Book character day

In lieu of Halloween costumes, my son's school has Book Character Day today. So the kids still get to dress up in a costume, but they're required to find their inspiration in a book so maybe they get a little more creative than Batman and Spiderman (but check back here after Halloween for those staple costumes).

So Mickey chose Mike Mulligan of Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel.** What an awesome story this is...Mike Mulligan has confidence that his Steam Shovel (who he gave the woman's name of Mary Ann) can live up to his lofty expectations, even though he wasn't sure until she was put to the test. I love that: a man laying staking his entire reputation on the confidence he has in a woman...er...Steam Shovel.

But that message is lost to Mickey, of course. I think he just likes how much of the book revolves around digging in dirt.

As for the costume, my friend Julie came through with the hard hat, thankfully. Pete just called from school, however, and said Mickey thought the hat was too uncomfortable to wear. Oh, well...

I got a couple of pictures, though, before he realized that.



**Thanks to my sis Judy. She passed along to me a shopping bag full of books one day and made it a point to recommend MM.

Note to self

Don't leave blogging interface open.

Without locking my office door.

Or my boy in the closet.

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Wait, we have movement

Who knows why I'm compelled to post a video here tonight. More of "talking to myself" I suppose.

And this one has way too much information in it when you consider I haven't even posted my boys' real names. Just disregard that stuff. And realize I did not prompt him to repeat it, either.

Try to also disregard the lack of pitch, rhythm, and tune.

And pay attention to the cute.

Just make sure your good wine glass isn't too close to your speakers.

Is it still shopping if you don't buy anything?

Shopping alone is rare for me. I usually have at least one of the boys or...the horror...the whole family waiting impatiently for me in the car or on the other side of JCPenney.

So when I do go by myself...ah, the bliss. I can browse and compare prices and visualize to my heart's content. Except I don't do that because I can't relax because I'm flipping open my cellphone every ten minutes to see what time it is so I don't forget to pick someone up (you'd think I had ten kids or something. Truly it's a miracle I wasn't left somewhere to be raised by truck drivers when I was a kid.).

All that mess to say: I try to have a definite plan when I shop. A carefully crafted mission considering the needed item and the amount of time I have to find it.

I had that all that today...mission miserably failed.

All I wanted in the world was a plain red long-sleeved T-shirt for Mickey to wear as part of his costume. But those are not to be had anywhere, since boys' clothing makers tend to puke graphic designs of monster trucks and boxy superheros on the fronts of all shirts.

So looks like Mickey gets to wear one of Alex's red shirts, which will probably still fit him anyway.

The other part of his costume I needed was a hard hat. Like a construction hard hat. Little boys like to wear hard hats, don't they? Well, apparently not enough for Giant Halloween Store to stock them. But fake rubber b r e a s t s must certainly be in demand, since a couple of versions of those were available. And big axes shoved into rubber masks...thank goodness no one will have to go without those this Halloween. (Note to self: wait ten years to take boys to Halloween store.)

It's a very real possibility I'll have to buy an entire Bob the Builder costume in order to get the stinkin' hat. And I'll have to go to Walmart for it. Ugh.

And I'll probably be dragging people with me when I go.

I may be the one who needs the hard hat...

I wanna talk to me again

It's amazing how a subject can occupy so much of your thoughts and yet your actions toward it are non-existent.

Like blogging.

And working out.

And unpacking those last two boxes from our move three months ago.

But we all know which of these concerns me at this moment.

And unfortunately it has nothing to do with a treadmill.

Yeah, lately I've thought about blogging at least ten times every day, but for some reason the urge isn't quite enough to actually do it. I think I'm in that funk again where I'm analyzing it way too much...as I told a friend the other day: every word I type out here I imagine some one person I know reading it. But it's difficult to consider your audience as individuals when you blog; there are too many people who read me from different areas of my life, and trying to write directly to every individual is a fruitless concept, to say the least.

So I suppose I should just get back to the basics, and start writing for myself again. I'll be breaking a number one rule of any type of writing, and that is to consider your audience.

And ya'll will just have to listen in while I talk to myself.

Surprises

My boy has blond hair. Is that "blond" or "blonde"? I'm really not sure. But I really forget that it's blond(e) until I see pictures like this one from a year ago.


It's not that long anymore, for sure.

Blond(e)? Still. But getting darker.

Maybe I take a lot of pictures of him because I'm afraid I'll look up one day and it'll be chocolate-y. And because his blonde-ness still confuses me. Although he has a smattering of blond-y cousins...equally confusing. But it makes the whole clan look a little more interesting during get togethers.

His blue eyes...they're still confounding me, too.

A lot about this boy confounds me, come to think of it.

He's just looking the part.

Parlez-vous soccer?

Mickey had his first soccer game last weekend. Yes, it's Thursday and I'm just getting around to alerting you of this news. I hope you made it through the week okay.

Nonetheless, it is new territory for me: Mickey's playing an organized team sport and I know absolutely nothing about it. Basketball, baseball, even football, I believe I could come up with one or two valuable pearls for him to take with him on the field.

Soccer?

Soccer is like a foreign language to me.

I know there's a ball. And the players chase it and try to score. Like basketball. And football. And they chase a ball in baseball, too, come to think of it.

Maybe it's not that foreign after all.

All I know is just before his first game, I struggled to come up with any pregame advice for him, since I had no idea what he's actually supposed to do. So I just said "...run fast. And listen to your coach."

Hafta' keep that one in my hip pocket for future foreign sports.

Patience x 10 = Coach Chad

...or, could be he's sneaking in a keyboarding lesson.

Whatever he told them, it was riveting to most players.

Somebody had different ideas...

Oh, pleeeease let the ball come my way.

Yeah, baby!

Not in my house!

Goalie gloves and jersey: ready!

That's what I said...

It's all in how you make up words

So today was a particularly long day for the Home Team with a lot of activities, and I began it at 5:30. A. M.

It's SATURDAY.

Anyway, by the end of the day I was just a smidge on the edgy side and not in the mood to cook so I brought home Chinese food for the family (okay, for Pete and I. The boys just stared at it.)

At the end of the meal, I asked Pete to read my fortune cookie since he'd opened it for me. Not because he was being extra sweet, but because I said "give me half of that." My fortune, as read by Pete:

"The love of your life will get you through any circumstance."

I had to laugh at that, loudly, given my current mood.

Then Pete informed me he'd read it wrong; it actually said:

"Your love of life will get you through..."

Hmm, I think I'll bank on the first version.

Storyteller

Here's proof that I do have people in my life other than Mickey and Alex and their daddy.


I'll start in the middle: that's my mom Rosemary. Isn't she pretty? She really hasn't changed much in the last...forever. I was about 25 before I appreciated anything she did for me (is that what I can expect from my boys?).

The lady on the left: that's Dorthy, my mom's next door neighbor of, let's see, how old am I...almost 44 years. She's a part of our family, too, whether she likes it or not. I think she's still trying to get over the shock of seeing a family of 13 move in next door. True, we all moved out eventually, but then we brought more little kids back to visit.

The gentleman on the right, that's my brother-in-law Roy. He and my sister have been married about 31 years (and a charming couple they are!) He owns a construction business based in Smalltown, Oklahoma, where he was born, by the way.

Roy is the storyteller in the family. Real or fiction (and sometimes a very gray line in between) the man's favorite thing in the world is to weave a tale in front of a rapt audience. And they're usually worth your attention, and usually involve a reptile or horse or some type of equipment (possibly an injury, too). In spite of living in a small town, the man has met so many people throughout his life, had so many experiences at home and traveling...and manages to recount his adventures like a Western novelist.

Telling stories, the interesting kind, is a skill I've never had; I stumble over reciting what I had for breakfast.

Not Roy. I've wondered how he got so good at it. Maybe his dad taught him, or he learned it from his brothers. Maybe it's spending countless hours at the local restaurants or rodeos or family gatherings. It does seem like cowboys in general gravitate toward...each other. And when they do, they stand around with an arm propped up on a corral gate, a booted toe dug into the dirt, and the stories flow, usually with laughter at the end.

Wherever he learned it, storytelling is something he continues to practice on anyone who'll give him a chance. Mom and Dorthy, they've heard hundreds of his stories over the years, maybe the good ones more than once.

Interestingly, he's getting ready to be a grandpa pretty soon...

...and he'll have a whole new audience.

To be. Is to run.

...and splash.

And enjoy a 90-degree September day.

For $7.87 from the K-Mart clearance rack.




And run some more.

Running, running, running...

And remember you have a brother now and again...

Overheard: the wistful 5-year-old

Today Mickey's kindergarten class got to attend an assembly put on by some of the older kids at his school. The kids were singing and dancing and wore costumes...a very colorful production (I peeked in the gym myself). Later I asked him if he enjoyed it:

"oooohhhh, mom, you would have loved the girls. They all wore bows! They were sooooo pretty! I could have looked at them alllll daaaaay looooong..."

I don't know whether to be amused or worried...

Your kids look blah, and it's for sale!

Last weekend I took the boys to have their pictures taken; religiously I've taken them to Big Department Store Portrait Studio on or around their birthdays to preserve the moment and their newest outfit in a photo. I've taken them there so I can get decent photos at a good price, and I've been happy with the result for the most part.

Until now.

Their most recent pictures were mediocre and I'm being kind. The boys were set up in the same poses they've been rehearsing for the last several sessions...so much so I think all their portraits are starting to look alike. And to my horror, the "photographer" had them saying things like "fuzzy pickles" and "cheeeese." Just typing that makes me cringe. Neither was enough to get a genuine smile out of either boy, and Mickey even looked to be grimacing.

I thought maybe they'd look better when I sat down with the "photographer" to review them. No. She'd prettied them up with enhancements (at nine dollars per enhancement) and written words on them...I suppose in an effort to soften Alex's all-teeth facial stretch. And then she tried to convince me that a package, complete with royalty-free CD (as if I'd want copies of the mediocrity), for $129.99 was by far my best deal.

At this pitch I told her "the pictures aren't that good." Then I wanted to scream "...and I'm their mother!!"

She didn't try anymore upselling.

I still left having ordered several sheets of average photos...because average is still good if your kids' faces are there. And I'd fought to get them dressed and to the appointment and having to reschedule the whole thing somewhere else was not an attractive option.

But now I'm determined even more to figure out Behemoth DSLR and take my own photos of the boys. Or pay a premium for a photographer who sells skill and artfulness instead of...meh...

Kids' faces deserve better.

Pizza's fourth cousin twice removed

If you've ever wondered how far you can possibly get from a pizza-like food, and yet still give it a name with "pizza" in it, look no further.

...and then wonder why I was compelled to tell the Internet about it.

Love ya, BC, but please, back to the drawing board.

Four: the cake

Yes, the non-toddler had a birthday cake. Yes, I made it. Yes, I'm in Year 6 as The Mother Who Refuses to Pay for a Bakery Birthday Cake for Her Kids.

But for Alex's #4, maybe I shouldn't have been that mother.

I made the very big mistake of committing to making Alex a Lego cake. So I got reminded of it every day for a week. When am I going to learn that my boys have brains like steel traps when it comes to promises from their parents?

So I was in it whether I liked it or not. The very simple and exquisite example that enticed me so is pictured here. (Aside: does anyone know how they could have possibly gotten that well-defined edge around all the bumps when marshmallows are curved?)

My version wasn't exquisite. Or simple. It took me six hours. And I sweat (not on the cake, though, since I moved a fan into the kitchen). Seems those little blocks required freezing between layers of icing, and the little round thingies (big marshmallows halved) needed to be frosted indi-freakin-vidually.

I can't complain too much, really. I knew without a doubt it would be a challenge even with the simple design. Especially when I amped up the recipe to two cake mixes and making my own buttercream icing.

But for some reason I wanted the Lego cake to happen anyway. And happen it did.


Alex loved looking at it, although he refused to eat any of it. Thanks, honey.

In the car today I decided to throw caution to the wind and ask him what kind of cake he wanted next year.

"Transformers."

"Uh, yeah, that'll be a half-sheet ready for pick-up on September 16..."

Four

As of today my house is void of toddlers.

Excuse me a minute while I collect myself.

My littlest is Four today. I capitalize the word because I feel it's deserving...at least in my little mind. See, Four seems like the end of all things babyish. All things toddler-y. Pretty soon his softness will be replaced with lean, wiry limbs like his brother's. And it'll all happen overnight.

Just like his first four years.

I have one of his baby pictures on my wallpaper and Pete wandered by and asked me whose baby it was.

His OWN baby.

Think four years is a long time?

I think it isn't. Not nearly long enough...

Happy Birthday, sweet. I want to pinch those cheeks forever.

So, how've you been?

Hi, blog. Yes, I know it's been a while...not much, how 'bout you? I'm not sure why I called I guess I really just wanted to talk to you. Well, I was thinking maybe later on...we could get together for a while. It's been such a long time and I really do miss your smile...

...I'm not talkin' 'bout millennium. And I don't want to change your mind. But there's a warm wind blowin' the stars are round.

And I'd really like to find time to write.

Happy Monday peoples...

Storming

Sent Pete and Mickey on their way this morning with umbrellas and jackets. Alex and I hover under the eves and wave them off. Doesn't take long for Alex to start weighing too much for me to hold, so I put him down and he scurries inside to the recliner and Super Why. And somehow he cuddles a Lego-built helicopter, too.

And I'm doing laundry, and cleaning up breakfast dishes, and doing various other mundane things.

My job, in other words...

It's Friday, the end of the work week, but that doesn't really matter much to a stay-home mom. Our job is where we live. We don't get to stop doing it for two days every week.

And I'm happy about that.

Especially when it's raining and I get to retreat back inside my house with a soft three-year-old.

Another first day...

I do have another son. He started back to Mother's Day Out this week...same school he's been visiting a couple of times a week since he was nine months old.

One of his teachers is a former teacher of Mickey's. The other...the incredibly sweet mother of one of Mickey's good friends.

I felt like kicking back with my hands clasped behind my head. Ohhhh, yeeaahhhh...

Pics from the day...sometimes I wonder if he assumes his non-expressive, staring into space look especially for me and my camera. I'm not really sure I should even post these; the boy looks like he's dreading it with every fiber of his being. I assure you...this IS his happy face.

Ten reasons Wipeout should stay on the air

Have ya'll seen this show? Wipeout has to be the most fun on TV right now. I don't spend time trying to figure out show line-ups, but I'm guessing its days are numbered since summer's almost over.

But I think they should keep it around, and here's why:


1. The only show, ever, that makes my entire family laugh...genuinely.

2. Gratuitous and witty innuendo that keeps adults happy, and little kids happily clueless.

3. Muddy water. Then clear water that cleans off all the mud. I love this. Yeah, it's a little weird.

4. Fun to watch the boys fashion their own "sweeper arms" at home.

5. Host John Anderson used to be on one of our local TV stations. Nothing to do with the show, I know.

6. It's truly the only show we all watch where I don't have to worry about the boys seeing something that makes me cringe.

7. Comes on at 7:00 p.m. Still time for getting the boys to bed on time.

8. When it's on the boys say "Big Balls" a lot...more laughs for Pete and I.

...oh, shoot, I can only think of eight reasons.

Seriously, that should be enough.