Easterrific

Once all of the gravel and mulch was begrudgingly dealt with, we were able to switch our focus to Easter and all of the accompanying festivities.  And what holiday would be complete without overindulgence, from start to finish?

The night before Easter we ransacked a few clothing stores in search of something cute for the boys to wear to church in the morning, because we seem to be obsessed with their cuteness but also seem to be incapable of accomplishing anything more than 20 minutes in advance.  So after breezing through Target, Kohls, and Target again, we headed home (a little too late) with a shirt for Joel, a skirt for me and and a full suit for Cael. 

A big personality requires big fashion.

At church we were a big hit.  Honestly, I'm not sure which was better received-- Graham's ear-to-ear smile, Cael's dapper attire, or the knock down, drag out meltdown that occurred in our pew.  While Joel was busy playing with the praise band, I was more than busy trying to occupy both boys with a tub of Cheerios and a coloring book.  It was going fairly well, too, until Cael decided to play dead, perhaps in an act of rebellion against the holiday itself.  Sprawled out across the pew and banging his feet against the backs of those in front of us, he eventually recruited Graham to join him in his shenanigans.  When I picked Graham up to separate the two of them, I accidentally knocked his head against the hard wood and he immediately began yowling.  Not so much from pain, but more because he knew it would embarrass the heck out of me.  And it did.  His cry was timed so strategically that the peak of his objection happened at a moment when the service was transitioning and no one had anything to do but watch as my own situation unraveled.

Isn't she the one with the blog?  About parenting her kids?  Oh yeah.  That's me.


I tried to make a quick escape, but Cael was still assuming the position and I couldn't squeeze by him to remove my screaming child from the sanctuary.  Finally, I had to put Graham back down on the pew which sent him into a new spiral of anger while I physically removed Cael, knocking his head against the pew as I had done with Graham.  By the time I actually managed to escape to the narthex, Graham had calmed himself down and Cael was left alone in the pew with all eyes on him.  And while he normally favors being the center of attention, this time was a bit more than he could take and he sprinted on out of there, thus ending our Easter service.

And it wasn't until I got home that I realized my shirt was oddly tucked into the back of my skirt and part of my underwear was showing.  Happy Easter.

After I'd adjusted so as not to flash my family that would be arriving for Easter lunch in a few hours, we headed outside to take some photos of the boys before changing clothes.  I would have loved to leave them in their dressy clothes to show off for family, but knowing my boys as I do, they likely would have tried to flush Graham's vest down the toilet and skewered Cael's tie with a makeshift harpoon.


So for the sake of clothing preservation (okay, and to remember the moment), we replicated last year's Easter photos, complete with scaling the large cedar tree in our front yard.  First Cael...


And then a somewhat reluctant Graham.


Kisses on the cheek for Daddy are just as special now as they were then...

And hugs for Mommy were still in full supply.


But as if the clothes and photos and snuggles weren't enough, the overindulgence of Easter wasn't quite complete...

Everything in Moderation

Somehow, 2012 has become "the year of the lawn overhaul".  My husband has gone into landscaping hyperdrive, finessing the curves of our flowerbeds and creating crisp edges where the grass meets the sidewalk.

So I wasn't surprised when he told me that he was going to order some extra gravel for the side of the house where the motorhome resides as well as some mulch to beautify the flowerbeds where I'd slaved all last summer scooping out the dreaded gravel that we are now supplementing.


Call it a full-circle moment.

But I was surprised when we watched, from the backyard, as a truck unloaded two TON of gravel onto our already rock-laden pad.



Perhaps you need some perspective to fully appreciate how much rock two ton really is.  Here, I'll put a dime down near the rock.  Does that help?

Not helpful?  Here, look closer.

That one dime is like a needle in a haystack.  Or like a coin in a rockstack.

Joel and my nephews immediately launched into the project, shovels, rakes and boards in hand, to level out what looked more like a desert dune than a gravel pile.

But within an hour's time, I was impressed with what they'd accomplished.  Although the rock was left about a foot thick and likely capable of sustaining the weight of a Boeing 747, it was more than sufficient for our behemoth of a motorhome.  Or perhaps all of the motorhomes.

I didn't have to lift a finger, but I'm really relieved to have it done.  But now what am I supposed to do with this?!?

Holi-Day-Off

Happy Friday everyone!

I'm taking the day off of blogging to prepare for tonight's 2nd "Cousin Slumber Party", Easter, and dealing with a "heap" of trouble at the homestead.  We all hope you have a wonderful Easter and that the Easter "Buddy" brings you treats and happiness this weekend!

I'll be back bright and early on Monday to overshare about our weekend.  It's already been a "mound" of trouble...

Counting Sheep

If asked, I don't think I could list all of the great things about having children.  In one simple look, they are able to teach you more about yourself than years of therapy or weeks alone in the desert ever could.  They challenge you to be stronger, smarter and more patient not only for yourself, but for them and for their future families.

And as they grow, the number of moments that make your heart melt seem to multiply and strengthen your resolve to be the best parent you can be.  But by far, the best moments are when they finally shut their mouths and go to sleep.

Don't get me wrong-- I love my boys more than words.  But words are, in fact, what bombard my brain all day long.  Words, loud words, words shouted in anger about a toy, a book or a chair, (because the food doesn't taste right if you're in the wrong seat, you know), words whispered so that one won't hear the devilish plan being formulated against the other, and even words left unsaid but implied; the "do it anyways" and the "I don't like yous".

So when that glorious moment comes and they are both tucked into bed, I sometimes do a little dance.  I'm not kidding either-- sometimes I dance right there outside of their bedroom.  My usual move is something between "the twist" and "the running man"; a dance of pure relief and excitement for quiet (but still not as exceptional as Cael's moves for Ellen).

And once they are tucked in bed, I sit on the couch for 2.5 seconds before realizing that I have to do the laundry.  And I have to unload the dishwasher (and reload the dishwasher).  When that's done I need to get started on the next day's blog post, gather the garbage and recycling for the next morning's pickup, vacuum the carpet where Graham shredded half of the Easter egg gel clings, and do my best to dislodge the unopened box of Cheerios from the kitchen floor vent.

And suddenly, breaking up their fights doesn't seem so bad after all.  Watching them play and pretend, be creative and sometimes naughty is really worth it to help them learn how to behave when they are grown and have children of their own.

Plus, I can avoid doing the laundry.  I really hate laundry.

So yesterday I sneaked into the bedroom as Graham slept.  I watched his chest rise and fall as I lightly touched his cheek and gazed at his long eyelashes.  I snapped photos quietly as he dozed, completely trusting, with arms spread open.  I wanted to kiss him and hold him, crawl under the sheets with him and fall into his warmth. 

But instead I watched him until he woke up.  I tried to nuzzle him but it wasn't quite the same.  He started again with the words, first about colored frogs and cookies, no doubt the remnants of his naptime dreams. 

Then he jabbered about playing outside and shovels and dirt and tractors and bugs.  He picked up a toy that may or may not have been in use moments before.  Cael yelled and Graham cried, and within moments we'd begun a brawl of West Side Story proportions.

And for now, that is how life seems to go.  But the countdown is already on.  Only nine hours until bedtime...

Ism of the Week

Nothing beats snuggling my boys in bed.  Well, almost nothing.

"Yuck, Mommy!  Your breath is stinky."

"Cael, I'm over here with Graham.  You're next to Oscar."

Book Report

Once upon a time, in a land not at all far away, I loved to read for fun.  I read classics, I read "chick" books, I read books recommended by Oprah and loathed by the employees of Barnes and Noble.  I judged books by their covers and trusted my friends when they recommended books with cartoon covers.

It was never as easy as just reading, however.  If I liked the story, despite the confusing timeline or awkward writing style of the author, I couldn't put it down.  I read during meals.  I read before bed.  I read in the bathtub and occasionally dropped the book in the water.  I splayed the book out on the heating vents and said "it was like that" when I returned it to the library.

And then I got pregnant.

At first I read as much, if not more, than I did before, although more of it took place on the toilet as I peed for the fourth, fifth, sixth time that hour.  I read about birth defects and prolapsed umbilical cords and preterm labor.  I laid awake at night more terrified than when I read all of the Goosebumps books as a little girl.

Cael at 2 months

But when the baby was born, I read nothing.  Well, almost nothing.  I did some very scholarly research on concussions and traumatic brain injuries when Cael fell off of the bed at three months old.  Physically, he was okay, but as far as his personality and social intelligence being damaged?    

The verdict is still out.

Other than that brief literary adventure, I read nothing.  But let's be honest-- baby kisses trump novels.  As Cael began to sleep through the night, I began to read more.  "The Kite Runner"... "She's Come Undone"... "Confessions of a Shopaholic"... (don't judge)...

And then one day, my nephew Ethan recommended I read "The Hunger Games."  I knew it was a young-adult fiction book and mentally listed it under the heading of "stuff I might read when I don't want to think very hard", the same list where I'd recently crossed off the shopaholic book when I finished in the bathtub one day, sans water damage.

Cael reading at 1 1/2

But Ethan said something very prophetic.  "You'll really like it, but you'll never put it down." 

Truer words have never been spoken.

I have to admit to feeling a little sheepish when I bought the book at Walmart the next day.  But given the fact that I was also purchasing toddler-sized underpants and a large jar of mayonnaise, I figured the book was the least of my concerns.  I took it home that night and began to read it at 10:00pm when I got into bed.  At 2:00am, book one of the Hunger Games was done.

I forced myself to wait before purchasing book two, "Catching Fire".  I didn't want to blow through that one as quickly and have to deal with the aftermath of two night with only a few hours of sleep.  So I waited two days, and started in on chapter one around 9:00am.  By early evening, I closed the cover.  I did manage to feed the children during that time, but I must confess to having no clue what took place during that time.  Did they watch television?  Did they go outside?  Did they both "whip it out" and swordfight over the toilet?  I guess that's between them and God.  Maybe I'll run upstairs and ask Jesus if he took any notes from that day.

After such a reading binge, I made a promise to myself that I would wait until April to buy the last book.  For the first time ever, I was frustrated that I didn't have a Kindle or other device to provide me with an instant Hunger Games fix.  My position has always been that I love the nostalgia and tactile experience of holding the book and smelling its pages as I read.  But I think I could trade it all to snuggle in a cave with Peeta.  And a Kindle.

I swear I'm happily married.  And I swear I'm not 14.

Amazingly, I was able to keep my promise.  I waited until yesterday to bring home "Mockingjay", and although I haven't opened it yet, it is calling to me from within the shiny blue cover, which I plan to ransack this afternoon.

If you've read the books, you understand.  And if you haven't, you really should.  But clear your calendar or you'll forget to go to bed, go to work, or even eat.

May the odds be ever in your favor...

April Fool's Day

Every once in a while I get a misdirected comment or an email from one of you complimenting me on my parenting skills.  I got one such email on Sunday, and I was certain it had to be a well-played albeit kind of mean April Fool's Day joke.   I do have good intentions, but the combination of my relentless childhood nostalgia and my children's relentless need to misinterpret and/or destroy everything has proven to be a lethal combination.

That April Fool's Day joke led to another, and then another, and eventually confirmed my suspicions that I have scarred these kids for life.

 

"Hey Cael, have I told you before about April Fool's Day?"

"What is that?"

"On the first day of April, some people like to play a funny trick.  They tell a story that isn't true and then say, 'April Fool's!" 

"Those people tell a lie?"

"Well, it's not a mean lie.  It's just a silly thing to do." 

"It's funny to lie, Mommy." 

Oh no, this is unraveling fast.

"Okay, not like a lie.  It's more like a trick." 

"I want to trick Graham!"

"Cael, you need to remember that this is a nice trick; a silly trick.  Okay?" 

"Okay!"

Do you remember what it felt like in middle school when you had a bad grade in a class, and you knew that your report card was being mailed home that afternoon?  Remember the dread?  I do.

Most of the day went by, and by that afternoon the boys were itching to play outside.  I strapped their shoes on and sent them outside to play while Joel and my nephews, who were enlisted to help with yard work, checked on them periodically as they hauled loads of grass clippings and weeds to the back yard.

But while I made stuffed peppers in the kitchen, I heard Graham's voice objecting to any number of offenses Cael had committed.  I waited momentarily for the boys to come to aid, but when no one did I opened the garage door to find that they'd gone to the hardware store and I'd been ignoring Graham's pleas for help.  Just as I rushed to the deck, Cael reached the top of the stairs and began his defense.  Graham emerged in a sniffling puddle and pointed at Cael.

"What did you just do?"

"I tricked him!"

"Cael, I told you that it is supposed to be a fun, silly trick.  Not a mean trick."

"I did!"

"Okay, tell me exactly how you tricked him."

"I put my leg in front of him and made him fall."

"Ugh, Cael!!!  I said to trick him, not trip him."

I guess I'm the April fool after all.