The Real Life

If you live in the Midwest like I do, you know that we are in the middle of an unreal string of amazing weather-- temperatures in the low 70's, sunshine, light breeze, and every ounce of my being is shouting, "SPRING!".  I wholly welcome this shift because it is at this time that I always feel invigorated and drawn to get out of the house, exercise more, and get my oversized rear off the sofa.

Monday night was my last "hurrah".  I celebrated the unofficial end of winter by camping out in front of the television and numbing my brain with the official end of The Bachelor.  Now before you judge me for my choices, let's put things into perspective.  I don't go out drinking, I don't wear revealing clothing and I certainly don't abuse or otherwise mistreat my children, so I think that spending two hours out of my week watching a greasy-haired man make truly appalling dating choices is acceptable, even necessary.  All mothers of high-maintenance children need a break, and if I am able to find respite in poor quality reality television and not in illicit drugs, more power to me.

(Soapbox dismount.)

Photo courtesy of ABC - The Bachelor

For those of you unfamiliar with the Bachelor, let me give you a very brief and formulaic synopsis:  One man (Ben) goes on weekly dates to slowly and painfully lead on and eventually, emotionally scar twenty-some women, until he has narrowed the pool down to two.  Throughout the process, otherwise intelligent women are led to make statements like, "You know, jumping off of a cliff (or into a crater, or out of a plane) is kind of like a relationship.  You simply have to trust that your partner will be there for you to catch you when you fall."  This season, Ben chose and proposed to Courtney, the "Black Widow"-- a manipulative and unlikeable woman, but a model and therefore prettier enough to overlook her character flaws.  After the finale show was over, we were subjected to an additional hour of follow-up programming to confirm that she is, indeed, manipulative and unlikeable.  I turned off the television and felt, more than ever, that as the seasons have shifted, I too, am ready to usher in a new phase of the year.

So the next day, I went for a walk.  I saw tulips leaping out of the ground and kids playing hopscotch.  (I thought maybe I'd slipped into a wormhole and back to 1986, but it was still 2012.  Who knew.)  I saw so many things, in fact, that I remembered how entertaining life can be when the reality television finally gets switched off and the real life gets switched back on.

Not "The Real World".  Real life.

Take, for example, the group of five or six 10 year-olds in the park passing around a can of pop.  It reminded me of when I was little and my friends and I would stop by the local bar to buy bottles of orange or purple soda and drink them on the sidewalk as the sun baked our shoulders.  I smiled fondly until later when I thought more about it and realized that the kids were drinking an ancient Zima.  Even that was funny until a quick search on my phone revealed that Zima was not alcohol-free as I'd always thought.

When I'd completed my loop, however, the youthful boozers were gone and the only sounds in the park were my own feet clomping along on the pavement.  Clomp, clomp, clomp... THWAP!  The sidewalk that was serving as my track was covered in tiny pebbles from the playground, thrown from their intended location by sugar-riddled children jumping and climbing on the train-shaped equipment, or maybe launched by pre-teen boys in a semi-alcohol induced daze.  Either way, my Nikes couldn't find traction on the tiny stones and I slid, nearly wiped out, and even slammed hip-first into a parked car.

Karma for not chewing out the Zima boys?  Perhaps.  But it definitely put a slight damper on my walk about town.  I was embarrassed, a little sore, and longing for a cold drink and the couch when I saw him.  Or her.  I don't really know.  Regardless of gender, it was clear that I had encountered the laziest and most winter-drained squirrel in the entire state of Iowa.

First of all, he was the size of a football, and similarly shaped.  But the best part was his posture, the squirrel sitting in a human-like position.  Not legs crossed, or on his side, instead this rodent was sitting upright but slouched, not unlike the position I take as I settle in for a Bachelor fix every Monday night.  He was so subdued that I inched closer and closer to him to snap a photo until, at only two or three feet away, he finally waddled over to a nearby stump and collapsed against it.

Motivation problem solved.

When I returned home, I was left to ponder the strangeness that was my afternoon walk.  What were the odds that I'd experience all of those strange happenings in one day?  But you know, kids drinking Zima (or walking into a parked car, or disrupting a squirrel in a blasé mood) is kind of like life.  You simply have to trust that at the end of the day, you'll still have the motivation to just keep walking.

Until May, that is.  Everyone ready for the Bachelorette?

Breaking for Spring

It's Spring Break!

And who needs Daytona Beach when you have sunshine...

Budding trees...

And a John Deere Gator recently released from the impound?

We're loving the time off and amazing weather (ahem, except for today) but more importantly, we're enjoying the opportunity to spend time as a family and welcome Joel's brother for a visit.  So in honor of Spring Break, I'm taking a couple of days off but will be back on Wednesday, likely with a report of how Cael managed to hogtie Uncle Seth and torture him for secrets. 

Watch your back, Seth.

Also make sure you tune in on Thursday, when my friend and fellow mom-blogger Courtenay will be guest-posting.  Courtenay was recently selected to be one of the "Real Moms of Eastern Iowa", a take on the Real Housewives television series but without all of the Botox.  When she's not being "real" she can be found posting on her own blog, so feel free to check her out and come back on Thursday to check her out!

I hope you enjoy the next two days as well, and I hope it's warm and sunny where you are.  But no matter the weather, I hope you have fun.

See you Wednesday!

Horror Stories

Let me tell you a story.

Or, to be more accurate, let Cael tell Graham a story.

At 3:25am.

When they're supposed to be asleep. 

"Graham.  Graham!  Graham, get up for this story!"

"Otay..."

"Once about a time, there was a horse and a duck.  And the duck was purple with orange lines-- not stripes but kinda like stripes.  But not.  And the duck was eating fish and stuff and the horse said, 'I want to eat fish, too!'  So the horse got in the water and then a man shot the horse.  And there was blood everywhere and the horse had to get out of the water because it was bleeding and it was yucky for the duck.  And the duck was all red and then the horse was a bear and it chased the duck all over the lake because it wanted to eat the duck.  It was a mean bear.  And then the bear --RAWRRRRR!!!-- came after all of the people that were there because they were shooting at the bear. 

Bang!  Bang!  And then, RAWR! again in the water.  And then the bear was in here in our room while I was playing and you were sleeping and the bear and a dragon tried to eat you and you cried a long time and Mommy didn't come because she was on the phone and Daddy was at work, so the dragon and the bear ate you!  And Barker.  And Bear.  And Cheeky Monkey."

Stunned silence. 

"Ugh.  You're gonna get in trouble, Graham.  You're supposed to be sleeping.  Be quiet!  Go to bed!"

"Cheety Munty IS here!"

"No, he's not.  He's gone forever and he's never coming back.  Now go to bed!!  I love you, Graham."

"I wuv you too."

Good Intentions

Tuesday was a beautiful day.  

With the high near 70 degrees, it felt much more like May than March, and the day begged for outdoor play.  So play we did, but with less than positive results.

You remember the mud pit in my backyard that beckoned to my children and caused them to roll around in it like half-drunk coeds?  Yep, it's still there. 

What about Lake MacForeman?  Yup, full o'water.  So in order to avoid a children-in-the-street incident, I packed them up and meandered about town until we found the first park with rock instead of dirt and no other children in sight.  Because as social as my children are, I would rather not have to issue any more public apologies for Cael and his lack of personal boundaries.

As we pulled up to the park, Cael and Graham started whooping and hollering, winding up like an old crank siren and equally as loud.  I was grateful that I'd chosen the most secluded park in town with no traffic on the street, as Cael ran at full-speed toward the equipment.

In order to fully appreciate this image, please refer to this clip from the show "Friends".



Yep.  Just like that.

Once Graham was out and on the loose as well, although at a much slower pace, I began to see that there were a few potential problems.  Let's tackle them in order of severity, shall we?

1)  The last time we visited a park, Graham was barely two years old, and lacked the bravery and chutzpa to mount the ladders and nets on the jungle gym.  At two and a half, Graham thinks he's The Incredible Hulk-- climbing with reckless abandon, jumping near the edge of steep drop-offs and exhibiting an overall disregard for his activity level and the difficulty of the equipment.

2)  It was muddy at the park, too.  Mud in the grass, melting snow, puddles of sludge and slush abound.  Muddy, murky, messy.

3)  Cael doesn't listen.  He's capable of course, but chooses not to listen.  And as irritating as that is, what would I blog about if it were any other way?

4)  I was having a really bad hair day.  This actually doesn't pertain to the story, but isn't that irritating?


So with these truths in place, we stormed the playground equipment at precisely 11:05am.  I shadowed Graham every step of the way, rescuing him from the edge and a potential broken arm while doing my best to keep Cael on the premises.

We played tag, we climbed, we swung on the swings, we peeked at each other from the recesses of the jungle gym, and while I was helping Graham tackle the curly slide, it happened.

"Hey, Mommy!  Look at me!"

Cael had run up to the house closest to the park, and was in hill-rolling stance.  I knew how saturated the ground was and ordered him to return.

"No rolling.  It's way too wet-- come back here to the park!"

And in a miraculous and obedient turn of events, he immediately did turned and ran down the hill to continue assaulting the playground.  That is, until he slipped on some snow and fell, face first, into the dirt and slid four or five feet before stopping at the perimeter of the park.

So at precisely 11:15am, we loaded ourselves back in the car, mud and all, to change clothes before meeting Joel for lunch, and I mentally added one more truth to the list.

5)  The road to hell and, coincidentally, the road to the park, are paved with good intentions.

Anyone know how much AstroTurf costs?

McIsm of the Week

I have a vivid memory of begging my mom for the gel window clings that stores manufactured to celebrate every holiday.  I loved the look and feel of them but not once was allowed to get something so frivolous to adorn our window when we had wax paper and crayons at home.  Because that's the same, right?

So as a symbolic act of rebellion, I have always had a seasonal gel cling on our sliding door, and my boys have come to love the tradition of tearing down the old ones and picking out the next set.  Earlier in the month, I searched for some St. Patrick's Day clings but found that I do not have the luck of the Irish, and left the store with only a package for Easter.

But then, luckily, a flat envelope from Bamma arrived in the mail yesterday, and in it were two highly-sought after packages of St. Patrick's Day window clings.  They promptly went up, providing some seasonal symmetry to our dining room, and then we turned our attention to the other content's of Bamma's box.

"TATTOOOOOOS!"

My boys are now more inked than they were after Joel's week long mustache-a-thon, and don't hesitate to show any passers-by their new tats. 

"Papa, look at my tattoo!"

"Neat, Cael."

"It says, 'Kiss me, I'm Irish'."

(Insert kissing attack from Mommy)

"You can't kiss me, I'm Irish, remember?"

"Actually, you're English, French, German and Scottish."

"No I'm not, I'm Cael!"

Maybe we should stick to the window clings.

Out of This World

I really wish I had a DVD player in the car.  I know that they invite a whole new set of problems, but I'm ready for a break from the boys' current activity of choice in the car, locating stars in the sky and arguing violently over whether they are stars or airplanes.  

Or occasionally, light bulbs.

I did get a brief and welcome reprieve from their debates last night when Cael wasn't able to spot the lights in the sky. 

"Why are there only three stars?!"

"There are millions of stars, honey, but it's too bright to see them right now.  Remember that episode of Curious George when George wants to count the stars, but he can't see them in the city because the lights are too bright?" 

"I remember that."

"Well this is the same thing, except the sky is still too bright, and the moon is really bright, too."

"Why is the moon bright?"

This is the point at which I must make a choice.  He has asked two questions, which signal the beginning of what is likely to be a long and arduous conversation regarding the space/time continuum, and only two choices remain for me.  Do my best to answer his questions and hope he'll see a cow or something to distract him before I drive the van off a bridge, or respond with the often overused "we'll talk about that later" response which I am limiting myself to using only once per day.

And unfortunately for me, my one usage is up.  If only he hadn't asked about how frogs have babies.

"The sun is on the other side of the Earth now, so it's lighting up the moon for us.  And the moon is so bright because it's almost full tonight."

"Why is it almost full?"

"Because the moon goes in cycles.  When you see the whole moon, it's called a 'full moon', and then it gets smaller again.  You've seen a crescent moon, right?"

"What's a crescent moon?"

"One that is really tiny, like a piece of fingernail."

"I've seen that.  But Mommy, why is the sun on the other side of the Erf?"

This discussion is getting away from me faster than Oscar chasing a rabbit.

"Our planet goes around the sun.  When our side of the planet is facing the sun, it's daytime.  When we face away from the sun, it's nighttime."

"And when it's really bright, it's Thursday, right?"

"Well, Thursday comes after Wednesday.  That doesn't really have anything to do with the weather.  But the weather does tell us what season it is."

"What is a season?"

"You know about seasons.  What season are we in right now?"

"Winter."

"That's right.  Do you know which one comes next?"

"I told you, Mommy.  THURSDAY."

"Nope, that's a day, not a season.  Next comes Spring, when the weather gets a little warmer and the plants start to grow again."

"Why is it warmer?"

"Because we're closer to the sun.  Or the angle is different... but I know it has to do with the sun, Cael." 

"Oh, okay." 

And just when I thought he was done, when we were almost home and I thought I might have actually taught him something, he turned to Graham to share the knowledge. 

"Graham, did you hear that?  Mommy made up a silly story about the moon and the sun."

"I like da moon." 

"Me too.  I like it because the moon makes it Thursday."

"Yeah!"  Graham echoed.

"Mommy, why does the moon make it Thursday?"

We'll talk about that later, Cael.

Slumber Party

I remember very few things about my first time sleeping over at a friend's house.  We ate pizza, she had a rabbit, it rained really hard and I cried until my parents came to pick me up.  Not so successful.  Once I got the anxiety of that first sleepover out of the way, I was hooked on the marathon of giggles and braid chains that accompanied each night spent with a friend.

Thankfully for Cael, he won't have to worry about crying over his cheese pizza at a friend's house, because he already has his first sleepover under his belt.  Last week, during our weekly Wednesday night Subway dinner (family tradition), my sister Amy suggested that Cael stay the night and have a "cousin sleepover".  I knew that Cael would be excited, but I wondered what emotion my generous nephews would feel as Cael kicked them in their shins and demanded french toast sticks at 3am.  Or what if Hurricane Cael-trina made landfall at my sister's house and all of them awoke to the washing machine overflowing with soap suds and the car crashed through the wall?  This might be a bad idea.

I recommended that they have a back-up plan in case Cael was unable to wind down and refuse to sleep.  It is my experience (daily) that Cael cannot relax, even with a hefty dose of Children's Benadryl, unless he is confined to a room with no toys and no lights.  Maybe some day he'll make us all famous by defying the laws of science and stay awake for three months.  Or maybe he'll just get arrested for stealing Unisom from a 24-hour Walmart when he's in fourth grade.

When the time came for me to drop Cael off, he could barely contain his enthusiasm.  He jumped and galloped around my sister's house shouting, "My sleepover, my sleepover!"  And poor Graham simply asked, "I come too?"  Unfortunately, he's still too young, and he's much too gentle to be subjected to a night in the same bed with flailing, thrashing Cael. 

"Graham, how about we have our own sleepover?  We'll do something special, okay?"

"Otay."

I hugged Cael, begged him to be good and sleep a reasonable number of hours, and headed home to break out the crepe paper and balloons for the party of the century.

"Graham, what do you want to do?"

"Drink Propel!"

"Really?  That's it?"

"Wear Mickey peejees!"

"Okay, we can do that.  What else?"

I figured he'd want to play with his toys or eat some ice cream.  On the way home I told him we'd do something special, so I assumed that ride home was so quiet because he was thinking so hard about how best to cash in on his one-on-one Mommy time.  As he laid out the terms of our party, however, it began to seem like he was more interested in watching paint dry than having a sleepover with his old lady.

"Snuggle on yours bed?"

Now that's more like it.



As Graham and I cuddled under a blanket, I smiled at the photos my sister texted me of my big boy, nuzzled up to his "big" cousins and exceeding my expectations.  He went to sleep without issue, didn't assault anyone during the night, and when he woke up AFTER 7am, the cat was unharmed and accounted for.  I couldn't be prouder.


Maybe Cael is ready to be up by himself in the mornings after all.

Hmm... maybe not.