Hello Kitty Hijacked our Photo Shoot...

It's all fun and giggles until the Kitty f*s up your photo session

They look so sweet and innocent and cuddly...

Okay, so I wrote this blog post earlier and realized that I should never try to write a post while the children are running about right before dinner.  My thoughts don't flow well and I use words more than once (a personal pet peeve of mine when I write).    I shall do it over and try to capture the scene yesterday morning in a much clearer, more succinct way.
Let me preface this by re-stating that while Hello Kitty has long been a family friend, she has never been elevated to the same status that, say, whales, or AWACS, or Daddy, or Grampy, or tractors, or Baby Giraffe (with the freakishly large, scary purple eyes) has in our household.  Meaning that while we've had our great times, our stroller rides around the neighborhood, nobody has ever melted into a hot, messy puddle of screaming and tears if Hello Kitty was separated from said person.  Until yesterday, that is.  I have a theory:  I think Sportscaster Girl knows exactly when it would be most inconvenient and unwelcome for her to take a stance and then she declares that moment to be her Alamo...complete with the fierce "fight until your last breath" attitude. 
Now, I know F and I messed up royally by allowing HK to leave the house with us.  Once you do that, all bets are off.  You know it isn't going to end well for anyone who is college educated and/or against having family portraits taken with a giant-headed, fluffy monstrousity of a cartoon cat.  With a bow on her head.  It was a tough call to make because we had two weaknesses (which the SC like any savvy shark who smells blood in the water innately and preternaturally sensed): 1. We were running late (big surprise) and, 2. The boys were bringing their reasonably-sized and unobtrusive matchbox airplanes with them.  I think F said, "You can bring ONE toy!  One toy!"  And, shockingly, it was the almost preschool-sized stuffed cat that my sweet, dear sister bought SC when she was about the size of Hello Kitty's head.  Never in her life has the Sportscaster expressed such a rabidly loyal love for HK.  It was almost as if she had scanned the living room while thinking, "Which toy will infuriate the parents the most and be the most difficult to conceal in family pictures?  Oh, right!"  I wish you could have seen it...the tantrum that threatened when F tried to buckle HK in the car seat to await our return made me fear the her teenage years like watching the boys eat their breakfast makes me worry about the cost of feeding them when they hit puberty (I know I will have to get a job just to pay for groceries at that stage).
You think, "Man, we are taking photos, this is no time for her to scream and cry and turn purple with rage...forget consistent parenting!  Let's not ruin the photographs!"  So we gave in and spent a lot of time coaxing her into letting Kassia "hug" HK "because Kassia's feeling lonely and wants a hug from her".  Which was allowed only if HK was immediately returned to her clutches.  Then we tried hiding HK behind Daddy's back...which worked for a brief second.  Damn you, Hello Kitty!  Why do you have to be so cute and cuddly?!?  (To the aforementioned sister...I love you and I love HK...I am hoping I have not offended you and your wonderful generosity...you wanted a HK fan out of the 3 and you finally got one!  P.S. I'd much rather have an HK devotee than someone who wants to be a pretty princess so she can be rescued by a handsome prince...cue my violent anti-Princess vomiting reflex)
So here are three things that make us the hardest family on Earth to photograph:
1. At the moment before the shutter clicks, someone out of the three will: A. Blink B. Touch their butt. C. Jab their sibling in the eye/face/nose/mouth/neck, and D. Shriek for Hello Kitty!
2.  Whale Boy sometimes likes to pretend his hands are binoculars.
3.  The Wrecking Ball seems pathologically opposed to looking at the camera unless it is not pointed at him.

Oh, and 4. F and I are probably worse to photograph as usually one of us is: 1. Saying, "Put your hand down/Look at the camera!/We don't put our hands down our pants!" or, 2. Blinking.  I am probably the worst.
The upside is that I did have some kick ass shoes on for 1 hour.  I felt grown up and mildly pretty.  So different from my usual look!

Oh and here are some other cute shots from swim lessons:

Floating like a star fish (goggles around her neck)...

The Red Bomber...F had to peel those goggles off him when he put him in his car seat because he wouldn't take them off...

Playing Catch Up...

The Wrecking Ball liked playing in the fountains...

Gazing at the distant horizon (i.e: looking for trucks)

She made a really big deal about how brave she was...

I spent too much time last week stressing out over picking out coordinating family outfits for our annual photo session with the fabulous (and genius!) Kassia Reedy.  It made a couple things extremely clear: A. I no longer have any residual fashion sense from my days when I was marginally stylish, 2. I am ridiculously indecisive (perhaps this explains my liberal leanings???  I see all sides of the issue and have a hard time picking just one!  Turquoise is lovely!  So is bright yellow!  How will this photograph? Will this match/be too busy of a pattern/be too boring/do justice to their personalities??? until I give up, exhausted by my internal arguing and leave the store empty-handed in disgust), and 3. It's ridiculous to get this worked up about a freaking picture, for God's sake.  As I have already mentioned, I have no clue about fashion or...I don't know...NOT dressing like a homeless person (or dare I say it?  Like a tired, overworked woman who doesn't have the time to figure out whether or not her shirt fits/flatters/goes with her shoes/belt/jeans because she's just so freaking happy to find something that nobody has wiped their boogers/poopy hands on yet).  Most of my clothes have two sources: 1. Target Clearance rack and 2. My Mother-in-law (who is supremely fashionable and effortlessly chic).  Anyhoo...so, what I also discovered is style is like a muscle: You have to use it all the time or it will wither away and become a sad, atrophied, shlubby shadow of its former self.
So, in addition to soccer/speech/grocery store runs/piano lessons/kindergarten/chores/cooking that I do anyway, I also dragged the twins (and once, very briefly and unsuccessfully, all 3) to a few different stores where a comedy of indecision played out while the wee people ran about playing peek-a-boo under the racks of clothes/grab random toys/shoes/household items.  And in the end, I picked the same exact color palette as I did last year, which I did with much less consternation.  Or maybe the same amount of sufferering, but with more originality.  (P.S. F was out of town again, of course...which makes the little lady even crankier than usual...but lately she's been saying she loves me so much and I am the best mom she's ever had...which made me worry a little that the Apocalypse/Rapture really could be happening on Saturday)
It all culminated in a shopping trip with a very, very stylish, hilarious, beautiful friend of mine and her two kiddos (yes, you read that right, we went shopping with 5 kids!) where she steered me in the right direction and kept me from wandering too far afield.  I did end up with some cute shirts for my normal life and some very cool nude-colored wedges that make me look tall!  Hooray!  I did end up with a couple awesome dresses, too...and the determination that if Scarlett O'Hara could make a kick-ass dress out of drapes in the middle of the Civil War, I could at least brush my hair and make a little bit of an effort to look put together.  Maybe.  If being put together is occasionally wearing a cute outfit.
Oh, the fountain pictures are from Saturday when I took the kids to Gymboree and extorted calm behavior from the kids by promising they could run about in the fountain across the street in their street clothes!  Some little gems from the week:
1. The Sportscaster shoplifted for the first time.  She put a book in her book bag and I didn't find it until I got home.  I shall return it next time I drive by the store.  Let the record show that she is 3 years old. (Maybe I shouldn't have documented this???)
2.  At the soccer game, the Wrecking Ball insisted on wearing underwear.  Of course, as previously discussed, he lacks the will power/interest in doing what needs to be done to keep the underpants dry.  So, after I took SC all the way across the field to the port-a-john and WB refused to go (and there is no way to hold him on the seat without pushing him in accidentally), we walked back across the field when I noticed he'd stopped right beside the goal.  I looked again and he had pulled his pants/underwear all the way down to his ankles as he shouts, "THEY ARE WET!  THEY ARE WET, MAMA! WET!"  Like he was suprised and outraged and had no idea how it happened!  Some of the girl players don't have brothers, by the way...I hope they weren't too disturbed.  Incidentally, he did this as the kids were racing towards that goal, so there is no way that anyone who is not blind missed that action.
3.  The Whale Enthusiast's competitive drive kicked in during this game.  He ran down the field, dribbling the ball and barely missed scoring a goal!!!!!  One of his coaches said, "Is that Whale Boy?  Running towards the right goal???!!!"  I think I may have shouted, "IT'S A MIRACLE!  A MIRACLE!  YAAY, WHALE BOY!"  He has one more game...so we'll see what happens!!!!
I did find swim goggles for the kids on my adventures last week.  Their swim teacher said it might encourage them to put their faces in the water:

It was already working during this bath...but then we had to remind the boys that we never, never drink tubby water!  Another thing I never thought I'd have to explain to human beings...

I love the smell of AWACS in the morning!!!!

"Hey, Mom!  I put on my pilot shirt!"  Apparently, pilots wear shirts with pictures of their own faces on them.  So young and so perceptive!!!   He really knows his pilots, right?

"This is the yoke" or, you know, one of those foamy things that keep people from slicing their siblings' fingers off when they slam doors...

The Radar Dish...

Don't be deceived, that not a plastic bag with four plastic cups taped to it, it's an airplane wing with four engines!

He demonstrates how to fly this bad boy...

Okay, okay, I take back all those grumpy, whiny things I said about the Air Show Adventure this weekend...I am very, very happy that we went as the boys have talked about almost nothing else since.  Sportscaster wasn't all that impressed with the Air Show except that there were lots of men in flight suits, which she liked, and the part where "the air planes played tag!" (ie Thunder bird demo).  Randomly, the Wrecking Ball says, "We went to the Air Show and I drove a truck!"  or, "My Daddy flies a JET!  It's a 1745!"  It definitely made an impression on them...
So...this morning, the oldest boy woke up and was all fired up about the E-3 AWACS (he was obsessively asking Daddy-o about them yesterday and finally got their name/number down).  F decided he really does need a break from work, so he's been trying to take as much time as possible (even though he has to work every day, he did come home early yesterday), so he decided to stay home for breakfast this morning!  Happy, happy, joy, joy!  So, while I made French Toast, the kiddos curled up on the couch with him to watch some videos of Air Shows (ahem, Blue Angels, thank you very much...F says they are waaay better than the Thunder Birds) and, of course, some footage of the E-3.  Which prompted the Whale Enthusiast to convert his bed into an AWACS...
This is no aimless AWACS, by the way.  He needs his bed to be an airplane because he has a strategy to outwit bad dreams.  "Daddy, if the bad dreams come in low, I'm gonna fly up higher.  If they come in high, I'm gonna fly low.  And if they are coming in high and low, I'm gonna fly right out the window!"  You gotta respect a a man with a plan.  Maybe this will cut down on the fearless AWACS pilot's night time journey's to Mama's bed.  That would be nice!
PS It was nice to have F around this morning, but I'm not sure it was worth dealing with a severely pissed off little girl all morning.  We had to leave before he did and she was not happy about that.  I heard about it all morning...this poor lady, she loves her Daddy-o so much.  And to be honest, I would, too, if I were her...he's pretty awesome and fun.  Compare that to me, and he definitely wins, hands down.  It's alright...when she's 25 or has her first baby (hopefully when she's 30), she'll think I'm cool...finally...

It's An Air Show, So Why Are You Driving a Truck???

"My favorite part is when I drove the Army flatbed truck, what was your favorite part?" He repeated this a zillion times tonight as we got ready for bed.  In his Rain man voice...

Air show picnic...with the perfect Paganos...

This is right before he threw a tantrum because he had to share some french fries...that wrinkled brown tube is actually an Air Show Hot Dog...which costs $4...ick.

Wee people crowding around the window in a Chinook helicopter...M is asking to go back to the flatbed truck....

I seem to be making some serious miscalculations lately.  Perhaps it is because I had such a parenting good day yesterday at the salon after the birthday party.  Today we went to the Air Show.  At 11 am.  Initially, I thought it'd be a good idea to get there so early so we could meet up with some friends instead of me going with the 3 kids in crowds of people completely alone.  So we did it.  And I will preface this post by saying: I will NEVER willingly allow the twins to skip their naps, two days in a row.  We made it through, but it was a little ugly at the end there.
The big draw, of course, is the Thunderbird show at the end of the Air Show Day.  I really wish I would have realized they would definitely not be flying until 3:30 pm.  I like those guys a lot...they are very talented, awesome pilots, but if I had my own way, I wouldn't have skipped a nap to see them.  Plus, I've seen them before.  But for some reason this year, Whale Boy, who has never been all that interested in planes, really, really, really wanted to see them fly.  (A big drawback with airshows and fighter jets in general is the noise they make.  Whale Boy has been known to fall on his face in a mad scramble to evade the noise automatic flushing toilets make in public restrooms because he won't take the time to pull his pants up first.  He runs from loud noises like deer flee from a raging wildfire.  So yeah, fighter jets, not really his thing.  Until this year.)  So we stayed!  We stayed from 11 am until 3:30 pm!!!!  I can't believe I actually did it!!!!  And yes, the show was cool...blah, blah, blah...but I would have been just as happy sitting on the beach, digging in the sand at our house.
Oh and here are two lessons I learned:
1.  The spray mist sunblock totally sucks.  It worked for the kids because I am super diligent at sunscreen application on their fair skin...I rub it in until they are crying and writhing around, trying to get away.  Like most moms, I half-ass everything I do for myself because I've either lost interest or I'm running late getting somewhere.  So I have some interesting sunburn stripes where the mist didn't take.  I have sunburn strips on either side of my tank top straps, a little on my neck, and one stripe near my watch band.  Also, I have squares of sunburn on the tops of my hands from pushing the stroller.  So, in the event that you use that sucky spray mist, I advise you to rub it in really well.
2.  If you park your car at an Air Show, you should definitely make sure you really take stock of where you parked it.  I don't mean casually glance around, either.  I mean you should plant a flag on your car or do something that will help you mark where it is because while you may have parked in a relatively empty lot at 11 am, at 3 pm there will be a sea of cars stretching as far as the eye can see.  I didn't make a solid mental note and ended up wandering like the Israelites in the Desert after the parting of the Red Sea for 40 minutes (but it did feel like 40 years).  I was pushing one kid in the stroller (the Sportscaster travels like a queen...she needs a litter and some litter bearers...lest her royal feet ever touch the filthy ground) with the Wrecking Ball on my shoulders and the Whale Enthusiast staggering along behind, moaning that he needed a drink of water.  I am not sure what kind of vibe I give off, but the MPs were not all that helpful.  I saw a lot of other smiling dudes zipping around in golf carts, making circles in the lots to help the elderly or those weighed down by one (!!!) child find their cars.  But when I finally asked for some help, they were slow to give me any.  I'm not sure if it's because the way HWB was sobbing and digging his fingers in my eyeballs is off-putting (maybe it was my grouchy exasperation???), but finally one guy took pity on me and starting walking the rows to help me as I was moving as fast as 3 young children will allow you to (for those who are interested, that means that while I was only 2 rows off my destination, I would have gotten there sometime tomorrow morning).
I hate air shows, I've decided.  Well, that's what I was thinking as I made dinner and then bathed the children (because oh yeah, my husband has an early show time tomorrow, so he just, you know, stayed at work...this is why we snort with laughter when someone wrote up the recent Royal Wedding by saying, "Kate Middleton married a pilot...every woman's dream!"  Yeah, ask any pilots' wives and we'll tell you the truth...it is awesome to be marry such accomplished, wonderful guys, but as my friend, Jen said to her pilot husband once, "I feel like you are the elephant at the circus that everyone is all excited to see and I am that dude following behind with the shovel and the wheelbarrow!"  I am a good sport about it because his job is incredible and has given us so much in our lives, but ladies, it isn't glamorous...damn...I can get waay the hell off topic, can't I?).  Back to my story...so I was all grumpy, dealing with kids whose exhaustion makes them behave like feral cats on speed and I finally got the little ones in bed (all of a sudden, Daddy's absence was noticed and the SC demanded, through tears, to call that dude up so she could tell him how heartbroken she was that he was not there to give her a goodnight kiss.  These absences are hitting her harder and harder...she doesn't get used to it like the boys did...they get sad every now and again, but man, that girl gets angry!  At me!  I totally got side-tracked again...I just want to pause a moment to feel sorry for myself and say that I hate being the bad guy here when I'm the one who is always around.  I know it's because I am steady that she takes it out on me, but still...)...all I wanted to end with is this:
I was pissy, sticky, sunburned, and irritated and falling asleep reading L a story when he rolled over and cuddled up, squeezed me in an awesome hug and said, "Mama!  You are my favorite Mom in the whole universe because I had a really good day.  Thanks for taking me to the Air Show, Mom.  It was great!"
That was it.  That one sweet, sincere thank you guarantees that I will do the next absurd thing all alone with these three because I know they actually do appreciate it.  Plus, I have been handling this life largely on my own for so long, I know I can do it, if I just plan well and pack enough snacks.  Next time I'll be more gracious about it all when I lose the car, I hope.

HB and the Wrecking Ball...

What is he doing?  Communing with the tree spirits?  No, he was building a "fire" and HB was helping him.  I love the look of fear and alarm on her face...

Whale Boy also making a camp fire...

And really...does anyone know what this bug is?  The kids were poking it with sticks before HB's dad and I rescued him/her/it.  I am supposed to figure out what it is, according to the kindergarteners...

I just wanted to post the first picture for HB's mom because I find it hilarious.

A New Look...Saturday, Part Two...

Getting her hair washed...

"Umm...what are you doing to me?"

WE writing a story about Cetus, the whale (I will post something about that later)

The finished product...

See my water blaster?

"I want to go to the beach!"

The back view...

The Sportscaster is the sweatiest girl in the world.  Because of that, we decided to chop her hair off.  Her bangs were driving me nuts (I think I swore when I was a teenager that if I did have a daughter, I'd never say, "Get your hair out of your face!"  Yeah...umm...her hair drives me nuts.  Why is that?  Mothers have some personal battle with the state of their daughter's hair...it's weird)...they were so long she had to tip her head up to see anyone.  She doesn't do bows and her hair is too fine to stay up in ponytails (plus, HWB uses the ponytail for leverage if they fight). 
Now, let me tell you why I am stupid/crazy/nuts:  I took all three kids (yup, my husband was working again this weekend) with me after they'd gotten hopped up on birthday cake and the contact high kids get from being hyper together in a mob to an Aveda hair salon.  I know, I know...really ridiculous to take a 3 year old to get a haircut at a super fancy salon, right?  It was where I could get an appt on short notice...plus, last time we did a haircut, F took her to a salon that didn't really do the right angle. I'm just making excuses for my excess. Totally unjustifiable.  I mean, I am not J.Lo. 
I digress...so many, many things could have gone wrong.  But they didn't!  I brought notebooks and stickers for the boys and they kept busy writing whale stories (WE) and watching Mama draw trucks (HWB).  The Sportscaster LOVED the salon.  She was perfect, sat still, chatted with the stylist...it was great!  At one point, SC was feeling restless and she asked, "When are you gonna be done with cutting my hair?"  Stylist, "Count to ten and we'll be done."  SC: "Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco...." 
Pandemonium in the salon!  The ladies were all dumbstruck and proceeded to make a big fuss over her intelligence, her cuteness, etc.  SC ate it up with a spoon.
The only Marston-ish thing that happened was that HWB stuck his head in the decorative water fountain on the way out the door.  But if you take into account all that could have happened, it was miraculous!  They even said, "You have such great, well-behaved children."  If you only knew, lady...
PS No more $20 hair cuts for the 3 year old.  I promise.  I hope the Closet Hermit doesn't read this....

It's a New Generation...of Party People...Saturday Part 1...

Birthday Girl!  Happy 3rd Birthday, Ninja Pooper (an explanation will be written in a later post)...

Sweet Older sis...this one dreams of being an actress...

The Human Wrecking Ball...in an odd, laid-back party moment...this was before the chunk of cake...

Cuties...these boys love me!  Dare I say it?  I think I am their Miss Brook!  Hooray for kids who think I rock! (Oh, but that's not why I like them, lest you think I am totally shallow...they are pretty awesome)

L blowing it up...and some random dude in the background...

Can you tell she put the hat on herself?

Here is Timmy the Turtle (all turtles are named Timmy, according to HWB...I think F told them a story once involving a turtle so-named)

"Hey kids, come touch my snake!" Wait, what???

M leads the way...she's not afraid of anything...

HB liked the black rat snake best...

Yesterday was Party Day at the Living Museum!  I love M, the Ninja Pooper (I promise to fill you in on those details at some point), so much and I am devastated that the USAF is going to part us from her and her family in a couple months.  Glad we got to come to her party, though...it was so fun!  The birthday package includes two animal demonstrations.  She got to choose between: an owl, a bunny, a turtle, and a snake.  Here is proof that M is not your typical little girl: she chose the turtle and the snake!!!  Everyone was thrilled except her big sis who wasn't too keen on the snake thing (at first she hid in the hall way, but then she worked up to actually petting it a little).
We had pizza, ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, a date with some reptiles, and then lots of fun playing in the Museum and on the outdoor trail.  I discovered that I totally could be a preschool/kindergarten teacher.  (I mean, I could, but I'd have to develop an alcohol tolerance.)  It's much easier to deal with a gaggle of kids than the three I gave birth to, alone.  It probably helped that I was working in tandem with another mom to herd the cats in the right direction.  One observation: Instead of getting pissed off when the children are being unruly, it works better if you keep your calm and invent a game that will get them to do what you want them to do without them realizing that you are tricking them into socially acceptable behavior.  Plus, you can use their competitive instincts against them!  Children: 0  Moms: 14,247!  We win!  Taking a tour of the Museum with: 2 five year olds, 1 four year old, 3 three year olds, 1 two year old, and 2 Moms was a success!  We didn't want to shoot ourselves or strangle anyone, can you believe that?  Which is more than I can say about some of my grocery store trips with just the twins.
Thanks to the Perfect P family for the lovely time...on to Part 2 of Saturday....

Some changes...

I am quite forthcoming with the details of my life, but my family might not be comfortable with the level at which I share things (especially not my kids as they get older).  So, realizing that, I decided to give people pseudonyms in order to protect their innocence.  Please refer to my new "Cast of Characters" page.  I thought it might be a good move.  So I haven't wasted your time, I thought I'd post some pics of the twins at the impromptu petting zoo that was unexpectedly at our YMCA yesterday:

The Sportscaster makes friends with a wee calf...

Human Wrecking Ball senses the connection between him and this goat, I think...

I almost kidnapped this pony until I realized that I'd have to scoop up its poop if I brought it home.  Poop = something I do NOT need more of in my life.  I'll wait until the Human Wrecking Ball is properly potty trained.

Happy Late Mother's Day to Me!

This is not how I really look...I got all tarted up for my awesome photographer friend and her friend, the makeup artist two YEARS ago...as the family historian, I am always recording life, but rarely in the frame with all the action...

Obviously a couple years ago...but this is what I really look like...a lady with some kids hanging off her like really demading and sassy extra appendages...

In honor of Mother's Day last weekend, I decided to take stock of what I have really contributed to my children (since I already write all the time about what they are constantly giving me: a sense of humor, tons of love, and awesomely disgusting/humilating scenarios I can write about in this here blog, for starters!).  Here is a preliminary list, not in the order of importance, but in the order with which scattered thoughts pop into my head:

Stuff My Kids Got From Their Mama:
1. Freakishly long torsos (all 3 of them, God love 'em)
2. Great-Grandma Ruth's awesome full lips (well, only SC has those, but man, did she hit the big time with them!)
3. General clumsiness (HWB has it in spades...I really should just strap his helmet on his head so he can be prepared for life)
4. Serious compassion for others (WE is the epitome of kindness, but they are all sweeties who care about others)
5. Book-Nerdiness (this means: A. They LOVE books! and, B. They tote books everywhere just in case there are 5 seconds of down time during which they can read them! I use the term "read" loosely in regards to the twins, but WE can read very well without any help now)
6. A Love of Libraries (see #5)
7. The belief that you can learn anything about any subject that interests you if you: A. Go to the Library and, B. Read the Book You Checked Out
8.  Hair-trigger Tempers (we are hoping Daddy's temperment will win out in the long run)
9. A Tendency to Yell to Express Displeasure
10. Atonal singing:

This is after he ate mulch at the park "to see what it tastes like"

11. Intense Curiosity About the World
12. Ridiculous Chattiness
13. An Inexplicable Trust in the Good Nature Of Human Beings
14. A Tendency to Nod To Emphasize Major Points (this applies only to WE)
15. Mono-mania (aka mild OCD).  When I get interested in something, I am a little obsessed.  That is putting it kindly.  I am totally compulsive about something (food or reading about a specific topic) and then I talk people to death about it until something else sparks an interest and I gravitate towards that.  The Whale Enthusiast is a lot like me in this regard.  He is currently obsessed with whales (hence the name), but past obsessions have been: Dinosaurs, Sheryl Crow (he introduced himself as Sheryl Crow for like six months when he was about 3), penguins, Antarctica (still his favorite place on Earth), vultures, and tools, to name just a few.
I suppose I could go on and on...but those are the major points, I think.  I was a little bummed that WE didn't make me a card this year for Mother's Day (we had a nice morning at our friends' house...they were traveling to Duke for another appointment to do with D's brain tumor/surgery aftermath/chemotherapy/radiation/course of treatment...how's that for putting your life into perspective?  Still, I was a little bummed that I got nary a card and that CH spent the afternoon at work whilst I broke up fights in the sand behind the house and that I still had to make our dinner and clean up the dishes...it was, you know, a normal day, truth be told...other than the pleasant brunch at D's that I didn't have to cook or order)...but I was totally proud that he made cards for the other mothers in our life that he totally admires and loves.  An idea he came up with on his own.  Oooh! If you liked that little bit of WE-song, I have to share the whale rap with you:

You can thank me for that little treat later...PS  That's not even a third of the song we listen to and, no, it's not something he made up.  Just something he memorized from the 230,431,1789 times we've listened to that Rock-N-Learn CD since Christmas.

The Future Looks...Shady...

This is me, in 20 years...climbing into my cozy RV parked at the Y.  I'll have a nice wheeled cart, won't I?

A closer look, so you can take in all the awesomeness of my future home...

Dude!  I'm gonna get a Mercedes to haul around this bad mama!

I must have stepped into a time machine after my workout this morning.  Crossing the parking lot, I look over and bam!  I'm transported into my future on the spot!  RV'ing it in a YMCA parking lot! (Note my handyness with the duct tape...because man, I might drive a Mercedes in the future, but damn it, I'm gonna remember my thrifty roots!)
I know this is going to happen to me.  And to that lady I offended at the Y last week at kindergarten gymnastics (In response to my friend, J's, taunt that my kids aren't going to know what the Olympics are because we don't own a TV, I said, defensively, "Yeah, but they aren't gonna be weird homeschool kids!"  Cue the awkward silence as I notice the lady next to me glaring at me.  "All four of my children are homeschooled!" she shot back indignantly.  The rest of the lesson I tried to pull my foot out of my mouth by continuing to insult her...my mantra seemed to be: "Not your kids, you know...the weird ones who homeschool!  Not yours!"  She was not impressed.)...anyhoo, to that homeschoolin' Mama I offended horribly last week: MY KIDS ARE GOING TO LIVE IN AN RV DOWN BY THE RIVER WITH NO TV!  Why?  Because F is under the siren song of the RV...he is swayed by the romantic idea of us truckin' down the highway, stopping at little-known spots of idyllic American-ness....schoolin' our kids on The Road.  So in terms of weirdos, they are gonna totally blow everyone else's socks off!  I'm told that F's dream is to live in an RV, traveling all around the country for a maximum of six months.  I'm totally gonna need a Camper Contract.
I doubt I'd make it that long.  Now, I might be in the wrong mood lately to go at this proposition with a clear, objective, unbiased mind...but since F has been working pretty much non-stop for at least a month (which means I have been working pretty much non-stop for the same amount of time), I keep looking at this teeny apartment and thinking: I don't want to get much closer to these kids geographically.  We'll be right on top of each other in a RV.  With no partition, no way of closing a door on these beloved, sweet, angelic, crazy kids!  And here I am, a woman whose body cannot metabolize alcohol (and let's be real...if you were travelin' around the nation with your all your worldly possessions and 3 kids and your husband and that's what you were doing all the time, you'd need gallons of beer/wine/whiskey/fill in your favorite spirits here).  What shall I do?
You might think I could fight this madness.  But while we are not religious people, CH has introduced the RV as a holy object.  HWB doesn't even greet him when he walks in the door....he automatically says, "Can we look at some campers?"  It is part of the calming bedtime ritual...clean up toys (check), cuddle with Dad (check), browse eBay for sweet RV setups on the iPad (check)...then we read them books and brush their teeth.  So they go off into the Sweet Land of Nod to have camper dreams.  Correction: camper/whale dreams.

So, dear homeschool lady, if we are talking about weird kids, mine are gonna be in the World Cup of Weird, they are gonna storm the Grand Prix of Weirdos, they are gonna sweep the Weird Oscars.  Just so you know :)

Just Another Manic Monday...

"Mama, I want some snnnaaacccckkkksss..."  I hope you read that in the most annoying, nasally, whiny voice ever.   (WE is in the back right, passing to his coach)

"My Mama told me no snack and I am SOO hungry!"

There were no pics of HWB yesterday because he never stood still...

So I thought I would post what yesterday (and most Mondays) are like, just so you get a feel for our start every week:

5:45 am  Wake up to WE poking me in the ribcage.
6:00 am  Get my ass out of bed because reveille has sounded and there is no possible way that L will fall asleep again anyway...
**Now I get to:
1. Make breakfast.  I do this every morning because I've been brainwashed by some obscure article that says that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and because I've been reading so much about nutrition that I feel like I'm serving my kids a bowl of cancer if I give them sugar cereal (which is probably what they really want anyway...the good kind, with all those petroleum-based artificial food colors)...this is totally irrational and does not mean I judge other mothers for what they serve their children in the morning...unless it's always a big bowl of Trix. ;-)
2.  Wash all the breakfast dishes.
3.  Hang out the wash.  I do this because I am a hippie and I hate using the dryer when the energy of the sun is free (yes, you may slap me the next time you see me for the last two sentences...just not too hard and watch the eyes, okay?)
4.  Make WE's lunch.  Which is almost always a PB&J because he likes it best. Fruit, tortilla chips, etc.  At least we have graduated this year to being able to include the J and actually being able to put the slices of bread together like a sandwich.  Last year if I'd done this, he'd have reacted like I proposed he eat some arsenic on his bread...)
5.  Get everyone dressed
6.  Keep HWB from peeing/pooing on the floor (this is a constant throughout the entire day, but there is added danger in the mornings)
**
8:30 Drop WE off at school.
8:50 Take HWB to Speech Therapy (I should write a post about that, so you know what that is like)
10:00 - 11:00 work out at the Y while the children are in Child Watch
11:45 Make the twins their lunch
12:30 Put the twins in separate rooms to nap.
**Now, this is the part of the day where I:
1. Clean up lunch dishes.
2. Make/eat my lunch standing up while I wash dishes and wipe counters.
3. Sweep the disgusting floor.  Castigate myself for not bleaching it, but again lack time to bleach it.
4.  Make dinner and then wash those dishes, then put dinner in the fridge so we are ready to go when we get home.
5. Gather swimsuits and towels for all 3 children.  Also, WE's soccer socks, cleats, and shin guards and shorts he can move in.  Also his soccer ball.
6.  Pack snacks for after swim/before soccer.
7.  Gather up all library books so we can return them because I am bored reading the same books to the kids over and over.
8.  Ignore the fact that HWB is not actually taking his nap, but refining his cannonball off the bed skills and yanking on his curtain rod until it bends...(I did scold him for that, then I left the room again).
**
2:20 PM  Get the twins in the car.
2:45 PM Pick WE up from school.
3:10 PM  Go to the library.  Return books and attempt to get ones that will make the kids happy and that I will not want to shoot myself reading aloud 30 times a day.  This is the part of the day where HWB will wander about saying in a low, monotone voice "Gotta find a truck book.  Need a truck book," like a miniature Rain Man.  Who can't add.  Or help you pull off a scam at a casino in Vegas.
3:45 PM drive across the street to the Y to wrestle the kids into their swimsuits and take them to their respective classes.
**This is the part of the day where HWB will be so excited that he will hop about on his butt on the bench and flip over backwards, wedging himself into a "V" between the window and the bench.  I'll pull him out, 30 seconds later he'll fall over again when his brother distracts me by trying to dismantle the lap clock to "see how it works, Mom."
4:00-4:30 PM  Children swim.  I make sure nobody drowns him/herself.
4:30 PM on the dot, race to the family bathroom/shower while dragging the children like soggy little ducks in a line behind me so we can get a shower without having to wait.
4:30-4:50 PM Shower the children.  This will entail at least one episode of Sportscaster shrieking like a cat with its tail stuck in a door who is simultaneously being scalded with boiling water because she got soap in her eyes.  During the whole showering thing, HWB will hop about on wet tiles because the last game he played in swim class was "5 Little Monkeys Jumping On the Wall" and he is still a jumping monkey.  He is also yanking his penis and trying to hit people with it.  I have at this point, lost all ability to control the volume and tone of my voice.  I am now using that Mean Mommy "I mean business, dammit!" shout to say, "STOP JUMPING ON THE TILE!  DO YOU WANT TO FALL AND CRACK YOUR HEAD OPEN AND BLEED TO DEATH????"
Finally, everyone is clean. I put on their underpants and usher them out the door so that some other family can use the shower while I finish dressing them. I notice a woman with two angelic older blonde girls looking at me askance.  Apparently, she heard me shouting.  HWB is still a semi-clothed monkey, hopping all about, singing the song to himself.  Clothe the children and head out to the car, swearing quietly to myself.
5:15 PM Arrive at Farm Fresh to get Pull-Ups.  SC tries to shoplift sugar cereal (see, I told you so!) while the monkey and his brother pretend to don rocket jet packs and shout, "Ride like the wind, Bullseye!"  They almost trample some old people.  I distract them by asking them to mimic various animals which works and keeps me from strangling them in public.  On the way to the car, HWB tries to get hit by a car, but I intervene.
5:30 PM Arrive at WE's soccer practice.  HWB has now become totally fixated on a container of popcorn (cue the Rain Man impersonation) while I am trying to get all of our stuff out of the passenger side of the van.  Meanwhile, a lady is attempting to get into the car next to me because she can't wait 5 more seconds for us.  HWB grabs the door, pulls it open in an attempt to reach the popcorn, and nearly slams it into the Impatient Lady's opened door.  Now, I have lost it.  "GO STAND ON THE SIDEWALK, RIGHT NOW!"  The Human Wrecking Ball, startled, leaps towards the sidewalk, knocking his head  on the lady's mirror and starts wailing the truly desperate, horribly betrayed despair of Those Who Have Been Cast Off Into the Darkness Where There is Gnashing of Teeth.  The lady picks this moment to say: 1. "I remember when my son was that age.  I miss it so much!  One day you'll look back at see that these were the best times of your life." and then, noticing M's tears, 2. Oh. My. Goodness!  He HIT HIS HEAD ON MY MIRROR!  DID YOU KNOW THAT?  DID YOU KNOW HE HIT HIS HEAD ON MY MIRROR?!?"  I say, tersely, "Yup, I saw that.  He's okay.  That's not the worst thing that has happened to him today."  Lady climbs in her car, casting disapproving looks in my direction as she drives off while judging me to be: the Worst. Mother. Ever. 
Eat snacks, play at the park.  Whale Enthusiast rocks it at soccer, scoring a number of goals during the drills!  Hooray!
7:00 PM Get home.  Daddy (aka the Saviour, Jesus Christ) is waiting for us.  Dinner, washing up, stories, brushing teeth, and finally, hallelujah!:
8:00 PM LIGHTS OUT FOR CHILDREN!!!!

I made it through all of that.  You may have noticed the over-scheduling of our Mondays.  Why did I do this, do you wonder?  I mean, any half-wit will know intuitively that having speech, school, library, swim and soccer all in one day is completely and totally idiotic.  Well, I give the credit to CH...who suggested I schedule all these things on Monday which he has off because his detachment changed to working four 10 hour days a while ago (this does not apply to CH because he goes into work at 5:45 AM and comes home between 6:30 and 7 pretty much every day)....guess who has to "go into work just for a little while or maybe the whole day" nearly every Monday?  ;-)  I'm not complaining...it's nice to have all this crap done on one day and then only have one activity each day the rest of the week.   Sometimes he makes it for swim...or soccer...or bedtime... ;-)