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.

Grey's Anatomy

If you love Grey's Anatomy like I do then you've followed it through all 5 seasons, and have your tivo set to religiously record it every Thursday night.

I enjoy the show for the most part. There's been some off-the-wall scenarios (Denny's stolen heart), and some really bad story lines (like the Izzy-George-Calleigh love triangle... puh-leaze), and some great characters in general (oh how I miss Addison).

What I can't stand is when a good show turns bad. I hate when the characters go stale, or when their story is so repetitive you can guess what's going to happen before it happens. And I hate when the writers just can't let things go.

The Alex and "Ava"/Rebecca story was neat. It followed a true relationship built from the beginning and made this really great history, and then voila, she appears last season all looney and mentally unstable. A good thing ruined...

The Derek/Meredith storylines have been all over the map and I swear, if the writers break them up again I'm boycotting the show all-together.

Then there's Izzy and Denny. Poor helpless Denny. He and Izzy were fantastic together, then she went and got him killed, and the poor guy's life ended before we really got to know him. We were all sad and upset with the writers, but it made for great t.v. and we eventually moved on. Then low-and-behold I watched last week's episode and who should appear but our beloved Denny! And I thought to myself, "Oh how nice! They gave him a little cameo!" But then again on last night's episode our deceased friend reappeared talking and touching and kissing Izzy! I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn't going insane along with the blond girl on the screen, but yep, there they were!

So I'm completely irritated and oddly intrigued by this. What's the storyline going to be? Is Izzy completely insane? Does she have some brain tumor or neurological disorder that's preventing her from seeing things clearly? Has she completely lost her grasp on reality? I'm curious as to what others think about this peculiar tale...

Dresser Demolition

I was unhappily enjoying my afternoon, disgruntled and irritated that a sewing project I had been working on was turning out poorly (it would have looked better if I had put my five-year-old in charge), when from the deepest dungeons of my house came a very loud thud, followed by a crying child. I muttered something inappropriate under my breath and heaved myself up from my chair.

I was sauntering toward the bedroom where all the noise had originated from, when Jake (the five-year-old) said in a calm, although slightly panicked voice, "Mom? You better come faster..." I picked up my heels and ran! When I rounded the corner to Jake's room this is what I saw:
The entire dresser had fallen face-first down to the carpet, spilling its entire contents out from underneath, and throwing its lamp and darth vader room monitor forward. Ben, my two-year-old, was laying underneath the lamp cord, about 10 inches from the top of the dresser--and he was crying!

"Oh My Gosh!!! What happened?!?! Are you okay? Did it hit you? Where are you hurt? WHAT HAPPENED IN HERE?!?!" You can imagine the images rapidly shuffling through my mind at that moment. Jake, who had been standing on his bed, answered, "All I did was open my sock drawer and the whole thing fell over!" After noticing that my horrified expression had not even slightly diminished from my face he quickly continued, "It didn't hit him Mom, it didn't hit Ben. Just the lamp. The lamp hit Ben!" I looked at Ben who was nodding along angerly and realized he had stopped crying.

I believed Jake for several reasons: 1) I'm constantly finding him standing on his bed, reaching into the top of his sock drawer for clean under garments; 2) His eyes were as large as dinner plates, and he looked about as white as a ghost from the neck up; and 3) Ben was vividly explaining that Jake opened the drawer and then the dresser "chased him down".

I walked around the dresser carefully examining it, and found the sneaky culprit in the back: a leg of this oh-so-cheaply-made-out-of-fake-wood dresser had snapped completely off. I was happy that no one was hurt, but annoyed that this had happened. If there's not one thing to buy for these boys, there's another! I just got them all settled with enough clothes and jackets and shoes for the winter, and now I need to buy a new dresser. Good grief!

Tree Art

Part of Jake's homework last week was to take a walk and collect a leaf to bring to class. Of course this turned into an art project at the pleas of both my children. So off we trotted down our street, happily enjoying the day and looking for leaves.

Jake, my finicky child, was very careful about which leaf would be "the one". He didn't want one that was bent, or too small, or an oddball color. He was searching for his version of perfection.

After we'd been walking for ten minutes we had only passed by two houses. Jake had already been searching and hunting and had turned over, stepped on, passed by without a second glance, dozens of perfectly fine leaves. I wanted to yell "It's a leaf! Who gives a flying can of tuna!"... but I resigned to say: "Every leaf is a little bit different honey... just pick one that's halfway decent and you'll be good." *mentally rolled eyes*

Finally after another excruciating ten minutes of leaf searching he finally found exactly what he was looking for. The Heavens shined down on it, as it glowed from the gutter. It was a simple leaf, yellow in color, soft in texture, and had no marks or torn edges of any kind. Just as he held it up to show me, a gust of wind blew whisking the leaf out of his gentle fingers, and sending it into the street. My breath caught in my throat when it was almost swallowed up by the passing-by of an SUV.

"Quick! Into the bag!" I shouted. I was not about to endure another half an hour of this. Once it was safely and securely in the bag we continued our walk (with me secretly veering the children toward home).

While Jake had been concentrating on finding the Beauty Queen of all leaves, Ben had filled his baggie with darn near 80 leaves. Some were bent, some were torn, some were dirty, some were infested with bugs... and he was happy as could be about it. So then Jake whined that he only had one and apparently life wasn't very fair to him, and his baggie should be equally filled. He filled his bag quickly--at my insistence--and then off we trekked for home.

We made "trees" out of brown construction paper (which the kids crumpled up to resemble the "trunk"), and then they glued their leaves on the top. They loved this project and were so impressed with it! As soon as they were dry, up on the fridge they went!