of cereal, reveling in each taste. He liked anything and everything we gave him. It was an adventure for Chris and me to feed him. Brennan's favorite food at the age of one was blueberries. He would devour them by the fistful.

But as Brennan grew, he loved to emulate his big brother Aidan. If Aidan didn't like certain foods, then neither would Brennan. Slowly, our good little eater decided he too would only eat off the kids' menu. (Except for steak. He always loved steak.)

Our home had become a fast food restaurant. We would have two dinners - the adult dinner for Chris and me and the children's menu dinner for the boys. It was frustrating, but we accepted it.

Enter Griffin. Griffin loves anything and everything. He will try any food you give him, eager to taste anything different. He loves fruits and veggies and if given a choice, he would prefer to have an apple or a sliced tomato over anything else. Last week we met my mom for lunch and Griffin shared her salad, digging into her greens with enthusiasm.

This was a revelation to us. We have a child who doesn't require a separate menu. In fact, Griffin doesn't really like the foods on the traditional kids' menu. (He was thrilled when many of the kid friendly restaurants we frequent added grilled chicken to the menu.) All in all, Griffin prefers to eat what we eat. The possibilities for dinner became endless.

A few weeks ago, I decided I was done with the kids' menu. I was done running the kitchen like a restaurant, particularly on the days I returned home, harried from a long day of work and patching together dinner like I am a short order cook.

My experiment was not easy at first. It involved lots of tears (from Aidan) and whining (from Brennan) and even a couple of trips up to their rooms without dinner at all. Chris and I held firm. We endured the tears, tantrums and whining for days on end.

Dinner is now a family affair. Not only will they eat normal every day dinners like meatloaf, pasta with sauce and tacos. But, last week they licked their plates after a dinner of sliced steak with a peppercorn and pomegranate glaze (I know!) and last night they were beyond enthusiastic over shells stuffed with chicken and artichokes.

Dinner is not a battlefield in our home anymore. If I knew then what I know now, the kids' menu would have never had a chance in our house.

Nighttime

I played tennis last night until 7:30. I got home and the boys were already in bed, but still awake. I checked on them one by one to say good night.

When I entered Griffin's room, his face broke into a huge smile, he gasped and said, "It's morning?!" He bounced on his bed, eager to begin another day.

I explained it wasn't morning yet because he had to go to sleep first. He laid down with his head on his pillow, quickly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Just as quickly, he opened up his eyes again and looked around as if the sun would shine through his curtains.

"It's morning!" He yelled.

I think the long days of winter, with little or no morning sunshine to herald the arrival of a new day are going to be hard for this child.

The Granite Chronicles

Two years ago, my aunt asked if Chris and I were interested in redoing our kitchen counter tops. We always thought we would redo them eventually, but were in no rush for an upgrade (or the cost of an upgrade!). But then she told us we could piggy back our order of fancy, pretty granite counter tops with an order being placed for a new hotel my family was opening. This would allow us to get new counter tops for about 90% off the retail price. 90%!!!

Suddenly, I really, really wanted new counter tops. I would have to be crazy not to NEED new counter tops at 90% off retail.

We hemmed and hawwed over samples and finally, picked out our new granite counter tops. It was done and I was very excited.

The granite comes over on a slow boat from China. I am not exaggerating. After many months, we receive word that our counter tops are here, in Buffalo, waiting for us to pick them up to deliver to our house from storage.

My excitement built as I fantasized about the installation of our new counter tops. But wait, there appears to be a problem. Granite is not only pretty, but it's pretty damn heavy too. And it is not something that you can just rent a truck from home depot to deliver. Oh no, granite needs a flat bed with a fork lift.

I was frustrated. I didn't even know I wanted new counter tops until the idea had been put into my head. And now, I wanted it done. I needed those counter tops. But our counter tops continued to languish in storage until we could figure out a way to get them delivered.

Another six months passes as we consider the delivery problem. (Okay, okay, Chris considers and I nag. This is our dynamic.)

Chris and I are out at a cocktail party one evening when a friend of my family's approaches Chris and says cryptically, "I hear you have a granite delivery problem."

Chris gives him an odd look and replies, "Yes, we do."

The friend nods, slaps Chris on the back, and says, "I know a guy who owes me a favor. Call me next week and we'll get it delivered."

Chris calls the friend who calls a friend who knows a guy with a flatbed and fork lift. The next thing I know we have a large crate of granite delivered to our driveway. It was so large it literally took up half of our driveway. (No, I have no idea why we are considered the white trash of our neighborhood. None at all. Our neighbors want new counter tops - they order them and have them installed stat. We get ours delivered from some guy and left in our driveway.)

After the granite is in our driveway, Chris realizes he needs help getting it into our garage. I mean, we live in a pretty nice neighborhood in whoville and all but we'd be crazy to leave a huge stack of granite piled up in our driveway ripe for the taking.

Chris recruits friends to come over on a Saturday morning to move the granite into the garage. Once it is unpacked and in the garage, we realize that a few pieces have broken. We also realize that the granite intended for the center island of our kitchen is much, much too short and way off on the measurements we sent to China.

Chris enters into negotiations with the Chinese granite people for new granite pieces. Another few months passes, until finally, he is successful and more granite is put on another slow boat from China. Meanwhile, the other granite pieces decorate our garage.

More months pass, and our new island counter top arrives. Chris recruits two friends to help him move the piece for the island from our garage to our kitchen and installs it himself. Oh, it's so pretty. It's looks lovely in our kitchen.

I promptly set about finding the perfect stools for our new kitchen island. I fell in love with the cutest stainless steel stools from Crate and Barrel. They were back ordered, but after two months, were delivered and practically gleam at their post.

But still, the rest of the granite continues to languish in our garage for month after month. I gently remind Chris that we need to get the granite installed. I recruit numbers from friends of people we could hire to do the granite installation, but months continue to pass without any new counter tops. (Our kids just got used to digging for their outside toys amidst many a stack of granite.)

Last month, I finally reached panic stages. I realized that at this rate we will not be able to use our garage this winter unless we move that granite out of the garage. And hello! We live in Buffalo! We need to use our garage! I have meltdown after meltdown until Chris assures me he is taking care of the installation.

A few weeks go by and Chris announces a friend knows a guy who knows a guy that can do the job. (Seriously.) Today is the big day! The old counter tops are set to be ripped out and the ones installed. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, content it is done. Finally, it is done.

Then Chris calls me at work.

"We may have a problem."

I shake my head furiously in denial. He continues, "The hole cut for the sink by the Chinese granite people is too big for a standard sink. We need to find a new sink and most likely special order it."

And the kicker? We can't go back to them for yet another new piece because almost two years has passed since the original order.

Be careful what you wish for. Be oh, so careful. I wished for new counter tops and I finally, after two years got them. But now, I have no sink. I have no dishwasher. I will be washing dishes in the laundry room for the next week or so while we wait for our new sink to arrive, specially ordered in the size we need.

I have no words.

Shopping for Orange

My cleaning of the closets led me to discover that Brennan had all of two pairs of pants that fit him. I do not normally clothes shop with the children. I prefer to do most of my shopping online or in brief bouts during lunch on my working days. But, fall is here and Brennan needs pants.

And that is how I came to go the mall on Friday with Brennan and Griffin. You haven't had fun until you have shopped with four year old and two year old boys.

My memories of shopping with the boys involves some form of stroller to harness them while I bribe them with a snack. It did not involve two children running wild through the mall with gleeful abandon.

Brennan decided that shopping for clothes meant he would have the opportunity to pick out the clothes he would like me to purchase. It was almost comical to see him wandering through the Gap picking out shirts and pants he liked. It was not comical to discover that he immediately vetoed any shirt that did not feature the blazing color of orange. If it didn't have orange, then he wasn't interested.

His fascination with orange also extended to my own clothes. I picked up a cute sweater and was considering an impulse buy when I turned to the boys to ask their opinion.

Brennan gazed at it thoughtfully, held the material between his hands and then said, "It'd look better in orange. Did you check if it comes in orange?"

Sigh. We made out okay. I managed to sneak in a few non-orange items of clothing. Now comes the hard part - convincing my strong willed four year old to wear them. Otherwise, my four year old is quickly going to look like a pumpkin or a hunter in training.

The Closet Weepies

I know my boys are growing. I spend alot of time bemoaning their growth at each milestone, shocked that they have evolved from babies into boys. But one of the hardest testaments of their growth for me to accept is the clothes seasonal changeover.

Yes, I am talking about cleaning out their closets. And yes, cleaning out their closets does make me cry. Every. Single Time. Every. Single. Season. It's a shocker, I know.

It never gets easier to accept.

I packed up Griffin's summer clothes today and waded through piles of fall hand me downs to stock his dresser drawers. I was hesitant to put many a shirt or pants in the give away pile because I didn't want to believe that my baby couldn't manage to fit into that darling little 3T outfit. But, he can't. He won't fit. And I have to give it away, because my baby is wearing size 4 clothes. He isn't a baby anymore.

It shouldn't come as a shock to me. I know this child. I see him grow. But it's the smallest, most concrete evidence of his milestones that make it the most difficult for me. It is such a push pull, this game of parenthood. I enjoy each new step for my children. I like the ease gained at their growth and independence, but also feel melancholy too.

It is impossible to express how a part of me can enjoy their growing up and the other part of me wants to cry at any sign of it.

This is how I came to be crying this morning while sitting on the floor of Griffin's bedroom amidst many a stack of toppling over clothes.

I still have two more boys' closets to go. Let's hope I handle them better.

The Executive's Wife

After much hard work and dedication, Chris's company has been growing. I am immensely proud of his success and even more happy that over the past two years, he has been able to add employees. (Employees who travel for him so he can stay home. Yea staying home! He still has to log some miles, but less miles can only be a good thing for family happiness.)

As another fantastic indication of his success, Chris's company was named to the Inc. 500 - a list of the 500 fastest growing privately owned companies in the U.S. He is number 315 on the list and I could not be more proud. I know how hard he works. It is a gift he is able to see hard and fast results for his hard work and dedication.

This week he headed to National Harbor, Maryland to attend the Inc. 500 conference. When he asked if I wanted to join him at the tail end of the conference to attend the awards ceremony and black tie gala, I jumped at the chance. And yes, I told him I couldn't wait to clap for him as he accepted his award. (But there was also a little part of my that got a little giddy at the thought of me in a hotel room alone all day long.)

And so this week, for Thursday and Friday, I got to be the Executive's Wife. It involved a cushy hotel room, much time alone and room service so I could lounge about in bed until ungodly hours of the day. It involved some shopping, a nice long walk and treating myself to lunch. It also involved reading as much as I wanted and taking naps just because I could.

I think I could get used to this Executive's Wife.

The black tie gala was superb. Chris got a very fancy award. We got to eat a gourmet meal and drink lots of wine.

But then, as with all things, the Executive's Wife vacation came to an end. Sigh. I returned to my life, which involves pre-dawn wake up times, grocery shopping and negotiating battles over light sabers. Maybe I could at least teach the kids to bring me room service? That'd be nice.

Whoville Camps Out

In addition to living in the town of Whoville, we may just live in the Whoville-iest neighborhood of all.

There is the neighborhood picnic, with the climbing wall and fire truck visit, the neighborhood Halloween parade and Halloween ghosting, and the 4th of July float (for which we are currently the reigning champion of Whoville - complete with traveling trophy.) Last night we added the neighborhood camp out.

A dozen or so families met up at one of our neighbor's houses to pitch tents in their backyard. The kids were giddy with excitement as they watched their parents carrying camping stuff to and from tents. It was luxury camping at its best. We ordered pizza delivered, toasted marshmallows on the fire pit, jumped our heads off in a giant trampoline and enjoyed an outdoor movie on a projection screen.

After a taste of camping Whoville style, this may have ruined my boys for true camping.

Lovely Friday

The boys and I had a great day today. It wasn't anything monumental, but just an all around nice day.

Aidan had a half day (yes, again. I know. Really!). We decided to surprise him by picking him up at school, rather than having him take the bus home. After grabbing Aidan at school, we went to the local Party City to soak up the spooky decorations and take a peek at the Halloween costumes.

I love holidays through the eyes of my children. The silly mummies hanging from the ceiling, the screeching plastic bats and the spooky music all made for three very excited little boys.

We celebrated the score of three Star Wars costumes, a Jango Fett and two Jedis, with lunch out at Red Robin. (That's what you get when you let the kids pick the restaurant.)

A day like this, a simple, nothing special really, sort of day are the days I love the most. Just a day soaking up my boys.

Dressed Up

Aidan spoiled me. For the past seven years of his life, he has allowed me to pick out his clothes and his outfits, without complaint. Sure, he has his favorite shirts, but if I lay out his clothes, he will wear them. And that is music to a mother's ears.

I hear horror stories from my friends with girls of Aidan's age. Girls who refused to wear anything that had certain colors or was a skirt or did not resemble a princess. I would laugh, breathe a deep sigh of relief for the wonder of boys. Boys are different. Boys could care less about clothes. And thank goodness, I have three boys.

But then there was Brennan. Over the summer, Brennan started rejecting my carefully planned and laid out clothes for his week. He would place the rejected items back in his dresser drawers and join us at breakfast in a completely different outfit.

It was almost funny. He had a tough time matching at first and often picked many monochromatic outfits. But once he got the hang of it, well, Brennan developed a nice little style. Today, he set off for school in plaid madras shorts and a blue t-shirt, looking as cute and as polished as possible for the pre-K set.

But as Brennan does, then Griffin must also do. A few weeks ago, Griffin also started rejecting my outfit choices and began dressing himself in some very interesting outfits. Griffin lacks Brennan's stylistic sense and often, if not reigned in, looks like a child outfitted in Wal-mart cast offs. He refuses any shirt with a collar, prefers elastic waists, and any shirt displaying a cartoon character is a must. (I had previously banned all cartoon character shirts to bedtime only. I seem to be losing this battle.)

I used to love to dress my boys in their sweet, little man, preppy outfits. Collared shirts, chino pants or cords, little sweater vests. Sigh. But now the inmates are running the asylum and the only child that will allow me to dress him wears a uniform to school. Do they have a What Not to Wear tv show for the preschooler? I see a future for it on Noggin.

Exactly the Same : Sharkfest Two

I think I mentioned that Aidan doesn't like change all that much. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he told me he wanted his 7th birthday party to be exactly the same party as his 6th.

I also should have have known that when he said "exactly the same," he really meant "exactly the same." I was setting up for the party, throwing juice boxes into a cooler out on our patio, when Aidan let out a gasp behind me.

"Mom! Last year you served us juice hugs, not juice boxes!" Aidan exclaimed.

Oh dear Lord, save me from my eldest child and his freakishly accurate memory.

We managed to squeak out a somewhat the same party. Water balloons, squirt guns, water slides to the max. It was a wet, muddy, crazy mass of boys running all over our backyard in complete bliss.

I even managed to carve out time to whip up some good ol' shark cupcakes.

Every single gift he opened from friends and family was either Legos, Star Wars or Egypt related. It's good to be 7.

Seven

Today my first baby boy is seven. It is hard to believe he was ever that baby in the pictures. Aidan is so much a boy now. Not just a boy, but his own person.

He is a boy who still loves Star Wars and legos and even more so, Star Wars legos. He spends hours building intricate creations from complicated instructions. He has moved on from the days of requiring his father's help to independently building space ships, helicopters and race cars.

Aidan's favorite food is pizza. He still loves his junk food, but has finally agreed to add new veggies into the mix. (His discovery of broccoli this year was a huge hit amongst all of us.) His favorite television show is Star Wars the Clone Wars and he has viewed the Star Wars movies more times than any of us would care to admit.

He loves to read. He spent most of the summer shoving chapter books into his backpack to read at the pool or a friends' house. He prefers books that have some mystery or history element to them, but will try anything and everything. He also loves books on his new favorite passion, Ancient Egypt. I think he has taken any and every Egypt book out of the library, delighting in the descriptions of the mummy tombs and archaeological digs. He has already made me promise to take him to King Tut's traveling exhibit in Toronto this winter.

He is still bossy. He likes to know the rules and let everyone around him also know the rules. He likes to be in charge and spends alot of his day ordering his younger brothers about the house.

He is, at seven, still a momma's boy and for that, I remain selfishly grateful. He loves to cuddle and hug, not only his parents, but his brothers too. He has a kind heart and loves to laugh. He is still my slow adjuster, and doesn't take well to change. He takes his time to get used to new things, new places and new people.

He is uniquely and wonderfully Aidan. Our sweet, now seven year old, boy.

2nd Grader!

Aidan started second grade yesterday. We all watched as he confidently got on the school bus, waving goodbye with excitement. I waited until the bus turned the corner before I turned away, buried my head into Chris's shoulder and burst into tears. It is hard for me to reconcile the young child who refused to get on the bus not quite two years ago with the confident boy I see before me today. He has grown up so much, so soon.

I heard later on that morning that his confidence faded for a moment or two after he arrived at school. He was out of sorts as he waited for his classroom assignment in the cafeteria and started to cry. Thankfully, the principal was on it, comforted him and found one of his cousins quickly to help him get over his fright. But when I heard he told the principal he just "missed his mom" my heart broke all over again and I had to shut my office door to give myself a few minutes for a good cry. (And the rep for the crazy crying family only continues to build and strengthen in our town of Whoville.)

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without incident as he settled into familiar routines. My second grader. I couldn't be more proud.

Movin on Up

Today was Griffin's last day in the toddler room. He moves up to the preschool room next week.

My third sweet baby is not a baby. I am not sure he ever has been. He is fiercely independent. He has the attitude, speech and mannerisms of a four year old. He dresses himself (even picking out his own clothes! And oh, the doozy outfits he can put together. It is truly an art form.) He is a master swimmer at the pool, without an ounce of fear. (unlike his older brothers at his age.) He is simply growing up too fast. I expected the third to remain a baby for longer because my third was also my last. But he has surprised us from the start with how quickly he has grown up.

I know he is ready for preschool. He will do great. But there is a part of me that will miss the rituals and comfort of his toddler days at school. I will miss my baby who is too rapidly evolving into a boy.

First Football

A few weeks ago we took the boys to the pre-season Kids day Bills football game. The boys were excited to see the stadium up close, view the players on the field and well, eat a whole lot of junk food.

They lasted all of half of the first period. After the whining and fighting got to be too much for all of us (and the people in front of us), we decided to head home. About half way into our walk back to the car, Griffin started projectile vomiting on the side of the road. (Good times, people, nothing but good times for our crew.) But for a moment, in between the whining, complaining, vomiting and fighting, we had a sweet family moment and snapped this shot:

This family looks like they are having fun. Let's remember the evening that way, shall we?

Hot is Not Just a Temperature

Aidan and I are chatting in his bed before bedtime about, what else, Star Wars. (The kid is like an encyclopedia on Star Wars. It just never ends. The only other topic getting any play from him lately is his fascination with ancient Egypt. I have no idea either.)

Aidan pats my arm and says to me, "Mom, you're hot!"

I nod in response and say, "It is hot in your room. I will open some of your windows to let some air in, okay?"

He laughs and says, "No. Not hot like that, but hot as in DEAD SEXAHY."

I am not sure I heard him right and say, "What?"

"SEXAHY, Mom. HOT! Like the Hot SEXAHY ladies, you know?!"

I was laughing so hard I couldn't speak for a good five minutes. I would like to thank Aidan's older cousins for imparting some of their extensive and valuable knowledge upon my not yet seven year old.

The Rocker

I listen to alot of music around the house. After I had Aidan, most of our music hours were consumed with children's music. He adored the Wiggles and Laurie Berkner. When we were not listening to the kiddie tunes, Aidan's tastes tended towards the more mellow, preferring the likes of Norah Jones. (He used to cooo over her songs as a baby.) Brennan liked any and all music. He could bust quite a groove to Dan Zanes and he would go crazy for a little Choo Choo Soul.

But of course, as it is always the way with the third child, Griffin was raised on my playlists, rather than his own. He wouldn't know Laurie Berkner if he fell on her, but he will pump his fist in the air with exuberant joy over the Killers. He likes anything with a hard, fast beat that allows him to bust a move around the family room. If music is on, he is bobbing his head, jumping in the air or twirling with abandon. But he also isn't shy about sharing his opinion about the music randomly selected from my ipod and will regularly demand I pass on Adele, Fiest or anything else that does not fit his rocker groove. If it's slow, soft or melodic, forget it. It just isn't Griffin's style.

My baby, the rocker. Let's just hope he doesn't try to transform his preschooler buddies into a band.

From the Mouth of the Middle Child

I am getting ready to go out to an adult dinner. Brennan, who would be happiest in a world where he is surgically attached to me, always gets antsy when he knows a babysitter is coming over. I hear him calling my name as he searches the house for me. He finally comes upon me in my bathroom upstairs.

"Momma, are you going now?" He asks me nervously.

"No B. Not yet." I smile at him, gesture to my unkempt hair, makeup free face and underwear clad self and say jokingly, "Do I look like I am ready to go out yet?"

Brennan looks relieved and says, "Nope. You don't look pretty at ALL."

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I am putting Brennan to bed. He grabs onto my hair, up in its ever present ponytail, and takes the elastic out of my hair. He pulls my hair around to the front of my face, looks at me seriously and says, "Wow, Momma, you almost look like a real girl!"

After I put the hair elastic back into my hair to make a ponytail, Brennan looks sad and says, "Now you are a mommy again."

Big Boy

Griffin has had quite a week. He has abandoned diapers in favor of Star Wars and Buzz Lightyear underwear. Apart from a few accidents, he is doing well as a member of the potty trained set. I am aghast at the thought of a world without diapers. It has been almost seven long years of life amongst diapers and now, finally, remarkably, this may all be coming to an end.

What? Did I cry? Over diapers? Come on now. Let's give me some credit now, shall we. I shed not one tear over the arrival of the underwear. Not a one. I swear.

But then we had to roll out the big boy bed. I was all set for the transition for our G from crib to the land of the twin bed. I pre purchased adorable sheets (Batman!) to charm him from his crib. And let's face it, Griffin has probably exceeded the weight limit for his crib from the time he turned one. At two and a half, it's time. Seriously, it's time.

Chris set up the bed this morning before joining us at the pool. When we arrived home and I saw the crib in pieces resting in the upstairs hallway, I couldn't help it - I cried. The crib - our crib - has lived in our house over the last seven years sheltering our babies. There was such a finality in seeing it taken apart. We're done with babies now. We have boys. Sweet boys who sleep in beds and don't wear diapers. (They also tend to pee anywhere and everywhere, but that's neither here nor there.)

Yes, I cried alot then. I thought I was all done with the tears, but then I went grocery shopping and cried in the baby aisle. I also teared up whenever a baby drove by in another cart. It's amazing no one called security. (Crazy lady in aisle five crying over baby wipes!)

Griffin loves his new bed. He looks comfortable and happy and all big boy now too.



(Yes, slightly blurry picture of new big boy bed is not due to parental tears of joy, but rather a camera that was almost out of batteries and kept shutting off during my Kodak moment. I persevered with the picture taking until it came through, albeit blurred. I need to spend some serious time learning how to use my brand spankin' new fancy camera that would never take blurry shots like my traitor of an old camera. But the instruction manual is so thick, I need a good day to figure it out. So, blurry picture of our G's big boy moment. Sigh.)

27, right?!

I keep telling the kids that I turned 27 yesterday. I am not sure who I am trying to convince, them or me because I'll be honest, 37 has the sound of 40 barrelling towards me more quickly than I would like. 37!

I spent the birthday morning with the boys. I got my behind handed to me in Wii tennis by my four year old. I then engaged in a battle of chess with my six year old. Aidan beat me in about eight minutes into our chess game. Apparently 37 means you can no longer keep up with the young 'uns.

After our morning entertainment, we headed to the pool for lunch and swimming. We soaked up the sun and heat, content with the very late arrival of a beautiful summer.

I spent the evening with Chris and friends, eating good food and drinking (much) red wine. And even better, was the sweet husband who got up with our boys this morning so I could sleep off that red wine until the ripe old hour of 8:45 am.

37. Let's just try and hold off the impending arrival of 40. That just may be too much for me.

All Tennis Weekend

This past weekend was the USTA Eastern Sectionals in Syracuse, New York. The teams competing were all the winning teams from their regions around the Eastern Division of the USTA. We were up against teams from New Jersey, Long Island, New York City, Rockland County and Cooperstown.

Our first day of competition was at the courts at Syracuse University. My nerves were jittery with excitement as I saw the people gathered to compete and to watch the matches. I truly felt like a real tennis player. (This feeling dissipated somewhat as I watched the men from the 4.5 level (which in non-tennis speak basically means they are unbelievably good) play matches right next to our matches. There may have been a (ahem) slight difference in our playing levels. Just a bit.)

I couldn't' t believe I was at Sectionals. I never imagined our team would win the Buffalo area and I know none of us believed we could prevail at Regionals, so to be at Sectionals facing all these talented players seemed almost surreal. I was proud of our team. And I was damn proud of me. I never knew I had any of this in me.

I played five matches in three days and faced physical exhaustion beyond anything I have ever experienced. There was a point in my second match on Saturday that I honestly didn't think I was going to make it. We were in an intensely competitive, physical match that left me serving one game for almost half an hour because we reached so many deuce scores. I had to chase a loose ball during that long game and I saw my friend Carolyn who had driven to Syracuse to see us play, watching me walk towards the ball. I gave her a long look through the fence and whispered, "I'm not going to make it." She told me I was. She told me to take my time fetching that ball and take some deep breaths. Her calm and confidence in me reminded me I had it in me.

I did make it. My partner Christine made it. (Okay, she also runs marathons, so perhaps, for her this was not the test of physical endurance it was for me.) At the end of that first unending game, she turned at my groan of relief, grinned back at me and muttered dryly, "Hallu-fucking-lueigh." That quickly became one of my more favorite quotes from the weekend.

That match was my favorite. We didn't win, but I played better tennis than I thought I could. I kept going even though I wanted just to curl up in a corner and take a long nap. I pushed myself further physically than ever before. I won two matches of the five I played over the weekend, but that match, that physically demanding intensely competitive, but losing match, will always stay with me.

As an aside, the match will also stay with me because of a little "disagreement" we got into with the other team over one of their calls. We had to call in the ump to work it out and when it was resolved in our favor the other team was none too thrilled. A few minutes after the resolution, I had a particularly good shot and our opponent said quietly to me, "Nice shot." Christine hadn't heard her, but knew she had engaged me somehow and bounded up from the service line, pumped up to all her 5 '10 height, leaned over the net to the other player and said evenly, "What did you say to her? "

It took every ounce of my willpower not to laugh hysterically at this new side to my very calm, non-competitive, conflict avoidance friend. It was fantastic.

Over the weekend, I learned alot. I cemented my obsession with tennis. I now have a to-do list a mile long of what I want to learn next to improve my game. I also laughed more than I have in a long time at the antics of my teammates and friends. I couldn't have asked for a better group of people to share my new obsession of this wonderful game of tennis.

You Just Never Know

We do not know the extent of our talents until we are challenged to expand our boundaries.

Aidan reminded me of this today as we sat at his swim banquet, gathering his swim meet ribbons and, the real hit of the night, his first swim team trophy. Aidan hated swimming when he started taking lessons at the age of 3. His fearful tantrums were legend among the whoville swim set.

This summer, he wowed all of us with his enthusiasm for swimming, his love of the swim meets and how quickly he grew into a truly competitive swimmer. He evolved from one of the slower swimmers on the team to one of the faster swimmers for his age. At the swim championship, he not only raced in his age for the freestyle stroke, but he did the six and under relay, and got bumped up by the coaches to also do the eight and under mixed relay.

The most miraculous part of his evolution has been his love for swim team. He loves the practices, the meets and the swimming. He has already asked to continue his training in a winter swimming program.

You just never know.

Swim Championships: In Pictures

So Much Good Wrapped Up in a Weekend

I don't know where to start. There was almost too much goodness wrapped up in our weekend. Lots and lots of goodness.

We enjoyed a fantastic dinner with friends on Saturday night, outside on the patio soaking up a perfect summer evening. As we finished up dessert, we found out there was a fireworks display scheduled that evening for a wedding reception being held in the same venue. For fifteen minutes, we were treated to an almost personal fireworks display that took off above our heads, streaking the night sky with color and light. It was perfect.

I barely slept Saturday night keyed up for the big tennis play offs for my tennis team in Rochester on Sunday. My teammates and I streamed into the Rochester tennis club for our matches bleary eyed and pretty nervous, only to meet our competition, the uber tennis squad. Their coach was screaming drills at the women as they ran laps across the courts. After their drills were over, they took turns trying to psych us out by giving us evil stares. I'd be lying if I didn't admit they freaked me out.

At the same time, I started humming the melody from "Eye of the Tiger." Yes, really. I blame my hubbie and Aidan for putting the idea in my head. But all cheesiness aside, the Eye of the Tiger humming and singing got us all laughing, even in the midst of the evil stares.

First match of the day: doubles with a new partner. We did not start out strong. We were both really nervous and things were not looking good for us. We lost the first set and were down 4-1 the second set. The next thing I knew, we had come from behind to win the second set 7-5 to force a tie-breaker. We won the tie-breaker 10-8. We took Rochester and their crazy drill running coach down, on to the afternoon match.

Second match of the day against Binghamton Region: doubles with my dear friend and more regular partner Christine. We are good partners because we embrace the fun in tennis. We are competitive and like to win, but we like to have fun more. And we had a whole lot of fun. A whole lot of 6-0; 6-0 fun.

Two competitive matches in one day was exhausting, but it was also exhilarating. After some disbelief and a whole lot of giddiness, we realized we are on to the Eastern Region Championships. Three days of tennis next weekend. Game On.

We celebrated by meeting up with the hubbies to see Jason Mraz on concert. And we toasted, of course, in our new USTA champion glasses. I am currently renting them out for special events.

Potty Power III: The Return of the Potty

It's that time again. That horrible, no good time. The time when Chris and I have to actually put some effort into potty training a child. And let's face it. We sort of suck at the whole potty training thing. We are half hearted potty trainers. Sure, I can rock out the Potty Power song, and sing my heart out about "doing it yourself," but at the end of the day, the truth still hurts. I hate it and I'm not good at it.

I was putting some effort into our own episode of The Return of the Potty a few days ago. After Griffin wowed me with his potty prowess and managed to eek out some business on the throne, he turned to me, smiled and said, "Mommy, are you just SOOOO happy right now?"

I interrupted my humming of "potty power!" to assure him that yes, I was just soooo happy at his potty efforts.

He clapped his hands, helped me pull up his pants and said, "Good, because now you are my princess! My Potty Princess!"

"Wow, a princess? Really?" I asked laughing, "And a potty princess at that?"

Griffin nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, what does a potty princess get to do anyway G?" I inquired.

Griffin thought for a second and said, "You get to wear lots of special hats."

That's me. The potty princess rocking it out in her special hats. Potty Power to all!

Insanity

You think I'd be used to it by now. But the craziness of summer has wiped me out. We spent our weekend running from one engagement to the next, kids in tow. We didn't stop running until Sunday night and unfortunately for me, I had to work this morning.

We started Saturday with a tennis lesson for the boys. After tennis, we hustled home to change and hurry on to church for a full mass in honor of my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary. After mass, we stayed to hear my grandparents renew their vows. My grandmother's eyes glistened as she barely whispered out her vows to my grandfather. I only hope to be as happy after fifty years.

We had a family luncheon after the renewal ceremony. Then we hustled home, again, to change for a birthday party. Pizza, cake and gymnastics oh my! I pleaded exhaustion after two hours of trampoline fun and told Chris he had to head on out to our last party of the day (night) alone. I tucked the kiddies and myself into bed early.

We spent Sunday morning at a surprise birthday brunch. Aidan had a golf lesson in the afternoon, followed by a tee time for Chris. I snuck in some tennis. We finished up with dinner at the pool with a side of swimming. (Required when you haven't found time to grocery shop in almost three weeks.)

It hasn't been a particularly nice summer in the Northeast - rain, rain and more rain has led us to believe we have relocated to the Pacific Northwest, but not even the rain and a few clouds has slowed our Buffalo summer down.

It was the Bathing Suit

After a year and some of swim team and many years of swim lessons (screaming his way through at least two years of those), Aidan made his swim meet debut this evening.

There is a swim team uniform, that I, of course, forgot to buy until this afternoon approximately one and a half hours prior to the meet. (I am nothing if not organized. Well, okay, in all fairness to myself I did try to buy it yesterday,but my car broke down in a crowded intersection on my way to the store and well, that's a story for another time.)

When I brought home his fancy, schamncy speedo swimsuit, Aidan's eyes lit up like he won the Olympic medal. He's a swimmer and he looks like one too. He pranced and preened right up until we left for the meet.

When we got to the meet, Aidan confessed he was nervous to swim. I, honestly, was just as nervous for him. The mass of people, the popping of the start gun, the loud announcer - it can all be really overwhelming. My heart thudded as I watched him preparing to dive off the block. He, however, looked calm and composed while he waited for the start.

True to form, Aidan surprised us all, even himself, and took first place in his heat. First place to my baby! I was embarrassingly proud of him. I was that mother, cheering as I ran along the pool, dodging people along the way. I yelled too loud, was too excited, and loved every single second of it.

I was proud of his confidence and proud of his joy. After the match, I heard him tell our friends Christine and Dylan that he only went that fast because of his new bathing suit. Yep, it was all the bathing suit alright.

Perspective

I had a freak out this morning. Our house is a disaster. And well it should be, since there is no time to pick up or clean up or do anything else that is required to maintain a home. We have barely had time to stop home to change or even sleep since we have returned from vacation. Summer activities are in full swing, friends and relatives from out of town are visiting - life is go, go, go!

Whew! So this morning, bright and early, I decided that I should make time to clean the floors, vacuum the rugs and scrub down the bathrooms. I had about an hour to squeeze it all in before the boys had to get to swim team and swim lessons. Rock on. It could be done, right?! Right?!

No. It can't be done. I am the queen of setting expectations for myself that simply can't be met. I get frustrated when I can not meet these expectations and then end up snapping at my children in the heat of the moment. Our hour of lazy Monday morning soon evolves into a stressful, crazy yelling Mommy morning. It's not a good look for me.

By the time we got to the pool for swim lessons, I felt like the worst parent ever. The worst, yelling impatient mean parent ever. After a few minutes of getting the boys settled, one of the other pool mothers walked over to me, smiled and said, "I just don't know how you do it."

I smiled back at her and laughed because she has three boys of her own, all the exact same ages as mine. I replied, "I don't know how WE do it," as I gestured to include her.

She shook her head and said, "No. Your boys are so sweet. They sit with you and listen to you. They'll eat lunch with you and chat with you. My boys don't do that. I don't know how you get yours to do all that, to act like that."

I smiled gratefully at her and thanked her. I told her I really needed those kind words to remind me what is important. Summer days full of sweet boys, my sweet, darling boys, are important. Clean floors, vacuumed rugs and scrubbed down bathrooms - not so much.

Best Vacation

I am not sure I can put into words how wonderful our vacation was to the Outer Banks. After several days of beach and pool, of constant attention and love from a multitude of family members, Aidan turned to me and said intently, "This is the best vacation in my entire life."

I have to agree. I know I love my family. But there are times when I am immersed with them that I am overwhelmed with the fierceness of that love and how far it extends. The opportunity to see my family through my children's eyes, watching them as they are loved up by their uncles, cousins, aunts and grandparents - well, that is, to me, what life is all about.

We spent a week forgetting life includes having to put on shoes to go outside. The boys took all their showers outside next to the pool. Aidan learned how to play poker. All three boys stayed up way past their bedtime to chase crabs in the dark with flashlights on the beach. There was skim boarding and surfing and digging giant holes in the sand and collecting mini-oysters.

Our house was unbelievable. It was big enough that 28 people never seemed like too much. There was a game room with pool and foosball, a media room with video games and movies and sitting rooms galore to host our many board game sessions. (I learned I apparently suck at Scattegories. My cousins kicked my behind.) The boys loved having their very own pool and two hot tubs. I think they spent more time in the hot tubs than I did. Brennan could not get enough of the elevator and preferred to spend his mornings riding it up and down the three floors.

I documented the geezers vs. young uns as they took on both basketball and volleyball. Both games provided more than enough entertainment for the giggling spectators. And of course, I loved, once again, beating Seth and Travis in doubles tennis. Victory is sweet.

Each family was assigned a night to cook dinner for the group. Our night, Thursday night, was Mexican Fiesta. We had party favors of sombreros and chili pepper necklaces. We had Mexican tablecloths, a cactus cooler and even a hanging cut out for people to take pictures as flamenco dancers. Chris, Seth and Travis manned the grill and pool bar with mustaches and good humor. Travis even prepared a play list of Mexican tunes to groove by the pool. And there were, of course, margaritas in generous, oh so yummy quantities. Ole!

At the end of it all, I cried as we packed up the car and said our goodbyes. I didn't want to leave the beach, the house or most importantly, my family. As I brushed the tears away, my cousin Alli grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said, "You know most of us live like right across the street from you, right? I mean, I think we even have plans to see you all tomorrow."

She's right. They do. But I loved having us all together, there, on the beach with nothing to do but enjoy each other. It was a perfect vacation.

Beach Baby!

I have a day to pack up my stuff, the boys stuff and all the other assorted stuff I have convinced myself we can not live without for a week. In this day, today, I also have to take the boys to swim team, swim lessons, soccer practice and a soccer game.

I also need to clean my car. Ugh. My poor car has completely succumbed to the title of family vehicle with wrappers and debris, lego men and transformers littering every available inch of floor space. And did I mention that Griffin gets car sick any time he rides in the car over twenty minutes? Yes, my car doesn't smell all that good either.

Instead of doing any of this, I am drinking coffee, perusing blogs and reading facebook. Denial is a wonderful thing.

Beach vacation? What beach vacation? 12 hour drive? What 12 hour drive?

I need to kick into high gear. Beach, baby! Beach!

The Wardens

My gift to Chris for Father's Day was time to himself. I think we reach a point, particularly after having children, when time to do as you please is truly the best, most indulgent gift.

He was at the golf course by 7 a.m. and did not return until almost 4 p.m. I think he liked his gift.

The boys asked once or twice where Chris was throughout the day, but after hearing he was golfing, they were content with the explanation and did not inquire further. Daddy golfs and to them, that is good.

On Monday evening, I had plans to meet a friend to play tennis for an hour. As I prepared to get up from the dinner table to get ready to hit the courts, the boys were not pleased.

"Where are you going Momma?" Brennan asked for the third time.

"To tennis Brennan. Mommy is going to play some tennis for a little bit."

"For how long?" Aidan asked gazing at me seriously.

"Hmmm, I don't know. An hour maybe?" I replied.

"So, does this mean you'll be back to put us to bed or not?" Brennan inquired.

"Not sure - I will definitely come up when I get home to give you kisses though, okay?"

"But when?" "Will I be awake?" "Can you wake me up?" "Who are you playing tennis with?" "Are you only going to play tennis or do something else?" "Are you coming right home after?" "Are you leaving right now?" "Can't you stay longer?"

At this, I stopped answering their questions and burst into laughter. I gave Chris a mock glare and yelled, "Okay everybody, Daddy was gone for like 12 hours yesterday and no one says a word! I only want to leave for an hour guys!"

They didn't find it funny. Not funny in the least. My three little wardens. At least they're cute.

Backyard Bliss