Springfest

We had a nice, quiet kind of weekend. Aidan's school had a big fundraiser on Saturday - Springfest. A bounce house, kiddie entertainment, games and a whole lot of snow cones made the boys euphoric. Aidan was the big man on campus, reveling in his confidence in his school home. Within a few minutes of arriving, he was grabbed by a group of boys to play in a mini-sticks hockey competition and slapped high five by more boys than I could count.

Brennan was Aidan's sidekick, soaking up the school environment and reminding me once, twice, a few hundred times that he is ready to start kindergarten. Now. Anytime now. Please.

Griffin was thrilled to bask in the attention of his cousin Patrick. Pat is an 8th grader at Aidan's school. He loved showing off Griffin to his buddies and guided him from game to entertainment with his hand in Griffin's. It was beyond sweet.

After an hour of the Griffin/Patrick show, another mom from the school came up to me, smiled and said, "I am so impressed that Patrick will allow Griffin to hold his hand while he hangs out with all his friends."

I nodded and smiled as I watched my three year old gaze at his thirteen year old cousin with adoration. "Yes, Griffin really loves Pat. And Pat is a great kid to allow all the affection."

The mom squeezed my arm, looked into my eyes, and said, "It says alot about your family."

It does say alot about my family. A whole lot. And I am proud of every last inch of it.

All three boys gorged on snowcones. They may have eaten their weight in sugar coated shaved ice. They also had a chance to say hello to Sabretooth. (Always a highlight in our hockey obsessed town.)

Today, we were all a little bit spoiled by my brother Travis and my future sister in law Lynda. While they took the boys to the park to play and out to lunch, I folded a million and one pounds of laundry and then took an indulgent, luxurious nap on the couch. Just because I could.

There is nothing as sweet as a Sunday afternoon nap in a quiet house. Not even snowcones and Sabretooth.

Wishin' and Hopin'

I have begun the dreaded seasonal shift of the boys' clothes. It is a labor intensive project in which I spend hours upon hours going through stacks of clothes in three different closets determining what to keep, what gets passed down, what gets stored and what gets passed on to a friend.

Brennan and Griffin were beyond thrilled to see the emergence of their summer clothes. This meant, of course, only one thing: we must dress ourselves in bathing suits!

In spite of the 30 some degrees outside last week, my boys spent the day in bathing suits, t-shirts and well, of course, super hero masks. What's an outfit without a super hero mask? The UPS delivery guy really appreciated my superior mothering skills.

(I love seeing Chewy in the background of this last picture. He waits, patiently, for Aidan's bus to come around the bend. Without fail, he does this every afternoon. It is the highlight of Aidan's day. )

The Luck of the Irish

I always have a little bit of fun with St. Patrick's Day.

Leprechauns are known to do much mischief in our house and this year was no exception. Milk was stained green, toilet water turned green and small treats appeared at the boys' chairs for celebration.


Now that our affair with green and St. Patrick's day has passed, the boys have turned their sites to Easter. Brennan has become pretty suspicious over the whole idea of the Easter Bunny and shared his concerns with me at bed last night.

"So, at Easter, we get baskets?" Brennan asks when I tucked him into bed.

"You do! Baskets filled with Easter treats!" I reply with a smile.

"And who gives us these baskets?" Brennan asks wide-eyed.

"The Easter Bunny does."

Brennan gives me a long look, "So a bunny, a rabbit, gets us all that stuff and fills up all those baskets? All by himself? Really?"

"Yes." I reply, willing myself not to laugh, because honestly, it does seem a little ridiculous. "Who else would do all that?" I continued.

Brennan thinks for a second and then says, "I don't know. Some guy?"

Some guy. Sure. At least the boys haven't started questioning our belief in leprechauns. I have a few tricks up my sleeve for next year.

39

Saturday was Chris's 39th Birthday. The boys love birthdays, even when it is not their own. I had purchased several small presents for Chris this year and on friday, I let the boys select which one they would like to give to Chris.

I set them loose on the presents with wrapping paper, tape and markers. (This was a good time sucking activity for all of us. I may start to make up occasions that I need them to wrap things just so I can get dinner on the table.)

After the presents were wrapped, Aidan asked what Daddy had picked for his birthday dinner. It is the rule in our house that the birthday person gets to pick the what and the where of the birthday dinner menu.

"Well," I said slowly, "Daddy and I are going to go out to dinner with adults for his birthday and Megan is going to come over to play with you."

All three mouths flew open as they considered my response. Finally, Aidan said with some shock, "You are going to celebrate Daddy's birthday without us? Really?"

Ouch. To counter our growing guilt, we opted for a family celebratory dinner out at Duff's on Friday night. (Requested by Chris after watching and drooling over Duff's chicken wings on full display during the Food Wars on the Food Network this past week. )

The boys loved the wings, the games, and the chance to soak up some Daddy birthday celebration time as a family. I liked that I convinced them all we really needed ice cream afterwards. What's a family birthday celebration without a little Cold Stone?

On Saturday morning, Chris's parents offered to take the boys for a few hours to shop for new sneakers and do the rounds of the local toy store. Our romantic birthday morning involved shopping for new exercise equipment at the new Super Wal-mart. (We are lovebirds. We are.) Apparently, when you hit 39, you feel a renewed sense of purpose for living healthy. (But not before you indulge in a night of deep fried chicken wing goodness. Right.)

Later that evening, we set off for our adult birthday celebration with friends at Trattoria Aroma. Good food, much wine, and a great time was had by all.

39 looks good on my husband. Better than it will look on me. Let's not discuss my impending 38. Not a word.

What's in a Name?

The boys and I had a trip to the dentist last week. It was Griffin's first visit and he held up like a champ, jumping into the dental chair and opening his mouth wide without a trace of fear.

He never ceases to surprise me, my third child.

At one point the hygienist was making small talk with Griffin and asked, "Wow, you are the third boy? That is a whole lot of boys in one house."

"Yes it is!" Griffin replied with a wide grin.

"Does your mom ever get confused and call you by your brothers' names?" The hygienist asked.

"No, she doesn't," Griffin said as he shook his head, "But she sometimes calls me by the dog's name."

The hygienist burst into laughter when she caught my horrified face. Mother of the year.

Growing Up Overnight

I have moments when I look at the boys and feel as if they have grown up overnight. I felt this way with Aidan this morning as he prepared for a morning of snowboarding with Chris. He looked so confident, so excited, so grown up.

My handsome, first born son.

The New Work Out

We had a lazy morning today as the family gathered over an episode of Arthur in the family room. Chris and I sipped our coffee as the boys' lazed about in a tv coma.

Brennan walked up to me, gave me a hug and said, "Guess what I did this morning Momma?"

"What B?" I asked, as I ruffled his hair.

"I shot myself three times!" He said with a grin.

"You shot yourself?"

"I did. I shot myself three times in my wiener with my nerf gun. It will make my wiener big and strong!" Brennan yelled with a huge laugh.

Chris and I laughed so hard, we could barely muster a response.

Finally, I managed to say, "B, you shouldn't shoot yourself in your private areas. It will hurt you and it will not make you any bigger or stronger."

"Yes it will! My wiener is going to be so big and strong! I will exercise it so I can swing it and hit things with it!"

I turned to Chris, shot him a look and said, "This is yours to handle. All yours."

It's a new workout for the kid who wants superhero "wiener powers." Who ever knew nerf guns could come so handy?

Spring is in the Air. Really!

The boys still needed snow pants, gloves, hats and boots to play outside today, but I swear, really, that I could smell spring in the air.

Feeling Better Through Love

The last few days have kicked me in the butt and stomped on top of me, repeatedly and hard. My stress level is through the roof. I am irritable. I am angry. I am spending a whole lot of time wishing I worked at a book store. (I could rock a book store. Really.)

I crawled in bed with Brennan last night wishing for a moment's peace. He asked me what was wrong.

"I had a tough day at work today B." I told him with a sigh.

Brennan smiled at me. "Come here," he said as he reached across the bed to pull me closer to him. Brennan snuggled against me with huge hugs.

"You just need some love to feel better Momma." Brennan said with a smile.

Words to live by from my five year old.

Reflection

It is interesting as a parent to reflect upon your life with your children in years past. Each year there are things we do, as a family, that are the same in previous years. This sameness gives me perspective as to where we were and where we are as a family.

Chris has traveled on a guys' ski trip once a year since Aidan was four months old. I always want him to go and enjoy his time doing something he loves so much while enjoying the company of his buddies. I do. Really. It's just that when he gets back from his trip, I am so exhausted, mentally and physically, from my days as a single parent that I feel a tiny bit bitter.

I know. Bitter is not attractive or nice. But if I am being honest, I do. I usually feel a little bit of bitter with a tiny slice of anger mixed in to my haze of exhaustion. I think if you asked Chris, he would admit to all the same whenever I have gone out of town. It isn't easy to do the single parenting thing. But we want that happiness for our significant other and are willing to embrace the bitter and anger and exhaustion to give it to them.

Except this year, I have no bitterness or anger as Chris returns tomorrow from his trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Not an ounce. I still feel exhausted, but it's a happy exhausted. This year was easier than the past years. As with all things, as my children grow up, it gets easier to single parent, even when your husband is off on a ski adventure.

The boys are growing up. They like to help me. Brennan took over dog duties and woke up each morning to run downstairs to feed Chewy and let him outside. On Saturday, Aidan fed everyone bowls of cereal and cups of juice. (Aidan even mimicked me as he gave his brothers their juice. "And the cups all have the same amount everyone so no fighting!" It is funny to hear your voice coming out of the mouth of a seven year old.)

They will even insist that they let me sleep in on Saturday morning. I quote Aidan, "Mom, we let you sleep in!" He exclaimed as he nudged me awake.

"You did? What time is it?" I sleepily respond with a big yawn.

"It's 7:01!" The boys yell with a cheer as they climb into my bed.

Yes, 7:01. Quite a decadent sleep in.

And Griffin, well G is still our three year old. He woke me each day at 5 am, insistent it was time to get up. I am not an attractive mother at 5 am. (Much better at 7:01.) But even he was simply easier this year.

I think I have also matured as a mother. I have stopped playing the martyr and accepted help when it is offered. I used to spend alot of time hunkering down at home when Chris was out of town, declining offers of assistance, just wishing for the strength to get through it with minimal yelling. There was a part of me that thought I had to do it all on my own. But this year, I said "yes!" when my aunt offered to take the boys to a basketball game on Saturday afternoon. I said "yes!" when my brother and future sister in law offered to take the boys on Sunday morning for a few hours so I could get in some tennis time. And I even scheduled my cousin Nikki for babysitting on Saturday night so I could enjoy an early dinner and a movie with girlfriends.

It made the difference. I feel nothing but happiness at the thought of Chris returning home. Not an ounce of bitterness or anger underlying that joy. I like it. It feels really good.

Life continues to get easier with my boys. But I realize it's not just the boys that are growing, it's me too.

For the Love of Snow

While I get a little stir crazy for spring as March approaches, the boys adore the snow. They play outside for hours, building forts and throwing snowballs. They will only come inside when their faces are bright red and their coats are encrusted with snow. And there is of course, the promise of hot chocolate with marshmallows. That may be their most favorite part of winter.

8 AM on a Friday Morning

It is 8 am on a Friday morning. What should we do? Why, play twister of course. Why shouldn't we?

Clothes Horse

Griffin and I have fallen into a nice clothing routine.

At bedtime, I lay out his clothes for the next day and place them on his dresser so he can get dressed in the morning.

He wakes up in the morning, carefully puts the clothes I picked out back into his dresser drawers and greets me in a completely different outfit he picked out.

His choice of outfit requires one pair of pants with elastic and some sort of fleece material. No buttons! Nothing that is not soft or comfy! His shirt must feature some sports theme, preferably that of the Buffalo Sabres. If the Sabres are not available, he will wear the Bills. In fact, he continues to wear his Buffalo Bill sweatshirt that is sized at approximately a 2T in spite of it looking like a half shirt on him.

It's a mess. A big, huge, fashion victim sort of mess. And I would be lying if I didn't admit that it bugs the hell out of me.

I miss dressing my sweet little boy in adorable preppy little man outfits. I miss button downs and jeans, sweaters and cords, rugbys and chinos. Oh, how I miss them. I have barrels of clothes to pass on to my third child. Sweet, adorable, oh so cute little man clothes. But he will have nothing to do with them.

And yet, I continue to lay out Griffin's clothes, night after night, just hoping that tomorrow may be the day he decides he wants to dress my way.

I don't think I should hold my breath.

It Took No Time at All

Chris left early, early, early this morning for his guys' annual ski trip. I forgot to do my pre-trip ritual of analyzing the contents of our wine shelf to ensure I have ample supplies while he is gone.

That was a serious tactical error.

He hasn't even been gone for all of 12 hours and I have morphed into crazy, screaming, psycho mommy. ("No wire hangers! No wire hangers!")

I hate crazy, screaming psycho mommy. I don't even realize she is there, lurking in the shadows, until she has fully unleashed her crazy. And it is a hell of a crazy.

Thankfully, I have a piece of chocolate cheesecake with my name on it calling me from the fridge. It's not wine, but chocolate has been known to banish quite a bit of the crazy.

Four days to go. I hope patient, loving, sweet mommy makes an appearance tomorrow. We need all the help we can get here.

More on the Pup

One of my most favorite things about Chewy is how, without fail, he waits by the front door peering out the glass as he waits patiently for Aidan's school bus. There is absolute joy on Aidan's face when he walks up the driveway and he sees his puppy bounding towards him, tail wagging.

One of my other favorite things about our dear Chewy is how he has given my children such unconditional love. I witnessed this first hand when Brennan, fresh off a spectactular time out for some mischief, opted to drown his sorrow with a snuggle into Chewy's soft fur. There is nothing like a boy hugging his dog for comfort.

Now if I could just get the damn dog to stop eating legos, army men and WII REMOTES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, life would be good. Really good.

Hibernation

I love winter because it slows life down for us. We hibernate just a bit and enjoy quiet weekends at home, reading books, watching movies, and playing games.

This weekend we had next to nothing on our schedule. I love the freedom of having nowhere in particular that we had to be or had to go. Chris got up with the boys this morning and let me sleep until the surreal time of 8:15 am. (Decadent in my life! 8:15 am is the new noon for a mom to three young boys.) After letting me sleep in, he greeted me with breakfast, a cheddar broccoli omelet, made special by "Daddy's Diner." (Hmmm, perhaps this spoiling has been brought on by his upcoming guys' ski trip? Maybe? I will soak it up regardless!)

After breakfast, we decided to pay a visit to our Whoville sledding hill. I laughed hysterically watching the boys take turns on the sleds. Aidan even brought his snowboard and took off down the slope at full steam. We then moved over to the adjacent playground where climbing quickly dissolved into a family snowball fight - parents vs. the kids. I spent more time laughing than I did making snowballs.

Tonight, we will embrace a nice quiet evening at home and perhaps a movie. Yes, I will be stir crazy for spring by March, but for now I am soaking up the quiet and peace of winter.

Insanity

Tuesday and Wednesday were insane days.

I work on Tuesdays and I also try to play tennis at 6 pm. This requires that I scramble out of the office at a frantic pace in order to pick up the boys and get them home in plenty of time to start dinner. I start dinner, get the boys settled, change out of my work clothes into tennis clothes, give a brief hello to the husband as he walks in the door and head back out to the tennis club.

I play for an hour and a half and return home starved. This past Tuesday, I ate dinner alone at the table reading a magazine, while Chris worked on his lap top in the family room. The boys were already asleep in bed. The phone rang and I opted not to answer when I glanced at the caller id and saw it was an unknown California number.

"Who was that?" Chris yells from the family room.

"No idea, some California number." I respond as I flip the pages of my magazine.

A few minutes passes until Chris yells back, "Oh! I almost forgot. Someone from TMZ called because they need a comment from you."

"What? A comment? What does that mean?" I asked, confused.

"No idea." Chris responds.

I finish up my dinner. After a few minutes, I walk into the family room, look at Chris and ask, "Isn't TMZ some celebrity gossip website?"

Chris shrugs his shoulders. "No idea who it was. They asked if you were available. I said no, that you were playing tennis. They said they needed a comment from you."

"That's weird." Just then, the phone started ringing again. Same California number.

I decide to check my work email. I log on to a number of emails and voice mails, all from TMZ. I get a little nervous, but decide it must be about the trademark applications I filed on behalf of one of the infamous cast members of Jersey Shore. I email our head of marketing to alert her to the media interest and contemplate if I should phone the client's manager.

I decide to wait and take a shower instead. After a quick shower, I come back downstairs as my cell phone beeps to alert a text message. It's from my brother Travis and it reads, "Have you seen The Smoking Gun today? If not, you should."

As my home phone rings yet again, I race to my computer to check out The Smoking Gun. And sure enough, the featured document is one of the trademark applications I filed. I was floored. Absolutely stunned.

I have to admit, it freaked me out alot. There is something paralyzing about seeing your name, your email, your phone number up on a popular website.

Our home phone kept ringing every fifteen minutes for another hour. I figured that while it was a little insane, it would all be over by the morning.

The next day I met with our head of marketing and contacted my client's manager to ask them if they wanted me to comment on the story. I was asked not to comment and we hoped if we simply ignored the calls they would eventually stop calling. The manager warned me it would probably get worse before it got better.

He was right.

The calls just kept coming. I put the calls into my voice mail and tried to ignore them. After I sent a number of calls to voice mail, the reporters called my firm's main phone number, lied to our receptionist and tried to get transferred to me. The reporters also called other attorneys at my firm, using their direct dial numbers, and tried to get transferred to me. After a few hours, a reporter even tried to get the managing partner at my firm on the phone to get me to comment.

Yes, ignoring it didn't seem to work. I had to call the reporters and give them an official "no comment."

In the meantime, the firm had to send out an email to the entire firm asking everyone not to speak to the media. It was completely crazy.

When I finally got the courage to call the reporter from TMZ, he tried to engage me by asking about my "tennis game last night." He was disarmingly kind and funny, but grew less so as he realized I had called to merely refer him to my client's manager. After saying nothing beyond, "Thank you for your interest" and "no comment," I got off the phone as quickly as I could.

The calls stopped until a few hours later when another reporter started calling. In the meantime, I got an email from my client's manager, forwarding a message from the reporter I had just spoken to on the phone. In it, the reporter claimed I gave him great comments on the client, including an outline of her business plan.

Crazy, right?! He outright lied in the hopes of getting the manager to comment when I had not. I may be a bit naive, but I couldn't believe the extents to which this person was willing to go to get someone to say something, anything.

I started forwarding messages from the rest of the reporters to my firm's head of marketing. She offered to call them back to stop the remaining calls.

It was a long, crazy, surreal sort of day, not the ordinary day for a intellectual property lawyer from Buffalo. Not at all.

From Skiers to Snowboarders

Chris was adamant that the boys must learn to ski before the snowboard. This resolve stayed firm right up until he went to a going out of business sale at a local ski shop. He returned with two kiddie snowboards, boot and gear.

And snowboarding it is. The boys were thrilled with their new snowboards and immediately had to try them out in the family room.

As an avid snowboarder, I think Chris was just as excited as the boys. He started them off with a lesson in our front yard. They were so adorable falling all over the place that any car driving past slowed to grin at them.

After the lesson in the front yard, Chris took them to the local free ski hill for a quick spin. They all returned exhausted, but still excited for their first official lesson the next day.


Their Sunday ski lesson has evolved into a Sunday board lesson and they are loving every minute of it. As skiers they had both moved up fairly quickly and joined the group that was allowed to go up the ski lift and down the hill alone. But now, as boarders, they have started all over and returned to the bunny hill to learn how to turn, to fall, and to get back up.


They love it. Chris has two little boarders under his wing and number three, little Griffin, can't wait for his turn at the slopes.