The Summer of '89

It all started in the summer of 1989. We met, fell in love, dated for a million and one years, got engaged, got married, popped out three boys in six years and today, celebrate 11 years of marriage.

Did we know that summer what our future held?

Happy Happy Joy Joy!

Next Thursday is my birthday. This Saturday is our 11th wedding anniversary. I told Chris all I wanted for both was some time with him, away from everything and everyone.

Today, I found out I get that and some time for me too. My in laws arrive tomorrow morning and Chris and I are headed to a hotel about 15 minutes from our house. He has to work Friday, leaving me filling my day with anything my little heart desires. (which honestly is probably a long, hot shower and an indulgent afternoon nap. I'm crazy I tell ya!)

After work today, the boys greeted me with giggles and told me to hunt for my birthday present. In his next breath, Aidan told me "it's in the playroom." Brennan followed up with a brilliant, "And whatever you do Mom, don't look over here."

They are super duper hiders my boys.

The "here" Brennan was referring to was a stack of stuffed animals hiding a brand spankin' new tennis racket. In a case! (And it's so light! Light like feathers light! Wow.)

Forget about a birthday or an anniversary being a day, I'll take the whole month for me please.

Bedtime Whispers

Brennan was snuggled into my arms for a bedtime hug when I heard him whisper something softly against my shoulder.

"What did you say B?" I asked as I rubbed his back.

Brennan looked up at me, smiled and said softly, "I said I never want to let you go Momma."

Me too B. Me too.

The Partridge Family

Guess who just got their very own Rock Band game for Wii?

We may have to take our little Partridge Family on the road for a Rock Band tour. Until then, I will continue to battle Griffin for the microphone.

P.S. I love how two out of three of my kiddies are not wearing pants in the above pictures.

Hello Fishies

When we began the summer, the boys loved the pool, but to call their splashing and jumping in the water actually swimming would be stretchin' the truth. Aidan could do a bit of a doggie paddle. Brennan liked to walk slowly along the edge of the shallow end and refused to even put his face in the water. And Griffin preferred to hang out on the shallow end stairs of the pool loading and emptying buckets of water.

Within the last two weeks, a switch has been flicked. The boys are swimmers - all three of them. Aidan dives! He freestyles! He can do laps and swim underwater. He has even started the backstroke. Brennan is streamlining across the shallow end of the pool - under water! He can almost swim the width of the pool and spent most of this morning swimming under water with Aidan.

And then there's Griffin. While Griffin should still be hanging out on the pool stairs or playing in the baby pool with his buddies, he has decided he can swim too. While he wears a life jacket, he has figured out how to keep himself upright, kick and paddle around the pool. He has little or no fear. If you get too close to him or try and assist him in his efforts, you are rewarded with a screaming, "No Touch! No Touch!". He takes his swimming and his independence quite seriously.

I never thought is was possible. I went from being the mom known at the Y for the crazy water-terrified screaming kids to this. It's amazing what regular access to a pool can do. My boys are water-lovin' fishies. If you had told me this would happen a year ago, I probably wouldn't have believed you.

Drivin' Down the Hill

We have a nice size hill in our backyard. The boys have centered many of their outside games on our hill, including their favorite: race our toddler cars down the hill at super sonic speed. It's laugh out loud funny to watch them struggle to push the cars up to the top of the hill and then race them down with horrified, terrified but yet happy faces.

There is also a small element of fear for me as I watch the ride down. The hill is steep. The cars go pretty fast. And my precious young'uns are barreling along at a million miles an hour in plastic cars I bought for a dollar at a garage sale three years ago. In other words, there is no guarantee these suckers will hold.

But the boys love it. On Monday, they inducted our neighbor's daughters into the action. (When I say "they," I use the term pretty loosely as it was pretty much Brennan who must spread a carefree, dare devil attitude amongst his peers.)

For the Love of Some Tennis

I never really played sports as a child. I remember playing soccer when I was young, but I think I just did it because it was the thing every child played when you grew up in Massachusetts. I wasn’t very good at it, but I liked it, I think.

As I grew up, sports held no attraction for me. I was music and drama all the time. Singing lessons, plays, musicals, chorus and show choirs, I did them all through elementary school, high school and college. I left the athletics to my brothers, the sports stars.

Because of my lack of exposure to sports, I felt a little awkward when I started tennis lessons in June. It is hard to move beyond your comfort zone in your thirties. I was nervous I would make a fool out of myself. I was uncertain I would enjoy myself. And I felt downright embarrassed and awkward the first time I wore a tennis skirt. (Who me, in athletic wear? Please. Never happen.)

Fast forward to the end of July. I am in love with the sport of tennis. I am now up to two nights of lessons a week. Last night, I played tennis matches with women I have never met before as part of a tennis interclub group. I wasn’t great, but I didn’t embarrass myself either. I was okay. I had fun. And most importantly, I absolutely loved every minute of it.

I never knew I could discover something new about myself at the age of 35. I am thrilled I have found something to do for me, without the kiddies, that is active and fun. I love the feel of my body moving. I enjoy coming home sweaty and worn out. I even love the slight soreness in my muscles. I am not quite sure who this tennis playing woman is, but I am truly enjoying getting to know her, tennis skirt and all.

Robot Love

I am in love with a round, circular bunch of metal and plastic. His name is Scooba and he cleans my floors. I adore him. Not only do I talk to him (good job little Scooba – such a nice clean floor!), but the boys like to cheer him on as we watch our little robot scrub and clean. (Griffin even claps when Scooba finishes a room.) Scooba is our sweet miracle.

He is such a miracle, in fact, it led us to letting go of our twice a month appointment with our cleaning lady. Our cleaning appointment was only to scrub up our floors, vacuum up our rugs and give our bathrooms some shine. With Scooba taking care of my floors, we thought we could do away with the expense.

I have to admit I only agreed to let the cleaning lady go after Chris promised me to get a girlfriend for our Scooba. Her name is Roomba. And they just may be a match made in heaven. With Roomba vacumming and Scooba scrubbing, life is good.

Hmmm, just one thing though: does anyone know of any robots who do bathtubs?

Spicy What?

This morning, I threw Brennan a clean pair of underwear to wear. He looked at the Incredibles undies, shook his head and said, "I don't want to wear those today Mom. I want my spicy underwear!"

"You're what?" I asked, certain he didn't just tell me he had deemed certain undergarments of the spicy variety.

"My spicy underwear! SPICY!" He yelled laughing at my expression.

"Brennan, I have no idea what you are talking about." I replied, trying not to laugh at him.

"Okay, Mom. I'll go get 'em." And with that, he ran upstairs to his bedroom to grab the undies of choice.

I turned to share a look with Chris, who shrugged his shoulders, laughed and countered, "Maybe he meant spiky?"

"Spiky underwear? Is that any better? Really?"

Before we can finish our thoughts, Brennan bounds down the stairs brandishing a pair of underwear over his head.

"My spicy underwear!" He yells. As he gets closer, I see he is holding a pair of orange and red underwear with a lightening pattern.

He quickly puts them on, turns to me giggling, wags his bottom and shouts, "SPICY!"

Just when I think nothing he can do can surprise me, he does. Spicy, huh?

Sweet Puppy

For the last year, Chris has been after me to add a pup to our chaotic brood. I have explained to him time and time again that a puppy right now would push me right over the edge of my sanity. (And it is a very fine edge indeed.) I've got nothing left to give. Not right now.

Every once and awhile though, I get soft and imagine how sweet and nice a little puppy would be in our home. This happened last weekend when my cousin Ali brought over her new dog Ringo. (Side note: my Aunt went away for the weekend and my 17 year old cousin bought a dog. Ha. Let the fireworks begin, right?)

But look at this sweet face:

Hard to resist, isn't it? Even harder when your children are squealing with delight over the little pup. Griffin would not let the puppy go. Aidan kept kissing his fur. Brennan sat quietly and softly petted Ringo's puffy white fur with the most gentle touches. My children were in love.

I was a little in love too. I even started to consider life with a pup running with and after the boys. This nice warm and fuzzy feeling stayed with me as I watched sweet little Ringo pee all over my foyer. I then watched as Griffin started to play in the dog urine and Brennan stepped into the mess in his socks and tracked it all over the house.

I think I can resist the dog thing a little longer.

Who Has It All Together?

This morning was one of those crazy mornings where everyone got up late and was grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. I knew we were in for it when we got home from dinner with Chris’s family last night later than expected. The boys were just getting into bed at 8:30 – and on a school night, that is not a good thing.

We paid for it dearly this morning. In the span of just an hour from wake up to drop off, there were more tears, fights, melt downs and explosions than I care to remember. At one point, Chris turned to me and said, “I am really glad they are going to school today.” We both laughed low evil laughs, knowing our children’s teachers will have their hands full.

Chris had drop off duties this morning. I ran upstairs after they left, intent on getting myself dressed and out of the house in ten minutes. As I left the house ten minutes later, I was balancing a bag of juice boxes (a must at pick up after a hot day at school for the boys), my coffee, my purse, and a wegmans bag containing my very pathetic little lunch I threw together in thirty seconds flat. (a slice of leftover pizza, a diet coke and an orange. Sad, no?)

My hair had been thrown back into a quick, droopy ponytail. My sweater had a slight stain on it. My spanx were wet (I forgot to take the clothes out of the washer last night) and were slowly dampening my skirt. I had no make up on to speak of and my eyes were bloodshot and underlined with large bags brought on by total exhaustion.

Through my streaked glasses (Griffin smudged them when he gave me a good bye hug and I forgot to clean them), I made out two women walking together on the street outside my house. They both grinned big happy smiles, waved and shouted in unison a friendly “Good Morning!.”

I gave a half hearted wave back to them, loaded myself and my stuff into the car and sat there seething with envy.

I watched these women walk further down the street with their perky ponytails swaying in the light morning breeze. They looked fresh and well-rested and happy.

I was annoyed. Who ARE these women? What do they DO? Where were THEIR children? And HOW IN THE HELL do they find the time to do this?

I forgot all about racing off to work and instead, cracked open my breakfast of cocoa puffs in a ziplock bag and watched these women walk even further down the street.

I don’t even know them, but I think I hate them a little bit.

I know. It’s not THEM. I am sure THEY are lovely people. It’s this nagging feeling I have that anyone and everyone has conquered life and made it so manageable. There are times, like this morning, when I feel that everyone but me has it all figured out. These other women manage children and home and work and husbands and social commitments and friends and family without problem. And, of course, they look good while they do it. They make it all look so very easy, while I am merely getting by. And to be honest, my getting by is taking every last bit of energy I have.

I finally snapped out of my pity party and drove off to work. I snagged a parking spot at work and took thirty seconds to make myself look presentable. To boost my mood, I sang to myself as I threw on mascara and lip gloss. For some unknown reason, my song of choice was “Angels We Have Heard On High.” I kept right on singing as I loaded up my stuff and turned off the car. I was even singing as I got out of the car and locked my door.

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t realize I was still singing until I caught the amused smile of the gentleman getting out of his car next to me. It’s always nice to serenade other people in the middle of July with a loudly and enthusiastically sung Christmas carol.

Not only do I not have my life in order, but I am now gaining a reputation as a lunatic caroling in the parking ramp at work.

Slow Down Summer

I'm tired. I love summer. I truly do. But somehow instead of lazy summer days, our family has been bombarded with an assortment of activities and social engagements. It's all good stuff. It's fun things spent with people we adore, both family and friends.

But I still think I need a little break.

We have swimming lessons and swim team. Chris has golf dates and I have my tennis lessons. We have backyard barbecues, fancy fundraisers and cocktail parties. We have dinner with friends, birthday parties and family dinners. There are play dates and work functions. More, more and more. It makes my head spin.

By tomorrow, we will have had some sort of engagement every night FOR A WEEK. A WEEK! I can't even mention the amount of money we spent on babysitters for this weekend's activities.

I can't keep it up. The summer is flying by and I may be just too busy to slow down to enjoy it.

I think it's time I start to practice the art of saying "no."

Is it okay to say no?

Superheroes!

One of the best gifts I have ever gotten for the boys was their personalized superhero capes. They rescue stray stuffed animals, fly to far away places and battle evil far and wide. (usually in conjunction with a light saber.)



Today, Griffin was trying to "fly" with his cape. A video of the attempt:

It's Not Funny Business

Griffin worships Brennan. He would follow Brennan to the moon and back, if Brennan wasn't so cranky about the whole hero worship thing. Griffin barrels after Brennan morning, noon and night and lives a life where he believes he is also three instead of one and a half.

This morning, Griffin followed Brennan into the bathroom. He stood, for a good ten minutes, staring at Brennan as Brennan did his deed on the toilet. He was transfixed by Brennan's cleaning up after his work was done. Brennan, in a rare moment of brotherhood, decided to share a few moments of wisdom with Griffin. (Picture Brennan buck naked as he gives his sage advice.)

"That's what you should do Griffin. If you have to go poopy, you come and sit on the potty."

Griffin giggled at the thought of it, but was only met with Brennan's serious eyes.

"No, Griffin. It's not funny. You have to go poopy in the potty."

Griffin laughed again.

Brennan shook his head at Griffin and said in an extremely serious tone, "All this poopy in your pants isn't funny business, okay Griffin? It's not funny to poop in your pants."

I am now nominating Brennan to take over all potty training duties for Griffin. We may have it done before he is two. (And this may save me from round three of Potty Power!)

Our Trip to the Allergist

Brennan's first appointment with the allergy doctor was this morning. He handled it extremely well, probably better than I did. The doctor reviewed his blood screen results with us, spent a good amount of time just discussing Brennan and his habits and then pronounced Brennan "a very allergic little boy."

Brennan tested at the highest possible level for nut allergies. After a scratch test, he also tested positive for shellfish, grass and tree nuts.

The scratch test looked torturous to me, but Brennan handled it calmly and quietly. He laid, stomach down, on an exam table for twenty five minutes while he was pricked with various allergens to test his sensitivity. Not a peep from that kid the entire time. (The genius nurse may take much of the credit for his handling it so well. She gave him stickers to create sports figures and sports action scenes on the white tissue paper that covered the table. I wanted to hug her. Really hug her.)

We have a safety plan for school and home which basically amounts to: no nuts ever. Do not bring them into the house. Do not let Brennan eat nuts anytime or anywhere.

And then just in case, the doctor taught me how to use an epi-pen. I hope I never have to do it for real. The thought of sticking my child with the needle may be too much for me.

After the whole thing was over, Brennan asked to stop for a donut. (At that point, I would have agreed to any request he may have had.)

As we drove home, I watched him in the rear view mirror. He sat in the backseat gorging on powdered donut holes as he sang along to Justin Robert's "Way Out". He had sugar all over his face and shirt and as he sang, the sugar went everywhere. He was so happy and so very beautiful. My sweet peanut free little boy.

The Language of Toddlers

Griffin is a full fledged toddler now. He is not afraid to ask for what he wants. While he has a rapidly expanding vocabulary, it isn’t always easy to make out his words. I seem to have the most luck with deciphering his toddlerese – just based on my constant exposure to his budding language.

But beware if you have some difficulty translating toddler language with Griffin. He takes it as a personal insult, not only to his language skills, but to your own intelligence. Instead of leaving it be when a person fails to grasp what he is trying to say, he yells the same word over and over, louder and louder until you translate it accurately. The whole time he is screaming at you, he shakes his head back and forth, almost like he is shocked by your sheer stupidity in not understanding him. He reminds me of a tourist in a foreign speaking land, speaking louder and louder, insistent that you WILL understand him, even if it takes both VOLUME and countless repetition. He will not let it go. He will not give up. You must understand him to make it end.

This morning, Griffin was frustrated by my inability to translate his morning greeting.

“dancak.” He yells to me when I kiss him good morning.

“Daddy?” I say back smiling, “He’s in the kitchen.”

“Noooooo, dancake!” Griffin responds shaking his head.

“Honey, I have no idea what you are saying to me.” I reply kissing him.

Griffin gives me almost an eye roll and then proceeds to yell over and over, louder and louder, “Dancak! Dancak! DANCAK. DANCAK! DANCAK!!!!!!!” as we walk down the stairs.

We reach the kitchen where Chris greets us and quickly says to Griffin, “Pancakes?”

“Yes!” Griffin shouts triumphantly and shoots me a quick look of disdain. “Dancake!”

Oh, pancakes! I guess I still need some work on my toddler translation skills.

Dream Dust

I got home last night just as the boys were off to sleep for the night. I went upstairs to kiss them both goodnight. Aidan peeked out from his half closed bedroom door and whispered furtively, "I was waiting for you Mom. I don't want to go to sleep without your Mommy Dust."

No, I don't drug my kids or anything, but I have created a little fiction to help ease the worry of the dark and nighttime. Aidan has dubbed it the "Mommy Dust."

Last year, Aidan woke up from a dead sleep screaming in terror from a nightmare. I cuddled him until his crying stopped, but he still refused to go back to sleep because he was scared of having another bad dream. Upon hearing this, I gasped and told him the bad dream had really been my fault because I had forgotten to dust his pillow with the promise of good dreams before he went to sleep. I reached into my pocket and pretended to grab a handful of dust. I carefully spread the dust over the pillow, securely patted it in place and told Aidan he had to place his head on the pillow to absorb the promise of good dreams.

It worked like a charm. Aidan told Brennan about the special powers of Mommy Dust and now it is part of our nighttime ritual. Books, cuddles, a hug (or two or three), and some Mommy Dust to top it all off. They have both requested the "dust recipe", but I told them it is a special magic reserved for mommies. I did promise to share the magic of the dust with them someday when they have children.

Last night, after sharing the Mommy Dust with Aidan, I went into give Brennan a kiss goodnight. He smiled and immediately asked for some of the dust on his pillow. I complied and he told me, "Because of the dust momma I am going to have good dreams. I will dream of hockey and soccer and football and swimming and baseball and me at sports!" He stopped for a second, smiled at me again and said softly, "And you too Momma. You are in my good dreams too."

Thank goodness for the promise of good dreams - all thanks to a little pretend Mommy Magic.

Holiday Weekend Pictures

I love to take pictures, but I haven't lived up to my normal picture obsession lately. The camera has spent too much quality time at home stuffed in the back of a drawer.

Thankfully, Travis and Lynda emailed me a few pictures of our holiday fun this past weekend. A few of the shots they shared from our celebration:

Scary Good

It scares me that my children's bad behavior doesn't tend to shock me, but when they behave like little angels I am bewildered and flustered. This morning Chris had to leave for work at the crack of dawn - leaving me in my frazzled single working mom routine trying to get all of us up and out for the day without anyone fighting or screaming or crying. Good luck, right?!

Strangely enough, the morning was smooth. The boys ate breakfast without complaint. They played nicely so I could get dressed in my five minutes or less and ready for the day look. Aidan helped Griffin put his shoes on for school. Brennan got everyone's backpacks lined up at the door. Griffin shared sweetness with boy his brothers, going in for multiple hugs and giggles. They all marched to the car and got settled right in their seats when it was time to leave.

Not a a fight or a fit in sight all morning.

It was all too good to be true. They were all too good to be true.

It even got better. In the car on the way to drop off the boys at school, I gasped out loud when I realized I forgot to throw Aidan's lunch and water bottle in his backpack. At my gasp, Aidan chuckled and said, "Don't worry Mom. I grabbed my water bottle and lunch from the fridge and packed them in my backpack. I have them right here." Alrighty then. My five year old is keeping me organized.

I will hold the memory of this morning close to my heart next time we battle over who has more marshmallows in their lucky charms or who gets to brush their teeth first. My children were scarily good and kind and helpful. It almost makes me fear what they are concocting up for me next.

I Wish I Had Pictures

I desperately wish I had taken pictures tonight of:

(1) Brennan dressed for bed in a Disney princess pull up (we were out of our regular "masculine" boy pull ups) topped with a Bills jersey. The sight of him dancing in the hallway in the football jersey and pink princess pull up was enough to send me into hysterics.

(2) Aidan dressed for bed in just his underwear and sunglasses. There are no words.

(As an aside I was all set to take a picture of Brennan in his quite happening princess meets football nighttime outfit, but Chris wouldn't let me. I guess posting that picture may have, indeed, guaranteed my child a lifetime of therapy.)