Mister Man

When Middle was born he wasn't Middle he was the second. Because I vowed not to forget everything about the second and to ensure that he had his own identity, I belabored terms of endearment. Oldest was known as Smooch or Peanut. Middle was almost 2 full pounds bigger than his sister so Peanut was out. I did forget a lot about the early days of Middle's life, but this I remember vividly. The day we found his term of endearment.

When we was not more than a few weeks old, during the early days when we were still trying to figure him out, I was changing his pants on the floor. We had tried all the usual endearing nick names for a baby boy like Buddy, Little Man, Slugger, etc. But that day I looked right at him and said "Mister Man." His squirming and fussing ceased. And ever the slight smile broke across his little face. SCORE! We found it! Everyone wanted to call him that, his response was so clearly delightful.

It was not the panacea for all of his fussing, but boy did he like it. Of course, Queen Mommy's version of Mhister Man was the preferred version. So it goes with mothers of new babies. We are everything to them.

Mhister Man

Mhister Man

Mhister Man

And then when Middle was not quite two, Cousin H started a new version. He started calling him Mitter Man. And that was even more endearing that Mhister Man. Both because of the joy that Mhister Man found in Cousin H's new term and the pride that Cousin H had for his new found name for Middle.

Mitter Man is hardly used anymore and when it is we all smile to ourselves remembering the day when Mhister Man was born.

Sleep until you wake up

This simple luxury is one that you give up as a parent. We sleep until we wake up about once or twice a year, but no more than that. And this morning when I heard the movement and chattering in their room, was no different. I wanted to hide, burry myself under the covers and fall blissfully asleep. But alas, that is not a luxury afforded based on my motherhood status. I have willingly given this luxury up. Is there anything sweeter than your kids when they sleeping? I think not. They are so peaceful and cozy in their feety jammies. The way they are splayed on their backs with their arms flung out or with their bums in the air or with their heads jammed underneath their pillows and their feet are hanging off the bed. I go into their room every night and push the hair off their faces or put the covers back on or put their feet back in their beds.

As cozy and sweet as they are, they still get up far earlier than I am ready to get up. I have learned in my old age that I am much better in the morning than I am at night, so I just deal. We make our way downstairs and the kids are raring to go. We do have a morning routine which is good and they generally follow it. Baby gets a bottle. Oldest and Middle get cocoa. No breakfast until they are all dressed. After breakfast we brush teeth, shoes and coats on and then we are out the door. And on non-work days, who cares? They can do whatever they want. But they always have their bottle and cocoas work days or non-work days.

The day will come, sooner than we can ever imagine, when they will sleep later than me and I will long for those days of their feety jammies with their feet hanging off their beds. But for now I will try as hard as I can to sleep until I wake up.

Christmas Lights

In order to coax the kids from the baby sitter's yesterday I had to invite them to check out all of the Christmas lights that I saw on the way over. They were summarily disappointed because there were so few color lights along our drive home. "Christmas is all about colors and snow", Oldest declares. "I like the blue Chrishtmash lights", followed Middle with ever the slight lisp. "Look at that Momma", Oldest screams with delight. There is one house that has characters from Rudolph. "Did we pass the house with the Bumble yet?", Middle can hardly contain his excitement. "I want to see the Bumble now." He is absolutely precious. The innocence, the perfect ivory complexion and the twinkle in his eye. Such a doll and so very funny.

He has no idea what is in store for him on Christmas day. None of them do. Baby will just rip into the paper and then play with all the wrappings. Middle will stand in awe for a moment and then look at his sister and say, "Wow." Oldest will be too excited to put words together, so there will be many starts and stops. And finally she will blurt out "Santa came to our house!"

It is hard to maintain the Christmas Spirit after December 25th. We usually get our Christmas tree later in December and keep it up until January 6th. As that is the day it has been said that the Three Wise Men arrived bearing gifts. But the world at large has stopped blaring Christmas Carols in the stores or on the radio. But at our house we are still going full-tilt.

This truly is a great time of year. I work hard at teaching them what Christmas truly is about. Despite all the consumerism that takes over like the blob. So perhaps one day Oldest will say something like, "Christmas is all about love".

Cultural differences or just plain gross? You be the judge.

I was at work today and very thankful to be there after being home with the kids for four straight days. I was up early and we barely made it out of the house. But we did, with a little yelling. And a moderate amount of whining. I gave 100 hugs and kisses and I was off to the office, with a great big smile. Work was busy as predicted and I welcomed it. I love the routine and I love the people I work with. One of the reasons I love the organization that I work for is the sheer diversity. It is in stark contrast to my former place of employment. While my new place of employment has a diverse population , my former place of employment was predominantly white males with negative diversity factor. I don't know that the vibe is so different because of the diversity, but I sure do dig it. And with diversity comes cultural differences.

I have never been accused of being a "germ phobe". And I often wondered why one of my co-workers always uses the paper towel to grasp the door handle on the way out of the bathroom. So one day I inquired, "What is the deal with the paper towel"? "You wouldn't believe some of the things I have seen here". Humph, oh well. Ignorance is bliss.

Today I heard of one of those unspeakables. A different co-worker came over to my desk at the end of the day beside herself and I mean BESIDE herself. "I am so grossed out. So grossed out, I may puke". Looking like a dear in the headlights I urge her to share the grossness. "Why, what happened"? "I was just in the bathroom there was a woman in there who was blowing her nose into her fingers and then shaking it off in the sink". [ :-o What do you say to that?!] She continued, "Is that the MOST disgusting thing you have ever heard? I mean who does that"? "Farmer's when they are on the tractor and have no access to a tissue?", I quipped. We stared at each other for a moment. A woman walked past my desk and I inquired, "Was that her?", I whispered "Yessssssssssssssssss, that is her".

Grab your paper towel.

Gommy

Mother of Queen Mommy supplied us with the big boy bed, Queen Mommy's bed from childhood, as well as a mattress pad. I ran the mattress pad through the washer and dryer. When I walked out into my laundry room I was overcome with the smell of my Gommy. Kerri Hand Lotion.

My mind whirled as I was awash with memories from 218 Gridley Ave. The love, the hilarity, the warmth, the comfort of my grandparents house. The sound of the tricycle on the side walk. Munch row. Root beer from Loblaw's. The Station. The Kakwa Club. The Manicore and lobster dainties. White sweaters and black patent leather shoes. Shirley temples. We were the pride and joy of Gom and Pa. And I loved every second of it. It is not often that we have these moments of memories evoked by the smell of a hand lotion. And when I do I cherish it. There are other smells of my grandparent's house that give me great pause. Herbal Essence shampoo. It reminds me of their basement shower. That they built their own house. The old fashion stove in the basement. The little refrigerator at the bottom of the stairs. The shiny gray painted floor. The peg board on the wall going down to the basement.

We went every summer to Gom and Pa's and I packed 3 weeks before we left. Now that I am a mother I understand why the Mother of Queen Mommy would wave her arms in exasperation when there were no clothes for us to wear because they were all in the suitcase. Now that I am a mother I understand why it is that although the Mother of Queen Mommy was excited to go Gommy's she didn't pack until the 11th hour of the day before.

Gom and Pa have been gone for a long time now. But I think of them almost daily. I went back to 218 Gridley Ave 10 years ago. The current owners could not have been more welcoming. They took me on tour of the house. I walked into Gom and Pa's bedroom and the smell of Kerri Hand Lotion permeated my senses. I saw the room as it was, not as it is. The lavatory to the right of the doorway. The closet to the left. The pictures have long been hung in other homes, but the outline on the wall remains. The giant horse hair bed. Pa's high boy dresser. Gom's Victorian marble topped vanity. The sewing table. The lamp. The dried gourd.

Delightful, comforting, love filled memories all from washing a mattress pad for a big boy bed.

Big boy bed

I did not cry. I didn't even get teary eyed. The past three years flashed before my eyes. I remember the day we bought the crib. I remember Uncle A putting it together. Middle didn't sleep in it for a long time and then he did. He snuggled up with his blankie and all of his friends, barely room for him. And yesterday King Daddy disassembled it one screw at a time. And before I knew it, the crib was down, in pieces. The big boy bed was up as quickly as the crib was down. They all jumped on the bed unaware of what this rite of passage meant for their mother. Middle slept well in his new bed. He looked so small in the vastness. He came down after we had put him to bed looking for "stuff". Does he feel small in his big bed? This morning his bed was littered with books, cars and friends. He is making his home. Cozy and warm. Sleep well my darling, sleep well.

Nonsequitur-
Oldest: "Moommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy he put a boogie on my belly."
Me: "Uh, what?"
Oldest: "He put a boogie on MY belly."
Me to Middle, the perpetrator: "Is that where boogies go?"
Middle: "no"

Black Friday

Huh?
What?
Blink blink
dear in the headlights
Um...?
Sound of crickets
This was the first time I have participated in the madness that is Black Friday. I had thought of it when I had seen an advance copy of a Wal-Mart sale flyer. There were two items, that peaked my interest. But here is the thing, none of the regular prices are published in the said flyer. So I was unsure of the exact deal I was getting. After consulting with the siblings, husband, spouse of sibling and parents it was determined that I was going to sit this one out.

Then at 4:15 a.m. Baby starts yelling "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy". So I scurried into the kid's room and pluck him out of his crib. We stumble downstairs and then it hits me. This is a sign. I AM going. So I packed some Cherrios, prepared a bottle, snuggled Baby into his coat, wrapped him in his blanket and we were off. I mean how bad could it be? My strategy was this, "if we can't find a parking space at 4:50 a.m. (punch me in the face)then we will declare defeat and return home." We arrived at precisely 4:48, secured a parking space and waited.

The heat was blasting and the Christmas Carols playing softly in the background. Baby happily drank his bottle and munched on some Cherrios. Shopping strategy: head straight to the department of want. Score the prize and dash to the check out.

At 4:58 I opened the door accosted by the crisp air, "I should have put a hat on Baby," I muttered under my breath. I extracted Baby from his seat, held him close and headed for the pulsating crowd that had been assembling while we were waiting in our toasty haven. As we approached I saw much movement "phew", I thought, "the doors are open, we will breeze right in". After moving at a snails pace we finally crossed the threshold. While waiting I could see the intensity of the other participants. These people would not be stopped. I became strangely frightened. "Happy Thanksgiving", I cheerily say to the Wal-Mart employee who is ushering in the crowd. "I should have taken a cart while I was waiting to get IN", I thought to myself as I cling to the baby. I head towards the carriage corral and spot a stray towards the front of the store. "AH HA", I say triumphantly to myself. As I head toward the carriage a Wal-Mart employee says "Ma'am (ARGH! Is there ANYTHING WORSE?) I need you to come this way," Totally understanding why he has said that, with a pathetic look in my eyes I point over to the stray carriage "I am just getting that carriage." "Oh," he says "I thought I had pulled them over here, let me help you".

And with that my Black Friday adventure began.

As I tried to steer my carriage I have determined that we have a dud and this would be why it was separated from the herd. I jockey for a position in the sea of carriages and gain a spot. I can't believe how many people are here. I begin to get anxious, again. I look at a woman who seems nice, "I'm scared, I've never done this before." She replies with the look of a dear in the headlights, "I'm scared too. I've never done this before either, I came in for a vacuum cleaner." We wished each other luck and fought our way through the crowd. There was no way that I could go any other way than straight it would have been physically impossible for me to turn right or left. I couldn't leave Baby in the carriage to dart across half an aisle to pick up the Holy Grail. I would have lost him in the crowd, there were THAT many people there. Luckily in the infinite wisdom of the people at Wal-Mart, they line the aisles with all the sale merchandise. Being a neophyte in Black Friday I had prepared a strategy that would only have worked on a regular shopping day. As luck would have it I stumbled upon my first item. Then I headed over to the department that I thought would have my second item. No luck, these were all stacked on the floor at the end of the candy aisle. I rear ended some poor man who had stopped to consult his flyer. "I am so sorry", I say. Purple with embarrassment.

Me, Baby and our dilapidated carriage make our way to the end of the candy aisle. I didn't think it could get any worse. There were three employees just standing there monitoring the crowd. "So I am assuming that X, is over there were all the other people are?" "Yep". "And when they are gone, they're gone, right?" "Yep". Ok, I take a DEEP breath and saying "excuse me" to the nth degree I see my second item. Well, that isn't entirely true, I see a pile of similar items and I hope that my item is still available. I hold on to the carriage and there, I SEE it. I pull the carriage closer and bend down, I AM TRIUMPHANT! Baby and I move slowly toward the check out. 12 items or less! WE ARE THERE!

The car isn't even cold yet. We pull out at 5:23. Mission accomplished.

Cliché

Like many of us I feel the need to reflect upon all of the good in my life on this the eve of thanks. I lost my breath this morning at the magnitude of love I feel for my family. For my children, each different from the next. A charge of magnificent proportion. For my husband, THE man of my dreams. Without whom I would not be as am I. For all the blessings big and small. For the roof over my head, for the warmth of my furnance. I am well aware that we have so much that so many others do not. So it is on this the eve of thanks that I look around at my family and give many, many thanks. For their health and mine. For their giggles and fresh talk. For their freedom to be them. For their 100 hug kisses every morning when I leave them. For their smiles and their adoration. For all their frustrations and fights. I wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe I would change a few things. For all of it, good and bad, no words can describe the amount of gratitude for my life and all that are in it.
Tomorrow we will gather with a bounty of food and family. The house will be spotless, the food delicious and the family joyful. We will give Thanks.
And at 5 a.m. on Friday I will be at Wal-Mart, elbowing other mothers in the throat to get the latest toy.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Top ten

These are the top ten most used phrases in our home:

1. I love you

2. STOP IT

3. ONE TWO THREEEEEEEEEEEE

4. Up stairs, NOW

5. Please stop jumping on the couch

6. Stop jumping on the couch

7. STOP JUMPING ON THE COUCH

8. No whinning

9. Punch me in the face

10. Too W I L D

so I don't know how to count...

11. Good night, I love you. STAY IN YOUR BED

We have lost control

I am not sure how it happened. They are wild. Have I lost my edge? I have to remind myself a lot that I am the adult, that I make the rules, that I have the decision power. So how has it happened? I am not all that sure. But I am guessing that it started slowly.

In the beginning there was Oldest and blankie and lamby. Then Middle was born and he received a cute blanket. I had to make one for Oldest, now there were three; purple blankie, regular blankie and lamby. I don’t know when “little” lamby came on the scene, but alas now there were four. Regular blankie, regular lamby, purple blankie and little lamby. So now we have not a security blanket but a support group. Fine, we can deal and I can take inventory. Middle only has ONE blankie, thank you GOD!

To get Oldest in for her nap I bribed her, “you can have TWO crackers”, “OH KAY”. For two and a half hours there was peace and at the time I was working from home, it worked like a charm. In hindsight it started a trend that I didn’t see coming. If I do say so myself, I do a supreme job at foreseeing the consequences of my actions as their mother. This I didn’t see. But instead I kept throwing big juicy steaks at it like the hungry monster that it was.

Then Middle, being the middle started noticing that Oldest was getting stuff. So then came the classic Toddler stall tactics. “I want, I’m cold, I’m hot, I’m this, I’m that…” They each get “super fresh” juice to take with them to bed.

About 3 months ago Middle successfully climbed out of his crib. The time has come for a big boy bed. So in the interim we have taken the side and the castors off of his crib. But here is the issue, Middle is W I L D and he adores his older sister. Middle is probably no wilder than your male toddler, but my first toddler was a girl. She didn’t climb out of her crib, ever. Oldest loves to tell Middle to do things, all from the prone position. She never gets out of her bed, she doesn’t have to, Middle is the gopher. “Go get pillows from Mommy’s bed. We can make a fort”. We unscrewed the light bulb in their overhead light because Middle would wake up and flick on the light. Nice.

Last night was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Middle had a complete melt down over his tooth brush. It started like this; “Green or Cars”? “Both”. Then quickly spiraled downward from there.

Suffice it to say we had a family meeting this morning of which they heard this “Blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah? BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!”

There is a line from the movie Cars that we have adopted in our home. At the end of the movie, a bunch of Ferrari’s come to Guido’s shop for new tires. Guido says “Punch me in the face these are real Ferrari’s”. At our house we say “Punch me in the face”.

All I can say is

After a long day at the office it is good to have heated seats.

Home owners manual

Well, not really. But sometimes I wish I had one or had written one after we bought our house. There is so much that goes along with owning your house. For instance, everything is YOUR problem. E V E R Y T H I N G. Dead cat (and you don't own a cat) at the end of your drive way, your problem. Water leaking in the basement, your problem. Depth of water in the basement threatening your whole heating system, your problem. Rodents coming in and out freely, your problem. No water flowing from the tap nine days after you move in, your problem. Pieces of your roof laying on the ground, your problem. Grass too long, your problem. Grass dying, your problem. Moles tunnelling through what is left of dead lawn, your problem.

Our house is small, on purpose. It is perfect, although it was a dump when we got it. We did a significant amount of work prior to moving in. But we did not do much work after we moved in. I was pregnant and King Daddy was working his second job. No time to deal. So we did nothing of note. We seem to be driven by entertaining deadlines. We always get things done right before Thanksgiving. I use the term "we" loosely. King Daddy is the implementation specialist and I, the project manager. And this year it is no different.

I re-painted the living room weeks ago. Only after two failed attempts. The first color looked like a bad diaper and the second color looked like a circus peanut. I tried hard to convince myself that the color was fine and it was just the light. But my self convincing was not long lived. Oldest came in and said, "Oh, mom I love the orange walls." NNNNNnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I knew I would have to repaint it. And I did, the color is fantastic! King Daddy installed all the new trim today.

Too bad the dead lawn with it's anastomosing tunnels will take all the attention due my fabulously redone living room.

Chores, chores, time outs and more

We are happily hosting Thanksgiving on Thursday and as such, the house needs to be clean. I have given up on trying to repaint my kitchen before the holiday of thanks, but the house needs to be cleaned. And as luck would have it, our cleaning people are not due to come until the Saturday after said holiday. So I called in the troops, Queen Aunties to the rescue. QA2 (heretofore known as Queen Auntie #2) came out and guided our house to cleanliness. She is my rock. The kids were up until 9 p.m. last night, their usual bed time is between 7:30 and 8. This does not include Baby who goes to bed at 6:30 or 7. They, OF COURSE, were up at 5:30 a.m.! I was SO insulted.

Being insulted really doesn' t matter much to them, they want what they want when they want it. And bums must be cleaned for fear of rash, so I soldier on. Luckily for me, I fell asleep on the couch, in my clothes, so I was fully dressed when they showed their bright and shinny faces. By 8:20 we were ready for our Saturday morning errands, bank, post office, store. Stop 1 = bank, strike out, doesn't open until 9. Stop 2 = post office, another strike out, doesn't open until 9. So we go to the store. Going to the store necessitates the formal family meeting. It goes something like this; "We are going to the store for wipes and that it is all. I don't want to hear any body asking me for this or that. Do you understand"? "Yes, nothing off the list. What is on the list"? "Only things for the house, nothing for you guys, well I guess wipes are for you guys, well at least the boys". They know the drill. They are coachable.

But here was my fatal mistake. I let them get the cart that thas two seats that face each other. Baby was in the carriage part and Oldest and Middle were in the seats, not buckled in because "they are too big". Uh-oh. I should have stopped right there and then. I didn't. I kept going. By the time we got out of there I had wipes and some other stuff for the house, Oldest in tears, Middle using his best whinning voice and Baby squirming like a bag of worms.

But QA2 came and saved the day. Funny when we were trying to straighten up the laundry room she noticed that they were "helping." She remarked, "They are not working, why don't we put a movie on"?

Welcome to my world, Dear Reader.

Positive

Test. A pink line. A plus sign. Pregnant. Puh - reg - nant.

The magnitude of that one test, is mind boggling. Finding out you are going to have a baby incites so many emotions. For some, it is elation, for some it is horror, for some it is pure wonderment at the miracle of it all, and others it causes a serious laughing fit. We found out today that very good friends of ours are expecting their first. It is a very exciting time for them and of course my mind wanders to my three positive pregnancy tests. [It skips right over the gazillion negative, false symptom, PHEW tests.]

June 17th - I have a good friend who is an OB so I had the "urine test" from her office. We were living in a microscopic apartment after only 7 months of being married. Our efforts were calculated(this is what happens when you have an friend who is an OB and tells you that you are OLD, based on the reproductive spectrum). I told King Daddy, who was not King Daddy at the time but who became King Daddy after that day, that I was going to take the test. I went in and came out. Sat on the couch and we nervously talked about what if. 3 minutes later I went in I came out even more nervously..."It's positive." We just stared at each other with stupid nervous grins on our faces. We told no one for 12 weeks.

January 23rd (10 months after Oldest was born)- I had one more of those tests from my friend's office. We were living in a different apartment. Again our efforts were calculated. The test was positive, ONE week before we were closing on our first house. Sound of crickets. Mouths agape. Exponentially stupid nervous grins on our faces. We were stunned(I know what you are thinking, Dear Reader. "Um, if your efforts were calculated, how could you be stunned, DUH.). How were we going to pay for TWO kids in daycare AND pay a mortgage? But what if it was a boy? We already had a girl. What if it was a girl? A sister for Oldest, what fun! But why wasn't I more pregnant? Then I wouldn't have to lift a finger "remodelling" the 137 year old farm house we were closing on one week later. We told no one for 6 weeks.

August 6th (10 months after Middle was born) - No calculated effort here-none-nada-ZIP. I suspected 4 days post. I confirmed with a test 6 days post. I was stricken with fear. We, King Daddy more than I, were on the fence. So I waited, for 2 weeks, to tell King Daddy. Then while King Daddy was cleaning the pool, I went out and stood on the opposite side, closest to the door in the fence. Between that and the pool width and depth I had a good barrier and a good escape should the reception be bad. "So I have some, ah, um, news...I'm pregnant." Deafening sound of crickets "Well, (sly grin) we will make it work. (pause) Wow. A third"? This was followed by hugging and reassurance, from King Daddy that we would be ok, all of us. We told no one for 1 week.

Congratulations, Dear Friends, and welcome to the ride of your lives.

509 Days

Is the number of days that I stayed home with my children. 468 days is the number of days that Oldest and Middle went to the babysitters. So for all of you mathematicians out there I was really only home with my kids for 41 days. Yes, Dear Reader, you read that correctly, FORTY ONE DAYS.

I WAS LIVING THE LIFE for 468 days. I went shopping with Baby, I planned dinners with Baby, I visited the Father of Us All, and Wednesdays, one of the days that Oldest and Middle were home we went to play group. But we didn't go every week as sometimes I just couldn't deal with getting three kids up, fed, dressed and out for a mere two hours. On Friday's we either met up with one of my new friends from play group or hung out. I was diggin' it. Then Baby started going to the babysitters one day a week. So I had ONE WHOLE DAY to myself! I generally did things that I would not do with three children, i.e. grocery shop, banking, post office, etc. You see, it makes me anxious, Dear Reader, to do any errands with three unpredictable, diaper wearing, 3 footers. I sweat, my back gets tense and I yell. But all in all havig an entire day to myself was gggggreat!

I WAS LIVING THE LIFE!

And then...(drum roll please) we could no longer afford our babysitter.

For 41 days, I was HOME. You can surmise Dear Reader, that money was tight. The kind of tight when you try to get into your jeans from senior year tight and the blood flow was cut off to your waist, that is the kind of tight I am talking about. So there we were. Playgroups weren't really happening because everyone was vacationing at the beach or at the beach or swimming at the pool or at Story Land. You get the picture. So it was me, Oldest, Middle, and Baby. We got up everyday and I micromanaged from 6 a.m. to 7:30 p.m, everyday, for 41 days. Change diapers, pick out clothes, choose breakfast, clean up after breakfast, get snack, plan lunch, clean up lunch, naps, change diapers, get drinks, break up fights, find blankets, do laundry, plan dinner, make dinner, clean up dinner, baths, stories, bed, for 41 days.

And then on the 27th day, while checking my email, hoping and praying that someone had emailed me to tell me that I had won a million dollars, my resume found its way to the top of my desk. I just stared at it blinking, I looked so PROFESSIONAL on paper. This truly was a divine moment. "Why had I not thought of this before?", I asked myself.

Before I knew it my hands were furiously typing my resume. It was like a symphony of clicks. Formating, typing, re-writing, re-working. Within minutes it was done. A masterpiece. And a few minutes after that I posted it on a job board. I was offered a job on day 36, I accepted the job on day 36 and 1/2 and went to work 4 and 1/2 days later.

In 509 days I learned this, Dear Reader, I am not cut out to stay home.

Too precious a gift not to be shared

It was a year ago this month, Dear Reader, November 8th to be precise, that The Father of Queen Mommy was diagnosed with cancer. It is hard to think of that day and the days that followed especially for The Father of Queen Mommy...

Here is a poem written by Queen Auntie #1 who, Dear Reader, is the sister of Queen Mommy, the first born to The Father of Queen Mommy. The scene was this...Sometime in late February of 2007- Queen Auntie # 1, Queen Auntie #2, the fifth born to The Father of Queen Mommy, and Queen Mommy were having lunch with The Father of Us All. Queen Auntie #2 shared with us a story of a recent ballet she had been to and how moving it was. The Father of Us All then shared a very moving story of a ride through the Berkshires in the height of Autumn. After that lunch, Queen Auntie #1 returned home to compose this.....

Autumn’s Passion

The man--my dad--is moved again;
Graced because he watches

He sees the unexpected transcendent beauty
The immutable intangible inscrutable
In front of him again as he lives and drives
through an ordinary day
Autumn’s passion explodes.

He wants to capture it, take it, control it
And he does in his daily life of loving, of sharing, of suffering, of giving…
Once he captured it in a painting that hung in my childhood home
This time it captured him-
with a loss of breath and tears
and a small, stray, shared moment over a lunch

The unpredictable glimpse;
Nature shares the Living View
of that which lies beyond.
But only for those who watch.

Last night, I watched.
A sky, mystically adorned, in flux, a dusk
A Living Dusk with pink, violet, orange and blue?
Colors and hues beyond those names;
Colors transcending words
Engulfed me and passed through me.
And then it was dusk.
An ordinary dusk of familiar grays and blues and
darkening.

Tears for me too, and a loss of breath.
No painting this time to capture it
only this poem-gift for me and for my dad.
Night followed dusk but this night
is alive
with Dawn.

I think you will agree Dear Reader, that this is too precious a gift not to be shared...

14 Rolls of Film and a Rotary Phone

Yes, Dear Reader, I have a 35mm FILM camera and a phone which no child knows how to use. I love my camera, but the problem is DROPPING off the film and subsequently picking UP the pictures. To get around the digital, instant gratification GOT to see the now, email them to your friends and family, and post them to your blog phenomenon we have all of our pictures put on disk. So it should be no surprise to you that I have pictures of the baby's FIRST Christmas among all of these pictures that I developed (no he is not mentally challenged). Yes, almost a year ago! I also have pictures from my nephew's briss-he now weighs TWENTY FIVE POUNDS! It is so fun to see how the kids have grown over the past year. And to also see what they got for Christmas (Wow, where did that toy go?). It isn't so fun to see the double chins, fuzzy versions of humidity affected hair, with no makeup, WHY would you choose to wear that pictures of Queen Mommy. King Daddy looks fabulous, as always! Here is Middle with his blankie. How cozy is HE?!

So onto the rotary phone, huh? What? You know not of what I speak, let me see if I can find a picture of one for you...hold please...now I need to upload...hold again... there, now you can see what I am talking about. When our cousins from New Jersey were visiting a couple of summers ago, Auntie asked her older daughter to call her on our rotary phone. She lifted the receiver and "pressed" the buttons, we, the adults busted out in laughter! This, Dear Reader, is when we realized that it probably isn't a good idea for us to have this type of phone. In the event of an emergency the kids wouldn't know how to dial 911. But of course, we haven't replaced the phone as of yet, we do have a portable phone which is the phone of choice. That phone is forever getting wedged in the cushions of the couch and is never charged so either way we are doomed.

What is the rule when...

...your child tries the dinner you have prepared and subsequently "gags" on the bite that she took?

Perhaps I should confer with Jessica Seinfeld (if you are not aware, Dear Reader, she is the author of the new book Deceptively Delicious).

Seriously, the rule in our house is "you must try the dinner that was prepared and if you choose not to eat it that is your decision, but be forewarned there will be no dessert". Or more aptly, it sounds like this; "blah blah blah blah blah gibberish blah blah gibberish dessert." To which the response is; "dessert? What kind of ice cream do we have"? N O D E S S E R T!

This was the scene tonight, as it is most nights, sans the gaging.

Here is the background: Middle has taken to "ruffing" and Oldest has more recently taken to "meowing" and therefore it is completely apropo that they would have acquired some "gently loved" stuffed kitties and dogs respectively. So I throw a dinner together and then try to assemble everyone to the table. The big kids are "staging" their animals on different chairs around the table (because there are no toys allowed at the table). So after several rounds of counting (you know, "I am going to count to three, 1, 2," "ok, ok, ok, I was just...")and they settled down.

Now in order to engage them into eating just a bite I have to make it a race to see who could take a bite first.

The first race Middle won.

The second race Oldest won.

They both said, "hmmmmm...yummy"

Oldest one starts gagging.

Husband starts laughing hysterically.

"Oh come on! YOU are not helping me"!

After we assess the situation to ensure that she is breathing ok and hasn't actually thrown up, I instruct her to bring her plate over to the sink and thank her for trying the dinner. Which, of course she didn't do because the delicate balance has been disrupted by the uproarious laughter coming from her father. So I pick up the plate and go over to the sink and while dumping her dinner in the trash, I inquire, of Husband; "So what is the rule when your kid pukes"? And you can then guess what happened next. Well, Dear Reader, if you cannot I will share with you what followed. Middle says, "What's a puke"? I, standing over the trash can, am doubled over with laughter, crossed legged as as to not let incontinence get the better of me, say brightly; "Ask your dad".

So what is the rule when your child gags on the dinner you have prepared?

The have nots

If you didn't see last night's Extreme Home Makeover you missed an episode to remember. The Marrero Family of Camden New Jersey was the recipient of this week's makeover. They are a family of 6, a single father and 5 teenage boys. They were living in a rental house and none of them have beds. The oldest boy slept on the couch in the living room and the rest of the family slept on the floor. Not on a blow up matress on the floor, ON THE FLOOR. With minimal blankets and I don't recall if everyone had a pillow, needless to say this family is, in the materialistic world in which we live, a "have not." Mr. Marrero, age 54, has suffered two heart attacks and can no longer work. He has raised children who, in a city of drugs and violence, remain loyal to the values that their father has instilled in them. They love their father fiercely.

This episode touched me more than most of the other episodes. This morning while feeding my children breakfast - it hit my heart and my soul. Monday - Friday I work fulltime and have a schedule regarding breakfast. No breakfast until everyone is dressed. Today we had "mini-muffins", usually the older two eat two bags of "mini-muffins". Today we had only enough for each of them to have one bag, as I have not been grocery shopping. After repeatedly telling them that was all that we had, my oldest looked at me and said "Mom, where is my second bag"? I told her again, that is all we have to which she said "Mom, but what about my last bag"? I snapped at her, "Did you know that some kids have no food to eat"?

This episode and the Marrero Family, reminds me that I must be thankful that I "have" and that there are so many out there who "have not."

A little sad

On Thursday I collected all of my maternity clothes and put them in a bag and donated them to Good Will. I couldn't believe how sad I was. It is the end of an era. I mean we spend our entire lives trying not to get pregnant and then we have to buy an entire new wardrobe for the condition. Not only did I have to buy an entire new wardrobe, I did it three times. Admittedly, three children is not a lot, but three wardrobes? I know, I thought the same thing when I was bagging up the clothes but I was also reminiscing about wearing the clothes and that is the part that makes me sad. Anyway, why three wardrobes of maternity clothes? Well the baby, now 19 months old, same season as the oldest, but I was bigger, the middle one is three, different season than 1 and 3, but same size as 3, and the oldest is 4.5, same season as 3 but I was smaller and the pant legs were tappered so it wouldn't have worked out anyway. These clothes had been around for a long time and they had been at the top of the stairs, in a pile even longer!

Funny when I went back on birth control I didn't have the same reaction, I mean realistically isn't that the real sign that it is the end of an era?

I Have Succumb

So here it is, I am officially a blogger. How did this happen? I am not really sure, but welcome to you, Dear Reader. Well I am hoping there is at least one of you out there, albeit my mother. But here is my question now that I have succumb to blogging who will do the laundry? Who will make the dinner? Pay the bills? Get the cars serviced? Contact the landscaper? I guess it would be the same person who does all of that and more, yup. You guessed it! Herman, do we have a prize for Dear Reader? Herman, "ah, no." Sorry Dear Reader you will just have to be entertained through the written word, but welcome to you nonetheless and congratulations on answering the question correctly!


So how did this happen? I have a very dear friend who has been blogging for a while now and I have thoroughly enjoyed reading her blog. So I thought I would give it a try. I stumbled into a job that involved writing and when I left that job sometime ago, I stayed home for a while. Then I found another job, because I am not cut out to stay home with my children (God Bless all of you who can!), and in my newish job I don't do as much writing as I did in my other old job. So I thought this would help me with my compulsion to write. And so far it is working. But the real reason I wanted to write today is that I just returned home from a great movie. You know when you go to a movie with someone you always do the post-mortem after you leave the theatre? Well I went to the movies by myself and have no one to do it with...so...LUCKY YOU, Dear Reader.


Ok, so my family is not home, they went to Nonnie and Papa's for the day. So I seized my opportunity and went to the movies. Because I love my husband, I saw a movie that he wouldn't see, as it is only fair that he is with the maniacs and I am here lounging about in a very clean house, I might add. Anyway-the movie-Gone Baby Gone-was good. There are a couple of reasons that I loved it:

1. I am from the Boston area.


2. I am a "do gooder."


3. I love movie theatre popcorn.

Being from Boston I can appreciate the nuances of the native accent. Not to mention that the director and the star are also from Boston. The authenticity was revealed to me in a Boston Globe article . Whereby the film crew were filming in Southie and while filming a young woman and her son were acosted by a pit bull. No one was hurt except for a few ears as the explitives flowed out of her mouth like water from a faucet. Needless to say this woman was pounced upon by the director, as a native Bostonian he knew the real deal accent and toughness so often misportrayed in the movies. She is in the opening scene. And her perfomance throughout galavinized the movie. If you haven't seen the movie, give it an eye. I think you will find that it is true to life and a little not true to life at least not to my life.

I look forward to thrilling you with other posts, Dear Reader and thanks for stopping by!