The Kiss Me Ring

It’s time for another random memory from my past. When I was little my dad would occasionally take my brother and I on long walks on Sunday mornings. I would hold my dad’s hand or ride on his shoulders if I got tired. Whenever I see one of the girls riding on Scott’s shoulders I can feel myself go back to that place where I was safe, secure and on top of the world.

My brother, Danny, would usually walk a few steps ahead of us and scan the streets for money or random other treasures. He would flip open the change door on every pay phone and newspaper stand we passed in hopes of scoring a dime or a quarter left behind. We often would go to this restaurant called Sambos where I always ordered the same thing: pancakes and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly because it came piled high with a tower of whipped cream and sometimes the waitress would come around and give you even more whipped cream if you ran out.

On one of our walks we stopped at a store to pick up milk or bread or who knows what and after sufficient begging, my dad gave us money for the candy/toy machines. This was a rare treat, if I’m remembering correctly, so when after agonizing over which machine to choose and then twisting the dial, and holding my breath while I waited to see which treasure dropped, I was CRUSHED when out popped this ugly brown plastic football shaped ring.

To make matters worse it said “NFL”. I was five and learning how to read so I KNEW that wasn’t a real word. It couldn’t be since it didn’t have any vowels. Where was the A-E-I-O-U or sometimes Y? I tried sounding it out but what was it? Niffle? Nuffle? It was the DUMBEST RING EVER, that’s what it was.

My brother put his money in a second later and out popped a hard plastic neon-pink puffy heart-shaped ring with gold embossed lettering that read “KISS ME”. In other words it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For a brief moment I thought everything had actually worked out fine. I got the boy ring, Danny got the girl ring; we would trade and everything would be right with the world again.

But seeing how desperately I wanted that ring made my brother just as desperately want me not to have it. The tears flowed freely as I imagined how he would torment me with it. Knowing him, he would flaunt it endlessly and when that got boring he would make me watch as he ran it over with his bicycle, crushed it with a rock or lit it on fire. It was a horribly traumatic bad awful tragedy, the kind that only a five-year-old understands. I was devastated and probably proclaiming it loudly enough for all to hear.

Finally my dad stepped in very calmly, as usual, and said, “Son, give your sister the ring.” As I wrote in #13 on my 50 Reasons I Love You list, that’s when my dad achieved hero status in my eyes. He swept in like a superhero and saved the day. I doubt he would have been thrilled to know that the ring would play a big part in my first kiss only a few days later.

I proudly wore my ring to Kindergarten, showing off like I was a movie star or something. And just like a moment right out of the movies, at morning recess Tim Snead walked up to me and asked, “What does your ring say?”

I responded, “Kiss me.”

And he did!

I lub you too

Alyssa is in this super-sweet-most-adorable-child-on-earth phase. To be sure of this, I just looked over at her as she’s napping next to me and noted that perhaps some would not find the snot-bubble blowing in and out of her nose adorable, exactly… but other than that she’s pretty cute. She’s very much into giving hugs and kisses and saying, “I lub you.” Not just saying it but often yelling it from room to room.

Here’s how it goes: I disappear from the room for more than three seconds. Alyssa cries out, “Mommy? Mommy? Mommmmmmmm-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?” If she doesn’t hear me respond immediately (and I have that kind of voice that is so quiet even when I’m yelling, that NOBODY EVER SEEMS TO HEAR ME) she will reach the same level of complete hysteria as if, say, I have moved to another country without leaving a forwarding address and she’s never ever going to see me again. (I've thought about it but I wouldn't actually do it, okay?)

Me: “Yes Alyssa, I’m right here.”

Alyssa: Very matter of factly, completely hiding the terror in her voice just a second before: “I LUB YOU!”

Me: “I love you too!”

Alyssa: “Awwwwwwwww!”

The awwwww part gets me every time because that’s what I said the first three thousand times she caught me by surprise with an “I lub you.” Now she has claimed it as her own. So it appears she thinks it’s just the sweetest thing ever that I’ve said I love her. Mommy loves me. Awwwwwww…

Unfortunately it’s not just about me though. She loves everyone. All the expected people, like her sister, her dad, her grandparents and other family. But she also loves Bob, our next door neighbor. Random friends who she sees only occasionally, Amanda’s teacher, the cashier at the grocery store… She’d probably love the UPS man if he wouldn’t run back to his truck so quickly.

She’s also into giving tons of hugs and kisses and again, for a while there I thought it was all about me. Awwwwww, she loves her mommy… until I saw her kissing the wall in the hallway. Umm. Okay, this isn’t about me at all.

Why can’t it ever just be about ME?

Her First Talent Show

Amanda made her big debut last Thursday in the school talent show.

She was snowman #7 in "Ten Little Snowmen." ("One Little, Two Little, Three Little Snowmen"..."Ten Little Snowmen learning to read.")
They also sang:

I'm a little snowman short and fat.
Here are my buttons.
Here is my hat.
When the sun comes out, I cannot play.
Slowly I just melt away.

Complete with motions and all. I'm sure I don't have to tell you they were adorable!

Are you happy?

Quote of the day:

Alyssa: "Are you happy, Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, I'm happy. How 'bout you? Are you happy?"

Alyssa: "No, I not happy. I Alyssa!"

Shirley Goodness

My mom and I spent several weeks last October collecting stories and photos and putting together this Shutterfly album to celebrate my brother, Dan’s, 40th birthday. Every time I came up with another story from our childhood, my mom would ask, “What’s going to happen when YOU turn 40? You know you’re probably going to have to make your own album, right?” She was sort of kidding, but not really.

I’m the one who does this kind of thing, this scrapbooking kind of thing, that is... so if I want an album I will probably have to make it myself. Which is fine. But it’s so much easier getting motivated to surprise someone else. I just can’t see working myself into a frenzy to "surprise" myself. Luckily I do have a long, long time before I turn 40… well, unless I choose to live in reality and then I don't actually have that long… ACCCCCH… I hate reality.

Anyway, instead of putting it off until the last second, which is what I would normally do, I think I'll try to write about some random memories from my past every now and then right here on my blog. Lucky you! Lately, Amanda and I have talked a lot about what it was like when I was in Kindergarten so I’m starting with a Kindergarten memory.

I went to a private Christian school for elementary and junior high. I’m not sure if this happened on my very first day of school but it happened the first time we went to chapel, so it was some time in the first week. We sang a hymn about the 23rd Psalm and the chorus went like this:

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days, all the days of my life;
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days, all the days of my life.

Nobody ever explained and I was too embarrassed to ask, so my little five-year-old brain was left to wonder: Who IS Shirley Goodness and WHY is she following me?

She had her own song, so I knew she was really important. But why hadn't anyone ever mentioned her to me before? My mind ran rampant with the possibilities: Was she like Santa Claus and she would bring presents? Or like the Easter Bunny and she’d bring candy? And who was Mercy? Was he her sidekick? Were they superheroes like Batman and Robin or did they have their own variety show like Sonny & Cher?

The most disturbing part was that she was going to follow me every single day for the rest of my life. I spent a lot of time looking back over my shoulder that year. I assumed the whole "following" thing was along the same lines as the "you better watch out, you better not pout, better not cry I'm telling you why..." thing. But let's be realistic, Santa obviously wasn't watching that closely. I cried and pouted on a regular basis and still got Christmas gifts but what if Shirley was more of a stickler for the rules? And forever? This lady was hardcore. As far as I knew, Santa and the Easter Bunny only trailed children but this chick was gonna follow me FOREVER. That's an awfully long time to be good.

My niece, Courtney, transferred to my old school when she was in 3rd or 4th grade and I pulled her aside to warn her about Shirley Goodness. Because I only wish that someone had warned me. She thought it was pretty funny and for weeks afterwards I got phone calls in her little voice saying, “Hello, is this Dione? This is Shirley… and I’ve been following you…”

If you don't enjoy stories about puking you might want to skip this post

My kids are sick. AGAIN. There is just way too much throwing up going on around this place and I’m ready for it to be over. Yesterday it was Amanda. She was miserable, poor little thing. By bedtime she was feeling better and I thought life would be returning to normal. Then at about 4:30am Alyssa woke up crying inconsolably. I finally got her to sleep in my lap and breathed a huge sigh of relief when I felt a sudden warmth flood over me. Unfortunately it turned out not to be motherly love, but instead the contents of Alyssa’s stomach, which is not nearly as pleasant. All over her and me and my clean bed sheets. Ick.

Having a 2-year-old who’s throwing up us is an extra special kind of delightful because there’s that added element of surprise. You can sit within inches of her for hours fully prepared to capture the puke with a bowl or a wastebasket or your husband's golf hat, but just as you stand up to use the bathroom or attend to some other completely unnecessary task, say like feeding your other child, SURPRISE! Puke everywhere.

Until Amanda started school, she rarely got sick, but now she seems to catch every single bug and then brings them home to share. Our last round of sickness happened before Christmas, first Amanda and then on the first day of school vacation Alyssa came down with it. I’d recruited my niece Courtney to keep the girls entertained while I helped out Santa by building a Barbie House (which, in case you're wondering, was too big to fit through the chimney fully-assembled). I had these grand plans of sending them off to the park or Super Franks (which is like Chuck E. Cheese but less annoying) for several hours while I built the house and ran a few errands. Alyssa had shown no sign of illness when I made those plans though.

When she woke up that morning with an earache I got worried. But after some Tylenol and eardrops she was back to herself and I’d adjusted my plans to think Courtney would be sticking close to home and then just as we were heading out the front door to pick up Courtney from the BART station I heard this huge SPLASH at my feet. HUH? Sure enough Alyssa was throwing up. She was thoughtful enough to completely miss her clothing and everyone else’s. Bravo for that.

The fact that I was picking up Courtney kind of brought this puking moment full circle for me. My sister, Darin, had her two daughters when I was a teenager. Perfect timing since she’d wasted… err spent… almost every Friday night of her teen years babysitting my brother and I… and as the story went, I OWED HER BIG. So I babysat my nieces quite a bit.

One time I remember rather clearly was when Courtney was just a baby… under a year I’d guess…so I was 15 or 16 and though my sister had a wonderful babysitter they called “Nana” who watched Courtney on a regular basis while Darin worked, she wanted me to baby-sit Courtney when she was sick, because though she would have gotten wonderful care from Nana, my sister said she wouldn’t feel comfortable calling Nana every ten minutes to make sure Courtney was okay…wouldn’t want Nana to think she was one of those neurotic new mothers or anything… so it was on this particular day that I had my very first experience with projectile vomiting.

This moment is etched permanently in my memory, as it was both horrifying and wondrous at the same time. Please note that Courtney is now 23 years old so it is possible that in over 20 years of telling this story I have dramatized the memory just a bit but not much. We have this plastic Elmo toy that we plug into the sprinklers, and I promise you that Courtney was just like that toy. One second she was this adorable slightly feverish baby playing on the floor in her purple footy pajamas and the next, her head started spinning around like a top and vomit started shooting out in all directions and in random spectacular patterns all over the living room carpet. Never seen anything like it before or since. It was AMAZING. Seriously, I wish you could have seen it. I just sat there staring, frozen, and then as quickly as it started it was over. Her head stopped spinning and she crawled over to me and smiled this adorable smile and then laid her head down in my lap.

It was one of those days that I’ll always remember because I actually felt like I learned something about myself.

Most of the guys I dated for any length of time at some point told me that they thought I would make a wonderful mother someday. I have absolutely no idea why they would have said that about me but I heard it a lot. I truly don’t think I mothered my boyfriends. I’ve always been the kind who needed my space. Oh no! Is it possible that it might be the longer term equivalent of, “Well, she has a wonderful personality”? You know how if a guy said a girl had a wonderful personality it almost certainly meant he thought she was butt-ugly? Well perhaps the “she’ll make a wonderful mother someday,” meant something equally as awful?

Anyway, as I said, I never could figure out what they saw in me that made them think that I would make a good mother. But my point wasn’t why they said it about me, it was that I didn’t believe it about myself. For years I thought I was far too selfish, self-centered and flighty to ever make a decent mother. I loved being an aunt and I figured I’d make a fabulous grandmother. But the thought of motherhood scared me to death. What if I couldn’t handle it? What if I was one of those moms who couldn’t take the pressure?

Well after Courtney puked all over the place and then crawled over and covered me in puke, my first thought was not the expected EWW get this kid away from me, but instead it was that I absolutely adored her. That I quite possible loved her even more after witnessing the amazing spectacle of vomit than I had before, and that I wanted to do anything in my power to make her feel better. This gave me a bit of hope and I thought maybe I will be a good mother! And then I took her out in the backyard and hosed her down.

So fast-forward 20-some years to when I picked up Courtney at the BART station with my own little vomiting baby and had to say, "Sorry Courtney, I hate to do this to you but YOU OWE ME BIG…"

A few photos and some recent quotes from our house

Overheard, Amanda talking to Rilie:

"I didn’t get to go to my Mommy and Daddy’s wedding 'cause I wasn’t born yet. But at least I get to go to the funeral!"

(I have no idea if she knows what a funeral is but she said it with such enthusiasm that I’ve been too afraid to ask.)

Me: "Alyssa, let’s go change your diaper."

Alyssa: "It’s not my job!"







And possibly my all-time favorite Amanda quote:

"If there's somebody that I really love, I take a picture of them with my mind and then I put it in my heart."

No writing allowed

So I've been hoping to get back in the routine of blogging and it's just not happening. I turn on the computer and get sucked into checking email, IMing, shopping for bunk beds and random other things and never get around to updating my blog. So I thought maybe writing in a notebook would be a better idea. Fewer distractions.

Every writing book I've ever read has hyped up the idea of writing on paper versus typing on a keyboard. Some say there's a connection between your brain and your hand and you shouldn't let a keyboard get in the way of it. Some say that it's far too easy to continually edit your thoughts on a computer which isn't nearly as simple on paper. Some say there's a certain flow or rhythm that happens when you're writing by hand that is harder to come by on a keyboard. There are various reasons but at the beginning of every writing book or class you're told to go out and buy a notebook.

Some suggest beautiful leather-bound ones, others push cheap spiral bound ones so you're not afraid to mess them up, but they all tout notebooks as being a very necessary tool if you want to write. So maybe that's why I’ve always had a mild obsession with notebooks especially empty ones. You can't be a real writer without notebooks.

I love new notebooks. I love flipping through the blank pages and I love the way they smell. Some people like the new car smell, I love the smell of new notebooks. (I’ve occasionally wondered if the first kid to sniff glue was just happily inhaling the scent of creative possibilities instead of trying to get high) For me, new notebooks have always represented a fresh start. Endless possibilities. Perhaps I would write something truly brilliant in this notebook. Yes maybe this would be the notebook that inspired me to greatness. Unfortunately I haven’t run across that notebook yet.

(1:38 pm Amanda attempts to take the pen out of my hand and asks, “Can I write something?” No.)

When I started working and was able to spend my money any way I wanted, I remember going completely nuts when I found a great sale on notebooks and I bought ten of them and then went back the next day and bought ten more. I felt like I’d scored the mother load. I could have a brand new notebook any time I wanted which was good because once I started writing in them, the shiny newness started to wear away. The thrill of a brand new notebook only lasted a short while before I began filling it with mindless drivel, the kind that I would be horrified to have anyone read.

It never occurred to me that having children meant that I would give up the option to freely write with pen and paper. For some reason, if my children see me writing they will do everything within their power to stop me. I still remember when Amanda was only a year old and I actually sat on top of my dining room table with all the chairs stacked on top of each other so she couldn't climb up with me while I handwrote a card for a baby shower gift.

Yes, my children have done their very best to cure me of my notebook addiction. Now the excitement I feel when I see a display full of fresh new notebooks for sale is tempered by frustration. Lessened by the knowledge that the newness of any one of those notebooks might last all of 3.2 minutes at our house. The newness, in fact might not even make it intact all the way to the check-out counter if Alyssa spies me attempting to place it into our shopping cart. “Me want book. Me daw Mommy?” NO! Once she gets a notebook in her hands it’s like setting her loose in a house built of cards. Certain destruction will follow.

In some ways I feel like on the day I gave birth to Amanda I gave up ownership to… well, pretty much everything… my body, my thoughts, my time, my energy, my love, my money, my food, my future plans, my devotion, my sleep, my home and everything in it, my privacy, even my dignity on occasion. I’m not complaining. I have to admit that it has been a good trade. Completely worth it considering what I’ve gotten in exchange. I willingly share most everything with my children, including chocolate. But when it comes to my notebooks I have all the maturity of a two-year-old. I want them to be mine-mine-MINE!

(1:46 pm Alyssa notices I’m writing. “Want pen! You done, Mommy?” No!)

I need to have at least this one thing all to myself. Each time I get a notebook I tell myself that this will be the one that the girls won’t touch. I will keep this one up high. I will only write in this one when they are asleep. Or tied to a tree.

But eventually – and it usually doesn’t take me too long – I slip up. I fall asleep after setting it on the nightstand or I set it on the table when I go to the bathroom. And then I forget about it. It never takes long before the Deserted Mommy Notebook sensor goes off causing my children to come skittering from wherever they may be to descend on my untainted notebook.

I’ve set them both loose with notebooks more than once hoping it would cure their fascination but apparently that only fed the monster. Now they think that ALL notebooks should be theirs to destroy in any way they see fit. Santa brought notebooks for each of them, which they loved but nothing is as good as MY notebooks. The fact that I don’t want them to touch them makes them just all the more intriguing. But I don’t want to share.

Alyssa can destroy an 80-page college-ruled notebook in less time than it takes her to sprinkle sand from one end of the house to the other after a particularly good session of playing in the sandbox. That’s under 48 seconds for those who haven’t been paying attention. She crumbles, she tears, she “washes” it with apple juice. She manages to leave a permanent mark of some kind on nearly every single page. It’s truly impressive.

Amanda’s method is slower, sneakier, and far more insidious.

“Mommy, can I draw in that book?”

"No Sweetie, this is Mommy’s. Use your own paper."

"How ‘bout just one page?”

“Amanda this is my notebook. Why don’t you go get one of YOUR notebooks? Do you want me to help you find one?”

“I want to write in THAT notebook.”

“I know Sweetie. I understand. But this is Mommy’s notebook. You know how you have some things that you don’t want Alyssa or anyone to touch? Well that’s how I feel about this notebook. I want it to be just for me.”

Unfortunately Amanda can spot a sucker from ten miles away.

“Okay Mommy, it’s just that I wanted to draw a picture for you. So when you look at it you remember how much I love you. But it’s okay if you don’t want me to.” (ding – ding – ding. We have a winner!)

“Okay, but only ONE page.”

“No, that’s okay Mommy. I don’t want to wreck your notebook.”

“Oh Amanda, I never said you were going to wreck it. It’s just a notebook. And I like your pictures. Here, draw one for me.”

Once she’s in all she has to do is wait 'til I’m distracted (and we all know I’m easily distracted), maybe on the phone or in the middle of doing laundry, trying to get Alyssa down for a nap or just smoking crack and all she has to do is flash me the page she’s already drawn on, “Mommy can I draw in this?” Sure!

And before I know it she has filled the entire book with drawings and stories (which are only somewhat legible at this point but getting better every week.) “Mommy, I wrote a book for you!” Great!

(1:53 pm I succumb to Alyssa's pressure and draw a picture of a baby in the margin of my notebook.)

The pen situation is even worse. There was a time in my life, pre-motherhood, when on any given day if I were to dump out my purse I would have found 10-15 pens. I was a pen hoarder to the worst degree. But now? I can never seem to find a single working pen.

Yesterday in an effort to fill out an extremely short permission slip and write yet another check to Amanda’s school, I hunted down, swore at and eventually threw away three non-working pens. More times than I care to admit I’ve been reduced to writing notes, grocery lists and phone messages with crayon stubs. The lack of pens in our house drives Scott crazy too.

Alyssa on the other hand, always seem to have a working pen in her hands leading Scott to announce, “She has another pen. Dione!!! She has another pen! Go give that to Mommy.”

Where does she get so many pens? I have No Idea. I seriously have wondered if she is squirreling them away somewhere and maybe one day I’ll stumble upon some hidden room where there is an intricate sculpture of the Taj Mahal built to scale entirely out of ballpoint pens and, well probably notebook paper.

Which leads me to another issue: creativity. I always thought I’d be the kind of parent to encourage and nurture creativity in my kids no matter what. I always pictured that my children would have round-the-clock access to all the art supplies their hearts could desire. Paint, play-doh, huge spools full of drawing paper, glitter, glue-sticks and crayons as far as the eye could see.

But then Real Life happened. Real Life with crayon on the walls, silly putty ground into the carpet, my grandma’s leather chair autographed with ball-point pen. And with Real Life came a Real Miserliness with the art supplies.

Of course Amanda can use the crayons. But she must first provide me with two forms of photo ID and some kind of highly valued collateral before I let her “check out” three colors of my choosing with the promise that she will return them before she gets three more. If Alyssa gets ahold of one of the crayons I get to keep the collateral, and Amanda, I’m sorry that you can’t sleep without your lullabye rabbit but next time you’ll be more careful, won't you?

The Christmas Report

Though our house is even more of a disaster than usual, we're still totally in the Christmas spirit around here. Well at least the girls and I are. Can't speak for Scott who has sometimes been confused with the Grinch in years past. He's at least going along with it as much as he can stand. A couple of nights ago, after the girls had their baths and were in their jammies, I filled their sippy cups with hot chocolate, dragged out the Nat King Cole Christmas CD and we were going to drive around to look at the lights. Scott decided to go with us! I was thrilled but said, "You're not going to rush us are you?" and he said "No! How 'bout we go out for 15 minutes and then come back?" Ummm... are you kidding? He wasn't. He was a great sport and lasted quite a while. Just as he was about to overdose we dropped him off back at the house and drove around a bit longer.

Some of you know that last year I was all excited about starting a new Gingerbread House tradition. That was before I'd actually made a Gingerbread House. It seemed like the kind of thing I would like until I actually tried it with two small children as helpers. It was one of those kits too, so it should have been easy but it wasn't. I've blocked out most of the ugly details but I do remember mumbling, NEVER AGAIN to myself pretty much the whole time.

Last weekend Scott and Alyssa went to a party while Amanda and I stayed home (Amanda had been sick and we didn't want to expose the whole party to cooties). Amanda was horribly disappointed about missing the party so when I spotted the gingerbread house kit at the grocery store I grabbed it and we had our own little party which included making a gingerbread house. In the spirit of embracing imperfection I told her she was in charge and could do absolutely anything she wanted. At the grocery store this sweet old lady saw the kit in my cart and started talking about how neat it was. She said a relative had made several of them as gifts and that most of them have lasted five years. She said the secret was keeping them in a cool dry place. I told her I have two small children and I’d be happy if ours lasted five minutes.

So Amanda and I actually had fun making our house. I let her do her own thing. Didn't say a word when she decided to use every single piece of yellow candy all in one spot. Right now I'm still feeling really positive about the whole Gingerbread House thing, but Monday I'm going to school and helping Amanda's class bake gingerbread and Tuesday they're building houses. So we'll see if I return to my NEVER AGAIN thinking after that.

We went to visit Santa last week too. Some of you may know that I have a weird fear of the whole "Mall Santa experience" but last week we braved it...and in the short version, let's just say that Santa obviously got the job because of his realistic white hair and beard and not for his charming personality. He called Alyssa "Booger Baby" after she put her finger in her nose. Alyssa then refused to sit on his lap to which Santa said, "What? Are you mad at me ‘cause I called you "Booger Baby?" That's when Alyssa scowled at him and said, "I HATE Santa," and there was no way she was going to sit on his lap. So now we've done it. We’ve pissed off Santa and I have no idea if Amanda will be getting her guitar (the only thing she asked for) or if Alyssa will be getting her baby doll. If it's up to me Santa's not getting any cookies and milk at our house and I may write an angry letter to Mrs. Claus. Call my kid, "Booger Baby"... Bah Humbug...

The Chaos Report

Things have been even more chaotic than usual around here. First of all we've got major plumbing problems. A lot of the houses around here have plumbing issues so this is nothing new to us but it's worse than ever right now. And my adorable perfectionist husband doesn't trust a plumber to fix things, so for as long as we've lived here, he's been handling the problems himself. The one and only time we did have a plumber here, shortly after we moved in, they sent out a female plumber, which I thought was cool, but it freaked Scott out a bit and he became more determined than ever to handle this stuff himself.

For some reason our washing machine drains into the sink in our garage and when the drain starts to get clogged, I can't get through a complete load of wash without turning the machine off to let the sink drain. I'm admittedly scatterbrained which leads to much excitement around here and we have floods on occasion. I also can't do dishes at the same time I do laundry since the kitchen sink and dishwasher also drain into the garage sink, causing the same flood issues. Did I mention that I’m scatterbrained in addition to having a couple little distractions running around here?

The last time Scott tried to fix the clogged drain, he broke a pipe. Currently the garage sink drains directly under the house, which is not a good thing. Right now, I'm not allowed to use the kitchen sink and I've been instructed to use the dishwasher and washing machine as sparingly as possible. So the laundry and dishes are piling up. But the good news that Scott is actually considering hiring a real live plumber!!! Does anybody know a good plumber? He won't trust just anybody and I'm not sure how much longer I can take this.

In addition to the plumbing problems, we also have ANTS. I hate ants! They're driving me crazy!!! I swear they’re like really bad houseguests. We finally get rid of them and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Then just when things are getting back to normal we wake up and they’re back again and they’ve brought friends. HUNDREDS of friends.

I've tried a few child-safe options in an effort to get rid of them... bowls of vinegar... ha...chalk and baby powder... supposedly hey won't walk through it. This actually seems to work but only until they find a new entry point. I can only imagine that they're laughing at me back at the colony. Baby powder??? You've got to be kidding! Yes they’ve been here for so long that I’ve begun talking to them and trying to figure out what they’re thinking.

Oh and they're coming in from UNDER OUR HOUSE... so it's not like we can just spray them with Raid or something... I asked Scott if we could get Stan-the-Termite-Man to spray for them and he said, “No! Ants are good. They kill termites.” Yes, but isn’t that why we’re paying Stan-the-Termite-Man? There’s no doubt in my mind that my darling frugal husband just doesn’t want to pay Stan to spray for the ants.

I finally gave up on the child-friendly stuff and and bought some ant-bait. They’re supposed to come in to get it and then carry it back to their colony and it’s supposed to kill them all. Supposed to. Sigh… The first kind of bait failed miserably. I moved on to a different brand and so far so good. They've been gone for a couple of days and every morning I wake up just hoping not to find them all over my kitchen or anywhere else in the house.

By the way, should you ever reach the level of insanity that I have, where you become fascinated with your nasty little ant-houseguests and start watching them like they’re the ant farm you never had or wanted, I highly recommend the type of bait that has a see- through lid. The first kind of bait was just frustrating. I had no clue if they were taking it or not. The see-through lid is far more satisfying because you can see them all in there dancing around… Ant party in the ant poison! Woo hoo! Eat up, guys… you’re all gonna die… But the next time I looked, the bait was empty save for two dead ants. That just ticked me off. Couldn’t they have gone somewhere else to die? I mean seriously, if you heard about a great party with great food but you showed up and there were a couple of dead guys laying there, would you stick around? Probably not.

The good thing is that so far the ants have only been in the bathrooms. I can’t figure that out. I swear that my children sprinkle crumbs throughout the house like fairies sprinkle fairy dust and have I mentioned yet that I broke the vacuum cleaner while I was sucking up ants? And don’t forget about the pile of dishes because I can’t use my kitchen sink or dishwasher. So it's bizarre to me that the ants haven’t left the bathrooms. It’s like they’ve landed right next to a fabulous vacation resort with all you can eat buffets as far as the eye can see but for some reason they’ve never left the airport.

The Amanda Report

Amanda is five and is enjoying Kindergarten but frequently complains that she’s not learning anything because she’s having way too much fun. Guess she must have picked up the reading and writing stuff from all that educational TV she watches. (Some of it is educational, I swear!)

She has not one, but TWO, boyfriends. I had one of those scary parental moments when I was taking these pictures of her and trying to get a real smile instead of the fake one kids her age are famous for. I was talking to her about all kinds of stuff and she mentioned her boyfriends and I asked her which one of them she wanted to kiss, fully expecting her to say, "EWWWWW! Gross!!!" or start giggling but instead she got this dreamy expression on her face and said, "Dante... no Anthony... no Dante... no both... can I kiss both?" Good thing I didn't drop my camera!

She's doing really well in school, in fact she just told me that she and one other girl are the only two in the class who have made it through all of the blue books, which is apparently a Big Deal. That means she's doing great at reading. That's my girl! But I've realized in the last few months that she's a total perfectionist in many ways. Homework can be incredibly frustrating because she completely falls apart if she makes a mistake. I still remember asking my mom what "perfectionist" meant after my own Kindergarten teacher called me one, so I know Amanda has it in her DNA... I'm sure she got some of it from her dad too.

I've been trying to emphasize that making mistakes is OKAY and part of the learning process. I'm always reminding her that everybody makes mistakes and it's no big deal. It took me a long time to figure out that mistakes can actually be a really good thing. Creatively, they can take you in a direction you had no idea you wanted to go. So my current motto is "Embrace Imperfection" and when I'm working on various projects I tell myself that mistakes are charming, kind of like a homemade quilt. I've come a long way... But I've also realized, in my effort to be a good example to Amanda, that sometimes I totally relax and don't worry about mistakes and other times I'm... well I'm a totally anal-retentive control freak. So I'm not quite THERE yet, but I'm still working on it. Nobody's perfect, right?

I've been volunteering in Amanda's class on occasion, which is a lot of fun. I don’t go as often as I would like because it can be tough to get a sitter for Alyssa but the teacher is so happy to have help that she really doesn’t mind having younger siblings along, so occasionally Alyssa comes with me which is always exciting.

Last week after a particularly long day of crafting with 5-year-olds, Alyssa was standing right next to me when the teacher said, “Let’s all thank Amanda’s mommy for coming to help us with our project.” So the eyes of 18 Kindergarteners and two other moms were all on me at the exact moment Alyssa somehow managed to tip over a shelf sending a flood of approximately 5 million crayons, 2 million colored pencils, 50,000 markers, buckets full of scissors, glue sticks, erasers, and every other school supply known to man into a huge mess at our feet. And all I could do was stand there and sigh. “Sure! Anything I can do to help! Same time tomorrow?”

The following conversation took place on the way home from home school today:

Me: So did you have a good day at school?
Amanda: Yep. Something really big happened today.
Me: Really? What?!?
Amanda: Dante kissed me today!
Me: (trying to remain calm and not crash the car) REALLY! Wow! How did that happen?
Amanda: I don't know. I was just sitting in the computer lab and Dante came over to help me with something and then all of a sudden he kissed my cheek!
Me: Wow! So what did you do?
Amanda: Nothin' I was just telling him not to do that and trying to get him off my cheek.
Me: Yeah? And then what happened?
Amanda: Well now he's my boyfriend for real. I mean since he kissed me. It's serious!
Me: It sounds like it. So are you two gonna get married?
Amanda: Yes, we are.
Me: You are?!? When?
Amanda: When we're all growed up. You know, when we're 16.

(Oh and just for the record, Dante is the blonde haired, blue-eyed boy that Amanda thought was so cute on her first day of kindergarten.)

Finally an update - The Alyssa Report

I know, I disappeared again. But since I've got a TON of stuff to do to get ready for Christmas, what better way to procrastinate than by blogging? I started writing yesterday and didn't stop 'til I reached about 6 pages. Either I don't talk at all or I can't shut up. So anyway, in order not to overwhelm anyone who may actually ever bother to still check in on the-blog-that-never-gets-updated, I thought I'd break it down into smaller pieces so I don't completely overwhelm you. It's feast or famine here. Sorry! So first the update on Alyssa...

She turned two in October. Really, extremely two. She has a mind of her own, knows what she wants (I believe she makes her choices based on finding out what I'm trying to give her and then immediately deciding she wants something else entirely) and will go to any extremes to get it. She’s completely fearless and despite my constant attempts to stop her, she has developed an extreme fondness for heights and once she climbs up she doesn’t want to climb down, she wants to JUMP down. It’s also getting nearly impossible to get her to keep her clothes on. If early childhood behavior is any indicator of future career paths I’m terrified she’s either going to be a stuntwoman or a stripper.

Getting dressed can be a huge battle too. I'm a pick-your-battles kind of girl and "Get dressed NOW and wear exactly what I want" is not a battle I choose to fight unless we're going somewhere important anytime soon. But at those times we often go through the "I hate this shirt, I hate those shoes, I hate clean di-pah... Want udder (other) shirt (preferably dirty), udder shoes (preferably Amanda's), want udder di-pah (I just got this one the way I like it, why are you taking it off???)" And then five minutes after going through the trauma that is Getting Alyssa Dressed, she will run through the living room singing happily, "I nakey, I nakey!!!" Yes I see that.

I swear to you that as I was typing this she started stripping right in front of me... I said, "Alyssa DO NOT take your clothes off. Do not take your clothes off. If you take your clothes off, you can't go with me to pick up Amanda." She disappeared for a second, returned completely naked and I said sadly, "Oh no! Now you can't go with me to pick up Amanda because you're naked!" So she went to put on a pair of shoes and returned to proudly announce, "Okay! I ready to pick up Uh-Nanda!" I said, "But you don't have any clothes on. You can't go pick up Amanda without clothes on. You'll be too cold!" So she ran off and brought me her jacket and said "Okay, now I ready to pick up Uh-Nanda!"

Her language is just taking off, which is so cool, but it also means a whole new bunch of headaches. If she's trying to tell you something and you can't figure out what she's talking about, it can get ugly. And the HATE word. I've been monitoring all of our speech patterns to see who is responsible for that little gem that is her all purpose tool to express her unhappiness with any given situation. (So far we're all guilty, Amanda hates almost every kind of food on the planet, Scott hates his job and I hate ants. By the way, know of any surefire kid-safe ways to get rid of ants? I HATE THEM! But back to Alyssa...) I imagine if she had the words she would say, "Why are you so stupid? Why don't you know what I want?"

Instead if I say, "It's time to eat lunch," she says, "NO, I hate lunch." If it's time to go to bed, it's "NO, I hate bed." And it can be something that she loved only a second before. Doesn't matter. The other day I was in a time crunch. Can't remember now what the heck I had to do but I had a limited amount of time to do it and I needed some quiet so I was happily going to let PBS entertain her while I did it.

I turned on Sesame Street. "No I hate Ehmo Wuh! (Elmo's World), wan Bonny (Barney), so I turned on Barney. "NOOOOOOOO!!! I hate Bonny! Wan Ehmo Wuh!" I went back and forth between the two with the same response and then she said, "No, I wan Cheh-wy!" Sherry? "No, Hate Sherry." Cherry? "NO!" Jerry? "YESSSS! Wan Cheh-wy!!!" Oh thank goodness!

You may wonder why I even bother trying to figure out what she wants at times like these. It's because if and when I get it right, I am met with all the overwhelming gratitude and pure delight a 2-year-old can muster. It's as if I have just performed some kind of breath-taking miracle and I don't know about you but I don't get that kind of appreciation elsewhere in my everyday life.

So Alyssa and I had a happy bonding moment over "Jerry" and over this major breakthrough in our mother-daughter communication and then, sadly, I had to ask, "Who is Jerry? Jerry Seinfeld? Jerry Lewis? Tom and Jerry? Jerry Springer? You wanna watch Jerry Springer???" The trauma started again and I finally turned Barney back on and fought the urge to say, "Look kid, Barney ATE JERRY. Jerry's not around anymore. Barney is it for you. I'm going to curl up into a ball and cry now. You watch Barney!" but instead I just said, "You can either watch Barney or I'm turning the TV off, to which she sweetly replied, "Okay Mommy, I love Bonny."

The first day of Kindergarten

5:38 am

Am I too old to be having that nightmare where I oversleep and miss the first day of kindergarten?

7:32 am

At what point did I switch from trying to make this a peaceful, relaxed morning to coaching Amanda through every bite of her waffle,"Eat faster, eat faster! Do you want to be late to school on your very first day?!?"

9:25 am

Welcome to one of the longest mornings of my life. Kindergarten. Who knew it was going to be this hard?

Okay I suspected it. I was afraid that as hard as I tried to put on a brave face, I would end up a blubbering mess of tears. I thought that my pockets would be overflowing with wadded up Kleenex and that I might scare the children by sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. I thought Amanda would probably do okay other than being horrified that her mother was making a spectacle of herself. She’d be in the corner whispering to another kid, “Who is that lady? How embarrassing!”

Yesterday was my first indication that things might go a bit differently than I was expecting. Amanda went to a birthday party for a pair of twins that she has grown up with. She’s gone to almost all of their birthday parties and always had a blast. So I had absolutely no reason to believe this party would be any different. But do you remember those old Folgers commercials…the ones where they would show a scene in some five-star restaurant and a smarmy voice would whisper, “We have secretly replaced the regular coffee at Café de Foo-Foo with Folgers crystals. Let's see if these picky coffee-drinkers can taste the difference…” Well if that voice had been at the party yesterday it would have said, “We have secretly replaced Dione’s happy little social-butterfly of a daughter with a nervous kid who will be terrified if she loses sight of her mother for even a second.” I could tell the difference immediately and it freaked me out more than a little.

Since Amanda was a baby she has been happy to hang out with pretty much anyone, any time. I might have had a hard time leaving her but she never seemed to have much of a problem leaving me. Amanda has never been clingy, never had a problem talking to other kids or adults for that matter. In a situation where she doesn’t know anyone she will act shy for a few minutes but then she warms up, makes friends and ends up having fun. So yesterday was weird. And it cranked up my anxiety level for the first day of kindergarten, oh about 150%.

So back to today, the good news is that I didn’t cry… Well okay I teared up a bit when I saw Amanda’s name on a red apple hanging on the window outside of her classroom. For some reason that got me. This is Amanda’s classroom! How did this happen? But then I sucked it up and managed to keep my brave face on until I got home.

Amanda on the other hand? She was the crier. After a few minutes in her classroom, Amanda started crying and told me she didn’t want me to leave. “Please don’t leave, please stay with me, Please don’t goooooooo. I don’t want you to leave, Mommy.” When the teacher suggested that any kids who needed to go to the bathroom might want to go before she started class, Amanda said she wanted to go and she wanted me to go with her. I knew this was not going to be pretty.

As soon as I managed to cram myself, Amanda and Alyssa into the tiny little bathroom (with this tiny little kindergarten size toilet) Amanda had a full-fledged meltdown. The tears started flowing freely, and she was sobbing, “Please Mommy, please Mommy I want to go home, pleeeeeeease…”

On the outside I was smiling brightly and sticking with the, “Oh this is going to be so much fun, Amanda. You’re going to make friends and you’re going to sing songs and you’re going to love this, Sweetie, I promise,” thing, but on the inside I was thinking, “OHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh nooooooooooooooooo… what if she doesn’t have any fun and doesn’t make any friends and they don’t sing any songs and she HATES this and we have to do this all over again tomorrow?”

It only got worse after that. Amanda totally wanted to leave Kindergarten but Alyssa totally wanted to stay. So Alyssa was fighting me, practically tore my shirt off while desperately trying to jump from my arms so she could play with the fabulous selection of toys while Amanda was sitting on her little corner of the carpet holding onto my leg, unsuccessfully fighting back tears because she wanted out of there badly. Did I mention that she was the only kid crying? She was. I think I was the mom that all the other moms were relieved not to be at that moment. The other parents were great though, very sympathetic. A couple of them tried to get their daughters to befriend Amanda but Amanda wasn’t having it.

The other parents were leaving a few at a time and I finally decided that I was just going to have to do it, just hug her good-bye and hope for the best. She tried to follow me out the door, but then she turned around and stayed. I stood outside with another mom talking for a bit and when I peeked in the window I saw that Amanda was marching around the classroom with the rest of the kids, miserably marching, but at least marching, which was a good thing.

10:08 am

I call my mom to report the morning's happenings and ask her how my first day of kindergarten went. Did I cry? Nope. Did she? Yep.

11:10 am

I had all of these grand ideas about how I would spend the four hours (actually 3.75 hours) between the time I drop Amanda off at school and the time I pick her up. Now I’m just mostly hoping I’ll be able to spend it doing something other than obsessively worrying how she’s doing. Is she okay? Is she still crying? Is she making friends? Is she having fun yet?

12:45 pm

So the first thing I noticed when I picked Amanda up from school was her huge smile. No tears in sight. (insert enormous sigh of relief) Her teacher even sent her home with a little red happy face paper, which apparently, in kindergarten teacher speak, means Amanda had a good day.

Actually according to Amanda she had a great day. Not that I was concerned. During crayon time, she wrote down her thoughts… She doesn’t write much yet so this was mostly just lines, not actual words, but she read it to me slowly so I could type it out for future reference...you know, like maybe tomorrow morning in case she decides to barricade herself inside her room and refuses to come out until she's old enough to skip school completely and just get her G.E.D.. So here’s the scoop on school in Amanda’s words:

"I had such a good time at school. I want to go tomorrow. I don’t know all the kids at the school but I know some. I hope other people get to come here on their first day and they have a lot of fun. I didn’t eat any of my lunch at school but mommy sent me some lunch. I did not get into trouble the whole time. I made three friends. Every day I want to go to school but I can’t because some days I have to be off of school."

In case that’s not enough for you, I asked her to give me the play-by-play starting with the moment I left:

• She cried for seven minutes (no, she can’t tell time) and then the little girl sitting next to her asked, "Did your mommy leave?" Amanda said yes and the little girl said, "Mine did too. Wanna be friends?" (Ahhhhhhhh…)
• She didn’t get to eat the snack I packed. None of the other kids ate snacks from their backpacks either. The teacher gave out pretzels but Amanda doesn’t like pretzels so she didn’t eat anything at all.
• They sang a song about Humpty Dumpty and an alligator song.
• There was a puppet table, a paint table, a play-doh table and a crayon table. The boys went to the puppet table, she wanted to play at the play-doh table, (of course) but there were too many kids and not enough chairs so she ended up at the crayon table where she drew pictures of me and Alyssa but not Daddy because he’s hard to draw with the beard, moustache and nose (?).
• It’s not okay to leave your stuff on the floor because one girl tripped over something one of the kids left on the floor.
• They can call the teacher “teacher” or "Mrs. P****r" but not "Mrs. P." One boy called her "Mrs. P" and she didn’t like it.
• They learned all about the letter “A” and tomorrow will learn all about “B”.
• She made three friends, one of whom high-fived her, without specifically saying that she was high-fiving her but that was okay cuz Amanda said “I was like, oh I know what you’re doing,” and high-fived her right back.
• The teacher was really nice and only got mad when kids didn’t listen and then they got time-outs but Amanda ALWAYS listened.
• They got to play outside two times and one of her friends fell down and scraped her hands up.
• They mostly sat on the carpet not in chairs and Amanda picked a square on the carpet that had a flower on it, but one time her friend sat in the flower square and Amanda had to sit in the boring old zebra square.
• When I asked her if there were any cute boys in her class she said, “Oh yes! The little boy who had to wait a really long time for his mommy was CUH-UTE!!! (She doesn’t know his name but he’s blonde.)

And best of all:

• She can’t wait to go back tomorrow.

Oh and as for me, I’m doing better too. We survived our first day of kindergarten and with any luck we just might survive the whole year.

Enough

These pictures were supposed to be all about the ice cream cones. The pure bliss of eating ice cream outside on a hot day after hopping out of the blow-up pool. What a total mess the girls were making of themselves and all that… But when I look at these pics I get caught up looking at the ones of Amanda…I was trying to figure out what it was about her that kept drawing me back and I finally figured it out: it’s the confidence. It’s the I’m okay exactly as I am-ness about her.

She doesn’t care at all that she’s in a bathing suit, with messy hair, ice cream on her upper lip; fingers still neon pink from painting earlier in the day. She’s so okay with herself. I’d give anything to be able to bottle up some of this okay-ness so I could hand it back to her one day when she’s not quite so sure of herself.

That’s one of the worries I have about sending her off to school: she’ll have to start dealing with the real world… the mean kids and the people who don’t think she’s the most amazing creature they’ve ever encountered. I hate to think about her confidence getting chipped away and battered.

I wish there was a way to ensure that a big part of her fearless okay just as I am self would remain intact. If only I could bubble-wrap it and put it in a fireproof safe for that day when some teacher makes her feel like she’s not smart enough or some boy makes her feel like she’s not pretty enough or some magazine makes her feel like she’s not thin enough. Even us as her parents are bound to damage her somehow no matter how hard we try not to. When the world tries to make her feel like she’s not ENOUGH I want her to hold on to this part of herself that doesn’t worry whether she’s enough because she just is.

Kindergarten Assessment

Amanda’s going to Kindergarten! Well at the end of August, that is. I know, it’s hard for me to believe too. Feels like we just brought her home from the hospital a few weeks ago instead of almost FIVE YEARS AGO. Somebody hand me a Kleenex, please.

Amanda went to Kindergarten Assessment a couple of weeks ago and I was a WRECK. That’s right, Amanda: totally fine. Me: complete WRECK. I remember my own Kindergarten Assessment and how stressed out I was about it because I did NOT want to go to school.

My brother went to school and didn’t like it so I wanted no part of it. I was perfectly happy staying at home playing Little People, watching Mighty Mouse and All My Children and having the toys, crayons and my mom all to myself for hours at a time. I think I wanted to fail my Kindergarten Assessment but when Mrs. Reynolds promised a treat afterwards I performed like a well-trained monkey. I got a fabulous piece of chocolate and a ticket to Kindergarten. D’oh!

For months I’ve been talking about how exciting and fun Kindergarten will be. There will be paste to eat, big vats of paint to spill on the carpet, boys to kiss, brown rolls of paper towels so hard you’ll get splinters when you dry your hands, games of I’ll show you my belly button if you show me yours with Tim Smith during naptime… Or maybe that was just my Kindergarten experience. But my point is that Amanda had no fears about the assessment or going to Kindergarten, which is how it should be.

I was nervous enough for both of us anyway. Because, let's be honest, I figured that if she didn’t do well it would be my fault. Oh and Scott’s of course, because he’s the one who vetoed pre-school. But I’m the one who didn’t demand it. I'm her mom and I should have fought harder for it.

Apparently that commercial about how going to preschool means you’ll do better for the rest of your life has not had quite the same impact on Scott that it has had on me. Some days it plays in an endless loop in my head followed by this nightmarish vision of Amanda out behind her third grade classroom smoking cigarettes and tossing beer cans onto the hopscotch field with all the other little thugs who didn’t go to preschool. These moments brought to you by: Mommy Guilt.

So back to the big assessment... we practiced for weeks: her letters, numbers, shapes, writing her name, basic math, anthropology, Latin, physics. Okay maybe not all that, but we studied and practiced. I took it as a good sign that her appointment was with a Mrs. Starr. Not only is star a happy shiny name, but it’s also the name of one of my very favorite teachers, Mr. Starr, my 6th grade teacher who is probably at least partially responsible for the fact that this blog even exists but I’ll write about him another time. My point is that I panicked a tiny bit when they told me, first thing, that Mrs. Starr was unavailable and that we would be meeting with the other teacher whose name I had a bit of trouble pronouncing. What? Uh oh.

But the teacher was wonderful and her classroom was happy and fun and Amanda marched right in there and… well I don’t want to say that she was trying to make me look bad. But she was. Yeah she was definitely trying to make me look bad. For instance the teacher asked her if she could count and Amanda said, "Of course," and then she proceeded to count to ten. The teacher then asked if she knew what came after ten and Amanda said, “Eight?”

You know how one minute you think you know exactly who you are and then something happens to show you that you’re somebody you don’t really recognize? Well that’s what Kindergarten Assessment did to me. One minute I was this totally laid back, low pressure, non-competitive you’ll get there when you get there kind of mom and the next minute I was - well, a crazy woman.

There I was sitting in a tiny little chair in the corner pretending to read a tiny little book while inside I was screaming, “Eight? Eight? EIGHT?!?” It was all I could do to just sit there and force myself not to turn into some obnoxious stage mother off to the side motioning like a lunatic to Amanda or loudly coughing “ELEVEN” into my hand… And then Amanda pulled the same routine with recognizing the letters of the alphabet and reversed the N & D in her name. While I’m thinking, “She KNOWS this stuff…I halfway expected Amanda to just whisper to the teacher, “Look, Mrs. P, my mommy didn’t send me to pre-school and my daddy doesn’t let me play with play-doh. I think we both know the direction my life is heading. Do you think I could take a quick smoke break to clear my head?”

Despite everything I’ve said to the contrary, the truth is Amanda did a great job at her assessment and the teacher said she had absolutely no doubt that she is ready for kindergarten. Highly questionable whether I am ready for kindergarten, but Amanda should do just fine.

As soon as we got outside I told Amanda what a great job she’d done, but couldn't resist asking her, “How do you spell your name?” “A-M-A-N-D-A“ Right, and what comes after ten?” “Eleven.” “And after eleven?” “Twelve.” “And after twelve?” “Thirteen.” “And…” “Mommy, can we go out for doughnuts?” “Okay.”

Moments

Last night I'd gotten the girls all ready for bed: baths taken, teeth brushed, jammies on. There was only a story waiting to be read when Scott insisted that I come watch the last few minutes of a show we'd started earlier.

The girls were happily playing with dolls in their room so I sat down to watch TV. About two minutes later they appeared in the living room and Amanda announced she was ready for her story. I said, "Just a second, Sweetie," and she said, "Oh Mom, no more just a seconds!" Then she went to her room, and returned with a pillow and blanket, laid down on the floor and covered herself up.

Alyssa walked over to her and Amanda pulled the blanket aside and moved over to make room for her sister. Alyssa laid down and snuggled up to Amanda who pulled the blanket up around them. They just laid there together so sweetly... Amanda taking such good care of her little sister and Alyssa clearly adoring her big sister. And I just sat there smiling at them.

Suddenly it occurred to me that this is what it's all about... these moments right here. This is what's so wonderful about having children... these moments that make your heart swell up so big that you think it might it explode.

Then right in the middle of my moment Alyssa looked around and then jammed her finger up her nose. Amanda looked over at her with what appeared to be total disgust but instead of saying "Yuck!" she jammed her finger up Alyssa's other nostril. Pretty much above and beyond the big sister call of duty if you ask me. But then I've never been a big sister, so what do I know? And umm, yes, these are the kind of moments that my wonderful children might not appreciate having posted on the world wide web. Luckily they can't read yet.

(photo taken in March 2007)

Great minds think alike

A few weeks ago my mom called and asked me if I wanted one of the birdhouses that my dad built. She said it’s supposed to be an outhouse. Without really thinking I said yes, and then a minute later it hit me, “Wait, it’s an outhouse for birds!?! That’s perfect!”

In case you think I’m crazy like my mom probably did, a while back in the play-doh post I quoted Amanda saying, “I'm building a toilet for the birds because I'm so sick of them pooping on my slide!” so it just made me all kinds of happy to think about this birdhouse.

As a kid, my dad spent a lot of time on his uncle’s farm and he had a thing for outhouses. He had a little collection of them (my favorite was the two-story outhouse - you never want to be on the bottom floor of a two-story outhouse) and when my parents retired to Hidden Valley Lake he started collecting and building birdhouses. He had a row of them up on posts circling their backyard that overlooks the lake. So the fact that he built a bird-size outhouse makes sense. And the fact that it has found a new home in our backyard makes even more sense. I don’t think this outhouse was meant for me at all, I like to think it was a gift for Amanda from her grandpa.

Grandma gave it a fresh coat of paint and we are searching for the perfect spot for it in our yard. Now if only somebody would have a word with those birds. Please tell them to stop pooping on Amanda's slide.

Happy Father's Day!

We love him because:

• He kills the spiders



• He mows the lawn



• He puts out the garbage



• He sometimes shares the remote control



• He works hard so that I can stay home with the kids



• He unstops the toilet

• He teaches us new things



• He carries the girls on his shoulders which always makes me smile



• He's easy on the eyes



• He has the attention span of a 6-year old so he makes great company for the kids



• He lets me pick the music in the car



• He does all the driving and takes care of the vehicles



• He puts up with us when we're grouchy



• He can fix electrical stuff and not catch the house on fire

• He never complains about how much money I spend (I'm kidding, threw this one in so I could see if he was paying attention)



• He loves leftovers and will eat pretty much anything without complaining



• He puts up with us when we're messy



• He has power tools and is not afraid to use them



• He's a great cook



• He takes us to fun places



• He cleans out the kitty litter box
  


• Because I know one day he'll pay for braces

• And therapy - lots and lots of therapy

• He makes us laugh

• We've been together a long time and who wants to train a newbie?

Happy Father's Day from your girls,

Dione, Amanda & Alyssa

Please don't drink the bath water

Last night I had both of the girls in the tub and I'd colored the water pink. I looked over and Alyssa was drinking a big cup of water so I said, "Alyssa! You know what happens when you drink pink water, don't you?" Amanda asked, "What?" and I responded, "You'll pee pink!"

A minute later I looked over and Amanda was standing up drinking a cup of pink water while peeing in the tub. I know... ewww. But I must say that her ability to multi-task is impressive. She was disappointed though because it turns out there must be a delay on the whole pink pee thing.

I bet mothers of boys think they're the only ones who get these special heartwarming kind of moments, but it's just not true. We get them too. Except sometimes our moments are pink.

So if you happen to be at our house, I highly recommend that you don't drink the bath water. Especially if it's pink... or umm... yellow... Well just don't drink it. Ever.

Alyssa at 19 months

A few random facts about Alyssa at 19 months. Alyssa:

• Weighs 25 lbs., 8 oz. And is 33 inches tall.
• Loves baby dolls, phones, remote controls and her sister.
• Demands equality. If Amanda has a whole graham cracker Alyssa will not be satisfied with a small piece of a graham cracker. She will throw down the inferior graham cracker in disgust and cry NOOOOOOO!
• Likes to sing her ABC’s and the bumblebee song. A few notes and words are actually distinguishable.
• Loves baths. I've had to remove the word "bath" from my vocabulary for the second time in my life. The first was when I was a kid and if we uttered the word "bath" our dog Rusty would fly thru the house and into hiding because a bath was the worst thing imaginable for Rusty. The complete opposite is true for Alyssa. If I notice Alyssa suddenly stripping her clothes off and running down the hallway toward the bathroom I start giving the evil-eye to Scott and Amanda asking “WHO said it? Who said the WORD?”
• Is not fond of getting shots.
• Is learning new words daily. Most frequently heard at our house: Where Dada? (Where’s Daddy?), Where Nana? (Where’s Amanda?), Where baby? (Where’s baby doll?), Where ga-ga? (Where’s kitty-cat?), Where Mama? (You can run, but you can't hide.), Bah!!! (Want bath), Bah!!! (Want ball), Moh! (Want more) Migh! (Mine) and Noooooooooo! (Noooooooooo!), I 'tinky, said while pinching nose (Go grab a diaper I have a special surprise for you.)
• Enjoys playing peekaboo and patty-cake.
• Is a lover AND a fighter. She likes to gives hugs and kisses but also likes to hit and pinch.
• Is a total kleptomaniac. She’s constantly stealing anything she can get her little mitts on: pens, Amanda’s toys, remote controls, DVDs, spoons… You name it, she’ll take it and find a really weird place to hide it.
• Loves to be naked. Avoids getting dressed at all costs.
• Is completely fearless. I swear she just sits back watching Amanda do the stuff she's not supposed to do and figures out ways to step up the danger level. Alyssa can scale the side of a dresser using the handles as her toe-holds. Putting something up high is not a deterrent, it’s a challenge.
• Is a huge helper! If I need someone to remove every item from the lower shelves of the pantry and toss them all over the kitchen, I look no further than Alyssa. If I want someone to take the stack of freshly folded laundry and wad it into a big pile on the floor, she’s my girl. Need that new roll of toilet paper unrolled? Want the dirty dishes removed from the dishwasher? Need someone to distribute cat food over a widespread area? Alyssa can assist!
• Is a total joy each and every day (she gets that from me) and occasionally a total pain in the butt (we all know who she gets that from).

Slideshow of Alyssa pics

http://www.jumpcut.com/view?id=63BB27820DA611DC9D58000423CF4092
If there are problems with the audio, try waiting 15-20 seconds and then restart the slideshow.

Mixed Signals

It suddenly occurred to me this afternoon that Alyssa had a doctor appointment this afternoon. Can’t believe I forgot. Oh I know, so maybe it’s not particularly shocking to learn that I forgot something. I’m not exactly known for being extremely organized and on top of things but I’m usually pretty good about appointments. (Really, there’s no need to rub it in my face that I talked about missing a hair appointment on this very blog. Do you think I don’t know this? I don’t have to come here, you know… and yes, it's kind of surprising that I remember to, isn't it?)

Okay, so anyway brief detour into panic mode while I tried to figure out how I was going to get us to the doctor’s office on time. I looked around and realized we were actually in pretty good shape all things considered. Usually by this point of the day somebody has either bathed themselves in some random sticky substance or rolled in the dirt, often both. So the fact that all of us were dressed and clean was slightly miraculous by my standards. I even managed to locate my purse, my keys, Alyssa’s immunization card and matching shoes for all of us. Who says I’m not organized? Oh right, me.

So by this point in the story I was actually feeling slightly competent and even rather calm. I went to the bathroom to brush my hair and as I did, I looked around and wondered…where’s my lipstick? I swear it was right here… where did I put that lipstick?

Of course that’s when I heard Amanda screech, “Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, come see what Alyssa did!!!” It was right about here that the whole competent/relaxed feeling completely drained from my body as I ran to see.

Yep. Guess who found my lipstick?

See those two little lipstick-covered hands? By this point they’d already been all over Amanda who had bravely wrestled the lipstick from her little sister with little consideration for her own safety or cleanliness... And as I tried to clean her up those same little hands got all over me.

(You’d think I’d know better considering we had a similar scene last Saturday right before my mother-in-law arrived except on that day instead of lipstick Alyssa opted to cover herself in the dark brown paint her dad was using to paint the trim on the shed. And on that day I opted to forego the photo shoot. Sorry.)

So after I got us all cleaned up and into clean clothes, we managed to make it to the doctor’s with a few minutes to spare. I decided it could have been a whole lot worse. When Amanda pulled the lipstick routine a few years back, she used one of those long-lasting lipsticks and it took days for it to wear off of her eyelids.

Perhaps you're wondering what I have learned from this little drama? Not a thing.

What has Alyssa learned from this little drama? That Mommy sure does send some mixed signals. I can only imagine that if Alyssa had an instruction manual, the following rules would be in there somewhere:

• Find a way to get my hands on something I've been told not to touch.
• Apply liberally to self/clothing/walls/carpet/furniture.
• Feel overwhelming sense of glee & satisfaction.
• Wait for Mommy to discover how brilliant and cute I am.
• When Mommy arrives there may be strong signs of displeasure and distress, and a lot of "No, no, no's" being tossed around. Wait patiently.
• Smile sweetly when Mommy whips out the camera to record how brilliant and cute I am.
• Repeat often.