Owie Wednesday

Sniff, sniff. It's rough to be a 4 year old. Especially when you think you ARE as tough as the bigger kids and then pay the price of a fat lip via a flying sandbox lid...


"Mommy, stop taking my picture! I have an owie!!" Thank goodness we have a pink kitty freezer thingy to make the owies a little bit of fun. Though, the damn cat doesn't make MY owies feel any less painful than a bag of ice does, but what do I know?
Ahhhh... Finally. A smile behind the tears. She had a fat lip and a scab which meant I had to delay taking some sweet Easter pics in her polka dot dress for a bit. Hope we can get the pictures in before she injures something else...

Mine. Allllll mine...

I love my weird kids. I love that we don't fit the bill of your everyday, run-of-the-mill family...
Yes. That IS my son with hair past his shoulders. And yes. I AM wearing pigtails (though it is apparently something of a laughing matter to some parents in the neighborhood)...
Yes. Evan IS hugging a football. And he IS hiding his feet because I was trying to document the filthy state of his socks. The dirty, icky socks that he hadn't changed in days. The yucky socks that he put back on AFTER his bath because there weren't any other clean ones that felt "right." He has a bit of a "sock issue"... Gold-toe stripes only. "ONLY WOMAN!" as he would say.
Yes. My daughter DID line up her china set. Not for a tea party, persay. (though we do have a lot of those). Nooooo.... She was doing running jumps over the orange plate to the yellow cup. In an apron. And a chef's hat.
Why, yes! My daughter DOES like to tie strings to random objects and walk them around the house! Funny that you should notice...
Do you mean to tell me that most 4 year olds DON'T take their tea cups for walks around the house? Are you implying that my child is (gasp) WEIRD?

Well.... Thank you. I take that as a compliment.

The Visitors

As usual, I was attempting to do too many things at once. As I was shouting instructions for a reading assignment to Justin, I stumbled into the laundry room with my arms loaded down by stinky towels and socks. Completely distracted by everything that needed to be accomplished, I began to shove my pile into the washing machine when I SAW IT. The tiny flash of movement was all I needed; my feet scarcely grazed the tile as I bolted through the hallway, directly to the kitchen table, where I scrambled up and continued to scream like the little girl I apparently am.

"AaaaayyyyyiiiEEEEE!!! A MOUSE! A MOOOOUUUSSEEEE!!"

THANK GOD Patrick was home and AWAKE. Otherwise, not only would I not have finished that load of laundry but I also wouldn't have gotten off of the kitchen table. Folks, I learned something about myself this week: I don't like mice. AT ALL. I mean, in cages or out in fields, they're freaking adorable. I'll even hold them! But in my house with my shoes that they can crawl into and attack my feet should I unknowingly put it on is NOT COOL. That scenario reduces me into a little ball of icked-out shivers and screams.

My dashing prince of a husband, though he was on his way up to bed, took one look at me, and said,

"Really? You really can't wait for me to buy a trap later on?"

My incoherent collection of high-pitched vowels "AAAYyyiieeeeeeAAAIIIIIEEEE!!!" forced the poor guy to get dressed and trudge out to pick up a no-kill trap.

While we waited for him, I shouted instructions to Justin on the settings to finish the load of laundry from my trembling perch atop the table. Once Pat was home, he loaded up the trap with peanut butter, placed it in a "good spot" * and stumbled off to bed, shaking his head the whole time.

And then I cleaned the heck out of the family room. There was NO WAY I was letting that little guy get any ideas about venturing past the laundry room.** With 3 kids, there were plenty of surprises under the couch that a furry visitor might find interesting. Using tongs***, I picked up toys, socks, Cheerios and candy wrappers from under the couch and out of its cushions. My kids thought I was freaking hilarious at first;

"Hahahaha!! It's just a little MOUSE, Mommy! Why are you so freaked out?!?"

But as I continued with the ranting and raving over the crumbs and crud, they realized that I was SERIOUS. The younger two wisely put on their shoes and coats and ran out into the muddy backyard to escape my wrath. Justin remained inside and lent me moral support.

Once I had vacuumed every inch of our family room, I climbed BACK onto the table and told Justin to check the trap. Nothing. Not a critter. Damn. The day continued without any luck, and I somehow managed to do a flying leap past the laundry room door to the staircase so that we could go to bed.

"Can we sleep in your room tonight!??"

"YES. Yes you can. Right next to me, in fact." My plot, naturally, was to distract the mouse from nibbling on MY hair by surrounding myself with my children. They're juicier and smell like cookies, anyway... And people? I even locked the bedroom door. As if that would stop a mouse, smaller than a pink eraser, from entering my room. Sigh...

The drama continued when I woke the next morning. Justin volunteered to check the trap again.

"We caught him! We caught him!" He came running out of the laundry room HOLDING THE TRAP WITH THE MOUSE IN IT! I could even see its squirmy tail through the plastic!

"GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!" Again with the screaming and darting from the room. It was decided**** that the mouse simply couldn't wait until Daddy got home from work. They HAD to let him go. So we all put on our shoes and coats and trudged to the field down the road. This is where I am grateful to have an 11 year old son. HE carried the trap and HE released it into the field (where it most likely became a meal for a hawk). When we got home, HE put more peanut butter into the trap and put it in the garage because I knew that that was where that critter came from. And, later on, when we caught TWO MORE MICE (bleerrcccghhhhh) HE brought them down to the field again to set them free. There definitely are advantages to this whole "pre-teen boy" thing. Not enough to offset the hormone fluctuations, but advantages, nonetheless...

After 2 days and no new rodents in a trap in either the garage or laundry room, I am able to cautiously reach my hand around the corner to grab a can of tomatoes off of the pantry shelves from the laundry room. No more laundry has been or will be done by me until I am 100% sure that it is SAFE to enter. Therefore, my darling children will be making the laundry room chain. I am looking at this as a life education experience. Everyone needs to know how to load the laundry, right?



* What's a good spot for a mouse trap? I wouldn't know because I never looked. I don't know that I WANT to know where a good spot is. I mean, that would mean that that location would be the most ideal for the mice to lurk within for future attacks, right?

** Yes, I KNOW that he most likely ran rampant through my entire home while I was asleep. I KNOW THIS and I am trying to be positive and not acknowledge it too often so that my little brain doesn't explode from the sheer ickiness of that thought. Be kind and help perpetuate my fantasy, won't you?

*** Can you imagine me using bare hands? What if he ran out and OVER MY HANDS?!? Hell no...

**** By the kids, not by me. I was all for the traps that snap the mice in half as a grisly example for any other rodents who might want to risk entry into my home....

Blogtrotting: Burbs Style

Sending a little shout-out to my new friends via the Blogtrotting Blog! Yo! Thanks to Cara, my bloggy-buddy who tolerated my tagalonging* at BlogHer '09, I am this week's spotlight or highlight or whatever she likes to call the posts that are being put at the top for the moment. Check out her blog is what I'm saying, ok?

I DIGRESS! I do that a lot.

It's a common trait of mine. My apologies for the above and for any digressions which will most likely occur below. Because, well... it happens.

Plainfield, Illinois. Yup. That's where we live. I've been feebly hiding our location for a while. But now it's out, so commence with the stalking. I'm not worried cuz we have a gun.*

So, we live in Plainfield. What a fun name, eh? Couldn't get any more exciting than a plain field. Especially one that is renowned for the deadly tornado that hit in 1990. Folks round these parts are still talking about that one. In fact, when we first told our friends and family that we were moving here, we were met with the general response of "Not TORNADO TOWN?!? Are you serious?" I vividly recall that storm. It was during the days before I was to start high school. My sisters and I were home in the town nearby. We got to watch our brand new, heavy duty patio furniture FLY across the lawn. I was highly intelligent back then and decided to go out there and rescue it. Yeah... I went out into the high winds of a tornado to rescue patio furniture. Ahhh, teenagers...

ANYway. Due to the tornado, money was invested in cleaning up the town and fixing the problems that the storm brought. New schools, parks and storefronts brought interest and a housing boom to the town and Plainfield is now BEAUTIFUL. Here's a link to some gorgeous photos taken by other people of my town.

I've found tons of historical information on Plainfield in preparation for this post. Stuff like the old Electric Park in the early 1900's which drew vacationing Chicagoans away from the city in the summertime. I learned that North Central College (in nearby Naperville, which my own sister attended) was first located in Plainfield (it was formerly called Plainfield College. Fancy that!). So, like most towns, I discovered that my own has a rich and full history.

Civil War Reenactment at nearby Dollinger Farm, Minooka, IL.

Interesting though that may be, it is a bit dull, isn't it? Instead, I'd like to tell you about Plainfield TODAY. What Plainfield currently means to me and my family is a place that just feels like home. We have been met with more kindness and friendship than ignorance or cruelty. We have found ourselves surrounded by people of all colors and religions despite what the previous census of this formerly small, Midwestern town shows. Our children have opportunities to explore everything from archery and fencing to soccer and ballet. Plainfield's close proximity to Chicago (about 40 minutes South, all interstate travel) makes it possible for my children to experience all that Chicago and its other surrounding suburbs have available. The museums, stadiums and concert halls are all within an easy driving distance without being directly on top of us.

During a neighborhood party full of free games and food!

But my favorite parts of Plainfield are located just outside our front door... Our neighbors. Patrick and I have made many friends within our neighborhood. Friends who are willing to come to my home in the middle of the night when I need to run a child to the emergency room. Friends who call ME to watch THEIR children when they need to go to the emergency room to deliver their next baby! Friends that will remain within our family's history and timelines. And those people are what make Plainfield more than just where we live. They make it HOME. My children are being raised in this town and will consider it their home for all of their adult lives. No matter where they move, this town will be used as their frame of reference when someone asks, "So, where are you from?"

I hope they're always proud to answer with "Plainfield".

* Not really. But we do have ninja swords.**

** No joke. And I know how to use 'em.

The last snowfall

If I can retain anything from this time period of my life, I would choose to hold close the small moments that can be found within a crisis. I hope that the beauty of the late March snowflakes sticking to my window never ceases to amaze me. I hope that I am always capable of enjoying such tiny miracles, even while I am shivering behind my steering wheel as I wait for the battery in my van to charge. The "inconvenience" of such a delay is the only way I was able to reflect upon the perfection of such a seemingly normal occurrence. These flakes will most likely be the last of the season for us. My heart was definitely nostalgic today as I bid them farewell...

Though I am grateful for the change of seasons, winter was still beautiful and quiet. Spring brings fresh energy and causes me to rub the crust from my sleepy eyes. We've been still and slow this winter. It's time to sweep the winter clutter from the corners of our home. Papers and toys and games and crayons are piled in the hallways and under our tables. Projects that have been shoved aside so often that we have become immune to their presence must be dealt with and stored properly. Or, better yet, TOSSED OUT.

We will recognize spring break with our public school friends in 1 more week. My plans are HUGE. They include, but are not limited to: attending the Adler Planetarium to see their new exhibit, having a fun day at Odyssey Fun World in Naperville, cleaning the family room and school room, celebrating Evan's 8th birthday (my baaaaby!) and simply letting the kids be kids. Please oh please oh PLEASE let it be warm and sunny!!! Get these kids OUT OF MY HOUSE or else they will thwart my plans!

Unfinished Endings

I don't know about you, but when I read a book, I like for it to have an ending. Call me crazy (won't be the first time), but if I'm reading your book, chances are that I like your ideas on what will happen with the characters and storyline. And if I enjoy it enough to FINISH the book, I consider it common courtesy for YOU (the author) to FINISH the story! Don't leave me hanging. Don't consider yourself all mysterious or avante garde or some other artsy-fartsy cliche word for "encouraging the reader to use THEIR imagination..."

Screw that. I use my imagination every freaking hour of every freaking day. I am mother (and teacher) to 3 kids. My entire LIFE is of my own imagination. If I have free time to actually read and COMPLETE a book, only to find that the author is pulling that "unfinished ending" crap? You will find me throwing the book across the room. And swearing* in front of previously mentioned 3 children. I MAY give you one more chance and read another book of yours, but when I find out that the last page is YET AGAIN an unsatisfactory conclusion to some strangely interesting characters and storylines? I will write you off. (Ha. Funny. Write off. Heh...)

"Please save my delicate ears! My mommy really can't control herself. Just finish the #$%@ books, ok?"

* Nothing above "Shit" and "Goddamnit" in reference to the book. Swear. But it's not like my mouth hasn't gotten a little less clean as the years of raising my kids have passed. I didn't allow people to say "stupid" in my house when Justin was little! Now? Now Corinne knows the meanings of waaaaay too many expletives.** (hanging head in shame) ** So come authors! Do your part to keep my children's ears safe! FINISH THE DAMN STORIES.

Sunday Inquiry

Ahhhh... A lazy Sunday. Patrick and Justin are playing a football game on the Xbox. Corinne and Evan are outside playing. The last time I looked out there, they had a game of some sort that involved a stick, the sandbox that is filled with icy water and a football. They're having a good time, so I didn't ask any questions.

But I do have a question for you; How much freedom do you allow your children? I mean, my kids are 11, 7 (almost 8) and 4. They have access to our backyard and that of 2 neighbors and are allowed a certain freedom of our own street. Evan and Justin can go to locations in our neighborhood that are out of sight and shouting distance as long as they ask first. We aren't close to any stores that they can walk or ride to on their own, but Justin is allowed to walk through a grocery store or department store to find items because he has proven that he's fairly responsible for himself. I am trying to raise my kids to become adults who are able to take care of themselves and not be afraid of the world. I am trying to teach them how to enjoy life and all that is available for them. How can they be adventurous and confident in themselves if they are never able to take steps on their own?

So, I'm curious. I'm interested to know the ratio of parents that read my blog. Are you one to hold them close or one to let them explore?*


* No judgment on either method of parenting. Just wondering...

Tell me a story...

8:48 pm. The boys' bedroom. Justin in his bed by the window. Evan generously sharing his bed with Corinne and I am squished between them to read Fudge-a-mania and cuddle before enforcing slumber.

Corinne burrows down into the nest of comforters and wriggles back up for air only to fidget her way into a sitting position and then down again.

"Be STILL! It's time to sleep!!"

"Tell me a story. Who was the best eater as a baby?"

"Well, Justin would eat anything..."

"Except mashed potatoes!" Justin pipes up.

"That's right. He would eat anything except mashed potatoes which he would spit right out only to open his mouth up to get another spoonful of them. And Evan was a good eater, too..."

"Who was the best sleeper?!?"

"Ah, well. Justin slept pretty normally like a newborn but he gave me the best birthday present when he was 6 weeks old and slept through the night for the first time. I do believe I cried with happiness... Evan was the WORST sleeper because he wouldn't let me put him down so I constantly walked around on tiptoes saying 'Shhhhh!' or had to carry a sleeping baby attached to me the whole time. But Corinne was the BEST sleeper. She slept through the night at 5 days old! As long as she was wrapped up like..."

"Like a taco?!?" Corinne interrupts.

"Yep. Like a taco. As long as she was wrapped up like a taco, she would sleep for the whole night in her crib!"

"Tell me a story about Daddy!"

"About Daddy? Ok. Do you know how we met?"

"No! NO! Tell us!"

"Well, I had recently graduated from high school and my best friend had just been hired at a small company nearby. She called me up and told me that I just HAD to go interview over there because there was this guy who was PERFECT for me..."

"It was DADDY!"

"Yes. It was Daddy. Anyway, I told her that I already had a boyfriend but I needed a job, so I interviewed for the job and Daddy HIRED me. I remember that he WAS cute with his purple silk shirt and hair in a curly ponytail*. But he was my boss and we were just friends. When he quit to go work at another company, I was all bummed out. So, when he came back for the company Christmas party to say hello I asked him to go out for pizza with me. We went to Giordano's for pizza..."

"Giordano's! We love that pizza!"

"I know. Anyway, we had Giordano's and his best friend came by to check me out and make sure I wasn't weird..."

"Uncle Dave?"

"Yep. Uncle Dave came by. I guess he thought I wasn't TOO weird! Anyway, after Daddy and I finished hanging out and we were going back to the cars, I said 'Let's go out again' and he said 'Sure' and I said 'But this time, as a DATE' and he blushed and said 'Suuuure' and then? It was alllll downhill for him. He was hooked on your mama."

Much giggling and snorting at that thought...

"I'm serious! What's not to adore about ME?!?"

The hilarity continued for a bit. Things began to quiet down and Corinne began to wrestle with the blankets once more until Evan piped up AGAIN with,

"Tell me another story about you guys!"

"Ok. Have I ever told you about how Daddy proposed to Mommy?"

"Tell it! Tell it!"

"Weeeeellll...One day, I was napping on the couch...."

~~~

And on and on. The family stories that they know so well are what I want them to memorize. Knowing the history of our unit is just as important (if not more) as knowing when the Revolutionary war began or when the World Trade Center was attacked. These stories are the first patches in their quilts of life. They need to know that it's ok to marry the man you meet at 18 and it's ok if he proposes to you by poking you awake from a nap because he cannot contain the excitement until he has the money to do a big surprise. They need to know that no matter what, their family will be there to support them. We share a history. My stories are their stories. Their stories are a continuation of ours which are a continuation of our own parents' and so on into the infinite generations prior.

* Totally not-creepy, Random Fact about me: I still have that ponytail that he chopped off when he decided the whole rock-star thing wasn't going to pay the bills as fast as a corporate job would. It's upstairs in my keepsake box beside my lace wedding handkerchief, crumbling prom flowers and photo booth shots of me and my best friends from 20 years ago...

Sticks and Stones

It doesn't matter what other people think, right? Then why do I care so much? Why do I care what a random person says about me? Why is bugging the heck out of me that someone (that I wouldn't normally have even associated with for more than 20 seconds at a time) is most likely conversing with another random someone about the disorganized, bumbling, flaky-flake they believe me to be?

If I'm going to be 100% honest, I'll have to admit... because it's partly true. Despite the fact that I begged for help (3 times!) and tried to find someone else to take on the responsibility that I grudgingly agreed to do, the fact of the matter is that I DID say yes and I DIDN'T do a good job. And that? BUGS ME. It irritates me more than the snippy email I received. It irritates me more than the looks I will receive the next time I see them. Owning this problem does NOT sit well with me. In fact, it is giving me a rolling stomachache. And I own it. Oh yes. I own it...

Gah... I am ok when taking care of my own family. I can organize us. But to organize other people? NOT MY CUP OF TEA. Sigh... Lesson learned, I guess.

Surprises on my Flip camera...

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I have hours of this stuff, folks. HOURS and hours of videography by my 3 children. Horses and knights having battles on the piano bench. Justin constructing and knocking down block buildings. Corinne's description of her favorite articles of clothing.

And I cannot delete it. Who could delete such things as 20 straight minutes of your 4 year old talking to herself? I simply can't bring myself to do it. Because these videos are the ones I treasure the most. They show my kids as they really are and not as they behave when they know someone is watching.

Also? They make for great blog fodder on rainy Mondays...

Things I think of while driving in a van without a radio*

Route 66, stripped clear of the elms
and oaks
and shade.
Ripped up by 100 year old roots.
Their unfailing presence at every hometown parade matters not
when an extra lane means you can get to Wal-Mart 6 minutes earlier.

Progress.

~~~

"Give me that filet 'o fish. Give me that fish! OHH!"



Rinse and repeat. And repeat. You now have the mantra from within my BRAIN. You're welcome.
~~~

Tidbits:

- People on the internet can be exceedingly wonderful and incredibly gracious. My heart was warmed today by a generous gesture made. I'm still all fuzzy inside because of it...

- My kids may drive me absolutely insane at times, but when I witness the absolute friendship and care that they have for each other, the edges of my aggravation somehow dull. Nothing makes my heart smile wider than the actual joy they get from games they make up or phrases giggled behind hands that make sense only to our family.

- I am so glad I grabbed The Martian Chronicles from the library. I had been meaning to reread that book for years and years and the notion always escaped me once the shelves of books loomed over my head and my eyes and attention had to concentrate on counting 3 bouncing heads. Thank God for the ability to reserve online at 11 pm, when the heads are still upon train pillows and fairy blankets...

- Though I am accustomed to sleeping alone in our queen-sized bed (purchased to accommodate a husband whose 6'4" frame dangles from anything smaller), it still feels off and pathetically lonely when Patrick is absent on the weekend. While he is reliving his youth with friends at a weekend concert, I will be watching Goonies in my slice of that enormous bed. Crammed between our children who will drop popcorn in my quilt, there won't be much space left for the solitude to butt in.


* Sometimes being violated has its silver lining, eh?

Because a rooster by any other name would be a, well, you know...

Before I commence with this nugget of parenting gold, let me set the scene. My kids and I spent the day at our homeschooling group's weekly gathering. Today's theme was focused on China and its customs, so our kids did everything from cooking in the church kitchen (Justin chopped tofu and broccoli, though he ate only the almond cookies...) to making abacus*, to creating lapbooks with all sorts of tidbits about China. We had a really interesting time and came home loaded down with papers. Naturally, the most interesting item for my children was the Chinese Zodiac and figuring out who was born into what animal year. So, when a friend came over tonight to hang out for a bit, they just HAD to share the wealth. The conversation that was overheard is all the more hysterical when you take into account that they have absolutely no idea as to the double meaning of their words...


Justin: "Hey! I'm the rabbit. That's why I'm so fast and super speedy. Mommy's the dragon. That is SO cool. But it says she's 'eccentric'. "

Evan: "What's 'eccentric' mean?"

Justin: "Crazy."

Evan: "Ohhh. That fits!"

lots of laughter...

Evan: "I'm the horse! It says I'm attractive and popular! YES! But I can't marry the rat. Who'd want to marry a rat, anyway?" Squeaking and neighing filled the air as they pictured a wedding between the two animals...

"I'm a rooster! Mommy said so." Corinne needed no further information than this. She then bawked and did a chicken walk while the boys continued reading their different fortunes and traits.

Friend: "I'm a rabbit, too!"

Justin: "That's because we're the same age!"

Friend: "Oh, yeah."

Justin: "Mine says I cannot marry the cock."

Friend: "Yeah, that's our opposite. We should really stay away from the cock."

Evan: "Whatever you do, Don't go for the Cock!"

Corinne: "No Cock! No Cock!"

And on and on...

AND ON.

Meanwhile, their incredibly mature mother was doubled over her glass of wine** in fits of snorting giggles befitting any 14 year old. Because the BEST PART?

They have NO CLUE.



* abacuses? Abaci? I am too lazy to spell check. Much easier to write this addendum instead.

** Long day. A long day that started with me forgetting to drink my coffee*** and reacting poorly to the smoke that poured out of the kitchen at the church****

***I don't know how it is possible that I forgot to do something as basic as breathing...

****Not Justin's fault!

Stop! Can't we just slow it down?

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on March 1, 2010

Stop! Can't we just slow it down?

I am caught, yet again, in the desire to press the pause button. Why isn't there a pause button on life?!? I don't want to halt ALL progress, but the moments fly at me faster than I can absorb and I am left gasping for breath, unable to retain the precious gift that the present moments in time are giving me...

How many years do we have where my 4 year old daughter will get giddy for a date with her father? How many years before the catch in her breath is no longer for her adoring Daddy, but for some gangly teenaged boy whose intentions may or may not be honorable?

How many years can I count on my middle son to call me "Mama"? When will his love for his raggedy old panda bear become something to hide from his buddies? How will I handle it when he no longer reaches for my hand in the store or hugs and kisses me without a care for who sees?

And my eldest... My 11 year old baby. My awkward, confused son full of questions and concerns... When will he push me away in embarrassment? Will I even notice which day is the last time he asks me to cuddle with him before bed? Will I be careful to take note of the last day he is a boy before he becomes a teenager? Is it even possible to know such a thing?

I am floating in a puddle of emotions on this cold Chicago day in late winter. On the cusp of another spring, I feel the changes that are not only in the air but also within our home. So, goodbye winter. Hello spring and all of your changes... Take it easy on this momma, though. Nice and slow, please...