{Rubber-Sol: Why, hello there!}

Big Girl Bed

Oh it's September already?! Whoa Nelly.  The kids and I have had 12 whole weeks of summer fun, and I think we're all ready for school to resume!  The other day, we took Henry to his kinder orientation at his new school, and he is beside himself with excitement.  And we are equally excited to know that he has the teacher we requested (Alison's old teacher!).  Alison is eager for 2nd grade, and Kate is growing up way too fast.  Every day she has a new word or saying, and she's definitely going through her language "explosion!" For sure.

Oh, and we bought her a big girl bed (after several rounds of her climbing out and about).   She's super proud to have her own bed, and if you're a mama or papa of a little one, you know that graduating to a big kid bed is exciting stuff.  And I'm sure you also know that once the confines of a crib are gone, the trick is to get the child to actually stay in the bed.   Well, Kate?  She's the only one of our kidlets who has decided that staying in bed is A-OK.  So  a big WHEW on that one!  Here's a peek at her pretending to sleep (what a ham).

Summer has been hopping busy for the shop, and it's felt like Christmas around here. I've also been doing a lot of investigation, and hopefully soon I'll have some new goodies in store for you. And you, and you, and you!

Let's see what else?  Um, not much!  Just enjoying the last bits of summer before heading back to the routines and rhythms of fall.   Hope you enjoy your last days too.

Goodnight Daddy

As a little girl, I always enjoyed the evenings, because my dad and I had a goodnight ritual.  Every night after brushing my teeth, my dad would come to my room to tuck me in.  I’d climb into my captain’s loft-style bed, and my dad would tuck the sheets under me tightly, wrapping me up like a burrito.  Most of the time I’d giggle and squirm in attempts to wiggle myself loose, and my dad, of course, would have to repeat the tucking.  He’d always feign annoyance, but I always knew that he, too, was grateful for these few extra seconds of time together.

But the most memorable part of our goodnight ritual was when he’d lift my head, and fan my long hair out upon my pillow.  The coolness of the pillow against the warmth of my skin was always such comforting surprise.  It was my dad’s trademark touch, like icing on a cake or the cherry on top.

Shortly thereafter, he’d kiss me on the forehead, and turn off the light.  From my bedroom, he’d make his way to the den, a room adjacent to mine.  Most of the time, the light from the den would shine into the hallway, and the shadows and noise would keep me entertained on the evenings when I wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep.  I found much comfort in hearing the low strumming of my dad’s guitar or the sounds of Johnny Carson emanating from the t.v. 

This evening ritual stopped sometime before middle school, I’m sure.  By that time I’m certain I was a self-obsessed teenager who, like most kids, was trying to shed herself of her parents.  These years were spent gabbing on the phone with friends, and the distance between my parents and I widened.  Wasn’t that true for most teenagers?  On most nights quick hugs and obligatory kisses were given before retiring for the night.

But still.  No matter how old I got, I always enjoyed listening to my dad’s music spilling into my room at night.  His music was like an evening serenade, smooth and comforting.  Years passed.  College life, dorm life, and finally married life.  And still yet.  Still when the evenings rolled around, I found myself yearning for my dad’s evening serenade.  And oftentimes I longed for our old evening ritual.

One week ago I watched as my dad slipped away.  I held his hand while he passed, and for one last time, we relived our evening ritual.  In his last moments, I tucked the pillow softly under his head, smoothed his hair down, and kissed him on the forehead before he fell into his final slumber. 

My Mother, My Strength

Photo Titled:  Leaving Hawai'i for L.A., 1967

Motherhood doesn't come with any guide books to help us navigate the sometimes choppy waters of raising children, and yet there was never a moment when I felt that my own mother was lost at sea.  She tackled motherhood with great gusto, and despite several college degrees, she chose to stay home to raise my brother and me.  For many, many years, we had the luxury of coming home to homebaked snacks, homemade meals, books at bedtime, and hugs at night.

My  mother often talked about her ongoing dilemma of career vs. home, and it wasn't until I was in middle school that she returned to the work force after 18 years of being a homemaker.  She felt that it was important to regain her identity outside of being a mother, and she managed to balance career and family so well.  I've always admired my mother for her determination and strength;  she was definitely the captain of our ship.

My mother is retired now, and just recently she has started to care for my father who has fallen ill.  Her days are so very long, and I can see the exhaustion in her eyes, and I can hear it in her voice.  And yet, somehow, she manages to keep a smile on her face.  I wish her much strength for my father's journey back to health. She is my mother, my strength. 

******
To all the mothers, I wish you a very happy mother's day.

Firsts.

Kate.  My sweet Kate.  Last week was a week of firsts for her.  (Hank and I drove down south to Coronado Island with the kids to spend their vacation time, well, vacationing).  Between trips to Sea World, the San Diego Wild Animal Park, and the zoo, we spent time in the water. . .Kate's very first time.  And I must admit that she took to the water like a fish.  Splashing!  Laughing!  Splashing!  Giggling!  It was all so very exciting for her, and it was a mixture of excitement/nostalgia for me.

I always enjoy moments of first-time experiences with my kids, and while I'm always in the present, enjoying the moment as it occurs, a part of me always tries to revel in these experiences as they are so fleeting.  Time with my kids as babes is so precious, and so very fleeting.  Seeing Kate splash about in Alison's old bathing suit brings  me much happiness, and yet, in a way I feel a sweet sense of nostalgia.  It wasn't too long ago that Alison was her age, and yep, I blinked, and now she's six.  How can that be?

We're back home now, and the house is in a state of disarray. Laundry to be done, souvenirs to be put away, mail to sort through.  But that's okay because the kids and I (and Hank) had a damn good time lazing about.  And that is what vacation is all about, don't you think?

One of my highlights of the trip was that we were able to spend time with one of my very best friends (Hi Linda!) in San Diego.  She and I have been pals since. . . since a long time now.  She's a bride-to-be, and I am happily enjoying all of the wedding planning/excitement with her.  Her husband-to-be just deployed to Pakistan today (for six months) so I am sure to keep him (and her) in my thoughts and prayers.

********
As for the CRAP SWAP...well, I'm trying to coordinate a plan of action for this crap swap as several fellow hoarders crafters have expressed that they too would like to offer their goods up for swapping.  But for now, here are just a few of the things that I have up for swap (will post more as time permits)...please read the continued. . .

Brother Jon

This past weekend has been a rollercoaster of emotions.

Shortly after Hurricane Katrina hit, my brother, who is part of FEMA, was sent out to New Orleans to help with the Rescue and Recovery mission. Upon his arrival, my brother mentioned that the aftermath of Katrina was worse than what he witnessed on 9/11. (Please click on photo* to view my bro in action in NYC -- he's on the right).

Worse than 9/11?

Initially, the FEMA team was isolated and under protection of the National Guard due to the hostile environment. This, of course, made me wary and fearful for my brother's safety.

But was all the outrage/hostility magnified by the media?

I don't know. But according to my brother and his comrads, who helped rescue over 100 people on their first day, the rescuees have been nothing but kind, grateful, peaceful souls. The details of what my brother has witnessed, though, are too, too gruesome to share here. Let me just say that these are thoughts that will haunt me for a lifetime.

So there you have it folks. Hurricane Katrina has been the underlying thought throughout my weekend. Of course, I smiled and laughed when little Kaden, a friend's babe, blew out the candles on his first birthday. And my heart smiled when Kate cooed and babbled to her sister. I also laughed out loud at Henry's new comedy routine. These are happy times, yes. But a bit of me can't help but wonder, what if this had been me? What if my family were stranded on our rooftop without a bit of food?

When my mind wanders like this, I realize I find that I hug my family a wee bit tighter and I give them that extra little kiss atop their foreheads. Afterall, they're all I have. And most importantly, they're all I need.

*Photo courtesy of West Metro Fire

*********
P.S. Hank will pull winners tonight!

Little Henry. My Brave Boy.

It's so easy to take things for granted when the movements, shuffling about, and routines of the day keep the mind occupied and busy. Like today, for example.

I was busy cooking dinner (chili!), Hank was feeding Kate, and Alison and Henry were out in the back playing. Suddenly I heard wailing from the backyard, followed by shouting. "Come help! Help!" Usually Hank and I run a little triage by first assessing how serious and high pitched the screams are before dashing to their rescue. (Once when Alison was wee, she screamed a blood curdling scream from outside -- I dashed outside only to find that she was actually squealing from delight). So screams come in a variety of pitches and levels of shrillness, and they don't always signal an emergency. Usually one of the kids has something mild, like a scraped knee or poked eye or a bonked head. But today was different.

Today my heart dropped to my knees when I saw Hank pause before rushing outside. You see, today's screams were of the ohmygodsomethinghashappened variety. Immediately I joined Hank outside, my voice suddenly no longer my own. "What happened? Oh my God, what happened?"

Little Henry was on the grass yelling in pain. Alison quickly gave me the update, "Henry was trying to get down (from the slide). . . I tried to help him. . . I tried, Mama, but he started falling.....and then he just slipped out of my hands. He's hurt, Mama."

Immediately I checked for bumps on his head. (Those always scare me most) All clear.

I looked for blood. All clear.

"His arm. He's not moving his arm." Hank notices.

At this point, Kate was screaming a my-dinner-was-interrupted scream so Hank took her inside. And Henry continued to cry. So I held him. I just held him and rocked him in my arms like a baby. I kissed his forehead while he cried. And cried. And cried.

When Alison wrapped her arms around the two of us, he cried harder and sobbed deeper. My little boy was in pain. My rough and tumble boy was now suddenly fragile and little and scared and sad.

Adventures of Super Henry!

I can kinda see it. 

If I squint real hard I can almost see the light at the end of the pee-pee tunnel.  Yesterday Henry entered POTTY TRAINING BOOT CAMP, and so far it's been urinatingly difficult.  Parenthood does not come replete with instructions or manual.  Heck! Parenthood doesn't even come with an operator's number to dial when needed.  If it did, I'm sure I'd be on hold for the next available operator to tell me what to do right now.

There are many moments in my journey as an E.M. (Evolving Mama) when advice was needed and guidance longed for.  Potty training is one such moment.  I've read through several potty training books for the golden answer, and I've picked the brains of fellow mothers.   When it comes down to it, though, I have found that oftentimes I must follow my instincts no matter how blind I feel.  Each child is different, I know, and right now Henry and I are feeling our way through, trying to find a method that works best.

After a crappy day yesterday (the score was 5 accidents, 0 successes), I felt down about Henry's lack of progress.  I tried to remain optimistic and enthusiastic, but I could tell that Henry was getting frustrated as well.  This morning I felt revived and I sent Hank and the girls to my parents' for the day so that Henry would have no distractions from either of his sisters.  It would be just Henry, me, and many, many juice boxes.

Here's how our schedule went today:
9:35 a.m. - Accident in the kitchen

10:00 a.m. - We drink juice.  I bring out Alison's doll that wets itself.  We feed her, take her to the potty.  Henry is AMAZED and intruigued by "Dolly," and he praises her by giving her treats and juice.  He tells her, "Good job, Dolly.  You're a big girl!"

10:30 a.m. - Juice in cup.  Juice in a box.  Juice here.  There. Everywhere.  We play "cheers!" by clinking our juice boxes together and taking long swigs.  I feel confident that we're going to succeed today.  I just know it.  Henry is pumped full of liquids.  He has to pee in the potty soon, right?  (BTW, we run to the potty every ten minutes and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  It's almost like watching paint dry).

10:35 a.m. - I go pee.  Henry sits on the potty.  Nada.

11:30 a.m. -
Mama:  "Henry I'm so proud of you.  You're a big----"
Henry:  "---Pee pee, Mama!  Pee pee!" (pee is dripping down Henry's legs)

We clean up, and Henry puts on clean underwear.

11:40 a.m. - (yes folks, that's TEN MINUTES LATER)
Mama:  "Okay Henry, when you feel the ---- "
Henry:  "----Mama.....pee pee.  I go pee pee....."

Lather.  Rinse. And yes, repeat.

11:50 a.m.:  (Unbelievable, I know.  A mere ten minutes later)
Mama:  (feeling defeated, but trying to remain upbeat and enthusiastic) "Okay Henry, who do you want to call when--"

drip.....drip...drip (I look down to see a puddle of pee under Henry's chair).

At this point I feel so utterly defeated.   Henry's frustration grows and he asks me, "Am I a bad boy Mama?"  My heart breaks, and I gingerly reply, "No Henry.  You're not a bad boy.  You just need to practice going pee pee in the potty."  I am on the verge of tears.  I hug my son. 

After lunch, Henry and I take a nap.  Henry wakes up dry!  Yay Henry!

Around 5:45 p.m. we visit our old porcelain pal.  Henry sits and waits.  And suddenly I see it!  That long awaited thin stream of pee!  I jump up and squeal with happiness!  Henry's face brightens into a huge smile.  We hug and dance and laugh!  I give Henry his prize (a bottle of bubbles).  He is so proud. I am so proud.  Henry is a super hero. 

"I'm a big boy, Mama!  I wear underwear just like Daddy!" Henry says over and over.

Henry and I run outside to blow bubbles, and we giggle as we watch them float high into the air like tiny o's before disappearing into nothing.

Today has been one of the longest, most trying days of my life.  And yet twenty years from now when I reflect on Henry's childhood, this day will be one of the happiest. The happiest. I just know it.

********
Read Hank's story about Alison's potty training HERE.

Feeling Like a Rockstar!

On Monday I managed to do the impossible. I went out with my three ring circus by myself.

Yes, you read that correctly, folks. By myself.

Oh yeah.

The morning started off with rapid fire packaging of boxes, boxes, and more boxes (my eBay stash and gifties! Nicole! your stuff is in transit!). I did all this between a.m. oatmeal and an a.m. tantrum (Henry's, not mine). And before I could relax and get comfortable, I loaded all the kids into the car and headed off to the pediatrician to get Alison's TB test results read. Now mind you, visiting the doctor required me to CLIMB A FLIGHT OF STAIRS.

WITH THREE KIDS.

Now let me sidetrack a bit and inform you that Alison and Henry have developed a passion for opening doors and pressing elevator buttons, and whenever there is a prospect of completing one of these tasks, I can always count on shrieks of "I'M GOING TO OPEN THE DOOR/PUSH THE BUTTON!" from the backseat. And that always follows with an even more elevated, "NO, I'M, GOING TO OPEN THE DOOR/PUSH THE BUTTON!" This banter continues until the flood gates open (read: the car door), and Alison and Henry storm out, rushing to complete the aforementioned EXCITING task!

So imagine this. I'm toting Kate in her carrier, and I have to sidestep the storming of two hyper kids eager, oh so eager to run up the stairs to....to....OPEN THE DAMN door. So while carrying my precious cargo in one hand, diaper bag in the other, I had to run up the flight of stairs to make sure that all body parts remained in tact and to ensure that no one derailed themselves off of staircase.

Anyway. Crossing "pediatrician" off of my to-do list, I was feeling a bit cocky, and decided to challenge myself and head off to my next task: THE POST OFFICE. I managed to get all three kids, stroller, and SIX (6) PACKAGES into the building! Yes! The eagle had landed! Now that I had entered the building, I knew that it would take supreme motherpower to get through this task. So I successfullly ignored the serpentine line ahead of me. I managed to ignore the man with the crate full of packages in front of me. Heck! I even ignored the annoying cellphone loud talker behind me! Yes!

Halfway through our visit, though, Henry smacked the cardboard post office display to the ground. Then Alison mumbled something about having to go potty. And then I wised up and succumed to THE BRIBE. Yes folks. I am a mother who bribes her kids. Heck wouldn't you? My kids would do ANYTHING for a McDonald's milkshake. Anything.

So I bribed. And they settled. And I smiled. Yes, I had reached ROCKSTAR status.

********

The success of Monday's tasks was preceded by the week/weekend from hell. To make a long story short, we spent $350 to rid of some bees and then our stinkin' washer died. How much does that suck? I mean who wants to drop all those Benjamins on boring stuff like that? Anyway, you can read about it over at Hank's blog.

Well, I might as well end this post with some eye candy. Let's start with this, shall we?

Or, how about this?

Check out more of these goodies, at the GIFTS GALORE ALBUM! Ooooh, so fun!!

**********

I have to admit that I am terribly behind in returning/answering e-mails. It seems as if there simply aren't enough hours in the day lately! So if I owe you a response, hang tight! :) And stay tuned for the Baby Pool Stash Album. More goodies there too!

Three Kid Circus!

I seem to be emerging from my post-pregnancy hideout!  It's been such a wonderful month of bonding with Kate, and these first precious, precious weeks will always be so memorable to me.  When I first returned from the hospital in my "post partum weepy state," I was utterly overprotective of Kate.  You'd think that she was my first born as I constantly hovered over family and friends as Kate was passed from one set of loving arms to another.  Henry, coincidentally, happened to be battling a slight cold during Kate's homecoming, and the sight of a rough and tumble three year old with a snotty nose and sticky hands around my fresh newborn was almost enough to put me in the loony bin.

I survived, though.

And then there was that initial sense of strangeness that I felt with Alison and Henry when I first returned to our happy abode.  Bringing Kate home for the first time made me feel as if I were betraying my first two babes.  Alison was obviously excited and thrilled to have a new baby in the house, but not Henry.  Oh he had an awful hard time at first.  All in one fell swoop, he was pushed up a notch in our family ranks to "middle child," and I felt a strange sense of sadness.  My baby Henry was no longer The Baby.  In comparison to wee Kate, he was so big and grown up.  Where had my baby Henry gone?

Rest assured, though, that it took only a matter of days for the old Henry to return!

One evening (Kate was two weeks, I think), my friend Michelle was visiting with her husband and 10 month old, Kaden.  They had brought food and gifts galore, and after a short visit, I walked them to the door when suddenly I heard this:

Kate:  “Waaaaa!  Waaa!  Waaaaaaa!”

Me:  (I ran to Kate to find Henry hovering over her.) “Henry! What’s wrong? Why is she crying?”

Henry:  (in a sing-songy voice) “Me bit baby’s finger.....”

Me:  “WHAAAAT?” (blood rushes out of my head)

Henry:  “Me bit baby’s finger.  Baby’s crying now, Mama.”

Moments like this make me wish life came complete with LifeVo.....oh how I wish I could pause real time or even rewind it!!!  Maybe the techie folk can work on that! 

Anyway, Kate was fine.  Henry was fine (despite a stern scolding). But Mama was a bit  shaken (and stirred!) 

Hank returned to work after two weeks off, and I was finally able to experience THE JOY! THE FUN! THE CRAZINESS of a real life THREE KID CIRCUS®. Ohboyohboy!  Yes it’s nuts! Yes it’s fun! Yes it’s not so fun!  If there were an ad for my life, it would look a little something like this:
Okay so I'm exaggerating here......
(enter sounds of crickets chirping)
.....Actually, no I'm not kidding.  My life is a full-fledged THREE RING CIRCUS.  But it's fun and memorable despite its craziness.  One thing that I've learned from my kids is that it's important TO SLOW DOWN and ENJOY THE LITTLE BLESSINGS of life. 

So while Henry continues to color on his walls, and while Alison continues to ask a bizillion questions a day, I am content knowing that we're also busy creating fond memories for years to come. 

******
I am desperately behind in posting photos of snail mail goodies (both for my birthday and for Kate's arrival). . . but I think that I will have to save that for next time.  In the meantime, I will leave you a link for KATE'S PHOTO ALBUM.  If you're a new reader, please know that I have password protected my albums for the protection of my kids and for my own sanity.  EVERYONE IS INVITED to view the albums -- I just want to know who's viewing them.  That's all.  Either post a comment here or e-mail me for the user id/password.  :)

AND!  Believe it or not I plan on RELAUNCHING THE PAPER PRINCESS!  Yes!  August marks the FIVE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of my shop, and I can't wait to get it back online!  As a teaser, I'd like to give you a sneak peek of one of my newest designs (inspired by Kathleen...explanation later).  I had this design professionally printed into notecards. . .and I just got 'em last week!  This is one of five new designs that I will introduce in AUGUST! There!  I've said it!  I've committed myself to relaunching my site this August!  And now folks, here is my newest design:

Oh and that odd pink Rubber-Sol title above? I e-mailed typepad about that. "What is that? And where did it come from," I asked. Their answer? "I dunno." Neither do I. But they said they're "working on it." Grand.

And one more thing. How could I forget? Hank started another blog. Now you can read his work over here at Shotgun Daddy. Go on and take a peek, and leave a comment or two. He's really funny!

Rubber Sol's Boiling Point

EPISODE 24, AKA “Oh God, Wait Until Your Father Gets Home”

CAST:
HENRY:  devilish toddler with a penchant for shenanigans. 
ALLIE:  cranky youngster on a Valentine sugar high
LESLIE:  exhausted, frumpy, loopy, highly volatile mom on the verge of explosion.

SHOW SYNOPSIS:  Watch this episode of RS’s Boiling Point as Henry and Allie push their mother to the edge. Again.  The scene opens at Allie’s preschool.  As rain strikes down, providing muddy pools o’ fun for Henry, dozens of mothers, perfectly coifed and manicured, line up to pick up their children from class.  Henry has a new umbrella which sets the stage for poked eyes, errant splashing, and random tantrums.

Watch as the fun continues at home when Henry refuses to come into the house.  Watch him run circles in the driveway, only to collapse into a heap right in the middle of a fresh puddle of water!  And what will Leslie do when Henry shoves his hand down his pants to reveal a hand covered in poo?   The gags and laughter are non-stop in this episode.

OTHER EPISODE HIGHLIGHTS INCLUDE:   
• Guffaw as Leslie frantically apologizes to other mothers for her son’s antics:
L: “Sorry there.  (he he)  I know your LV purse is new and all, but my son, my son.....”    
Other Mother:“Excuse me, isn’t that your son over there? (points to Henry running across the muddy field)
L: (horrified, but laughs softly) “Ha ha.....er..... ‘HENRY GET BACK HERE NOW!’”

• Watch as Leslie tries to decipher the unrelenting, desperate pleas of her three year old.
H:  “Umbrewa, Mama, umbrewa!”
L:  “Here you go,  Henry...”
H:  “No, Mama, Noooooo!  Um-bre-wa!”
L:  “Do you want me to fold it up?”
H:  “Uh huh....” (Leslie begins folding....)
H:  “No Mama, Nooooooo!  NO umbrewa!” (shoves umbrella;  it drops into the mud)
L and H:  “WAAAAAAAA”

• You’ll (continue to) thank God you’re not Leslie when:
- Alison's freshly crafted Valentines fall into a puddle of rain.
- Alison says, "Mama your tummy is getting real, real big.....kinda like a whale"
- Henry showers the living room floor with three boxes of candy hearts (just after Leslie's swept the floor)
- a loud shatter comes from Henry's room (two broken bowls)
- Henry grabs his sister's candy and then throws it under the couch, rendering it "unreachable"
- As Leslie moves the couch to retrieve candy, Henry spanks Leslie's butt with his toy car.

And finally, watch as the episode wraps up:
Leslie calls Hank at work, scaring him to death.
L: "Hi uh.....I'm having a really bad day, and...... (voice goes up several octaves) ....Henry broke a.... (sob sob sob) ......and then candy hearts .... (full-blown wailing) ........"
H: ".....I'm coming home...."
L:  "No don't (sob) come home . . . and then I was a whale....."

*****
Yep, so that was my day yesterday.  It's all rather funny now that I look back on the chain of shenanigans.  But when I'm in the moment, I feel like a tea kettle on boil! 

Oh Violet . . . Anne . . . , please tell me these little boys grow up to be gentlemen.  They do, right?

Happy Birthday, Henry!

Henry.

My little king with laughter like music

and smiles like the sun.

I love you so deeply, so purely.

Happy Third Birthday.

Love,

Mama.

P.S. Oh my gosh!  Please read Hank's comment below! *teary eyed*

BARF FEST '04

Yesterday I was posting (somewhat boastfully?!) about how my immune system had improved after 1.) teaching germy, infectious adolescents, and 2.) having two babes who pass various colds and sniffles about like a hot potato.  Just as I pressed the "submit" button to BenMac's site, I got it.  First it started out with a bit of a chill.  Now I know it's been cold around here (so cold we've actually been breaking record lows), BUT I had a chill that wouldn't leave.  At first I thought it strange that I had the heater on for three hours and I still hadn't warmed up.  The next clue was when Alison ripped off her shirt from the 82 degree temps inside.  And Henry had beads of sweat on his upper lip.  Yet I sat there bundled up in sweats and gloves (yes!  I bought a pair of gloves for the first time!).

I took my temperature and it read 101.5 degrees.  Lovely.  It was 4 p.m. and my husband wouldn't be home for hours due to a basketball game, and I was left to entertain two kids.  Fabulous.  For those who are not parents (or even teachers for that matter), when the Mama (or maestra) take ill, the KIDS DON'T GET IT!  It's not that they don't care, they just DON'T GET IT! And your four year old daughter says things like:

"Mama, let's play family...."
And all I can think is: Yeah, I'll be the baby.  Now go tuck me in.

or

"Mama, wanna make cookies?"
And I wanna say: Go ahead.  Just don't burn down the house.

Or your son will do silly things like:

Take the biggest, smelliest, messiest CRAP of all time.  Of ALL TIME.  And the heater in the back of the house isn't turned on....so I'm forced to go into that igloo of a room in my shivery, shaky state.  And we're low (oh so desperately low) on wipes, and I try so desperately to get by with three (3) wipes.  Now cleaning a dirty bum with three wipes is QUITE a challenge, and frankly, it's one of my better talents.  Yes, TALENTS.

Hank came home late after three or four desperate phone calls to him to "hurry" and "come home fast."   He found me in a shivering, feverish state with massive tummy rumbles. I now had the EXACT same case of the YUCKS my wee ones had just weeks ago.  I was starving but no food would suffice as they all had that bland, no flavor at all flavor.  I hit the hay within minutes.

Now lemme make a long, gross story somewhat shorter and less disgusting.  I found myself at 1 a.m. hurling all of my innards out, and at one point I thought I was going to die (yes, I'm a bit dramatic at times).  I had cold sweat and shivers, and my sweet husband came and swept me back to bed.  He cleaned up all my mess.  Now doesn't he deserve an award or something? 

Anyway today I feel much, much better, and in a way I'm SO GRATEFUL that I got that sickness "out of the way" so to speak.  It would have been awful to get this case of the yucks while on a plane, flying to paradise. 

Anyway, just thought I'd share!! Ha! Lucky you!

P.S. Go check out Hank's revamped site (compliments of moi), Broken Cowboy.  He's doing all knds of fancy schmancy stuff like interviewing major sports writers and athletes for posts on his site. 

Henry II

The year was 1969. Mid June, I believe. My mother-in-law, Joann, and my father-in-law, Hank, were travelling out west. During their journey, they toured Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, and finally, they arrived in Seattle, Washington. From what I know, they were taking a vacation, the last that they would have as a couple. For you see, at that time my mother-in-law was 4 months pregnant with my husband.

This was a happy vacation, I know, because I have witnessed the joy on their faces through aged photographs and old 35mm slides. One time, about a year or two ago, Joann showcased boxes and boxes of old slides, allowing us to peer into their dream vacation. Each flash of the slide would project a grainy image onto the white wall, and in the darkness of their living room, I couldn't help but smile because their contentment was so evident. A radiant mother-to-be; a proud father-to-be. Through the slides and through Joann's commentary, I felt part of their love and committment.

A couple days into their Seattle stay, they returned to their hotel room to retire for the evening. The date was June 21, 1969. That evening, after my in-laws laid down to rest, my father-in-law passed away in his sleep. He died of a heart attack at the age of forty-five.

My husband was born 5 months later, never having met his own father. Through the years, though, he has known him through anecdotes and photos; through music and letters. A while back Joann bestowed upon my husband a large box filled with cards, notes, and love letters from his father to his mother. I remember that evening vividly as Hank and I sat on our couch pouring over this bounty of love, and I spent most of that night crying. I felt as if I were mourning the loss of a man that I had never met. And yet I felt his presence through his words, hardpressed in ink in all those love letters.

We have my father-in-law's letters housed in a lovely, handpainted box. It rests on our bookshelf, and every day as I pass it, I can't help but be reminded of the transiency of life. There are days, like today, when little ones underfoot threaten to spoil my mood with their fussiness. And while it's hard not to succumb to irritation, I have to stop and remember just how precious my time with them really is. Some people, like my father-in-law, never had the chance to see their precious little beings while on earth.

Today is my father-in-law's birthday. He would have turned eighty years old. Thirty five years have passed since his last breath on earth, but I know for sure that right now his spirit is in heaven, and he is happy as he smiles down at us. His heart is content, and in a way, he lives in my husband. I feel him when my husband showers my babes with love. I see his smile in my husband's laughter, and I hear his voice in my husband's songs. And perhaps, yes perhaps his love has transcended to my son, Henry IV, because I sense him when my son giggles and dances. And his gentleness has made way to my daughter through her shy, coyness. I feel him every day. I know him and love him. And I can't wait to meet him.

Photo Album

Even though I've had this blog for about a year now, I have never posted photos of my children online. I'm fiercely protective of my two babes, and I have been hesitant to showcase them for fear of the unknown. The internet is an untamed beast, and after having published several websites (and more particularly, after being on A Baby Story), I've had some weird situations that have made me a bit leary.

I have decided, however, that I can still post photos under controlled circumstances! Yay! I have a new album that you, dear reader, are free to peruse. If you're interested in taking a peek into my world, please e-mail me for the user id and password.

ALL are welcome to view the album. I would just feel more comfortable if I knew who it was that was viewing my photos. That's all!

***
Oops...I guess my e-mail addy is kinda hidden. It's: heyrubbersol (at) yahoo (dot) com. (Thanks Jenn!)
14 people peeking.

A Date with Henry

Last night Cassie and I took our babes (her Kylee, my Henry) to a Tiny Tots Music Class. I enjoyed the one-on-one time with Henry, and he seemed to LOVE the class. He's quite the musical guy; he has been able to hum songs from memory since quite an early age. For an hour, he twirled, jumped, ring-around-the-rosied, marched, stomped, and giggled. He truly is a delightful young boy (despite his routine shenanigans), and he's starting to grow more loving and affectionate each day.

Unlike his more reserved sister, he's very social and outgoing. Alison has taken a slew of creative classes (art, gymnastics, dancing etc), but she usually spent a good 50% of the time either a.) clinging to my legs or b.) observing the others. Upon arriving at the park, Henry BURST! into the recreation room, swinging the doors open as if to exclaim, "Let the party begin!"

Cassie's girl, Kylee, has a very similar personality to Henry (hmmmm....they must take after their mothers....just a hunch!), and they both enjoyed each other's company. At one point we saw them holding hands, and our hearts melted....you see, we've already arranged their marriage! That way Cassie and I can be together for like, forever!

Henry's a silly dude too. After hearing Kylee yell, "Mommy! Mommy," to Cassie, he has assumed that Cassie's name must, reasonably, be "Mommy." So throughout the night the other mothers heard him yell, "Come Mama!......Come Mommy!" Now we're trying to teach Kylee to call me "Mama." We're silly girls, I guess.

On another note, I've met a new online pal, JustJenn. Her site is so fun, and we've already corresponded via e-mail several times. We've found out that we have some similar tastes and interests! She was the first person who actually guessed the meaning behind, "Rubber-Sol!" How cosmic.

Also I have a fresh batch of eBay. Last week's auctions surpassed my expectations, and this week has started to prove the same! (Thank you to those who bid and to those who beat out the snipers!) I'll be liquidating my entire rubber stamp inventory for the next couple of months. If you, dear reader, are interested in any of them, let me know. No bidding necessary! And absolutely no obligation, of course!

Oh! One last thing! My new nephew, Everett Michael, arrived on the 16th (his actual due date!)! Yay! And Hank's best bud Everett (a.k.a. Rett....can you believe another Everett!) just had his second babe, Kate!

Ms. Pac Man Taken Down by Little Ghost

So it's not a good sign when your four year old proclaims, "Boy! It's a mess in here!" Actually that's not really how she said it. She said something more along the lines of, "Mama....Nemo (her fish) is looking out of his tank....I think he's wondering why it's such a mess in here!" Anyone who has children knows that it is virtually impossible to keep the abode tidy and clean. My house is no exception.

This morning, my first official morning of vacation, I decided to sweep and mop the floor. Any sight of the broom or mop gets Henry in a stir, and today he was exceptionally excited to see them out. After two minutes of mopping, I realized that my task somehow turned into a virtual video game. You see I was a video character like, say, Ms. Pac Man, and Henry was one of those pesky ghosts that chase around the screen. My first round of the game resulted in a clean sweep of the floor, and I was quite content with my achievement. Perhaps Little Ghost was just getting warmed up.

The movement of the mop seemed to get Little Ghost worked up, and he sped around like mad, chasing me, blocking my path. At one point he refused to budge and he remained guarding a big, black dirt spot on the floor. And there was no way I was going to lose this round! No siree! I cleverly went AROUND Little Ghost, careful that he didn't grab the mop. Because then I'd be out of the game for sure.

I was quite proud! Beaming in fact! Just as I was about to finish up, Little Ghost threw a cup of apple juice on the floor. Right in my path! That little stinker. I took a detour with my mop and quickly soaked up the mess, eager to finish the game. As if on cue, Little Ghost then grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes (with 1/3 less sugar...) and strew them ALL OVER THE KITCHEN FLOOR. ALL OVER!

I was screwed.

The kitchen was a mess. Little Ghost ran down his path of destruction, throwing more and more onto the floor. Sippy cups. Juice boxes. More cereal. Kleenex. Back to the broom. Sweep, sweep, sweep. Quickly now. I think at this point the music started to pick up, tensions grew. Sweep, scold, sweep, scold, sweep. My tactic wasn't working.

During my last attempt to sweep the floor, Little Ghost opened the bottle of cleaning solution, and emptied it on the floor. At that point, the infamous losing noise of being taken down by a ghost came into play. I was out of power pellets. I was doomed.

Later on I think I'll demand a replay. Wish me luck.

What to Do?

Allie and Henry are at my in-laws for the evening. They'll have fun playing with their Mum and Buppa, and I'm sure there will be some sort of baking involved. Mum will push them on their swingset for a seeming eternity, and they'll get to stay up past their bedtimes.

Meanwhile I'm at home with an endless stretch of time in front of me. What do I do now?

Since Allie was born, Hank and I have been in our own home (alone) only a handful of times sans babies. I know it seems silly, but it's kinda strange (and lonely) coming home to an empty house. There's no yelling, no screaming, no food tossing, no running around. NOTHING. The house is still and silent. And it's kinda irking me out!

Most days, when I have babes wrapped around my legs or tears to wipe, I find myself longing for moments of silence and serenity. Hank and I oftentimes wonder what life was like pre-babies, and now we're getting a taste of it. And funny thing is, I'm not as excited as I thought I would be.

Instead I'm worrying about Henry's allergies. Will he get his medicine? Will Mum sing a nighttime lullaby to Allie? Will they eat enough for dinner?

Hank and I are planning to go out on a date. A nice dinner for two. A movie. Perhaps even an evening stroll through a bookstore. Yeah, that sounds like fun.

Oh, Henry!

My son, Henry, is notorious for his many antics like these and these. I don't know how many times he's fallen off the couch and ended up with something like this. Today my thirty-four pound of thunder was in fine form. It all started at 7:oo a.m. when Allie came running into the bedroom yelling, "Mama! Henry climbed onto his changing table!!!! All by hisself! Mama come quick!" And there I found him high in the air, holding a tube of Aveeno lotion. He had unscrewed the tube, and found much pleasure in squeezing the death out of it, and then licking the spewed lotion off of his legs. (The poison control center must know us by name now.) The rest of the morning unfolded in similar fashion:

8:00 a.m.Henry finishes his bowl of oatmeal. As his sister leaves the table for a glass of milk, Henry eyes her bowl, and devours it before she returns to the table. Allie wails with utter disappointment as this was the last packet of oatmeal in our pantry. The last.

8:15 a.m. Later he squeezes a juice box all over the table (this happens daily). But today he added a little "twist" to the fun; he then swipes his arm across the table (windshield wiper style), splashing more juice around the room.

The morning continues with his daily run-of-the-mill shenanigans.

11:00 a.m.Hank and I take the kids to the Aquarium of the Pacific. The aquarium usually grouches me out (due to the large crowds), but I'm secretly hoping that Henry will burn steam so that he could take a looong afternoon nap.

While we're at the stingray HANDS-ON exhibit, we hear the guide announce, "If you would like to touch the stingrays, please be very careful with them. They are extremely sensitive to sudden movements......"

And then. As if on cue. My dear, dear son throws CHUCKS his GIANT PRETZEL (with salt and mustard) at the passing stingray. The water splashes. The crowd collectively murmurs. I suck in my breath and turn away. Hank bravely retrieves the pretzel. Henry demands another pretzel and giggles.

LUNCHTIME Henry is at the end of his rope, but we daringly decide to grab a bite at the aquarium which prolongs our stay. We anticipate the possibility of a tantrum, but we're hungry. The food arrives. Hank eats. I eat. Allie eats. Henry? Oh he busies himself, throwing hot dog bits around the room. And then he charmingly spits milk all over his shirt. He's a mess. His eyes are red. His knees are blackened from dirt. His hair defies gravity.

Departure Time Allie's bummed we have to leave, but as we're exiting we see a large, overstuffed Lorikeet mascot. Allie's thrilled and she insists, INSISTS! that we see the low-budget lorikeet before leaving. She hugs the towering bird, and I secretly wonder why on earth anyone would want that job. It's 80 DEGREES for cryin' out loud! But oh look at how cute! Allie's hugging the bird! And the bird is hugging her! Hank snaps a photo. I try to usher Henry into the photo too, but he's no where. NO WHERE. I panic for a millisecond, and then.....

.....out of the corner of my eye, I see Henry. He's running straight towards the lorikeet! HEAD FIRST!! FULL SPEED!

Oh sweet Jesus! He's gonna take down the lorikeet!

Henry gains momentum, and then rams straight into the lorikeet! The lorikeet's body jackknives, and for a moment, I fear that he's going to fall straight on his back. He stumbles and then regains balance. I hear a few muffled words come from the black mesh of his costume.

We pack up and head to the car. Once inside, I sigh with heavy relief. And then like a maniac, I laugh and laugh and laugh. What else could I do?

Happy Father's Day

Dear Querido -

Wishing you a very Happy Father's Day!
Loving you and cherishing you always! We love you tremendously.

- Me, Allie, & Henry

Nemo, Live!

Okay, so like, I'm a liar. I admit it. Of all people, I lied to my little, sweet Alison. But, you see, I had to because her first* pet died three weeks ago.

After the whole Nemo fanatacism, and several visits to Sea World this year, we were bound to end up with an ichthyological pet. "At least they're cheap," we said to ourselves as we plonked down $30.00 for 2 fishes (1 orange and 1 black), a small tank, fish food, and decorative pebbles.

Alison took interest in her new pets, "Nemo" and "Black Nemo" for a couple of weeks, eagerly feeding them once, twice, sometimes thrice daily. She even displayed extreme interest in her pets when Mama mistakenly put the tank in the Bay Garden window and green algae threatened to cut off their oxygen supply. But lo and behold, the tank was cleaned, and the fish were free to flit about in the pristine water.

And wouldn't you know it, one day, JUST ONE DAY after I uttered, "Boy these guys are hearty fellas, huh?", the damn orange fish had to call it quits? Hank (mistakenly) chose to tell Alison about the death of Nemo right before dinner one evening, and we (he) spent the entire dinner soothing her and comforting her. Hank even took her outside to have a quick burial service in the backyard. Not wanting to relive this moment, that night I prayed to the Fish God, "Oh holy Fish God....puhleeze let Black Nemo live....please!"

Talk about a bad omen.

The next day, Black Nemo was dead. Perhaps from a broken heart. Perhaps to taunt me.

Sweet Henry

I was so proud. Really I was. I had worked some 3 days on my very first knitting project (Zeeby's Bag from Stitch N' Bitch), and Henry, the little stinker, got hold of my knitting needles. It was last night when I saw him pulling, oh so joyously pulling, the tail end of yarn. The rest, I guess is history.

Alison sat beside him, devilishly cackling with utter joy, as her brother unravelled my project. Stitch by stitch. Purl by Purl. Of course when I realized his shenanigans (the eerie silence preceding the demise of my project should have tipped me off), Henry was sitting beside a pile of crimson spaghetti. I ran towards him (in seemingly slow-motion), but no luck. Project #1 was ruined. Kaput. Gonzo.

Since I'm no expert knitter, I couldn't recover those lost stitches, and spent some 5 minutes unravelling my work. I promptly started over again, and hopefully some day, I'll be able to post a picture of it here! In the meantime, I'll be knitting away!!

Midnight Reader

A gentler, more calm child than her little brother, Alison has always handled books with great care. As a baby, she would take great pride in her Snappy Pop Up Books, carefully minding them so that the pages wouldn't bend or rip. My husband and I, both avid readers, beam with pride as she has developed such a great love for reading.

In the evenings, after bathtime and teethbrushing, she enjoys cuddling up with a pretty picture book. It's her nightly routine. When Hank reads to her, he always mentions the author's name and title, and it's not uncommon to hear Alison say something like, "Oh! That book is by Author X.......or this character reminds me of that other character in Book Z." It's all very amazing.

Sometimes as she's crawling into her bed she'll request a book, and I'll slip it under her pillow. The other night, shortly after slipping Curious George under her pillow, I heard her chattering away in her room. It started off as quiet whispering and mumbling of words. In the darkness of the hallway I stood just outside her bedroom to listen to her as she mimicked the sing-song voice that we often use while reading to her. While she can only decode a handful of words (like her name, "zoo," "mama" etc.), she was improvising and using the context clues of the book to tell her own story to her dolls and animals lined up on her bed. There are moments so precious and so magical that my heart blossoms with so much love and pride. I just want to cry. I stood there and listened to her reading to herself until she eventually drifted off to sleep. I was hoping that her dreams that night were happy, magical ones.

Full Moon & Other Mysteries

A couple of evenings ago, during a typical car drive home, Alison gleefully pointed to the moon and exclaimed, "Wook! Mama! Wook! The moon is chasing us!" And sure enough, after ducking my head to peer at the darkening sky, I too noticed the round orb speedily following us on its planetary road above. I was enjoying this magical moment: the darkening navy sky; fresh, bulbous clouds racing the moon; Alison shreiking in delight. It was all very, very magical.

That is until Alison blurted, "Mama...where do babies come from?"

Gulp! Okay, think....think
"Errr....um! Hey look at the moon now, Allie!"

"Mama...where do they come from?"

Oh God. There's no escaping this question.
"Well you see....um....Daddy......puts.....a special....."

".....special what?"

"Daddy puts averyspecialseed in my stomach."

"Ohhhhh!.............Hey Mama the moon is going to beat us home. Drive faster, Mama. Drive faster!"

Whew!
"Yes let's beat the moon!" (accelerates!)

A COUPLE DAYS LATER: Allie and I are watching "A Baby Story"
"Mama where does Daddy buy the seeds?"

Huh? Seeds?......Ohhhhhhh....gulp! Stay calm, stay calm
"Uh.....you'll have to ask Daddy about the special seeds. Yeah, that's it. Ask Daddy. When he comes home."

"Okay Mama. But how does he get the seed in your tummy? Does he cut a hole? Huh, Mama?"

.............thinking............thinking...........thinking
"Uh yeahheputstheminaspecialholeinmytummy..........Oh look! Here's Daddy now!"

Mother's Day....It's Not Just for Mothers

When I was a kid, Mother's Day was always one of my favorite holidays of the year.

No, I didn't get swept up in the wonders and blessings of mothers. And no, I didn't even ponder the blessed entity that is unconditional, motherly love. You see, this was the time of year when my dad, blessed heart that he is, would succumb to the pressures of my brother and me. Shopping for Mother's Day was an exciting affair for my brother and I, selfish buffoons that we were, tended to choose gifts with an alterior motive. Take a gander for yourself. My brother and I were tricky little devils.

Mother's Day 1979 - my mother receives a Malt and Shake Maker; as soon as the package is unwrapped, my brother and I insist that she make us vanilla malts straight away!

Mother's Day 1980 - my poor mother receives a deep fryer to make donuts; as predicted, she is mightily "encouraged" to whip up a baker's dozen. Like. Right. Now.
That same evening, I devilishly yell "Jesus H. Christ!" when the donuts don't cook fast enough. My dad pinches my lip for "such dirty talk!" My aunt laughs a "thank God that's not my child" laugh! My mom sighs.

Mother's Day 1981 - my dad, freshly sagacious to our ploys, pulls the reins in a bit. This year he decides to choose my mother's gift: a new outfit! After pulling a London Fog Trench Coat from the rack, he turns to me and asks, "What size do we get her?" I shrug and yell, "Size Eighteen!" (Yep, you guessed right. In an attempt to pamper my mother, we ultimately offended her by purchasing an item 8 sizes too large.)

Mother's Day 1982 - I concoct a "wild" idea, run it by dad for approval and he nods in agreement. That year, we present my mother a homemade coupon booklet for such lame tasks as: "Leslie will pick up her room" or "Leslie and Jon will not argue for a day." And that's it. No accompanying sappy card. No flowers. Nada.
That year my mother cries. Yes. We made my mom cry on Mother's Day. That evening my dad and I make a mad dash and buy the most colorful (gawdy) outfit ever. She feels compelled to wear it the next day. It was really ugly.

Mother's Day 2004 My dad, my brother, and I have chipped in to buy my mother a new lawn mower. We're going to keep it at my house, though, as it'll be more convenient for her when she comes over. Because we're thoughtful that way.

Anyway, I'm excited for Mother's Day. It's a day where my husband makes me feel like a queen, and my kids always demonstrate their love for me (Oh wait! That's not just Mother's Day that's every day!) I am truly blessed.

I'm just hoping that I don't get this for Mother's Day.

Mama Cried Over Spilled Milk

Yesterday was quite a day. Why don't you take a glimpse into my day?

7:30 a.m.
Two wailing babies awaken, demanding to eat.
My thoughts: Oh crap! Why, oh why couldn't they sleep in longer?
What I said instead: "Good morning babies!"

7:35 a.m.
I deliver two bowls of oatmeal to the table.
Alison: (scoffs)"I said I didn't want oatmeal! I want peanut butter toast!"
Henry: dumps his oatmeal bowl onto the floor

7:41 a.m.
As I hand them their p.b. toast, Alison complains, "I don't want the crust! Cut the crusts off please!" In an effort to upstage his sister, Henry smears his toast all over the table, and then onto his (clean) shirt.
My thoughts: $&^*%*!!! %*^$(&!!
What I said instead: "Oh it looks like you made a mess, huh?"

8:43 a.m.
I frantically try to squeeze Henry into his shorts (size 18 months --- his good clothes are dirty). Meanwhile Alison busies herself watching Caillou on t.v. After carefully plaiting her unruly, curly hair, I watch in horror as she removes the two rubberbands, unleashing a fro-like coif.
My thoughts: Oh no! Not the hair! Please not the hair! School starts in 17 minutes! WAAAAAA
What I say instead: "Oh Alison please don't mess your hair! Please!"
To punctuate the mood of the moment, Alison then shoves a baseball cap over her hair.

8:46 a.m.
I buckle Henry in his carseat. So far so good. We're off to school!
My thoughts: Okay...so today isn't so bad after all!
Alison: "I have to go pee pee, Mama!"
My thoughts: Are you Nucking Futs?
What I say instead: "Okay...run into the house quickly!"

I Heart My Husband

Everything's Rosy My sweet husband is king of surprises, and I love how thoughtful he can be! Sometimes he'll tuck tiny notes in my purse or he'll pen a poem to uplift my spirits. A couple of years ago, after hearing me rave about a new lipstick shade, he ran out and bought me 5 tubes of the new color! When I was bloated and pregnant with Henry, he went to a foam supplier, and had a special mattress made for me with a hole cut out so that I could rest on my stomach.

He always has tricks up his sleeves. Like yesterday for example: I woke up to two wailing, fussy babies, and more than anything, I so desperately wanted 4 more hours of sleep. Walking out to the dining room, however, I was pleasantly surprised with a hand-picked bouquet of fresh roses from our garden! What a delight!

And after hearing that things were rough (the kids were viciously cranky yesterday), he walked in our front door at noon with lunch in hand. He conveniently played hooky from work which allowed us to lounge and eat happily on our back lawn with the lingering smell of roses.

Brown Skin

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
Apparently your skin has been kissed by the sun...
Everytime I see your lips, I think of honey-coated chocolate.

- India.Arie

My 4 year old is a tad too perceptive at times. One evening, almost a year ago, she blurted a non sequitur of sorts. "Mama, I don't want to be brown."

Oh no. Is she referring to her skin?

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't want brown skin no more."

Oh God. What do I say?

"I want to be white like you and Henry."

"But your skin is beautiful just the way it is. You are beautiful."

Both of my children are mixed. Hapa. Mulatto. Multiracial. Hybrid. Mixblood. Mezclado. Whatever the term, derogatory or not, they're considered "other" by most, especially the U.S. Census. Before having children, my husband and I always anticipated conversations like this. Only who would have imagined that I would have them with a precocious 4 year old? I mean, how do you make a child feel comfortable in her own skin?

My daughter is blessed with the warm, brown sugar skin of my husband, and oodles of curls spring from her head in caramel-colored rings, reminding me of her African roots. Her almond-shaped, hazel eyes reveal Asia, and the blood that flows through her body runs from Ireland, England, France. To add to the recipe that is her, a tiny pinprick of her blood is Native American.

I anticipate, in the very near future, my daughter will have to face that inevitable, annoying question that I have had to answer millions of times before. The question, "What are you?"

My hopes are that she can proudly answer, without hesitation, "I am American."

Sugar High Dreams

Today, instead of going to the gym, we decided to go for a walk. There's no satisfaction like pushing a double stroller three miles. . . to the DONUT SHOP! Allie and Henry love going for walks, and oftentimes our journeys end with us indulging in sweets and goodies, and today was no exception.

Allie had her usual glazed twist, and Henry had his donut holes (six of them!). I was good and only nibbled at Henry's donut holes while sipping on a Diet Coke. About five minutes into our snack, Henry started to fuss and get cranky. He kept pointing and whimpering for my soda. People's heads started to turn in curiosity, and gosh darnit, I just wanted to rest! If only he would hush! Then I made the evil mistake of letting Henry have a sip of my soda.

One sip turned into two. . .two into three...and before I knew it, my beverage was gone!

Oh sweet heaven, my little baby had just gulped down 12 ounces of caffeinated soda! But what could I do? We were in a public place, my baby was fussy, and I simply had no recourse.

On our return walk, Allie zonked out in the stroller, and Henry was ready to rock and roll. He was in sugar high heaven, and super caffeinated too!

I'm sure all you moms out there have done something out of sheer desperation to calm your baby, right? Oh do tell!

Back to Normal

It's Monday night and I'm still alive. Miraculously.

You see, yesterday was the big birthday bash for Allie and Henry. After throwing one cake into the trash for not "cooperating" (it refused to leave the pan behind), I was able to come up with these:

One square, chocolate cake with robin's egg blue frosting for Henry, and one round, vanilla cake with ballerina pink frosting for Allie. Aside from these cakes, I baked several dozen cupcakes for the thirty-five (yes, 35!) children in attendance. Oh yeah, and rice krispy treats dipped in white chocolate were gobbled up too.

Most of the time, the kids ran around, played in the sand, slid on the slide; they basically spent a carefree afternoon with sixty so parents hanging around in the sweltering sun. Luckily several willowy trees offered some refreshing shade, and Hank and I made sure to offer some indoor activities as well. So when the kids weren't frantically running around, they spent some time crafting indoors.

click image for larger view

Allie spent most of her time with her friends, and Henry, the aloof fellow that he is, spent most of his time roaming around the park. Several times I found myself saying, "Where's Henry?! Has anyone seen Henry?" only to find him mischeviously hiding under a table or having some relative chase him across the lawn.

It was a fun affair as friends and family came from near and far to help us celebrate the births of our two babies. Now I suppose it's time to rest, relax, and let the normalcy of life resume its course!

Birthday Bash

Tomorrow we're hosting a Birthday Bash for Allie and little Henry at a local park. I decided that a combo birthday would be worth it since: 1.) I'd only have to live through the stress once, and more importantly, 2.) Henry, at age 2, won't scoff at the idea that his celebration is being tagged onto his older sister's.

Last night Amanda and I put together the goody bags (35 to be exact!). So today we're in preparation mode. I have cakes to bake, food to prepare, and nerves to calm. Too bad I couldn't just take a break here for a few hours.

Sweet Dreams

So last night I received about. . . hmmmmm....NO SLEEP! You see my husband, the lumberjack, was busy sawing wood for our new cabin. Meanwhile, I, the innocent bystander, was left to suffer through yet another sleepless night. Poor me.

Of course it didn't help that I indulged in several glasses of the new Diet Coke with Lime before hitting the hay. I bought it for Alison & Henry's birthday bash this weekend, and I couldn't resist. I mean it was just staring at me from the counter. I'll have to buy some more for the party.

Needless to say I took the day off from work today. I wasn't about to confront any hormonal 8th grader without a good night's rest. And besides, had I gone to work, I wouldn't have been able to prepare for tonight's Finale of America's Next Top Model, now would I?

I'm telling ya, I've got my priorities straight.

Henry's New Coif

(Click on image!) Henry had his first real haircut; a haircut that required a smock, super sharp scissors, and scary clippers. More importantly, though, this haircut also required payment and a tip. You see, usually I am the resident hair stylist at home, giving our babies bargain cuts.

Lately Henry has been looking rather scrappy and scruffy, and I found that his hair smelled kinda like how you would expect a little boy's hair to smell. I don't know how to explain it, but he would come home with all the odors from the day lingering in his hair. On rainy days, it smelled like "wet dog." Busy days would render a "warm bread" smell. Rough and tumble days would smell like "cut grass." And lately, on hot days, it would smell like "beer."

Now that his hair has been shorn, those mysterious smells have vanished. Now he smells like good ol' Henry. Not too sweet. Not too sour.

Now we've got to do something about those feet of his!

FOUR!

Allie's curiosity always sends her down the path towards exploration. Just two days ago, she found a stick-like object on the steps leading up to my parents' home. After careful scrutiny and observation, she presented it to me.

"What's this Mama?"

I studied the blunt end of this mysterious stick, and noticed its irridescent color - - kind of reptile-y. Upon realizing what it was, I swatted it out of Allie's hand. "EWWWWW It's a LIZARD TAIL, Allie! EWWWWW!"

Unfazed by her frantic mama, Allie bent down to pick it up again. "Where's the rest of lizard then?" she continued.

Ever-so-patient Hank stepped in and explained the mystery of this mystical creature, and Allie's interest piqued even more. Perhaps the next time we visit the bookstore or library, Allie will want to browse through books in search of more information about her reptilian friends.

And did I mention that turns four today?

Yes, at the mere age of four, Alison has developed a sense of wonderment so completely vast and wide. Her persistance and curiosity always force me to slow down and view things from a child's perspective. I tell you, the world from a four year old's point of view is kinda fun. Watching a butterfly force its way out of a cocoon is simply magical. Studying a hummingbird drink its nectar is spectacular. And perhaps, seeing a lizard tail up close is pretty darn fascinating too.

Well, maybe for a four year old.

Things Go Bumpity Bump

Okay so for those who wanted an up close and personal view of Henry's GOOSE EGG. . . here it is. Such a boy. He enjoys flying off couches....thus the goose egg.

My Kids are Terrorists

Okay so I know there's civil unrest happening in Haiti. We have the national primaries to worry about. And America's Next Top Model has got me biting my nails. On top of all of this, my children have been causing me restless evenings. Following is a list of things that send shivers down my spine; I mean, these two toddlers are terrorists in their own right.

My heart drops when:
1. Either A or H gags on food (the bluish tint to their faces really freaks me out).
2. Henry dances precariously on the edge of the sofa above the brick-hard wood floor.
3. Alison decides that all food is "yucky," and all food consumption screeches to a halt...for a couple of days
4. Henry madly lunges towards the passing cars in the street.
5. Forks, screwdrivers, metal rulers are placed in, near or around plug sockets.
6. Henry has a hold of a spray bottle (of say TILEX). . .and it's aimed towards his face.
7. The living room becomes mysteriously Q-U-I-E-T. . . A & H are NO WHERE to be found.
8. I hear splashing in the toilet.
9. Henry is licking something so absurdly disgusting (i.e. the botton of a shoe, a food particle found under the restaurant table)
10. Alison decides to play with the "baby trashcan" in the women's bathroom stalls.

God willing I live until I'm forty. Until then, I'll have to keep biting my nails. The world with children is a scary place I tell ya.

Fire Baby

In the womb baby Henry was quite the kicker, and he found it most encouraging when his naive parents bestowed upon him a name that would foreshadow rambunctiousness to come: FIRE. In our desire to give our children both an Irish name and a Hawaiian name, we randomly chose two names, "Aidan" and "Keahi" for our little kicker. Upon further investigation, I was astonished to find out that they both meant "Fire" in their respective languages.

Friends and family enjoy commenting:
"You guys are really setting yourselves up for a wild one!"
"Are you serious? FIRE? Are you sure. . . .?"
"How's the FIREBALL?"

Now that Henry is cognizant of his naughtiness, our sitter has started issuing out time outs. She started on Friday morning, and like an over-achiever, Henry was issued two of them Friday morning. Today he received another one for "chucking the pee pot across the room."

Boy does he make me proud.

Henry Turns Two

My sweet prince of a boy turned two today. Unlike his precocious sister who skipped her terrible twos, I think that Henry is going to take his sweet time in this unrelenting era. Just to give you an idea of what a typical day might be like with this 30 pound whirling dervish, here is a list of "tricks" Henry pulled today:

1. Dumped an entire bottle of Aquafina water all over the family room rug.
2. Mischeviously opened his sippy cup and poured approximately 6 ounces of whole milk on the floor
3. Squeezed a tube of BLACK