The kids are all right
Cormac is officially walking. He also finally said his first word: “Uh-oh.” As you might imagine, that gets repeated a lot around here.
He also picks up my cell phone, flips it open and says “hello!”, then wanders around with it glued to his ear until I remember the cell phone = cancer story in the Post Gazette and snatch it back. He will eat anything you hand him, including raw vegetables from the garden and blackberries picked from the side of the driveway. He enjoys splashing in the toilet when I’m not looking and throwing tantrums if either of us leave the room.
Owen is, as you may have guessed, a pirate. He battles bad guys, sails the briny seas, fights bad guys, rescues assorted family members from “sea meepers,” duels bad guys, and captures a lot of gold treasure. He doesn’t eat much besides cereal and grilled cheese sandwiches, though the lure of ice cream has been enough to get him to finish his vegetables a time or two. He likes to wear shorts, his “superhero” tie-dyed t-shirt, and what he calls his “pirate shoes,” which are Old Navy flip-flops printed with the Jolly Roger.
Both of them are a handful, no doubt. I just plucked a dead worm out of Mackie’s mouth and made Owen stop using the broom as a weapon. But they’re holding up marvelously well during this transition, and I gotta give them a hand for that.
From last summer to this summer
Was talking with a few of my friends about the changes a year makes. As it’s been said: the days are long, but the years are short. Sometimes I can’t believe how much they grow.
That’s unheard-of in this house.
I’m going to tell you this, but you have to promise you won’t get jealous.
You know how the kids always wake up between 6:09 and 6:15? Usually screaming their fool heads off about something, so that your dreams are pierced by a sound far worse than any clock-radio could produce?
Yeah. This morning I didn’t get out of bed until — and please notice the excited italics here — 7:45 in the a.m. And then only because I figured somebody had to be hungry.
I first awoke at five after seven, which is itself a luxury, of course. What met my ears were not cries of “Ma! I want my cereal!” or “Waaaaaah!” but the hushed giggles of two hooligans in cahoots. I waited patiently, eyes closed, buried nose-deep under the quilt, praying to the Almighty that I could stay there just a little longer. I was certain, because history had evidence to back me up, that it would be a matter of sheer seconds before the wailing set in.
It did not.
The unmistakable thump of the crib hitting the wall issued forth. Springs bounced. The giggles escalated into shrieks of laughter. I peeped one eye open; surely something awful was happening. Perhaps an early-bird intruder, hopped up on some Colombian joe and reeking of McMuffin, had just broken in with kidnapping on his mind. But then: why the giggles? Even a bacon-bearing burglar would surely arouse some sort of suspicion in these kids.
The laughter subsided to whispers and giggles again. I could hear pages turning. Presumably some other stuff happened but I believe I dozed off for half an hour then.
Next thing I know it’s twenty to eight, and I’m still warm and cozy in my bed, and further emanances from the children’s room seemed to indicate their continued safe presence. I realized that the goobers must be starving for their Apple Jacks and YoBaby, so I reluctantly left my nest and opened their door.
Two bright, smiling heads popped up above the crib rail. A more beautiful sight I have never, ever seen. My sons, my two sons, playing together. By themselves. In the morning.
It’s enough to make a girl give up complaining altogether.
You. There. With the bunny.
It’s Easter Eve and my ass, she be kicked. I will say this, though, I will say this: it’s freaking sweet that Owen is old enough to get the whole Holiday thing now. We can dye eggs together and it’s like, an activity! That we are doing together. With some kind of point. The first year or two, holidays were extra-special depressing, because there we were, young and tired, with a kid who absolutely hadn’t the foggiest clue what was going on. I was all, aroo? Kids? The having of which was supposed to make this shit fun?
And now, he is making this shit fun. It’s great.
Easter Basket Contents:
- candy
- that easter grass stuff
- a little chocolate bunny
- more candy.
Sure and begorrah, it’s laundry time, boyo
Chores I made my children do today:
- Clean the lint trap from the dryer
- Hand me dishes from the dishwasher
- Pick up the megabloks
- Turn on the DVD player
- Run down to the corner pub and fetch Mama a green beer.
Kidding about that last one. Promise.
A+ #1 kids!
We took the kids to Steak And Ale today to use a coupon from our friend’s Entertainment book. They were clean and groomed and dressed and well behaved the entire time.
Owen used his big kid manners, Cormac didn’t make a peep, and by the end of the meal a nice middle-aged woman stopped by our table to tell us that we had “A-plus number one kids.” And she’s a teacher, she said, so she should know. She hoped to have kids like them in her class one day.
That, boys and girls, was the icing on the cake for this perfect day.
Other ways in which today kicked yesterday’s ass:
- aside from a quick bottle at 6 a.m., we all slept in until 8
- my new camera came in the mail
Wednesdays are so fabulous.
peekaboo too!
These boys are a lot of fun, I tell you what.
That germy sweet spot
There is a narrow slice of time between “healthy” and “call the pediatrician” when your kids sleep in an hour later, take an extra nap, and dial it down from 11 to like, 4. A pretzel rod, some OJ, and Dragon Tales are all that they require. They are cheerful, quiet, acquiescent. It’s before the Niagara Falls of snot begins, when only the merest, most adorable pink-cheeked flush is your clue that life is going to get miserable pretty fucking quickly.
We’re in that sweet spot right now and I’m going to milk it for all it’s worth (Sesame Street is on next!) because by the end of the day, both tots will be up to their ears in boogies, burning like my lasagna, and sounding like Zsa Zsa Gabor.
I’m going to be with my peoples
This weekend I am taking a big old road trip up to New England with the boys. We will be visiting some old family friends and also meeting some old internet friends in person for the first time.
The family friends I have known since I was eight. We used to live in the same neighborhood. We call each other “cousin” and strangers think we are blood related. It’s crazy to me that I am no longer eleven, that I am old enough to be married and have children of my own but that we still gather when we can.
The internet friends — what can I say about them? They are all mothers. They are transglobal. They are sharp — sharper! — than tacks, wits like razorblades, quick to laugh at your joke or light up your smoke, figuratively speaking. You know how it is when you meet someone who really gets you? I mean really, really understands what it’s like. That’s these guys. I’ve known them for two and a half years now. They absolutely saved me from post-partum insanity and made my life as a mother 800% more enjoyable.
Plus they are sweet and nice and have great hair.
Anyway, a great lot of us are all traveling to Boston this weekend to meet up. Some of them have met before and some, like me, will be meeting face to face for the first time. I’m so excited I could plotz.
And we’re bringing our kids, too, and let me tell you, Flickr is going to IMPLODE.
Labor Day Weekend, briefly
In handy bullet-point format. I know you gots shit to do.
- We went grocery shopping and only spent $64. (Because last week we spent omg $220)
- We watched Hot Fuzz
- We started talking in bad British accents for a few hours
- We bought diapers
- We hung hooks in the kitchen for all the aprons I’ve been making
- We drove to Riversport to watch the slalom, which was revived for the first time since, well, the last time, 6 years ago, which coincidentally was the place and time and event surrounding the night Iain proposed
- We got to hang with three members of the Slimy Pebble Whitewater Team (Hi, Nat!)
- We watched Owen play in the river
- We enjoyed some ice cream at Suder’s
- We had to change what was probably the third-worst diaper blowout in Cormac’s entire pooping career on the tailgate of the truck, and I’m just glad I’d finished my Peanut Butter Swirl by the time the explosion occurred
- We took a family picture at the Ohiopyle falls
- We drove back home, eliminating what I predicted would be a horrible night of tent-camping, if the previous tent-camping experience was anything to go by, and let me tell you, it was
- We did laundry
- We lifehacked an unattractive handmedown china hutch into a sleek aquarium stand/charging station/photo containment unit
- I finally accepted our fish as bona fide pets, and named my two Frankie and Suzie.
And that pretty much brings us all up to speed, excepting the two servings of Utz Cheese Balls I consumed after dinner, because I didn’t really think that deserved a mention. Other than that, is what I mean; other than that we are all up to speed here, yessirree bobbaroo, and I would like to just casually mention that the sleeping through the night trick? HAPPENED AGAIN, oh yes it caps-lockin’ did. And my other son? POOPED IN THE POTTY, bustin’ out the caps lock again for that little treasure. I’ll bore you with potty-chart details another time.
My boys, they growin’ up! Sniffle!
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