Wyatt Pages

Santa's not so secret

2011-12-21T16:34:00.000-06:00

Alice (3 years old) and Jane (21 months old) have gone to the same fantastic daycare since they were infants. The daycare's owner teaches the pre-K class. Her parents live two houses down, and since they retired years ago, they often help out in the classrooms. They have become the surrogate grandparents to all of the kids, known to everyone as Nana & Pa.

During the holidays, some teachers take vacation, so Pa helps cover in different rooms during the busy dropoffs in the morning. He also plays the role of Santa each year at the Christmas parties - beard & all.

Since I work full-time, I'm never able to go to the Christmas daycare party. This year, no exception. But this morning, I finally heard from Jane's teacher about her laugh-out-loud moment at their class party last week.

Pa was making the rounds of each room in his Santa outfit, and all the kids were suitably wowed by "Santa" and greeting him with "Hey, Santa!" When he reached Jane's room, the teachers all said, "Hi, Santa! Look kids, it's Santa!" and some of the kids responded with squeals of "Santa!" The teacher told me Jane, with a big grin on her face then piped up, "Hey, Pa."

Shoot. That didn't last long.

That's All Right, Mama

2011-11-13T22:40:00.001-06:00

I don't remember exactly when it first started, but one day in my early teens, I accidentally caught a replay of Elvis's 1968 comeback special on TV - the one with the tight black leather - and I remember being absolutely fascinated by the acoustic circle at the start of the show. I watched the next hour in awe of the man. His voice. His grin. Those hips. My god, he could sing and dance.

Keep in mind, when I was in high school, Top 40 consisted mainly of people scowling at MTV. So to have this beautiful hunk of slicked-back hair unabashedly grinning at the ladies and gyrating onstage and singing his heart out - well, it was like a siren song. And it worked.

My family occasionally packed up the car for a 13-hour drive to see our grandparents. I used to beg my parents for a quick stop in Memphis to see Graceland. They NEVER said yes. Mom always claimed Elvis Presley was ultra cheesy, and she was never a fan. Dad pretty much nodded in agreement with her. I was only 5 years old when he died. Ultimately it felt like I was really missing out on something big.

Fast forward to meeting Brian, and after several months of dating, we planned a vacation together. We were going to drive 12 hours to meet his parents, and along the way, spur of the moment, I suggested we stop to see Graceland. He said, "Sure, I'd love to." I think that was the beginning of something beautiful for us, that moment. Or maybe it was me. Yeah, probably just me.

Fifteen years and $25 later, I finally confirmed that my parents deliberately deprived me of one of life's most memorable tourist experiences.

This is my picture at the gates of Graceland. I don't have any from inside the house - photography is strictly forbidden. So I'll try to describe it in a nutshell for those who haven't been. Elvis died in 1977, shortly after much of the house had been updated, and it is permanently preserved as he left it. Which means, take the avocado green refrigerator and the harvest gold oven/stove you found in every home in America in 1977, and then match the counters and wallpaper and carpet with the wildest colors you can imagine, complete with the 1970's wood paneling, AND THAT'S JUST THE KITCHEN, Y'ALL.

Elvis's parents both lived with him at Graceland. Driving up to the front door, you can't help but think, "Wow. He was like the biggest music star on the planet, and he lived in this tiny little house with his parents?" It looks just like an average home from the front yard. But it's like going through that tiny door in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory - it's enormous on the inside. He expanded at the back of the house, and finished the basement, and built a huge playroom in the backyard, so you can't see it all from the front.

When you enter the house, the living room is on the right, and dining room is on the left, and the stairwell is right in front of you. The living room has a large grand piano in it. Keep going down the hall, and his parents' bedroom is behind the living room on the right. I cannot imagine the racket they heard regularly at all hours, with Elvis entertaining the entourage on the piano. Beyond their bedroom on the left is the kitchen, and it was standing in the kitchen, listening to the audio tour on a pair of headphones, when I glanced over at one of the cabinets and promptly had a heart attack.

My grandmother had passed away about two years prior to my vacation at Graceland, and cleaning out her apartment, my mom asked if I would take her dishes. They were classic grandma dishes, a set called Franciscanware, a pattern with apples on it that everyone remembers. Since all I owned were some cheap Pier 1 dishes, and I was already a huge sucker for the sentiment of handed-down dishes, I said "Sure!" and took it all home. Nana had most of the serving pieces for this set. I am pretty sure I was the only 29-year old girl on the planet who had never married, but had a full china service with a matching butter dish, coffee pot, sugar and creamer, plus the gravy boat and turkey platter.

Anyway, two years later I was standing in Elvis's kitchen, with my hands fluttering and my heart pounding, and I managed to squeak out to Brian, who was standing behind me, "I ... have ... Elvis's ... dishes!"

Not Nana's dishes. ELVIS PRESLEY'S DISHES. That glass-front cabinet housed those same apple plates and cups, and I remember seeing a teapot, too. I could have reached over and opened the cabinet and taken that teapot, and possibly even one or two steps before security would have had me pinned to the floor.

Folks, every time I look at that picture of me standing at the gate to his house, I picture Elvis eating his famous peanut butter and banana sandwiches on the same plates that I use to serve my family's dinner. I knew I liked that guy. I knew I needed to tour his house. I knew my purchase of his CD of #1 hits would not be a waste of money. And someday, my girls will know all the words to "That's All Right, Mama." Even better, one day, the three of them will be arguing over who gets to take Elvis's dishes.

Has it been 9 years? Really?

2011-11-12T14:59:00.001-06:00

I tweeted about this idea earlier this week, but I've had an opportunity over the past few months to dig into my old scrapbooks, and I'm reminded that some of these pictures have some great stories behind them. A few of these pictures are old, but some are recent. I am going to spend some time blogging these stories so I don't forget them. I hope you enjoy this series.

Nine years ago in September, my sister called me from Guatemala. She had spent the year tying up loose ends with her life in the US - leaving her job, selling her home, putting some of her stuff in storage - to go work in an orphanage. She had traveled there several times with her church for missions work, and one day she announced to her family that she felt called to work with these kids. Her job would be working in a dorm with pre-teen girls. She spent most of the summer fundraising for living expenses for her first year away from home. I threw her a going away party with her family and friends, and went to the airport to say goodbye. She left right after 9/11, so we all said goodbye near the McDonalds by the security gate. I vowed to get a passport so I could visit.

About two weeks later, one Sunday afternoon when I was just hanging around the apartment, she called me from Guatemala. I knew these calls would be rare so I was surprised to get one so soon. "Jennie," she said, "I'm engaged." I remember my response was, "To WHO?" Seriously, I had spent months working with her to get everything taken care of so she could move, and not once had she mentioned a boyfriend. For the life of me I could not figure out what guy in her life could have possibly proposed.

But apparently, she had met a guy on some of those missions trips. His name was Steve, and he had moved to Guatemala from Ohio, and was taking care of a dorm full of toddler boys. They had become close friends over the summer - apparently they talked a lot as she was preparing to move - and he had proposed shortly after she moved down there. Hmm.

The next thing she said was that the wedding was going to be in 2 months, at the beginning of November, and they would not be able to handle planning from so far away, and since I was in town, would I please take care of arranging everything?

I'll blog more about this in future entries, but at the age of 30, this WAS my wheelhouse. Not weddings, mind you, I'd never done that before - but throwing together a shindig for a couple hundred people - including my sister and a future brother-in-law that I don't know - I'm all over it. Sure. No pressure, I've got this.

I'm pretty sure I was making lists about 5 minutes after the call, but wow. It was a whirlwind of spending my parents' money and a billion phone calls. Thank god I had an understanding co-worker and boss who let me work on this.

This picture was taken at the rehearsal dinner. I called the future-brother-in-law's mom, who lived in Ohio and also needed on-the-ground assistance with party planning (of course), and we ended up at the local Copeland's in a banquet room. Taking the whole French Quarter-New Orleans-Mardi Gras theme to the logical conclusion, I put masks and beads on the tables, and I had gold, green and purple balloons everywhere. Guests were encouraged to have a great time. There was a toast, and I think I remember a few of the hurricanes. It was an amazing weekend, one that I felt proud to pull off in such a short time. To commemorate my time spent planning their special day, my sister gave me a clock, which I still have on my mantel today.

Happy anniversary to both of you this weekend. As you celebrate in New Orleans this weekend, here's to many, many more years together.

Actually, We Knew You Pretty Darn Well, by the end.

2011-10-21T16:48:00.000-05:00

Max Brown-Wyatt, 1995-2011.

First, a few fun stories about Max that I never will forget:

1 - Several years ago when I was still single, my friend Christine came over to my place for dinner with her boyfriend John. As was his normal custom, he sat down in my living room to watch some college football while Christine & I chatted in the kitchen. Coming out to check on him, I saw that my cat Max had jumped into his lap. This was also normal - any time someone sat down, Max would magically appear to take over the lap. But it seemed to happen to John all the time - I had seen this happen with Christine's kitties, another friend's cat, my sister's cat, and now Max. Without really thinking about, I called out to John, "What, have you got like a giant cat magnet in your pants?"

John looked up at me slowly, and grinned.

People like to mock me. I get it. I think I make it easy for them.

2 - When Max was about a year old, I left a package of chicken to thaw in the sink while I was at work. I came home from work that evening, and for once, Max was not there to greet me at the door. I put my stuff away and went to search for him. I finally located him under the bed with that package of chicken upside down in front of him. He had chewed through one corner of the styrofoam and had chewed on some of the raw chicken.

I panicked and called the emergency vet clinic to find out if he would be okay. General advice was "if he acts funny, bring him in." Okay. So I headed back to the bedroom, where Max was still camped under the bed. As I reached in and dragged him out, I noticed he had a bag of hamburger buns behind him (they were on the counter as well). He had chewed through the plastic bag and gnawed on the bread.

Essentially, the boy made himself a chicken sandwich while I was at work. I was pretty impressed by the sheer strength he had to drag all of that out of the sink, down the hall and under the bed. He felt guilty enough to stay in hiding, too. What a cat. I laughed all night about that one.

3 - I lived at home with my parents for almost a year in my mid-20's. This was the absolutely dream home for my cat. Lots of windows, 3 times the lap potential, and "grandparents" who brought him toys from the grocery store, EVERY SINGLE TRIP. There was also a screened-in porch where he would camp out all day and check out the birds and trees and bugs and even tiny lizards that would crawl up the brick and slide between the wood posts on the deck. But I was in strong denial that he was eating them - I really thought he was carrying them like toys and playing with them. One day he came racing inside from the porch with a lizard tail dangling from his mouth. I ran after him upstairs to discover half of a lizard on the bathroom floor. He was pretty ticked at me for taking it away, and I quickly realized why I could only find HALF a lizard. I interrupted a tasty afternoon snack for my carnivore pet. Shortly after that, Taco Bell came out with their Godzilla movie tie-in commercials, where the chihuaha would say, "Here, lee-zard, lee-zard." My dad used to say that to Max, just to get me riled up. Max was a pretty good hunter, though. He dashed the hopes of more than a few lizards that year.

Back to the present -

After 6 months of sliding downhill, I finally came to terms with the fact that Max was not getting any better. He took a big turn for the worse over the past 2 weeks by basically not eating. His weight dropped considerably, and he spent his days and nights camped out on my kitchen counter. Clearly, he was trying to get my attention by staying at eye level. I came to the realization last night that I needed to do something sooner rather than later. I made an appointment this afternoon to take him to the vet.

Today I got to explain the Circle of Life to a 6-year old, just in time for the appointment. I'm sure all of us can remember the first loss of a pet in our childhood, and you may also remember that it took you about 10 minutes to ask when the family would be getting a new one. Helen stayed on script. After crying a good bit of the morning, she calmed down in time for the short trip, but then melted down again in the parking lot. And in the vet's office. As hard as it was for her, I was so glad she was with me because I could spend my time focusing on making sure she understood what was happening, and why, and helping to comfort her. Later, she told me that she thought I was brave. I know sometimes the best thing you can give a pet is the gift of freedom from pain and suffering. But it still is a tough choice to make, when you'd rather have them around.

We've picked out a couple of nice spots in the backyard and plan to decorate a rock to mark it. I think the tears might take some time to taper off. Helen, on the other hand, seems to be almost cheerful about the art project. Kids heal so much faster, don't they?

But I really feel sorry for all the lizards Max is chasing right now. I'm pretty sure they all packed up and headed south for the winter this afternoon, when he arrived on the scene.

Goodbye, Maxer-buddy. You were a champion among pets, and it will be very hard to fill your paws.

Mullets-R-Us

2011-10-08T14:00:00.006-05:00

Okay, so a few weeks ago Jane's normally sparse hair started growing in an alarming pattern. She sprouted two tufts of hair on either side of the back of her head. From the back, it just looks - odd. And from the front, it looks like a mullet. Sometimes when I show up at daycare, I find out that her teachers have braided them or put them into the world's tiniest pigtails. I don't know if they're laughing or trying to cover for her, bless her heart.

I'm tempted to cut them off and let the middle try to catch up, but I don't know what's coming next. Mohawk? Logan from X-Men? And then suddenly I'm reminded of that line: "Is this where you wanna be when Jesus comes? Makin' fun of Joe Dirt?"

So you tell me - cut it? Or leave it alone?

Don't Judge Me

2011-09-25T22:31:00.000-05:00

Several years back, a two-year old Helen came home from daycare and told me in a hushed and serious tone, "Mom. Boys have privates, and girls have cha-chas." Fighting back the giggles, I replied just as seriously, "Yes ma'am, that's right." She told me one her teachers used that word, and I thought, she's two. I am so not ready for this yet. So ever since that day, for our girls, lady parts have been referred to as "cha-chas." Kind of fun, yeah?

But it sure makes a season of "Dancing With the Stars" a very confusing time in our house.

Alice speaks

2011-08-24T07:38:00.000-05:00

Boy howdy. Not only does she speak, the girl is SASSY.

Parents of 3-year olds, I know you will relate to this story. Getting her dressed one morning, it was a bit colder last week than it has been in a while. So I pulled out a pair of Helen's hand-me-down jeans and one knee had a hole in it. Alice was not impressed, but the rest of her playclothes were in the laundry and I was scraping the bottom of the drawer to put together this outfit. So I went into it brightly, and optimistically.

Jennie: Alice, look! Here's a pair of jeans that Helen used to wear! They've got this cool thing in the knee and they're like rock star jeans!

Alice: (sadly) I don't want to wear those!

Jennie: Come on, Alice, let's get dressed. Mommy's in a hurry. The jeans are fine, you will love them.

Alice: (more insistently, starting to cry) I don't want to wear those pants.

Jennie: But they're rock star jeans!

Alice: (Loudly, still crying) They're not rock star jeans! (shouting) They're. Just. Pants!

PS - Guess who has 2 thumbs and won the fight? (POINTS AT SELF WITH BOTH THUMBS) The one who can type AND spell it right, that's who.

The one where Helen is a photographer

2011-07-26T22:49:00.004-05:00

Folks, it goes on like this for about 50 pictures. A third are shots of license plates, and a third of them are fuzzy motorcycles. These are the cream of the crop of what's left.

The car museum near downtown is one of those places I've been meaning to visit for years, and when I heard it was on the agenda for a camp field trip, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to let Helen take her camera. The camp director was a little surprised when I mentioned she would have it, but it turned out to be a total win. She has a VTech kids' digital camera, which takes pics about as big as the first-gen cellphone cameras (in other words, nothing fancy). It's been an amazing thing for her to have, she really loves finding the right subject and taking loads of pictures. Someone who actually has kids designed this thing, because it's covered in a hard rubber layer, with two large hand grips on each side. It can take a beating when kids drop it or knock it off the table. It has a ViewFinder style lens they can use two eyes to peer through and line up their image. They can also use the screen on the back of the camera. It holds a good number of pics - we're up around 200 right now - and that's without a memory card in it. We lose all of the pics if we have to change the batteries, but since most of the shots are aimed at a nearby wall, or taken while running, it has not been a huge loss.

I remember years ago, a kid's camera was the birthday gift that I loved to give. I'd get several rolls of that 110 speed film to go with something they could easily use, and months later I'd discover the parents had paid to develop 3 rolls worth of pictures of every stuffed animal in that kid's room. Oh, you gotta love raising kids in the digital age.

Beach Bum

2011-07-23T07:04:00.004-05:00

In May I went to the beach with my mom and my sister. It was a great Mother's Day trip for just the three of us - no kids, no husbands. We went to Destin, Florida and spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday lounging around. For those of you who didn't grow up in the South, Destin is one of the favored vacation spots on the Gulf. For those of you without kids, three days without "MOM!" is sheer heaven. Put the two together and I was completely aghast at the idea of going back to my house at the end of the weekend.

The trip also dredged up a lot of memories for me, since my family used to vacation in Destin regularly when I was growing up.

Back then Destin didn't have much going on - only a couple of resorts, and a few small condos. Everything was right on the beach. There was nothing to do except play on the beach or go to a restaurant. Mom absolutely adored floating around in the waves. My sister and I tried to get as tan as possible. Dad would usually fry to a subtle red crisp on the first day and spend the rest of the time in the shade or covering the red spots with a towel. We had our favorite tradition of getting up early to pick out treats from The Donut Hole, or heading out late afternoon to the local fish market and making a scrumptious peel-and-eat shrimp dinner.

When I was a 15-year old sophomore in high school, my parents rented a condo in Destin for a month in the fall. My mom stayed there all month, while my dad and my sister and I went down there on weekends. On Fridays, Dad would pick us up from school, and we would drive straight to the beach. The trip took about 5 hours. We'd stop for dinner at some tiny town in LA (Lower Alabama). For those of you old enough to remember, that was back when Hardees had the California Raisins in their TV commercials, and the figurines were on sale with various combos. During that month, we ended up collecting the entire set for Mom, who was a big fan of those guys. I wouldn't be surprised to discover my mom still has those stashed away somewhere. In fact, they're probably designated for someone special in the will.

My parents let us take a best friend with us one weekend that month. I invited one of my best friends and later on, another friend and I planned a big surprise birthday party for her. We had a menu planned, her mom was going to make stuff, and we were working on the entertainment. And then suddenly it clicked - wait, I was taking her to the beach with me that weekend. Sorry, no party! That Sunday after we got back, the neighbors came over to tell us about our yard getting rolled Friday night. Very kind people who knew we were out of town and didn't want it to stay like that all weekend, so they cleaned it up for us. Monday I came to school telling people that we had gotten our yard rolled and I never even saw it. Folks, I honestly never put two and two together. Back then I was very book smart, but socially clueless. Maybe I'm still like that. A few years later, one of my friends confessed. He mentioned how the party getting cancelled meant they had some "free time," and how frustrated they were I never even saw it or had to clean any of it up. Oh, the agony, but they couldn't say anything.

My biology teacher assigned us the infamous "bug project" that fall: collect 20 bugs, mount them on a posterboard and appropriately label them with their species names. In late September and early October live bugs are very hard to find, even in the deep South. So our class really struggled with this project. NOT ME. A humid beach town always has plenty of bugs, year round! Every weekend, I found some exotic new species in Destin. I could always count on finding a couple of moths around the outside lights at night, or some crazy thing crawling in the sand. One Friday night we pulled into the parking lot and piled out of the car, and I spotted a huge grasshopper heading quickly for the main laundry room. I cornered him near a dryer and kept him in a jar all weekend until I could get back to town and put him on the posterboard. The length of my hand, he dwarfed everything else, and ended up being the Shock and Awe of my bug project. The teacher was stunned when I turned it in.

We ate regularly at a restaurant at the end of Beach Road called The Back Porch. Back then it was just a cheap little bar & grill, right on the beach. One of the popular menu items was a grilled amberjack sandwich, and boy howdy, that thing was fantastic. I know people refer to it as "trash fish" but I fell in love with that sandwich. Years later I made regular trips to Destin with friends, and discovered that Destin had exploded, and The Back Porch has become a force to be reckoned with. They expanded the restaurant and added a beach bar. If you're not in line by 5 pm, you're not eating dinner there any time soon. And the beloved sandwich is now $12. (Oh, beach towns, they quickly recognize a good thing and price it accordingly.) A few years ago, Brian went deep sea fishing off the coast of New Orleans and brought back a giant cooler full of fresh tuna and grouper, and a few pieces of amberjack. Even though it was 8:00 at night, I made him take the amberjack straight outside and grill it for me. When he finished, I put it on a bun with some mayo and a slice of tomato, took a picture of it with my phone and sent it straight to my mother. I just had to do a little bit of gloating. And then I inhaled that sandwich. Oh, the sheer joy.

One week toward the end of the month-long vacation, I was in the locker room after P.E. class, and had taken off my gym shirt to put on my school clothes. One of my classmates commented, with what I thought sounded like a bit of jealousy, "Jennie, you are so tan." In October, it was pretty unnatural to be that shade of brown so the beach lifestyle was making an impression on me. This was back in the clueless teenage years when we tanned like idiots - slathered in baby oil, on top of foil, anything to get some extra rays. Today, it's hilarious to think I could have been so tan that another teenager would be jealous of me. I'm the palest person I know, and on the rare occasions I do go to the beach, I live under an umbrella and pile on SPF 50.

A special thank you to my mother and my sister for a great time on vacation. The luxury of not having a kid wake me up, getting first choice of a box of doughnuts, or not having to pour a glass of milk for someone 18 times in a day was absolutely exhilarating. But add in the time to chat with my mom and my sister without being interrupted or having to mediate a toy battle, and that time suddenly becomes precious. I hope we've started a new tradition.

Field Trips Are Not Fashion Shows

2011-07-16T12:28:00.004-05:00

Helen has been attending a summer camp program where they do a variety of field trips each week. One day they went bowling. On the way home, I asked her about her game - yes, she got a strike AND a spare. Yes, they put up the bumpers on the gutters. And yes, they had to wear THOSE SHOES.

Here's where I realize that I was destined to have girls. Instead of getting the play-by-play on the game or details about the ball weight or a discussion of everyone's scores, the conversation instead went like this:

Jennie: Aren't those shoes ugly?

Helen: (grimaces) Yeah. They had this stripe in the middle here (points at her foot) and one side was red and another was blue and it was just yuck (sticks out her tongue). Mama, why are they so ugly?

Jennie: So people will WANT to take them off at the end of the game and get their own shoes back. They don't want to wear them out of the bowling alley. Nobody wants shoes like that.

Helen: I wouldn't even ask God to give me those shoes.

I was hoping for medical school instead

2011-07-15T06:30:00.003-05:00

When Helen started kindergarten last fall, she spent the first few minutes of each day in class working in her journal. Usually the teacher would give them a topic to write about, and they would write something and draw a picture to go with it. At the end of the year, Helen came home from school with a big box. In that box were folders, one for each month, where the teacher had bound all of her journal entries into monthly books. The progress she made from the first month to the last was amazing. Inventive spelling and drawing skills and storytelling - she's improved by miles. The teacher told them they should keep on journaling at home this summer, and I've given her paper and tried to encourage it, but there are too many other things Helen wants to do at home. So occasionally I'll talk her into it and she'll do a bunch of journal entries at once. She has done some entries about her summer day camp field trips, and I will post them for you over the weekend. It's not like the subtle humor or the biting sarcasm or the touching emotion of a blog entry from me - but it'll do, Pig. It'll do.

In the meantime, here's a couple fun pics of the girls goofing off this summer.

Caution: Baby - wait, no, Toddler on Board

2011-06-09T07:00:00.001-05:00

Jane is WALKING, y'all. Running, almost! She just picked herself up and decided it was time to keep up with her sisters. After teetering here and there for about two weeks, she took off in earnest. She moved up to a new daycare room last month with a bunch of walkers, and has blossomed like you would not believe. I think she realized pretty quick that survival of the fittest was the order of the day. She refuses to be left behind.

First spontaneous word: "bubble." I got Helen and Alice some bubble wands this weekend, and they were playing with them in the front yard. Jane was following them around and grabbing at the bubbles and chattering. After a few minutes, it clicked with me that she was saying "bubble."She's been mugging for the camera at school - check this picture out! Reminds me of her sisters, for sure.
What a wild year it has been. These girls are really growing up too fast. They will drive me to the edge of insanity one day, and drop me off and drive away at top speed with the windows rolled down and the radio cranked up, but to have those darling little babies in my arms for those precious few months will surely be worth it all.

Someone remind me of that later this weekend when I'm ready to sell them to the highest bidder.

Helen Turns 6

2011-06-08T07:00:00.007-05:00

Helen turned 6 on Saturday.

Since the last day of school was on Wednesday and her birthday was on Saturday, I thought long and hard about it, and decided not to invite a bunch of kids over for a party when it was going to be 97 degrees outside. Instead, on Saturday morning I took her to her favorite store (Michael's) to let her pick out something crafty (friendship bracelet kit). Then while she napped, I made her a yellow cake with chocolate frosting.
Sidebar: guys, if you have not checked out the recipe for Chocolate Frosting on the back of the Hershey's Cocoa canister, you are seriously missing out. Frosting from a can? Not on your life. I've permanently converted to homemade, y'all. (For further Chocolatey Awesomeness, pair it with the recipe for the Chocolate Cake on the same label.)

Anyways, I digress.

You might have noticed a quick mention in that last paragraph. Yes, my 6-year old naps. Two, sometimes three-hour naps on the weekends. Both days. DEAR BABY JESUS, PLEASE LET IT NEVER END. AMEN.

We also made a pizza from scratch for dinner. Publix has a really great lump of unbaked dough in their bakery that you need to buy, stat. Couldn't be easier, and they come out way better than the frozen ones. Helen helped me spread the sauce and the cheese and the toppings. Alice kept pinching fingerfuls of cheese off the pizza when I wasn't looking. It turned out delicious.

After dinner and blowing out the 6 hot pink candles on her delicious cake, we gave her a little pink Razor Scooter. As if her knees and elbows weren't bruised and scraped up enough from running around outside, we added the element of speed to all future injuries. Yay, good parenting!And then she went to the pool with her dad for an evening swim. So she was in a bit of kid heaven.

The next morning, she woke up and asked me when her party was. Um, gulp.

So I replied as casually as possible, without a single shred of fear and trepidation, "Hey Helen, you remember the craft thing and the pizza and the scooter and the part where you blew out candles on your cake? Yeah, that was your birthday party!"

Oh, it was a frosty morning.

I am going to fry in a remote corner of hell reserved strictly for kids' birthday parties, where they're perpetually turning two years old. Dear Reader, I swear there will be a real party with a bunch of kids invited next year. I don't care if only two kids show up because school's out and it's too hot. She is going to have a party. Your job is to remind me next May when my resolve is weak and the sun is strong. And just to make it interesting, you can come, too.

For some perspective, here's her Birth Story, and her first birthday.

7th Inning Stretch Etiquette

2011-06-07T06:40:00.002-05:00

Brian took Helen and Alice to see a minor league baseball game in May. Highlights of the evening included Alice's first taste of cotton candy (the entire cone was inhaled in under a minute flat) and a giant fireworks show after the game. Both girls stayed awake for the entire thing on a hot summer night, and slept incredibly late the next morning.

On the way home from school last week, Helen starting singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" but couldn't make it past the first line. She sang it about 3 times in a row. So on the 4th try, I jumped in with the rest of the song. The people who have heard me sing can imagine the off-key, pitchy nightmare that it was. Fortunately my kids appreciate my singing and even encourage it. I swear. It's true!

Jennie: ... Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks, I don't care if I ever go back! Oh, it's root, root, root for the home team, if they don't win it's a shame ... Cuz it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball gaaaaame!

Helen: That guy is being rude, isn't he, Mommy?

Jennie: Huh? (looking around at traffic, drivers, passing joggers for any possible source of rude guys) Who's rude, Helen?

Helen: The guy in the song. He didn't say "please" buy me something.

Jennie: Good point. No Cracker Jacks for him!

A Reflective Sort of Birthday

2011-04-28T09:00:00.002-05:00

To Jennie, on her 19th birthday:

Girl, you are almost through with your freshman year in college, and what a year it has been. You are living away from home and meeting new people and finding out what life is like outside of your hometown. Occasionally you are learning that you know zero about the world, and even less about your place in it. Keep reminding yourself daily that you are clueless. Maybe it will keep you from telling that English professor that you don’t need his required English class. That cranky old man will make you a much better writer one day. So shut your mouth and listen to him.

In fact, you will eat a lot of your words that you speak as a 19-year old. So the less said this year, the better. But keep your chin up, girl. It gets awesome. Just you wait. People are being nice to you today, and your dorm door is decorated, and maybe a cute boy will say hi to you.

To Jennie, on her 29th birthday:

You are out on the town with your posse. You have flirted your way past all cover charges. The word of the night is “shots!” and you are hanging in there like a pro. Your hair is curly, and it’s staying curly. You feel skinny in that outfit. You can’t stop grinning. Your favorite cover band is playing all of your favorite songs. They even bring you up on stage and serenade you. Everyone is hugging you and wishing you Happy Birthday, and you love the world. You feel like a superstar. Best. Birthday. Ever.

Sometimes, there isn’t much to grin about. And sometimes, your hair won’t curl at all. You won’t always be the superstar. On those days, your real friends still love you. And that’s a much better birthday gift than a couple of shots. But the memory of this evening, and how happy you were, will make you smile for the rest of your life.

To Jennie, on her 39th birthday:

If you fall asleep on the couch tonight, you can always celebrate 39 again next year.

A shiner

2011-04-27T18:00:00.001-05:00

Alice is generally the good kid in class who knows better, but one day last week, she climbed up on a table at daycare. Of course she fell, and banged up her eye.

Next day was picture day. Awesome.

Artiste

2011-04-26T21:15:00.005-05:00

Helen LOVES to draw. She goes through all of the scrap paper in the house. She has a huge bucket of crayons and markers. She is all about the craft and the scissors and glue and making stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. She gets mad if I throw out any of her work, but if I had to save it all, it would fill the entire living room. And we have a cathedral ceiling in that room.

She makes cards and writes notes and even builds hamster cages, complete with their own drawings on the wall. Seriously.

Brian and I have talked about getting her into art classes. She is super good at drawing just about any image she tries. She loves to paint, she loves to make jewelry, she constantly begs me to make her iron-on t-shirts, and she even wants to try pottery. I think if she could spend all day making crafts, she would be a happy camper.

Last month she brought home a stack of drawings from her art class at kindergarten. I took pictures of some of it. This is by no means representative of the bulk of her work, but it was art show worthy for her kindergarten.

This is a watercolor picture of a turtle with a highly decorated shell (look closely and you will see hearts and stars). His head, complete with eyes and a smiling mouth full of teeth, are off to the right.

I would love to have been a fly on the wall for this lesson, to understand how the teacher explained the concept of Andy Warhol's Campbell Soup painting to 5-year olds. The bottom right person has braces.

Even though we have never seen a Barnum & Bailey show, Helen drew a circus ringmaster, complete with a top hat and a long line of her classmates on the tightrope above.

Snow? Oh Man ...

2011-04-22T18:00:00.001-05:00

This winter Helen's school had a record 9 snow days in 2 months. They only budgeted for 4, so a few professional development days for the teachers got cut, plus part of Spring Break, and they added some time to the end of the school year. Poor kids.

Anyway, I thought I would post pictures of one of the snowmen Brian and the girls built in the backyard after one of the bigger snows we got in January. Mr. Snowman is wearing one of my old scarves and has Oreos for eyes and a nose, and raisins for a mouth.

While I find it hard to send such tiny bodies outside to play in 10 degree weather, I tried to be very conscious of the fact that snow days have the potential to make memories for a lifetime, and I let them play a little bit in the snow. I truly hope they had some fun. But snow days don't mean the same thing to an adult. All I could think of is every time the TV news anchors delivered the school closing info was, that's one less vacation day. Is that wrong?

One of my most memorable snow days was when I was 8 years old. We got a week off from school due to a major ice storm. We had about 4 inches of ice when it was all over, and sub-freezing temps, and of course, no power. My dad had bought 2 of those big orange plastic saucers with little rope handles on the side. We took them out the next morning after the storm had subsided to see how they did on the icy hill in our side yard. I sat down on my saucer, and my dad gave me a gentle shove to get me started.

Here's the part where we learn the moral of the story is "planning ahead." I slid down the side yard hill at record speed. Good times, right? But our side yard faced a long downhill to a cul de sac, and to this day my dad insists that watching me hit the street, he realized I had no way to stop. He stood helpless on that icy hill, watching his daughter hurtle down the street on a thick sheet of ice, and was sure I would end up with something broken, or at the very least, come to a stop somewhere in the next county. To me, it was just exhilarating and a little bit scary. I came to rest, very suddenly, against a mailbox. I was stunned by the unexpected bonus part of the ride, but fortunately unharmed. Clearly, I knew I was invincible.

Getting back up the hill was another story. My sister immediately declined to ride her saucer. And we didn't play outside much that week. Ahh, snow days.

What are your favorite snow day memories?

Happy Birthday, Jane

2011-04-21T18:00:00.001-05:00

She turned one late last month, and here are some long overdue pics of her happily demolishing a chocolate cupcake, Wyatt style.

Here she is crying because the remainder of the cupcake is covered in frosting. She was not a big fan of the frosting. But she devoured the cake. Atta girl.

Sirens Everywhere

2011-04-20T19:37:00.004-05:00

Two weeks ago during a stormy afternoon at work, the tornado sirens starting blaring. Everyone in my high-rise office building downtown marched down the stairs to the basement to wait out the danger. Helen was in an elementary school hallway 15 miles west of me, curled up in the "Official School Tornado Drill Position" along with all of her kindergarten classmates. When I arrived later that evening to pick her up, I learned that the power had been out at the school for several hours. The teachers all seemed a little frazzled, but it didn't seem like a big deal to Helen. She was very matter-of-fact about all of it.

A few days ago, I was cleaning out her backpack and found a picture crumpled up at the bottom. It doesn't show up as well in the scan, but she drew a little word balloon next to her head that says, "Oh no."

I talked to Helen about the time she spent in the hall on the way home that day, and she told me that she was not scared, because the teacher would occasionally pat them on the back and tell them they were doing a good job. That's a good message to hear at any age.

Tales of the Daycare Teacher

2011-04-19T18:55:00.004-05:00

There is a little boy in Alice's class, who I will call Tyler. They spent some time in the nursery together as infants and later in the one year-old room. But he was having a hard time with the transition to the two year-old group, and cried over and over again one morning for "Mama." Eventually, they made it to lunchtime, and everyone sat down at their tables to eat. This little boy continued his crying at the table.

At that point, as the quote goes, that's where the wheels came off the wagon. Alice stood up, slammed both hands down on the table, and said, "Tyler. YOUR. MAMA. NOT. HERE." And then she sat back down and ate her lunch.

Y'all, she's TWO.

The teachers were caught offguard by her outburst, then promptly fell over laughing, and raced to tell the teachers in the next room what just happened. The story spread like wildfire around the center. By the time I arrived that evening to pick up the kids, two teachers had shared it with me before I even made it to her classroom. Over the course of the week, nearly every single teacher laughed with me about that story. At the end of the week, I cautiously asked, "Has anyone told Tyler's mom that story?" Turns out, no, they hadn't. And that evening, after I left, Tyler's dad arrived to pick him up. Tyler's dad normally drops him off later than we do in the morning, and the few times I have crossed paths with him, he always tells me that he is a huge fan of Alice, that she always has a smile for him or greets him when he comes in. So when the teacher told his dad the story, he roared with laughter. Then he looked at Tyler and said, "Son, I'm sure that won't be the last time a woman tells you that."

Here come the girls

2011-04-07T18:00:00.000-05:00

Helen is enjoying her first year of kindergarten. She is soaking up the skills – reading, math, science – as well as learning to navigate the social aspect. Her teacher is handling her first year in a classroom with poise and grace. I think this exposure to such a great teacher during a very pivotal year may have gotten Helen interested in being a teacher herself. This news comes as no surprise to my mom or my sister, who have noticed Helen’s tendency to boss everyone around, right from the start.

Alice is my strong silent type child. Her language skills are rapidly developing, and while it’s harder for outsiders to understand her, she’s speaking in full sentences and has plenty to say. But in a crowd she’s definitely minding her own business and doing her thing, and it usually doesn’t involve telling me her plans. Typical middle child behavior, I think. We do have some time together alone on the way to daycare and back home, and she chatters away and tells me all about her day. She sounds like the class clown. Her teachers adore her. They write funny notes about what she did that day and it’s been endlessly entertaining for all of us.

Jane turned a year old at the end of March. She’s been my tiniest child of all, which was a surprise for me. I didn’t know my genes could produce “petite.” But it’s been a great way for me to hold onto the illusion of having a “baby” baby for a little longer. She crawled later, and stood on her own later, and still hasn’t officially started walking. There’s been a step or two here and there over the past month, but no real walking. But she has been babbling and cooing at me from a very early age, and I think she’s learned the word “no” this week. She and Alice spent the car ride home last night shouting at each other.

Jane: (what sounded like) NO!

Alice: I say Yes ma’am.

Jane: NO!

Alice: I say yes ma’am, baby!

Jane: NO!

Alice: Mommy, baby say No and I want her say Yes ma’am.

Me: That’s motherhood for ya, Alice.

Pictures coming soon.

This One's Sad. Read with Kleenex.

2011-04-06T18:00:00.002-05:00

After I graduated from college, I moved away from home to take an accounting job in Charlotte, North Carolina. I had a month between graduation and my first day at work, so after securing an apartment, I went home to rest, relax, pack, and plan for the move. At some point during that month, my mother told me I would be taking the family cat with me.

Abby the Tabby was 12 years old and finicky. We got her the summer I turned 10, and she pretty much ruled the roost right from the start. We had a couple of dogs along the way - large Labrador Retrievers - but size never mattered to her. All 8 pounds of tabby cat were definitely in charge at our house. She had her moments where she loved us, usually involving a can opener, and quite a few moments where she was an outright terror. I'll never forget her nightly escapades where she chased my little sister down the hall or up the stairs to her room each night for bed. And then she would sit on the bed, right next to her face, and watch her fall asleep. My sister used to fake snoring just to get her to hop off the bed. I bet she was the one who suggested that I take the cat.

Anyway, Abby and I moved together to Charlotte that summer. The drive was excruciating - the first 3 hours she spent howling at me - and I know it was a huge change for Abby. She must have been miserable not having a whole family to boss around any more. But we grew pretty close over that first year, and I watched her turn from a bossy and demanding pet into a very loving and sweet cat. She followed me everywhere, and it was really nice to have her around. The next year, I made plans to visit the family for Thanksgiving. I was going to drive straight from work, and had left a big bowl of food & water for Abby to last all weekend, but I forgot my ATM card at home that morning. So I headed home to pick it up after work. When I came in the front door, no cat greeted me. I found my ATM card and then went hunting for her.

Abby was under the bed, panting hard and not moving toward me when I called to her. Alarmed, I dragged her out from under the bed and carried her to her food bowl. She sort of sat there, continuing to pant, but not touching her food or water. So I put her head in the water bowl, and she kind of sipped at it. I called the vet, who at that hour of the evening was already sending calls to the emergency clinic, but said to touch base in the morning if we needed her. I took Abby to the clinic, and they proceeded to do a bunch of tests. She wouldn't walk - I had to carry her. She just panted and kind of moaned once in a while.

After a lot of crying, I ended up leaving her at the clinic overnight for testing. I went home to tell my parents that I would not be driving home yet, and I cried a lot more that night. This was the one pet we'd had forever, and this was a very sudden change that I was not prepared for yet. I was so worried and upset. The next morning, the clinic couldn't tell me anything new. They'd checked everything and done a ton of tests - $250 worth, to be exact - and still no sign of what could be wrong. So I drove to the vet's office.

This was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, at 8 am. If you've ever been to a vet on that particular morning, you already know that the parking lot was full and the line was out the door. Everyone in the county was dropping off dogs to be boarded. Me, I had a box lined with a towel, and a sick cat lying inside, panting and hooked up to an IV. To top it off, I'd been crying all night. So I went to the front of the counter and asked quietly if I needed to be in line, since I actually had an appointment to see the vet. The lady behind the counter said yes. She claimed there would be other people in line ahead of me who were also waiting to see the doctor. I told the last person in line, a kind older woman who was just down the steps outside the door, to please save me my place, because I'm going to sit in the waiting room with my cat in a box. And everyone shuffled slowly past me, some giving me sympathetic looks, others trying hard not to look, and a few brave enough to ask me what was wrong. It was pretty darn clear what was wrong. To this day, I will never forgive that lady behind the counter for making me sit there, and not letting me go sit in an exam room. Needless to say, not a single person ahead of me was there to see the vet that day.

The meeting with the doctor was short. We went over the results from the clinic. I vaguely recall having an x-ray for her to see. She couldn't see anything obviously wrong to cure, either. I think she had planned to take the long way toward a discussion of what was going wrong and how to best make Abby comfortable, but after that much crying over a long night, I had really come to the decision already. Abby was suffering and it was time. So I said goodbye and then the vet gave her the shot, and that was it. The end of an era.

I drove home to my family after that, crying the whole way. It was a 7-hour trip. My contacts were a giant layer of salt from all the tears, and I had to stop about 4 times to clean them so I could see through the blur. Really, it was one of the worst days I had ever had in my whole life. When I got home, my dad said that my mom and my sister were out shopping but should be back soon. I took my things up to my room, composed myself a little, and heard my mom & my sister arrive. I headed back downstairs. My sister rounded the corner with a tiny black kitten in her arms, and my mother right behind her. My first thought, which I did not say out loud, was "Oh, how incredibly tacky. I just put Abby to sleep this morning, and they want to replace her with another cat ON THE SAME DAY."

And then he looked up at me and meowed. Oh my lord, that meow. It was like sweet music. I took him in my arms, and I didn't put him down for 4 days. The rest of the trip was a blur. I'm sure I helped cook Thanksgiving dinner, but I don't remember it. Sometime that next day, I named him Max. I drove 7 hours back to my place on Sunday, and realized my family was really thinking about me. I didn't have to show up alone that night and see all the reminders of Abby everywhere - I had a little kitten to distract me! And I promptly found a brand-new vet, one with a staff that was awesome.

It's hard to tell what kittens will turn into. My mom and my sister wanted to get something that wouldn't remind me of Abby, so they bought a male black cat. He turned out to be a long-haired one. Who knew? Plus, he was massive - 13 pounds. But he was adorable and awesome and I basically doted on him.

About 2 years later, I moved back home with my parents, and Max promptly became their first grandkid. He'd wait for them next to the treat drawer whenever they appeared with grocery bags, and 100% of the time, he was rewarded for that minimal effort. Max went out on their screened-in porch nearly every day to watch the birds and enjoy the breeze and sleep in the sun. During the summer, tiny lizards used to crawl in between the boards. My mighty hunter was waiting for every single one of them. He got nightly pampering from my dad who had dubbed himself as keeper of the king-sized lap. They missed him when I moved out on my own again, so I brought him to visit Camp Grandma frequently.

As much time as I've spent brushing his fur off of every single thing I own, that guy is mine, all mine. He's the nicest cat on the planet. He put up with me bringing other cats home, and moving across the country and back, and switching apartments every 3 years. He put up with my late nights during my single years, and even later nights during the infant years. He patiently tolerates my children who yank on his fur. Last fall, he turned 15. I sent a couple of texts to my family and gave him a lot of hugs and thought about how fast 15 years has flown by, and kept on going.

There's a lot of kitty throw up that you tolerate as a long-haired cat owner, but daily for a couple of months is a bit much. He's gotten pretty skinny in the past few months. So this past Saturday, I took him to the vet. The vet did about $250 worth of tests (hmmm, I'm sensing a pattern here) - but the short answer is kidney disease. He's not getting good nutrition, and he's pretty dehydrated. There's a plan, not a great one (it involves pilling a cat - woo hoo), but it's a plan.

I'm not sure what to expect in terms of how long. Right now he seems fine. He loves everyone, and he plays, and he cuddles, and you would never in a million years guess that he is 15. But the vomiting is a problem, since he's not getting food or water to stay down long enough to keep him in good health. I can see where this is headed, much slower this time. I can stop and appreciate him and hug him and care for him, and it will still hurt like hell when he's gone. It dredges up awful memories and tears to think of that morning with Abby, and it was really just me handling it on my own. Thank god I'm wearing glasses while I'm writing this. I'm not sure another pair of contacts could take it.

NOTE TO MOM AND SIS - YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO VISIT PET STORES, BREEDERS, RESCUE SHELTERS, OR HOMES OF FRIENDS WITH RECENTLY-BORN LITTERS OF CUTE ANIMALS. NO "GIFTS FOR THE GIRLS." NO, NO, NO.

So, finally, I'm clueless

2011-04-01T19:00:00.000-05:00

Last night, driving home from work, Helen asked me what was for dinner. I told her that dad was picking up pizza from the nearby Jet's Pizza.

Helen sighed. She has a favorite spot elsewhere, and Jet's is not it, and the entire family knows it. She prefers a local pizza parlor called Pizza Perfect, complete with a game room (where half of the arcade games and air hockey tables actually work). They do make a yummy New York style thin crust pizza. But you get more for your take-out money from Jet's, so we often go there instead.

Helen: Mom. It's called Pizza Perfect. Because the pizza? is PERFECT. Pizza. Perfect. Okay?

Jennie: (stifling urge to giggle) Okay.

(By the way, if you're a girl, you probably could guess that her line was delivered with THAT TONE.)

Add it to the list

2011-03-31T19:26:00.000-05:00

Kids need attention. Lots and lots of attention. There are hugs and kisses to give, squabbles to mediate, toys to redistribute, and lots of instructions to give. Lots of instructions. Twice, three times, louder & louder - whatever it takes. The housework doesn't end, either. Laundry is endless. There are bills to pay. Homework to supervise. Meals to prepare, grocery shopping to do, and dishes to wash. At some point, I think I need to mop, vacuum, and/or dust. Possibly clean a bathroom. And I've also got this sadly neglected blog. Wait, I'm married? Okay, add "talk to husband." Oh, and somewhere in there I work a full-time job. But instead, with all the free time on my hands, I've started a new hobby that is truly time-consuming.

Hi, my name is Jennie, and I'm a knitter.

Totally addicted, y'all. At home, I want to knit when I should be doing everything else. Brian rewinds the DVR at some key plot points, so I can actually see what just happened, instead of hearing it while I'm looking down at my knitting. I knit with people at work during lunch. I knit in the pediatrician's waiting room, the oil change place, and on the bus. I surf websites at home, joined 3 different knitting email lists, and I cruise the yarn section at Michaels looking for clearance sales. I search on Craigslist for people selling yarn, and look for garage sales with craft items. I went to Goodwill to find sweaters to unravel. Anything to keep me in the loop and adding to my stash.

Recently I made my first project to give away to someone outside the home. It was a heady level of nervousness and excitement to give someone a gift that I had spent weeks making with my bare hands. I had really thought way too long and hard about it and poured over all of the details and bored everyone to tears by talking about it. It was a dishcloth, for god's sakes. You would have thought it was the Sistene Chapel the way I showed it off.

Next project for giving away was a baby jacket and pair of booties for a baby shower for the Amazing Babysitter, who's due in May with a girl (yay!! - wait, I'm losing my babysitter! BOOO!!!). So multiply the planning and fretting and discussion by 100.

If you are considering knitting, the first step is to bookmark www.knittinghelp.com. A plethora of free videos show you exactly how to knit, all the basic stitches and all the weird ones, too. Those videos got me through some very dark places on my first 3 projects. They also have an app for the iPhone/iPad so you don't have to go online for any videos.

The second step is to join www.ravelry.com. That's like the Facebook of knitting, where people can find patterns and pictures of projects and all kinds of yarn. Plus forums full of people having the same problems you are with the same patterns. Or who like to talk about knitting or local yarn shops or whatever. It's the ultimate knitting groupie website. Sometimes it's hard to figure out how to stop browsing Ravelry so I can get back to knitting.

But anyway, this blog entry is cutting into my knitting time. Right now I'm working on a project that I hope I can finish quickly, that is if the laundry doesn't rise up and swallow me whole. I promise I will try to keep you all updated. These kids are getting pretty big, and awfully cute. I'd hate for one of them to graduate kindergarten before I post another entry.

Starting Somewhere

2011-03-30T19:22:00.001-05:00

Someone at work today asked if I knew any good nursing homes nearby. He's shopping for one for his mom. I was reminded of the old adage: "Be nice to your children, because they will pick your nursing home." But I guess parents have to be nice *and* hope that their kids' co-workers already know about the nice places. That's a lot for parents to worry about, don't you think?

Irony (see also: in a nutshell)

2010-10-21T13:57:00.002-05:00

Earlier this month Helen's school had a big week-long fundraising event, capped off by a fun run at the end of the week. To celebrate, everyone got to dress up each day in a certain theme. Wednesday's theme was Tacky Day. Kids could dress in wild clothing, mismatched shoes, crazy hairdos - the tackier, the better.

Even though I explained it repeatedly, Helen had a very hard time understanding the concept of "tacky." And she really didn't know why I was making a big deal out of picking specific things for her to wear, because she's done it for herself for over a year. Since I still had a lot to do to get everyone else ready that morning, reluctantly, I sent her upstairs after breakfast to pick out her own tacky outfit. She came downstairs in a pair of hot pink pants and a purple Jonas Brothers t-shirt.

I think she accidentally hit the target, dead center.

Go to the ball!

2010-08-21T21:25:00.001-05:00

The title of this post is something I heard approximately 8 million times at varying levels of volume during my 4-year tenure as manager of the high school boys' soccer team. We had a scrawny little science teacher who was one of those lightning fast players "back in the day" so he took on a bunch of truly lazy teenage boys and tried to whip them into shape. We had a few stellar players who grew up on soccer fields as kids, but two standouts do not make a winning team in the competitive world of high school soccer in the late 1980's. So I traveled to games and I stayed late after school at practices and I dutifully marked stats during the games and I slugged giant bags of balls around and I filled up coolers with ice water, all to watch us lose miserably. It had its moments of fun, and I made some friends, and I think sitting on the bus headed to an away game kept the teenage boys from being teenage boys. Maybe that's why the coach had me as manager all those years.

I promise this story has a point.

One evening in May, Brian was surfing online and found the local community's soccer league signup page. He promptly entered his information and signed up Helen for fall soccer.

Later, he told a friend at work that he had signed her up, and mentioned some fear about her ability to learn how to play the game. His friend reassured him, however, that there is only one play in soccer for children this age.

Here's the field and the ball:

Here are the children in a circle around the ball:

This play moves around the field at random. Kind of like Pong.

I realized that all those years I've watched children playing soccer, that man was dead-on accurate. Once you realize that, weekly "practice" becomes a little unnecessary. Which was a good thing, too, because 100+ heat index every afternoon last week cancelled the first practice.

Helen is on an under-6 team of 8 girls, playing 4-on-4 soccer on a half-field. Brian took her to her first game this afternoon and got some great pictures of the team playing. She had a lot of fun, but after she got home she confessed to me that she did not score any goals. Brian said they didn't really keep score or track who "won" the game, but it ended as a victory for her team at 4-3. Because Brian definitely counts those things.

So here's the point of the whole story: if memory serves, that total score represents more goals than the boys' high school team scored my entire freshman year. I'll bet those little girls had a better defense, too.

ZING! Here's where all my Facebook friends from high school stop reading my blog.

Brian told me there is one ringer on Helen's team, who runs like a gazelle being chased by hungry lions. Only in this case, the gazelle also dribbles a soccer ball, and once in a while, the lions play for your own team. You see, it was kind of unclear for some of the girls that they didn't have to fight each other for the ball. Which was amusing for the referees and parents alike.

Here's Helen before the game with her team, getting final instructions - she's the one in pigtails smiling at the camera instead of listening to her coach:

Here's Helen, in her lucky #7 jersey, running out onto the field to sub in for her first play:

Here's Helen running The One Play:

Here's Helen celebrating successfully running The One Play for several seconds in a row:

Wish us luck on a fun season. Once college football starts up, we may discover that Brian has signed me up for soccer, too.

One Small Step, One Giant Leap - I Get It Now

2010-08-12T09:31:00.000-05:00

This morning there was a point at which I realized I'm not just a person who gave birth to three kids, but a MOM. The first one was born over five years ago, so I've racked up some experience in this job. And when I gave birth to Helen I knew today would happen at some hazy point in the Not Yet Future. As the sun rose this morning, the haze cleared on probably one of the most important days in her life and in my career as a MOM.

Brian and I dropped her off at her first day of kindergarten this morning. Five long years of experience with daily dropoffs at daycare stepped in, so there weren't any tears from us or her. I helped her put up her backpack, and got a hug and after making sure she was sitting in the right spot, she just sort of waved at us, like "Okay, I'm good, you can go now." Brian and I looked at each other, and we said goodbye and walked out. This afternoon I'll go back to pick her up. I'm sure she have plenty of stories about her new teacher and her new friends and her new school. Right now I'm just sort of absorbing it all.

I'm a mom of a kindergartener, a well-adjusted little kid who was truly eager to get started on her future. I didn't even cry about leaving her at a brand-new school.

Way to go, Helen. You're making this MOM gig look easy.

I Can't Argue With You Before I've Had Caffeine

2010-07-26T19:28:00.000-05:00

Helen had a sore throat last week. She reminded me constantly that her throat hurt. No other symptoms, just that it hurt to swallow.

The next evening when I arrived to pick her up at daycare, she was still complaining and the teacher mentioned that she was running a low-grade fever. The only medicine I had in the drawer with pain reliever in it was some cold/cough medication, so I let her take a teaspoon of that.

The next morning, as we were getting ready to go, she asked for medicine.

Jennie: Helen, I'll let you have some medicine tonight if your throat still hurts. Sometimes cold medicine makes you sleepy and I don't want you to be sleepy at school.

Helen: But I'm already sleepy.

She's quick, I have to give her that.

Well .. Your Favorite Band Sucks, Too.

2010-07-25T22:44:00.001-05:00

On the way home from work the other night, I was listening to my iPod in the car. Brian had created a playlist of crazy upbeat dance music that I was enjoying, so I carried my iPod into the grocery store to pick up a few things. Reaching the checkout counter, I pulled the earbud out to chat with the cashier, who was probably 20 years old.

He asked me, "What song were you listening to?"

Sheepishly, I replied, "Usher's 'Love in This Club.'"

He did a double take, and looked at me with his eyes wide open.

I laughed, and said, "I bet you didn't expect that."

He agreed, saying, "No, you definitely don't look like the type to be listening to Usher." I explained that my husband had enjoyed Usher's performance of that tune on Dancing with the Stars several years ago, and bought it on iTunes, and I was enjoying the mix that he had made.

The cashier thought for a moment, and said, "You know, I liked that song, too - about two summers ago."

Quietly, I gathered up my groceries and walked out to the parking lot, with the iPod now shoved in my purse. I realized on the way that I officially qualify as "old."

Exhibit A: "Dancing With the Stars" is my source of new music.

Exhibit B: I am nearly twice as old as the grocery store clerk.

Exhibit C: I now look old enough to stop listening to dance music.

Exhibit D: I was actually mocked for being out of touch with the current music scene.

Exhibit E: I got the strongest urge to call him a "whippersnapper."

Sassy

2010-07-12T19:30:00.001-05:00

Theoretically, how much trouble am I in if my infant daughter routinely talks to me like this?

Family, Fourth, Food, and Farm

2010-07-11T14:19:00.000-05:00

Brian's family has a reunion each year on the 4th of July, so we packed up the girls and headed for the farm. We grew the reunion this year with the addition of Jane, who amazed me with her good-natured attitude toward an outdoor event with bugs and humidity. She smiled at all the new faces and loved being held by new people. Three and a half months old is still an age that can be difficult to handle away from home. She was a real trooper.

Meanwhile, Helen and Alice ran themselves into the ground for 2 straight days. They play outside regularly at home, but they don't have access to dozens of acres or half a dozen cousins. I've got to remember to build up their stamina for next year.

Here's one picture of Helen I managed to get as she flew past with a very popular toy, a water pistol:

The first day, around 3:30 in the afternoon (4 hours past normal nap start time), Alice was walking around the tables while the family played Bingo, and she had a little bottle with a rock inside it that she was using as a homemade rattle. She was shaking it to her heart's content as she walked around and grinned at everyone. Eventually, she went to her Nana and asked to be held. And that is where, approximately 13 seconds later, she passed out cold.

Helen and Alice both slept like rocks that night. Neither of them made a peep about sleeping in a new spot - it just needed to be a horizontal spot, and they were soon snoring away. They also slept super late the next day.

The girls ran nonstop the entire second day. There wasn't even an accidental nap when either one of them sat down too long. Do the math on the tipping point, and you have kids who probably won't be in the best mood by the time the fireworks are ready to launch.

What I hadn't counted on was Jane's reaction to the fireworks. I should have remembered that Brian & his brother would make the fireworks show pretty loud. She had dozed off, and awoke with a start at the first mortar shell. From that point on, each firework that exploded made her squirm and cry. So I took her inside the house during all of the oohs and ahhs.

Once the girls hit the house for bedtime, they wanted to stay up. Heck no, says I. It's bedtime. Less than a minute later, there wasn't any protesting. And they slept even later the next morning.

I'm guessing when they're older and not needing naps, this reunion may be less exhausting for them. When we got home from the farm, they both took 4 hour naps. Mine was only 3 hours.

Two videos from the farm to share with you all!

1. Helen shows off a new skill while the family plays croquet. Be sure to listen for her to give her pre-judged and completely unsolicited opinion on the video at the end.

2. Alice says hello to all the cows. I'll go ahead and translate: "Hay-yo, Neigh!" Like Helen, she calls all animals by the sound they make, rather than their names. Unlike Helen, that's what she thinks a cow says, instead of "Moo" - they're all "Neighs." Yes, like a horse. Go ahead, mock away. I'm sure all of your parents suspected you were a little confused at some point during your childhood, too.

You'd Want This in Your Backyard, Too.

2010-07-02T21:15:00.000-05:00

Two separate videos of Helen enjoying her backyard birthday present earlier this month. And Alice was right there with her.

History Repeats Itself. Really.

2010-07-01T19:41:00.001-05:00

I got a new cellphone for my birthday that will take minute-long videos. Turns out to be the perfect opportunity to brag about my newest child, Jane, right? Because she talks. No, really. She just chatters. Seriously.

A month later, she was two months old, babbling like mad at her first doctor appointment, and the doctor walked in and said, "Huh. Normally that's a 4-month old skill." And I said, "(something unprintable in a blog read by Brian's grandmother)."

If this was my first kid, I'd actually *be* bragging. But folks, this is not my first rodeo. I've already got one child who never shuts up. And when I say never, I mean, I put her to bed and I'm walking to the bedroom door and I'm literally shutting the door on a stream of gibberish. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! I love you! Um, what are we having for breakfast in the morning?"

Jennie: "Good night, Helen."

Helen: "Mommy, is tomorrow a stay-home day?"

Jennie: "Good night, Helen." (shutting door)

Helen: (through the door) "Mommy! How many days until it's a stay-home day?"

Jennie: (walking down the stairs) "Good NIGHT!"

Anyway, this video demonstrates Jane's talking skills. You may think it's cute or adorable or precious. And it is. But I also see it for what it really is, and it strikes fear into my very soul.

It's Helen, The Sequel.

The One Where I Probably Violate Some Unknown Copyright Law

2010-06-30T21:04:00.000-05:00

I want to dedicate this video blog entry to my friends Christine & John, who have listened to more than a few cover songs with me back in the day, before I moved away to be with Brian. At the dueling piano bar this past weekend, the band played it nearly instantly after I sent the request up there. I thought my friends might enjoy the stroll down memory lane, and the rest of you might love a trip back to the 1980's, when the music had layers and the lyrics didn't and nobody seemed to mind a bit. Apologies for the dim lighting (in a bar) and the less than stellar quality of the sound (recorded on my phone), but hopefully you get the idea. I miss you guys, and I hope your new hometown has a stellar cover band, too.

No, it wasn't a dream.

2010-06-29T19:09:00.000-05:00

Last weekend my in-laws came to town and said, "Get out of here! Scram!"

I am not sure if they were talking to me or the cat, but I raced into the bedroom and opened a random dresser drawer. Think fast, Jennie: where are the suitcases? Upstairs. Too far away. What do I need to wear? Hmm. Who cares? I tossed the first layer of clothes in the drawer into a little plastic shopping bag that was on the bed. I ran to the kitchen, yelled something about milk in the freezer, grabbed my purse, and sped away in the little red convertible.

As I got to the stop sign, I saw Brian in my sideview mirror. He was running behind the car, waving his wallet. Reluctantly, I pulled over and picked him up.

That night we had an adult dinner at a quiet restaurant, with wine and candles and excellent food that did not need ketchup. Or sippy cups. We checked in at the hotel, propped open our eyelids with scotch tape and headed to a bar for a beer. And then came back to the room to enjoy the deep, uninterrupted sleep of parents who refuse to call home and check on anyone.

The next day we had a wonderful lunch at a Mexican place with margaritas, where not a single grain of Spanish rice landed on the floor. Afterwards we strolled around the mall and sat in the massage chairs at Brookstone, where we enjoyed the entire 5-minute demo without hiding the massage chair remote control. We even played with the new iPhone at the overly crowded Apple store, where we didn't pull a screaming child away from banging on the laptop keyboards at the kids' table.

Later, we saw a newly released movie in a real theater - not a pay per view or Redbox rental ("Knight & Day" - go see it, it's hilarious and very well done). We didn't have to share concessions with someone who can eat her weight in popcorn, and we didn't need to take a bathroom break every 10 minutes.

That evening, our outdoor tourism plans were foiled by a sudden thunderstorm, but we did manage to pass several hours with a bartender who kept plying us with special concoctions involving a large array of homemade flavored vodkas. This was not as disappointing as it sounds, although Brian does not recommend the habanero vodka, unless you are attempting to win a very large bet. I vowed to return another day, when I would once again not be counted on to nurse a young infant.

We headed down the street and happened upon a dueling piano bar that looked promising, so we handed over the cover charge to enter a place that did not have a giant inflatable slide or a singing robotic rat. Turned out to be the best entertainment we'd seen in ages. And folks, we have 3 little girls who must be quite entertaining, since we haven't been on a date in 6 months, but two pianos, one drumset and a bass guitar later, we had seen an entire evening of sheer FUN. We got back to the hotel after 1 a.m. and crashed.

The next morning, we spent far too much on breakfast from the hotel buffet, and headed home. The girls were clearly excited to see us. Helen spent the morning dancing around in the $4 tourist shop cowboy hat we purchased for her. Alice promptly glued herself to my lap for the next two hours. Nana swore up and down that Jane was a good baby while we were gone.

I'm working on medals for the in-laws. Do you think it should mention "bravery in the line of fire" or "valor beyond the call of duty" - or both?

The End of an Era

2010-06-24T20:06:00.000-05:00

While I was pregnant with Alice, I toured a new daycare center. This was after nearly 3 years of childcare provided by a decent center right around the corner from our home. You can't beat that kind of convenience with a stick. So, looking farther away was harder, and mentally a bit of a block for me, but having two kids, affordability was the biggest factor in making a change. I also knew that every 3 months, Helen got a new teacher. With that kind of turnover, it was hard to get any rapport built up, and I was beginning to worry about her reaching a crucial point in her development and learning with a revolving door of instructors. She's a sharp kid but I didn't want her to suffer with all the short-timers.

The teacher I met on the tour of the new place was very reassuring. She had previously worked at the center where Helen was, and she knew what I was worried about with their staffing issues. She assured me that turnover was very low. She herself had been at the center for 4 years. Helen's class was taught by the owner. Alice would have teachers who had each been working there for a minimum of 2 years. That was excellent news to me.

October 1 will mark 2 years of attending this daycare. Helen now has some very near and dear friends in her class, and she loves each one of her teachers. Alice turns into a bright ray of sunshine in her classroom. You can tell she truly enjoys herself. I love how the teachers hug her. Jane is smiling every time I leave her in the morning and is being cuddled whenever I show up. I have landed in a great daycare and I wouldn't leave them anywhere else for the world.

Except, sometimes, it's time to go.

I was not prepared for this scene. I knew that it was coming for a couple of weeks, and I had been working hard to get the house clean for a visit from her PeePaw, and get a potluck dish made and delivered, and managed the logistics of getting a family to arrive on time and neatly dressed - so essentially, I'd been focusing very closely on the trees and suddenly the forest appeared on stage. Seeing her walk out in that outfit, it was a very startling moment for me. She keeps telling me she's 5 now, but dang if she didn't just grow up right there in that cap & gown. Plus, she was so cute up there with her friends.

Seriously, I'm just a little bit sad that the daycare doesn't run an elementary school, too.

My New Precioussssss

2010-06-23T20:58:00.004-05:00

I'm not an early adapter of technology. My mother works at a large retail computer store, my father buys everything that comes out of that large retail computer store, and my sister has 2 masters degrees in education technology. I, on the other hand, am convinced that disgruntled leprechauns live inside my computer. Also, I put my fingers in my ears and go "LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU" when Brian starts talking about the new iPad.

So, for my birthday, something that was long overdue - Brian took me shopping for a new cellphone. I had a Motorola Razr for 4 years. It was a wonderful Mother's Day present, and all it did was make calls. I thought that's all I needed. But 4 years later, once you start referring to your cellphone as Old Unreliable, it's time to upgrade. At the store I pulled it out my pocket and the kid/salesguy saw it and snickered. No, seriously, people. He SNICKERED. At ME. ON MY BIRTHDAY. I was ready to box his ears and call him Sonny. But I refrained.

After a lot of shopping and a lot of questions and a lot of test-driving, enter my new phone: an HTC MyTouch from T-Mobile. I love this phone. It's a Google phone which is very straightforward and simple. I can take minute-long videos and upload them to YouTube which means, keep an eye for more kid video than you can stand. I can send pictures via text message to everyone except Brian (don't ask, he doesn't know why, either). I can listen to music. I can slide my finger around to the letters instead of tapping them out. It's called Swyping, and I love it. I spent about 10 minutes doing a tutorial, and I was off to the races.

After getting mocked by the whippersnapper in T-Mobile, it felt good to have this new hip phone and live somewhere near a cutting edge in technology. Even if it's just a bedroom suburb of the cutting edge, it feels good. I loaded up on a data plan and a text plan and hit the road.

Brian picked up the kids from daycare that afternoon. He stopped at the store with them to pick out cards and cake and a balloon. Let me tell you what really deflates a good birthday high. It's when your kid hits the door, all excited, and gives you this:

The One Where She Turns 5

2010-06-21T21:45:00.001-05:00

Those of you who have known me for many years understand my fear and trepidation surrounding children's birthday parties. Specifically, the ones at some gigantic indoor play zone where I sort of know the kid from daycare but have never met the parents, and our kids are way too young to just drop off. So instead, we stand around trying not to stare at each other, making awkward small talk about how precious our kids are, asking variations of "What's your name again?" and feverishly hoping that our kid isn't the most hyper one in the room.

I knew that this year would be a touch & go year for Helen in terms of birthday parties. If you have checked this blog faithfully, you will know that Helen's parties have consisted of some cupcakes on the big day, and not much else. And for all those years when she couldn't really talk, it worked just fine. Then came the talking years, but I was still a bit ahead of her on the reasoning skills, so we kept parties at bay.

Then came this year. About a month ago, one of her friends turned 5, and had a big party at a giant indoor play place. It was a Friday evening, and the invitation said "Siblings invited" and they served pizza, so I caved in and dragged all 3 kids out. I figured it would wear them out and we could sleep in on Saturday. And I did get to chat with a couple of very nice moms, but it still felt awkward as hell. The party girl's mom, however, breezed in and handled it all so graciously. This party was for her 3rd kid, and she still whizzed around like Martha Stewart. She made sure we all had food and snacks. She sweet talked Alice and chatted with Helen. She even helped me haul one very reluctant-to-leave child back to the car. I'm telling you, that's SO NOT ME.

Later that weekend, Helen told me that she was thinking of having her party at the same place. Proceed directly to CRINGE. Folks, these parties start at around $200, and that's not including pizza and cake and ice cream. That's just, "Yes, you can rent out space here," and "Don't forget to bring the goody bags." Plus, sending the invitations and deciding who to invite, and all of our family is out of town, and the few who do live close would be on vacation, and ending up hosting all these daycare parents I don't know, it was just like NO. I CAN'T DO IT. DON'T MAKE ME DO IT.

So then I had a conversation with Helen about how we weren't going to have a party at the Giant Indoor Play Place. I told her that we could have some cupcakes and presents at home, and she said, "You mean, a family party?" And I said yes, that's right. Fortunately, she didn't have her nose pinched and head held up high while she said it, but you could tell she was a little disappointed. Especially when she muttered darkly, "And next year, I'm having a party with friends." So next year, after kindergarten is over, we can invite a friend or two over to swim at the neighborhood pool, and grill some burgers and hot dogs and have some cake. But this year, one last time, it would be just us.

Years ago, Brian & I talked about our vision of the perfect birthday party, and we thought out loud, wouldn't it be fun to rent the stuff but not invite everyone - just have it for her to play around in. Like, booking the giant indoor play place for just your family. Or calling up the inflatable rental store and setting it up in the backyard for the kids. Book the petting zoo to come visit. We could skip the looney tunes clown and the not-so-funny magician. But you get the idea. That idea stuck in my head for the longest time - 4 years, to be exact - and so last month I started calling around to find out prices for renting the giant bouncy castle.

YIKES. Varies from $100-$175 for anywhere from 4-8 hours. That includes setup and takedown, but still. A lot steeper than I pictured. You can buy them, but quality varies, and prices can go up dramatically for ones that will endure a 5-year old's bouncing.

So I found the guy that would rent it for $100, and I was in discussion with Brian about what to do. I just happened to mention it to a co-worker who was taking the day off for his son's birthday party, and he said, "Oh, I have one." I was like, HUH? You own a giant bouncy castle? Turns out, yes, he does. He has 3 boys and sometimes on the weekend, they'll put it up in the backyard and let the kids go nuts. It's good to wear them out and they sleep like angels. And this co-worker said, Hey, you can borrow it. Folks, that is pure awesomeness. Besides, the money saved and all that, no worries about if it rains, the rental period is ruined, rescheduling the party, etc. We could put it up when we needed to and take it down on our schedule.

So, her birthday was on a Friday. I told her that we would have our family party on Saturday, with cupcakes and presents, and that we could make the cupcakes together that afternoon. But I didn't let on there was anything more to it. Brian went out mid-morning to mow the lawn, and then he set up the bouncy castle. Once I got the high sign from him, I told her there was a surprise for her birthday in the yard, and I led her outside with "eyes closed, Helen, close 'em tight!" I got a picture of her when she saw it for the first time:

Then she & Alice went to town bouncing in it. Sliding on the slide, running around, climbing in, bouncing and sliding to their heart's content. Helen told me over and over it was the BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER. Honestly, that was all I needed to hear. Family party, schamily party. She got a bouncy castle to play in. Game over, Giant Indoor Play Place!

It was about 97 degrees outside, though, so they got hot, quick. I went inside to watch from the windows, and take care of Jane. About 45 minutes later, Alice came bounding in, hair plastered to her head and red from head to toe. She sucked down a cup of ice water and headed right back outside.

Shortly after that, I got them to come in for a little lunch, and then put both of them down for a nap. They slept for FOUR HOURS. Suffice it to say, the cupcakes were ready when she got up.

We are looking into buying one of these things. My co-worker said he had found a company that was going out of business, and they typically sold these to the rental companies. My co-worker picked up this one for a steal, and he said it paid for itself after they used it at 2 birthday parties. Seriously, with 3 kids, this is a must-have. Brian was amazed at how easy it was to set up and take down. It came with its own high powered fan, and it inflated in about a minute and came down in about 2 minutes. It fit in a tiny duffel bag. Didn't even ruin the grass at all. Really! Have you bought one yet? Go, go, go!

One of our neighbors came by later in the afternoon, totally jealous and wanting to bounce. But it was only rated for ages 10 & under. I will have to look into buying one that's more adult-sized. Maybe we can make back some of the money by selling time in the bouncer to the neighbors. Hmm, a possible revenue stream on weekends. This has all kinds of possibilities!

Happy Birthday, Helen. Now that you're 5, your birthday parties are going to start earning their keep.

Strawberries!

2010-06-20T14:17:00.001-05:00

Last month Brian picked up Helen from daycare and headed southeast of town to one of those Pick Your Own farms. He and I had looked at possible places to go the day before what ended up being the big flood weekend. That flood sort of put everything on hold for a while. So when he texted me this picture in the middle of my workday, I got excited.

When I got home that night, I realized I had to do something with over 10 pounds of perfectly ripe strawberries. Fast.

We ate a bunch of them that evening. Most of the berries you buy at the grocery store are red on the outside and white on the inside and taste vaguely berry-ish. Sometimes there is an exceptional period of about a week or two where you break down and buy a pint or a quart and they turn out fantastic, but you dare not press your luck any longer.

Not these berries. These berries were red on the inside, juicy and DELICIOUS.

One summer when I came home from college, I visited a farm near campus and brought my mom a couple of pounds of fresh strawberries. She made a pie with them that was amazing. So, naturally, I decided that's what I had to do with these berries.

The next night, after the kids went to bed, I got to work making my own pie. Rolled out the crust, found a recipe online, and WOW. It was fabulous! I didn't even bother with making a whipped cream topping, but that would have made it even better.

We snacked on the rest of the berries that week. Truly a delightful way to start off the summer. Prices were reasonable, around $2 a pound (not counting the gas for the trip out of town). Most farms will have some pre-picked for a little bit more, if you don't want to do it yourself. The way the heat index has been the past 2 weeks, I wouldn't blame anyone for skipping that step.

Blueberries are in season now, and so are blackberries. I might need to send those two off for my next cobbler ingredients.

It's Just Lunch

2010-06-19T20:36:00.000-05:00

While we visited my parents last month, my sister asked us to come see her at school. She teaches a 5th grade class down the street and we decided to have lunch with her. So I packed up the girls and prepared for my meal in an elementary school cafeteria since, let's see, minus 11, carry the 1 - oh good god. Moving on ...

Helen was excited to see a real school, since she's in a tiny daycare now. She will be starting kindergarten in August, and she has asked me a million questions about it. Every day it's something different: what they will do in kindergarten, if her friends will be in her class, what they will do after kindergarten, how long will they be in class, if they get naps, or snacks, or playdough - everything. That kind of curiousity is exciting to watch develop, and I haven't seen her the least bit anxious about it.

Anyway, we arrived at the school for lunch. I had told her that her Aunt M is a teacher, and we would be eating lunch with her class. But I didn't tell her that the cafeteria would have about 200 kids in it. She walked in and looked around and just stood next to me, not saying anything.

So we went through the lunch line. Folks, it was corn dog day. They had cooked carrots and a blueberry dessert to go with it. These are all things my children will eat, so the lunch line was a total success in my book. We got food for Alice and Helen, and headed for the tables.

I had one of those mommy moments where I realized that Helen is growing up. I'm used to thinking of her as an older kid since there are 2 babies at home, but she's like an older baby because I still do so much for her. School age is a big leap. This cafeteria scene will become a daily occurence for her quite soon. She'll have to make choices without her teachers doing it for her. No one will constantly remind her to eat all of her lunch so she won't be hungry later. I kept asking her what she thought, and she was really quiet, just taking it all in. Helen is *never* quiet. So this was interesting to watch. It made me wonder how long it will take her to reach a comfort zone in her own school. Maybe it's good that we practiced this ahead of time, so she has an idea of what to expect.

My sister asked her if she wanted to take her tray to the dishwasher, and she was totally up for it. So they headed to the window. Later, Helen took Alice's tray all by herself. As I watched her walk away from me carrying that tray, I did my darndest not to tear up.

After lunch we headed back with my sister's class to their room. My sister asked Helen to be the line leader, which was a huge deal to Helen. All students are supposed to walk quietly through the halls on what they call "Third Street." The square floor tiles make a neat pattern, and they are supposed to walk on the third tile away from the wall. If I had to guess why, after watching a class head back to their room, the third tile is just far enough away to keep kids from getting the walls dirty, bumping up against doors, tearing up bulletin boards, or disturbing other classes. It also means as they travel through the halls, another class can approach from the other direction and everyone stays in line and in order. Helen spent the entire trip back to my sister's classroom with her head down, totally focused on keeping her feet on Third Street. She took her duty very seriously and never wavered once. A few times we had to tell her to "look up, go this way" as they needed to make a left turn. But she did a great job. We saw the classroom, watched the kids get their stuff ready for the next lesson, and then headed back to the car. She saw so much that day, including a boatload of kids several years older than her, and she still hasn't expressed an ounce of anxiety about going to kindergarten. So that's a good thing.

This week I chatted with another daycare mom whose daughter will go to Helen's school. She said that the first day, they have an event for the kindergarten parents called the "Boo Hoo Breakfast." It's meant to lessen the separation anxiety, by letting us remain at the school a little longer, but it gets us out of the classroom so the kids can get started with their day. I thought the name was hilarious. Even funnier is that first day is a half-day. So I drop her off starting at 8:00, have breakfast at 8:30, and school ends 3 hours later. That means I still have to figure out lunch & daycare for her that first week. Ugh!

(By the way, if anyone wants it, I found a recipe on a school district's website for that square pizza that we used to have for school lunches. Remember how excited you were to find out it was pizza day? That giant rectangle with the shredded sausage and hardly a hint of tomato sauce, underneath a layer of barely melted cheese, and that chewy pizza dough? Ah, the things we used to love. Now, if I can just figure out how to dial down the portion sizes from "serves 300.")

Bring on the Baby Pictures!

2010-06-19T11:08:00.004-05:00

When you arrive at daycare to pick up your kids, and one of them looks like this:

... if you wake that baby up, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

Waterloo no more

2010-06-18T20:30:00.000-05:00

My grandmother made fabulous orange bread. Whenever we visited her, she usually took a loaf from the freezer to thaw, and we'd toast it for breakfast and add lots of butter. It was always a great treat to have a homemade slice of her bread.

Sometime after I graduated from college, I called and asked her for the recipe. We were having a potluck breakfast at work for Christmas the next month, and I thought it would be good to bring her bread to share with everyone. I carefully wrote down all the steps on two cards. Step one was for the candied orange peel that got chopped up and mixed into the bread dough. Step two was making the bread dough.

The next month, I had my plan. I would plow through step one after work, and then handle step two early in the morning before going to work, so the loaf would still be warm as it was served to my co-workers. That night, before I went to bed, I carefully saved the sugared peel in a ziploc on the counter. The next morning, I got out my recipe card for the bread dough, and noticed one of the ingredients was a cup of the sugar water that cooked the orange peel. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had poured that sugar water & candied orange peel into a colander the night before, so all of that water went down the drain. I said a few choice words before shoving the recipe cards back in the box and heading for the shower. I stopped on the way to work and bought a big coffee cake from the grocery store. A few days later, my grandmother called me to find out how it went and we both had a good laugh over what a gigantic idiot I was.

A few years later, I dug the recipe cards out to make it and SCREWED UP AGAIN. People, it's like I totally forgot what happened the first time, and I went to strain the water from the orange peel and dumped it all into the colander and then sucked in my breath like one of those horror films as I watched the water go down the drain. I hung my head and took the colander over to the trash can and dumped the peel in the garbage. I mean, I just cannot be trusted to get this right. TWICE.

So at this point, this recipe is like my Waterloo. I love the memories of eating it, and I love thought that I *could* make it, since I have it in my recipe box. It seems like it should be easy enough, and yet TWICE I couldn't get it done. Which for me is like a giant mental stumbling block to ever trying to make it again.

So while I was on maternity leave, I decided to get past it. Dang it, I wanted some orange bread! This time I took out both recipe cards, and gave myself a stern lecture before I even put a pot of water on the stove. "Jennie," I said out loud, "you cannot mess this up. Your grandmother worked hard to give you orange bread on each visit. She trusted you with the recipe, and she is counting on you to get it right. You have tossed out that water twice now. Can you remember to save it this time? CAN YOU FINISH THE DAMN RECIPE ALREADY?"

And this time, I made the orange bread. And it was awesome. Oh, how I loved it. I made two more loaves while we were at my parents' house, and I shared them with my sister and mother, and I fed it to my girls. It's good stuff, people. But more than that, I'm finally past that obstacle. There's a lot of things that mentally hold us back from getting things done, and I finally charged right over one of them. Hoo-rah.

I know Grandma is up there somewhere smiling and totally thrilled that I got through it for once, but I just wish I could call her to tell her how good it was.

Tested

2010-06-17T19:07:00.005-05:00

While we visited my parents, my mother decided to take her grandchildren to ride the big carousel at the mall. This required picking up my sister's oldest son at daycare, taking Helen and hauling strollers for 3 babies (2 of mine, plus my sister's youngest one). Helen was beyond excited to see her cousin M. I figured they would be all about riding the carousel, while Alice would be clinging for dear life and crying the whole time.

We decided to do this event on a day that Neena already would be at the daycare to celebrate Mother's Day with a special lunch. It would mean no nap for my girls, which can be an issue for Alice, but Helen would be fine. I crossed my fingers that they would sleep in the car on the way to the mall and that would be enough.

No such luck. The car nap never materialized, but Alice seemed to be in good spirits. And it turned out Alice liked the carousel best of all. She rode it like a champ with her Neena holding on tight to her the whole time. Helen & M. rode their chosen animals and had a blast. I stayed with the 2 strollers and snapped pictures.

We had some extra tokens, so we went a second time. This was our mistake. That's when I learned why my other nephew, slightly older than Alice, got to stay at daycare that day. Apparently that age group is somewhat fixated on doing whatever the heck they want, repeatedly, which I already knew. But when a carousel is involved, they lose all sense of reason.

After ride #2, Neena took one of the infants to the restroom to change a very stinky diaper, while I watched 4 kids by myself in the food court. Alice decided she was going to make a break for it and head to the carousel. Um, I don't think so, kid. I tried distracting her and showing her stuff at the kiosk next to our table and singing songs but it just wasn't working. So I held her while trying to stay close to an infant sound asleep in the stroller, while two 5-year olds sat at the table and giggled. Alice screamed and screamed and then screamed some more. Other mall patrons tried not to stare at me. Neena came back and instead of checking out some of the kid-related stores in the mall as we had previously planned, we headed for the exit.

And that's when Alice lost her tiny mind. She pulled my hair, she hit me on the face, and she tried to squirm away. Rather than putting her down and letting her run free and hoping maybe she'd make it back to the house on her own one day, I carried her out of the mall like a football under one arm. I didn't make eye contact with anyone as we walked, but my mother said that several people smiled at us. I'm sure you've all smiled that way at parents trapped in that moment, in public with a toddler who wants absolutely nothing to do with you - and I know it's a smug sense of pleasure that you're not the one carrying a screaming kid. Mom says she was proud of me for not giving in, but all I could picture was the video from the security cameras posted on YouTube. Heck, that fear probably saves a lot of kids' rear ends these days. So I kept moving to the door. That was a very long walk, with the screaming and the squirming, and every time I tried to turn her back upright she grabbed a fistful of hair. So back down she went.

Finally we got to the car. I buckled her in the car seat, expending 2500 calories in the process. And on the way out of the garage, she finally stopped sobbing. Shortly after that, she fell fast asleep. When we got home, I put her down for a true nap and she awoke a brand-new kid.

I, on the other hand, am a more experienced mother who now knows better than to let her near that carousel for the next 3 years. My sister apparently learned this lesson the hard way, too. This kind of wisdom comes at a steep price, folks, and I'm giving it to you all at a good discount: the football hold is definitely the way to go.

Powerless

2010-06-16T19:16:00.005-05:00

Flood weekend, after the rain had fallen for 2 full days, and the power had been out for 8 hours:

Brian: You know what I've learned this weekend? Marriages thrive on love, patience, and electricity.

Jennie: (through gritted teeth) Yep.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, a huge ice storm knocked out our power for nearly a week. There was an initial panic to get back to the house in worsening weather in the middle of a school day,as road conditions quickly deteriorated. But as soon as we got home, and knew we'd be out of school, I remember being excited and happy. We had a camp stove that ran on sterno. We had a woodburning fireplace. We had winter coats and mittens and hats. We played outside as much as we could on giant sheets of thick ice. We hung blankets up to block off the rest of the house and keep all the heat in the living room. We slept in sleeping bags in front of the fireplace at night. I don't remember any worries about the refrigerator or whether there was enough food to eat. I don't remember whether we had lots of candles or flashlights. I don't remember anyone worrying about firewood running out. It's all kind of hazy in my mind, except for images of drying mittens on the hearth, and one speedy trip down a long icy hill, riding one of those orange plastic saucers.

Outside the ice storm had snapped tree branches, which then fell on power lines. I think it was a record number of trees down for that storm. We lived on the top of a mountain surrounded by trees, and it was a long windy trek to get to us. And during that week, I think each and every neighbor visited the guy across the street who worked for the power company and asked him to pull some strings. But the tree clearing crew had to come with the power crew to make it all happen.

I'm sure my parents had moments when their nerves were frayed from all that togetherness. Somehow they kept it from showing. Families weren't quite as addicted to video games and TV back then, but having to live in one room for a week with 2 girls who were quickly getting bored still must have been hard. I remember playing board games and card games to pass the time. I must have read some books, too. I don't remember having an especially early bedtime, nor sitting around a bunch of candles at night, but the sun sets around 6 pm in the winter. Maybe we did all just go to bed.

What I discovered during the flood weekend last month is that our family is not prepared for a long-term power outage. In the days when I was single, I had a ton of candles, and an apartment with a gas stove. I kept a ton of snack food on hand, and my fridge just kept cokes and beer and limes chilled.

Now, I'm down to 2 candles on the mantle, plus a pack of birthday candles in the kitchen. We have an electric stove, and a fridge full of staples and leftovers and not nearly enough beer. There is a gas grill outside, but in the driving rain, that's impossible to use. We have a gas water heater that works without power, and we have a gas fireplace that can get noticeably warm in the winter. But that's useless in the summer.

So, I panicked. Power was out and roads were blocked and houses were underwater. My cell phone didn't work. The nearby grocery store was almost flooded. There were suddenly a lot of strange people walking up and down our street to check out the flooding on either side of us. It was hot outside, and getting warmer inside. The milk was getting low, and I had no way to chill more, even if I could buy it. I don't know how to cook mac & cheese on a grill. Without food, I get cranky. Brian gets even crankier. In the summer, the sun sets around 8 pm, so I wouldn't have to worry about candles and flashlights as much, but we tried Trivial Pursuit after dinner, and Alice kept moving our game pieces to new spots on the board. We did get a game of Twister going though, and that killed about 20 minutes. I also learned my thigh muscles don't stretch any more. So, kind of a bust on the board games.

Without power, Brian can't watch sports on TV or play video games. There is no internet to surf. Without cell service, there are no calls to chat with friends. So he was getting restless. He had a book, but with 3 girls bouncing off the walls inside because it's raining outside, it's hard to read. And both of us getting increasingly worried about the rain and when it might stop and when we might have power again - we felt very disconnected from the world. And it's difficult in 2010 to be disconnected. It was like we were both going through withdrawal: edgy, panicky, nervous, and unsettled. We were well aware that we were completely unaware of what was happening all around us. I think being able to focus and handle everything would have been easier if I could have at least made a proper dinner.

I realize part of the fun of a power outage for a kid is the adventure of doing the same things in a brand-new way. Seeing it from the parents' point of view this time around, it was not nearly as fun. I lasted less than 24 hours before I bailed and left town. I packed up the kids that Monday morning, and spent 8 hours trying to get to my parents' house, which is normally about 4 hours away. Brian cleared everything out of the fridge and left to stay with his brother, and came back to check on the house. Power was back by Tuesday night, but internet took a week. Cell phone service was spotty for a while.

I bought some more candles when I got back to town. And I'm pricing a good camp stove. Brian mentioned looking into a generator that will run the TV and the router. So, we have different priorities. But both end at the same point - being able to create more fun memories for our family the next time we lose power.

PS - Priority one on the next power outage is to loot Marble Slab Creamery. I didn't even think of it until I got out of town, and I won't make that mistake again. And they can thank me later when they don't have to clean up all that melted Double Dark Chocolate in their freezers.

Flooded

2010-06-15T22:23:00.001-05:00

Five years ago this month, we closed on our first home. Brian & I had diligently searched the suburbs for a good deal on a place with a garage. That was Brian's priority, anyway. You do enough car work in your life, you understand that a garage is where you store tools. Not a kitchen table.

My priority was having a couple of extra bedrooms. I knew we'd need one for the baby and I wanted a guest room, so bedrooms were on my list. Also, being in a good school zone. Resale value would be important down the road, and having a good school nearby is always one of the best ways to sell your home quickly.

We had a realtor that Brian had met through work, and about twice a week we'd hop in his car and drive around to look at homes in the neighborhood. Sometimes I drove around looking for the signs in the yard at night after work. Eventually, after getting our hopes up and figuring out exactly what wouldn't work, we found a few houses that we liked. After a lot of hashing and rehashing and teeth gnashing, along with investigating recent comps, we made our first offer on one house that we loved. It was nerve-wracking since the backyard was fantastic, but behind their fence was a giant cleared area where they were about to build a dozen new homes. Did we want all that construction behind us? What if those new houses didn't sell? We thought this all factored into making a lower offer than their asking price. The next day we could hear them laughing at us from our apartment across town. We thought they were crazy for not taking it and sticking to their ridiculously higher number. But we discovered quickly that the market was a lot higher for our neighborhood than even our realtor expected. And suddenly that spring, houses landed on the market and sold in less than a week. So the realtor started emailing me every day with the brand-new listings and prepared us for the possibility of paying asking price.

Ah, to be back in the good old economy of 2005! Positively crazy, giddy days, weren't they?

With only a couple of months to go before my due date, a house was listed with the right square footage at the right price. I remember it was a Thursday when I got the email. We made an appointment that evening to look at it, which was kind of special and rushed because they were having an open house on Sunday. We checked it out and liked it, and while sitting in the living room petting their giant orange tabby cat, we discussed next moves. We came back for the open house without our realtor that weekend. By that evening, we were mentally ready to make an offer and make it ours. After some quick haggling over the carpet allowance, and sadly crossing off the orange tabby cat from the written contract, our offer was accepted.

Fast forward almost 5 years. A rainy weekend was forecast for the area, and possible strong storms with tornadoes were likely. We spent Saturday miserable, stuck inside with 3 kids and a hard rain falling outside in buckets. Sunday morning the lights flickered a lot and then went out around 9 am. Without power, our router didn't work, so we had no internet. We had no television. Cell service was spotty, even if I stood in the middle of the living room and held my arms out and chanted prayers to the rain gods. I barely got one bar that day, and about 99% of the calls I attempted to make didn't go through. The rain never let up all day, and fell especially hard after lunch for 2 hours straight. Finally about 4 pm the sun came out, and helicopters started buzzing overhead. About every 20 minutes one passed over our house. Without any power or news or cell phone or internet all day, the helicopters were my first sign that something might be seriously wrong with our town.

Brian went out to take pictures.

All of this water was sitting about 6 houses away from ours. This is a large ravine next to our neighborhood pool, which is behind the playground. About 4 houses sit off to the left, out of the frame. We know one of the couples that live in the house closest to the pool, and they got water inside their home.

This is across the street from the playground/pool area. Same kind of ravine. You can see the water is at their back door.

Folks, that is a 4-foot high fence underwater, and that fence surrounds a phone box. That box sits about 100 yards away from our home, as the crow flies, in a large ditch. The house to the left had about 2 feet of water in it. The ground rises up to the main road off to the right. You can see in the background where water covered the main road. Traffic was moving very slowly through the water. There are houses across the road that were also flooded by that water.

Head on up the hill toward the west, and as you top the hill, you see a giant valley spread out on your left with a shopping center. That is my favorite Publix, as well as the home of a Marble Slab Creamery shop that makes ice cream I crave hourly. Head left down the hill past the shopping center and parking lot, where there was more water flooding a major 2-lane highway. About 6 miles down that highway to the east is where Helen & Alice go to daycare. Water covered the highway at that intersection, at least 4 feet deep, so driving further down that road was not an option.

Head back from the shopping center toward our house, past that phone box underwater, and about half a mile east down an incline, you will find a large flat field on either side of the road. To the left is a large neighborhood with hundreds of houses. To the right is a driving range, as well as a small par-3 golf course. On the other side of the golf course is the Harpeth River. I do not have any pictures of that area because the road was blocked off.

The Harpeth River normally runs between 2 and 3 feet deep through our part of town. It crested at over 27 feet that weekend. The previous 2-day rain record for the city was almost 7 inches, set over 30 years ago. It rained over 13 inches on Saturday and Sunday. Officials are calling it a 500-year flood, or possibly a 1000-year flood. The Harpeth River overflowed its banks and flooded the golf course and two neighborhoods east of us. There are hundreds of houses in those neighborhoods. Our neighborhood sits on a ridge to the west, slightly above theirs. All of that water was right there next to us. There are people who lost their lives trying to escape the water, and others who are still rebuilding their homes today. But we sat on a ridge, so our home escaped the rising water.

We made offers on two other houses that also escaped the water (both were further up the ridge) but it was all a matter of timing. We certainly looked at several houses during our search 5 years ago, that ended up under water last month. We could have waited and made an offer on a cheaper house in another neighborhood, or closer to the pool. We could be dealing with ripping out drywall and insulation and throwing out furniture and killing mold spores and not enough FEMA money to fix it all. But we're not. We have a house that stayed high and dry with an enormous amount of water headed our way. We are really, really fortunate.

Pithy, ain't she?

2010-05-31T12:19:00.003-05:00

I started back to work this month after a very speedy 8 weeks of maternity leave. One evening Brian was on his way home after working out of town all day, so we girls were on our own for dinner. It was pouring down rain, and there were 3 cranky kids in the back seat, so I stopped at the KFC drive-thru to pick up a chicken dinner. I wanted to try those strips, and I ordered some side dishes to go with the meal, but I didn't realize that the combo I ordered came with individual sides, instead of the large family-style containers I wanted.

So I got the food home, where there was plenty of chicken for everyone, and I split the 2 sides between Helen and Alice. Helen asked for seconds on the mac & cheese, and I told her there wasn't anymore, and I told her why.

She put her head in her hands, sighed, and said, "Some days are just like that."

Indeed they are, Helen. Indeed they are.

The Incredible Hulk

2010-04-25T13:29:00.002-05:00

So, here's what happens when you get a 4-year old and a 20-month old set up with a movie, get a newborn fed and off for a nap, leave your husband watching the Military Channel, then step into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Thank God for washable markers, and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.

2010-04-22T11:46:00.004-05:00

My in-laws came to visit this past weekend. They came to see all the grandkids, including their first look at Jane.

Alice is enjoying having someone smaller than her in the house. She loves to give the baby a kiss.

After watching way too much of the NBA playoffs on TV, the whole family headed outside for a quick game of catch with a football. I sent Brian out with the camera to get some pictures while I fed Jane. As he was taking this shot, Helen's voice rang out across the yard, "I've got it!"

Too bad there is clear photographic evidence to prove otherwise.

This is my favorite picture - FINALLY I got one of Jane's dimples on digital media. There's a matching dimple on the other cheek. And Brian is amazed there are any cheeks left, with how much cheek kissing goes on around here. Go ahead. Try not to kiss the computer screen when you look at that dimple:

Dreams Fulfilled, Right Here

2010-04-20T19:00:00.003-05:00

Many years ago, there was a James Bond named Timothy Dalton, who may have looked the part but had trouble acting better than a wet stack of newspapers. Plus, everyone knew that Pierce Brosnan was born to be James Bond, because he totally looked the part. No one cared about the acting. I swear it.

Anyway, in Pierce's first foray into the role, I hardly noticed the acting, because there was a scene where he drove this absolutely beautiful blue BMW convertible. Long story short, I fell for both the guy AND the car. I even dreamed about having that car. Being single, it seemed a shame to waste my time driving such a practical thing like a 4-door Honda Accord. And then I'd think, hey, that cute little 2-seater convertible is not the car for you. You need a trunk and a backseat.

Why? I don't know. I just know that at times, trunk space and backseats come in handy. Plus, I'm a Taurus, which means PRACTICAL is my middle name. And COST is something that factors into everything I do. Remember, I'm the kid who wanted to be an accountant when I grew up. I'm basically the most boring person on the planet.

Fast forward to when I was first dating Brian, and he asked me about my dream car. I waxed poetic, perhaps a bit on the longish side, about this beautiful car that I would never, ever buy. I know next to nothing about technical aspects or features or the eventual comparison to a Mazda Miata, but I know beautiful cars and beautiful men driving those cars, and the image had stuck with me. If I ever win PowerBall, that would be the car for me. Even then, I would be standing in the dealer's lot, calculating the lost interest on the money I was about to spend, and deciding I would still need a trunk and a backseat.

So. Since that conversation, Brian has been shopping for this car. Honestly, he has to shop for cars like some people have to breathe. You know, all regular-like, and necessary to continuing life. Occasionally, I'll look up one evening and notice him staring intently at the laptop screen, lost in another world. I'll remind him to breathe, and he'll just click another link on the Craigslist site.

In the years we have been together, he has learned everything there is to know about this car - how many versions of the engine they made, what the options are, and what makes one better than another. He has spent years looking at listings online, stopping by to chat with dealers and reading up on the specs. He knows the car inside and out. Me, I like the looks, and that's enough for me. Specs, schmecs.

Anyway, one evening about a month ago he interrupted the TV show I was enjoying behind closed eyes to show me pictures of a BMW Z3. Not just any Z3, mind you - blah blah blah, wipe sleep from eyes and notice it's red, blah blah blah, aren't wheels are special, check out these 50+ pictures, it's the deal of the century, blah blah blah.

I murmured something which may have been vaguely complimentary, and promptly shut my eyes again. This was my mistake. It resulted in a car payment.

Years of shopping means that once you see it, you know it's the real deal and you have to have it. Brian spent the next few weeks getting his ducks in a row and checking it all out from stem to stern. And he spent just about every single day getting me on board with the idea of buying it. Finally, he came home an official owner. Yes, we have three kids, and my husband bought a 2-seater convertible. The practical side of me screamed and writhed in agony.

Once it got home, I took it for a spin. Let's just say it's a flat-out awesome vehicle. With the wind in my hair, and the sun on my face, I felt transported back to my single days and on my way to Pierce's house. So now I know why Brian's been shopping all this time. That feeling is addictive, and it shut up Mrs. Practical for good. I know she's off in a corner somewhere, muttering darkly. I just can't hear her with the top down.

Concertgoer

2010-04-14T09:12:00.003-05:00

Back in mid-November I was perusing the local free newspaper when I discovered a full-page ad for a John Mayer concert coming in February. Tickets were going on sale the next day. I have a little thing for that guy and his music. Those early songs still captivate me. Plus, he's sort of easy on the eyes, you know?

So I mentioned it to a co-worker, and then I quickly did the math. By early February, I would be 8 months pregnant. A rock concert might not be the best place for me. Still, I was pretty pumped about the idea of going.

I have a friend through work who moonlights in event security - you know, one of those guys in yellow shirts at concerts and sporting events that keeps the rest of us from rushing the stage or the field - and he told me that an 8-month pregnant woman would be perfectly entitled to sitting in "disabled" seating, which has very easy access to the exits and restrooms. Sounded pretty good to me! Still, I didn't actually went to purchase the tickets. But I was daydreaming about it. I'm just far too boring to do stuff like buy concert tickets anymore.

Later I mentioned it to Brian, who thought it sounded like fun, but it was one of those conversations that kind of went "Hmm. Sounds like fun." You know, where you're pretty sure the other person wasn't paying much attention. So I went back to daydreaming.

Fast forward to Christmas morning. Brian had me open my present from him first, which turned out to be a lovely black purse. I totally needed a new purse but hadn't even thought of buying one for ages. So I thanked him for it, and set it aside, and that's when Brian said, "You might want to look inside it." Inside the purse was a gorgeous pair of earrings, and a pair of tickets to the concert. I teared up immediately in front of my whole family.

Brian said I could make it a girl's night out if I wanted, so I asked our Amazing Babysitter if she wanted to go. Being female, she said heck yeah. We made plans to do the Happy Hour at the upscale bar across the street from the arena, and then go to the concert afterwards.

I work close to the arena, so we were able to just walk 2 blocks to the bar and then to the show. Very easy for Preggo, and safe for late at night, too! Then, to top it off, during the opening act, my friend who works security showed up at our seats and gave me an advance copy of the set list for John's show. So we knew ahead of time what he would be playing - that was so darn cool.

Wow. Just - WOW. Turned out to be an amazing concert. We had front row seats in the balcony, with a perfect view of the whole arena. We never had to stand up except to give him a standing ovation at the end, and we had very reasonable people sitting all around us who calmly enjoyed the show as well. (Except for one looney tunes girl who screamed through all of one of John's solos, but security took good care of her.)

Here was our view of Mr. Mayer himself:

And here are 2 very happy concertgoers:

What a husband I have - he paid to let me go ogle another man all evening! I mean, enjoy some great music and a super fun night out. I haven't done that in forever, and it was wonderful to have him treat me to a great night out with our Amazing Babysitter. I will remember this concert for a lifetime. Thank you, honey!

Birth Story

2010-04-08T13:18:00.003-05:00

March marked the last month of my pregnancy, which I spent feeling enormous. it didn't help that all of my co-workers told me I looked huge or imitated my pregnant waddle when they saw me walking down the hall. I didn't measure any bigger than normal, and in fact I kept the weight gain down to a reasonable 25 pounds for the whole pregnancy. But I carried it all right in front of me, like I was smuggling a fit ball under my shirt. That kind of physique doesn't lend itself to comments on how slender you might be.

That last month, I had lots of Braxton-Hicks contractions regularly. Sometimes I even had real contractions that would last for the better part of a night or a day. Everything ached, everything was uncomfortable, and once in a while if I was lucky, I got 4 hours sleep in a row. But if the 4 hours started when I passed out on the couch around 9:00, I would spend the early morning hours surfing around the net or looking for something good to watch on TV, and then I would show up for a full day at work totally exhausted.

Life as a very pregnant lady is not that much fun.

About 2 weeks before my due date, I found out I was 4 cm dilated. So that explained a lot of the pain and the contractions - I was making progress. I got excited, and I cleaned the house and got ready to have the baby any time. In fact, I packed my bag and carried it to work with me. Every single day I took that bag to work, and every night I put it by the bed. I was ready to go, just in case something happened at work.

About a week before my due date, I spent the better part of a Saturday morning timing contractions. They got to 6 minutes apart - nothing terribly strong, but definitely the real thing - so I woke Brian up, and called the Amazing Babysitter to come over and watch the girls while we headed to the hospital.

It was a bust. Still at 4 cm after 2 hours, they sent me home. They said I needed to be at 5 cm to stick around, and to come back when the contractions were 3-5 minutes apart and a lot stronger - or if my water broke.

After a week of no progress, we set up a planned induction for Monday the 22nd, and I powered through a to-do list on my last day at work. That weekend I mapped out my big house-cleaning push. I split up the chores over Saturday and Sunday, so I wouldn't wear out too much.

Saturday night I woke up around midnight with a contraction. Eventually I worked out that they were about 15 minutes apart, and at that point I was wide awake, so I picked out a movie to watch. About 3:30 am, I went to the bathroom, and at that moment, my water broke. Wow. Talk about having been there, done that! I yelled for Brian a few times, and he finally heard me from the bedroom. Since our Amazing Babysitter was out of town that night, he called our backup - Brian's fishing buddy D., and D's girlfriend. To their credit, they arrived swiftly. In the meantime, my contractions got a lot stronger, and a lot closer together. By the time we pulled out of the driveway, they were really painful, and they were about 3 minutes apart. To top it off, every other contraction lasted about 2 minutes. So it felt like I really wasn't getting a good break, and that the baby was definitely on its way. I crossed my fingers that it wouldn't happen in the car.

On the way to the hospital, I decided to go ahead & get the on-call OB awake and on her merry way. Turns out, there was a very nice guy on call that morning, one that I'd never met. Great. I told the answering service what was going on and where we were. They asked a couple of questions, and told me the doctor would call back.

Brian dropped me off close to the door, and another contraction hit me as I was walking into the lobby. I parked my butt on a couch just outside of the admitting office and yelled for the staff to let them know I was there, while Brian was parking the car. It took them a while to realize I was yelling at them. Since the contractions weren't letting up, they got a wheelchair to pull me in. I spent a total of 20 seconds being patient while they tapped around on a keyboard, trying to pull up my information. Finally, I snapped. I was going to have a baby in that lobby if they didn't get their act together. So I very loudly spelled my last name. I figured out it was being rude when Brian tried to shush me. The on-call OB called us back at that point, and I got on the phone and told him where we were and what was happening. Then I told him this was my 3rd baby, and I think that snapped the gears into place for the staff. Suddenly, I had my wristband and I was being wheeled off to triage.

We got to the triage desk, and the nurse was on the phone asking someone about me. Turns out, the on-call OB had called ahead and told them I had to skip triage - do not pass go, do not collect $200, send her straight to a delivery room. And oh, get the epidural in her, now.

Thank god for that OB. I hadn't met him yet and I already wanted to hug him.

We got into a room, and although I was still having some contractions, I got on a hospital gown and got on the bed. I kept asking about the epidural. I did not want to miss out on that. I had gotten to about 7 cm dilated with Helen but it never hurt this much. Oh my lordy, the pain. The contractions were absolutely murdering my resolve to keep it together and focus. I was panting like a mad woman. The nurses had to tell me how to breathe - apparently I was huffing & puffing so much, they were worried about me hyperventilating and passing out.

They asked me a few questions, which I felt was entirely unnecessary at this stage. But I tried to cooperate. When they asked me about my water breaking, I told them yes, it had, and it was kind of green - that got their attention. Apparently that means there's a baby who has pooped in my womb, and that could be an issue if she breathed it in during delivery. So they got a special tech and some of the NICU nurses on standby.

While we were waiting, they put in my IV and told me they were giving me a lot of fluids in order to spread out the contractions a bit, so that they would have time to do the epidural. I didn't notice much of a change. Still very painful, and I was not handling it well at all. I kept thinking of all the women who chose to do this childbirth thing naturally, or the billions of women who managed to give birth without epidurals before, and questioning why in the world anyone would sign up for that much pain at once.

Eventually a woman showed up to give me the epidural. It was probably only 10 minutes or so of total waiting, but it felt like much longer. I had to stay still while she prepped my back, lying on my side for two contractions. That was difficult, but the delivery nurse held my hand and chattered through the whole thing. Focusing on her hand, and focusing on staying still, and knowing that sweet blessed relief was coming, I was able to hold it together for that magic shot.

We had a different on-call OB since I was so close to delivering. The one I spoke to on the phone was on his way, but hadn't arrived yet. The one in the room was there to catch the baby in case I had to push. Clearly he had been awoken from some deep sleep, because I remember his hair was sticking up on one side, and he was apologizing for that when he came in the room.

In the meantime, the anesthetist must have loaded up on my epidural because once it hit, I was more numb than I can ever remember being for Helen or Alice. They also gave me an oxygen mask - apparently all that heavy breathing that I wasn't doing right was a big worry for the baby, too. A few contractions later, I felt a lot of pressure and burning, and they said I could start pushing. On the first push, the on-call OB showed up, so he and the other doctor switched places. I was so numb - I knew how to push but couldn't feel anything. I kept telling them, I don't know if this is working. They assured me it was fine and that I was doing a good job.

Apparently it was fine, because the baby came out on the 3rd contraction. Seriously. Maybe 5 or 6 minutes of pushing? That's it. She was ready to go.

So Jane Anne Wyatt was born at 5:21 a.m. - less than 2 hours after my water broke. Most of which was spent waiting for the sitter, driving to the hospital, and praying I would get that epidural in time.

And I did, but just barely.

She came out so quiet, and I know they don't want babies to suck in air or cry until they get all of that fluid cleaned up and out of her nose and mouth, but I started to worry. Suddenly, she gave a big wail, and I knew everything was fine. The NICU nurses cleaned her up and handed her to Brian.

One more happy, healthy baby.

Pay attention to the signs

2010-04-05T08:49:00.003-05:00

There are numerous commercials on TV about men with GOING problems and women with URGES. I've talked about medical issues on the blog before, but still, this one seems radically different - like, "wow, I didn't know that could happen to someone I know." But yes. My name is Jennie, and I have a bladder control problem.

There. I said it.

Here's the deal. Every woman knows that the days and weeks following childbirth isn't exactly the ideal time to make us laugh heartily, or you'll find us racing for the bathroom. Even a couple of sneezes or a strong cough might be dangerous. But well after I had Alice, those moments continued. The coughing especially causes problems for me. After going through multiple pregnancies, I've learned there's a ton of things that NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU (my sister is vigorously nodding her head right now), and I had just assumed this was one of those things. You know, random times when you wet your pants as a 30-something adult - must be kinda common, right?

Have I ever mentioned I'm not a doctor? Okay? Might be important to make a note of that.

So last September, I'm at one of those indoor bouncy castle jump places for one of Helen's daycare friend's birthday parties (yes, I know. Sigh. DON'T ASK.), and I get to take Alice with me, too. It's her first time, so I head inside one of the bouncy things with her to jump around and see what she thought. Holding her in my arms, I experiment with a soft jump or two.

And promptly pee all over myself.

Okay, I think, that was not good. Fortunately I was wearing dark pants, but wow. Not good.

So a week or so later, I mention it to my mom, thinking she'd commiserate with me. After all, I'm 30-something, and she had me when she was not that old, maybe in 3rd grade, so that makes her um, what? Older than me? Anyway, I figure she might have had the same problem, and we could laugh about it together, right?

There was silence on her end of the phone. Finally, she says to me, "Jennie, that's not normal. You need to go to a doctor."

My first thought was, really? Not normal? And then I thought, okay. Maybe not. I mean, maybe I get to be one of those women who pays attention to the commercials about women with URGES and asks the doctor about the pricey brand-name prescription drug. It took me a few days to wrap my head around it. And steadily, over the next few weeks, the URGES got worse.

So I call the doctor for an appointment. I mention the symptoms to the nurse, and she says that sometimes bladder infections can cause leaking. Okay, I think. Maybe it's just a low-grade infection, after all this time. I can deal with that, just a simple fix with antibiotics. This doesn't have to require lifelong Depends purchases. This doesn't mean I need to visit a restroom every hour. Okay. Sign me up for that one.

I pee in a cup and give some blood, and the doctor sends me for an ultrasound to see if my bladder is doing anything strange. And I find out that the reason my leaking has gotten worse lately is due to an 18-week old baby curled up right on top of my bladder. Heart rate looks great, all the measurements are fine, and all the features look perfect. It's a girl, who's been quietly hiding out for over 4 months. And as I look at the tiny baby on the screen, I go blank, and the tears well up.

Then I think to myself, "Depends would have been so much cheaper."

Just shut up and drive.

2009-10-31T14:10:00.003-05:00

This morning we headed to Target to purchase Halloween candy in bulk. We stopped at McDonald's to get a quick drive-thru breakfast. Brian and I are playing the McDonald's Monopoly game, and collecting the little tickets like mad, hoping to win our retirement.

One of the best deals going is at breakfast, where you can get 2 hashbrowns off the dollar menu. Each hashbrown comes with 2 game pieces, so add in my large Coke with 2 more game pieces, and I've spent $2 to get 6 pieces. Of course, I haven't won a single thing but you can't win unless you play, right?

Once we got the food, I peeled off the tickets from the hashbrowns. I then picked up the Coke to take a sip.

Jennie: Hey! Our drinks don't have game pieces!

Brian: I know.

Jennie: We got screwed!

Helen (from backseat): Mama, what's screwed?

Brian: You got this one, Mama.

Name that Baby

2009-10-28T21:20:00.001-05:00

I was putting Helen to bed the other night and she asked me as I tucked her in, "Mommy, why did you name me Helen?"

Very simply, I told her that I wanted her to have a beautiful name that nobody else had, and so we picked Helen.

I gave her a kiss and a hug and told her good night. She's asked me a few times since then, and I always tell her the same thing.

Actually, there was a LOT of thought and discussion that went into naming both girls. With the first pregnancy, we had decided on a boy's name fairly easily, but I didn't invest too much into thinking about that one, since I knew I was having a girl. A few weeks later, the ultrasound proved me right. Ha!

Brian and I debated for months between our fiercely-held positions on long-favored names, and I quickly discovered there was no middle ground. Brian had coached hundreds of young children in his career as a swim coach, and saw the entire gamut of names for girls and boys. As you might expect, some special kids stood out, and he really liked one name in particular for a girl: Miller.

I had a roommate in college who turned out to be impossible to live with, but I loved her name and vowed to save it for my own girl one day: Olivia.

Keep in mind, I'm a Jennie, born in the 1970's. My goal in picking a name was basically to find something nowhere near the Top 10 list of baby names, so she wouldn't grow up as one of four girls named Jennifer in every class. So imagine my utter disappointment when I learned that Olivia had skyrocketed to #6 on the list during my pregnancy.

Brian hated the name Olivia. But I hated his name choice just as much. So after several months of tug-of-war, with no one gaining any ground, we decided to abandon our choices and come up with a different name that we both loved. Brian brought home a baby name book and we made some headway marking the names we liked or didn't like. We put the names we both liked on one long list, and each night while watching TV, we'd go over the list and slowly mark off ones we weren't really excited about keeping. I stuck to classic names that were popular around my grandparents' era, which is harder than you think because of all the Bettys and Ethels. Brian really liked Emma, until I had to point out that every other kid was getting named Emma, thanks to Rachel on "Friends."

Eventually, we cautiously circled around Helen for a first name - a good classic name that was in the Top 10 about 5 decades prior to her birth, and currently hovering somewhere around #390 on the Social Security website's list of popular baby names. We had not picked a middle name, but had narrowed our long list down to several choices that might be good.

And then I went into labor, 5 weeks early.

In the delivery room, right after I got the epidural, Brian said, "You know, we might want to pick a name for this baby." After confirming that Helen would do for a first name, Margaret seemed like a good pick for a middle name, so under the quickening pace of contractions - yeah, let's do this thing. The on-call doctor walked in and asked if we had a name yet. I told her "Helen Margaret" and she beamed. It turns out Margaret was her name.

It felt like it was meant to be. Today, I can't even picture Helen as anything else. She's Helen, and I'm proud of our solid work on that one.

Alice's name was a little harder to pick. We wanted something with the same classic ring to it, but felt like we had worked so hard to hit the mark the first time that the second one wouldn't come close. We have a good friend named Alison, and Brian thought that would be a good name, but again - too close to the Top 10. But a variety of that name, Alice, hit me one day at work, and sort of grew on me after a few weeks. Years earlier I babysat a little girl named Alice, who by the age of 2 was much smarter than me, and I had a great-aunt that I never knew named Alice that was sort of legendary in the family for not taking guff from anyone. So that seemed like a great, strong name to borrow.

About a month before Alice was born, we were in the car headed to a family reunion. Brian suggested that based on past experience, labor would be forthcoming any time, so we should go ahead & pick our Top 3 names, and vote. Helen voted for Sarah, and Brian & I settled on Alice. We were running short on middle names, but we settled on Suzanne, which is the name of Brian's grandmother and seemed to flow well between Alice and Wyatt. (Helen swore she would call the baby Sarah anyway.)

So we had the name picked a month before Alice was born, but didn't tell anyone until the day she arrived. It worked just fine for Helen, and we figured it would be okay for Alice, too.

To this day, the name Alice fits her like a glove. I couldn't be happier that we picked it. But you could have watched me faint dead away when I walked into her daycare 8 weeks later, and discovered there was already another Alice in her room. We mothers finally met a few days later and turned on each other, accusingly, "WHERE DID YOU GET HER NAME??" Turns out, it was an old family name, and they just liked it. Okay, fine. I was grumpy for about a day, but really, both girls were so cute together. Three months later, Alice Senior moved to a new daycare closer to her mom's work. Alice Junior easily settled into her role as Just Alice. But I've taken to asking the name of every new baby in the nursery, just in case.

And now, we have to find a third girl's name by the end of March. Wish us luck. This one might end up "hey you."

In Hot Water

2009-09-24T21:07:00.000-05:00

Last night we were in the living room, and Helen asked me if she could get some grapes from the fridge. I said sure. This required moving a chair from the kitchen table to the counter, so she could reach a bowl in the cabinet.

After she came back into the living room with a bowl full of grapes, I heard the dishwasher kick on. I think there were, oh, about 4 dishes in there, since I had just unloaded & reloaded it. It's got a front panel with flat buttons that you push to select your cycle, similar to a microwave. Then it turns on. No dial to set or anything. It's very convenient for a child to turn it on, and it is one of my biggest pet peeves to hear it start in the early evening, since it wastes a lot of hot water right before bath time. I am OCD about not wasting hot water before a planned bath or shower. It is my cross to bear, and no one else's, but I have set times in my head when it would be convenient to turn on the dishwasher, and any slight deviation is just ruining a good hot shower. Even with our upgrade last year from a 40 to a 50-gallon tank, I am still bothered by an hour's worth of hot water (and no dishwasher soap), especially when it's churning around 4 dishes.

And given the ease with which a child can operate this dishwasher, you can imagine that I have to deal with my OCD on a regular basis. I have come to realize she tests me, but it's free therapy. One day, it might cure me of this obsession with having plenty of hot water.

Jennie: Helen, did you turn on the dishwasher?

Helen: No.

Jennie: Well, Alice is out here with me, and Daddy is out here with me, and none of us turned it on.

Helen: I didn't do it.

Jennie: The dishwasher is on, Helen, and you were the only one in the kitchen. Who turned it on?

Helen: It just came on, all by itself! (holds up hands in air, like "whodda thunk it?")

Brian: (hides his face from Helen so she can't see him laughing)

I'm pretty sure when she moved the chair up to the counter, it hit the panel. I'm not sure what setting she used - last night's self-imposed therapy involved grinning and bearing it instead of racing in there to turn it off - but it took over 2 hours for the cycle to end. Those 4 dishes got the cleaning of a lifetime, but too bad! No dishwasher soap = second cycle for you, with a bigger crowd next time. And soap.

I know my other OCD friends would approve.

Alice is around here, too, I promise.

2009-09-23T21:43:00.001-05:00

I realize I've been writing a lot about Helen lately, and not so much about Alice. I promise you, that girl is the biggest ray of sunshine. She wakes up with a smile on her face, and sometimes she even falls asleep that way. She spends her breakfast time giving me the biggest grins, and she is so proud of herself running around the house and climbing stairs and chasing her sister, that she smiles the whole way. She gets so many compliments whenever we go out - "Oh, what a beautiful baby!" complete strangers will say. The clerks at the grocery store love her. She is one sweet little girl.

Sometimes she fusses about being picked up or having a toy taken away. That's her job, as a 13-month old, to let me know in no uncertain terms how she feels about things. And when she doesn't have the words, it's very easy for her to wail.

That's right. Alice doesn't have many words right now. Basically, she can still say "tickle" and sometimes she says "Da-da," after a ton of prompting, and "Ma-ma" after a ton more prompting, and a couple of times earlier this month she told me "Hi." A new word about 2 weeks ago was "Kitty." She says that on a more regular basis than anything else these days, but only after a lot of prompting. So she's a repeater.

I am not sure why she is so much farther behind Helen's development on her speech, but I'm not complaining about it right now. I have one 4-year old who talks enough for the entire family, so a quiet toddler is just fine. I know the pediatrician has an expectation of how many words she should have in her repetoire, and I know Alice is behind that curve right now. Again, it doesn't worry me. They both walked at about the same time, and she's a happy kid, eating well and growing like a weed. I also know that younger kids might not follow the same path as the older ones. They concentrate on walking or talking, and Helen has clearly focused her energies in one area for a very long time. It's evident from all the bruises on her shin from bumping into everything - walking is just not a priority to her. She talks and sings all the time, just to hear herself make noise. At dinner, while we're eating and Brian & I are talking about our day, Helen will say, "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" until I finally ask back, exasperated, "HELEN, I AM TALKING TO YOUR FATHER AND YOU ARE BEING RUDE TO INTERRUPT US. WHAT DO YOU NEED?" She will respond, after a slight pause, "I love you."

Clearly this was not what she originally planned to say. She wanted my attention for something, and getting it in an angrier fashion than she expected, she switched tactics. Surely, her little kid brain told her, I can't possible argue with a daughter's LOVE? Grrrr.

I may not ever teach Alice to talk.

The one with the Ariel story.

2009-09-22T20:45:00.000-05:00

So this past weekend Brian went out of town to visit our Navy friend W., and I was at home by myself with 2 kids. I think there was a 30-minute span one afternoon when they were asleep at the same time, and it was sheer bliss to take a bath in the total silence. I've kind of forgotten what that's like.

We had Movie Night on Friday, and Helen looked forward to it all day. We made popcorn after Alice went to bed, and watched a sequel of The Little Mermaid, which is more like one of those Star Wars "prequel" things in that all of the action in this straight-to-video number takes place prior to the giant movie release from my high school years. "Ariel's Beginnings" I think it was called.

Side note: Some of you non-parental types who have seen the first Little Mermaid movie may dimly recall that Ariel was one of 7 daughters of King Tritan. Nowhere was her mother to be found in that first movie. We learned in the prequel that at a very young age, Ariel's mother was smashed against the rocks by a pirate ship that happened upon the mer-people's day of fun along the shoreline. Yes, I had to watch this with my daughter. Holy crap, Disney. A little bit of warning, huh?

Side note, sequel: "After Further Thought": My parents took me at age 4 to see my first movie in the theaters, which turned out to be a Disney double feature: Bambi and The Rescuers. I'm pretty sure between those two gems of (1) onscreen parental murder and (2) adoption gone awry, complete with alligators, my parents had some 'splainin to do, too.

Anyway, the music is awful in this Ariel movie. There's not much to recommend it, especially when compared to the original release, and I wouldn't watch it again if I was paid. Helen on the other hand, has already scheduled another viewing for this evening. Argh.

I also rented a musical by the name of "Annie." Oh, don't roll your eyes at me! Watching this movie again for the first time since, well - dang, I think it's probably been 20 years - was truly fun. I had forgotten how funny Carol Burnett was, and how young Albert Finney looks! For comparison, watch "Erin Brokovich" and really stare at Ed Masry. Yeah, that's him. His eyebrows have positively taken on a life of their own.

Annie was a lot cuter to me this time around. Must be more of a threat when you're a kid; you probably take the whole concept of orphanhood more personally.

So when we talked to Brian on the phone Saturday night, I made sure Helen asked if he was her Daddy Warbucks. Apparently, the answer was no. I will have to remember that, and see if I can return these movies on time. Oh, and buy more lottery tickets.

Helen is in LOOOOOOVE.

2009-09-21T20:40:00.000-05:00

I have changed names to protect the innocent, but there is a little boy in Helen's class that we'll call Peter. Helen played with Peter quite a lot when she first arrived at daycare, and talked about him at home, but then she gradually moved on to playing with girls. To be honest, I was sort of relieved about that, because Helen was one of very few girls at her old daycare. Apparently there was a baby boy boom in that neighborhood for about 6 months, and Helen was the only girl for miles. So for the first 3 years, she naturally played with all the boys. When she moved to the new daycare last year, old habits took over and she joined up with the boys, but this new room was about half girls, and I think eventually that "playing kitchen and babies gene" kicked into overdrive, and she came home talking princesses and ponies and unicorns and told me all about her new best girl friends. This fall I haven't seen hide nor hair of that little boy, so I assumed he might have moved on to kindergarten.

So it sort of surprised me on Friday to hear her in the backseat on the way to the video store telling me that she loved Peter SOOOOO much (cue weepy teen angst voice, really) and wanted to play with him ALL the time. Turns out he's still there; he comes to school later and gets picked up earlier so I hadn't seen him. When I asked her why she loved him, she said it was because he was nice, and sometimes he played with her, and sometimes he did not. Plays hard-to-get, that kid.

Seriously? People, she's FOUR. I think I was about 13 when I went full-on boy crazy. I certainly never told my parents that I loved anyone SOOOO much. Not that I remember, at least. And the last time I actually told Brian that I loved him SOOOO much was when he steam-cleaned the living room carpet.

So yeah, I'm not really sure where all of this comes from. All I can say is, it's a good thing she sleeps on the 2nd floor, and that our stairs are really creaky. Just sayin'.

Finally, a new post.

2009-09-20T17:27:00.000-05:00

I keep meaning to write blog entries and never get around to it. It's getting ridiculous. I need to just do it.

Helen is turning into a complete and total adult, 4 going on 14. She tells me what to do all the time. Based on this observed behavior, I think she will grow up to be a teacher. Really and truly, I have some basis for comparison - my mother was a teacher, and my little sister grew up to be a teacher. They *still* tell me what to do all the time. It's one of those deeply ingrained habits that I now realize comes from, oh, birth.

When I ask Helen what she wants to be when she grows up, she says she wants to be a doctor for kids who get shots. Lately, Helen has been very worried about getting shots. Her little sister is currently in a pediatric study for the H1N1 virus, and Helen was panicking at the thought of having to get the shot herself. Unfortunately, they already had filled their quota of 4-year olds (although, knowing kids at this age, they said "we'll take one 4-year old, thank you"), so Helen lucked out. And then one of her friends goes and ruins everything, telling her at daycare one day that when fall gets here, she has to get a shot. Coincidentally, the teacher has been counting down the days in class time each morning to the first day of fall. Poor Helen. Yes, I was planning to do the seasonal flu shot, so I confirm for her that will probably happen next month. So Helen will periodically burst into tears and tell her teacher that she doesn't want fall to come, because she definitely doesn't want a shot. Her father & I have basically told her that it doesn't hurt but for a second, and it means that she won't end up in the hospital at Christmas time, and have to get a BUNCH more shots. But kids don't really understand the whole ounce of prevention thing. They're really into the whole evading any pain at all.

She also tells me that she wants to be a doctor for kids with bumps on their skin. She recently developed these spots under her arm and on her thighs, and after doing a ton of Googling, I figured out it's this. She said she doesn't want kids to get those bumps. Considering Wikipedia says they could last up to a year, it's an admirable trait, I think. Plus, dermatology? Cha-CHING.

Then she tacks on, "and I want to be a princess, a mermaid, a ballerina and an astronaut."

Okay, I'm not sure who's paying for all that schooling cuz med school alone is like WHOA. So, we're buying lottery tickets this weekend. Wish us luck.

Alice is One

2009-08-07T09:19:00.001-05:00

Alice's first birthday came with a little bit of excitement.

I was sick as a dog on her birthday. I came home from work early the day before, with a horrible stomach bug, and spent the evening trying not to see, smell or even think about food. The next day, I slept and tried to figure out how to make cupcakes without getting ill.

Somehow, that afternoon, Mom Adrenaline kicked in. My girl had to have her birthday cupcakes, and I was not going to cave and buy those sickly-sweet store-bought versions. So I mixed and stirred and baked and gagged over the aroma of freshly baked cupcakes, and frosted them with possibly the best frosting I've ever made. I couldn't even taste it, but I'm pretty sure that frosting kicked butt. (Tip: Hershey's cocoa has a frosting recipe on the back. Use it, people. You'll never buy frosting in a can again.)

Coincidentally, we had spaghetti for dinner. Alice wore hers, mostly. So that meant we had the first giant cleanup of the evening, before I could take pictures of her eating her cake. It meant cleaning spaghetti off the high chair, the floor, and her head. Then I stripped her down to a diaper, and got her cupcake ready to go.

Not exactly the reaction I expected after all the effort I put into making those gag monsters.

Eventually, she did appreciate it. I think the frosting changed her mind.

And of course, then we had cleanup #2. I carried her straight up to the tub to get frosting and cake out of every nook & cranny, and later cleaned her high chair. Again. But it was totally worth all the queasiness to see her that happy.

I can't believe it's been a year since we brought her into the world. What an amazing little girl she is. Happy Birthday, sweet pea!

It's Already Started

2009-07-01T21:45:00.001-05:00

We are enjoying a spaghetti dinner at the kitchen table. Brian & I are talking about something that happened at work, and suddenly Brian notices that Helen has dumped about 10 tablespoons of parmesan cheese on her plate.

Brian: Helen, that's enough cheese!

Helen: (freezes, fingers covered in cheese are stuck in her mouth)

Jennie: Seriously. Enough. (moves parmesan away from Helen)

Brian: Helen, I don't want you to just eat cheese.

Helen: (still frozen)

Brian: I'm not mad at you, sweetie. I'm just saying, don't you think that's too much cheese?

Helen: (shakes head no)

Jennie: Wow.

Brian: Okay.

Helen: (still quiet, head down)

Brian: What's the matter?

Helen: Nothing!

Jennie: (has to turn away & cover mouth to keep from laughing out loud)

Brian: (resigned sigh) I won't make it.

Jennie: (holds up 4 fingers) She's FOUR.

Italian in a Small Town

2009-06-29T18:07:00.001-05:00

It was 1997, and I had moved back to my hometown after a relationship tanked miserably. My parents very graciously allowed me to move back home, ten years before all the cool kids were doing it. After a few weeks of job hunting and wandering around my boxes and figuring out what to do with my life, I finally resigned myself to being a permanent resident of the town where I graduated from high school.

Yep, I went to get a new drivers license.

The county where my parents live is mostly rural. They reside in the more populated northern side of the county, which bumps up against a large metropolitan county. So I could have gone downtown to get my license, but instead I headed south to the small county courthouse, just for the experience. My parents told me where to find it, and wow. It's a tiny downtown. There's one stoplight in the town square, a few small stores, and the old courthouse. Here's a picture I found online:

I found an empty parking space on the street, right in front of the building. What kind of planet had I landed on? Further evidence of having left actual terra firma for parts unknown: there were only TWO people in line at the License Window. Cue angels singing Hallelujah!

Drivers license, fishing license, boat license, license plate for your boat, your car, your RV, etc. - all of this happens at the same License Window in the courthouse. Ahh, small towns. I immediately vowed I would never go to the downtown DMV again.

I told the woman at the window that I had just moved from Utah, and needed to get a drivers license. Clearly, this woman thought I was coming from another country (she was about half right), and although I didn't know it at the time, one vital word could have saved my morning from heading off the rails, right here ... but I didn't say it. She told me I needed to head over to the "Buchellus Building" to get my license.

"Where?" I asked, not sure I understood her accent.

She pointed to a doorway, which led to a parking lot. "It's across the parkin' lot, the Buchellus Buildin'."

Okay. I had no idea what I needed to do in this other building that couldn't be done at the super-nice, all-inclusive, no-waiting License Window, but I dutifully headed to the parking lot.

While I walked, I tried to figure out who the heck this "Buchellus" might be. Some Italian, I wondered, had settled here, of all places, and got this small town to name a public building after him! Amazing.

Once I made it across the parking lot, though, I started laughing. Over the top of the door, the sign proudly declared: "The Frank 'Butch' Ellis Building."

Inside, I encountered a small group of about six people, seated in chairs lining a hallway. It appeared to be moms with their bored-looking teens. So of course I started to get nervous that I would have to retake the drivers test. (Anyone remember what the fine is for littering on the highway? Yeah, I don't either.) I grabbed a copy of the drivers manual sitting on a table nearby, and took a number. Sitting down, I flipped through the book, awaiting some clerk to tell me it was my turn to fail. I overheard one of the moms say that she was really worried about her daughter's driving test, since that four-way stop intersection nearby was pretty tricky, and she wished they had gone to (even smaller town) instead for their test. That comment made me giggle, picturing my own drivers' test about a dozen years earlier. It was on the wrong side of downtown in the previously mentioned metropolitan area. To compare, a four-way stop in that neighborhood might be the ideal location for a carjacking.

Eventually, one of the clerks came back from administering a driver's test, and he did a double take when he saw me. Apparently that building was for teenagers anxiously awaiting freedom, not adult children returning to the nest because they couldn't make their first post-college relationship work right. I got to skip to the head of the line. Thank god for small favors, because it was at this point I learned I did not have to retake the test. Sweet! Then I learned that since I previously had a license in that state, he sent me back to the courthouse to get my old license number dug up and reinstated. I had just spent all that time waiting for him for nothing. That one vital word I should have told the first clerk? I had just moved BACK from Utah. Tips 'em off that I used to live here, la ti dah, here's your old license. None of the co-mingling with sweaty, nervous teens, none of the worries about re-testing decades after Drivers Ed, none of it. Ah, well.

Back across the parking lot. Back to the short line at the License Window. One photo session and small fee later, back to owning my new/old license. Again.

To sum up: there are no famous Italians in small rural Southern towns. Four-way intersections freak out moms of teenagers, probably because they know their own kids are so bad about taking turns. When you leave your hometown, YOU NEVER REALLY LEAVE YOUR HOMETOWN. Even the DMV is just waiting for you to mess it all up and come crawling back.

And no matter how far into the woods you drive, and no matter how short the line is, it still takes forever to get out of the DMV.

The One Where I Try to Gnaw on Her Cheeks

2009-06-26T22:16:00.000-05:00

Alice's first word is "tickle."

Really. Yeah, I know. That's what I said.

The daycare teacher told me about 2 weeks ago that when she tickles Alice, she'll say "tickle tickle tickle" while she does it, and now Alice says that back. Alice *loves* to say it, even when they put her in the crib for a nap, she'll say it to herself as she's falling asleep. The only time she won't say it is when I am *trying* to get her to say it in front of other people (sigh). Anyway, this morning Alice was in her highchair and Helen stood next to her, and Alice reached over with her hand to touch Helen's shoulder and said "tickle tickle tickle." No prompting from me, I hadn't been tickling her - she had finished eating breakfast, and I was taking pictures of her holding her baby doll. Just spontaneously, she reached out to do that to her sister. Cutest. Thing. Ever!

So I told that story to the daycare teacher this morning, and she said, "Oh, all the nursery parents just love Alice, because when they come in, Alice crawls over to the babies and touches the babies' feet and says, 'tickle tickle tickle.' "

My heart just melted. I COULD EAT THAT KID UP.

Helen is 4!

2009-06-15T21:47:00.000-05:00

Helen turned 4 this month. I am not sure where the time has gone but she is surely the youngest 4-year old I know. On the other hand, I've aged a whole decade. Hmm. Funny how that works.

Helen received many cards and gifts and well wishes from her family and friends. As her birthday present, I took a day off work and we had a Mommy-Daughter Day. I planned a special agenda with good times for her on the agenda. Helen, meanwhile, got the bright idea to dress up fancy for Mommy-Daughter Day, and she woke up at 4:30, ready to go. I had to shut it down and send her back to bed. About 2 hours later, she arrived downstairs in her Tinkerbell costume.

I oohed & aahed over her outfit. Helen then asked me why I wasn't dressed fancy. I looked down at my jeans and Wonder Woman t-shirt and thought, oh heck. Her birthday is once a year. Back into the closet I went, digging out a dress from the dry-cleaner bag that I hadn't worn in ages. Fortunately it zipped. Matching shoes, and we were good to go. We stopped by Brian's work to get pictures made.

Dear Reader, we were the best-dressed girls in Waffle House for breakfast that morning. Fortunately, those waitresses have seen it all, and they don't bat an eye at this kind of outfit. Now, if we'd shown up at 2 a.m., it might have earned a raised eyebrow, but at 9 a.m.? "How do you want your eggs, sweetie?" Nobody even asked about the costume.

One trip to Target later, we were the proud owners of a new booster seat for Helen, plus an impulse purchase of Disney Princess pajamas. Then we headed to the movie theater to see "Up." We had to get the all-important Sprite and popcorn, and of course, the movie was in 3-D so we wore our glasses. Helen was far more interested in the popcorn. I loved the movie.

Mom's Official Movie Review: What a wonderful movie! Perhaps a little scary for younger kids, with big growling dogs in several scenes, but honestly, what a great story for adults. Dear Reader, you should watch it, too. Pixar could use your revenue. I worry about them sometimes.

After that, we went to get mani-pedis at my favorite salon. Speaking of which, I want to publicly apologize to everyone in Li-en Nails for your lack of a relaxing experience on the afternoon of Friday, June 5. I agree, the meltdown over messing up the toe polish was unwarranted. Helen has agreed not to make such a fuss again, either. And you don't have to worry - our next visit together won't be for a few years, or at least until we (read: she) can manage to sit long enough for the nails to dry before heading out the door.

Zootopia

2009-06-15T21:33:00.001-05:00

Last month I took the girls to the zoo. It was one of those weekends where Brian went fishing on Saturday, and I was with the girls all day, and on Sunday he made plans to get some work done that would take all day, and I was like HECK NO I'M NOT STAYING IN THIS HOUSE ONE MORE MINUTE, YO. So I packed a couple bags with snacks & lunch and headed off for a very expensive picnic.

Actually, it's not that expensive, especially if you bring your own stuff to eat. You could haul a refrigerator in there, as long as you pay your entrance fee. I know a lot of places don't operate that way, so I was glad for the small reprieve. And this is the first year I've had to pay for Helen, but Alice was still free. So thank goodness for that.

The weather was great, and except for all the walking, the girls did fine. Alice has about 10 minutes of patience with sitting in a stroller or a buggy, and then she gets really tired of me not holding her. Let the screeching begin! The good news is that I can hold her and about 10 minutes later, I can put her back in the stroller. The bad news is that she's 20 pounds right now. So I alternated with pushing her or holding her. Helen tried a few times to get in the stroller when it was empty. I definitely got my workout.

We saw giraffes and elephants and some tigers eating lunch. We saw cougars napping and monkeys screeching. We even saw OH MOMMY THERE'S A PLAYGROUND!!! I WANT TO GO TO THE PLAYGROUND!!! CAN WE GO TO THE PLAYGROUND? PLEEEEEASE?

So yes, we did go to the playground. It started raining, and there's a sheltered area where I parked Alice's stroller and sat with her while Helen ran around and got wet. Dear Reader, that girl would change her entire outfit if she spilled a drop of milk on her shirt, but at the PLAYGROUND, it's RAINING, and she had a ball, not a care in the world.

I had to buy her a $2.50 bottle of Sprite to get her off the playground and back to the animals. We saw the meerkats and the alligators and MOMMY, I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE PLAYGROUND.

After 3 hours of too many animals and not enough playground and a lunch that she tried to feed to the crows, we got in the car to leave. She protested for about 15 seconds and then I heard blessed silence from the backseat. Sneaking a quick look as we pulled out of the parking lot, I found her head slumped to one side and eyelids slammed shut.

Thank you, PLAYGROUND.