It's That Time Year...Glue Gun On Constant Warm Standby and Coffee and Scotch in Arm's Reach at All Times OR Why Silent Night Won't Be Our Theme Song This Year
Date Created: Dec 06, 2007, 04:01 PM

Christmas is coming on strong over here and the boys are all too willing to help. Baby Jesus keeps being kidnapped from my nativity set and it's a miracle he hasn't been stepped on yet and shattered into a thousand pieces. Not unlike one of the few Christmas ornaments I have that I actually like, three santas that remind me of my three boys sitting on each others shoulders made out of that very thin very fragile metallic-type glass. George spent literally two hours looking through the box of ornaments. At first I told him he could only touch the ones not wrapped up in tissue paper. But he was so meticulous and so careful I didn't say anything when he began to peek into the wrapped ones in order to "just see which ones in there," or when he moved on to completely unwrapping them and holding them up to the light and turning them this way and that studying every detail. I was so impressed by his interest and his apparently sincere attempts to be careful. But the next morning I noticed the three santas ornament was broken. I was pretty mad because I had told him not to touch the ones in tissue paper even though I had technically gone soft on enforcement. I told him in a stern voice at breakfast that I was very sad because that ornament belonged to me and now it was broken and had to be thrown in the trash. When I asked him what happened to it, he first said with his palms upwards in exaggerated dumfoundedness, "It's a mystery!" Then he said John did it, but when I asked John if he'd done it, John didn't cry, scream, run from the room, or curl up in a ball on the floor, so I knew it wasn't him. James had had little interest in the ornaments from the start and George didn't even bother accusing him. I asked George again if he'd done it and he said, and these are his exact words, "I rolled it out of the paper and I saw it and I says I'm gonna take care of this for Momoe." So I asked him how then it got broken. John suggested during the night it rolled off the sofa and broke all by itself. George still hasn't confessed. It's SO hard to be mad at that rascal.

Stripesey continues his campaign for sainthood. Apparently he's taken a seasonal job at the North Pole helping Santa wrap presents. "He's a busy little zebra," George told me. Today my mom and sister took the guys to lunch and apparently George tried to run out the door before everyone else was ready to leave. I think it scared my mom and sister how quickly he darted away and when he saw/heard the dismay from my sister and mother he started to cry. My sister told me she said, "That's okay, we know you know better and you won't do that next time," or something like that. And George said back through his tears, "I only know animals."

This morning I was the one having a temper tantrum. Lately my frustration has been building from the fact that every day from sun up to sun down, I have three little people yelling in my face. They must say my name 6,000 times a day. Momoe, John hit me! Momoe, my hands are sticky! Momoe, can I have a snack? Momoe, where do mooses live? Momoe, there's a little poop in my pants! Constant! And I am unfortunately the type of person who craves calm, quiet, and solitude, and the boys literally in-your-face demands are an extremely effective torture device. The other day my mom helped me and the boys put up outdoor ornaments in the trees in our front yard. They really do look cute! But putting them up was a touch hairy. The ornaments come in several colors and then some are long twisted iridescent ones that turn in the breeze and catch the light. So there I was, on the very very very top of a ladder with human bumper cars doing their thing around the base of the ladder and yelling, let's use this yellow one, I like the red one, this one needs a string, this one needs a hook, does this one need a hook, not there, Momoe, not that one, this one, more red ones, where'd the hook go, I'm stuck and the whole time I'm seriously considering which branch I should grab and swing from should the ladder be knocked out from underneath me. By the end we had to cut everyone out of the Guinness Book of World Records length of fishing line and will probably be finding ornament hooks in the yard for the next ten years. Anyway, my original point was that all the yelling even when it's happy yelling is starting to fray my nerves and this morning I told Will so. He didn't have all that much to say about it since what can you really do to make it better? But I felt completely unheard, like no one was listening to me and I kicked a pile of neatly stacked coat hangers (you know it wasn't me who'd stacked them since I've never neatly stacked anything that can just as easily be sloppily strewed). I laughed at myself right afterwards (inwardly at least) because I knew my acting out was so childish, but for that one second I felt exactly what the boys must feel when they kick or throw a toy at the wall. I know what I want and no one is letting me have it! Give me what I want!

So after my tantrum I felt a little better. I wouldn't say Will's talk to them about not asking me so many questions and not bothering me has helped, but at least I got to blow off a little steam. And my mom picked the guys up from school today and had them for a couple of hours, and so I did get a little alone-time which goes a short way. I'm in denial about the boys having a Christmas break, but there's no need to face the inevitable until it is inevitably upon me. I hope your holiday preparations are going well and you are able to face whatever in-your-face-screaming demons you may have as your constant companions. I'm sure I'll have more seasonal mishaps to report before long and I'm looking forward to all the boys' help decorating the tree. Right...

PS This is what it looks like when we attempt a Christmas card picture.


  • Journal > It's That Time Year...Glue Gun On Constant Warm Standby and Coffee and Scotch in Arm's Reach at All Times OR Why Silent Night Won't Be Our Theme Song This Year

One Little Two Little Three Little Native Americans
Date Created: Nov 26, 2007, 05:01 PM


We had a wonderful Thanksgiving but I am still in recovery mode. Tableclothed card tables, cake plates, and gravy boats are hanging around like they own the place. It was 76 degrees outside Monday but I wore my drawstring sweatpants and sipped hot tea like it was a snowy January afternoon. After I got the boys settled for their nap, I curled up in my own bed and slept through two Law and Order reruns. Yesterday was better. I went to weightlifting class at the gym, but that about did it. Today I am one small step ahead. The serving pieces are still looking over my shoulder even as I type and the coolers are still in the kitchen half-full of water and filmy plastic ice bags, but I am dressed and I am writing and the boys did get their teeth brushed. I just put a load of laundry in and the breakfast dishes are in the dishwasher. The small victories of a holdiday hangover. By the time I get back to normal over here it will be Christmas.

The boys' Thanksgiving program at school last week was great. It was only singing and only lasted about 35 minutes. It was a adorable but as my friends know because I have been whining about it for two weeks, it was less than politcally correct. I don't mean to be a stickler. I don't plan on protesting the observation of Columbus Day or demand that the traced-hand turkeys the boys make at school be labeled free-range, but I am a little concerned about the songs they sing. I can even deal with the Native Americans being called "Indians," even though I've taught the boys that real Indians come from the country India to which they always reply for some reason, "What are people from Florida called?" But the song about the Indian chief goes "Hi ya ya ya ya! Hi ya ya ya!" And then they sing about the Indian brave who "goes out hunting with the boys." First of all, I have nothing against people who hunt, but I truly hope my guys don't want to. And second of all, if I did want them to hunt, I'd want the girls to be right out there with them! They didn't sing any songs about the women Indians even though there was one about the chief and the one about the brave. If we're going to stick to traditional roles here, there could have least been one about gathering nuts and berries or tending the little ones! I can think of at least eight people I know who read this blog who are either cussing me or laughing at me, and that's okay. I know I can be a tad sensitive and even contradictory pretty much most of the time, but still, James was born a chauvenist pig and I am working hard to banish the stereotypes he has absorbed so easily and it doesn't help when I tell them to do everything their teachers say and listen to what their teachers say when what they are saying was written in the original Thanksgiving Day Preschool Program of 1850!

Speaking of James' tendencies, I have to say he has tried really hard to keep them at bay, but it doesn't come naturally. Even a year ago he was insisting only men were doctors and firefighters. Since two of our closest friends are female doctors that was easy enough, but he is still wary of the female firefighter myth since the only female ones he has seen are in books and I'm starting to worry that he may start sensing a left-wing conspiracy in children's book publishing and stop reading altogether. The boys are always fascinated by life inside my tummy and when they were in the hospital afterwards. Luckily one of George's primary NICU nurses was a man, and luckily I have pictures. So now whenever we talk about the boys being in the hospital or about nurses in general James pipes up in a very conciliatory tone, "Mans can be nurses too, Momoe." So it's not easy or natural for him, but he is memorizing his way closer to my way of thinking...And no, I'm not taking bets on when he starts coming up with his own worldview. It will be too soon at any rate, so until then I can mold him the best I can into what my college friends and I used to call "New Age Sensitive Guy."

In all my ranting and raving, I forgot to mention the boys' performance in the program. James smiled, sang loud and clear, and did all the correct hand motions. No surprise, he loved having an audience. John was dead serious. He never smiled, but he followed all directions about where to sit and when to stand up. I think he was scared. George knew every word to every song--I know because he sang them the week before with much gusto. But apparently the spotlight did not move him. He basically sat there pretty much the same as if he'd been sitting at a bus stop or waiting his turn at the doctor's office. He just wasn't into it. But that's George. Mr. Cool. He did. however, sing a spontaneous My Country Tis of Thee after we said the blessing on Thanksgiving after which James snatched up his guitar and gave a foot-stomping rendition of God Bless America.

And from Mr America back to Mr. Cool, the other night we were at my dad's watching football. Will's dad saw a live lizard skitter under my dad's chair and told my dad. The next thing you know George says to my dad ("Boop"), "Don't move, Boop!" And in a flash he has the lizard in his hand, opens the door with his other hand, puts the lizard outside, and shuts the door. In the car on the way home, all the boys were yelling "We're animal rescuers!" And George said in his deadpan, "Yeah, but I'm the only one who saved a real lizard." Later he told us how the lizard was named Lizzie and it was his friend.

Speaking of George's animal friends, I'm a little bit sick of Stripesy the Great. On Veteran's Day George told us Stripesy had been in the army. He was very brave and shot only the bad robbers. After that he worked on telephone lines so he could go in the bucket truck. Every time there's any news of anyone doing something wonderful or brave, it turns out Stripesy has already accomplished that feat. Only Super Peacock has done more good deeds and has travelled more places than Stripesy. Yesterday George asked me to help Stripesy write a letter to Santa. You better believe he's been a good zebra this year.

The boys have been good when I really needed them to be lately, but on a daily basis not really. Why isn't the Santa Claus-is-watching-threat working? I thought this would be the year that had a real effect. They beg me not to call Santa or tell him when they are misbehaving, but they don't really change their behavior. What is it about the four-year-old foot that is so sensitive no sock and shoe combination in the world can offer anything more than extreme pain and torture? What is it about going to the potty and brushing one's teeth that is so degrading? What is it about the sheets these days that induce all manner of bedwetting? And why must every poop begin with these shrill words, "It just started in my pants!"

Okay, no more complaining. This being the Thanksgiving Season, I have SO much to be thankful for. Thankful for Will and the boys and all of our family and friends most of all. Thankful for a place to host Thanksgiving and to have so many people who brought such beautiful and delicious things over for everyone to enjoy. Thankful for my morning cup of coffee. Thankful I haven't caught Will's GI bug. Thankful I have time to write today. Thankful I have people who actually read this. THANK YOU!!!!

  • Journal > One Little Two Little Three Little Native Americans

Rocket Men
Date Created: Nov 13, 2007, 02:48 PM


Gosh, I've been even worse than usual about writing in the blog! Things have been as crazy as ever and I am so so so excited to say that I have been writing little things here and there for Charleston Magazine. That has been a dream-come-true situation for me so far, but it takes up a lot of my writing time. So I've been even less able than usual to find time for this. Forgive me!

The boys get even funnier as their vocabulary takes one step forward one step back. They are adding more and more words to their repertoire but I can't say the correct meaning or pronunciation of many of these has made it there quite yet. And they are more obsessed with SEC football than ever. Their comments about who has what mascot amused me, but now that they have moved on to knowing who has how many losses and to whom I am downright embarrassed. You'd think we had a house with Florida Gator Orange walls and wear Gator warm-up suits and watch only college football on TV the way they talk about it. Actually besides the wall part, it's not that far from reality. James likes to say, "We don't like Fuktucky except when they're playing the LSU Tigers." I think that would make a great bumper sticker.

I brought home a bunch of my childhood books from my mom's house and the boys have found some real treasures. James' favorite is "You Will Go To The Moon." It has my barely legible 1st-grade signature in it, but it must have been my mom's when she was a little girl because it takes place BEFORE anyone went to the moon. Reading this book to the boys requires lots of work and quick thinking. First of all, space travel is hard to explain in the first place. Now try doing it while every single picture in the book is so so so wrong. The people in the rocket wear no space suits and sit in seats just like in an airplane. As you read the words, you have to interject and say, "But it's not REALLY like that." Luckily the guys can't read yet, so they won't notice every time I say "rocket men and women" instead of the printed "rocket men." Honestly, space travel doesn't excite me. I think it's dangerous and I don't really ever want to go up there. But this book has the boys hooked. Maybe it's because the Space Station looks like an oversized man cave. There are checkerboards, a TV with baseball on it, books for the rocket man wearing glasses, a movie projector showing a Western, even a soda jerk behind a counter with stools. And then once on the moon there are "moon cars" that are basically dune buggies that the rocket men bounce all over the moon in, jumping craters and doing do-nuts. Space: the ultimate male getaway.

In some wonderful twist of fate, there is even a book about a zebra in my childhood collection and one about Noah's Ark that George has claimed. George has gotten so smart lately that Will and I have got to make sure we don't always ask only him the hard questions. The other day at the grocery store, George was in the big part of the cart with the groceries and with the reusable bags I am trying to use. He put most of the groceries in the bags and told me he was doing that to save time when we paid at the check-out. He understood when I told him good thinking but they have to scan each item before we can pay, but I could still see his wheels start to turn as if thinking, there must be a better way. Last night John was being a real pill at the supper table and George told me and Will, "Someone needs to tell John N-O."

If you've seen the pictures, I think you can tell we had a great Halloween. George was everything you'd think Super Peacock would be. At the neighborhood party, George relished every instance an adult asked him what he was. "I'm Super Peacock," he said. Then he turned around and stuck his rear-end out so people could see the feathers on his cape. Then he ran so the cape would fly out behind him. Then he would look back and wait for words of grandiose adoration and admiration. He was so independent at the party, flitting all around without us. James was the only kid who got the beanbag through the pumpkin eye and won four pieces of candy! He was so proud. Super Peacock was busy at the time and Superman was simply too strong. He threw the beanbag over the pumpkin. They did a great job trick-or-treating, but James did say his legs were too tired to walk toward the end even though we only went to a few houses. Then there was the Milk Dud horror and that about put an end to his night. John had to inspect every single piece of candy and ask me all about it. I guess I'm a terrible mother because they'd never seen "Sour Fries" or Skittles or gummies in the shape of a severed finger before. And how to explain a "jawbreaker"?

Our other big outing recently was to the fair! We had a great time! We went with our brave friends Todd and Jessica again who brought their very brave 3-month-old twin girls. We had so much fun and the guys were able to ride a lot more rides this year. Their favorite was the NASCAR cars on a track. I think these little cars were made from vintage scrap metal and full-lead paint they were so rickety, but the guys may aswell been driving in the Daytona 500. The funniest part was that John kept looking back at the car behind theirs, actually thinking it was going to pass them. Then on every curve, he would be relieved because it looked like they had fallen back a little. Todd and Will took the boys to play games while Jessica and I fed the baby girls. The boys were apparently whizzes at picking up rubber duckies. James chose as his prize two tiny toy four-wheelers which promptly broke. George picked out the latest addition to our family, "Snakey", a stuffed cobra. "Snakey was waiting for me to pick him and take him home," George likes to say of the resoundingly successful adoption. John picked a white "Ninja Sword." But don't worry about the violence factor too much. He told me the next day in his "goo goo voice" that he was a "Ninja Baby." I guess the sword does make less noise than a rattle.

We are hosting Thanksgiving here this year and I simply cannot wait!!! The only problem is that my housekeeping, lousy by nature, has been especially spotty lately. The downstairs bathroom smells like a gas station bathroom, the type that's on the outside of the building and that used to have a key. IT REEKS! I'm so embarrassed. I think the wallpaper coming down is the only thing that will make it better, because I think during the potty training efforts and with the boys' roving attention spans that have no time for focusing on aiming for the potty, the wallpaper is saturated with T-T! YUK! Someone the other day suggested maybe I could use some of that spray people use for pet accidents. Sadly I think it makes perfect sense!

Thank you so much if you're still checking to see if we're all still alive. I will try to write again sooner than later!


It's a bird, it's a chicken, no, it's...
Date Created: Nov 07, 2007, 06:08 PM


Super Peacock

  • Journal > It's a bird, it's a chicken, no, it's...

What's This?
Date Created: Nov 07, 2007, 05:40 PM


Superman examines EVERY piece of candy.


Duds
Date Created: Nov 07, 2007, 05:26 PM


Batman doesn't like Milk Duds. Need I say they got a bit stuck in his teeth?


Not that there's anything wrong with doing it like a mans
Date Created: Oct 16, 2007, 04:21 PM

Today is back to reality. Last week, Will took the whole week off from work. I really anticipated us getting a tad sick of each other or us getting in each other's way, but that didn't happen. Today I miss him miss him miss him. We took the boys to and from school together. We cleaned out the garage. We went fishing. He drove me to my tennis match and stayed and watched. I read almost a whole book. It was wonderful. Two parents at home full time with three kids--now THAT works! Too bad someone has to work. Or I should say too bad someone has to work for money. Anyway, it really was great. Luckily I won my tennis match this morning, so I'm not thinking about missing him. And I do have to admit the boys are napping right now and it is really really quiet. I do miss him, but my own company isn't so bad either. I didn't write one word of anything while he was home. Funny, because with all of his help I had plenty of time. But even writing this blog is sort of a solitary business. And if I'm not feeling just a little weepy and lonely what's the point of writing anyway?

A couple of weeks ago we took the guys to the doctor for their 4-year check-up. The boys were actually excited. They love their doctor. Will and I were hemming and hawing the whole time because we knew there were four shots each waiting for them at the end. Apparently four is a milestone of sorts because the boys had to do hearing and eye chart tests which they'd never done before. George went first on the eye chart. It has pictures of flags, sailboats, stars, moons, stuff like that. George is the one guy whose vision we haven't been worried about. When they were born, John and James both had retinopathy of prematurity which is normal for preemies. James had to have surgery and wears glasses. John's case was milder, but they told us at the time to be sure to have his eyes examined when he turned four or five. George had no problems. Well the nurse stands up at the chart and I stand back with George, holding a plastic thing over one eye. First the nurse points to a big zero. "A tire," George says. Okay, not bad. Then she points to a sailboat. A BIG one. In his high-pitched where's-my-blue-blankie voice he says, "I don't know what that is." I do a polite ha-ha and then give George a polite squeeze on his shoulder. "Georgie, you know what that is." The nurse points to a half moon. "I don't know what that is." I give my teeth a polite clench and say, "George...." "I don't know," he says." I know he knows what is on that damn chart! And Lord strike me down now if I am overlooking the fact that the poor child can't see. But how does it look for a parent to feed answers to a four-year-old who SUPPOSEDLY is too young for any sort of guile or trickery? "I know he can see it," I say. The nurse gives me a polite smile as if to say, "Right. We've seen your kind around here before." So then we move on to the hearing test. The nurse puts the headphones on George and I give him a not-so-polite smile that says, Come on, George, do what the nice nurse says. The nurse tells him what to do, raise the hand of the side you hear. And even though I know George of all people can do this, I think it's a touch complicated if not for four-year-olds in general than at least my semi-dense four-year-olds. Really what I'm thinking to myself in horror is, All the other four-year-olds can do this? They must all be girls. Anyway, the nurse pushes a button and George just grins. "Do you hear anything?" "No," he says. The nurse turns the button way up. "Do you hear anything?" "No." The nurse takes off the headphones and tries it herself. "It's working," she says. She puts them back on George. "Now he should hear this." He shakes his head. "Did you hear anything, George?" she asks. "No. Yes. I heard somethin'." "Which ear did it come from?" "This one," he says without pointing to either ear. Then he catches on and raises a hand. "I heard it in this one. No, this one." He alternates raising his hands like he's doing some exercise. In my mind I am the Man with the Yellow Hat, "GEORGE!"

The only part George fully participated in was the urine sample. "Yay! I've never T-T'd in a cup before!" And he almost filled the thing up. John was pretty cooperative except that Mr. Don't Forget The Doctors Said To Get My Eyes Checked scored 20-20 vision on his chart test. My theory is that the John that can't stand to lose or perform anything less than perfect used all of his might to send superpowers to his eyes so he could ace the test. While George on the other hand hopes you think he can't see so you'll never really know how much he can. James did well during the visit except that he would not lie down on the table so the doctor could feel his tummy. It is so annoying. Will gave polite promises/warnings of milkshake rewards/bribes. But King James will lie prone to no man!

Finally the doctor was finished with his part and it was time for the nurse and I to perform the dirty work. Will waited in the waiting room with two of the guys while I held George for shots. Two in each arm. I can stand the wriggling. I can stand the pain they must feel. I can stand the strong-arm techniques of the no-nonsense nurse. What I can't stand is the look of pure shock on their faces as the first needle pierces their skin. You did this to me? You hate me this much? You would hurt your own child this way? You knew all along we would have shots and you never told me? How can you do this to me? How can there be a God in a world that hurts like this? How could you lie to me? How could you? How could you? How could you?

No need to describe each boys' reaction in detail. George went first because I knew he'd be the LEAST distraught by the time we got back to the waiting room so wouldn't scare the others. James was medium. With John the no-nonsense nurse summed it by saying, "You really saved the worst for last, hunh, Mom?" And I did. That way Will could have us all paid up, stickers picked out, and by the time John was finished we could all just whisk ourselves out of the office leaving John's primal screams in our wake. And that's what we did. In the car on the way to Sonic for comfort food George played with the little toy parachuter the nurse gave him for being so brave, John whimpered and confirmed that he would be able to get grilled cheese, fries, AND ice cream, and James mumbled a scathing diatribe complete with furrowed brow and emphatic head-shaking: "Shots are bad. Going to the doctor is not good. Dr. Davis is not good. That was not a nice nurse. I don't want to go back there. Shots are bad. Shots are not good. I do not like the doctor. Going to the doctor is not fun."

Later that day my friend Jessica and her twin baby girls brought over ice cream sandwiches from Carvel, preventing me from drinking myself silly and keeping the boys' mouths full enough that they couldn't offer any more comments about the shots.

That was a couple of weeks ago, but I've noticed the experience has resurfaced subconsciously every now and then. When James plays astronauts now, he calls himself, "Needle Armstrong," instead of the more docile "Neil."

In other less docile news, George is excited about being Super Peacock for Halloween and lest you old reactionary traditionalists out there worry about George ending up as a dancer in Vegas one day (not that there's anything wrong with that), he has given me more details about this wily super-hero. "Underneath his feathers," he says, "he has sharp pointy points!" So you see, he is still the hyper-violent macho man you want him to be. I have taken advantage of the super-hero angle by releasing myself of the resourcefulness necessary for making a magnificent fan-shaped tail of feathers by instead making a cape with feathers attached. Much easier. I am going to skip the sharp pointy points, however. It was the thought that counted there. Also, I suggested a mask like Zorro's, not that there's anything wrong with everyone recognizing that's my kid in the turquoise peacock costume.

Apparently George has really been aggressive lately about garnering the top blog stories by doing really weird things, because here are a couple more. The first story is I think a show of true brilliance. The second is I think a story of true male depravity.

We were all in the car the other day and I guess being the only female in the house has started to corrupt my own standards of good taste, because we were being very silly and talking about poop. Literally. When the boys poop on the potty they get a Rolo. After a day of hanging out with "da guys" I throw out,
"What if you pooped a Rolo!"
John said, "That would be gross!"
James said, "If you pooped a Rolo and then you ate it, you would get sick!"
George said with straight face and a bone-dry tone, "If you poop a Rolo, do you get a poop? That's a jote."

The second story also has to do with poop, would you believe. George called for Will the other day from the upstairs bathroom. Will went up and instantly called down to me. "You gotta come see this." George was standing in front of the potty with his pants down. A huge turd lay on the floor right behind him. George hadn't had a poop accident in months.
"George! What happened?"
"I had to poop AND T-T. At the same time."
"WHAT!?"
"That's how I do it!"
"Next time sit on the potty!"
"I do it like a mans, standing up."

Hopefully that's the end of his multitasking. That varmint is always looking for the easiest quickest way to do everything so as to not take him away from his time playing with his animals. "Mize pets," he calls them. His posse currently includes Stripesey, Turtle, Beaver, Badger, Foxy, and Cow. John has fallen back in love with his little doll that has his name on it, his birthday, and birth weight and length. We've always called the doll Baby John. John still calls him this, but now says Baby John is a "grill" (girl). I don't know what this says about John. Is it possible he already likes the idea of cuddling up at night with a lady-friend? I think he's been reading too many fairy tales lately. And for the first time in our family history I heard these words from James when I walked outside and Will and the boys were sitting around the table on the deck: "No goils allowed! Just boys." It actually hurt my feelings for a minute, and then I said, "Ooooo, hurt me," and went inside and enjoyed the briar patch they'd thrown me into.

Not too much else going on right now besides the increasing testosterone. John seeks out anyone who seems like a "tough guy"--to him, at least. Yesterday he ran up to a little boy riding his bike past our house with his mother. "What's your name?" the boy asked in a gruff voice. "John!" John said back in a gruff voice. The two chased each other, one via training wheels one via bare feet while the mother and I chatted. She mentioned setting up a playdate for the guys, but said, "Maybe one or two of them. I'd hate to leave one out, but..." Now, of course I don't expect anyone to invite triplet boys over. But, lady, you don't come right out and say that. I'm sorry, but it would absolutely break George and James' heart if only John got to go over to this kid's house to play. I don't know what I'll do if it comes up again with her. Probably just suck it up and invite her child to come over to our house instead. I told Will about it and he said to add it to the list of dumb things people say when confronted with triplets. And like I said, I totally understand and don't expect someone to invite them over, but let's face it, inviting just one at this age isn't really an option either. John asked me a question the other day that totally caught me off guard and was a reminder to me that sometimes the boys catch on to more than I give them credit for. The boys were born in July, but they were supposed to be born in October. Since they were actually born in July, they could technically have been in the 4-year-old preschool class. But since they were supposed to have still been three when the school year started and because they are boys we put them in the three-year-old class instead. My greatest fear was putting them in the fours only to get to second grade and one of them be completely ready to move on and one or two of them completely needing to repeat a grade. How heartbreaking would that be? This way, I figured they would have an extra year to get their act together. So the other day John asked me, "Why are we in Miss Mollie's class if we're four?" How to explain! I said, "I'm sure there are other people in the class who are four." "No." He shook his head. "Don't you like Miss Mollie and Miss Leigh?" "Yeah." "Well, we thought you'd want to be in that class with them and next year be in the fours." "Hmmm," he said. Then I said something like, "Uh, I have to go to the bathroom." Not the last uncomfortable conversation, I'm sure, but I was surprised how soon this one came and how unprepared I was. It seemed like the issue was really bothering him, but I didn't have anything comforting to say about it. When are you supposed to be honest and when are you supposed to fool them with warm fuzzies? How do you know what knowledge they are ready for and what on the other hand would scare them? I tried to start a conversation the other day about not talking to strangers, but I failed miserably. I've been trying to GET them to talk to people when I introduce them since they could talk. They didn't even understand what I meant by the word "stranger". Just blank stares. Oh well, I promise to try on that front again, but in the meantime I comfort myself with the thought that no kidnapper in their right mind wants three and if even one of the grandmothers takes one of them without the others the ones left behind scream and carry on because they don't want to be left out. So I am sure I would hear the screaming and yelling at the kidnapper, "Me too! Me too! I wanna go!" Okay, so that's not a joking matter. Forgive me. But hey, there are a FEW advantages to having triplet boys and having a triple-dose of noise, stink, and energy as a kidnapper deterrent is one I'm quite thankful for. Speaking of those things, I better go. One man's deterrent is another woman's calling.

  • Journal > Not that there's anything wrong with doing it like a mans

So I was too hard on James and now God is sending me a message
Date Created: Oct 02, 2007, 04:33 PM


I just let the guys out of quiet time and I went to get some Halloween stuff out of the storage area off of John's room that is pretty much attic space with insulation and exposed nails everywhere. I told the boys as I have several times before, "Only Momoe or Daddy can come in here because it's very dangerous." In a 100-percent sincere voice, James said from the little door, "Don't hurt yourself in there, Momoe!" It was so sweet. He was worried about me. And like I alluded to before, he doesn't disguise his emotions, so I know he really meant it. It was so sweet it melted my heart. Then we read a Thanksgiving Book I found in the storage room. The book used the term "Native Americans" instead of "Indians"--also a conversation we've had before. I said, "Some people call them Indians, but I call them Native Americans."

"I call then Native Americans," James said in a serious voice.

"I call them Native Americans," John said in a serious voice.

"I call them Indians!" George said. "Hee hee!"

And there you have it. Now they are running around with their jack-o-lantern buckets and in John's words, "Bein' pooky!" and building a "pooky house."

  • Journal > So I was too hard on James and now God is sending me a message

Personality Plus
Date Created: Oct 02, 2007, 04:02 PM


Here are the boys en plein air. We had a good time despite being unable to resist the urge to mix paints, brushes, and even each other's artwork.

Things are good here. George has been quite the rascal lately. He looked at my forehead real close the other night and then said, "What are all of those lines on your face? How'd you get those?" I was like, from you and your brothers! Last night we were saying the blessing before supper and he said, "God is great, God is bad!" I know he didn't mean anything by it and we haven't been to church in over a year so it's not as if he's trying to make some kind of statement about anything he even partially understands, but let's face it, some things are sacred. So Will said immediately in a very stern voice, "Go up to your room!" And I said something like, "We don't joke about God," not that I haven't or that I think God herself doesn't have a sense of humor, but these are things that will have to be explained at a later time. Anyway, George's face crumbled and shattered in shock and sadness. He started to cry and then he literally crawled up the stairs on all-fours looking at us and I swear he looked just like a crying monkey. As soon as he was out of sight Will and I couldn't help but laugh. "He's breaking my heart, " I said. "That face! And just think how many times he's going to break our heart before it's all said and done." I worry that George is going to get in so much trouble. The boys' teacher went out of her way the other day to tell me how focused John is during circle time at school and how he always listens so well and always has the answer to every question. At first I was surprised, because at home he's more likely to give hugs or throw a football at you than answer or ask questions other than where's the yellow drumstick or where's that baseball? NO, THE OTHER BASEBALL! And he never listens. I have to nag him a thousand times to do anything. And I was a little surprised that George wasn't more involved in circle time because he has amazed Will and me with the comments and questions he's come up with lately. Last night Will brought home a site plan from work that is basically a map looking down on a piece of property. George looked at it all by himself and pointed out to us where all the buildings were, where the marina was, and even where the driving range was. When he pointed out the driving range I asked him how he knew that's what that was and he said because it's big. And he's right. Will and I just looked at each other. But what's funny is that George may be (and I'm NOT SAYING HE IS) the most intellectual IN A WAY but he really doesn't care if anyone knows or not. For John, his intelligence is all wrapped up in love and approval. He needs everyone to know how smart he is. I got to school early to pick them up today and so I got to see them line up from the playground. John and James lined up like they were supposed to and George was picking leaves off a bush until the very last minute and then got in line. I worry about how he will do in school long-term. I know how smart he is, but he just doesn't care and he doesn't like to sit still. Having been a teacher, this is not teacher pet material! But who would want a pack of teacher's pets, right? (In the spirit of full disclosure I just may have had a touch of the OO-OO-Call-on-me bug myself...) I'm pretty sure John is going to angle for that--his teacher also told me on another occasion that he comes up to her and rubs her arm or gives her hugs. And what about James? Well, the teachers' report on him is that he doesn't like it when people don't line up right or when things aren't where he think they should be. Also his shoes and socks are sometimes so painful and wrong that he is forced to not so subtly bring it to the teachers' attention. I have no advice for the teachers on how to handle this. James is really smart and has an incredible memory. I think he's going to do great in school and I am so curious to see what he's going to be most interested in. I know he loves music. Next time you see him see if you can get him to sing Hootie and the Blowfish's "Only Want to Be With You." But I'm a tad worried that he sees his teachers and school merely as employees and an institution created purely for his amusement and betterment over whom he should have complete say. Just people playing their role in the Kingdom of James.

Speaking of James and John, my whole family was together this past weekend for my sister's birthday and my grandmother's 80th birthday. My niece Elly who just turned two is absolutely adorable. She played a game where she "falls down" and says, "I fell down! Help me, John!" Lover of Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and "Tow" White himself, John was all too happy to save the lady in distress and helped her up several times. Then James came around and she tried it on him. "I fell down! Help me, James!" James looked at her as if to say, 'looks like you got two legs to me, but whatever, and held out a hand and promptly dropped hers the very millisecond she got to her feet. She tried again and James ignored her. I helped you once, now you're on your own , he seemed to say. Not the chivalric type, James. But, I love him. You always know where you stand with him as opposed to the brooding John who keeps you guessing or the flippant George who doesn't care one way or the other. I read an article the other day by a childcare expert whatever that is and his point was that you can try to control your child's behavior, but you can't control or change your child's personality and any attempts to do that will only make whatever friction there is even worse. I don't want to change James' personality even though it is so different from mine, but I do find that when I give in to things that really don't matter but that mean a lot to his "personality" things go so much smoother. It used to drive me NUTS when he would open his door during quiet time and throw out into the hall any dirty clothes that might be on the floor, any shoes, or any toys that did not belong in his room. Now I just check to make sure none of these things are in there before I tuck him in. It used to drive me nuts that every night before I even had a chance to do anything, he would remind me that we needed to brush his teeth and that we needed to say his prayers and that he wanted a kiss AND a hug. Now I brush his teeth early on in the routine so I don't have to hear about it, I make sure we say his prayers as soon as we get in the bed, and I say out loud as I do what of course I always do anyway and love doing, "Here's a kiss AND a hug!" When the teachers mentioned his somewhat OCD tendencies the other morning I did at least offer that if it weren't for James no one would ever remember to brush everyone's teeth every night! I wonder if the tables were turned and someone asked him about me what he'd say about my personality and the adjustments he's had to make so I don't drive him nuts! It's an odd feeling to have a child whose personality is so different--he loves to wake up, I love to sleep. He loves a routine, I love something different every day. He likes to button every button on his shirt, I like to let it all hang out. Hopefully we'll just rub off on each other a little as time goes on or maybe we'll just teach each other how to deal with ourselves and how to deal in a world full of all kinds of personalities. The thing we have most in common, I think, is music. If any tension is there either playing music on the radio or singing songs together makes us both smile. And he loves to dance. Music gets us back to home base and from there we can try again to make it right. And books, too. That goes for all the boys. If ever things are completely out of hand, it is surprising how it can all stop if I sit down and start reading a book out loud. Even if only one is interested at first, by the middle of the book they have all stopped what they are doing and are gathered around and then in a miracle moment there we are, sitting huddled together just the four of us, quiet and all looking at the same page. Even if none of them do well in school academically I hope they at least continue to love books. If I have even that one thing in common with each of them I will be thrilled. I just finished reading The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen, a long, hilarious, depressing, emotional, crazy, disgusting, uplifting book the other night. I may have mentioned I've had so much trouble sleeping lately. Anyway, after I finished, I turned off the light to go to bed and rolled over to Will and said something like, "Wow, that book." Instead of going to sleep, part of me felt like I was just waking up. "How on earth are you ever going to sleep if you keep reading things like that right before you go to bed?" he asked. I don't know the answer to that, but I'd rather stop sleeping than reading. So here's to sleepless nights! Sorry boys for the reading habit I am trying to instill in you! Please try to read only comforting stories about mittens and moons under the covers and leave those nefarious spinning-wheel tricksters Rumpelstiltskin and Maleficent to the daylight hours or you'll end up sleep-deprived, ranting, and forehead-wrinkled like me!



Please Come Back, Mr. Sandman, I'm Sorry for Whatever I Did, Let's Have A Special Night Together, Like We Used To, How About Tonight?
Date Created: Sep 24, 2007, 03:11 PM


This is my niece Elly! We went to Florida last weekend to celebrate her second birthday. We had a great time and Elly loved the pink cowgirl boots we gave her. I loved having the chance to pick out something extremely pink and extremely girly since there's not much of that around here. The boys are as boy as ever. Running faster and faster around me and getting sweatier and sweatier. Last night they were riding their "motorcycles" and just kept crashing into each other again and again, laughing the whole time. They've been getting along with each other pretty well. The other morning they told Will and me they didn't ever want to get married, they wanted to live together in a big house.

James: Shaped like a pirate ship with a crow's nest on top. And with a baseball field inside.

George: And it's always Halloween there!

James: And everyone's invited!

So mark your calendar for 14 years from now. Instead of a frat house it will be Halloween House. And pirate house. And baseball house. Won't the girls be impressed? Speaking of Halloween, I have got to get going on the costumes. James wants to be Batman (he's never seen Batman but he has some Batman sunglasses) and John wants to be Superman (again, never seen Superman--where do they pick up on the superhero stuff?). But this is good, because I can order those. BECAUSE I am really going to have my hands full with George's costume. He wants to be a peacock. He's been saying it since last Halloween so I know he means it. Since the superhero worship has evolved he now wants to be "Super Peacock" but I kinda think if I make him a peacock costume that says Super Peacock on it, I'm going to be the one who looks crazy for making it. Or I could put a disclaimer on the back that George wouldn't notice, something like, "That's what HE wanted" or "It was HIS idea." And then I'd just get blamed for producing one weird kid.

I'm sorry this is so short, but I'm a little bit distracted today. I haven't been sleeping well at night for about a week. I am so tired and every night I think, this is it! The night I am so tired it will be the best sleep I ever had! I drink alcohol and it doesn't help. I don't drink alcohol and it doesn't help. I've even cut out the coffee. Someone at the gym today recommended acupuncture. I guess that wouldn't be so bad if they gave me something to put me to sleep while they put the needles in. I've even taken Exedrin PM a few nights, but I hate to do that every night. I don't know what's going on. It doesn't help that George gets up three times a night to go to the bathroom and feels the need to announce it or that John has been wetting the bed at least once a night for the last few nights. I just want to close my eyes and feel nothing for one night! Maybe this will be "the night". And speaking of rest, of course the guys aren't. So I'm going to let them out of their purgatorial torture of naptime. Sweet dreams!

  • Journal > Please Come Back, Mr. Sandman, I'm Sorry for Whatever I Did, Let's Have A Special Night Together, Like We Used To, How About Tonight?

Chicken Wing Mans
Date Created: Sep 12, 2007, 03:49 PM


Here's a picture of what I was talking about in the last entry. Speaking of silliness, John literally can't talk without being silly. You should ask him about, in his words, "Day-Cool Pea-Cool" (The Day School Pre-school).


School Mans
Date Created: Sep 11, 2007, 03:10 PM


Today started the boys' second week in school. Already it has made life so much better. This morning it was so funny--I dropped the boys at school and then arrived at the first stop light. There were all the other mothers lined up in SUV's six -deep. Through the light we streamed, taking a right at the cut-through street without speed bumps. Half of the line diverted to the drive-thru coffee shop and the rest of us steamed ahead to the gym. Then we all piled out and went in. It was like a movie and I couldn't help but laugh at us all. What a luxury it is that we have the time and money to go to the gym to lift weights grunting the whole time literally pushing our husbands, children, and grocery lists away, to go gangbusters on the elliptical machine as if someone with a trash bag of dirty diapers is chasing us, and to downward dog our way to forgetting it all. I actually skipped the grocery store today--why don't we go out for chicken wings tonight, honey--but if I had made it I'm sure I would have seen more of the same mothers grabbing the two-for-one apple juice and that package of pull-ups which we just gotta believe this is going to be the last one we ever buy.

Like I said, I am so blessed to be able to send the boys to preschool and be able to go to the gym. But it's not an easy task to fit it all in. It seems like even before the boys start any sports teams or music lessons, my life is already broken into little pieces of mechanical time. A block to exercise/sweat away all inner demons/keep in at least decent shape, a block to procure all necessary items such as food/socks that James will wear/laundry detergent-and-lots-of-it/birthday presents/alcohol, a block to feed children, a block to feed self, a block to start laundry, block to dump laundry in piles, block to play outside, block to fix snacks, block to think about getting the broom after snack, block to forget broom and water plants instead, block to think about supper, block to slightly clean house before Will comes home, block to complain about boys' behavior, block to pour wine, block to turn on cartoons (finally!), block to fix supper, block to sit around happy family table, block to bathe boys, block to tuck boys in, block to telepathically send message to Will to clean up kitchen, block to bathe self (finally!), block to feel pillow under head. I wonder how many of us preschool moms are doing the exact same things at the exact same moments!

Anyway, even with everything as planned and scheduled and routined as it is, things are on the up and up. The boys really love school. although the most talkative they get in terms of telling me what went on in a day is when animatedly describing which of them used the potty that day and which used the "zhuszhnal" (urinal). Their favorite toy there is a pretend grill and also the kitchen. Ladies in the 3 - 5 bracket, I'm working hard here making sure these guys know how to cook! After cooking at school, they continue it here to a degree. They started as a restaurant. Then they wanted to use my aprons. Then they brought all of the cardboard blocks downstairs and piled them up. From there, they were delivery men: "beer mans", then "chicken wing mans" with a shipment for California, capri sun mans, and then they were grocery mans and had all of the boxes stacked on the steps and then would rearrange them and put them in grocery bags. I've enjoyed watching this game over the last few days until the incarnation it took today. "Trash mans." This involves filling grocery bags with as many random objects as possible, the smaller and more abundant the better (matchbox cars, for example) and then dumping out the bags in a huge pile.

Speaking of beer mans, don't ask me how in the world they know so much about beer--I mean seriously, don't ask me--but the other night Will and I were watching football and James exclaimed loudly about their stuffed animal badger, "Don't talk to Badger! He drinks too many beers!" To which George replied, "Stripesey has beer only every once in a while. And he's a grown-up zebra."

While their imaginations seem to be going full blast lately, which is fun, if messy, their naps and potty training seem to be a tad on the outs. Today I've been trying the approach of letting them read quietly during naptime instead of having to painfully try to sleep. It worked well for about 20 minutes. Since then I've heard books being dumped over the side of beds and was interrupted in the middle of my shower by a blood-curdling scream. George had wet his pants. Even though he'd already been to the bathroom literally six or seven times since quiet time began 45 minutes earlier. At least I now know I WOULD hear them if something terrible happened while I was daydreaming during my 20-minute Calgon-take-me-away showers.

John has also really regressed on the potty training. Will's mom and I have talked about it maybe being the anxiety of starting real preschool. Last week we had one heck of a night with him. It was sometime between 1 and 3 am. He'd already wet the bed twice that night when we heard him scream out again. We pulled ourselves out of bed and slept-walked down the hall to find John standing in his room wailing. We took him to the potty where of course nothing happened. And he would not calm down. Meanwhile I'm taking the current set of blankets and towels off his bed and adding them to the pile of previously wet sheets and blankets. He goes crazy and wants them back on the bed. They're wet, we tell him. "THEY! ARE! NOT! WET!" He yells. We try to talk to him. It was an accident. You wet the bed. You'll get to the potty next time. But still he yells in our faces like he's possessed. We tell him we are going to take some of his toys away if he doesn't calm down (our latest discipline experiment). We manage to get a pull-up on him--the first one he's had to wear in two months or more. And then we put him in his room and get in our bed. We don't shut his door or ours, but we want him to realize that we aren't going to talk to him or have anything to do with him when he's screaming like a madman. So Will and I lie in our bed listening listening listening waiting for him to fall asleep, throw himself down the stairs, or come murder us in our bed. Suddenly his screaming takes on a wacky script:

NO WHITE BLANKIE ON BED!

NO BIG WHITE BLANKIE ON BED!

LITTLE BIT SCARED!

LITTLE BIT SCARED!

I DID NOT WET THE BED!

THEY ARE NOT WET!

I DUMPED WATER ON ME!

THAT'S NOT NICE TO TAKE TOYS!

THAT'S NOT NICE TO TAKE TOYS!

And his voice gets louder as we realize he is creeping down the hallway closer and closer to our room. Finally Will says, "John, if you stop fussing we can talk." John runs in, says he's sorry in a tiny voice, and then crawls in our bed and curls up, "getting cozy" as he likes to call cuddling, and then starts cooing and giving us kisses. This is what Ms. Jekyll-Hyde must have had to put up with during the potty-training years. Ugh!

So, things are moving along despite the hiccups. There was also the playdate where the boys just wrestled and the scared little girl watched--how embarrassing--and a few poops in the pants that required a fingernail brush after the poopers were "checking" to see if they really had pooped in their pants before they called me. But we've also had an unbelievably smooth visit to the dentist with George who said things like, "A new toothbrush, Mama! I love toothbrushes," to the hygienist and a relatively smooth visit with James. Poor thing. For James, he was incredibly good and brave. When the hygienist started putting the seat back James literally clawed me trying to get out. But with a comfy Mickey Mouse pillow he was a trooper, and we kept our eyes locked during the entire cleaning, his scrawny little arm shaking while I held his hand. I was so proud because he really was afraid. And it's not fair to say James is the scaredy cat, because while George may love being doted on by sweet hygienists, he loses sleep over tigers who might steal our mail out of the mailbox. It's all relative. My guess with John next week is that he'll act just like he does at the barber. Like a 90-year-old man who can't hear or talk but knows just to do what the nice lady says.

Gotta run. James just informed me he was "coming down" from quiet time. It is time for me to let the animals out, but I can't ever let them forget I'M the zookeeper!







ONE WEEK UNTIL SCHOOL STARTS
Date Created: Aug 28, 2007, 04:10 PM


The good news is that the boys continue to play all kinds of games and imaginary scenarios. The bad news is that not everyone is playing by the same rules. For example, while the boys were playing zoo, someone (I'd let you guess who if it weren't so obvious) came stomping down the stairs in despair:

Georgie put the gorilla in the seal's cage. I don't like it because they mess up everybody's part of the zoo--different directions. Georgie just keeps--can you tell George he moves the gorilla?

In George's world, alligators and frogs are best friends, lions cuddle with zebras, and Atfridda lies just over the bridge. John's world is not so fluid. Gorillas are dangerous. Cages are good. Giraffes belong in their designated space only. Socilaizing between species is suspect.

In the picture above, they were in temporary agreement. This chaise lounge rotates between fire truck, pirate ship, pirate island, and race car. This day the boys were "safari men on safari trucks with animals." Later they played with a toy pirate cannonball that "capodes!" (explodes) George's band-aid is for fashion purposes only. No one was injured on safari or during pirate ammunition drills.

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I thought about writing yesterday but after George had such a bad poopie accident that he and I both had to take showers, I was too down and spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for Will to get home and thinking about the new bottle of wine I would open as soon as he did. Today George made up for it by pooping IN the potty as opposed to a four-foot radius AROUND it, so I'm feeling a little chipper.

I just walked back inside after another play session of mixed results. I've been watching all of the US Open Tennis on TV, so tennis is on the brain. John said he wanted to go outside and play tennis and everyone agreed to what each person thought that entailed. I thought it meant I could sit on the porch and wait for Will to come home and think about another bottle of wine. John thought it meant actually playing a tennis match. Well, I'll just give you a transcript of the whole thing, starting after John gave us all our appropriate assignments. John was Venus, George was Serena, James was James Blake, and I had my choice of being Roger or Marina (Maria Sharapova). (A short note on sports in the home: yes if they can memorize every tennis star, every quarterback, every SEC mascot they could much better spend their time memorizing more important things such as state capitals and the names of government officials like the little girl on the Oprah show. I have no excuse or reason for why the boys know it is only two days until college football. They just do.)

John: I'm going to show Roger my very best shot.

But before he can get his shot off, George hits another ball.

John: Only one ball to play tennis, George!

James runs inside, swatting bugs: I just want to tale a little break inside.

George picks a few pieces of long decorative grass and starts weaving them through the strings of his racket.

John gives in to George's version of the game since the only option is to play by himself and that simply can't be done in tennis. He weaves the grasses through his racket: This is a fancy tennis racket, Momoe!

James peeks outside the front door: Guys we need to get going!
He ducks back inside.

John wearies of the weaving and picks up a ball: Let's play now, George!

George: What?

John: TENNIS!

In the end James wins and they all go inside to play firemen.

John: I'm too fweaty.

George: I'm going inside, too. It's hot out here.

And there you have it. A friendly game of tennis, family-style.


Gotta run--Will just walked in the door and I'm ready to switch out this coffee for some shiraz. More soon!


James--I mean Jimmie Johnson--Says, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!"
Date Created: Aug 16, 2007, 03:19 PM


I may have told too many people that turning four has been a real turning point in the boys' behavior. Or maybe I was right that it's a turning point, but a slight turn in the wrong direction. I don't know if it's just that we're all a little bit sick of each other with cabin fever and it being a heat index of 115 every day or if now that they are potty-trained they want to make sure I realize this does not mean my life is going to get any easier. I don't know. But they do not listen to one word I say. How many times can I say politely, "Please put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes," before I start screaming PLEASE PUT ON YOUR SHOES! PLEASE PUT ON YOUR SHOES! PLEASE PUT ON YOUR SHOES! PLEASE PUT ON YOUR SHOES?" It's the same with, "Please get in the car," "Please go to the potty," "Please go to the door," "Please come put your pajamas on," Please come brush your teeth." I am a grade-A nag right now. But only because they will not do one thing I say! I can't describe how frustrating it is. It's hard enough when all three listen and go through the long list of things we must do before we leave the house. Add people starting new games, looking for a toy, or just running the opposite direction from me and the clock ticks on farther and farther with less and less likely of us getting anywhere on time or on any kind of schedule. We've got to get better because soon (not soon enough) they will be starting school and we really will be on a schedule.

George and John just don't listen because they don't. When James doesn't listen it's because he purposely loves messing with me. I know I sometimes blame James unfairly, but sometimes when we're outside getting out of the car to come inside and I'm weighed down with grocery bags, it's a thousand degrees outside, I need to go to the bathroom, and it's already way past time for them to eat lunch I ask him to come on inside. He stands there and grins at me. Then I beg him please to come on. And he just grins until I finally go in without him because I have to go to the bathroom that bad. He does great at the potty, but one of the most critical potty times is right after lunch and before "quiet time". He is a man of routine, and this potty time is especially routine. AND YET, if I'm having a less than great day, after I say, "Time to get on the potty, James," he gives me one of those diabolical grins and then takes off and runs around and around the downstairs of the house. When I tuck him in for nap, following the exact routine he likes, as soon as I turn around he is out of his bed and pulling the shades up 1/2 a centimeter higher than where I'd put them. The other day my very dear very sweet friend went with us to Splash Zone at one of the county parks. James insisted he wanted to go down one of the waterslides all by himself, but then once we got up there and kids start lining up behind us, he's like "No way!" and so we turn to leave the line and he says, "Yes!" and then we get in place at the top of the slide and he screams, "No!" This is a great way to make friends at the waterslide. Last night I was dropping some food at a friend's house who just had twins. I thought the boys could ride with me to get some fresh air. I told them they didn't have to wear shoes because we weren't going inside, just dropping stuff off. Well, James can only find one shoe. And it's his fault because he was playing "peg-leg pirate." Anyway Will and I repeatedly told him he could wear just one or he could wear none, it didn't matter. But it mattered to him. I wish I could describe the way he screamed and flailed. If I had been a neighbor of ours who'd never had children, or maybe had but they were all sweet girls, and I heard James screaming like that, I would have thought he had just lost a finger or hand or leg or torso in a tragic lawnmower accident he was screaming so loud and in such a pained (for everyone) fashion. Finally I just had to leave without him and Will stayed home with him. UGH!

So George is pretty much all potty-trained, thanks to a lot of bribery. We were at Target last week and he saw this little Playmobil seal set that goes with the zoo he got for his birthday. Number 2 in the potty had been eluding him, so I told him if he pooped on the potty we could go back and get the seals. We got home, he sat on the potty and pooped! Only the poop was about the size of a pencil eraser. "I pooped, Momoe! It's a poop!" Yes, technically, but he really didn't fulfill the spirit of my bribe. So what to do? Give in and accept his technically sound sample, or insist that he grow up and poop like a man if he wanted the mother-and-baby seal set? I hemmed and hawed and put him down for a nap. He must have decided to forgo the gray areas of my parenting, thereby securing his prize without any asterisks. After nap he pooped a man poop in the potty. That night we went to Target and got the seals. No poopy accidents since.

The only downside to Georgie's potty habits is how often he goes. Yesterday in the grocery store I took everyone inside to the potty, then back out to the lobby to get the racecar cart, then back inside where we got halfway through my grocery list, only to get the panic look and crotch grab from George. I raced the racecar cart back to the front, pulled everyone out of it, rushed them all back into the bathroom, and let George go again. At the water park, he went to the potty, then we put on his dry clothes, then he had to go again, only we didn't make it to the potty in time and he wet his pants. He was completely undone. We ran into the bathroom, his arms flailing and he's crying and as he rounds the curve from the door, he slips on the wet floor and completely wipes out--face and body all over the floor. At home, he handles the frequency by using the little plastic potty. He drags it to his toys and sits on it while he puts together puzzles. He drags it in front of the TV. He drags it to the fireplace hearth where he sets up animal parades. I thought this was an okay solution until the potty started stinking out of pure over-use. We dump it every time it gets used and we clean it, of course, but imagine anything that gets dragged around all day getting T-T'd and pooped in. :( But yesterday I think we discovered an even worse hazard of the portable potty. John was running full-speed through the TV room and didn't see the potty between him and the steps and he tripped over it and it tipped over and dumped its recent contents all over the floor. NOT GOOD! And then the carpet cleaning spray stained the rug on top of that. Again, UGH!

In good news, I guess, they continue to grow smarter. They went on a boat ride the other day with Will's parents on a friend's boat, and when they got back, Will and I asked the boys lots of questions about their time. We weren't sure what kind of boat it was or if they went fast or what, so we tried to find out. Apparently there's a lot we don't know compared to George.

Will: What kind of boat was it, guys? Was the motor in the back on the outside or was it inside where you couldn't see it?

George: It was an outboard motor, Dad.

Even though there's been a icky hitting epidemic going around and they continue to fight over who's not sharing and what belongs to whom, they have been playing together a lot and really interacting. I had some cardboard boxes out and before I knew it they were using them as trucks and sleds and somehow this was related to their all being different monsters. There was a "sea monster" who was sometimes a "house monster", a "moon monster," and John was a "tow monster" (SNOW monster--he still can't pronounce "s" sounds for some reason). They also play store and animal doctors (all of George's animals get hit by cars). They also like to pretend trucks are crashing and their tires "go pop!" Why all these macabre thoughts I'm not sure. They have also been asking lots of heaven questions. They wanted to know where it was, a natural question, I think, but who is prepared to answer these questions? I don't know where Heaven is! But before Will and I could have a mini-conference on what information we should present to the boys, he blurted out the predictable "In the sky!" We were in the car and the boys immediately crooked their necks to get a look out the window. "No," Will said. "Really high. You can't see it." George said, "It's up North?"

Well, two of the guys are napping, I THINK. I know John is awake because he just got out of his room to go to the bathroom. He has a large stuffed horse that is about the size of a real Shetland pony. It stands up and everything. Anyway, he's taken to sleeping with it in his bed, and I don't know why this is any different in theory than taking a teddy bear, but for some reason him in bed with a large horse with rigor-mortis-straight legs sticking out and taking up most of the room is a bit disturbing. But John is his own weird little man. Lately he's eaten nothing besides Kashi Heart to Heart cereal ("heart cereal with nilk") except what bites of other things we make him eat to get more heart cereal. He still has his talisman "gub" (his cowboy glove--only one), his favorite pair of camouflage shorts that are too small, and his crocs that are also too small but which he doesn't want to replace.

I guess we all have our own little weirdnesses. I know I've got mine. Let's just hope the boys never turn tables on me and start writing their own blog...

  • Journal > James--I mean Jimmie Johnson--Says, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!"

Happy Faces
Date Created: Aug 06, 2007, 04:39 PM


This is a picture of Happy John AKA NASCAR driver Mark Martin at the Fourth of July Parade. It took John about two hours to warm up to the crowd and smile or talk to anyone, but at least without the distractions of having to be a nice person he could focus on his driving...

We got back yesterday afternoon from our mountain vacation without the boys. It was wonderful. We stayed in a cabin near Lake Lure, North Carolina, that was truly closer to out in the middle of nowhere. It was awesome. No TV, no phones, no cell phone service. The cabin was under a huge canopy of trees, so it was cool enough in its shady spot for us to keep the windows open during the day. The cabin had an antique rope bed with a pillowy mattress and huge pillows on it up against the screened windows. This was Will's and my favorite perch. Both of us read like crazy people--short stories, novels, old magazines, new magazines, Will read a book about D-Day. It was incredible. We also slept late, drank coffee, drank beer, drank wine, drank scotch. We cooked on the grill, sat in the hot tub (cheesy, I know, but don't knock it till you try it--at least out in woods, at night, watching lightning bugs and drinking wine), listened to the bugs, owls, and bullfrogs, and drove a while on the country roads. Friday morning we hiked the trails on Chimney Rock. That was fun and also a good workout. Unfortunately, we rested on those cardio laurels and really didn't do much exercise the rest of the time other than getting up from the rope bed to change the music selection on the satellite radio. It was all sort of like playing house. Chopping an onion for the supper recipe didn't seem like such a chore when I literally had all the time in the world to do it and no one running through the kitchen waving a pirate sword. Oh, in odd news, we woke up Saturday morning to an earthquake that we found out later was a 2.8 on the Richter Scale. At 6 in the morning, I awoke in my semi-sleep in a big log bed on top of a juggling mountain and all I could think of was, Good Lord! Charleston's had another earthquake (the last one being 1886, I think) and all of our friends and family are dead and we're the only ones alive because we went on vacation! Ah, you can escape the kids and the dishes and the piles of laundry, but you can't escape the delusional anxieties or the ever-present guilt. Anyway, all around it was a great trip. I think the boys were pretty good while we were gone. Will and I were prepared for there to be some whining and fussing when we picked them up from my mom because they usually don't handle transitions well and then we end up feeling like crap because they didn't miss us and don't want us to be back. But I guess they are growing up! George did a cry a little--I can't remember why--and John was glad to see us but didn't want to leave my mom's and wanted us all to stay there, but overall, it was so much better than it has been at times. They really were happy to see us, I think. They gave us big hugs and smiles and told us about their weekend. And we weren't in the car two minutes before "it " all started.

What are we going to do when we get home?
Then what?
What's for supper?
Did you see my snake?
Connor bought us a snake.
Where is my snake?
Where is my snake?
Are we going to ours house?
Our house?
Where is our house?
Is this the way to our house?
What street are we on?
Mama!
Mama!
Mama!
ma-MA!

But at least we could laugh about it. I was a little bummed this morning because even after the wonderful luxury of a huge break, I felt sort of pouty about the day ahead of us. No big plans, lots of dirty laundry, hot weather. Also, I'm really sick of breakfast. And I don't even have to fix it! Will does. But I'm sick of seeing, smelling, and cleaning up the same stuff over and over again and I can never figure out anything good to eat myself. This morning it was a granola bar. Will does an awesome job making breakfast every single morning, but for some reason the collection of blueberries, Mighty Bites cereal, and cheese toast was like a big ugly face sticking its tongue out at me: Vacation time is over! Back to cleaning the crumbs and wiping the jelly!

But my day got a lot better. I took the boys to the gym with me. I haven't taken them to the childcare at the gym in a few years, because it was expensive and the boys didn't really like it. But they've reduced the price, so this morning the guys and I had a big-boy talk about it. I told them, there's a playroom at the gym with toys and cartoons and other kids. You'll go in there, and I'll be in the room next door in my exercise class. Can you handle it? George and James said yes with no hesitation. I purposely called it a "playroom" because I knew George is a sucker for anything with the word "play" or "toys" in it. James was on board because he loves to "exercise" himself and loves the idea that he's big enough to go to the gym. Of couse Happy John was the wrench in the plan. "Will there be grown-ups there?" "Yes." "Will you be there?" "No, I'll be in the room next door." "Will it be just for a short time?" "Yes. Can you handle it?" "Yes...I can handle it." Once we got there, George and James ran in, but John had to be enticed with a big truck. He leaned over to get a better look at the truck and I darted out. When I went to pick them up an hour and fifteen minutes later, they didn't want to leave. Yes!!! Suddenly out of nowhere I can go to the gym pretty much whenever I want to!

The boys are waking up from nap (those of them who actually slept), so I better run. I'm hoping I have plenty of vacation memory fumes to get me by until school starts.....


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