Hail to the Chief

My apologies, friends.  Yesterday did not reflect my best work.  In fact, my lack of posting reflected no work.  I wish I could say that I was too occupied training for a marathon, or pursuing my dream of riding a diving horse in Atlantic City circa 1930.

But the truth is, I just plain forgot.

I thought about claiming this oversight as merely my observance of President's Day, but the one conversation I had about the holiday didn't go so well.

"Why doesn't Amy have to go to work today?"

"Because it's President's Day."

"What is that?"

"Today was George Washington's birthday.  He was our first president."

"He was my first present?"

"No, he was our country's first president."

"What's a president?"

"The president is the person that makes all of the decisions about the country.  He is the boss of the country, just like Mommy and Daddy are the bosses of our house."

"All of the presidents are having a birthday today?"

"Nope, just Washington.  But someone decided that it's a good day to celebrate all of the presidents." 

"Is Amy going to their birthday party?"

"No, she gets the day off so that she can remember them." 

"Are they all dead?"

"Most of them are, because some of them lived a very long time ago.  But there are some that are still alive.  You remember us talking about President Obama, right?  He's alive." 

"Obaba?"

"Obama.  He's our president right now.  He's the country's boss.  He decides what we should do just like I decide what you eat and how you should behave." 

"I think Obaba wants me to play the jumping game on your phone."

I think he's the stealthiest politician of them all.

So rather than running or horse jumping, we had a lazy day at home.  And while bathtime and "hide-and-go-seek" may not register in importance on a presidential level, they are hot-button issues in my jurisdiction.  I think my constituents approved of the day off, but don't worry-- I'll be back tomorrow.

Cael put in an executive order.

Going Viral

It's been relatively quiet around here this week as we recover from the V-day festivities and begin the slow countdown to spring break.  I've kept the house relatively clean, stayed on the top of the laundry and even gotten a few jaunts on the treadmill.
For those of you about ready to click on over to Pinterest because you aren't interested in my gloating, please wait.  This is not my opportunity to brag about my accomplishments, rather it is an opportunity for me to rationalize the unhealthy amount of time I've wasted on the internet this week.

I've wasted a LOT of time on the internet this week. 

There, I said it.  And one of the biggest things I have noticed is the abundance of memes (small pictures imitating social or popular cultural behaviors) and humorous images plastering the walls of Pinterest and Facebook.

None of them really pertain to me, however.  So on this slow Friday, I thought I would contribute to the phenomenon and create a few of my own.

What about you?  Have you noticed this new phenomenon?  Have you made any yourself?  Are you lusting over Ryan Gosling?  I'll be enjoying a lazy weekend and I hope yours will be great also.  Or are you planning to play some "Bejeweled"?  I hear it's addictive...

Caelism of the Day

As we sat at the dining room table, two parties' worth of valentines and six cavities' worth of candy splayed out before us, Cael contemplated the holiday.

"Mommy, why did I get so much candy?"

"It's a tradition to pass out valentines to your friends and anyone you love.  A lot of people give candy, but not everyone."

"Why you didn't give me a valentine?"

Because less than two months ago I broke the bank on a bounty of junk that you don't touch anymore and I'll be expected to provide you with an additional plethora of treats in less than two more months.  You can eat leftover chocolate.  I think we still have some from your birthday.  

And Halloween.  

And Christmas.

"I did draw you a valentine train, and you got to do some special things like meeting Daddy for lunch, remember?"

"But you didn't give me candy."

"You don't think you have enough candy here?"

"Nope.  I need more candy.  I want to eat candy for lunch and dinner and supper and my snack."

"What about breakfast?"

"For breakfast I want french toast sticks."

Shocker.

"Well then maybe I'll get you some french toast sticks for Valentine's Day next year."

"Really, Mommy?  I guess you love me a lot."

"I do.  Do you love me?"


"Yep, I do."

"What will you get me for Valentine's Day next year?"

"Peas."

"You won't get me any french toast sticks?"

"Nope, you don't need that.  We have too much candy here already."

In Plain Sight

You know the kind of day that has you looking at the clock every five minutes, willing it to be bedtime?  It goes like this.

Is it 8:00 yet?
2:33pm.  Crap.

I feel like I'm not only waist-deep in one of those days, or weeks, rather, but I think this just might be an is-it-over-yet kind of year.  While I must admit that Cael's behavior has improved lately (although incrementally), I also have to admit that Graham has been letting his "terrible two" flag fly. 

And man, oh man, is he patriotic.

It's like a switch was flipped inside his brain.  If I didn't know any better, I'd guess that he was menopausal, violently swinging from one emotional extreme to the next.  He's also stripping off his pants at every opportunity which I'm guessing is the result of a hot flash of some sort.

While he is an equal-opportunity tantrum-thrower and will execute a perfect meltdown in any environment, Graham's specialty is to erupt in anger right before we are ready to go somewhere.  Anywhere, really.  And if he knows that we are about to depart the house, the only hope for success is distraction. 

Sometimes a snack will work.

Sometimes a toy will work.

As Cael learned, smacking him on top of the head with a metal fireplace tool will NEVER work.

But thankfully, playing "hide and seek" will ALWAYS work.

So last week, as we were waiting for our day care friend to be picked up and for us to head out for dinner, I saw the look of terror coming over Graham's face.  I grabbed his bio-identical hormones and offered up the idea of playing "hide and seek" in an effort to offset the inevitable.

When the boys play the game amongst themselves, there seem to be two unwritten rules.  First, when one hides, he must make as much noise as possible and eliminate the element of surprise.  Second, and most importantly, they must hide in the same spot.  Every.  Single.  Time.

To switch things up, I offered to hide and let them find me, thinking that my size would limit my potential hiding spots so considerably that the game would be easy and over quickly.  I was wrong.  Perhaps it is the hormones, but both Graham and Cael seemed completely oblivious to my presence as they trotted around the living room and kitchen, often passing right by me.

I started in the closet, but that was way too hard.  I had to act as my very own homing beacon and emit tiny "psst!" sounds to clue them in to my whereabouts.  

Next I tried hiding behind the open front door.  The window was at a perfect level for me to watch as the dog and cat both tried to rat me out, but neither boy seemed to notice.

Perhaps I was trying too hard.  I moved the boys' toy basket and crammed myself into a tiny space below our bookshelves.  Surely they would see me immediately when they came out of the bathroom, where they were counting.

"One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Seven, Ten, Eleventeen!  Ready or not, here we are!"

Nothing.

Joel and I had a hard time keeping a straight face as the boys would look right in my direction and then ask if I was in the oven.  If my pasty-white hands weren't noticeable in the crawlspace, surely my entire body would be noticeable... on the counter?

While the boys counted, I practiced my planking and awaited the giggles I'd hear from Cael and Graham as they discovered my silly positioning.  But the only giggles I heard were coming from Joel, since the boys did not see me, even at point-blank range.  In fact, it seemed like the more obvious my hiding spot, the harder I was to find.

When I jumped down from the counter, the boys' faces were priceless.  And even though they didn't find me without hints from Mommy and Daddy, we had a good time and Graham hardly noticed that our friend had been picked up and the shoes were begin gathered in preparation for our departure. 

"Okay, Graham!  It's time to go!"

"NOOOOO!"

If you need me, I'll be hiding on the counter...

Be Our Valentine?

Market Meltdown

I'd like to take this opportunity to issue an overdue public apology. 

Dear Anyone-in-my-local-grocery-store-last-Wednesday-after-my-children-attended-a-sugar-laden-Valentine-party, 

I'm so very sorry for the scene that unfolded within the aisles of the supermarket.  I take full responsibility and ownership of the emotional and auditory damage that may have been done due to my son's screaming, crying and general state of whininess.  I made the poor decision to allow my children to push the "tiny cart", and I now understand that all of you were forced to pay the price.

Photo from Gary's website.

I do not, however, take responsibility for the actions that took place.  For example, it was not me that chose to pull seven boxes of tampons and pads off of the shelf in the toiletry aisle.  Similarly, it was not me that stashed said boxes in the cart of an older gentleman shopping for toothpaste.

Sir, you deserve a special apology for this unique form of embarrassment that came courtesy of Graham.

"Graham, tell the man you're sorry."

"Sorry, Man!  Sorry, POOP!" 

As you can tell, we're all really broken up about this.

I would also like it to be known that I was not the person (or persons) responsible for shaking various items and then throwing them on the floor in the dairy section.  I am perfectly satisfied with the consistency of your butter, yogurt and, ahem... eggs.

I would like all of you to know that I did do my best to contain the situation and leave the store as quickly as possible.  I selected my grocery items and made way to the registers to be checked out, but Cael decided that he was in great mortal need of some chocolate ice cream and, despite my pleas to follow directions, both children took off toward the freezer section to commit any number of atrocities before I was able to contain them.

You might want to check for some feminine napkins hidden amongst your Lean Cuisines.

Lastly, we owe the largest apology to the young clerk who patiently waited for me to pay for my items while I was, instead, physically dragging my youngest across the tile floor from where he tried to escape through the automatic doors.  Thank goodness you had that ATM in the lobby to keep Cael occupied.  Good call.

During future visits, I will do my best to more adequately restrain my children while shopping.  (Do you sell rope?)  I will also make a concerted effort to have my fly zipped up as well.

Yours truly,
Mary Foreman

PS- That smell wasn't coming from me either.

Valenteen's Day Massacre

At Wednesday's Valentine party, the kids enjoyed playing with each other and passing out valentines.  Even though the playtime seemed more like a demolition derby and the valentine-passing more like rationing food in a war zone, there were no broken bones or broken windows, so I'm choosing to count the experience as a success.


But on the way home, something really unusual happened.  In fact, something happened that I wasn't sure existed until it happened to me. 

Silence.

Do you hear it?  If you're a mom you surely don't, and maybe you're not even familiar with the concept.  Silence is what you hear when the whining stops, the crying stops, no toys or devices are erupting, and no one wants to know if you're "there yet".  It's the sound you would hear if both of your kids would sleep at the same time. 

Ever.

We were almost home when Cael finally broke his silence.

"Mommy?"


"Yeah?"

"Why did we go to that party?"

"It was just a fun thing to do.  Didn't you have fun playing with all of those kids?"

"Yeah, but why did we have a party for Valenteen's Day?"

"You mean Valentine's Day?  It's just a fun holiday, and a good time to tell people we love them."

"But I don't love all of those people."

"Well that's okay, you didn't know them all."

"Then it should have been a "I-Don't-Love-You-'Cuz-I-Don't-Know-You" party, Mommy!"

How romantic.

What he doesn't understand and can't articulate is that friendship (when you're four) means little more than the act of accepting someone despite the fact that they knee you in the groin repeatedly and blame you unjustly when the cat goes missing.  Gathering all of these "friends" together in one room for a party is simply a change of pace-- an opportunity for the mommies to have a singular adult conversation in the midst of trucks, trains, and poop, poop, poop.


"I think it was nice that you got to know those new kids."

"Yeah.  They were nice.  Do you think we could have them come over to our house for a party?"

"We can do that sometime when the weather is nicer and we can play outside."

"And they can say 'I love you' to Oscar and to our firetruck?"

"Valentine's Day is on February 14th, so a party in the spring wouldn't be a Valentine party."

"Yes it would.  They will love the firetruck."

"Okay, Cael.  We can have a Valentine party whever you want."

"Good.  But Mommy?  I DO love the firetruck."

"I know you do, Cael."

So the planning begins for our Spring/Valentine/I-Don't-Love-You-'Cuz-I-Don't-Know-You party.  And if we don't know you, come on over.  The more people we don't love, the merrier.