Menu Week Two

A little late, I know. But M is late tonight, so I didn't have to really plan anything for tonight (Hey! Chicken nuggets are a totally respectable meal I tell you...). So without further ado...

Tuesday - Turkey Tenderloins with Cornbread Stuffing (side of some veggie out of the freezer)

Wednesday - Potato Crusted Red Snapper, Caesar Salad

Thursday - Turkey Burgers with Sweet Potato Fries

Friday - Chicken Fajitas

Saturday - Chicken Pot Pie (a special request from C)

I know, I know, heavy on the poultry this week. But I am trying to use up my freezer stash of random crap before we move so I don't have to beg space from other people's freezers while the deep freeze is out of commission, and I seem to have accumulated a fair amount of chicken.

Semantics

Every so often over the last six months M has asked me "Are you going to miss this house?" I look around, and honestly answer "Not really, no." To which he sniffs a bit and huffs and puffs about the charm and the historical yadda yadda and then we move on to rehashing the decision to buy the new house all over again.

But his question is a good one. Will I miss the gorgeous, 1771 original, hardwood floors with little grooves that make it impossible to get the bits of dried peas off the kitchen floor without a pair of tweezers? Not so much. Will I miss the wood beamed family room that oozes charm, but never gets a drop of direct sunlight? Nope. See ya. Will I miss C's gabled bedroom that screams "George Washington slept here!" but everytime I walk into it, I hit my head? Can't say that I will. Will I miss the creaking floorboards outside the kids' rooms that wakes them up every night, the pipes that freeze every. single. winter., or the bathroom sink that only runs cold water? Again, I don't think so.

But, right now, even though 90% of my stuff is now in residence at the other house, this house is home. It is where we have slept and played and cried and yelled for the last four years, longer than I have ever lived anyplace except my mother's house. This is where C learned to talk, A learned to walk, and both kids learned how to climb up and down stairs with ease. It is where we looked forward to returning to after every trip, and where I curl up when I need to get away from things.

Soon the furniture and books and toys will all be installed at the new house,but it isn't going to feel like home right away. When the light streams into the playroom, and I sip my coffee and watch the kids play with a smile, it will seem odd. When I walk across a thick, tacked down runner to check on the kids at night instead of creaky floorboards, it will be not quite right. When I drive home from the grocery store, the playground, a playdate, I am fairly confident that I am going to miss the turn and have to circle around the block for months to come.

I'm not quite sure how long it takes to make a house a home. Or if there is some magical ingredient that will speed the process along. Probably not. So to answer M's question more specifically, I'm not going to miss the house itself, but for the first few days and weeks and months, I am going to miss the comfort of having a home.

Overheard at Bedtime

C: (staring up at the kitchen ceiling instead of lying in bed) "Look! There is a hole in the ceiling."

Mommy: "M! There is a hole in the ceiling!"

M: "Look at that. There is a hole in the ceiling. Not good. How did that happen?"

Mommy: "C was jumping in his room today."

M: "We need to get out of this house."

Blogging lite

I'll probably be following the blogging lite plan for the next few weeks (not that I have been doing such a stupendous job of keeping up recently anyway). We have finally set a move date (and no, we haven't sold the old house, thanks for asking though) and the logistical details of moving a household around the corner seem to be eating up my life. Especially since we decided to do as much of the move as possible ourselves after seeing the quote from the movers. So the kids and I have become our own little moving outfit. Yesterday was the crystal, today is the china. This weekend I think I will tackle the deep dark recesses of the crawl space attic. Shiver.

Anyway, I'll give updates as I can, and once we are in I will regale you with the details and pictures. If I can find the camera that is.

M is such a good sport

So today's culinary misadventures are a result of chef error rather than equipment malfunction. Apparently, Cod Poached in a Spicy Tomato Broth is spicy enough without doubling the amount of spice in the recipe. Just in case anyone other than the Kleenex box was wondering. In my defense (because one must be defensive about such things) M and I generally think that recipes require much more seasoning than called for. And I was using a crushed red pepper that I had found in the depths of my cabinet and I swear must have been there for four years. So my assumption was that it was not nearly as potent as a newly acquired spice would have been.

M: "Wow, it has a bit of a kick to it." Then "This is spicy, my pallet is clearly out of practice." Finally "I get a home-cooked meal AND clear sinuses without taking my allergy meds. Two for the price of one." He every bite, bless his heart.

So, for the record, Cod Poached in a Spicy Tomato Broth=Good, but don't tamper with the seasonings. Just don't.

Not an auspicious beginning

Well, last night I did indeed make the Indian curry (recipe will be emailed to those who asked for it). And it would have been rather good, if my new crockpot had in fact functioned appropriately. I popped the food in at 9 am, headed off to start our day fully expecting that I would come home to the smell of dinner wafting through the house. Instead, I returned home to the smell of burning potatoes. Apparently, the new "high-tech" crockpot I asked for for my birthday last year doesn't actually operate like a "normal" crockpot, or so customer service told me. It heats food really, really quickly, and then reduces the temperature. But sometimes the thermostat is "a little temperamental" so I really need to check on it every so often. Umm, correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the point of the crockpot that I don't actually have to be paying attention while my food cooks? Needless to say, I'll be returning to the "turn the dial to low and forget it" model for future culinary adventures.

M was a great sport and ate it, but the leftovers were not saved for lunch. But I did have all the ingredients! I did! And dinner was on the table at the right time, even if it wasn't quite edible. That has to count for something, right? Right?

The ultimate bedtime stall

C; (Emerging from his room for the 700th gazillionth time) "Mommy, I just want to have a happy talk."

Mommy: "You have one minute for a happy talk."

C: "OK, when does the one minute start?"

Mommy:"Right now."

C:"I just wanted to say that I love you and I am happy when you are happy. That makes this a happy talk. Because I am talking about being happy. How much longer do I have?"

Mommy: "About 30 seconds."

C: "Well, I don't think the time we spent talking about how much time I had left should count because it wasn't actually happy talk."

Mommy: "Your one minute is up. I love you, now go to bed."

C: "Oh, OK. But we are going to talk about this in the morning. I don't think it was very fair."

All good plans

I am challenging myself publicly to put together a weekly meal plan, buy groceries ahead of time and then actually make the meals that I planned. As part of my problem with meal planning seems to be finding the plan once it is made, I decided that if I post it up here I'll at least be able to find it. And perhaps if I can find it, and I know I have to report back about the recipes selected, I'll really make them.

For my first week, I wasn't actually able to figure out a whole week worth of menus before I had to do the shopping, so I figured I would ease myself in a bit. Plus, I've already lost the menu and had to recreate on the fly at the grocery store. Hopefully I remembered correctly or else I'll be scratching my head on Friday wondering why on earth there is a bunch of cilantro and a head of broccoli in the fridge. Anywhoo, here it goes.

Monday: Leftovers, M is working late

Tuesday: Indian Curry with Chicken in the crockpot (side of brown rice)

Wednesday: Cod Poached in a Spicy Tomato Broth (side of salad and roll)

Thursday: Turkey Empanadas (side of black bean and corn salad)

Friday: Grilled Chicken in a Cranberry Marinade (side of grilled veggies and some rice to be named later from the pantry)

Saturday and Sunday: TBD.

OK, now it is out there. I have to do this right?

Failing in my wifely duties

I have apparently been failing in my wifely duties. While Groomzilla, Ridiculous Chick, and Rebecca appear in my blogroll, M's new blog does not. For which I greatly apologize. But in my defense, he was having some issues with identification (i.e. his first and last name were appearing on posts) in the beginning, so I was rather underwhelmed by the prospect of linking to him. But now that the technical issues have been fixed, I am happy to direct you to M's blog, and take complete control of mine back.

Happy blogging M...

Overheard at Bedtime

C: "Mommy, it's so nice to have a nice Mommy."

Mommy: (swooning) "Aww. thank you C. That is so great to hear."

C: "Well, you're not always nice. But you were nice tonight."

And then there were two

I think we need to reevaluate the whole pushing of bedtime to 8pm thing, don't you?

Nap Shmap

This is what happens when you try to push a non-napping toddler's bedtime an hour later to try and get her to start sleeping past 5am.




She is still asleep on the dining room floor. I'm unclear on how to proceed. If she sleeps, she'll never go to bed. But despite both C's and my best attempts, she refuses to open her eyes and move.

Overheard from the back seat

C: "A, who are you talking to on the phone?"

A: "Your teacher."

C: "Why are you talking to my teacher?"

A: "I'm telling her that you can't go to school."

C: "What? But I want to go to school!"

A: (Holding up a finger) "Shhh. Hello? C's teacher? Yeah, hi. C can't come to school today. Uh huh. Yeah. Because I want to play with him. Okay, bye."

C: "Mommy! Mommy! I want to go to school. A, call them back and tell them I WANT to go to school."

Mommy: "C, she doesn't actually have a working phone. It's a pretend one. And she doesn't know your teacher's number. Calm down."

C: " Oh, right. A, were you just pretending?"

A: "Yes silly. My phone is out of juice."

Bullets of forgetfulness

• Today I got the November issue of a cooking magazine tooting the joys of roast turkey. I also received a reminder from my dentist of an appointment in November. I'm sorry, am I missing a month or two here? Last I checked it was early verging on mid-September. If the dentist thinks his reminder will do me any good, he will be unpleasantly surprised when I don't show up on November 14th. In fact, I bet none of you will remember to remind my on November 13th of my appointment on the 14th.


• To prove my utter inadequacy in the remembering things department, I dragged C to the pool today for his second swimming lesson of the fall. I sent him in, the swimming teacher gave me an odd look and sent him back out again. "Uh, Chichimama? You missed his lesson. It was half an hour ago." See? If I can't remember the one activity I have my children signed up for in a week there is clearly no way I will remember an appointment seven weeks from now.

• I went to the grocery store twice today and both times managed to forget honey, the one item we really needed because my children will only eat things dipped in honey right now. Chicken in honey, grilled cheese in honey and, get this, Cherrios in honey. Do y'all think I should just break down and buy the sugar cereal? Cause it would probably be a lot cheaper.

• I can't seem to remember the name of one of C's teachers and C refuses to tell me. I know it begins with an F, but is it Flynn? Fowler? Fluffer-Nutter? Who knows? Apparently not me. And, in my defense, she was a last minute switch in for another teacher whose name began with an F so I spent the whole summer thinking her name was something else.
  

• While I am on the topic of names, do you know how many women I know in this town and can't for the life of me remember their names? They tell me, I forget, then they know my name and I am too embarrassed to ask theirs again. Please tell me I am not the only one. I generally remember their child's name, does that count for something?
  

I'm sure there are more bullets of forgetfulness, I just can't remember them.

So long and thanks for all the sushi

While Rebecca and I had planned on saying a last goodbye this afternoon, life got in the way and instead of a tearful in-person farewell, our last conversation for a while was a flurry of "I need Joyce's phone number" and "Don't forget to get the brisket out of the freezer after we leave" via cell phone. I actually think it was better that way. After our last take-out sushi binge last night I cried enough tears to send their "by boat" container halfway across the Atlantic, and probably would have sent it the rest of the way this afternoon had we had our last exchange of hand-me-downs and hugs.

So in lieu of a tearful farewell, I hope your flight was safe, I hope Evan didn't fly the Business Class coop, and good luck on the school interviews next week. You know where to find me if you need me.

Overheard at Bedtime

Tonight as I was bawling after saying goodbye to Rebecca ...

C: "Mommy, it's not worth getting worked up over this. They're just going away for - for how long again? Two weeks?"

Mommy: "Two years."

C: "Right. Two years. It's OK. It's not that long. You'll be fine."

Mommy: "Thanks for the support C."

C: "No problem. I do what I can."

Before and After

So here are some before and after pics of the family room and dining room. The family room looks much more impressive in person, I swear. The dining room needs a second coat, and we are still undecided about the chair rail, so that is still primer white but you can get the gist.

Family room before

Family room after (the paneling is getting ripped out someday, but we just couldn't face it this year)

Dining room before

Dining room after

Maybe I should get depressed more often. It seems to be the best way for me to actually get stuff accomplished...

For the birds

This whole having to get out of the house by 8:30 to get C to school is for the birds. We are so, so screwed next year. I think I might be reconsidering afternoon kindergarten.

Perhaps if we work towards an orderly exit from the house one step at a time? My goal for today is to get A out of her pajamas for drop off....

The ultimate parenting failure

I am going to have to fake the first day of school picture. The camera battery isn't charged. I feel like such a loser parent.

For the curious....

Almost a week past skunking, and seven baths later, dumb cat still smells of skunk. At least he hasn't been dumb enough to get on my bed. Perhaps he does have a brain or two in there after all...

Interior decoration question of the day

So in an effort to keep my mind otherwise occupied and my body out of bed this weekend, M and I went into overdrive working on the new house. The carpet is pulled up in the living room (and indeed, we do need to hire professionals to refinish the floor), the new banister is hung, the hallway is scraped, sanded and prepped, and the dining room is no longer fushia pink, but rather a lovely primer white. Which leads me to the interior decoration issue that has consumed our lives for the past 24 hours. What color does one paint a rather poorly installed chair rail?

We did briefly consider ripping out the chair rail and replacing it, M was all for the project but after inspecting the rail and the wall, I decided that it was going to be much more involved than it sounds, as there are actually TWO chair rails, a crappy piece of trim that would be easy to rip out, and then an original piece of molding (it might even be plaster) that the new trim is installed directly above, in a not very precise way. I'll try to take a picture today, it's hard to imagine without seeing it.

ANYWAY, below the chair rail is going to be a dark blue, and above a lighter blue. I am of the opinion that the chair rail should be the same off white as the rest of the trim. M thinks that we should paint it dark blue to match the bottom half of the room. Thoughts? Opinions? Advice?

Evidence

Apparently, the fact that my weight fluctuates based on my stress level is not only apparent to me and my fat and skinny jeans. After perusing the family photo albums, C did the following portraits of me.


Apparently, the top photo is a rendition of me now, the bottom one is a picture of me before A was born. Guess it's time to lose the baby weight, huh? Or, I could just keep eating these to die for ice cream bonbons from Trader Joes. Diet, bonbons. Diet, bonbons. Hmmm...

Oh, and my hair is not, and never has been curly. But apparently C likes women with curly hair so he took artistic license.

And so it goes

I've been waiting for it to happen, and wake up each morning surprised that it hasn't hit. Today I finally caved to the pressures of a house that won't sell and a best friend who is moving to London. I woke up cheerful and by 4pm I was a tearful mess. This is the first time I've actually been able to pinpoint the beginning of a depression. I am hoping that the fact that I can actually recognize what is happening will mitigate the symptoms. But right now I just want to crawl into my bed, pull the covers up, and will it all away.

Poor, Poor Cat

The cat still reeks of skunk. And I just can't let him into a house we are trying to sell. I feel just awful. I've set up his bed, food, and water in the garage, and just spent 45 minutes cuddling him on the patio (so of course now I smell like skunk). But the poor thing. I have a feeling that the cat door in the new house will be a moot point, after this the cat is never, ever going to go outside again. I know I sure wouldn't...

Be careful what you ask for...

A and C like to play a game they call "puppy." They take turns pretending to be a dog while the other tries to walk the dog, feed the dog, wash the dog, etc. I spend most of the game reminding them that "We will never, ever, have a dog. You know that, right kids?" But in general, I'm a big fan of puppy because it keeps them both happy and playing with each other for long periods of time.

Today puppy took an unexpected turn. C started asking A "Are you going to bite me puppy? Sometime puppies bite you know." I quickly pulled C aside and explained to him that if he kept asking A if she was going to bite him, eventually she probably would. After nodding agreement, back he went to playing puppy. "A, are you going to bite me? Sometimes puppies bite you know..." Seeing where this was headed, I put a premature end to puppy.

But a few hours later, I hear a yelp from the playroom as I am starting yet another load of skunky laundry. "Mommmmyyyyy! A BIT me!" wailed C. "I asked her if she was going to bite me, and then she DID!"

I have to say, I was torn. While A lost her ability to choose the TV show after dinner and a serious talking to about the evils of biting, I really just wanted to shrug my shoulders and tell C that he had it coming to him. I mean, what did he think was going to happen?

The things we keep

Although M might beg to differ, I consider myself pretty minimalist in the sentimental keeping of stuff department. Each child has a small tupperware bin into which I throw things like the first picture of Mommy that C drew, A's birth announcement, and C's first "report card." There are no locks of hair, there are no baby hats or receiving blankets, and almost all of the baby items and toys have gone to various charities or the church nursery.

But tonight I found myself digging through the toy box in A's room because M thought it might smell like skunk. I figured since I was digging through and sniffing for skunk, I might as well clear out the junk and save myself the hassle of moving it. As I sorted through, several items quickly hit the "try to wash" pile. The pink and purple baby blanket Nana knit. The white waffle blanket that was originally C's, but A quickly adopted as her "blue blanket." Baby Ellie, the small stuffed elephant that is sometimes requested as a sleeping companion. "Duckie," the yellow floppy blanket that Auntie Joy sent A for her first birthday. Several other items quickly hit the trash can: the collection of junky Easter bunnies, the rattles that neither of my kids ever actually shook, the wooden shape sorter that cost a fortune but was actually not at all useful as my kids quickly figured out that if you turned the shapes on their side you could shove them into whichever opening you wished.

But there were several items that I saved from the trash can at the last moment. The soft cloth cat book that C adored with a passion from six to eight months and then never looked at again. The pink bunny that made A giggle when she had pneumonia. The broken parts to the mobile that C would stare at for hours (ok, minutes) while I wept on the phone to anyone who would listen to how miserable I was post-partum. I know that someday I will probably discard all of these items. But I couldn't quite do it. Not yet. Not tonight. So instead I will lovingly soak them all in laundry detergent and hope for the best. Because some things are worth saving, at least for a while.

Skunked

Yep. It had to happen sometime. Dumb cat (who I DO love very much, despite his nickname) got skunked. The worst part? I didn't figure it out until he had come into the house and made himself comfortable for a few hours in the dirty laundry basket in my closet. At least it wasn't my bed, right?

I now have to face getting rid of the skunk smell from both my cat and my house. The laundry, I'm tempted to just toss it. It was pretty much the kids summer PJs and some in need of replacement anyway underwear. Anyone want to come give a cat a bath?

Edited to add a picture of the poor cat getting his third bath of the day...


Note the baby wash in the background. The poor cat now smells like a mix between a skunk and a baby, go figure. Poor, poor General. Not looking so powerful today.

When it rains it pours

It has been raining here, a lot. And my kids have been climbing the walls, and the tables, and the couches, and the beds. So in the interest of everyone's sanity, we actually ventured out into the backyard and did some puddle jumping in an attempt to burn off some energy.


And the givers of karma rewarded me for allowing my children to cover themselves from head to toe with mud and muck and wet flower goo, as I finally found the source of the water in the basement - poorly installed downspouts. I had gone around early this year and reattached all of the downspouts that had come loose, but of course I did this when it was nice and sunny outside. Today, standing out in the rain trying desperately to take cute pictures of the kids splashing, I started to wonder where exactly all the water in my yard was coming from. And when I set off to investigate, I found that the downspout closest to the water's entry point into the basement was not in fact dumping water at the fence where it was supposed to go, but instead was leaking water all along the foundation.

So I struggled and battled the shrubbery, realigned plastic pieces, made liberal use of duct tape and swore under my breath more than a few times, but the end result was this:



Still not perfect, but much better and I think a trip to Home Depot tomorrow should solve the problem entirely. Plus, the kids were entertained for a good 45 minutes. Say it with me...Chichimama rocks!

Best word verification ever

Shlupid. I love it. I think I am going to start using it in everyday conversation.

"Man, was that shlupid."

If only I had a brain

Last night at dinner M said something, or I said something, and then we both chimed in with "There's a blog post for you." And now I have no idea what the gem of an idea I was planning on sharing with y'all might be. Nor can I remember where I left my car keys, or what page I am on in my book, or why there is a stapler in the fridge. And there is something else I am supposed to remember to do, but I can't quite remember what.

Please tell me my brain will someday return to me, please? I feel like 34 is a little too young to be quite so forgetful.

She must be a saint

I met a woman at the playground the other day who proudly informed me that she had never once yelled at her child. The child in question was four, almost five. My first reaction was to slink off into a corner and hang my head in shame as I couldn't remember a day when I didn't at least raise my voice, or at the very least shriek "NOOO!" to my children. "I yell too much" I thought to myself. "Even this woman who has never met me before sees that I yell too much." But honestly, when you run to the bathroom to grab a towel to wipe up the milk someone spilled on the floor, then come back ten seconds later to both children about to jump off the dining room table, what's a mom to do?

I started to wonder "Is her child that well behaved that she doesn't need to yell? Maybe I've been going at this all wrong. Maybe if I spoke to my kids in an even tone they wouldn't be prone to jumping off of whatever high, dangerous object they can find. Maybe they would sit quietly when I told them to, and would refrain from gorging each other's eyes out over who gets to hold which Thomas train." Then I began to watch her child. And he wasn't any better behaved than my two. He certainly wasn't any worse, but he wasn't winning any gold stars in the behavior category either. He shoved and pushed, talked back to his mother, and pitched a fit when it was time to go.

I have to say, it made me feel so much better. But I also have to believe that she must be a saint. Because if my child kicked me and bit me on the way out of the playground, there is no way I could remain calm and repeat quietly "It's not nice to hurt people. I know you are upset that we have to leave, but we use our words." I just don't have that kind of inner zen right now. So to those mommies out there who manage not to yell, I salute you. And send some of your patience my way, OK?

The "I shoulds"

When I am up in the middle of the night I feel like I should really be productive, but somehow I never am. Right now I should be finishing one of the three books I am reading, or I should be writing a meaningful blog post for once, or I should be working on something that might actually make some money, or I should at least be folding the two baskets of laundry sitting in the family room. But instead I've been randomly wandering around the house trying to figure out what I should pack up next in anticipation of the move that will happen, someday.

Sigh. I guess I will get to that laundry now. It seems like the least productive thing I can be doing.

How many days?

So I started a post this morning about what a fabulous summer it has been not having structured activities, and how I am not at all looking forward to the start of school. You will never, ever, see it. I tempted fate by even starting to type the words.

It is time for school to start. We all need a break from each other. Or at least I need a break from them. It was one of those days.

Do you think it is too late to enroll A in Mothers Morning Out two days a week?

The elephant in the room

Did ya see that big ole elephant sitting over there? Yeah, that one, the one that keeps screaming "Rebecca is moving to London. HELLO??? Did you hear me??? REBECCA is moving to LON-DON." I've been ignoring it, but I guess eventually one has to stop and actually pay attention to the elephant jumping around in the room. I mean, an elephant. It's a large animal. And it eats peanuts. So the fact that I have been ignoring it given A's allergy issues is huge, huge, I tell you.

All kidding aside, I have been ignoring the fact that my closest friend is picking up and moving far, far away, far enough away that I will have to count on my fingers AND factor in family schedule differences to figure out whether it is safe to call or not. And although everyone is swearing by Skype, I have a hard time picturing it working all that well for me as I tend to wander around the house while chatting on the phone.

Never mind about the bigger issues, like the fact that I have to find a new emergency contact for my kids, and figure out some way to safely hide my spare key because the keeper of the spare key is no longer going to be available to just run over every time I lock myself out (and no, you don't REALLY want to know how frequently she arrives in my driveway dangling my key out of her window. It is just embarrassing.) And who is going to provide a mommy gut check at 7:45 in the morning when I need to decide whether to shlep to the pediatrician's office or not?

I'm actually going to have to take my kids into the grocery store when I need one more egg to finish a quiche, or a ziploc bag in which to marinate the steak. When the going gets rough, I'll have to deal with my kids on my own instead of inviting myself over for a playdate. And if I need a insta-sitter for an emergency doctor's appointment, I'm going to have to call around to figure out who might be free instead of booking on the spot because I know Rebecca's schedule backwards and forwards.

So I think I am going to just keep on ignoring that elephant over there jumping up and down for just a few more days. Perhaps when he figures out we are a peanut-free household he'll leave for greener pastures...

Overheard at the Playground

C's friend: "Come on! Come on! We have to save the world! Right now! It's critical!"

C: (looking dubious) "You go save the world. I think I'm just going to sit down and take a rest. But thanks for asking me!"

Overheard on a Playdate

C: (wailing) "I don't want you to leave, I just want it to be MY way..."

Truer words have never been spoken, at least by a four-year old.

Post Vacation Roundup

As M put it on the drive home (over the screams) "Well, this year wasn't NEARLY as bad as last year, and NEXT year should be just GREAT!" It always helps to have a "glass is half full" person in every relationship...

But seriously, the trip far exceeded my expectations. Or, rather, the kids far exceeded my expectations. They played well with each other, fairly well with Cousin C, and although they reverted back to some very undesirable sleep patterns, I have hope that they will straighten out after a few days at home. Of course C still whined his way through the vacation, "But I don't WANT to go to the beach..." "But I don't WANT to leave the beach...,"and A, despite her illness, still threw some massive temper tantrums. I think Cousin C learned some rather unpleasant habits during her stay. Sorry Auntie M...

OK, so on to the activities. Of which there were actually very few, as this was the vacation of the choo choo. We went to the Seashore Trolley Museum multiple times, took six (or was it seven) trolley rides and explored every inch of the place on foot. By the end of our second week all of the volunteers knew C's name and were giving him high fives. Then Saturday we took the kids to TtFTE, which is deserving of its own post, but let's just say C figured out within five minutes that Thomas wasn't real, and A started crying when she saw the bobble head Sir Tophen Hatt, so the visit wasn't even close to worth the outrageous price we paid for the tickets. But, we did manage to escape without buying anything besides a water and a muffin, so it wasn't all bad I suppose.

The highlight of the trip for C, (outside of the trolley museum of course) was the little camp at the beach community center. He took tennis lessons and had two hours of your basic, run-of-the-mill day camp from my childhood that involved freeze tag, scavenger hunts, animal crackers, and a host of knock-knock jokes. No theme days, no enriching activities, just good old camp. And thanks to his camp experience, I met people more people during those two weeks then I have in all of the previous 20+ summers put together. Of course they all know me only as C's mom, but it made me feel like royalty to be out to dinner with M and have kids on bikes stopping by to wave and point me out to their parents.

I know this is a cop out post, but quite honestly after the laundry and cleaning and day of normal activities, the beach seems very, very far away. And I am just a little jealous that Auntie M and Nana are still up there basking in the sun. So I'm choosing to move forward and comment that in two short weeks my children start school, and I get one morning a week (OK, two hours of one morning) in which to grocery shop in peace. And that my friends, is no small thing.

For your viewing pleasure, the beach in all its glory. And this picture was taken at 3pm. I love this beach.

Ahhhh. Broadband.

We are back. If you saw a black SUV speeding down the Eastern seaboard with two children screaming their heads off despite the liberal use of a laptop as DVD player, that was us. I now need to get the "two cats have been cooped up in my house for two weeks" smell out of my house, unpack, and replace the entire contents of my fridge due to an unfortunate failure to clean it out prior to our departure. The stench, it was not pretty.

And in case anyone had any doubts, my house, it is still very much for sale. I am sure the cat and fridge stench did nothing to improve its desirableness. On the upside, I can connect to the wide wide world of the internets at a moments notice again. Which will be useful as I google "cat stench removal."

Overheard at Lunch

After a 30+ minute monologue by A on everything under the sun...

C: "A, are you going to eat that grilled cheese or talk to it?"

A: "Um, I don't know!"

C: "Well, if you aren't going to eat it can I?"

A: "Sure!"

-----------------------------------------
We return to the world of high speed internet tomorrow, so stay tuned for a vacation round up in the near future....

Double Gah

This is my 500th post. I was planning on throwing myself a little blog party, but instead I am bowing to the Gods of childhood illnesses, as that fever of A's I thought was gone? Yeah. Not so much.

So here I am on vacation with a feverish child who exhibits no symptoms other than a fever that seems to randomly come and go according to its own whims and wishes. As I chatted with my new best friend, the on-call nurse at my pediatrician's office, I found myself saying over and over again "Nope, no symptoms. Eating, sleeping, drinking, peeing, pooping, playing, dancing, laughing." And she kept saying "Nothing? No ear tugging? No tummy ache? Nothing?" Yep, nothing except the damn fever.

It took a while to convince my new best friend that I was not in fact driving BACK seven+ hours to visit her, as nice as she was on the phone. She finally understood that I was ON VACATION. WITH FEVERISH, SYMPTOMLESS CHILD. And we decided that I should watch A for another day, or maybe two, and then find a random doctor to check her ears. Or something.

I should just stop planning vacations, or major holidays, or parties, as it never fails that one child or another manages to come down with something. Hey, do you suppose I could use that as an excuse not to attend my cousin's wedding in October? "I'm so sorry, we will not be able to attend. As I guarantee that one of my kids will be ill, so why don't I just save you the money for our dinners and write you a lovely check?" I'm going to have to sleep on that one. It might just be my get out of jail free card.

A housekeeping note: my connection is rather slow up here so I probably won't be around to visit much, but will stop by when I can and catch up in some fashion when I get back.

Vacation Reading

My vacation reading so far has been a re-read of A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend. The first time I read it, it was pre-kids and I was living in the middle of Manhattan. As cars honked around me, I started making mental plans to quit my job and thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. Clearly, I never quite made the finances and logistics work.

This time round, I was similarly inspired to hike the trail, although I recognized that realistically it wasn't happening for the next two decades or so. The thought of convincing two teenagers to devote a summer to a grueling hike with Mom and Dad makes me shiver. Especially since right now C can't walk further than the end of the driveway without whining that his legs hurt. Presumably in fifteen years his endurance will be a bit higher, but still...

Last night as I lay awake though, I started to panic (because, of course, I MUST start planning for something happening in two decades RIGHT NOW, this VERY INSTANT). "I bet my cell phone won't work on the trail. And even if it does, I clearly won't be able to charge it. What happens if my kids need me? What if one of them gets hurt and I am off gallivanting around the Appalachian Trail? What if something happens to my parents? They won't be spring chickens by that point." And on, and on the thoughts flew until I finally fretted myself to sleep.

Upon waking this morning, my first thought was "Man, I have this worrying thing DOWN. Will I ever learn to just let go and stop panicking about every little thing?" And my second thought was "Did these 'what if' thoughts of occur to all those people who hike the trail every year? Or did they just plunge right in assuming that their loved ones would survive for seven months without them in constant contact?" I have to assume that they had these random "what if" thoughts, and felt that the experience of hiking the trail was worth the risk. And I envy them that for as much as I would love to experience the hike, I don't know that I could take the risk.

At last

We finally arrived in Maine late yesterday afternoon. The vacation started out with a bang as I made it here in an all-time (with kids) record, even with the hour-long stop for lunch that included the purchase of a Happy Meal for Julia (which I had to eat as, alas, she is not here) because the toy du jour was a Polly Pocket and "Julia LOVES Polly Pocket Mommy..."

Upon our arrival, we quickly headed to the beach and I discovered that, unlike prior visits when every trip to the beach was a major workout, this year I might actually be able to use that beach chair I insist on shlepping back and forth "just in case" and supervise from a seated position. After a quick dip we had supper, and both children were deposited into bed in the same room. Which meant I actually got to put on pajamas with the lights on instead of tripping over a pack-n-play or blow up bed in the dark. "Ahhh, this is the life" I thought to myself.

Then, of course, today it all fell apart. A has decided that she doesn't want to share with Cousin C, and that the mere sight of Cousin C is reason to cry and clutch all of her belongings and sob "Stay AWAY! MINE!" To which Cousin C nicely responds "Share? Nice? Share?" And I discovered the problem with having both children sleep in the same room is that it makes the sham of a quiet time I still enforce virtually impossible. And the noise they make wakes Cousin C, who sleeps 7 to 7 and takes a 2+ hour nap every day.

But, tomorrow is another day. One that involves sand and water and perhaps even a cup of coffee while sitting in a beach chair. Because I'm all about the beach chair this year.

Copy Cats

C: "Mommy, do copy cats have tails?"

Mommy: "I don't know. What do you think?"

C: "I don't think so. (long pause) Copy cats aren't REALLY cats, are they? They're just people pretending to be cats, right?"

Gah.

A still has a fever. We are not going to Maine tomorrow. C is going to miss the first day of camp. Gah.

Anyway, as I am flipping channels tonight to try and find something to distract myself from my pity party of one, I find MTV's The Real World. I watch for five minutes and think "God, they are so young." And then I think about it, and during the third season, which I was addicted to thanks to Rebecca and MS, Groomzilla's husband, I thought they were so old.

Now I'm really depressed.

Can a out of the technology loop mommy learn new tricks?

So Rebecca and I tried out some IMing (is it called that these days?) to see if it would suffice as our daily form of contact, seeing as international phone-a-thons to England would max out our budgets in no time flat. And I discovered after the fact that transcripts of the chats are kept (Remember that! Nothing goes into cyberspace unrecorded...). So, here, for your amusement, is the transcript of our first IM chat.

I feel old. Very old. How do kids do this and text messaging? Do ya think I will get used to it?

_______________________________________________________

Rebecca: hello? are you there? what the hell is this green dot they're talking about?

me: I dunno. I am finding Google Talk rather confusing myself...

Rebecca: oh. found green dot. duh. still confused, though.

me: Where is it? Oh, wait. There.

Rebecca: can I not enlarge this window? so annoying

me: I can't find a way to enlarge it. Should we keep shopping services?

Rebecca: on the up side, this is every bit as linear as chatting while trying to control screaming children (and I can scroll back up to see what I missed when someone loses it)

me: Not quite as satisfying as a chat on the phone but I am sure I will get used to it.

Rebecca: People seem to love MSN... and is IM a generic term or a specific service? I don't even know. I am feeling quite old right now.

I think it's going to be harder to multitask while IMing...

me: I am feeling very old. IM is through AOL. That's what B and I used to use. I don't remember having issues, but I was younger and hipper.

It will be more difficult to multi task.

Rebecca: how many holes are they playing exactly?

me: Yeah, I'm tied down to the computer and my kids just dumped water all over the floor.

I would guess 10 holes, 9 + the bar...

me: Hey, it told me you were typing

that was cool

Rebecca: yes, I did notice that.

me: I do like the fact it just adds on as I type if you haven't answered.

Like this! Fun

Rebecca: oooh. ok, this could work. try opening another window above this and watch...

I can interrupt you!

Did you see?

Uh.... hello? :)

Ah, hope springs eternal

So a quick A update, she is still fever-ridden, but demanding that we cater to her every whim, so I am not so concerned about her well being tonight. If she can keep me running up and down the stairs for an hour and a half with demands like "I need socks on my hands" and "I think I want to sing Hello Everybody FIVE times now" then she is not all that ill. Although I will probably make the obligatory phone call to the pediatrican's office in the AM so I don't get chewed out for not calling if she still has the fever on Monday.

But the real topic of this post is that today I broke the news to C that his best friend Julia was moving to London. After we looked up London on a map and determined that it was "a lot further than Nana's" he burst into tears. Then suddenly he perked up and smiled. "Mommy! Julia isn't really moving. Because it takes a really long time to find someone to live in your house so you can move. So I'm not sad anymore because by the time someone wants to live in her house, I'll be all grown up." And despite my reassurances that she was indeed moving, whether or not they found someone to live in her house, he was insistent that it wasn't really happening.

Ah, September will be so much fun.

Power Outages According to C

C: "Mommy, we didn't LOSE our power last night, it was just going for a run. It was getting its exercise. Then it came back to cool off in the AC."

Hallucinations

It is clear that I will not be getting much sleep tonight as A seems to be hallucinating. Every ten minutes or so she starts flailing about and crying out. At first she thought C was in her room trying to take her CD player. More recently, she was convinced that Zak and Wheezie from Dragon Tales had taken her lunch box. (Do you see a theme here?) A few minutes ago she started laughing at the silly goats in shoes. I didn't even know that she knew what a goat was. But, apparently they have silly shoes on. Now she is crying out because her pigtails are missing. Which is slightly amusing if you know just how long it takes me to convince her to put them in every morning and then how quickly she takes them out and hides the holders.

My attempts to get fluid into A have been remarkably unsuccessful, so I am guessing we will be headed into the pediatrician's office bright and early tomorrow morning for an exam. And this will now make the fourth year in a row that we have seen the pediatrician within 24 hours of our intended departure for Maine. There seems to be some bad, bad karma going on here. On the up side, I won't have to spend 39 cents to send in C's medical form for school next year.

At least our power is back.

Clearly, I am unprepared

So, to add insult to injury, A's fever is apparently caused by a stomach bug. And right after she vomited, we lost power. Leaving me to scrub up a puke covered bathroom by flashlight. God only knows if I got it all, I guess the stench will tell me in a few hours. Ah, if it were only Wednesday...

Anyway, once I got everyone and everything cleaned up and called M to tell him that he probably wanted to check whether the trains had power before he left the city, I decided to find something for dinner. "Ah HAH." I thought. "I will dig into my stockpile for the apocalypse. This will be a great trial run." After rummaging through the bins in the basement and my cupboards, I was reduced to a dinner of mini-marshmallows and cereal. Apparently my plans for the apocalypse all rely on having a working electrical grid. Clearly, I need to rethink things a bit.

So, here I sit, typing in the dark on my laptop about to run out of juice. Thank God for wireless.

Bookclub Update

So both the suggested books were out until the end of August at my library. Do we want to pick another or wait until September? I put a reserve on them just in case.

Or, since I seem to be terribly disorganized, and Stephanie has her act together, I can direct you to her new bookclub site, and we can band forces with her.

So close, but yet so far

A developed a sudden fever of 103 this afternoon. So, that trip to Maine tomorrow? Yeah. Not happening. At least not tomorrow. I'm trying to find a bright side, but I can't quite see past the clouds.

Grand Ambitions

We leave shortly for the great trek to Nana's in Maine. Have I started packing? Cough, cough, sputter. I have a list...in my head.... Actually, M has graciously agreed to take tomorrow AM off to watch the kids while I pack, so for once I'm not running around like a chicken. But I DO need to get on making those lists...

Anyway, pre-kids vacation planning was all about how many books I thought I could get through. And I always underestimated and ended up having to make a bookstore run. Which was no great sacrifice, trust me. But now, my lists include things like "sippy cups, loveys, DVD's, swim diapers, oh, and how about the new O magazine?" I think on my last two trips to Maine I have gotten through a total of two books. Over two years. And I finished both of them at home once vacation was over. In October I think.

This year, I decided to avoid the bookstore trip and head to the library. Now that I can keep books out for a month at a time, I can actually take library books on vacation without buying them with the late fines. And I figure I can be more ambitious about my reading list because I won't feel guilty about spending the money on the books and then not reading them. So after quiet time today we will be heading to the library to stock up. Which means I need to get online and reserve some books because it's not like I will get to do any browsing with the kids in tow.

I'm still not quite sure when I'll get the reading in, but this year I am much less tired than I was during the last two years, so perhaps I will choose to use my Nana time to read instead of sleep. Or perhaps A and C will start napping again (yeah, right). Regardless, I'm at least going to try to ramp up my reading level again. I'm aiming for finishing a book a week. A gal has to have dreams you know...

So does my blog look funny to anyone else?

I can't see my blog. Can you?

Desperate Times

I was planning on making a taco salad for dinner using the leftover grilled chicken for last night. As I was looking over the recipe I thought to myself "Have to check and make sure I have corn." Which I then neglected to do. And of course, when I went to add to corn into the salad, I had none. So instead of shlepping both kids to the store in this heat I decided to pick the corn kernels out of the bag of mixed vegetables. Yes, you read that correctly. I just spent the last 45 minutes sorting frozen mixed vegetables to avoid the grocery store.

Anyone need some peas or carrots?

Band-Aids

Are we the only household in which Band-Aids are the major form of currency? It seems that we go through Band-Aids faster than goldfish crackers. It doesn't matter if there is blood or not, any boo boo, real or imagined, requires the immediate application of a character laden bandage.

Not every Band-Aid is created equal; depending on the day, Dora, Blue or Sesame are the sticky bandage of choice. Today, Target was out of BOTH Blue and Dora, so we had to venture into new territory, Hello Kitty and Spiderman. Both have been embraced with abandon. Joy of joys. Even more characters that I need to keep in stock.

At the moment, A has a Hello Kitty bandage on her pinky, a Spiderman one on her knee, and two Sesame bandages held in reserve, just in case. C has two Blue's Clues Band-Aids on his shin, although only one of them is the coveted one with Tickity Tock on it. He too is holding some in reserve, apparently they are preparing for the apocalypse in their own way.

I have tried offering up stickers instead of Band-Aids when one is requested, but am always scoffed at. "Silly mommy, I have a BOO BOO. A BOO BOO. I don't need to do art." Silly me indeed. Cause if there is no blood, I am hard pressed to call a small red mark Band-Aid worthy.

The folks over at J and J were brilliant, just brilliant. "Hmm, what is better than mommy's kiss? Hey, I've got it! Stick a cartoon character on a Band-Aid! The kids will go wild!" I should have bought stock in them as a kid. I would be rich by now I tell you. Rich!

Overheard at bedtime

As recounted by M:

C: "Daddy, my scissors cut a hole in my favorite shorts."

Daddy: "Oh really? And who was controlling the scissors?"

C: "My hand."

Daddy: "And who was controlling your hand?"

C: "Um, my arm."

Daddy: "And who was controlling your arm?"

C: "My shoulder!"

It's a nice voice...

I have spent much of the past week listening to myself talk, but apparently I am the only person listening. For example, today, after I mopped the front stairs, I very clearly said "Stairs are wet. Do not go up. You will fall." Pretty much just like that, in a loud "do not argue with me" voice. Both kids nodded. I headed to the sink to dump the dirty water. In the three seconds my back was turned, not one but two children headed straight up the wet stairs. And then right back down again on their backs.

After ascertaining that there were no broken bones, etc, etc, etc, I very calmly asked "And what did I just tell you about the stairs?" Both children looked at me blankly. "Did I not just tell you that they were wet and not to go up?" Shrugs all around. Finally C piped up with a "I needed my lunch box. For the trip to Maine." Which is in five days.

I don't know why I even bother to issue warnings. I can scream "Car, car car" in a parking lot, and C will look right through me and the oncoming car. I can say "There will be no TV until the playroom is picked up, and everyone will continue to sit on the couch staring at the blank TV asking where Dragon Tales is. My favorite, "It is time for breakfast/lunch/dinner," which you would think would send kids running for the table, is ignored until I take the food and put it back in the fridge. At which point there are whines and tantrums to end all whines and tantrums.

Is it just me? Am I the only one who hears what I say? Because if I am, I'll just shut up. I mean, I like the sound of my own voice, but not that much.

Officially crazy

It is 2:44 am and I am prowling around the house trying to find the source of the water I swear I hear running from the upstairs bath, but can't hear anywhere else. I have really and truly lost it.

Update: The source was found, apparently our water softener regenerates (whatever that means) at 2:30 in the morning. But, thanks to my prowl, I have been up since 2:31 am anyway. And have I gotten anything useful accomplished? No, not really. Although I did make $26 on eBay today, whooo!

Bets anyone?

Every night after dinner for the last two or three years, we have watched a TV show (or two). Tonight, for some reason, my children have discovered their toys. I keep pointing out that it is getting close to bedtime, and they might want to start picking up so they could start their show, they keep telling me they are having too much fun. So I finally told C, "OK, but I don't want any tears if there isn't time for a show before bed." And he cheerfully told me "OK, there won't be."

Any bets on how many minutes of hysteria there will be when I announce bedtime without a show?

A bit of a dry spell

Have y'all noticed that there isn't much going on here at Chichimama's place? Yep, my brain has been officially fried by worry and stress and have I mentioned the water that is still seeping into my basement? So forgive me for the blog drought. Perhaps Lubbock, TX will pray for me too.

Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, I have spent the past three nights sitting quietly at the dinner table with nary a word to say to M either. And he has started to get a bit concerned with my lack of verbosity both online and in person. I believe he asked my no fewer than ten times tonight if I was "OK." I am, I think. I just can't really put together a coherent thought, so I'm filling in with dribble. Or is it drivel. See, I can't even decide which words to choose. So, on that note, forgive me if I continue to post drivel (I made a decision, yeah!) for a while. Perhaps once we get to Maine my ability to complete a sentence will return.

Only in Texas

So apparently, if you lives in Lubbock, Texas, you need to start praying. Can town councils actually pass resolutions telling people to pray? I have nothing at all against people deciding to pray on their own for rain, but I have always been pretty hard-core on the separation of church and state thing. And this strikes me as a pretty obvious breech of that. But then again, I tend to thing that presidents shouldn't be sworn in using Bibles either. So maybe it is just me...

Who knew?

Yesterday we had a lovely blogger meetup with Liesl and Liam (otherwise known as Zeph). There was much excitement Chez J-E to meet a new friends, and many questions about how we knew this new friend. Which led to somewhat vague responses as we are trying to teach our very outgoing four year old about strangers...but that is another story.

This story is all Liesl, Liam and the turkeys. Liesl lives suprising close to us, who knew? We arrived almost on time despite a rocky start out of our household. Liesl and Liam were as lovely and smart as they seem in their blog (and although all blogger meet up stories seem to start that way it is really true! I swear!). C was highly impressed by Liam's train table and rocket collection, and A quickly found the doll house.

After a little negotiation, I managed to drag my kids out of the house for our planned outing, a trip to the local turkey farm where one can also pick corn and peaches and other such wondrous things not found in our congested neck of the woods. We saw the turkeys first, and I, farm girl that I am, exclaimed "THAT's what a turkey looks like?" It was skinny and white, very plucked chicken-like. Not at all like the pictures one sees around Thanksgiving. And the gobble gobble? Yeah, they actually quack. I swear. Who knew??

Because the fields were wet, we were advised against picking, which bummed me out but C and A could have cared less because there was - a playground! On the farm! With slides and swings and tricycles! My monkeys clamored all over everything while jet-lagged Liam looked like he just wanted to go home, poor thing.

Anyway, Liesl was a doll for hosting us right after getting back from Chicago, and C can't stop talking about Liam and the "sneezy dog." And while this blogger meet up went much better than our last, as I learned my lesson and stayed clear of a museum, there was still much chasing and kid reprimanding, and not much opportunity to find out all the burning questions I had about Liesl.

Thanks again Liesl, and if we ever sell our house and move, you are welcome to come up to visit us anytime! Although all we have to offer is a small patch of lawn and a 7-Eleven on the corner. No apple picking or turkeys around here. But I'll make you some bread...

And this was all before 9am...

C: Why is there a baby in her tummy?

Mommy: Because they wanted another member of their family.

C: How did the baby get there?

Mommy: When mommies and daddies get married, they sometimes decide to start a family, and so they make a baby together.

C: How?

Mommy: Remember how there are eggs in mommies' tummies? The daddies have seeds that join with the egg to make a baby.

C: But HOW does the seed get into the mommy's tummy? And how does it know it is supposed to go to the egg? And where do the seeds live?

Mommy: Those are great questions, but they will take some time to answer and we are running very late, can we talk about it tonight?

C: I'm not going to forget.

Mommy: Trust me, I know you won't.

I did it JUST like the books said folks. He was supposed to be happy with the egg and seed thing. Now I'm going to have to keep going, aren't I? I'm going to be the mommy who gets the 50 billion phone calls from preschool because her kid told the whole 4 year old class about sex. I know we should have had the conversation right there, but we WERE running very late...

Ah, to be four

A: "Mommy, I need milk."

C: "I need ice. And water. And some more ketchup."

A: "I need a new diaper. And a wipe."

Mommy: "Hold on, I can only do one thing at once."

C: "Good thing I am going to grow up to be a human octopus."

Pictures!

In lieu of a real post, here are some pictures of the old house (just in case anyone is inspired to move down the street from me and be my neighbor) and the new house.


Old sun porch, not a good pic really but I'm too lazy to go take another :-).

Old family room....

Old dining hallway...

New playroom...


New kitchen....already cluttered.

New backyard...

New mudroom, otherwise known as the whole reason we bought the house. Already being used to house items other than coats and boots.

And, a gratuitous photo of the fat lazy cat.

To read or not to read

So I know it has been a while, but is anyone interested in continuing the book club? I have about two weeks before I head to Maine for much of August, and I am starting to look for reading material. I've been on a biography kick lately, but after my choice last time I think I am going to hand off the choosing responsibility to someone else if there is still interest. Although there was this book that I tried to skim while chasing my kids at the bookstore eons ago.

Let me know if you want to continue and what book/type of book you would be interested in reading.

Rain

It's raining. The water will never, ever, ever leave my basement. We are. so. screwed.

And the temperature isn't even dropping.

Nuf said.

Too hot

It's too hot to blog. It is too hot to do anything but whine and flip PBS channels. I don't know how my sister does this every day in Texas. It was 101 today according to my car, and when we ventured out to pick up fish and veggies for dinner we were pretty much the only people in town out and about. I have never seen the place so dead. At least it made for easy parking every place.

One of these days I will have something of interest to write about. But for now, a random C quote of the day.

As C was inspecting the pictures hanging in our living room...

C: "Mom, is that a picture of the city?"

Mommy: "Yes, it is."

C: "The REAL city?"

Mommy: "What is the real city C?"

C: "New York of course."

He makes a parent proud that boy (sorry Nana).

It is all about the sales, stupid

I think the thing that is killing me most about owning two homes right now, beside the "Oh my God, I will NEVER be able to save for retirement/private school/college/weddings" factor is the fact that I am missing out on the summer sales. Because, you know, everyone needs to start buying boots and mufflers in July. There will be no need for tee shirts and shorts in August or September...and if your child happens to hit a growth spurt or you know, color on themselves in non-washable marker, well, it's almost winter, right?

Anyway, I have decided to share with all of you all the bargains I have found, so at least someone can reap the rewards.

First up, for the boys in your life, (and this one is good for fall too!) a long sleeved rugby by Polo in orange, white and blue. Originally $49.50, it can now be yours for only $19.99. Sizes are going fast, I think we are down to 2T and 3T. But it would look great on Evan!

Also from Polo, a color-blocked fleece hoodie. Available in blue or kelly green, in sizes, 2T, 3T 6 and 7 at last check. SO cute. And again, originally $55, yours for $19.99. For the girls at Polo, this pretty ribbed tank, in a variety of sizes and colors for only $9.99. If you prefer a tank with a wider shoulder, here is a nice one, still $9.99 and lots of color choices. Or this basic long-sleeved shirt. A steal (for Polo at least).

Unfortunately, we have missed the Mini Boden and Hanna Andersson sales, everything of interest flies off those sites within hours of getting the email. But sign yourself up both places so you don't miss the winter sale, especially Mini Boden, their stuff is adorable, washes well, and the sales are great. I'm not a huge Hanna person, but others love their stuff, it is all a matter of taste.

Over at Gymboree, my personal favorite for boy summer clothes, they are at their 40% off sale right now. In a week or two it should be 60%, but the selection gets progressively smaller at each price point. With Gymboree, you have to play a guessing game as to what will sell out on which sales. I have gotten screwed more than once, so the stuff I really want I tend to get at 40%. Anyway, with no further ado, here are my picks.

A version of these shorts were C's favorite last year. $9.99 in a variety of colors. And lots of sizes left, so my guess would be that you could wait until the 60% off sale. But don't quote me on that. C LIVES in these shorts this year, I actually bought them early in the season with a promo code, and he wears them as fast as I can wash them. A bit heavy for the dead of summer, in my opinion, but he begs to differ. Only available in 2T and 3T for $8.99, so if you want them get them now. I love the color combo on this shirt for $7.99. Lots of sizes left. This orange and brown one would be great for early fall to replace all the summer stained shirts...

I am less of a fan of Gymboree for girls, I find it rather frilly and cutesy. But my sister swears by these shorts ($9.99) for Baby C. There are other colors available if you look around the shorts section. That is what I hate about Gymboree's site, you have to dig through to find the color options because they group by line instead of style...I also think these shorts are adorable at a rather pricey $13.99, although I don't know how comfortable. And we are all about comfort here at Chez J-E.

Here is a winter bargain alert for you. If your second missed the sizes on your older ones winter boots, or you need to by for your first, Lands End overstocks has some serious deals on boots right now, if you don't mind some funky color combinations. Take these boots, only $14.99 if you like orange (which we do). And these are only $9.99, but only go up to size 8. And this long sleeved shirt is adorable for $6.99. C wore a Lands End small last year, but he is on the tall side.

Ah, I could go on, but it is time to start my day and think about breakfast for the troops. Enjoy, and think of me as you shop the sales this year....

Whoops, I almost forgot something for the grownups! These flip flops from Old Navy are the most comfortable, ever. I used a credit to buy myself a pair and I live in them. Only $4.99! How can you go wrong???

Spoken like a true woman

A: "I want my quiche hot. No, cold. No, hot. No, cold. Hot. I want my quiche hot."

C: "A, you keep changing your mind."

A: "I do NOT change my mind."

There is a higher being, and it loves me!

No, the house didn't sell. And yes, water is still seeping into my basement. But for the first time in several months, both my children are in their rooms, asleep. At the same time. In the middle of the day. This totally makes up for everything else, it really does. Excuse me while I go enjoy the silence...

I can still pass

In order to graduate, my alma mater insisted that I had to pass a typing test. It took me four long, long years. Via Cityslicker mom, this link proves I can still eek by, with a word to spare. And M, I don't even want to hear your score.

A dinner for champions

M is still at the hospital with his dad, who made it through the surgery with no immediate issues, thank you all for your well wishes. So instead of having the tandoori chicken for dinner as originally planned, I have moved onto nachos and BBQ chicken pizza. Ahhh, I feel better all ready.

Have I mentioned that I've put on five pounds since we bought the new house? Swimsuit season can't end soon enough for me.

The one in which I put my head down and cry

Although it might be hard to tell over the internets, I have actually done a good job (for me) of keeping the stress over the whole house selling situation in check. I have (sort of) cheerily gone about my business tossing off lines such as "Nothing to be done" or "it will all be fine" to those dumb enough to ask how things are going. Our real estate agent has commented several times over how unstressed I have been.

Ever since we actually purchased the new house, however, my facade has been cracking bit by bit. My voice has starting hitting the upper registers when talking with the real estate agent. I have started crying at the drop of a hat; the poor man at the deli counter yesterday spent 20 minutes searching the back cooler for low-salt turkey breast after I burst into tears when he told me he only had honey roasted. I have started obsessing about minor and not so minor things, like the peeling paint on the kitchen ceiling or the water that seems to be leaking into the basement.

Did you catch that? Yes, water. In my basement. A week after the last rainstorm. Which leads to the unfortunate conclusion that the continued presence of water seeping in through the foundation is caused by some other source, namely a burst pipe of some sort. A buried burst pipe. Somewhere in my front yard. I spent most of the night sitting on the steps of my basement willing the water to go away. Unfortunately, it appears that a watched basement still leaks.

As soon as it got light this morning, I joined the cat on his morning prowl to see if I could somehow disprove my theory. Instead, I quickly discovered that the mulch in the front flower bed that we just recently had relandscaped was sopping wet. So I sat on the front stoop and stared at that, willing it to dry up. Again, no such luck. When M came downstairs to get ready for work, he found me pacing and muttering, clutching my suddenly queasy stomach.

He seemed much less concerned than I about this turn of events, but then again his father is going into the hospital today for another heart procedure, so a leaky basement is probably not all that high on his list of things to worry about. He did inspect the basement and front bed, nodded his head and said "Yep, looks like a problem. We'll call someone to come take a look. There are much worse problems we could have. Don't stress over it. " Which is easier said than done for those of us who obsess over such things.

So as C whines about his hanker sore, and A races around setting up an early morning tea party, and M heads off to work and then the hospital to be with his dad, I continue to clutch my stomach and will the water away. And hope that someone, anyone, will come look at my house and buy it, unidentified leak and all. Excuse me while I go put my head down and cry.

Hanker Sore

Poor C has developed what I believe is his first canker sore. And I must apologize to him for his lousy genetics, he got it from both sides of the family. But as he was whimpering and showing me his mouth boo boo, I had to keep from laughing as he insisted on calling it a "hanker sore" instead of a canker sore. I really need to write down their cute sayings now while I remember them, because we have some doozies. Maybe tomorrow...

Wife Swap

Out of desperation and a need to veg out, I spent last night watching Wife Swap. I found myself entranced by the fact that someone would willingly air all of their dirty laundry (literally) on TV for all to see and judge (and generally be found lacking, as that's what makes good TV). Why oh why would anyone admit their flaws - their inability to control their children, their anal-retentive cleaning obsessions, the fact that they allow chickens or goats to roam free through their house, pooping on the kitchen floor? Do they volunteer for the show because they think they are perfect, or because they are so desperate to enact change and can't figure out how to do it on their own?

And what about their spouses and children? I can't imagine M's reaction if I announced at the dinner table that a host of cameras and another woman were coming to live at our house for two weeks and change everything that he holds dear. And for those families with teenagers, I can only imagine the fights that would ensue there. Or do they too suffer so from whatever the household inadequacies may be that the embarrassment of watching mom and dad on TV is the better of two evils? I even checked the website, thinking that perhaps the size of the cash payment would make it worthwhile, but found that no prizes are awarded as couples participate on the show for the "opportunity to re-discover why they love each other and decided to marry in the first place."

Despite myself, as I watched the featured women head up another household and change all that we, the viewers, think is wrong with the other, I found myself wondering what someone would change about my household. My guess is someone would clean much more thoroughly than I, and insist that my children put clothes on much earlier in the day. Wait, do you think someone would work through A's sleep issues for me? Wouldn't that be nice, to come home from a two week stay with someone else's family and find that my daughter slept. Ahhh. Perhaps I'll audition after all.

Everyone has a talent...

Today I got a standing ovation and two perfect tens on my parallel parking abilities from the crowd sitting in front of the bakery downtown. Straight in folks, straight in. I have to say, it was a perfect job.

Hey, at least I'm good at something :-).

Mommy/C day

Today, after the lawn is mowed and the house is cleaned and Daddy and A are installed over at the new house with a video, snacks, and some toys, C and I are having a special Mommy/C day. When I asked him last night what he wanted to do, he thought very hard, and finally said "I want to snuggle, read the rest of Runaway Ralph, and then go to the library to get the last Ralph book." As an after thought he added "Oh, and ice cream. Because it isn't a special day without ice cream."

So C and I will be snuggling, reading, and eating ice cream. Life doesn't get much better than that...

Parenting Failure

I think my biggest parenting failure to date has been my inability to help A get enough sleep. Yesterday, as M alluded to in his post, there was a total and utter meltdown of rational thought, and A became a hysterical puddle of tears and exhaustion. Everything resulted in a temper tantrum of massive proportions, and she was so tired that she couldn't calm herself down, or even really be calmed down.

As I watched her muddle through her day yawning, weeping, and rubbing her eyes yet unable to go to sleep or stay asleep, I wished I could go back in time and figure out where I went wrong. You see, she was in fact a fabulous sleeper between three and six months. She went to bed when we put her in her crib, she stayed asleep all night, and then took two nice long naps with no fuss. Then, just as abruptly as it had started, it ended. And I have spent the two years since then trying to remember what happened to make it stop and failing miserably.

Since the day your baby is born, your parenting abilities seem to be judged by your child's ability to sleep. From the day you introduce your child to the greater world, the first words out of someone's mouth is "How is she sleeping?" If you reply "Like a dream!" you get smiles and nods of approval, if you admit that she sleeps like crap, you get a frown and hours of unsolicited advice.

Now that A is older, it is assumed that we have worked out our sleep issues. So when I feel obligated to warn the lovely ladies at Mother's Morning Out that A hasn't napped in several days, and was up at 4am, they look at me wide-eyed and concerned. "Well, she HAS to sleep! She needs MUCH more sleep than she is getting." Yes, thank you. I am well aware of the issue. Trust me. Even our pediatrician, who I love, gives me subtle looks when I relay A's sleep habits to her. While she at least admits that you can't MAKE a child sleep, she has frequently commented that sleep deprivation could be the root of many of our other issues, and perhaps if we could get the sleep thing under control the rest would sort itself out.

I just want to get on the rooftops and shout "I'm doing the best I can here folks! Do you think I am deliberately keeping my child from napping, waking her up in the middle of the night, and forcing her to get up before the sun in the morning?" I'm literally pulling my hair out over the situation. As I sit outside A's door at night and run my fingers through my hair, it comes out in clumps which my Dr. has reassured me is stress related. "Try to get more sleep" she suggested as she finished up her exam.

But more than myself, the person I feel most sorry for in all of this is C, as he has to live through the daily tantrums, the nightly battles, and generally bears the brunt of my short temper. While I try very hard not to yell at him while I am trying to handle a situation with A, I frequently find myself snapping at him to "Just hold on until I can deal with A." His special mommy time that used to take place while A napped has been abruptly halted and replaced by an afternoon of listening to A wail. At bedtime I almost always need to leave his room in the middle of a chapter to place A back into bed, which frequently takes upwards of 45 minutes. C sits patiently on his bed holding his place in the book, waiting for me to come back. And when I do return, he snuggles in tighter and asks me if A is really asleep this time in a sad little voice.

I know someday her body's need for sleep will decrease and the situation will hopefully resolve. And as my sister pointed out yesterday, when A is 15 at least I won't have to soothe her back to sleep at 3am (I hope). But I also think it is going to be a long, long haul until we reach some sort of equilibrium. And I am unclear if all of us will survive mentally unscathed until we reach that point. One can hope I suppose.

She Loves Me (Not)

Chichimama came off the worst day ever with the kids, particularly A, who was evidently happy to snub me too. When Chichimama was done brushing A's teeth and I was reading to C, I heard this conversation:

Mommy: "Say good night to daddy."

A: (in between sobs)"No....no."

Mommy: "Okay...say good night to the cat."

A: (Perky again) "Good night cat!"

Seems I rate somewhere above potty training, but below the cat. At least it's the smart cat...

The great mouse massacre of 2006

We have two cats, one who is smart but lazy, and one who is dumb but frantically active. The smart one rarely leaves the house, and if she does venture out the door she only heads to the nearest pool of sunlight and settles in for a little nap. The dumb on goes out in rain, sleet, and snow, and roams all around the neighborhood for hours on end. He has also turned out to be quite the hunter, and has brought down birds, chipmunks, and even a bunny once. We try to quickly dispose of his prey both to avoid the flies and the questions that are bound to arise from C and A about the fate of the poor woodland creatures.

Yesterday afternoon I looked out the window onto the back stoop, and there lay dumb cat in all his glory, surrounded by six very dead mice. I must have gasped, as C and A quickly arrived next to me and stared silently with hands pressed against the glass. Finally C spoke up.

"Mommy, those aren't real mice, are they?"

"Uh, they are sweetie. I think dumb cat got them."

"You mean killed them. He killed them."

"Yes, I think they are really, really dead."

Silence settled again as C processed this. Finally he spoke slowly.

"Mommy, none of them are Ralph, right? Dumb cat didn't get Ralph, right?"

"No, Ralph is just pretend C. He's a character in a book."

"Oh. OK. I think you should have a talk with dumb cat about his behavior. He can't go around killing mice and eating their tails. It's not very nice."

"I'll speak to him C."

"Thanks mom."

Last night as we were reading Runaway Ralph, C seemed to pay much more attention to Catso the cat then he had previously. And as Catso entered the craft shop to attempt to do in Ralph, C snuggled in closer and closer. When Casto was distracted by a watch, C visibly relaxed and gave a big sigh of relief.

"Mommy, I didn't understand what Catso was trying to do before. He wants to eat Ralph's tail so Ralph can't ride his motorcycle anymore."

"That's right C. Does that scare you?"

"No, because I know there is another Ralph book when we finish this one. But I'll be scared when we read that one."

I am always amazed at how his mind processes things.

Itch

I have a bug bite on the instep of my right foot. Could there possibly be a worse place for a bug bite? OK, I can think of a few, but practicallyspeaking it would be quite hard to get bug bites there unless one was cavorting naked in the woods, and then, well, you were just ASKING for a bug bite now weren't you?

Generally, bugs don't like me. M can be swarmed by every mosquito on the East coast, and I can sit happily and watch him swat. But this summer, the little buggers have decided that I might in fact make a tasty snack after all. And let me tell you, it sucks to go from person non-grata to life of the bug party. Really, I didn't need to join this particular circle of love.

While swatting furiously and itching constantly, I've been trying to figure out why it is that I've become such a prime target, seemingly overnight. Perhaps it is the new body wash I am using? It DOES smell yummy, much better than the stuff I was using before....Or perhaps it is the new sunscreen? Because a girl should never leave home without her SPF 50 you know. The new laundry detergent? The dryer sheets? The possible suspects are endless.

I'm not sure what it is about itching that makes me so out of my mind crazy. As a kid, while I avoided the bug bites, I inevitably got several cases of poison ivy a summer, even after several hours of instruction from my father on plant identification and avoidance techniques. And despite stern warnings from my mother and pediatrician not to scratch, I always did. Even caked with Calamine lotion, the insistent discomfort of the itch would preset and I would scrape my skin raw, leaving the tell-tale pink flakes under my fingernails as guilty evidence.

The scratching makes it feel soooo much better, if even for a few seconds. And even though I know it is a false hope, I find myself thinking that if I just scratch one more time, the discomfort will magically disappear. To dispel the evil itch without scratching I've tried ice cubes, self-hypnosis, and my personal favorite, sitting with my feet in the kiddie the pool for hours. Which helped in the short term, but eventually led to raisin like feet.

As I sit here trying to focus on something other than the big red welt on my foot, I would like to apologize profusely to everyone out there who I laughed at and teased about being a bug magnet over the years. If I could take back my meanness, I would. Can I send you some bug spray or anti-itch cream instead?

One for the record books

C and A troop upstairs and come back down again with C's collection of Rescue Heros.

Mommy: "What are you guys doing?"

C: "We're just playing a game."

A: "Yeah, playing game."

Mommy: "Games are good. What type of game?"

C: "It's a game we can only play if no one is watching. Why don't you go into the other room?"

A: "Yeah, go other room Mommy."

Mommy: "OK then! Have fun!"

In in the space it took me to write this, it is all over. I am off to investigate the wails from the other room now....

Oh the Whine

Mommy: "C, do you actually think the whining will get you any place?"

C: "No, not really. But it makes me feel better."

Mommy: "Ok, as long as we're clear that it is not actually an effective negotiation technique..."

Overheard in the morning

A: "Mommy, I want go back to bed."

Mommy: "Alright! Let's go get your babies and go tuck you back in!"

A: "Uh, actually, I think I want another show. Dora and the choo choo."

Mommy: "Really? No bed? Bed sounds nice...."

A: "Umm, no. But mommy go back bed. I be OK."

Welcome to the neighborhood

On Friday afternoon I took both kids over to the new house thinking M was there building his to do list. We arrived in the driveway only to discover that he had gone around the block the other way and headed home. We only had one key at that point, so I had no way of getting into the house, and I had made the unfortunate mistake of unstrapping the kids from the car seats and allowing them to ring the door bell and run around to the back door to see if we could find Daddy.

After it became clear that he was not in fact there, I tried to pack everyone back up to head home and get the key and some lunch. Both kids rebelled, and insisted that they wanted lunch RIGHT NOW at the NEW HOUSE. NOW. Crying, screaming, and much hysteria ensued from my overtired and emotionally drained children. In the middle of A throwing herself onto the front stoop in a serious snit and C screaming at me that he hated me, a man appeared from the house to the right of us.

"Please be the landscaper or housepainter coming to offer up his services" I silently prayed. "Please, please don't be the new neighbor."

"Hi! Are you the new owner?" he asked with hand extended.

"Yes..." I cautiously replied while keeping an eye on A, trying to will her to stand up and look cute.

"I'm CP! Nice to meet you! Do you need any, uh, help?"

"No, no, we're just fine. My daughter has decided she doesn't want to climb into her car seat."

"Ah. I, see. I guess with the police and all you can't just put her in the back anymore huh?"

"Ummm, yeah. We're a pretty big seat belt family." A picked this moment to begin wailing even more hysterically, and C began chiming in from the back seat as well.

"Right. Anyway, just wanted to say hi...what did you say your name was?"

"Oh, sorry....Chichimama....so nice to meet you." I watched as he headed back across the lawn to report the details of the encounter to his wife and college-age looking daughter.

"I wonder how long it will take for them to report us to CPS?" I wondered under my breath. "At least the kids were losing it because I was trying to get them into car seats...right?"