Crafty as I Wanna Be

I'm a wannabe. I wanna be crafty and creative and make things and stuff, but everytime I try, it feels like I'm making a fruit loop necklace instead. I like to lurk Sewing and Crafting Blogs, and on one occasion I came across this Chick, who I have something in common with from Australia. She has a a shop called 62 Cherry and makes great bags. She blogged about making some singlets and included some pictures and they were SO cute but I didn't know what a singlet was (well my brother used to wear a singlet when he wrestled, but I didn't think that was what they were) so I emailed her and asked her about them. (I hope you're working on these for your shop!) In the end we did a swap and this is what I got from her for Peach.






Isn't it the cutest thing you ever saw! Thank you so much Justine & Molly! She hasn't had it out of her hand or off her body, until I took it away today to wash, because she's already spilled chocolate milk on it. I've got yours ready to go, but have had a tough time finding a Martha Stewart Kids edition. I'm going tomorrow to check at a real bookstore, so hopefully I'll be sending it out on Monday.



Thru Justine I found some really cool blogs like HELLOmynameisHeather , she has some really cute things that she sews and I guess her husband is a photographer and the pictures are colorful and beautiful!


This is a shirt she made for her daughter.


She also has a free pattern for some adorable bootie's.
(Alas, I have no more babies.)







And look at this cute colorful little ball. I should be able to do that right? Have ya'll seen that pillow I made for Peaches room that was supposed to be a neckroll pillow? Looks more like a sausage.


Anyway I'm inspired...





And then I found this little shop (again credit goes to Justine) of prints and postcards and dolls. I'm thinking about getting a couple of these for P's room.












Anyway, I could go on for days....


So today when we went to Walmart I bought some material and I'm going to make some beanbags to throw at a target board for the fourth of July.



I can't mess up a bean bag, right?
Well, other than the fact that I forgot to buy beans to put in the bags.




A CRAFTING I WILL GO, A CRAFTING I WILL GO, HI-HO THE DERRY-O A CRAFTING I WILL GO!

Ace-isms and Other News You Can Use

Ace-isms

The round things that you fill with helium and tie a string to - aye-YOONS

Round silver things that have movies on them - DDD's

His Dad's favorite soda - puh-puh-PUH

White drink in his sippy cup - moke

Thing you eat at the movies - CAH-corn

Food you eat between lunch and dinner - KNACK

Absorbant and yellow and pourous is he - bin-BOB



IT'S A BOY!

In a stunning turn of events today, Melee' pleaded with his mother to please, please cut his hair because it was too hot and sweaty!

Well Duh!



Before & After




And in Other News

In a lame attempt to continue to participate in Katie's 50 Days of Summer
we had Ice Cream Sundae's for dinner tonight. We're going to cheat and call it Desert for Dinner, instead of Breakfast for Dinner. And I'd really like to do the post-card idea from last week's list for tomorrow. And we may finish our day with Homemade Pizza's from Week 1. Katie, I hope ya'll are getting sunshine for Girl Scout Camp!















And could we get a judges ruling on calling this bubbles? To be fair, we did pick up handfuls and blow them all around the kitchen, so it wasn't strictly slave labor.

And Finally

We miss our man on the moon. John's at camp and incommunicado. We sent him out his letter on Monday, as that's our one shot at getting it there in a timely manner. And of course 12 year old boys are too big to send out a postcard to their Mommas.

Secretism II, or Knowing When to Shut Your Piehole

A couple of weeks ago, I took John to his first private Viola lesson. He's been playing for two years in school. He started in the Fifth Grade Strings program and last year moved up to the Orchestra Program for sixth grade. We struggled academically last year, or maybe I struggled with my expectations of the academics last year, and so when it came to practicing viola, I didn't have a whole lot to say. I would make him play me his current scales from time to time, or whatever piece they were working on and he seemed to be keeping up. Others in his class were taking private lessons, but I just felt that if we could get our Math homework turned in, that was enough. So at the end of the year he came home to inform me that a couple of people from his class had made Varsity for next year and quite a few kids had made Jr. Varsity, but he did not. "Mom, it's because I didn't have private lessons." "No it's not." "Yes! Every person who got moved up had private lessons!" "You know why those kids moved up?" Blank stare. "They practiced." "MOM." "People who have private lessons just practice more than you did, it's all about practicing." "Ms. Eisher says that Mr. Smith still has an opening. She says he's the best private tutor in our area." "I know, I know, I'll call and see what he says, but you need to practice!" He has a musical ear, which he inherits from his Dad, and by the end of the year I had noticed that he rarely ever had his music with him when he played me something. And I was starting to suspect he was memorizing the pieces by ear rather than by reading the music. So I called Mr. Smith and spoke to this very softspoken man who indeed, had an opening which I procured for every Tuesday at 5:30 for thrity minutes, $17.

On Tuesday, we gathered up his instrument and other assorted materials and set off for the high school. We found the orchestra department and looked down the hall at door after door of practice rooms. Not knowing which one to go to, we headed down the row, peeping into each one as we passed to see if the room was occupied by a teacher. Door after door we found a teacher working with a student and I began to wonder how we would know which one was Mr. Smith. I suppose I could have asked the mother-daughter team who arrived just before us as they seemed to know what they were doing, but we continued down the hallway in silence peeping in the last few doors and at the end of the hall there was a door with a piece of paper taped to the front stating "MR. SMITH", we casually passed and peeked. He was working with a student and after we passed, John said "Wow. That's not at all what I thought Mr. Smith was going to look like." "Shhh!" I warned. All my kids speak in above average tones and the hall was starting to fill with new students getting ready for their lesson. "WELL, THAT'S JUST NOT AT ALL WHAT I PICTURED HE WOULD LOOK LIKE. I WAS PICTURING A CROSS BETWEEN MR. PARR AND MR. BENTLY." "A little quieter." I pleaded, because I knew where this was leading. "IT'S JUST THAT HE'S WAAAY BIGGER THAN I THOUGHT HE'D BE AND HE'S BLACK. THAT'S JUST NOT AT ALL WHAT I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO LOOK LIKE. WHAT?!" he asked when he saw me squench my face and close my eyes. "I'M NOT SAYIN ANYTHING. I'M JUST SAYIN."
"Okay, okay, please quit talking now."
"WHAT?"

All Hale Scout Camp!

John's away at Boy Scout Camp this week so I have to tell all the stories about him, that he would otherwise get mad about if he were here....

He has this tact deficiancy thing. Or maybe he just likes bustin his Momma's chops. A couple of weeks ago this guy came by the house, you know the one's who'll paint the numbers on your curb. Well we've lived here four years and yes our numbers are a little ratty looking and could probably use a good spray paint, but usually they leave a little note taped to your door that says if you want it done, tape the note on your mailbox or some such nonsense and I just never decided to have it done. But John ALWAYS wants me to have it done. Every time we get one on the front door he pleads, "Please Mom, look, they use reflective paint and if the fire department ever needs to find the house, we should have reflective paint!" and I always counter with some lame excuse or another saying "Well, who are these people and how will I know if they do a good job?" But on this particular day the actual guy showed up on the door asking if I wanted to have it done.

If you are a door-to-door salesman, I'm your girl. I find it almost impossible to say no. Baseball candy sales? Yep. Down on your luck college kid hawking encyclopedias and software? O.K. Rainbow Vaccums? I've got one. Homeless kid earning a living by selling home cleaning products? Sure, I clean. Jehova's Witness? Come on in, I'll make tea. I try to be cautious, I've turned away a few and I like the "Ignore the Doorbell" aproach, but Peach and Ace have taken away that option as they rush to the door squeeling and yelling "I'll get it!" every time it rings. So when this guy showed up at the door asking to paint the numbers on my curb with glass beaded paint, it looked grim. But wait! My husband and I just implemented a new budget and I had NO cash and therefore NO authorization for glass beaded paint. "Sorry I said, I just can't have it done right now, maybe on the fifteenth." "Sure," he said "here's my card, just give me a call." Whew!

So five or ten minutes later I head across the street to return Sunny's camera and guess who's having her numbers painted on the curb? We stand out talking on her front yard for a minute or two and the guy calls from the curb "HEY, IF YOU WANT ME TO GO AHEAD AND DO YOUR NUMBERS FOR YOU TODAY, WE CAN JUST WORK THE MONEY OUT LATER." Crap! Busted...right in front of all my neighbors. "Great!" I yelled back "Sure, go ahead!" He says "Oh and instead of twenty each for both sides of the driveway it's only twenty and then ten. Gives you the second one half price!" "Yeah, O.k." Man Charlie's gonna kill me! John runs over, "Mom! Are you having our numbers done?!" "Yes, baby, I'm havin the numbers done." It was the event of the century. All three of the clones (John, Peach and Ace) gathered around the driveway watching intently as the guy with the ponytail pulled out his various curb painting supplies. Two of my other neighbors came out to wax philisophical over color combinations and extras ("We don't really have a college affiliation, but he does a nice Texans stencil.") By the time we were done he'd gotten several more sales and had to redo mine twice because Ace stepped on and smeared the numbers while we had our head turned.

Cut to later in the evening as we're sitting around the living room and John says "Oh DAD, DID YOU SEE..." and I secretly start waving him off (NO, SHHH) and he tilts his head "Dad did you.." ("NO NO" I pantomime! Finger slicing across the throat.) "What?" A subtle head shake in the negative. "What? You don't want me to tell Dad about the numbers?" "JOHN, IX-NAY-ON THE UMBERSNA." "Why? Why can't I tell Dad you had the numbers painted on the curb?" *SIGH* "Mom, that's secretism."

No it's not secretism. It's knowing just the right time and the right place to tell your spouse that two days in to the new budget you spent an evening sweating over, that you post- dated a $30 check to some guy in a ponytail that you shouldn't have opened the door for in the first place.

Exactly how do you explain that to a twelve year old?

He's SPUNKY!

Yesterday we took the kids to mass so that they could sing the songs they learned in Faith Formation complete with sign language. I escorted mine to the front and only had to chase Ace away from the Altar twice. He then decided he was too shy to sing, told me "I need da go poddy." and ran down the hall. I chased him down the hall and reminded him he wasn't riding the Potty Train yet and asked him if he wanted to go to the nursery.

We took both Peach and Ace to Mass from the time they were babies until they were too heavy to WWF wrestle in the pew on Sundays. After each won a Heavy Weight Title Belt, I gave my back a rest and introduced them to the nursery, where they have been happily ever after. But on occasion we bring them to mass to remind ourselves that we're out-of-shape and out-of-patience. I took Ace back to the nursery where Ms. C was hosting the Toddler Room. Ms. C used to watch Ace in the Baby Room until he turned two, so she sees him from afar every Sunday. After the singing, Peach wanted to go too, so I dropped her off as well. When we went to pick them up after mass Ms. C said "When did he get SO Spunky?!"

EEEWW, Good one! Let me get out my book of euphamisms and write that one down....

Energetic
Enthusiastic
A Pistol
Somethin else
Rowdy
A Handful
Trouble
Full of it
SPUNKY (I like it!)

"He was never like that when he was in my room." she said. "Were your other kids like that?"

NO, or I would have stopped having them. I told my husband that I'm rethinking MDO next year. It kills me to even say it out loud, I've been counting down the days to Mothers Day Out for Ace since he turned two. But after the last two weeks of picking him up from his "class" and on some of those days the teacher couldn't look me in the eye, I don't know if I can do it. "Why?" he asked me. (This from the man who kept saying "You can't send him next year, he's still a baby.") "Because, I don't think I can handle having a kid that people don't like." "You better get over it." he said very matter-of-factly. But I think as long as I tell the teachers "I prefer you use the term SPUNKY!", I might be O.K. after all.

Days of Whine and Noses

I've waited as long as I can. I've told this story so many times that if I don't write it down now, there will be no one left who hasn't already heard it. I'm gonna run it by the editor before posting so hang on to your hats, here we go.

Last week a friend of Charlie's from the office invited us (as in the collective, all six of us) to have a cook-out with he and his wife. That's right, he and his wife, no kids. So I started dreading it the week before, when the invitation first came. They are totally lovely people, they've been to our house before, had dinner with us (the collective us), brought over a covered dish when Ace was born. Top notch folks. With no kids. Just two Dachsaunds. Which means they've had thirty odd years to grow up, go to school, get jobs, work at jobs, collect money, save money and spend money. Spend money on things. Tasteful things. Antique things. They have made purchases without first analyzing whether or not the item could withstand the weight of a toddler jumping maddly on it, without ever wondering about an items washability. They've had time to set up and decorate a home without ever wondering where they would lock up the permanent markers. They have knick-knacks, and gee-gaws. Not the kind your grandmother has sitting around on doillies. They have decorated with things that you might see in a magazine, folk art wooden games with tiny wood balls, a glass and brass hour glass, pillows that are only decorative in nature.

There would have to be some strategy on our part, and I would definetly have to wear my swim cap.

The first thing I had going in my favor was that it was a backyard b-b-q, so I would be able to usher everyone fairly quickly into the back yard. I tried to dress them in something that was cute yet ketchup friendly, and then I began to lecture. I lectured like a woman on fire, like a woman on a mission. I lectured with great fervor and intensity, and I spared no threat.

I did not, however, lecture out of the box.

We got to the house, I lined them up in the order that I wanted them to enter in the front door and exit into the backyard. We couldn't dispense with the entry through the house, as we'd never been there and therefore needed to take the tour. John (12) first, Melee' (9) second, followed by Charlie, Ace (2) , Me, and The Peach (4). My thought being, that the older two could hang on to the threats longer, while Charlie and I guarded the Menace and his sister. The door swung open, enter John, Melee', Charlie, Ace, Me and ("OH, no! No! NOOO!) I was two steps into the foyer when I smelled it, I turned and looked down and she already had her hand up to her nose. I squated down to get to her eye level and whispered between clenched teeth, "SHHHHH!" as she said "WHAT'S THAT SMELL?" It was mothballs. (Let me pause at this point, and say that I enjoy the smell of mothballs, I don't consider myself wierd at all, it's just that my grandmother kept them in the hall closet with the quilts which I napped on from the time I was a baby ... however I recognize that I am not the norm.) "It's the smell of antique furniture.", I whispered. "But don't say anything." I added. "WHY?" she asked with her nose pinched. "Because it's not nice to say 'WHAT'S THAT SMELL?' when you go to someones house." "WHY?" she repeated, tentatively testing the air. "It's just not." I answered lamely. We caught up with the tour already in progress, my mind was racing as I tuned in to John "oohing" and "aahing" his way through the house. (Good, nobody else noticed.) We checked out the lovely renovation of their downstairs bathroom and pulled the monkeys down before they swung off the hand-made tailored drapes hanging from the antique four poster bed. I took a cursory glance around for the next target of my childrens intentions and began herding them toward the back yard with John running a constant diologue in the background "Man, this is cool! What's this?" "DON'T touch that!" "I KNOW!" "Wow, Mom, did you see this?" "Yes, very nice dear, come along to the back yard now." "MAN, why can't we have a house like this?" ("Because I chose the glamorous life of a zookeeper.", I hissed in my head. There it is, I can see it, go ahead Charlie, get that back door open!) We stepped out in to the backyard, only to find that there are people who have yards that are not fit for children. Sure, maybe someone has kids who can go to a back yard cookout without climbing on the lattice arbor, but not me. ( Suburban Turmoil: Oh Hell No ) There was a gravel path that wound around the manicured lawn and beautiful flower beds, complete with a bird bath and a wrought iron garden sculpture. Catch the key words people? Gravel? Bird bath? Garden sculpture? Did I mention the sculpture was a moveable globe with an arrow through it? Charlie and I choked down those bugers faster than our ninth grade year, when somehow we wound up with a schedule that allowed a 20 minute lunch break. Jumping up every couple of minutes coughing "GET OFF OF THAT!" with hamburger buns spewing out the sides of our mouths. We managed to get everyone fed without the birdbath taking a fall and only a few handfuls of gravel thrown, with the all grace and mannerism befitting common livestock. (Only desert left now.) We went back in for a piece of Cookie Bar that I had brought, and seated the kids at their kitchen table. Which, of course was nicer than most peoples formal dining with the added attraction of casters on the chairs. Since there were only four chairs, I sat on the edge of a wingback chair closest to the eating area. As I started to relax a bit and she was cutting the cookie, John leaned over the bar, put his nose in the air, and I thought I heard him say *SNNIIIFF** SNIIIFF* "What's that smell? It kind of smells like...*sniff*.. Dachsaund and.. *sniff*.. um cooking. But... in a good way."

Game over.

We get in the car, pull out of the driveway and I said "O.K. The Number One rule of going to peoples houses is that you never, NEVER, under ANY circumstances, comment on the smell of their home." Over yells of "WHAT?" "WHAT!?" and Charlie laughing, I continued, "The ONLY exception to this rule is IF and ONLY IF they have a GIGANTIC candle in the MIDDLE of the table and IT MUST BE LIT!! THEN AND ONLY THEN can you say "SNIFF, SNIIIIFFF, HMMMM, WHAT'S THAT SMELL?" John contends that he said "dog food" instead of "Dachsaund", like that's so much more socially acceptable and then he said "Can't they smell that?" and Charlie yelled "NO! NO THEY CAN'T SMELL IT! OUR HOUSE SMELLS LIKE DIAPERS AND GYM SOCKS BUT WE CAN'T SMELL IT, BECAUSE WE LIVE THERE!!" I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard. Just writing it down brings tears to my eyes. I don't even want to know what they said about us after we left that house. So if you're one of Charlie's co-workers reading this, I beg you, please don't pass it on, I don't want to know. I'm not leaving the house again till I'm fifty-five. Surely I'll be able to show my face by the time Ace is 17.

Caving to Commercialism

As soon as I saw it, I wanted it. I can't explain it, except to say that it appealed to my inner Deion. We went in to the Swim shop to get the boys some bungees for their goggles. Of course when we got there, my oldest wanted to see if he could buy another speedo so that he didn't wear out his competition suit. Luckily they were having a clearance sale. And as we went to the counter to look at nose pinchers, it caught my eye. The graphic was perfect, and then when I saw what it said, I grinned. "Melee's going to want this.", I thought to myself. "But it's not really appropriate either for his age or for his swimming prowess.", I silently argued with myself.
"I know, but it's cool!", Deion said.
"Charlie won't like it. Maybe we could use a permanent marker and mark out the saying."
"That's what makes it so cool! And funny."
"What are the other kids gonna say? Plus the parents will talk about you if you let him wear it."
"Maybe the parents need to get a sense of humor. Sunny would get it.", he grinned.
"I don't think we ought to do it."
"I guess you're right. Sigh."
So John finished his shopping and went out to the car to trade places with Melee' so he could come in and choose what color bungee he wanted. And sure enough, as soon as he saw it, that's what he wanted. I was already leaning hard in that direction and so it didn't take much for me to cave. We got it home and as soon as Charlie saw it he said "Nope. You can't wear that."
"But Dad, what if we marked out what it says."
"No, we can take it back and get another one."
As soon as Melee' was out of the room he turned to me and said "What were you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that is SO his personality."
"Even if it didn't have that word on it, kids are gonna make fun of him. I think you need to take it back and get him a different one."
"I don't want to take it back. Maybe he'll get better after he has a couple of lessons."
"It's still not appropriate."
"I know, but it's hilarious!"
"What are you gonna do with it?"
"Maybe I'll wear it. Just around the house or something."

I may not be the greatest swimmer in the world (I taught them their modified dog paddle), but I have a two year old and a four year old and on dry land I'm Freak N' Fast, baby!

Musings of the Heart

A bedtime conversation with a four year old Peach.

"Baby, why are you out of bed?"
After seeing her sad face I said, "What's wrong."

"I had this feeling in my stomach that you and Daddy were gone."
"Baby, Daddy and I aren't going anywhere, we would never leave you alone."

I laid down next to her and as she saw that I was somewhat settling in she said, "Now, Momma? Momma? Can I tell you twenty things?"

"Yes, you can tell me twenty things."

She proceeded to debate with me about her current placement in the car. Why can't she ride in the front? Why does she have to sit in a booster? She's not a baby and has strong bones. Why does Daddy let her sit in the front and I won't? Until I said, "O.K., that's enough about booster seats, let's talk about something else. Do you have some more things you want to tell me?"

"Yes. Momma, sometimes my heart.. it feels like.. well my heart.. sometimes feels like it's up here and then sometimes... it feels like it's up here in my nose."

"In your nose?" Trying to stifle a giggle.

"Yes..."

"Does your heart ever dribble out your nose?"

"No."

"Don't sneeze."

"Why?"

"I don't want your heart to come out."

"Well, sometimes when I'm asleep, boogies come out and crawl up into my eyes."


I wonder what twenty things she has to say tonight.

For Father's Day...Setting the Record Straight

Dear Ace,

Last night your Daddy and I were having a discussion about you. I said that you seem to be different from your brothers and sister in your relentless pursuit of trouble and your Dad agreed. "But," he said, "he'll know he was your favorite when he sees how many pictures you took of him compared to how many pictures you took of the others." So I'm setting the record straight.

Number 1

Mostly I take a a lot of pictures of you getting in to trouble, because I'm afraid no one's going to beleive me, therefore I need proof.

Number 2

I'm not expecting or chasing another baby right behind you, to distract me from cataloging just exactly how cute you are.

Number 3

I'm afraid if I take too many pictures of Peaches, I'll get accused of liking the girl the best.

Number 4

Your big brothers are never around reeking havoc the way you do. There are only so many pictures a mom can take of two slugs playing video games.

Now, to the rest of you guys,

Momma did the best she could when you were little. John, we took a lot of pictures of your cuteness and Nanna took even more because you were the first baby in the family. Melee' you probably have the fewest pics because we moved three times when you were little, I took alot when we lived in Groesbeck, but when we got to Forney, I'm not sure what happened. However, rest assured I have lot's of pictures of your cuteness and you were the only one outgoing enough to have a picture of you dancing the Macarena on a table with the waiter at Joe's Crab Shack. It doesn't get any cuter than that! And Peaches, your cuteness speaks for itself, you've got plenty of pics.

So in the interest of fairness, I will now go hunt each of you down and take a picture...

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!

HOME, THEN IT'S SATURDAY!

We ended the week on a high note. It was Water Day, which meant 2 things. Number one, I didn't have to pack any lunches as all the classes either ordered in pizza or McDonald's. And number two, I didn't have to create any big time fillers as the Water Play portion of the day runs everything else short. A fairly stress free day.






Well, except for the fact that Ace wouldn't put on his swim diaper and the report was that he stood naked on the table screaming "NO!" when she told him it was time to put it on. After having had conversations with his teacher all week I can't decide whether she's apologizing to me, or I'm apologizing to her.
"Ace wouldn't let me put his swim diaper on today."
("I'm sorry I can't control your child any better than this.")
"I'm sorry, he usually puts the swim diaper on and then doesn't want his bathing suit on. I forgot to tell you."
("NO, NO! I'M sorry my child is SO uncontrollable.")
"Well, I told him it was o.k., I didn't want to be mean."
("No really, it's all my fault.")
"I'm sorry, I should have come down when it was time to change."
("NO, it's not You, it's ME!")

I feel like I owe her a mid-term teacher gift.


Aaahhh! The weekend to rest and relax. Except for the swim meet tomorrow, it's our last! And our last chance to improve those Freestyle times!

Proud to Be Catholic American Kids

The theme for Summer Faith Formation 2006

The Politically Correct Version of the Theme Song.

The Cookie Monster

Let's see, Day Three Faith Formation... here's the highlights...

Trouble right from the start.

Got our cute shirts.

Made an apple pie and talked about using our talents.

I'm totally exhausted.

On Monday I packed everybody a standard lunch, sandwich, bag 'o chips, couple of cookies and a juice. Well in Ace's class they give us a little report everyday, which by the way, I feel is totally overdoing it. If you get through the day and your not bleeding and he's only wearing a couple of bandaids but can still walk a straight line, I say "Job well done, good and faithful women." So anyway, the first day when I go to pick him up, she explains that he's wearing his swim diaper because I evidently only put one real diaper in his bag, my own dumb fault and hey no explanation necessary! and then on the report it goes on to say that he ate everything in his lunch and was still hungry and asked for some yogurt. (Which of course no one had.) So now I'm feeling really guilty, not only is he the only nerd wearing a swim diaper, he's a poor, hungry, overlooked baby. On Tuesday, I'm looking around to pack him a better lunch, but I really don't have the supplies necessary to do the job. I pack the obligatory sandwich, chips, I find some grapes (cool), but I'm down to one cookie so I throw that in and up the ante with a small 4 pack of powdered donuts. Nutritionally speaking, not the "A" I was hoping for, but nobody's going home hungry today, I got you covered little man. Diapers? Three...count em...three. So at the end of the day I go to pick him up and the teachers helper says "He wouldn't eat his sandwich today so we wouldn't let him eat his donuts." Everybody with me? Baby got a couple of grapes, some chips and a cookie. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE! I LOVE YOU, I'M REALLY TRYING TO LOVE YOU, I KNOW WHAT HE'S LIKE, I KNOW WHAT HE'S CAPABLE OF. I'VE BEEN PRAYING FOR YOU TWO FOR THE LAST TWO DAYS BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT A HANDFUL HE IS! DO I LOOK LIKE AN UPTIGHT BITCH WHO'S GONNA GET ANGRY IF YOU LET MY KID EAT THE DONUTS AND NOT THE SANDWICH?! O.K., maybe there's a concern on your part that grapes + a cookie + a juice + powdered donuts = Trouble. Got it. So today, the standard sandwich, chips, bag 'o cookies and a juice + I tell the helper "I really don't care what he eats today, if he'll eat the sandwich great, if not, no big deal. I mean, sure, if you want to try to make him eat the sandwich first, I'm fine with that. It's just that he likes hot dogs better, and I just didn't have any today, so.. you know.. whatever.. how ever it works .. for you I mean.." *sigh* I pick him up, didn't eat his sandwich, they wouldn't let him have his cookies. So tonight I schlepped to the store and tomorrow, he will have a hot dog, yogurt, milk, an apple and perhaps I'll hide the cookies in a super secret side compartment of the lunchbox.

How is it possible for me to have four children and not have my act together?

Fast and the Furious 2

Right now,
for the third time this day,
You are on Your prone and
You are God Alone.

(an Ode' to Phillips Craig & Dean - You are God Alone ...by my four year old.)

Faith Formation Day II

Today we had to put the Skater Boys on their heels. We had two boys who came to class with Tennis Shoes that have skates on the inside that pop out. Not a good scene. But otherwise they were all really attentive and very good about participating. Faith Formation is a little different than VBS because we have a curriculum of lessons that we have to cover over the two weeks. The other option is for the kids to go once a week during the school year. Tomorrow we're baking apple pies and talking about using our talents. I made the mistake of telling Melee' that next week we were going to play baseball in class. I guess I didn't finish my thought and tell him that it was a quiz game, or at least until today. He busted out crying and said "Why does it have to be a quiz? I thought we were gonna play baseball!" I almost said "Cause honey, if I don't give you a quiz, how are you gonna get to heaven?" But as he has no sense of humor unless it's his own, I kept it to myself. You just have to know Jesus is at work somewhere, because the scope of learning is definitely limited.

My favorite part is the singing. I love to sing, but I can't. But during Faith Formation, I don't let little things like pitch and tune stop me. (And I try not to stand anywhere near my kids, cause they don't have any trouble telling me to quit.) We always start each session in the large hall with all the classes singing songs and doing motions and watching those Pre-K babies is the best! That, my friends, is a little slice of heaven, right here on earth! Then we head home and pop in that CD and listen to them sing all the songs..when I turn around in my seat, Ace always is singing with his eyes closed with Great Rock Star intensity! It makes it my day!

Today was Bubble Day at Katie's, we made Eagle's out of paper bags, which I can't show you because I didn't bring one home.

Father Abraham had many thumbs...

****





Father Abraham had many thumbs,
Many thumbs had Father Abraham,
I am one of them
and so are you,
So let's just pray the Lord.


Right Arm,
Left Arm,
Right Foot,
Left Foot,
Chin up,
Turn around,
Sit Down!



The Joys of Faith Formation. They are MANY! Today was no exception! The first day is always tough, I'm nervous. Will I get there on time? (Always number one on my worry list.) Will there be a melt down while dropping off toddlers? What should the kids call me? I always feel weird having them call me by my last name, I guess mostly it just makes me feel old. I'm a teachers helper and MY teacher is a true third grade teacher in her LBK (Life Before Kids). So I don't worry too much about lessons, just whether or not the kids will like me, and also whether or not they'll mind me. (Mine don't, so why would anyone else's?) Notice I didn't worry at all about anything the Lord might have in store. I could say that it's because I'm such an enlightened person, and my hope is in the Lord, but the truth is, the Lord probably hopes I get a little more conscience in the next two weeks. What can I say, I'm more a Martha than a Mary; "Get off your butt and help me with these crayon shavings, for crying out loud!" This year we have third grade again, but Melee' is in my class and also one of my neighbors kids and her cousin and several other kids I know since they are Melee's age. Right off the bat I warned Suzie about the kid with the reputation, you know there's always one. So she sets off on her "Welcome to the Class" Introduction and she wants everybody to either tell something funny or do something funny and as an example, she showed them how she can cross one eye. She goes around the room and we get a couple of gags, popping thumbs and joints and one very impressive fist in the mouth (?), and we get to "The Kid" and he says, "I have a joke." and she says "O.K." and he says "What happens when a politician takes Viagra?" I don't know how she maintained her composure, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and I had to turn around so as not to giggle in front of the crowd. She said "Um, I don't know?" and he said "They get taller." and she briskly went on down the line and ignored the crowds questions of "What's Viagra?" Oh MAN! Good Times!

I was reluctant to have Melee' in my class and started to request that he not be in my class, but I was afraid he would have his feelings hurt. So I acually request that he be in my class instead. Big mistake. Huge. He goes from totally not paying attention to stabbing his hand in the air like Horshack and squealing "OOO! OOOO! OOOO!" Then she calls on him and he says "Um, ... I forgot." Meanwhile I'm slumping lower and lower into my teacher's helper chair. So instead of having a fun, care-free, VBS-like experience this year, he's going to get a nightly lecture on Proper Classroom Etiquette and Chewing without Talking. *sigh* Simply trying to help squish his self-esteem just a little lower.

And as promised, my crafty contribution to the 50 Days of Summer . This is one of the "Stained Glass" Windows we made today with wax paper and crayon shavings. You can't see in the picture, that we actually drew a design on the inside of the wax paper with black permanent marker to mimic actual pieces of stained glass. I'm not very good at letting the kids have their way with things. I'm sort of a control freakish, so had I had my way, I could have limited the amounts of shavings and the color combinations for maximum effect, but hey, they had fun and that's the point I guess. (She said rather poutily.)

MIA ... Oscar the Grouch

You know that saying your Momma always told you, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? Well that's me, to the tenth power. I have been a GROUCH! Don't even get me started....


I'm participating in Katie's

Check it out, it's gonna be fun! I love her ideas, it keeps me from having to use my brain!

We'll be doing things a little differently for the next two weeks, because I'm a teacher's helper at Faith Formation. I'll be getting up everyday and taking my four to Church. Melee' is the only one who actually has class, John's being a helper in Kindergarten, Peaches is in the Pre-K class, and Ace is with the 2-3 year olds, ya'll throw up a quick prayer for his teacher, she's gonna need it. I multiplied the sack lunches and I'll be making 50 of those over the next 10 days. In our third grade class, we'll be making some stained glass windows today and in the spirit of 50 Days of Summer, I'll try to come back and post a picture when we get back this afternoon. That's assuming it works, and that I didn't break my iron when I dropped it this morning.

Gotta run, I've got to cut out window frames for fourteen. (Change a diaper, brush hair, clean up powdered donuts, break up a wrestling match, call the Mom whose kid I'm picking up, check my lipstick, take my class sign away from Ace and put his shoes back on, find my keys, yell at the boys for not brushing their teeth after I've asked them to do it three times, load the kids in the car, go back in the house for four things I forgot, find my keys again....

Another Before and After

First impressions are very important. Everybody says so, right? So in the spirit of first impressions, let me give those of you who don't know me, a quick tour of the "play" room.

This is the couch my mom gave me when she got a new one. I love red. Toys are mostly secured in the basket, a few flank the couch. My Mom does all my decorating and purchases most of my furniture. I'm not a mooch really, she just finds the purchases necessary way before I find them necessary, therefore beating me to the punch.

I took these pictures in the morning, so you can't see the great view out my window (just as well, my lawn's not mowed), but you'd be able to see my Mother's Day Flowers peeking up out of the front flower bed.

And yes, it's a recliner. I can't help it, I know it goes against the guidelines of tasteful decorating. But, I love a good rocking chair, or two. Good for baby rocking and story times, and if you're lucky a good nap. It's hiding the play kitchen.

And then there is the BEFORE...

A cautionary tale about what you'll face first thing in the morning, if you don't have the intestinal fortitude to make your kids pick up before they go to bed....

Nek-kid Thursday

We're in to the Naked Year. Everytime I turn around, this turkey has his diaper ripped off.

Career Choices

On occasion, when I’m feeling thrifty, and my kids are feeling lucky, they let me cut their hair. My husband is the brave person who started me cutting people’s hair without a license. I’ve thought about going to Hair Design School. Do I really have that much time on my hands? Do I have that much extra money layin’ around? Do I really want a job where people, who look like me, come in and say “I want my hair to look just like this.” as they hand me a picture of Julia Roberts? Talk about pressure. And let’s face it; I’m not really chatty when you get down to it. Sure if you talk to me, I’m totally gonna talk to you, but for it to be on my shoulders to keep a running dialogue for 30 to 45 minutes or so? I suppose I could bring the 4 year old to work with me and say “This is my daughter Peaches, she’ll be your chat-girl for today.” Do they tip the chat girl? They should. I really hate sitting silent in the chair while everyone else is having chit-chat all around me. Is it me? Do I smell? Should I say something first? And then to know that without a shadow of a doubt, they’re just going straight home to rewash it and restyle it because they hate the way you fix it. I don’t think I can take the stress of it all. I guess I’ll stay an amateur, but I picked out the name for my shop…

HILLBILLY HAIRCUTTERS

Where you’re always one drink away from a good buzz.

Gag Me with a Spoon

My brother called me tonight and relayed the saga of his nine year old's healing of the tonsilectomy. He said Saturday night she started screaming from the bathroom and when he got in the bathroom, he said it looked like someone had slit her throat. He said her entire face and shirt were covered in blood, there was blood all over the bathroom and she was hysterically crying and saying she was bleeding to death. Of course the doctor's had said that there would be some bleeding when the scabs (echhh) came off, etc. etc... but he said he was totally freaked out and she was terrified-freaked out, and it looked like she had thrown up a large part of her liver. (EEEWW, aren't you glad you tuned in?) So they gathered her up and rushed her to the emergency room. Long story short, as soon as she got a bed in the ER she went to sleep like she'd never slept before. She had hardly eaten a thing all week and the scabs and the blah, blah....Girl was wiped OUT! Had a little snooze, two hours of faunt-la-raunt in the Emergency room and they sent her home recovering as per outlined. Of course she's having a drainage issue, which upsets her stomach, which further led us to the following philosophical discussion....

"Dude, can you hock a lugie?"

"No."

"Like, when you cough, and that stuff comes up in the back of your throat you just swallow it?"

"Yea."

"That affirmative was way too fast."

"Well, in my old age, if it comes almost entirely up, then yes I'll spit it into a Kleenex. But if I'm gonna have to work at gettin it up....no."

"WHAT?"

"I'd throw up!"

"That's what Annie said, 'I can't do that, I'd vomit!'"

"Well it's true, it's a girly thing."

"Dude."



I'm thinkin' that whole eye-drop thing is lookin' pretty good.

CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME ?!

Everybody can hear me. The neighbors on the next block can hear me because it's only 2:30 and I'm already yelling at the top of my lungs.

Friday we went to the Dr. for 12 to have a camp physical and since I was going anyway I took 2 and 4 for possible Pink Eye and to have the Dr. look at Ace's chronic excema. Melee' was the only one who didn't have to be there, but he was the first one to start crying because he needed to have a drink of water and would die if he didn't get one within the next 60 seconds.

At any rate, this is day 3 of the Eye Drop Standoff. If anyone has a solution for me, comment quick because we've got dose number three coming up and I might possibly kill her this time. It took my husband and I both to simultaniously hold her down and berate her till we had spilled five or ten drops in the general area of her eye, but alas none actually IN the eye. It's all fun and games at the beginning, "Come on now, this won't hurt. It's just a little cold. It doesn't sting at all. Look Ace got his drops and he didn't cry at all. You can do it. Yes, you can. You're a Big Girl. Come on now, put your hands down. Peaches, if you don't put your hands down I'm gonna have to hold em down." "But Momma, can I tell you just one more thing." *sigh* "Yes baby, one more thing" "Um, Momma.... um... um... do I have to leave my eyes closed for two minutes?" "Yes, I'm going to put in the drop and then you're going to close your eye for two minutes. Here we go." "WAIT! But Momma, But MOMMA, can I just say One more thing?" Bigger *Sigh* "ONE MORE thing Peach!" "Um... Um... Momma? Momma? Um... Are you going to hold my head again." "If you tilt up I will have to hold your head down or the drop will come right out. O.K., move you're hands now." "BUT! BUT! BUT MOMMA! WAIT!" "PEACH! That's enough already, we're putting in the drops now.!"

Screaming....wailing....squirming....thrashing....teeth gritted...yelling....drops everywhere...

"Wait a minute, you're not getting them in her eye! That's on her eyelash!"
"If she blinks they'll go in!"
"No they won't!"
"Yes they will! I wore contacts, I know about drops!"
"Give it to me!"
"Just put it in the corner of her eye, then she can blink!"
"She's supposed to leave her eyes closed for two minutes with the drop in the eye, you're just wasting them!"
"PEACHES BE STILL!"
"OWW THAT HURTS! YOU'RE HOLDING MY HEAD TOO TIGHT!"
"OPEN YOUR EYES!!!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

All the while Ace is hitting me with something I can't totally see out of the corner of my eye, because I'm hurting his sister.

Then she's fine, like nothing ever happened. My blood pressure couldn't be any higher. My nerves are strung so tight I could jump to the moon. I leave the room, at once wanting to strangle her or run away from home because I've just tortured my child. Today I told her if she threw a fit, she couldn't play in the baby pool after nap. She said "Can I cry and not throw a fit and still play in the pool?" "Yes, you can cry, but no throwing a fit. Be still now and open your eye." "BUT MOMMA, BUT MOMMA WAIT, WAIT... CAN I JUST SAY ONE MORE THING?!"

"WE ARE THE SHARKS, THE MIGHTY-MIGHTY SHAARKS...

O.K., I'm trying to have fun with this whole swim team thing. I know, we just signed up for the exercise. I know, he really wasn't into it from the beginning, he wants to be a professional baseball player. But is it too much to ask that one of those 19 year old coaches, take him aside and give him a little one-on-one advice about the modified dog paddle? For crying out loud, he's the only nine year old who won't dive in off the blocks, does that not call for a little extra attention? Would you not be "takin' one for the team" if you went over and gave him 10 minutes of your sage advice and skills? It's not for me, really it's not. I'm not that competitive. And yes, I worry about the giggling and finger pointing, but only for him! He can't handle it! At the meet, during warm-ups yesterday, I was trying to take pictures and a little video, but I couldn't do it. There he is flailing about in the last lane, working on his first lap when everyone else is working on their third. Two flails, stop and breathe, three flails and a kick, stop and adjust the goggles, two flails a kick, stop to push the hair out of his eyes. If I didn't know this kid, I'd think he didn't know how to swim. I stood there video camera by my side, mesmerized. It's like an accident you can't look away from. One of the coaches walked closer to me, wondering what I was doing, and I pointed and said "Don't you think that kid needs some help?" And he watched for a second and half-heartedly said "No, he's doing fine. Needs a cap to keep that hair out of his face though." I could've shoved him in the pool. I wanted to say "LOOK AT HIM MAN! IF YOU WERE NINE, YOU'D BE LAUGHING AT HIM! Don't think I don't know how kids are! Get your LAZY speedo wearing, college ass in that pool and teach him how to swim! If you can't do it for me, do it for him, do it for competitive swimmers everywhere!"



*sigh* I guess I'll break down and pay five bucks for a swim clinic next week. It's not in the budget, but I may even spend the twenty for a private lesson. I KNOW! THERE'S ONLY TWO MORE MEETS, BUT I CAN'T TURN A BLIND EYE TO THIS TRAVESTY! And yes, he has a cap, he just can't remember to wear it and BECAUSE I HAVE TO VOLUNTEER FOR SEVEN SHIFTS, I CAN'T BE THERE TO MAKE SURE HE HAS IT ON!

Take a Deep Breath...Breathe In...Slowly Release....

I was thinking about taking the herd to see Over the Hedge today. But between reading Chris's Post yesterday and all the corresponding comments and watching a rerun of Oprah's Bird Flu episode, I'm feeling a little queasy about leaving the house. I saw the rerun on Tuesday, so yesterday when we did our big Sam's shop (and fortunately used the family bathroom), I made sure to buy a 24 pack of Brita Water Filters. Because everyone knows that the Brita Water Filtration system is one of the sure ways to decontaminate water after the entire economy plunges into total chaos, 24 hours after the first report of Bird Flu in the U.S. And we searched high and low for those darned face masks and I guess there's already been a run on them. Or even worse, all the Senators have used their connections in the drug industry to make sure they are well stocked on said face masks, leaving the masses to try to defend ourselves with bandanas. I was considering putting together an impromptu garage sale (is there any other kind?) because I might have enough hand-me-downs to raise funds for a generator. Bird flu or not, hurricane season is upon us. Plus I could use some extra cash to start stocking up on Arbonne Protein Shakes. I figure I could get through a 6 to 8 week period without ever having to go to the grocery store.

I come by it honest, my Mom is a World Class Worrier. She called me the first time Oprah's Bird Flu was on and gave me several tips on things I should be stockpiling. And when Rita came through the Houston Area last year we evacuated a day and a half before the Gov. called for it. We headed for Mom's place in North East Texas and on the day of the hurricane I went over to the local Walmart where there was pandemonium and a run on potted meats. I had just gone to pick up a loaf of bread and a bag of ice, but I got caught up in the panic and left with a basketful of Ravioli and Spagettios. Man did I have a knot in my stomach! The old people, the elbows flying, you could taste the terror in the air. (If you're not familiar, ya'll get out a map. We were in Canton.)

So I'm gonna try to stand down. Do some breathing techniques. Say a prayer. Get out the Movie Times and make sure everyone goes to the bathroom before we leave or is wearing their Depends.