um, brrr.

You know those 'tests' you used to do in grade-school, junior high, maybe even high school, where you answer a bunch of random questions on one of those impossible to make paper flower things, and the test results tell you your future? On all those tests I always answered 'horse' to the question 'if you could be any animal, which one would you be?'. I was thinking, of course, of the beauty, grace, and sheer majestic power of the beasts. When I fed the horses Monday MY coat was soaked through before I came in, and I was out for less than an hour. Poor big, strong, majestic horses.
On Tuesday they had a layer of ice over their coats, icicles hanging from their whiskers, and ice-dreds in their manes.


See the clump of ice hanging there in front of his eye? It's not suspended in mid-air, no siree. Hanging from a whisker-type hair. Ouch. (Not to mention annoying)

And then, there's the shot below. You know when you're out in the snow for a long time and you don't realize you have ice in your hair until you turn your head and it whacks your frozen face? Imagine it's completely covering you. At least the guy in this picture has a winter coat a Woolly Mammoth would be envious of. . . maybe he doesn't know he's a horse Popsicle. Granted, just when I think they must be freezing one of them drops down in the snow to roll around, but still. How comfortable can it be, really?

As much as I love dogs, you know where they have to go to do their business. No such thing as a 'dog box' or 'doggy litter'. Although judging from the way Sadie plays around in the snow, I don't think she's really all that cold either.

This one runs back to the warmth of the kitty bed on the porch if we're out too long. No winter coat there. Aww, isn't she cute?

So today, I'm thinking it's not so much a dog's life either. Today, I'm thinking 'cat'. Definitely a cat. Not a barn cat. Certainly not an alley cat. A prissy house cat curled up in front of a nice warm fire while the storm rages on the other side of the window. 'Want to go out today?' my nice human would say. I would flick my tail at them and have them follow me to 'my' bed so they could pet me. Then maybe I'd take a nap - far away from outside, and the cold, and the wet.

Do they make something for that?

On Saturday Nick was a infuriatingly small eater - with the exception of breakfast. His nutrition for the day looked something like this:

Breakfast - 1/2 grapefruit and Four (count them, FOUR) bowls of Cocoa Puffs. (P.S. I know I'm an evil mother for providing 'treats' for breakfast. I'm over it, now you have to be too.) He was very proud of himself for drinking the milk in his bowl after EACH bowl of cereal. I'm thinking it's not such an impressive feat when the milk is chocolate instead of cheerio-flavored.
After-breakfast-snack - Batman Fruit snack that he snuck out of the pantry. We can only hope he stopped at one. He's become as adept at hiding the wrappers as he is at getting the snacks off the high shelves.
Lunch - Ham and Cheese Sandwich. . . except that it sat, untouched, on the counter until I decided it was too gross to force him to eat it . . . and I threw it away.
After-non-eaten-lunch-snack - Chocolate Chip Cookie he snuck from the cookie jar.
Warm Drink after being outside in the slush - Swiss Miss Cocoa with 'smarsmehwos'.
Dinner - (would have been. . .) Beef Chow Mien and Green Salad.

By the time Max and I had finished eating and Grey was within a bite or two of being excused Nick hadn't taken a single bite. I decided to take action and feed him myself. He was really pretty willing to take the first bite after I bribed him with extra story time if he hurried. Bite in, head turns (towards Grey luckily for me), and all the chocolate goodness of the day came spewing out. Grey didn't get hit but he grabbed his mouth and ran out of the room trying to avoid being the next contestant in the barf-o-rama.
AND . . . dinner's over! Who wants a bath?

SO, while I was on my hands and knees cleaning up the mess, I couldn't help thinking (as I always do on these occasions) about ALL the things we mothers clean up. Most of the messes are a direct result of bringing our own little human monsters home from the hospital. I get that. BUT if you would have told me just how many diapers I would change; how many accidents I would wish the diapers had held in; how many times I would strip dripping sheets from little beds; how many types of partly digested food I would mop up from various surfaces, I have to wonder if I would have been ready to procreate. Now, I'm down to 'it's nasty, but I've seen worse, and where are my puke-mopping-rubber-gloves?'. Before kids, I would have likely been the first one out the door just based on the smell factor alone. What has happened to me, and HOW? Some parts of motherhood just aren't pretty. At least the miracles don't stop when that first cry begins - somehow, if we let it, motherhood molds us into real mothers. Over time our weak girl-arms can outlast the strongest of men as we rock our babies for hours upon end; our wills bend to accommodate the needs of our little ones; our hearts grow and soften; and last, but not least, we clean up the rottenest of messes without running for relief, or tossing our own cookies.

But now I'm found

Ah, yes. After months and months of the things we settle for when 'Lost' isn't on. . . it's finally back! Hooray for suspense, plot twists and that downward spiralling-to-a-crash noise in the soundtrack when something crazy and important has just happened. The kiddies are tucked in bed, the dishes are done (dishes are done, man), and I just took more sinus medication for my ridiculously persistant head-cold. I'm figuring I have about two hours before I'm totally incoherent again. Tyler better hurry it up and get home or I'm firing up the DVR without him.

Boys Will Be Boys

Being the only girl growing up I always kind of thought I knew everything about boys. (I also felt like I knew what it was to be an only child - just with more battle scars.) Turns out I was wrong on both fronts. I get new glimpses into the male psyche every day through the four male minds I am now surrounded by. Most of the time the glimpses I get are endearing, but some of them simply reaffirm how completely different our two genders are.

Glimpse #1 - Boys on Cleaning

Me- You know what I hate? (not waiting for an answer) Dirty dishes left in the sink.

Tyler- You know what I love? That this sink is big enough to hold so many dirty dishes.

Glimpse #2 (literally, ha, ha) - Little Boys on Hygiene

Upon walking into the bathroom I discovered an un-flushed toilet - apparently this is the final stage in potty training, even my oldest (not the grown-up boy, thankfully) forgets this all too important step! (Just let it go children!) HOWEVER, instead of being upset I was overjoyed at the fact that at least whomever forgot to flush, used toilet paper! Hooray for small miracles.

Glimpse #3 - Boys on Onomatopoeia

You know how little (and big) boys use sound effects for everything? Half of Nick's names for things when he first started talking were really just the sounds those things made. Now he's progressed enough to have the following one-sided conversation with me:

"Mom, dis so funny. Gaba Hud (Jabba the Hutt) is all 'Bwaa, uhh'. An den Wuke's yike 'Whaauun-Whaauun' (light saber noises, I think). Den Tooey's (Chewie) all 'Awgghh'. And Gaba goes 'Oooogh! phhhhh!'. and dat's so funny. He goes 'Phhhhh!' Yike dat."

And Mommy 'goes' "just smile and wave, boys, smile and wave", because if I hadn't seen whichever Star Wars movie that scene was from I SO wouldn't have known what that conversation meant. Any boy -Star Wars fan or not - would have.

Glimpse #4 - Boys on Hats

One 'boy' in our house who has great hair can hardly be without his precious baseball hat - ever. If he was having a 'bad hair day' I would cut him some slack. If he were balding I might understand. If he were heading off to, say, play a baseball game I would get it. But, seriously, he gets out of bed in the morning and the hat is on before his feet hit the floor. He's not dressed, why is the hat on? 'Going somewhere', I ask? 'Yeah, downstairs', he says. 'Pants?', I say. No,no, not necessary yet, but the hat is. Today I witnessed him putting the hat on when he was heading to the shower. I cocked my head like a confused hound dog. How does the shirt come off with the hat on? Seriously. He just smiled at me, took the hat off, took the shirt off, and put the hat back on. Is it some sort of grown-up-boy rebellion?

Glimpse #5 - Boys on Hampers

Clothes Hamper: convenient, tidy receptacle for dirty laundry. AND the clothes form a pile adjacent to said hamper. We put a laundry chute in our house thinking the little boys would have SO much fun throwing their dirty clothes down it I would never have to search out their dirty underwear again. That lasted about, mmm, three days. Action figures are much more likely to make the journey down than a pair of jeans. Max actually goes to the effort of shoving all his dirty clothes (except his socks which he shoots into various hidden nooks and crannies) behind the clean clothes hanging in his closet. My biggest boy puts his unmentionables in the hamper and lays the rest of his 'worn clothes' in a pile at the end of our bed because he might wear them again. . . I say (girls against sniffing out the dirty laundry unite!!!) if it's not clean enough to put back with the clean clothes. . . probably not clean enough to wear. Maybe that's just me...

Glimpse #6 - Little boys on Kissing

Even my little Nick now covers his eyes and says, "Ewww" any time anyone kisses in a movie.(Okay, so that's pretty much just Anakin and Padme. . . or, maybe a few others.) I'm quite sure all the little girls of the world just blush and giggle.

In 'real life' even kissing has to have some goal behind it, some undetectable prize. As any purpose for kissing is lost on the little ones Nick has remedied all kissing situations (such as goodnight kisses, owie kisses, etc.) by deciding it's a contest of sorts and pronouncing a winner each time. Don't know what the rules are. Doubt there is a system of points. All I know is that upon being kissed, or delivering a kiss he shoots his hands over his head and shouts, "I WON da KISSING!". Boys.

Glimpse #7 - Boys on Fun

Tyler used to always say "A dogs' happiness is directly related to how dirty they are". So true, and so true also for little boys. Holly and I took the boys with us to ride at the arena today. I planned for their warmth - coats, hats, gloves, and cocoa. I planned for their entertainment - backpacks full of toys / books / you name it. I planned for their tummies - they had cereal, grapefruit, and eggs before we left and three snacks for while we were there. I didn't plan for the dirt factor. Why? Because I'm a girl, and no matter how much time I spend around horses and horsie-places, I would never intentionally get down in the soft, stinky, manure filled dirt. Just wouldn't. Why would anyone. . .unless they were boys. You would think I would have learned by now. We had been riding for maybe ten minutes with the boys safely stowed on the bleachers when Grey called to me. I knew they had been running circles around the bleachers but was still surprised when I looked up to see him covered from head to toe in the extra filthy dirt of a riding arena. I'm not talking 'I got my boots. . . dusty' covered either. I'm talking I'm-not-sure-what-color-his-jeans-used-to-be, didn't-I-just-wash-that-coat, why-does-my-five-year-old-have-a-mustache covered. When I asked him why he was so dirty he simply said, (with an expression of bewildered innocence) "I was rolling". Yes, rolling. Like, 'duh, rolling, Mom'. Of course he's rolling - look at all the dirt! Later in the day he said it was his best day ever. I'm thinking it was the dirt. No wonder they don't like to clean.

All things said, I love my boys, all of them. I love that they are such boys. I love their funny boyish ways. I love that I can see my own ridiculous girlie habits and quirks more clearly through their eyes, and hope I am the better for it.

* photo courtesy Kiera Eve Photography

What are you Wearing?

Remember the good old days when you could pick up the phone and call anyone you wanted to . . . anonymously? Before caller ID? (What a bad day that was, huh? The first time you prank called someone and they called you right back - oh, the end of an era, that. At least I was past the calling-boys-and-hanging-up-if-they-answered-the-phone stage.) AND, remember when anyone could call YOU. . . anonymously and ask if your refrigerator was running, or just breathe heavily into the phone and say "what are you wearing"? (Now, only your husband would pull something like that, and you're really not fooled even if he calls from a work phone.)

My little brother played a really funny YouTube clip for us the other night that made me laugh at myself and my usual choice of comfy pjs. (It made Tyler laugh at me even harder.) Inexplicably, it also made me think about the random heavy-breathing prankster of yesteryear and I imagined the conversation we might have now . . . if caller ID didn't exist.

Me- Hello?
Heavy Breather- (Heavy Breathing)
Me- He-llo?
HB- (Heavier Breathing)
Me- Okay, then. Thanks for playing.
HB- What (Pant) are you (Pant, pant) wearing?
Me- Um, really!
HB- Oh, yeah, reeeeally.
Me- Pajama Pants and a sweater. Excited?
HB- It's four in the afternoon.
Me- Your point?
HB- Okay. . . Mmm, hot. Is that all you're wearing?
Me- Not even close.
HB- Tell me (pant) more.
Me- I'm omitting the undie-details, but, wool socks, tights, long underwear, a turtleneck, and an apron.
HB- Are you (Pant) outside?
Me- Right. Without my ridiculous eskimo-ish coat, fur-lined boots, beanie, scarf, insulated gloves and hand warmers? Nice try.
HB- What's wrong with you?
Me- I have warmth issues.
HB-
Me- Hello?
HB-
Me- Pervert.

So, what are you wearing?

And, back to the grind

Hey there. Wow, that was quite a break but I guess it's time to get back to the blog-o-sphere. I mean the kids are back in school, it's a new year, I've finally taken down the Christmas decor (okay, almost, but by tonight, I swear) and incorporated the Christmas swag into daily life. Back to the norm. I've had a hard time being motivated to make the switch though. Everything feels so plain when the twinkle lights come down. Tyler told me he feels a little cramped over the holidays with all the extra stuff everywhere, but somehow it just feels cozy to me. The tree was so dry even a week before Christmas needles would drop to the floor if you walked past. Mama Kitty barely made it out with her life before the sagging limbs trapped her underneath forever. I'm not kidding. I took two or three strings of lights off with the tree inside before I was up to my ankles in pine needles and had to move the whole operation outside. Next year is the year I will cave. No more tree-guy. I'm all about a big pre-lit fakey and pine-tree scentsy now.

Our Christmas was great though. We were swimming in relatives (this is a good thing) from Christmas day until, well, yesterday. We had such good times with everyone - it was perfect! The only drawback is that Tyler and I are incredibly dull in comparison to the the smorgasbord of cousins, aunts, and uncles the boys have had to entertain them. Don't think they don't let us know exactly how boring we are too - they're pretty good boys, but no one would accuse them of being subtle.

Tyler completely surprised me with a gift on Christmas Eve. He had taken the boys to get it that day and they barely kept the secret. When I came home from my last minute shopping Max was all over Grey and Nick to 'not give it away'. Grey proceeded to tell me they were sending me on a little treasure hunt to find my gift and that they had to give it to me that night. And then:
Greybug- So, aren't you kind of thinking it has to be an animal now?
Me- Oh, woops. Actually I was thinking it must be pajamas.
Max- GREY!
After dinner that night everyone came with me on my little hunt. I should have known what it was since the rest of my family (namely my brothers) were so interested. The last clue led us to the guest bathroom where this sweet little girl was waiting!






Meet Izzy. She's a Jack Russell Terrier puppy - a dog that I have wanted for at least twelve or thirteen years now. I have to keep telling the boys she's Mommy's puppy just to get to play with her myself. Sadie and Mama Kitty aren't such big fans yet.
Anyway, she has been taking up a lot of my time and attention, but can you blame me? She's so cute! It's totally her fault if I slack on my blog. . . or anything else.