Space

I overheard this conversation the other day while Hubby was on the phone with a client, and the kids were playing ninja in the living room while watching a movie:

"Hello? Hello? Yes, yes this is he. Sorry it's a little... I'm sorry? Oh, you're looking to buy a phone? No, I don't sell phones... OH! Yes, I sell homes! Sorry! Do you know what you're qualified for?... Oh, well one point two five million is quite nice, unfortunately our area is a little limited--oh I'm sorry! Yes, there's plenty for one hundred twenty five thousand-- what was that? I didn't hear that last part?? Wow! You have forty five thousand to put down! Fantas--I'm sorry? Oh, uh yes, we can close in forty-five days! Sorry, it's just a little loud--what? Yes sir, two boys. Um, 5 and 3... yes I do want your business. Let me just step away from all the noise..."

...and with a glare in my direction, into the garage Hubby went. After a few minutes I peeked out to see him bent over the hood of the car, scribbling on the back of a paper bag. We later discussed that Hubby needed some kind of office. Unfortunately when you live in a sardine can-sized house, space is limited. Once he found some grocery receipts mixed in with his client's lunch receipts, and another time there were so many coloring pictures scattered across the computer table we had to break out an ax to find the mouse! This was a disaster!

We needed a quick-fix solution, so we decided to put the boys together in Jake's room, and we'd turn Ben's room into an office/play room. The boys thought it was a fabulous idea, and last night Ben happily trooped into Jake's room to sleep!
Here they are getting ready for bed (the calm before the storm):

It's surprising how much space is in Jake's room! With two twin beds, a dresser, and a bookshelf, there's still plenty of room to play and walk around! Eventually I think we'd like to get bunk beds, or at least matching twin bed frames, but for now it provides a temporary solution to our overwhelming problem.

However, last night was a disaster getting everyone to sleep. Daddy had to stand in the doorway, and even then only Ben fell asleep at a "reasonable" nine o'clock! Then Jake couldn't stand the extra "breathing" and ended up falling asleep in my bed at nine thirty! This is going to be a looong weekend.

Of course I told Hubby that with the boys sharing a room I'd need to make it "cute" and get matching quilts and coordinating wall decor. He just sadly nodded. It was a cost he'd apparently calculated beforehand, but new it was a sacrafice he'd just have to make. Little does he know that I've been wanting to re-do the bathroom, too! Hey, when opportunity knocks, you open the door wide and offer cookies!

Snug As A Bug

When Jake outgrows his clothes I store the non-stained, non-pilled, only rolled in the mud twice, items in plastic bins under his bed for later in life when Ben can wear them. Yesterday (in a bit of a laundry emergency) I ransacked those bins and found a bunch of clothes perfect for Ben's current size! Yay! Then I replaced the empty bin under the bed and went on with my day...

So imagine my surprise when I walked into Jake's bedroom this afternoon to find this:
I said, "Ben! What are you doing there?" And he looked at me like I had two heads and answered, "I'm resting next to Jacob's bed." So I turned to Jake and--while trying to supress my giggles--I asked him if he had anything to do with this. Jake nodded and said, "Yeah, we found it under my bed so I pulled it out and got his blanket and pillow so he could rest."

I just thought it was too funny. Then of course Ben turned into a big ham!

Here he's clearly enjoying the attention!

Jeans

Today Hubby had a brilliant idea of going out to eat for lunch. We decided to head to Red Robin (a family favorite) located at our mall. I got dressed in some jeans and a sweater, and we all piled into the car. My jeans felt a little tight, but I had just laundered them and assured myself that they would stretch.

Half-way through lunch I realized the only thing stretching was my stomach, spilling over the top of my belt loops. I casually suggested we stroll around for a bit afterward to walk-off our food. However, even as we walked my jeans still felt too tight. Here and there I would discretely check out my rear end in the store windows to make sure my pants weren't giving me a wedgie (I certainly felt some "creeping fabric" back there).

On the way home I mentioned to Hubby that I needed to lose some weight this year. I was met with an approving nod and a comment: "I think I've slimmed down quite a bit recently." I told him that I was happy for him and that I too would like to "slim down". He quickly agreed (a little too quickly, if you ask me) and continued on with a lecture reprimanding me for eating sweets and treats, and explaining that I needed to cut back on certain "unnecessary foods".

I gave him a piece of my mind and told him that I didn't ask for his critique or criticisms, nor did I appreciate his attitude toward my recent weight discovery. I pointed my finger in his face and dared him to say one more word! He just raised his eyebrows at me, apologized for getting in the way, and slunk down behind the steering wheel. I know that I've gained weight, and I'm positive over the past year he's noticed it too, but he doesn't need to point out the obvious, or agree with me about it! A simple "you always look great, babe" would have been nice. Sheesh, is that too much to ask for?

As soon as I got home I ran for my closet and ripped my stretchable sweatpants off their hanger. I hurriedly stripped and pulled them on. I had never felt more relief from my elastic pants than at that moment. I folded the jeans on my bed and vowed to lose enough weight that I would no longer need to blame the dryer for the tightness of my britches.

raindrops

Yesterday Ben and I had to stop by Target for something (after Costco, Target is our 3rd home) and there were no parking spots available up close so we had to park near the back and walk. I decided to carry him because of the long journey, and as we were walking it started to sprinkle random drops.

Ben was holding his hand out palm side up, and staring up at the sky (while he was sitting like that his weight was torture on my back). Then Ben made a couple of comments about the rain, and then I began telling him about what we needed to buy in the store, all the while I'm thinking that he's listening to me... as he continues to gaze upward. So in the middle of my comment about 409 versus Fantastik! cleaner, out of his mouth comes:

"I wonder if it's coming from the clouds? I think the rain drops are from the clouds in the sky."

Just like that. Perfect English, perfect words, perfect revelation. And as his little face was getting gently pelted with water, he just kept staring up at the sky. I was speechless. I stopped walking, looked up at the clouds, and then down at him. And with special regard to not ruin the moment I hastily blurted out:

"YES! Yes you brilliant child! The rain does fall from the clouds! You are so observant! What a little genius! I'm so proud of you!" and so on and so on I ranted. Consider the moment officially ruined.

Then he looked at me like I was an idiot, and possibly...yes, I believe there was even some embarrassment in his expression. We reached the Target walkway and even though the moment was over, I smugly smiled and as I walked by perfect strangers and I held up Ben a little higher. I nodded down at other snot-smeared children's faces and thought of all the wondrous days ahead in my Ben's life. I wonder if he'll keep in touch at Harvard?

Underoo's

Lately my almost-3-year-old has been showing some interest in using the potty. The past few months he'd tinkle on the toilet before taking a bath, or during bedtime in an attempt at stalling he'd suddenly need to use the restroom. Then a couple of weeks ago he started telling me before he wet his diaper, and so we started the dreaded... potty training adventure.

At first he hated underwear. Couldn't stand the things. Apparently he much preferred the heavy, pee-soaked paper feeling of a diaper over soft cotton. So we brought out some pull-ups and they were an instant hit. The first week he did very well on the potty! He went all the time with very few incidents. Then one day I tried a pair of brother's underwear on him and before I had reached the garbage to toss the previous pull-up, he had soaked through his pants--right on to my couch. Back to pull ups.

This week has gone much better. That's an understatement: it's been fantastic! Not only is he wearing underwear (which he picked out at the store himself) but he's been keeping them dry... and poop free! I still put a pull-up on at bedtime and during nap, but he's been waking up dry too! EVERY TIME! It's been 4 days now and no accidents at all, including during nap and overnight. I'm flabbergasted!

When we brought home the underwear the other day he immediately pulled some on and ran into my room to look in the mirror. Not wanting to miss a moment I grabbed my camera and followed. This is how he "checked them out" in my mirror:
So then I said, "Show them to Mommy!" so he swiveled his rear-end toward me.

Here he is looking a bit more proper, and dare I say it, more grown up.

I'm so proud of him for doing well and I hope it continues without too much drama. It's cost me his college tuition in M&M's as bribery, and he HAS to go in every public restroom we come to, but on a positive note maybe I'll finally be able to save for my retirement since I'll no longer be investing in diapers!

Indoor Soccer

Jake started Indoor Soccer this weekend and it was awesome! I was not familiar with this type of game before yesterday, so it was nothing like I imagined it to be. Picture an indoor hockey rink, if you will, with rounded wall corners, and goals blended into the walls. Unlike outdoor soccer, Indoor Soccer has a referee who actually blows the whistle and calls the fouls! Coaches aren't allowed on the field, which means the kids are left to fend for themselves!

That being said... Talk about your competition! Keep in mind the age range is 5-6 year olds... There were kids elbowing other kids, pushing others against the walls, tripping, slamming down... then there was my son who was dancing around on the defense line. Other parents were calling from sidelines things like, "Keep running! Follow the ball!" or "Watch the pushing!" or "Good block! Way to stop the ball!" Then there was me, yelling, "Stop twirling!"...one more than one occasion. *eye roll*

On the sidelines, us parents were practically voiceless after the game ended. We were cheering, yelling, encouraging and laughing our way through all 44 minutes. I turned to the person sitting next to me (who happens to be the Senior Pastor at my church--his grandson is on Jake's team) and said, "I don't think my heart can take this much longer! All the excitement is going to put me in an early grave!" Then he laughed and told me I better buck up because I have two boys, and this is only the beginning!

Ice Cream Catastrophe

In an attempt to start a new tradition once or twice a month called "Family Day", Hubby and I took our boys to Fenton's Ice Creamery restaurant. They serve large, gourmet-style, bowls of ice cream and other treats and desserts.

We were sat in a booth, Hubby and I on the aisle with one boy each tucked next to the wall. When the waitress came over I ordered two children's ice cream sundaes, and two adult root beer floats. Then, as an afterthought, asked her if she could please bring 4 glasses of water. Is it just me or does ice cream make everyone thirsty? Hubby assured me later that it was just me...

The water glasses arrived promptly, and shortly after our waitress brought some straws and four silverware settings wrapped inside paper napkins, and set them on the outer edge of the table. My youngest son instantly reached for his straw, followed by my 5 year-old... who bumped his water glass over in the process. Floods of water and ice cascaded over the table, eventually ending up in my seat and soaking the side of my leg.

I hurriedly whipped my Dooney bag up off the seat and scrunched my body closer to my son. "Move Mama!" he exclaimed. The napkins around the silverware bundles were soaked, my seat was soaked, and every time I moved away from the watery mess it seemed to follow me down the bench. A female employee with two small towels came over to assist us, but the look on her face clearly read, "All this from one small cup of water?" I silently nodded my head. Exactly my thoughts, lady.

It took her almost 5 minutes to clean the drippy mess up, and then we settled back into our seats. New, dry, silverware and straws were brought to our table and we continued to wait for our ice cream. Hubby lectured our son about his clumsiness around the table. I had no sooner said, "It was just an accident, dear... accidents happen to everyone", when Hubby bumped his own water glass over and I received my second bath of the day.

Up in the air went my Dooney, and down the bench I scurried, cuddling next to my child for the second time in 6 minutes. Hubby was beyond bewildered, I was beyond hysterical, and the table and napkins and silverware were soaked--again--with water. "Why do we even need water!" Hubby was yelling, scooping up the cups into his arms. "We're done with them! All of the cups are gone! This is ridiculous!" He was unsuccessfully trying to hold back his laughter. I on the other hand couldn't help myself and was crying mascara tears down my cheeks.

Hubby excused himself to get some help and when he approached the same woman again, she looked more shocked than I think was appropriate for the situation and then looked over at us like, "You can't possibly be that inept!" Once again I nodded another apologetic bob while I tried to put some of the ice into a pile.

When that mess was cleaned up and our third helping of silverware was brought over, our ice cream was finally ready. What a way to pass the time by! Our waitress brought the boys sundaes followed quickly with our floats. The size of our floats would have made the Statue of Liberty jealous. I looked with large eyes across the table at Hubby, who very sternly said, "Hold the side of your glass with one hand! We are NOT spilling these!"

I lifted up my Dooney and tried to pass it over the table so it could carefully rest on the dry bench. In doing so, I dipped the bottom corner of it into my son's whipped cream atop his sundae. "Mom!" he yelled. "Babe! Watch it!" Hubby grimaced. I began laughing again. Certainly we were not cut out for restaurants.

I made the comment about how I needed to blog this and got a glare in response from Hubby.

Luckily we made it through the remainder of our meal (leaving behind a very gracious tip), without another incident... until we reached our car and Hubby noticed he had chocolate syrup on his sleeve.