Are You a Mombie?

     Apparently there is a term floating out there, a label if you will, for all of us hard working moms who happen to stop paying attention to the world around us and our own needs and instead focus on our children.  It's a Mombie and it's kind of an uncool twist on the term "Zombie".
     I heard the term when talking to a twenty-something; which is something I hardly ever do these days (talking to a twenty-something... with the exception of family).  And I explained to the twenty-something that (a) I have a bad memory and I don't remember my high school identity so it's not as though I had lost my identity when having kids.  I think officially it means I never really had an identity so there wasn't one to lose. And (b) on a similar note, before I had kids all I ever really did was grade papers at school, bring them home and grade papers while watching TV and then on Friday nights go to trivia.  And (c) sometimes Moms look like Zombies because we are so flustered that we have to focus and we actually don't see where we're going... we only see where our kids are going so instead of paying attention to things around ourselves we're paying attention to things around them... which is why our kids are completely safe and us Moms are constantly tripping over things and running into trees (and backing out of garages too close to the side of the door and scraping off siding).
     I suppose in retrospect I tried to defend myself and perhaps it was a completely fruitless effort because in essence to a twenty-something my life really might seem like one of a zombie.
     It was Mother's Day today and Liam was very excited. He wanted to give me his present which turned out to be a home-made notebook and a pen completely wrapped with about six layers of uncoordinated duct tape.  He told me underneath it was a pen from a classmate's mother whose phone number had changed at work so she gave all of her old pens to the class to use.  He was very excited and then he asked me when Father's Day was because apparently he can't wait for that either.  Perhaps they have another pen project in mind.  Then Joshua asked when Kids' Day was and I responded like EVERY OTHER person would respond "Every day is Kids' Day."  Which it is, I assure you.  Even Mother's Day is really Kids' Day in disguise.  Today after a lovely breakfast we went to a festival and had a lovely, albeit cold, day. We took pictures next to tulips and then immediately hurried up to the kiddie area to watch a juggler.  Then we went to the rock climbing wall where Liam reached the top and rung the buzzer (yay!) and then directly to the bounce houses.  As I stood outside a bouncy-bounce obstacle course while my kids goofed off inside, it occurred to me that we had just been bouncing a couple of days ago at Liam's school carnival... and a couple of weeks before that at his baseball opening night and before that there was a birthday party and, well, you get the idea.  How much of my time was spent waiting for my kids to bounce in bouncy bounces?  How many of our pictures are trying to capture that one glorious moment as they slide down a 40 foot slide?  Since when have playgrounds become completely anti-climactic compared to the glory of a bouncy bounce?  If it's Mother's Day shouldn't there be a Mother's only bouncy obstacle course?  Perhaps we could get our nails done while our kids waited for us outside.
     Aha!  But it really was Mother's Day because I got to walk up and down the craft aisle at the festival looking for my gift and holding a little guy's hand. We even walked past artists' tents and for lunch I got to eat Pad Thai while they ate pizzas, hot dogs and nachos.  Only at a festival, right?
     So am I a Mombie?  Are you a Mombie?  Maybe this kid was just a twenty-something self-centered prick... or maybe he was onto something.  What are zombies focused on... brains... more and more brains... and that's about it, right?  And Mombies are focused on their kids... it's all about the kids.  Yes, but it's sooo much about the kids.  It's helping them find matching clothes, treating their allergies, putting them to sleep at night, teaching them to read, working on projects together, holding their hands when you cross busy roads, persuading them to eat their protein before they get ice cream, introducing them to wonderful things like deep fried Snickers, dancing with them, checking out schedules of local festivals in advance so you know what time the juggler is going on, waiting in line for balloon animals and then fixing unwound balloon animals later in the day, cleaning dirt out of shoes, putting together snacks before a baseball game, choosing the right preschool, giving "car washes" instead of showers and having a towel ready to dry out his eyes, coming up with reward-systems to persuade/teach them to become more independent by getting themselves dressed each morning, cutting up their meat, buying fruits and veggies and downloading apps like Fruit Ninja and Where's My Water and every new update for Angry Birds for them to play on your phone.  There's a lot on my mind.  So I think that settles it.  We're not Mombies because we think about more than just one thing, unlike a zombie who only thinks about eating brains for their own self-centered reasons.  Yes, you heard me, self-centered reasons.  A zombie never thinks of others.  A mother always thinks of others.  So the self-centered prick is a zombie and I'm just a mom, someone I've always wanted to be. And that's about it for now.  Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there.  Keep up the good work!

Thanks to the three guys in my life for making me the Mommy I've always wanted to be.  I love you up to the moon and down into the earth. 

My Foolishness

    After our tangled web of lies - from the Leprechaun leaving footprints and change to the Tooth Fairy's Sacajawea coins, the Easter Bunny and his (her) green cellophane grass and jelly beans... I guess I was just tuckered out and hadn't considered the whole idea of tricking my kids today.  So I didn't. We had a regular day of skipping between doctors appointments and haircuts.  Since it was such an un-fun day and it was the last night of Passover, I agreed to make the kids pancakes for dinner.  Excuse me, I agreed to ask their father to make them pancakes for dinner.
     I had decided not to prank the kids... but then I had an epiphany.  Prank pancakes.  Instead of gross salty coffee that my poor dad had to endure every April Fool's Day, this would actually be tasty.  So while Liam took his shower and Joshua cried while wrapped around my ankles for no other reason than just to stress us out while we were trying to do something nice... we made our prank pancakes.  Some had strawberries, others had blueberries. My personal favorites were the banana bacon pancakes.  Liam's favorites were the peanut pancakes, he was too stuffed to try the edamame in a pancake.  Joshua enjoyed his cereal pancakes.  None of us liked the jelly bean dessert pancakes.  Just made the jelly bean more gooey and tough.  And the M&M pancakes tasted like burnt chocolate.  There were also crunchy Chinese noodle pancakes, oyster cracker pancakes, sausage pancakes, strawberry pancakes and grape pancakes too.  And we topped it off with blue or green milk too!

Pancake fillings... this could be a disaster

Jelly bean pancakes (trust us, don't try this).

       After a stressful dinner service I was eager to bite into my first pancake.  And it took about 5 minutes for the shadow of doubt to come over me.  So eventually I checked on-line and it turns out, the joke truly was on me.  Today was in the last night of Passover... and for anyone who knows how the Jewish calendar works... that means that Passover isn't officially over until tomorrow night at sundown.  And I'm pretty sure that pancakes are a form of "leavened bread" and that therefore they should be avoided until Passover is actually over.  Oops.  Hopefully G-d has a sense of humor on April Fool's Day too.
    

Prank pancakes!

Joshy and his pancakes!


 

Never enough syrup for Liam!

Tomorrow It Will Be Today... But Try Explaining That To A 3 Year Old

I cannot tell you how many times Bill or I have had a conversation just like this morning's conversation with Joshua:

Joshua: Mommy, is it tomorrow?
Mommy: No Joshua, it's today.
Joshua: But when will it be tomorrow?
Mommy: The day after today is tomorrow.
Joshua: But what is today?
Mommy: Today is Tuesday.
Joshua: Is today yesterday?
Mommy: No, yesterday was ... yesterday.
Joshua: Yesterday I wanted it to be tomorrow.
Mommy: That's today.
Joshua: But I want it to be tomorrow.
Mommy: (dumbfounded)
Joshua: When will it be tomorrow?
Mommy: Today is Tuesday, tomorrow is Wednesday.
Joshua: (whining/crying) But I wanted it to be tomorrow today!
Mommy: It is tomorrow, if you think about yesterday being today.
Joshua: (loudly crying/whining)

Apparently today he was looking forward to a friend's birthday party at the sitter's house and she had made cake pops for the kids. And his friend's birthday was today, which was tomorrow yesterday.  Does that make any sense to anyone else... because apparently it doesn't make sense to Joshua at all.

They Make Aprons For People Like Me

     Once again, too ambitious.  We decided to make banana muffins before dinner this evening. Never make banana muffins before dinner.  Always take care of the basics first- such as the cleaning and the dinner.  Then, if there's time (which there won't be), work on the banana muffins.
     It was all going well; we were starting on the dry ingredients after finishing up the egg, milk & oil mixture. I went in search for the salt which is the baking cabinet above the microwave.  It's a horrible concept, putting the baking cabinet above the microwave, with its bags of flour and sugar and tipsy almost empty bottles of sesame oil and vanilla.  I wasn't entirely surprised when a jar of apple cider vinegar came hurtling out of the cupboard at me.  What did surprise me is when it catapulted itself off of our wet ingredient bowl and onto the floor, upsetting the bowl and everything in it onto my jeans and shirt.
     I immediately went into my familiar routine of damage control, sopping up wet paper towels full of eggy oily milky mess off of the floor and oven.  I walked back and forth to the sink to wet my paper towels and that's when I saw Liam, who was working on the dry ingredients, dump a spoonful of flour onto the counter.  He was covered in flour already and I contemplated just having him use his shirt to clean it up.  Instead I gave him another wet paper towel and helped him push the spilled flour onto a napkin.
     We continued our cooking; starting over with the wet ingredients of course.  I went to look for the whisk to beat in the eggs, milk and oil.  Where was the whisk?  I looked on the floor, thinking it must have shot across the kitchen in the horrible bowl spilling incident of 5 minutes ago.  Curiously, Liam found the whisk... it was in the open utensil drawer.  And that is when we realized that not all of the bowl's contents had spilled onto the oven, floor and my pants. Some had also spilled into our utensil drawer, along with the wet whisk.  Beautiful.
     For someone who regularly messes up the kitchen and who is known in our house as "the messiest cook ever" (which is saying a lot because we let Liam and Josh help with the cooking)... this was even a big mess for me.
     I'd like to say that the rest of the project went well, but it didn't.  I realized we had used white sugar instead of brown.  I realized that Liam had put too much flour in the mix (surprise) and when we made the strudel topping we used mushy butter instead of "firm" as directed and it just wasn't so crumbly.  I put the ill-fated muffins into the oven and looked over at the sink full of utensils and baking dishes.
     Then I realized it was just about time to cook dinner.  By the time I was done with the dishes and disinfecting the drawer, I felt just about "done" with cooking for the night. Still, I put together some spaghetti with meatballs... only I didn't have the energy to make meatballs, I burnt the meat because I was writing this blog post and I realized too late that the only pasta we had was gluten-free corn pasta my mom had left here (blah!).  By this point in time, I could hardly care so I just used whatever was left of our elbows, penne and tri-colored rigatoni mixed together.

     Here are a few final thoughts:
* Thank God I didn't have PMS!
* It is true that I am a messier cook than my children are at their current ages (it can only get worse).
* Next time, I should wear an apron (and for that matter, so should they).
* Next time I decide to bake and cook in the same night, I will set up a video camera and send in the tape as an audition for Worst Cooks in America.
* I will never again laugh at the cooks who end up on Worst Cooks in America.
* Thank God my husband not only knows how to cook, but is quite good at it.
* If I let the kids cook with me, will they become better cooks because of their experience in the kitchen or will they learn all of my bad habits from me?

Here's a Prophecy: Next Time There's A Lot of Hype About The End Of The World I Won't Buy Into It (but secretly I'll be a bit worried)

     It was the year 1999 and everyone thought the world was going to fall apart.  People had been hired for tech companies for the express purpose of saving the world from what I think was a hilarious mis-step of computer geeks decades before.  There was talk of alien invasions and all sorts of crazy biblical prophecies.  At the very least we thought that someone could use all of the hype to do some crazy terrorist stunt. 
     Where was I?  Packing my bags to head out on a flight to Israel.  I can't imagine why this would have caused my mother to have heart palpitations.  I mean, not to be obvious, but going to Israel on a good day is a little bit tricky.  If you asked me why I would possibly want to go to Israel on New Years Day of 2000, I would have told you first "Because it's a free trip, duh." and then I would have said something on the border of snarky and beyond-my-years-wise like "If I was meant to die, so be it.  It's fate and I must live my life in full without fear."
     13 Years later and I find that I reach a high level of anxiety just traveling across the state to go to a Children's Museum with my kids.  What has changed?  On my trip to Israel we drove in Jeeps through knee deep mud with land mines on both sides of the road.  We passed by bombed out buildings and stayed to chat in villages that had dealt with numerous hostage situations.  I wasn't afraid.  I was soaking it all in while meanwhile my mother at home was probably curled up with her head under the covers repeating, "She's almost a grown up, she's almost a grown up, she needs to make her own decisions, she needs to make her own decisions,..."  This is pure speculation of course, I can neither confirm nor deny that my mom was scared to death while I was gone, I'm just assuming. Because if Liam or Joshua ever decided to leave the country- let alone to leave the country at a particularly precarious moment in history to a particularly volatile region of the world almost literally on the other side of the planet... if they ever decided to do that, I would be scared to death- but I would let them go.
     Where was I?  Yes, current high levels of anxiety.  And I've thought about this a lot lately as the build up to 2012 started to mount, say 2 years ago.  It started with the history channel featuring the ancient Mayan civilization- back when they actually used to have shows based on history on the history channel.  It started with shows that totally downplayed hysteria like "How The World Could End!" (Note my snarky yet wise tone.  I haven't changed much).  At first I watched them like the 21 year old I used to be with a note of acceptance that we must live our lives and accept what will be.  But then I looked over at the bouncy seat and saw a baby who hadn't yet gotten to live his life.  Suddenly I felt, quite selfishly, that I hadn't gotten enough time with him and that two years more just wouldn't be enough.  And then I projected a bit (and by this I mean, I thought ahead.  I realize the way I wrote it, it makes it sound like I threw up a little bit), I projected an image of my baby at the age of 3 1/2 with his short little legs trying to keep up as I ran away from the end of the world and I just didn't think he would be able to run that fast and I thought, "Well, I have two years to start weight lifting to get ready to be able to carry him!"  And this was all quite a lot to take in.  It got to the point that I had to leave the room when the history channel was on.  I would peek back in at the end just to watch the 3 minutes which disproved the episode, or brought up reasonable questions.  But always I would fail to leave before the last line, "The Mayan calendar may not predict the end of the world... or perhaps it does.  Only on December 12th of 2012 will we know the truth."  Or something menacing like that.
     For awhile I kept my anxiety to myself, but it became too much to hold in and eventually I started asking around.  Other moms got that same fiery looks in their eyes and I could tell we were all holding back at least a little bit of fear.  None of us had a plan, we just knew we wanted to survive whatever might happen in 2012.  Well actually, one mom friend said something quite unexpected, but it did make me think... she said she would lie down and hope that the end would be quick for her and her daughter.  Ugh.  That made it all seem so real.  My friend was going to die?  And meanwhile I would be running with a 30 pound kid?
     Here is a reproduction of a texting conversation I had with my sister who is also a mother about a year ago.
Lori: Oh my god, I'm watching a show about Nostradamus.
Me: I know, it's freaky :(
Lori: I should really turn this off.
Me: Turn it off!!!
Lori: What are we going to do?
Me: It's nothing, plenty of what he said was proven wrong already.
Lori: Like what?
Me: Don't know.
Me: I looked it up on google.  Lots of stuff.
Lori: That makes me feel better.
Lori: I should turn this off.
Me: Turn it off!!!
Me: Well now you have to watch the end where they disprove it.
Lori: Ok.
Lori: That was depressing.
Me: You should have turned it off.
Lori: (crying can't be communicated via text) we need to live each day to the fullest.
Me: Goodnight.

     I looked for the texting conversation but couldn't find it.  I even plugged in an old phone.  It was like "Frankenphone" but I think maybe the texting conversation happened sometime between my current phone and that phone I just plugged in and really with cell phones, who can keep track. So anyway, that's not an exact quote but it's a "gist" of our text-versation.
     So why was 2012 so frightening even though we are rational human beings who knew full well that if they Mayans were so good at predicting things, wouldn't they have prevented their own demise?  Possibly it scares us out of our wits for the same reason that we all got so scared when we heard about the shooting in Newtown, CT.  Even though I'm a teacher and know that kids are safe in school and even though I tell my students that anytime they ask; just like every other mother in America, I pictured my own first grader hiding in a bathroom with his teacher.  Stories about flooding and kids being pulled away from their mothers make us cry without warning on a Tuesday morning before work.  Nightmare scenarios flash before our eyes on a regular basis and we have to smile just to ward off the demons. 
     You know what they always say about bears... don't get between a mother and her cub.  We have that protective instinct too.  Without the claws true, but we can never be too complacent.  We always need to be ready to protect our kids.  And the worst fear that any of us as mothers has is... someday we might fail at our job.  It might be because they can't run so fast with their short little legs, it might be because there's only so much you can do when it's the end of the world, or because they're simply not with you when they need you most because they're halfway around the world.  I didn't know if I'd be able to write this blog post about my greatest fear in 2012.  I thought maybe my fears would be founded.  Mostly I knew for sure that it was all hype so we continued to live our lives just fine.  We have an emergency kit and an idea of what we might do if something extreme were to take place... but mostly we just kept on going as normal.  And as the days got closer and closer, it seemed like there were fewer specials on the History channel (they had at this point moved on to quality programming like Pawn Stars and American Restoration- no really, I watch them both!).  By the time December 2012 came around, I figured it was just time to get a new calendar (figuratively of course, because I have a Motorola Smartphone).  I figured that it really all had been just hype.  I filled my car up with a tank of gas and went to work as usual and soon enough it became a great big joke for everyone. 
     Secretly though, me and millions of other moms (possibly even you) let out a sigh of relief.  Happy to live another day, another day for us to worry about the future of our children.

Toothless

     Years have been invested in Liam's teeth.  Time and care and patience have been put into their growth and then their cleaning.  We tracked their appearances.  We visited the dentist at about 2 years and have returned whenever they have asked us to since.  We eagerly awaited the next stage in Liam's mouth-development.  We awaited... the Tooth Fairy.  We even watched the movie, The Tooth Fairy, starring The Rock, as a preset so Liam wouldn't be too startled by the concept.
     Our adorable little baby boy who grew his front teeth first and gave us those first toothy smiles was finally losing teeth.  One-by-one... actually, make that two-by-two because apparently once one falls, it's neighbor loses all will to survive and must fall out too.  And before you know it, the adorable toothy grin turns into... a toothless awkward grin.  Yes, that's right.  Awkward. 
     Currently Liam looks as though he has been punched in the jaw.  And this is an improvement over what you would've seen at Christmas-time.  He is missing a front tooth and the second one has jutted out, already growing to jinormous proportions and is distinctly using the extra space to lean to the left.  Meanwhile on the bottom of his mouth, his two new front teeth have jagged tips. 

 "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth"

     The bottom left is a sore scene.  Liam recently lost his fifth tooth, which I was getting quite concerned about it.  Behind it, the adult tooth was already growing and it now seems content to sit back there, as if being left out from the row in front.  Yes, for a couple of weeks, Liam was growing a second row of teeth behind the first, much like a shark.  Maybe I should have put an end to this ridiculousness, but I just couldn't bring myself to yank that tooth. That's why I was in fact happy when a friend of his elbowed him on a bean-bag chair at his afterschool program.  It was one of those fateful afternoons when I could have arrived slightly earlier, had I not stopped to talk in the halls.  But I did and as I walked into the afterschool care to pick up Liam, I saw him running frantically to his teacher and then, when he caught my eye, to me, holding his tooth.  We didn't have one of those little blue treasure chests to put the tooth into so instead we nested it inside of one of Liam's origami paper boats he had made afterschool that day. We carried it home gently and when we got home, we put it into a little blue treasure chest we keep just for this occasion and slid it under his pillow.
     Liam's mouth is now in such a poor state, that I think it is only fit to schedule an early appointment with the dentist.  Surely these teeth will rearrange themselves into order... or is it more likely they will continue to trample each other and cause disarray?  Perhaps the dentist will help...  Cute songs can prepare you for the inevitable, your child will lose his/her baby teeth no matter how well you take care of them and he may even lose these two front teeth on or near Christmas... but nothing can quite prepare you for a toothless grin, a temporary lisp, the grossness of dried tooth blood on a tiny blue plastic treasure chest box and the idea that soon you will need to pay for braces.

Priorities

     You come home in a rush, with a plan in mind on how you are going to get the kids settled, clean up a little bit and get yourself ready for a night out starting at 6 pm.  You are running a little bit late because your son at school needed to show you his latest fortune teller that he's made and each fortune.  It takes you a moment to decide if your favorite fortune is "You will be dehydrated" or "You will fart gold".  After an extra five minutes spent zipping up the coat and such, you head out the door determined to get home in time to do a load of dishes and vacuum the floor before the babysitter arrives.  Is it strange to want to clean a little bit before a teenager comes over to watch your children?  Perhaps.  But isn't it also strange to clean before the cleaning lady comes over.  I mean, not that I get a cleaning lady myself but that's in the job description, right?  Although... perhaps if that's someone's job and they come over and you have a messy house, they would be quicker to judge than, say, a teenager who has moldy English muffins under the bed and dirty clothes from middle school still strewn on the floor.  Stop!  You are digressing and you need to rush home.
     You get home, motivated by a rare night out to get everything in order.  You may even squeeze in that load of dishwashing.  But then something stands in your way.  Something completely ridiculous.  A knotted Yo-Yo string.  Had someone said to you, "When you get home, instead of cleaning and getting the house in order, getting the kids settled and yourself ready, you will need to spend 20-30 minutes untangling a Yo-Yo string" you would have laughed it off.  You would have visualized yourself putting that Yo-Yo away immediately or perhaps even just throwing it out.  But in this case, your oldest son has a new obsession with Yo-Yo's and doesn't want to stop playing with his new Yo-Yo, which is making your youngest son jealous and so you go off in search of the old Yo-Yo (instead of cleaning, settling the kids in and getting yourself ready).  And when you find that old Yo-Yo you realized it is completely tangled up.  So you sit down for a *couple* of minutes to straighten it out so that both kids can have potentially dangerous objects on strings to play with in front of the flat screen TV.  10 Minutes later, you feel like you're making some amount of progress but then the younger one is getting impatient watching his older brother struggle with his Yo-Yo so the younger one starts sitting on one of your arms, mauling your head, twiddling with your hair (I hate that!) and generally being a nuisance.  20 Minutes later you are ready to throw in the towel but you feel that just a couple more loops- and... nope.  Damn it, now it's worse.  A few more minutes of struggle and then you just cut the string off and re-tie it which is really what you should have done in the first place.
     Why do we get side-tracked?  Is it because we are soooo interested in what is going to happen next in the Scooby Doo episode that is on?  Or because we have tons of extra time to look for the missing Yoda slipper?  Or maybe we get side-tracked because there's nothing a mom loves more than to fish out letter magnets under the fridge.  And then when you fish out the letter magnets under the fridge, you realize that it's extremely dusty under there and you really should vacuum.  Which leads you to notice that the bagless vacuum cleaner canister needs to be emptied... and then cleaned out of course because the vacuum cleaner is getting dirty (holy oxymoron).  There's always the imperative side-tracking such as sewing Boyscout patches onto sleeves; thus spending an unaccounted for 2 hours on sewing a patch because your son spent 30 minutes tying knots and earned a badge.  And why do so many of these side-tracking tasks involve untangling (laces, kite strings, random twine, you name it!)?  You think you have plans for the evening and BAM! You find yourself in a homework quagmire or reading the directions on a messy science experiment and then cleaning up after the messy science experiment while the kids are nowhere to be found. 
     Perhaps it is just me.  Perhaps I am just not focused enough.  I mean, I was able to get out the door only about 30 minutes later than planned.  Huh- this might be why I'm always late.  But that's off topic, I was able to get out to the party dressed and ready to go. And untangling the Yo-Yo only cost me a little bit of prep time.  So I didn't have time to paint my nails.  On a positive note, in a week or so, I won't have to get side-tracked again by realizing that my nail polish is peeling and that I need to forsake my laundry duties in order to get the nail polish remover to take it off.  Which would then remind me that I need to clean all of my rings and other jewelry with the silver cleaner that is located next to the nail polish remover and then that I need to sort it all and neaten up my jewelry box because it's not like I have anything better to do.  Hmmm... priorities.

Boots Made For Walking and For Playing In The Snow

     Last month Bill shopped for hiking boots.  He hadn't gotten a new pair since High School and he spent about 7 and a half minutes exploring his options.  He compared the fashionable boots to the steel toed, remembered that snowblowing is his job and chose the more practical ones. That was that. They are brown.  He doesn't seem to care (or notice) that the laces are orange.
     Today I spent over 70 minutes choosing boots.  I went to the same store as Bill and only one store.  I was armed with a gift card and a coupon in Discount Shoe Warehouse.  I had even stopped in a couple of weeks ago to scope out the boot selection and I was more than pleased when I walked in tonight and saw all of the "Up to 50% Boots" signs around the store.  My timing was sweeeet! 
     Here are some of the factors one must consider when shopping for something like a pair of boots. See: boots, coats, purses, umbrellas... those are things that really need to all coordinate.  Only, most of us have more than one coat, and more than one purse and ... okay the umbrella thing is irrelevant. But it's all this very complicated equation if you let it become complicated.  If you're with kids, it's really no worry at all, you'll just grab whatever you see first and buy it and blame the children later.  Or you will just throw your arms into the air and say "Nevermind!" let's go get you those three new pairs of jeans that you need (because you grew out of the five pairs of jeans I bought you three months ago)!  If you are not with kids, you will think that you have inner calm and clarity and the ability to make an informed, careful decision.  Unfortunately, you may very well find that you are frittering away the little alone time you have, persevering over something insignificant while your husband watches the boys play video games at home.
     30 Minutes into shopping, I realized that this wasn't as sweet as I had originally thought.  I was carrying three oversized boot boxes and I couldn't keep track of which one had the purple sticker, the red sticker or the blue sticker or which sticker meant which percentage off.  It was also at this time when I realized that I was having a boot identity crisis.  I didn't know if I wanted fashionable boots or practical boots.  Here's the down side of fashionable boots: I am a little late into the fad of suede boots with fur lining even if they fad has about 2 years of kick left in it (I saw a very long line at the UGG outlet prior to Christmas), let's be honest... I doubt I can pull off the furry boot outside of the pants look.  Do I wear them with Jeans or my workpants?  Does the shirt have to match the boot?  What if my purse, jacket, boots and pants all clash with each other?  The fact that I am thinking all of this at 5:00 pm on a Sunday after a relatively restful weekend doesn't bode well; how could I possibly manage to pull off boots on a Thursday morning?  Yes, I am a dork.  Just for the record, I didn't wear collared button up shirts under sweaters until it was too late also (and then I continued to wear them for about 5 years after it was cool). Also, I'm still wearing Silly Bands (that's totally not true).  The downside of practical boots: They either look like moon boots or they look like Bill's steel toed boots but either way they're ugly.
     Despite their downsides, I wasn't willing to abandon either style of boot.  The upside of fashionable boots: Maybe I could pull it off? (hilarious)  The upside of practical boots: I could play in the snow with the kids without getting snow on my socks.  I made a decision.  I was 45 minutes into my shopping trip.  I wandered around looking for practical boots.  I found a pair.  They were made by Jeep, comfortable and high lacing.  With my gift card and coupon they'd be no extra cost.  You know when you're shopping and you see the light and it all comes together and you realize you can go home now?  Right.  I grabbed the left boot from the display and walked over to the other aisle to put my other oversized boxes away.  Yes, I am that shopper.  If I take something out, I do try to put it away and if I knock over the huge "Up to 50% Boots" sign, I'll put it back up again.  At any rate, I was just putting back all the other boots when I noticed that I had the wrong Left sized boot.  My eyes scanned the aisle and fell on a young girl with her boyfriend who was carrying 5 boots, all different.  No boxes, just a handful of boots.  One of them was my boot.  Apparently she is also a size 8 1/2 and when I realized this and saw her boot selection, I realized that she was going through a similar conundrum as me... fashion or practical.  Her boyfriend was insisting on practical but she was clearly leaning towards the fashionable.  But just for safe-keeping, she was hoarding one half of all of the boots in our size.  I'm not ashamed.  I stalked her.  I followed at a safe distance as though she was walking to her car with armloads of bags in the parking lot.  I casually looked at boots in her wake, cast offs that she wasn't interested in.  I scoured the super-duper-Clearance racks a second time and considered a different pair.  But she continued to walk around with two different boots on her feet and an armload of other pairs from across three aisles.
     Did I mention that at about 35 minutes I had found the best boots ever?  High lace ups, practical bottoms, brown to match my peacoat and any winter purses that I have including my new key chain.  But they were $169.95 (minus the maximum 50%, $10 off coupon and $41 left on the gift card).  Still I'd have to pitch in money... so they were not free.  Now I was deciding between color, style and free or not free.  Plus there were some boots that would have allowed me extra on the gift card.  What should I buy with the extra? 
     Am I driving you crazy yet?  At this point, it should be clear that I completely had driven myself crazy.  I was overheating in my brown peacoat.  That mall rat was still hoarding all of my shoes including the Jeeps and I was just beside myself. The store was almost closing.  I called Bill, not to ask him fashion advice, but to whine.  He told me to buy the pair that I wanted.
     Clarity returned and I looked over to see the high laced suede boots with faux fur tops and hard leather shoe-like bottoms with no-slip soles.  The perfect marriage of practical and fashionable.  They were waiting for me, as if they had a protective aura  that had prevented my shoe-twin from seeing them and stealing one of them.  I put away the other boxes in my hands, lost site of my nemesis and went to the shoes I had first laid eyes on almost an hour before.  I felt no more ill-will towards my shoe-twin and felt a little bad for calling her a bad name in my own mind (and possibly under my breath because, in addition to twitching, I had also been talking to myself which might have made me look a little weird.  Stalking, twitching and talking to yourself in shoe store).
     The check-out people are clearly trained to make you feel good about yourself. They all have tags that say, "Shoe Lover" on them.
Check Out Lady: "Did you find everything you were looking for today?"
Me: "Yes."
Check Out Lady: "That will be $154"
Me: "Aren't these on sale?"
Check Out Lady: "Oh!  Yes, they are!  Sorry about that.  They will be $84.97 and you have your coupon so that will be $74.97.  Your gift card was approved... so that will be $36.01.  Not bad for a pair of boots!" 

     And sure enough, as I looked at the screen in front of me it said in blinking green letters, "YOU SAVED $150.03" and let me tell you, that felt great. And at that moment I could care less about the those crappy practical Jeep boots.  And even though there is no way I would have ever spent $228 on a pair of boots, I truly did feel as though I saved $150.  And all was right with this little corner of the world.  So now I'm pretty sure it's not going to snow again for the rest of the winter, but it doesn't matter because these boots aren't just practical... they're pretty cute too!

From Our Family To Yours... in a Photocard

     It all starts with the Christmas cards.  Not the aisles transitioning from Thanksgiving to Christmas two days before Thanksgiving.  Not the commercials bombarding your children with what they can't live without.  Not the music on the radio.  Oh no, it's the Christmas cards for sure.  And nowadays it's not just any Christmas card, it's got to be the Christmas photo card.  Think of what your photo shelf or wall or decorative card tree looked like only 7 years ago and now look at it today.  My how things have changed.
     Today I have a hundred or so smiling faces looking at me.  No snowmen or Christmas trees, no Santa's sleighs or gingerbreads.  No matte or glitter, just shining glossy faces.  I resisted for years and years.  I would fill out my card and then slip a photo inside.  But the temptation to move to the photo-side just got to be too strong.  So I gave in.  I ordered my first photo cards last year.
     This year I went all-in.  I gave up my *favorite* seasonal past-time of addressing the cards and sticking on a free label that we got in envelope pleading for us to donate money to some worthy cause... maybe they shouldn't have included the free labels. To be fair, it'd be smarter for them to offer free labels only if we donated...  At any rate, this year I found a site that included shipping not just in the box to me, but to all of my recipients as well.  Holy wow.  I happily typed in the addresses and clicked submit. 
    I'm over-simplifying a bit here.  Actually a lot.  Every year Christmas cards become an unholy event in our household (and I'm assuming every one else's households as well).  Behind every smiling face is a shouting parent behind a camera and another parent sitting balled up on the sofa crying, "Whhhyy won't you just smile?"  For every photo that you see on a card (and sometimes there are three or more on the card), there were 50 more with their eyes closed, or blurry hands moving, or their butts facing towards the camera or their hats covering their eyes.  How many of these gems do we have on the photo roll?  Too many to count.



 

     And just when you have given up all hope, you take your last photo and...

     Painless, right?  See, I could just lie and say this was the only picture I took in front of the fireplace that day... but I wouldn't do that to you. And if I did, you would know I was lying anyway. 

     Of course, I have to resort to mostly tricks to get our Christmas cards done each year.  I try to occupy the children so I can snap a shot of them that looks like I planned it that way. Here are some of my tricks over the past few years.

Won't sit still?  Wrap him up as a present!

Too busy playing to notice that Mommy has laid down fake snow
and is taking a picture!



Read a book and then press delay on the camera! 
Start and stop reading about 10 times!

 

Notice we've changed the book so I can send photo cards to
my Jewish relatives.

May the force be with you this holiday season!



Imagine resorting to such trickery that you will actually give your children
sugary donuts before bedtime in order to snap a cheerful shot with them
staying in one place all so you that you can write,
"Hope your Christmas is filled with sweets and treats" on the card.

 

Our plan for this year's card almost backfired because the camera battery was
dead the night of the photo shoot so we needed to wait an extra night. 
Did you know that donut icing gets gooier if you try to save it for another day?

The price you pay for giving your child a sugary donut before bedtime.

 

 

     A friend of ours enlisted the help of professionals who resorted to putting their child in a gift box just before every photo and then snapping the shot as he finagled his way out, hoping to get a good moment.  Mind you, the gift box was not part of the photo, but the prop was used in hopes of delaying this child from running around the room and appearing as a blur in the photo.  Somehow she managed to have two pleasantly smiling children in the shot with the "runner coming out of the box".  I'm not sure how she managed that.

     Most of us have decided that parents should not be in the photo at all.  It's just too much work to get a good shot of the whole family.  Which is also why, in our annual photo book, there are usually only about 4 family shots... and none of them come from the holiday season.  The only exception to this rule is if you have older kids and they are in the photo wrapping you in Christmas lights... and the photo is being taken by a professional staging the whole event OR if you are pregnant.  If you are pregnant and you are not in the photo, your relatives will ask you to send pictures separately of you being pregnant... so you might as well put a photo on the photocard and get it over with!

     Some people want to jump onto the photo card bandwagon but don't have children.  These people often opt for glittery cards that get all over your sofa.  Or they choose to send a photo card of their pets.  I think I can admit that wrangling pets into outfits and getting a shot of more than one pet in a photo at a time would actually be more challenging than taking a picture of two kids.  In fact, I think it's downright impossible to get two awake pets in the same photo, let alone in costume.  This is probably why people resort to just putting the face of their puppy on a photo card image which turns her into a reindeer... or an elf.

     This year I have noticed that most of the photo card photos have nothing to do with the season.  Many of them are just pictures taken throughout the year.  What a liberating thought... that this doesn't have to be a scene I set up in front of the Christmas tree or during the first snow of the year.  In fact, the children might not have to be tortured at all next year.  Or better yet, I could just follow them around with a candy cane and take the holiday pictures just about anytime... or anywhere.  Or maybe my kids will get better at smiling on cue and not moving around after I set them up just right Who am I kidding?  I might as well just go buy the glitter cards that are on clearance this time of year.



 

     

What Friendships Have Become

     This summer my friend was absent on our annual camping trip. For 12 years we had been going on a weekend camping trip each summer, along with other good friends.  We see each other fairly often these days- as often as 30 somethings with kids who live in separate towns can possibly see each other- but somehow that's not quite enough. Something about that yearly camping trip, when we could sit down around a camp fire talking, rocking a baby or watching kids exploring the woods behind the site; something about that just makes a friendship richer.  So this summer when my friend said she was going to miss it, I just knew something needed to be done.  We camped without her and then we scheduled a second trip, later in the summer.  And it was great.  The kids were old enough to run between our sites and we all explored the waterfront for crayfish while holding our full Solo Cups.  Our husbands fished into the late night and didn't get a single bite.  We made S'Mores with marshmallows and Hersheys for the kids and that's when my friend whipped out the grown up chocolate.  Godiva Salted Caramel Chocolate bars.  Holy yum.  This is the meaning of true friendship.  She could've eaten the box chocolates on her own in her tent, but instead she shared and they made the best S'Mores... ever.
     Back in Elementary School, you played tag with your friends, pushed each other on the swings and competed at Super Mario Brothers.  In Middle School your best friends prank called you at 7:00 am so you would wake up to come over and watch cartoons and game shows all day.  You sat at the local Quickie-Mart and ate candy, perhaps, and rode your bike when you felt like moving off the couch or away from the laminate booth.
     High School?  Maybe you competed on the field, in the pool or on the court.  You passed notes folded into little triangles and written in secret backward-code language.  You called each other and talked for hours- which is saying a lot because most of us didn't get call waiting until halfway through the 90s, and some people never did quite catch on despite the fact of having teens in the house.  When you weren't on the phone, you were looming at each other's houses trying to get a freebie for dinner if you liked the way their mom and dad cooked (my favorite house to go to had a light salad and fresh bread for dinner each night).  You spent the night, without actually sleeping, finding ways to stay up later and later and into the morning (like dipping strawberries into instant coffee grounds and pouring water on sleeping siblings).  And if you were me (and Jewish), you even found excuses to stay over on Christmas Eve to actually experience a Christmas morning (at which point, you were hooked for life on the joy of the holiday).  High School was a great time for friendships. True, there was homework, but there was also long walks home and older boyfriends with cars.  There was more to talk about; more angst, more heartbreak.  And so, we talked, and laughed, and competed.  We shared.
     College started off with circles of friends, trying each other out.  We shared stories about our friends back home- the kinds of stories that didn't reveal too much about ourselves because we were still unsure of who we were.  We laughed and connected, trying to figure each other out while also trying to figure out our homework (okay, I was friends with a bunch of nerds, whatever).  We experimented together, walked together, and sat on the quad on sunny days together putting off work.  We did everything together and found out that our friends liked dessert instead of dinner and watching X-Files instead of doing homework.  Here's the thing- in college, particularly at that in-between time when we were too old to go to house parties but too young to have ID- we spent hours and hours in our dorms & apartments... talking.  We would cozy up in plaid pajama pants just talking for hours, about nothing in particular.  And that was what a friend was, someone to turn to, someone to talk to, someone to have fun with.
     Friendships have changed so much over the years.  Having young children means that long talks in pajama bottoms are completely out of the question.  Not only are you too busy, but after they go to sleep, you are too tired.  And what friend with kids stays past bedtime anyway?  Friendship has changed a lot over the years and I'm constantly noticing its evolution.  But it's not in a bad way by any means, that's what is so surprising. True, there's less time to talk, but there's also less that needs to be said.  It's that true appreciation of one's friends that comes with the wisdom of age.  It's knowing who to turn to if you need directions on how to make cake pops, or cream cheese Snickers dip.  Friendship is picking up where you left off.  Friendship is saying goodbye to good friends with a smile, hoping they will come back soon.  Friendship is dishing out Insider Disney tips (like: Stay for the fireworks, eat cinnamon rolls at the bakery on Main Street, DON'T go to the Progress of Time unless you need a break from walking anyway, Do have your bald husband get a sparkling Mickey glued onto the back of his head, arrange for cute matching shirts, etc...).  These are currently my definitions of good friendships. You know you've truly arrived a the mecca of good friends when you invite a large group over and you notice that you are not stressed about your living conditions.  Yes, you need to vacuum and wash dishes before they show up but it isn't a big deal when you look up and realize their are dead bugs in your ceiling fan that you didn't have a chance to clean out.  And you don't feel ashamed of the fake brick on your kitchen walls (that you can't for the life of you figure out how to cheaply remove... or cover up).  No, good friends don't care about any of that and will not judge about any of that.  But I digress.  Good friends come over and share great food and efficiently listen while at the same time cutting up their child's hot dog into small bites.  Good friends nod sympathetically at just the right times.  They clean out Crock Pots after your chili cook-off and help you put away all of the left overs before they spoil.
     This weekend we had a celebration we like to call "Friendsgiving". We've been known to have any one of several types of fall parties: Halloween, Octoberfest, Deep Fry Fest and Friendsgiving.  This year we were due for an extra turkey dinner so we called up a few friends and before we knew it our house was jam-packed, the kids were a riot tearing apart the downstairs, babies were being passed around and all the cups were filled to the brim.  We didn't have too much time to talk about deep philosophical musings like we had back in college. Instead it was just deep appreciation for each other. One friend came from having a family picture taken... and it didn't take much to see that she and her husband needed a drink the second they walked into the door.  Before long we were all sharing stories of how the kids wouldn't stop crying, of how we were sure none of the pictures would turn out, of how they had broken into that strange rash the morning of the appointment, of how we realized at the last minute that none of our pants matched in the photo or how we had to trick our kids into sitting still and smiling by giving them a book to pretend to read.  True friendship is showing your friend the family photos you have, and pointing out how everyone's eyes are directed someplace different, the look of panic on your husband's face and also how tightly you are gripping your youngest so that he will not run away again.  And at the end of the night after we had eaten, talked, laughed and talked some more, we finished it all off with dessert and coffee.  I looked in the fridge. There was hazelnut creamer and hidden purposefully in the back there was a new flavor of creamer Bill had just bought for me. International Delight Salted Caramel.  Limited Edition.  These were my friends, in my home.  They deserved the best.  So I shared, because that's what good friends do.
    

I Married Into A Bacon Family

     Long before bacon was trendy, my in-laws were coating their turkey with it and nibbling on the burnt edges along with the rest of their Thanksgiving feast.  No everyone loves bacon.  You can get bacon flavored chocolate, bacon flavored peanuts, bacon dips and bacon infused vodka (it's called Bakon and we are currently working on our second bottle, but there are only so many Bloody Maries and screwdrivers you can make in a given year).
     As an official member of the family now, we've taken the family vegetable to a whole new level of understanding.  First off, my husband has researched and, thanks to the Barbeque Pit Boys (check them out on you tube, you won't be sorry), he is fluent in the art of making a bacon blanket to coat any slab of meat.  Of course, we can't use the bacon blanket when we deep fry our turkey, but on other years when the turkey is smoked on the woodfire grill... it's smoked with yummy bacon juices seeping onto the skin.
     But that's just the turkey.  Last year I made the most succulent, delicious stuffing I had ever tasted.  All thanks to bacon grease.  Copious amounts of bacon grease... and butter and onions and garlic.  Along with all good bacon comes onion, garlic and butter.  The heavenly foursome heralded by bacon also goes into the "mashpo", along with sour cream, milk and cheeses.  Isn't it obvious what should go into the gravy?  Especially since we don't cook the bird in the oven, the juices really do need to come from (you guessed it) ... the bacon pan.  And true, the appetizers we share are usually store bought from a freezer, but more often than not they include bacon. Actually, to be fair, I think tomorrow Bill is planning on rib appetizers. But since that's pork, I guess it counts too!  Surely a family that eats this much bacon... must not live until Christmas.  Is that what you are thinking?  Perhaps, but we've happily managed to defy odds thus far so we've got the fridge stocked up with all four pounds of bacon for tomorrow's feast once again.
     But why stop at using bacon on turkey, stuffing, mashpo & apps?  I mean, couldn't we also put bacon into the cranberry sauce?  You know, mix it in with that gelatin stuff?  Why not celebrate Thanksgiving with a green bean casserole sprinkled with bacon bits?  Or put those bacon bits where they really belong... in the dough for the rolls!  I think I might be getting somewhere so while I'm at it, I will suggest bacon in the apple crisp and also to add a little kick to the creamed onions.  I think I'll hold off on the bacon in the sweet potatoes- for some reason that is where I draw the line.
    Seriously, to be a member of this family you really must accept bacon as the love of your life.  Our children respond to "I'll give you piece of bacon" just as they would to "I'll give you a bowl of candy".  They fight over the last crispy piece and, unfortunately, they like "dessert bacon" just as much as the rest of us.  On a side note, yes, we've named a special type of bacon.  It's that bacon that has been coated with yummy brown sugary mapley goodness that all cooks on top of a lucky meat product and then when it's done it's a savory, juicy, crunchy goodness that can best be described as "dessert bacon" although you tend to eat it before any meal has been served, because you are sneaking it off of the bird in the kitchen when no one is looking (maybe that's why Bill likes to carve the turkey...).  Where was I?  Oh, right, I was about to tell a sad story.  So you know how when some people are pregnant they get cute cravings and their husbands have to go out and get it for them in the middle of the night?  Well, Bill and I were totally on board with all of this and ready to go. I was ready to crave, and he was ready to go shopping in the middle of the night.  Well, the cravings never came... but for my first pregnancy I got two aversions. One to Red Bull (long story) and the other to... you guessed it... Bacon.  The sizzling, the smell, it just all grossed me out.  It took me years to recover.  I still cannot embrace actual plain bacon like I used to.  But as Liam gets older, I become more familiar with my old friend (actually not really that old, because I didn't really even eat bacon until I met Bill.  I didn't exactly grow up in a "bacon family".  Oddly, my Jewish mother served me pork chops but never ham or bacon.  I couldn't explain this if I tried).  At any rate, I became more and more comfortable with bacon- on burgers, in quiche and as a stirrer for my coffee (just kidding, but it kind of sounds awesome, doesn't it?).  Until last year when I made my bacon-masterpiece.  The stuffing.

Instilling a love of pork products at an early age.

 

     Truth be told, I am not sure I could replicate last year's stuffing.  I have no idea what brand stuffing it was- I don't think I could research what brand was on sale at our grocery store last November the week before Thanksgiving.  I don't know how much onions, garlic and butter I put in- except that it must have been copious amounts because I remember saucepans full.  If I remember correctly- and tomorrow will be the true test to this- I did not just stop at cutting up bacon and putting it in.  I poured the greasy fat in too.  In some families this would cause gagging.  In some families, there would be blushing and "no thank you's".  In some families bacon might only be covering the bird, nothing more.  But in this family, it's just not enough to crunch up some bacon and put it in the stuffing (and the mashpo, and the cranberry sauce- I think I may try that one tomorrow).  In this family, crunched up bacon isn't enough on its own, you need the grease too.  Because that makes one hell of a stuffing.

You may have thought I was kidding when I referred to "the bacon blanket".
I assure you, I was not kidding.

The Grocery Store Switch

     We pulled into the grocery store parking lot all in good moods.  Liam was going to get the popcorn for his classroom, Josh was going to get the carrots.  We also needed diced tomatoes and juice.  It was going to be a short, cheap trip.
     But I forgot about the "Grocery Store Switch".  With the "Grocery Store Switch", nothing is ever really easy.  Nope, the "Grocery Store Switch" insures that any trip to a grocery store (or any store for that matter) will end in embarrassment and humiliation because no matter how sweet we are all being to one another, no matter how controlled the kids are behaving, no matter how exemplary our family looks when we enter the store... there is a 100% chance that conditions will deteriorate and it will all end in disaster.  What's the "Grocery Store Switch"?  I'm convinced that when we enter the store, the kids sense that it's time to break down.  it's their safe place to sit on the floor, touch everything and try my patience.
     Just in case I ever consider going back to a grocery store with the kids, here's a list of reasons why I shouldn't that I'm recording for my own self-preservation...

(1) I believe that if you break something, you need to buy it so it's very hard for me to reconcile this with the fruits that fall onto the floor, bruised and rolling under a refrigerator unit. 
(2) Kids like to touch everything because they like textures... they like bumpy avocados and smooth cardboard boxes, cool glass jars and soft bags of marshmallows.  This all makes sense to me... but that doesn't make it any easier to keep up with arranging the boxes that are knocked over, re-stacking the vegetables and fixing all of the other jars & boxes on the shelves we pass.
(3) Liam likes to help.  He insists on pushing the cart.  I would like to make a formal, public apology to anyone who happens to be walking in his path.  I'm trying my best to help him avoid obstacles (you).
(4) I hate public restrooms. 
(5) Monkey-see-monkey-do... not that I'm comparing my kids to monkeys but when one sees the other do something immature and ridiculous, the other one seems to want to copy him.  So I guess I'll just go ahead and admit it, they're a couple of monkeys running up and down the aisles, giggling.
(6) The games and helping don't work... for more than five minutes.  I can give any jobs to them- from coupon scavenger hunts and shopping lists with cute pictures to putting things in the cart and stacking items on the check-out conveyor belt.  I imagine that in the future I'll have them look for the better sale on unit prices.  None of this will work... for longer than five minutes.
(7) I prefer to not look like a screaming lunatic in public.  And yet tonight when both boys left the first set of sliding doors, I found myself screaming out in a panicked shrieky voice, "LIAM! JOSHUA!" and running away from my $139.62 worth of groceries to go get them.
(8) There's no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store.  When you only need popcorn, tomatoes, juice & carrots but you come up with $139.62 more than that... it's far from simple.
(9) Grocery carts are not comfortable for children no matter how you look at it. Wire mesh with a plastic sheet doesn't really sound like a nice place to sit for 45 minutes. Josh technically fits into the basket so we will spend a good amount of time maneuvering his legs into the leg holes while he clips his finger into the seatbelt. Once Liam has knocked over a stack of oranges and run into 3 pedestrians, I tell him he can't push the cart anymore and then his body becomes completely limp and he claims to be "exhausted" and so I need to lift him into the cart.  I feel that it's necessary to lift him into the cart because once (when Bill was supervising the children, not me, I can't take credit for this one) Liam tried to climb into the cart and ended up toppling the whole cart over- groceries & Josh in all.  Once Liam is safely snug in the cart, he proceeds to stack all the cans (which means they will all be dented) and then, as more and more groceries are added to the cart, becomes too squished and needs to get out which is when he decides it's a brilliant mode of transportation to be under the cart- which I claim to be a horrible idea and it all ends with him pushing the cart again because, honestly, this is about self-preservation and he's actually less harmful pushing the cart into strangers than crunching up all of our pasta and pretzels with his lanky legs.
(10) I never remember to make lists and when I do, I never remember to look at them.  So instead, I efficiently sweep every aisle looking for inspiration purchases and then, once we get to the milk & cheese aisle, I inevitably remember something we need in produce but no bother, that's right near the check out counter... but then I remember I forgot to get two bags of those Santita chips that only cost $2... and then someone has to go to the bathroom again and by this point I. Am. Done.

     We usually end up with a time-out sentence which is filled out in the car when everyone is so stunned by the horrific experience that they wouldn't want to talk anyway.  By the time we get to the house, the so-called Grocery Store Switch is turned off and the boys are being sweet, carrying in bags of groceries (Josh gets the $2 chips because in addition to being cheap, they're also quite light).  The grocery switch is turned off and it's time to make Spaghettios because we're late for dinner, which means we'll be late for baths, which means we'll be really late for bedtime, which means I'll have less time to grade my kids' spelling papers stunned in front of the television.  And this is why I should never ever take my kids to the grocery store.



This is me, in a frenzy, trying to take a picture of two cute kids with mini carts while
 pushing my own big cart and walking backwards.

Liam is not picking his nose... I don't think.

Adults in a Candy Store

     We took the boys to Target to pick out our candy selection for Halloween.  Big mistake.  BIG mistake.  After we wrestled no less than 10 bags out of their dirty little paws, we settled on a chocolate mix.  It wasn't that they disagreed with our choices; they just wanted all of the candy.  Liam even said, "I want all of this candy."  I don't think he meant all of the types of candy either.  I think he literally wanted to take the department home with us.  Apparently the boys are not yet mature enough to help out with candy selection. 
     And I wonder why my kids aren't mature enough to shop for candy... that is, until I realize that I am not yet mature enough to accompany them trick or treating.  We went to a trick-or-treating event at a local school this weekend.  Liam scoped out every possible hallway where candy was being passed out.  He steered us into classrooms, down side hallways and off the beaten path.  As I tagged along behind him, I couldn't help but eye the stashes of candy myself.  Something about Halloween makes me want all of the candy.  I can't seem to put an end to it, but I just start to feel like a full candy bowl is... an accomplishment.  Like if we don't get enough variety, we've failed the task of Halloween.  Or maybe that's not it at all.  Maybe I feel entitled to the candy.  Like this is the chance for the world to give back (which is completely true if you take into account that we live on a dead end street and no one ever stops by our house; but yet we still put out candy each year).  Sometimes I can feel myself turn green with greed (I know, it's supposed to be green with envy, but whatever).  I just want more candy, MORE, MORE!!!  That might be the truth of it right there.
     Really, I feel that I've always been quite immature when it comes to Halloween. My last time out trick or treating, I accidentally let it slip to a home-owner that I could see their house from my classroom window each day... and since it was a high school across the street, I think they were a bit offended (and maybe concerned about a high school stalker who might skip classes just to stop by, expecting candy).  So clearly I clung on to my favorite parts of Halloween for far too long. It wasn't until the following year that I spent Halloween doing what every self-respecting teenager should be doing, running through ditches full of leaves and behind houses playing a game of "night tag" with toilet paper and silly string... and, of course, trick or treating at our teacher's houses. 
     Now that I'm a grown up, I see Halloween entirely differently.  I kind of feel like a mooch.  I'd probably feel better if more kids came to our house.  But as it is,. here we are going to other peoples' houses one-by-one, expecting them to serve us (while their kids are skipping by our street despite bowls of untouched, unwatched candy on all of our sidewalks).  One year I had Liam do UNICEF, which you would think would make me feel far less like a mooch, but actually it felt even worse!  Even though obviously UNICEF $ doesn't go to me (or in this case Liam) and it was going to be sent away to some deserving cause, I still felt that the home-owners were a bit put off so we haven't done it again since... plus, as greedy as I am, Liam is far worse and not good at hiding it. He would gladly let other children starve so that he could get a bite sized Snickers bar.
     I may not be mature enough to chaperone Halloween... each year rather than making a simple sweep of the neighborhood and heading home, we always find ourselves staying out past dark going to "just one more house".  The streets clear out and I insist on stopping at a couple more on the way home.  It's probably why I we stayed out a few years back, despite heavy rainfall later in the evening... because we had just gotten to the nice neighborhood.
     IRONY ALERT: I don't really like candy and we always have plenty of leftovers which we end up getting rid of before the Christmas candy influx. By the time Valentine's Day rolls around, I'm so sick of candy, I wouldn't think of stealing any of those little bite sized bars taped to the back of my kids' paper valentines.  And really, also, we don't end up with that much candy at Halloween.  I'm sure if I left Liam to his own devices, and didn't insist on him taking the extra 10 seconds to say "Thank you", I'm sure he'd come home with a full bag of loot.  But for now, we just stand in the back, eyeing the candy that gets dropped into the bucket.  Nicely suggesting, "We'll take the Twix bars" to the homeowner who smiles and politely says, "Those are my favorite too, how about taking a nice Butterfinger instead."



Hmm... choices, choices.
Joshy at age 1 1/2



Why choose when you can take three at once?
Liam at age 2 1/2

Joshy and His Friends

Inventory of Joshua's stuffed animals:  Hmmm... where do I start?  Might as well just jump right in... mind you, these are all capitalized because they are all their actual names.  Joshua is not too creative in the names department.  I'm pretty sure when he has kids, they will be Joshua, Jr. and Joshamina.

• 2 Little Doggies "that are brothers"
• Peter Rabbit
• Softest White Bear
• Yellow Bear
• Pooh Bear
• Brown Bear
• Big Lion
• Pink Lion
• Little Lion
• Mickey
• Ferret
• Soft Piggie
• Piggie
• Hamster
• Hamster That Was Mommies
• Crazy Monkey
• Pink Monkey
• Red Monkey
• Mommy Monkey & Baby Monkey
• Mommy Kangaroo & Baby Kangaroo/Joey
• Mommy's Elephant
• The Elephant Liam Made For Me When I Was A Baby
• Froggies (there are 3, the only distinguishing one is "Big Froggie")
• Liam's Chipmunk
• My Chipmunk
• Liam's Squirrel ("But where is my squirrel, and when will you fix Liam's squirrel and sew his butt?")
• Good Luck Bear (that used to be mommies)
• Cheer Bear
• Singing Blue Bear (who is stuffed into the bottom of the toy box because he is sooo annoying)
• White Doggie
• Zebra
• Lion (a different one)
• Black Cat
• Snakey
• Giraffe
• Rhinocerous
• Soft Leopard
• The Monkey Blanket Auntie Lor Got Me When I Was A Baby
• The Lion With a Blanket
• and last, but not least, the animal that started it all.... Alligator

     This is an accounting of most of Joshua's "friends" but not all of them.  I'm pretty sure I've left out at least 15.  Here's the problem.  I am expected to have a full accounting of all of Joshua's animals at any given time.  It doesn't matter who had them last (Joshua) and where they had them (behind the couch, thrown down the stairs, under the Lego table in Liam's room, next to the potty, etc...).  Regardless, it is fully expected that I will know where any one of them is according to Joshua's whim.  Of course, it's fully expected at this point by me that Joshua will come up with the most obscure of all his animals, the friend who is least likely to be found at that particular moment or who happens to be in the car when it is raining outside (bummer, detached garage).  And so I have found myself crawling under tables, feeling around under beds and digging through bins and bags to find just the right one to help Joshua fall asleep that night.
     It gets a bit worse.  Joshua has started this full accounting of his toys now too.  So my responsibilities have tripled.  I am now expected to keep track of his magic wand (which cost 25 cents), his noise maker, the Sponge Bob toy he got from McDonalds, his red car, his green car, his blue car... you get the idea).  In this house that is overflowing with toys, I really cannot keep up.  Especially not since we started bribing Joshua to become potty trained.  Now he is "earning" countless penny treasures for doing what nature calls on us to do quite naturally.  He has amassed such a fortune that there is no possible way I can know at all times where his parachute man, old silly putty, new silly putty, slide whistle, big whistle and monster finger puppet could possibly be.
     This is like the book Knuffle Bunny (by Mo Willems) times 100.  It's like Corderoy Bear but instead of the bear coming to look for us, we have to go searching for them!  There was one time when it was my fault of course.  We had gone to the city to go to the zoo. We were hours away from home and stopped for dinner.  I know I had Alligator at the dinner table.  I know we had Alligator in the bathroom.  I thought I remembered Alligator resting on top of my purse.  I didn't remember having Alligator after that.  We got back on the big road to head home and... where was Alligator?  Bill looked at me.  I looked at Bill. "We have to go back," Bill said in a deadpan, serious tone.  He got off the exit and headed back.  It was 9:00 pm by this point, did I mention we were hours away from home?  We got back to the restaurant.  No Alligator.  I went to the bathrooms.  No Alligator.  I headed back to the car, forlorn and wincing because I knew what would come next.  Nothing, Joshua had fallen asleep. But the seriousness wasn't lost on either Bill, me or even Liam who was still awake in the backseat.  We needed to find that Alligator.  Bravely Bill took to the streets, canvasing our path to find our furry Webkinz friend.  Yes, we know, ... he's actually a Crocodile (once we found that out, it was already too late so the name "Alligator" just stuck).  There he was; in the gutter where our car had been parked.  When Josh woke up close to home, he had no idea the tragedy that almost had occurred.  To not have Alligator would've been unthinkable, I think.
     So sometimes I will need to crawl under tables, feel under beds and search the gutter.  And I know I will constantly have to remind Joshua, "I can't keep track of all of your animals!"  but in the end I hope he knows I will find them, brush them off (wash them several times) and give them back to him... especially if it's my fault he lost them in the first place.