Adventures in Domestic Divinity: The Widget's Apple-Oatmeal Muffins

One of the most difficult challenges in dealing with The Widget's dietary restrictions is baking breads, muffins, cookies, and the like. While I can at least use yeast, which allows me to actually make real bread (something I was never able to successfully accomplish back when I was doing this for DramaBoy), having to avoid gluten AND rice, soy, corn, and buckwheat makes the task....interesting. There are many fabulous food-sensitivity recipes out there these days, thanks primarily to the other bloggers who have similar issues in their households (check out the links down on the right hand margin), so I don't have to do everything from scratch. However, as I've become more familiar and comfortable with the different Funky Flours I use, I've been able to play around with conventional recipes as well.

I've been wanting to get more fiber into The Widget's diet, because he inherited certain, um, issues from a grandparent that make visits to the toilet another challenge. (Thank God the child likes prune juice. Just sayin'.) I also recently discovered that there IS such a thing as gluten-free oats! Therefore, I am not limited to using quinoa flakes in the place of oats. They generally are a good alternative, but they have a distinctive taste that doesn't work with everything, they are very fine in texture, and I don't like overloading The Widget's system with any one ingredient (which can trigger new sensitivities).

So today I checked some options on the Intarwebz and, praise be to the Google gods, found a simple recipe that I could easily adapt. With no further ado, I present you with:

The Widget's Apple-Oatmeal Muffins*

• 1 cup dry gluten-free rolled oats (Bob's Red Mill makes some that should be readily available at Whole Foods or the like)
• 1 cup almond milk mixed with 1 Tbsp white vinegar (replacing sour milk or buttermilk)
• 1 medium egg
• 1/2 cup brown or white sugar
• 1/3 cup canola oil
• 1/4 cup tapioca starch
• 1/2 cup sorghum flour
• 1/2 cup almond flour/meal (Avoid Bob's Red Mill's almond flour, as it seems to be too heavy for baking. I order mine from nutsonline.com)
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon safe baking powder (Be careful if you need to avoid corn and gluten! Hain Pure Foods makes a cornstarch- and gluten-free baking powder)
• 1 cup peeled, finely chopped apples

In a large bowl, combine the oats and almond milk/vinegar and let stand for a few minutes so that the oats absorb some of the liquid. In a separate small bowl, beat the egg and oil together. Add to the oats/milk mixture along with the sugar. Beat well with a wire whisk. Mix together the flour, baking soda, salt and baking powder in a separate bowl, then add to the oat mixture. Mix until all of the dry particles are moistened, using about 20 or 30 strokes by hand--do not over beat! Add the apples and mix in quickly.

Spoon the batter into a dozen lined muffin cups. Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then remove to a wire rack. Fabulous for a healthy snack or breakfast-on-the-go!

*adapted from Hillbilly Housewife's recipe for Oatmeal Muffins

Seven! Seven Things To Count! HA HA HA HA HA! (Insert Crashes of Thunder)

It's been AGES since I've done something as spontaneous and yet meme-ish as a Seven Quick Takes Friday, as originated over at Conversion Diary, but something bloggish in me woke up and said, Today! Write today! So I am. Except I can't get Count von Count's voice out of my head, for some odd reason, so we'll be doing this his way.

--One! One Quick Take! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

This morning I pulled on new jeans purchased on sale from Old Navy yesterday. They're the same style that I always wear (I am, apparently, The Flirt), but one size up. It was rather marvelous to pull on jeans that don't feel like sausage casings. I am sad to report that MTL's birthday gift to me is still sitting in the corner of the living room. I've used it about four times, which means that each seven minute ride cost about $50. Damn, but I'm out of shape. I keep swearing I'm going to do something about it, and then the siren song of the couch drowns out everything else.

On a positive note, MTL appreciated being able to actually grab my butt this morning as he walked by on his way out the door, rather than encountering the immovable force of straining denim. There's always a silver lining.

--Two! Two Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Upon arriving at daycare this morning, The Widget informed me that he felt like throwing up. He then proceeded to do exactly that. All over his shirt and the floor, with a bonus splattering on one of my shoes. Although he did have a nasty stomach bug last weekend, I have a strong suspicion that this morning's gift was the product of too much sinus drainage (thank you, environmental allergens!) and his refusal to swallow the chewed-up Claritin chewable pill that ended up on the floor along with the semi-digested remains of last night's tacos.

News flash: I have apparently lost the cast-iron stomach I developed during those early years of parenting. I was unabashedly grateful that he threw up on the daycare's floor rather than mine. All I had to do was wipe him down and get him back into the car. God bless the heroic and plastic-gloved daycare teacher who tackled the floor.

--Three! Three Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I can't say I'm thrilled about how often The Ex's girlfriend is at the house. This has nothing to do with her--I rather like her, truth be told, and I'm relieved he's moving on and I'm happy she's good with the kids. I do, however, resent that I'm still paying almost half of the mortgage on a house I don't live in, and that I'm essentially paying for them to live there. Trust me, I only agreed to this in the settlement for the kids' sake (plus she wasn't staying there back then). And yes, there is a time limit, but still. Don't even get MTL started on that, either.

However, I did find myself rather grateful to discover that she was there this morning and doesn't have work today, because she's able to watch the Widget. For some reason daycare centers don't let vomiting children stick around.

--Four! Four Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I love my coworkers.

Thanks to one of them, my students were able to enter my classroom, be made aware of the situation, and get started on their work for the day. I was only ten minutes late to work, but mine is not a job with flexible start times. Thanks to another, those kids also had a watchful pair of eyes during those ten minutes. You'd be amazed what a bunch of juniors will try to do during ten minutes' unsupervised time.

Sometimes I wonder how much of a difference there really is between my job and a kindergarten teacher's.

Oh, right. We don't have recess.

--Five! Five Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Speaking of kindergarten, DramaBoy is currently going through a phase of Marvelous! Wonderful! Near-perfect behavior! both at school and at home, which is a lovely respite from phone calls about how many kids he's hit on a given day and battles over how many bites of that horrible healthy food he'll have to eat tonight. I'd enjoy it more if I didn't keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Also, since children learn how to tag-team at birth, The Widget is In A Mood almost every day right now. I'm fairly certain he was flung into a maelstrom of jealousy, insecurity, and angst by having his eight-month-old cousin around for a few days and having to Share Attention--particularly from my parents, whom he views as his personal attendants. I mean, how DARE they?

Not that I would know anything about how that feels, or ever tormented The Widget's cousin's mother for coming along and dispelling my belief that the universe revolved around my three-year-old self. Nah. I wouldn't have done that. Ahem.

(Sorry, SoccerSister. Again.)

--Six! Six Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I hate politics.

I know this isn't news, but I think it deserves restating.

And while I will not, out of deference to DraftQueen's sensibilities, say that I hate all politicians or that they are all corrupt and horrible people, I will say that I have very little faith in most politicians.

However, if Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert ever run for office, I'm voting for them.

Just sayin'.

--Seven! Seven Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

The Old Spice commercials are awesome. In fact, an Old Spice ad torn from a magazine is clipped to my inbox where I can see it and be reminded to smile. Not because Isaiah Mustafa is pretty decent eye candy (though he is), but because the sheer over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek ridiculousness of these ads brings a little sunshine into my gloomy days.

I wonder if they'll have any effect on lowering the acceptable age for men to wear Old Spice. MTL can hardly wait until he's allowed to wear it, in fact--and felt that way even before these ads. Fortunately, I'm not allergic to that particular cologne.

In the meantime, I'll just keep enjoying the ads.

You're welcome.

Happy Friday!

Well Played, Mr. Kindergarten Teacher. Well Played.

A few days ago I posted the following on Facebook:

OK. I seriously do NOT enjoy helping with kindergarten homework. I'm probably going to some parenting hell, but omg.

There were various snarky responses, including MTL's about those darn pesky teachers and their assignments, and Heidi's about it being a Judgment From On High. We all had a hearty laugh, DramaBoy's homework finally got done, and I moved on.

Today, when I retrieved the mail, there was an envelope from DramaBoy's school waiting for me. I opened it with some trepidation, as recent contact from his school has been along the lines of Your son is hitting other children and not listening and you must be a horrible parent with no control over him. Okay, fine, I added the last bit, but you get the point.

Imagine my shock when instead I found a Valentine letter from my five-year-old son, obviously composed (and spelled) all by his own self:

Der Mom

I hop you hav a grat day thak you for all the presis You r the best mom and you r the best mom in th hol intuir wrld

love [DramaBoy]

Dang it. Just when you're ready to toss in the towel, they go and do something cuter than hell.

Guess this means I better keep helping him with that homework.

Especially the spelling.

(Anyone else have a guess on what "presis" means? Presents perhaps??? Because I'm pretty sure he's not thanking me for a misspelled summary of an argument. Even if we've had a few recently.)

I Think I'm Less Like A Helicopter And More Like A Bus. You Know: Get Them There. Get Them Home. Sit Down And Shut Up. THAT Kind.

I am questioning the wisdom of being a parent even more now. No really, because it's too much work. Here I thought that since DramaBoy  is growing up and I no longer have to dress him or wipe his butt or unbuckle him in the car or even bathe him (first solo shower this weekend! WOOT!!!) that somehow my parental responsibilities were going to be reduced.

And then I started getting the newsletters from his kindergarten teacher.

Maybe I should start calling them news-novelettes, because really. I swear it takes longer to read them than it does for me to write one of these posts, and I'm a ridiculously quick speed-reader, peoples.

I would also like to know when homework started requiring so much parental involvement. I don't remember my own parents being quite so involved, though maybe it doesn't fully count because my mother was my teacher for most of elementary BUT NOT KINDERGARTEN and since I don't remember (a) having that much homework and (b) my parents being involved, I feel rather ill-used at this point. I don't know what I resent more: my parents not having to help me much back then or my having to help DramaBoy so much. Probably the latter. Because it's more work.

This is also complicated by the whole split custody thing, because The Ex and I have to divide what each person does and communicate and all that fun stuff. It's a good thing we're practically friendly these days, because the whole cooperating thing works a lot better that way.

Maybe I'm a little extra resentful this week because The Ex is going on a short vacation so I have the boys an extra weekday, which isn't a big deal really because I love them and stuff, but it means that I have MORE HOMEWORK TO DO WITH DRAMABOY!!!

Also, I am already behind in grading papers both because I'm always behind in grading papers and also because my National Honors Society slave student assistant has been sick and therefore unavailable to assist me. Plus there's so much more Life to my Personal Life these days. All this to mean that I have lots of homework of my own that I should be doing and having DramaBoy's homework getting in the way is not the kind of excuse for which I am searching. Not that I don't look for excuses, you see; it's more that I want excuses that involve more Fun and less Frustration.

Because seriously, have you ever tried to get a wiggly not-quite-five-year-old sit at a table and do his homework?

Let's just say that it didn't surprise me AT ALL to read his weekly goal sheet and see that the teacher wrote DramaBoy's main goals as "paying attention and following instructions in class and finishing work assigned."

MTL may have had a sarcastic comment about it, actually. To follow mine. BECAUSE WE'RE AWESOME LIKE THAT, THAT'S WHY.

Somehow I don't think teachers need to worry about either of us being helicopter parents.

May I please get back to just handing out the homework instead of being on the receiving end?

It's going to be a looooooong fifteen years.*

------------------------------------------------
*Because The Widget will start two years after DramaBoy, that's why. I CAN COUNT. I just don't like to help my kids do it. I know. I'M SUCH AN AWESOME PARENTAL ROLE MODEL. Shut up.

Guilt (Mine) and Consequences (DramaBoy's)

Apparently the most votes are for details on DramaBoy's Full Day Time Out, and really I will write about that, but first I want to note that today I am in enforced idleness. No, really. I had planned to head back to the house while The Ex was at work and do what packing I can do until we have our Official Negotiations over items like CDs and DVDs and dishes and pots and pans and children's clothing and toys. Also, I was going to watch the recorded sessions of "So You Think You Can Dance" from the last couple of weeks.

Instead, I am sitting on the couch contemplating how I can make this day Useful and Productive in other ways, because this morning I received a text from The Ex requesting that I not go to the house today. I don't know why. Perhaps he's working from home today; perhaps his girlfriend will be there; perhaps it's trashed and he doesn't want me there until he cleans (though that's unlikely). It doesn't really matter. The end result is the same.

I find that, as lazy as I am and can be, I don't deal well with Doing Nothing, at least by myself. Apparently I can spend hours and days and weeks Doing Nothing (well, nothing Productive, at any rate) in company with MTL and be as content as a cat on a sunny windowsill. Find myself alone with nothing much to do for a day and the Guilt begins. I mean really, God forbid I spend a day doing nothing but relaxing.

So far I plan to fold that load of laundry that is still in the dryer, mail MTL's Jury Summons Questionnaire (he's SO EXCITED), pick up Change of Address cards, go to a couple of banks, and call my former student C. who needs a responsible adult *giggle* to chaperone her in some driving practice so she can get her license. Don't worry, you legally-minded people: she graduated, so I'm no longer in that teacher/academic legal position.

Oh, and I may also go shopping for my cousin's wedding present and perhaps even some things for my sister's baby shower.

I'm living on the edge, Peoples.

*********************************

So you want to know how this whole Full Day Time Out thing happened with DramaBoy, huh? Okay, here goes.

I mentioned a while back that DramaBoy is a mini-me in more than looks: he's also all-too-frequently full of defiance and disobedience. Don't get me wrong. He's a good kid at heart. Well, let me rephrase that. He's not a bad kid. I'm not worrying about him ending up in Juvie. Yet.

He is, however, a handful and a half. Lately MTL and I (and apparently also The Ex, when we discussed it) have been noticing a disturbing trend. DramaBoy has developed an attitude that, frankly, pisses us off. And I helped create it. You see, I've always insisted that when DramaBoy and The Widget do something wrong, they have to apologize for it. Over time, that became part of the end point of punishment. Somehow, in DramaBoy's mind, this came to mean that if he apologizes for something, then everything is over--and he started acting like that should be enough. He apparently thinks that if he says sorry, he shouldn't get punished.

Ha.

On top of that, his apologies have stopped meaning anything. They have become flippant, something that he seems to see as a joke. He's become cocky and arrogant, or as much so as a four-year-old can be. And he's stopped paying attention much to what Adults In Charge are saying.

(MTL and I spotted a t-shirt the other day that, if it had come in DB's size, I might have bought for him. It read It's Cute How You Think I'm Listening To You. We agreed that might as well be DB's motto. Enough said.)

The first day up north at Nana and Papa's (MTL's parents) place was like a dream. DB behaved perfectly. He was outside all day playing, having fun, staying out of trouble, being a wonderful big brother to The Widget and "almost brother"/playmate with KlutzGirl. He was cheerful and polite and helpful. MTL and I both praised him for it, wanting to give some positive reinforcement for such behavior.

Sunday morning went well too. Then in the afternoon things took a turn for the worse. DB started playing around the outdoor air conditioning unit, putting things like leaves and wood chips through the wire mesh. Nana told him to stop, that what he was doing was dangerous. He ignored her. Then when she called him over and lectured him about listening and obeying, out came that attitude. So off he went to Time Out in a lawn chair--and the attitude kept coming. That earned him a Gibbs. He ended up falling asleep in the chair, and we hoped that a nap would help. After he woke up, he apologized to Nana, and we let him run off and play again.

So we figured he could go along when we all went off to Dairy Queen that night. Except when we arrived (we had to take two cars), MTL came over to my car to talk to DB: The Padawan had informed him during the drive that DB had been throwing sticks at MTL's car as well as climbing on my car and had been rude and disobedient when told to stop. MTL asked DB if he had done this.

And DB said Yep. With a look on his face like So what? What you going to do? And then he said, Sorry! Again with a look like I don't give a damn, but I'll toss you an apology to keep you happy.

And the attitude kept coming, even after punishment, even after being denied ice cream, even after the long wait and then the long ride home. I told him to say sorry for real to MTL, and he said the words--but the look on his face and the tone of his voice said that it was all a joke to him. MTL refused to accept his apology. And I was fed up.

Tomorrow, I told him, you are grounded. You'll be in Time Out all day. No playing, no toys, no TV, no fun. 

But I said sorry! he protested.

It's not enough to say sorry, I replied. You have to mean it. And if you were really sorry, you wouldn't keep doing these things. You would listen. You wouldn't do what you know is wrong. And you wouldn't have this attitude. You're not getting grounded because you threw sticks. You're getting grounded because you don't care that you did something wrong and you won't listen to the Adults In Charge.

So that was that. The next day, from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed, he had to either sit in a chair next to me or, when it started raining and we went inside where there was the TV, lie on Nana and Papa's bed in the back room. With no toys, no books, nothing.

MTL and I both talked to him about the situation throughout the day, emphasizing that the problem lay with his attitude. DramaBoy protested a few times in the morning, and once again tried "apologizing" in the hopes of getting out of the punishment, but we stuck to our guns. By afternoon he was resigned to his lot and remarkably cooperative. He fell asleep for a while, and then came out to eat pizza while The Widget was put back in Nana and Papa's room for a nap. Once DB was done eating, he went back to lie down on the bed again--without even being told. He didn't try to sneak toys in, he didn't complain, nothing. He only got out of bed to go to the bathroom and then to tell me that The Widget was awake and crying for me.

We were all rather impressed, truthfully.

The next day the grounding was lifted, just in time to climb into the car and head home. And lo and behold, DB lied to MTL about something as we were getting ready to go, and then at a pit stop disobeyed me about something else--and the attitude flooded back.

So MTL slung the boy over his shoulder, dumped him back into the car, and traded keys with me so that I could drive his car while MTL drove mine--with The Widget and a screaming DramaBoy inside.

There are many reasons I love that man.

Apparently DB was quiet and obedient for the remainder of the ride. Meanwhile, I easily quelled a few incipient quarrels between KlutzGirl and The Dark One while The Padawan slept, and I drove in relative peace for the second half of the drive.

So. Did the grounding work? I think it did. I'm not naive enough to have expected it to fix the problem in one Swell Foop, but it did lay some solid groundwork. I talked with The Ex about it, and we're all going to be tackling that attitude problem.

I think DramaBoy's about to find out that he's messing with the wrong adults. He may be stubborn, but so are we. And we outnumber him.

Thank God.

Any advice from all of you Peoples? What have you done with your Strong Willed Children?

Jam On It

I have a confession to make.

I may have mentioned it before. It's entirely possible. I have lost track of how many little pieces of shame I've posted here for your amusement judgment absolution.

But it's that time again. So it's time for my confession.

Forgive me, Dear Readers, for I have committed the sin of mindless mass media mastication.

It's true.

I'm addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance."

*ducks head in shame*

But really, what's not to love?!?! All the DANCING! The HOOPLA!! The FABULOSITY!!! The HOT TAMALE TRAINS!!!!

(I know. You won't get that last one unless you actually watch the show. And the third one is totally made up. So sue me.)

Anyhow, Season 7 just started and I had a backlog of recorded shows on the DVR. Yesterday I parked myself in front of the TV and plowed through over 200 pages of student essays in a matter of an afternoon, all while semi-watching seven hours' worth of SYTYCD auditions/Vegas week. They were perfect company for the daunting task: music and background noise without the distraction of a plot, with the added bonus of an occasional really fascinating performance to give me a break from the endless words words words words words.

At one point The Widget was cuddled up next to me, and a very talented break dancer performed his audition. I heard a little gasp from my snuggler. He leaned forward, eyes riveted to the screen, then pointed and turned to me.

Wow! Look at him! he lisped. Oh COOL!!!

(If you can imagine this said in just about the sweetest, squeakiest voice possible, you might get an idea of how adorable he is, by the way. MTL says it's because he's such a sweet little guy that it comes through in his voice. /melt)

Then The Widget crawled forward on the bed and turned a somersault.

Is that cool, Mama? he asked.

Yes, honey, it's very cool! I replied.

Mama! Watch this too! he demanded, and he lay on his back and attempted what I can only believe was one of the back-spin thingies (I know, I'm so technical) the performer was doing on screen.

Apparently a bed is not the best location for such stunts. He didn't get very far.

For the next half an hour, he wandered in and out of the room, saying Mama! Look at this one! and performing various somersaults and spins and moves that apparently were his idea of break dancing.

ADORABLE. TEH CUTE, peoples, TEH CUTE.

I just might have a little B Boy on my hands. Heck, he's cute enough that he'd probably bring in plenty of cash performing on street corners, technique or no technique.

Maybe I could buy a laptop of my very own AND get him some Bakugan!

It's not child labor if he's just having fun, right?

No Escape From Reality

Single mommyhood. Rollercoaster rides. They have much in common, only single mommyhood has more screaming.

Last night was a Toggle Day, and I arrived at the boylets' school to be greeted by the news that The Widget had officially completed his transition from Early Learners (30-36 mos) to Skill Builders (3-4 years), better known as *sob* Preschool. It's official. My not-so-babyish baby is a preschooler. He proudly showed me his new cubby and the pretty picture he had drawn for me and announced, I went potty in the TOILET!!!

Imagine this said in an adorably squeaky little Widget voice and your heart will melt much as mine did.

Then we went outside to collect DramaBoy off the playground, where he bounced over to me with a treasure clutched in his fist. His fingers uncurled to present me with....

A WORM.

I heroically fought down my shudders, exclaimed appropriately over its Awesome Worminess, and suggested that perhaps he needed to put it back in the dirt where it lives. Thank the dear Lord above he didn't try to bring it home as a pet. I draw the line at...well, at pretty much anything nonmammalian, and most mammals too. I'd rather not even have the frickin' dog, but that's a story for another day.

(Dog lovers, please don't hate me. If you knew the story, you'd understand. Some of my readers already do. Trust me on this.)

So, happy and wormless, we headed home; the Widget playing happily with a Viewmaster and DramaBoy spelling words on his little toy computer, myself singing (and dancing, because that's how I roll) along with the radio.

This was the Fun Part.

Once we got home, the ride took a sinister turn. I committed the great sin of lifting The Widget out of the car rather than letting him get out by himself, and the resulting tantrum wended its way from the garage floor to the hallway floor to his bed, where I informed him he could stay until he got himself under control.

DramaBoy made snarky comments from the sidelines. Which made things SO MUCH EASIER.

And it went downhill from there. I found myself dealing with a temporarily bipolar Widget, a DramaBoy who kept changing his mind which game he wanted me to watch him play and losing his patience with my inability to focus on any of them, a phone call from a bill collector for a credit card I'd forgotten about, a dear friend who needed to vent on Facebook, and a dog demanding to be fed. I was also trying to make dinner, change out of my work clothes, counsel MTL over the phone about his daughter's school issue, and not scream at anyone.

Finally I had enough. I shut down everything. I let the oven keep heating without putting in the biscuits, put the phone on silent, and sat down (in pajama pants and my work shirt) with a kidlet on either side.

We watched this



and then this



and then this



and then I let the now happy and giggling boylets sit on the couch by themselves and watch this



while I changed my shirt, popped the cheesy biscuits in the oven, heated the soup, finished my conversation with MTL, and got dinner on the table.

Then I sat down with my boylets, put on Barenaked Ladies' Snacktime CD (my favorite children's album, because with song lyrics like these, how could I not love???) and we ate our meal while singing and dancing along.

There was a brief hiccup in the bliss when DramaBoy temporarily objected to the soup selection before he'd even taken a bite.

What kind of soup is this? he asked. I don't like green soup.

It's broccoli soup, I answered. You love broccoli.

I like BROCCOLI, he responded, but I don't like broccoli SOUP.

I'll confess right here that I lied to him. Without even a twinge of conscience.

Of course you do! I said. You liked it the last time you had it!

Oh, okay! he said, and that was that.

Keep in mind that yes, DramaBoy does love broccoli, but he has never had it in soup form before. I FEEL NO SHAME. Sometimes you just do what you have to do to survive.

After all, you never know what's coming once you crest that next hill. That drop might be a bitch.

I'll admit, they're awfully cute. I guess I'll keep them. For now.

I'm Pretty Sure Dinosaurs Don't Like Snow. Isn't That What Killed Them Off? Perhaps I Was Tempting Fate.

I don't know which weather deity I ticked off when I moved into this house, but for the last six years about three-fourths of the parties I plan (or are planned in honor of me) have been cursed with snow. As in massive snowstorms, many of them.

You'd think a birthday party planned for April 17th would escape the curse.

You'd be wrong.

I knew the weather was supposed to be a little chilly and windy today. I did not, however, cancel my reservation for the gazebo in the park nearby, because we're Michiganders, dagnabit, and temps in the low fifties are No Big Deal.

Ha.

I was a little worried when I was loading things into the car and spotted a few particles that looked suspiciously like random snowbits. It was only ten in the morning, though, and the temp was in the mid-forties. I had to be seeing things.

The kite-making went well. DramaBoy and The Widget were joined by MTL's youngest daughter K, and they all had fun decorating their own kites. Then we put them together with little rods and string and label stickers. Flying the kites was no problem, either. The Widget dropped his on the ground shortly after getting outside, and when he tugged at it, the wind caught it and UP IT WENT!!!

For being a newb at kite flying, he was pretty dang good. Mostly I just kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't get tugged into the parking lot.

But then the wind began to blow in earnest. And along came the snow. My friend M, who was driving with her husband and daughter to join us, said the temperature dropped nine degrees in ten minutes. When The Widget began crying because he was so cold, we decided to give up and head back to the house.

Thank God for the boys' father and grandmother, who scooted through the house cleaning like mad while I waited at the park to direct stragglers in the right direction. We somehow managed to put everything together and had a great party, sudden changes in plan notwithstanding. Since it was too cold for the kids to go outside, I didn't even have to worry about the horrendous state of the yard!

It all worked out. But I think I need to figure out what propitiations need to be made in order to rid myself of this curse. I know it's Michigan, but people are starting to talk.

And I LIKE parties.

Also: WEATHERPEOPLE SUCK. No one said anything about snow.

Gratuitous photo evidence, with captions:

The Widget has a very free-form artistic approach.

Two blondes with kites

(good name for a band)

Up, up, and away!

It's a wrapper! It's a plastic bag! No...it's a kite! (No, really.)

He had on three layers and STILL ended up shivering and crying. Sigh.

Dinosaur cupcakes! Brilliant brainchild of SoccerSister (and some others, but she beat them to the punch). They almost didn't happen. I thought I had eggs and discovered at 9:30 last night that I did not. MTL came to the rescue by dropping off some eggs and calling my phone, which had managed to get lost somewhere in the house. It was a fun night, let me tell you.

Rawr.

The spread. Again, kudos to my friends and family who gave me ideas for what to get. Also HUGE thanks to the boys' grandma, who used her magical shopping skillz to track down all the dinosaur Stuff that I could not seem to find ANYWHERE.

The Widget kept rolling his eyes while we sang to him. It was very teenager. I wish I could have captured it on camera.

But then he made up for it with a huge grin. The chocolate may have helped.

PRESENTS!!!! There were many dinosaurs. We have several dozen inhabiting the house now. Also: a happy Widget. And that, my friends, makes it all worthwhile.

The Older They Get, the Tougher Planning These Things Gets. What Was I Thinking???

I've always been of the opinion that children's birthday parties should be fairly simple and low-key, especially when the children in question are quite young. I've heard about the incredible extravaganzas that some people put on for their tots, complete with petting zoos ("We come to you! Added bonus: excellent excuse to replace your whole lawn afterward!"), inflatable bouncy thingies, clowns (Ack! Really, who thinks kids LIKE those creepy things?), cakes from specialty shops...In other words, people will spend the equivalent of a small wedding budget on a birthday party for a child who may, at most, have some hazy images imprinted on his/her mind for a while.

Ridiculous.

In the past, all my kidlets' parties have been held at the house. There have been a few snacks, a cake, some balloons and festive party plates, a few inexpensive favors for the young guests. The guests themselves have been limited to family members and a few close friends who also have young children. Fun was had by all. In a very low-key, inexpensive way.

The Widget, however, is having a party this Saturday, and I'm doing things just a touch differently.

First, the party will not be at the house. I have two reasons for this: (1) I really don't feel like cleaning up the house that much and there isn't all that much room on the main floor, and (2) I'd rather have the party at a neutral location, especially because DramaBoy keeps getting confused when his father and I happen to be at the house simultaneously. He's still working through the idea of our separation being a permanent thing.

So I have rented (yes! rented!) a small gazebo at a marvelous little city park nearby, one that has a built-in farm/petting zoo for the delight of our guests as well as a very nice playground that's safely enclosed and has plenty of seating and shade for adults. In addition, the Parks Department is holding a little kite-making and -flying event that morning for kids of all ages. What perfect timing. It's supposed to be in the mid-fifties that day, but shouldn't rain. Let's keep our fingers crossed on that one!

The second big difference is that I actually invited The Widget's little classmates from his Early Learners class at daycare. I decided that since this is happening out of doors and I don't have space issues, I could manage it. Also, I kind of delayed putting this thing together, so a number of The Widget's little friends who are the children of my friends can't come. The more the merrier, right? And even though I know not all of them will be able to come, there should be enough little people running around to keep my boylet happy.

Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to serve them all for a light picnic lunch, how to decorate cupcakes to reflect a kinda-sorta dinosaur theme, and try not to break my limited budget while still decorating that gazebo so it's festive.

Suggestions, anyone?

A Boy Called Widget

My baby is three today.

This means, in my mind, that I no longer have any babies. I have two little boys, yes, but neither one can truly be called a baby in the true sense of the word.

Mind you, The Widget has not been very Baby for quite some time now though it would make me very happy if he'd be a little more cooperative with the potty training and not just reserve the perfection for his father thankyouverymuch. A few months ago I looked at him as he bounced around in his pull-up and realized that his chub is gone. His little body has lengthened and slimmed and stretched into that body shape that speaks boy rather than baby. His proportions are mini-adult rather than mini-leg.

And I miss my chubbers. I miss those pudgy, dimpled thighs. I miss the soft roundness of his arms around my neck. I miss that buddha belly that jiggled when he ran.

Not that I don't delight in the boy he is becoming. I love the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, those hazel eyes that are clearly Me. I love his linguistic leaps and explorations. I love his infectious giggles, even when they are triggered by teasing DramaBoy by repeating everything he says.

(Mama! The Widget is copying me! DramaBoy protests.

Mama! The Widget is copying me! The Widget mimics, and bursts into giggles even as his brother groans with exasperation.)

He is more reserved than DramaBoy, who has a tendency to burst into rooms with fanfare and sparkles. The Widget likes to scope out the scene first and determine just how he fits. He is a people watcher. Lately, however, he has become friendlier even through the initial shyness. When greeted, he says Hi! and waves rather than just hiding behind my legs--though that often happens as well. He becomes more comfortable in new settings far more quickly than before, particularly if there are other children around.

One of his best friends is an adorable little dandelion-fluff-haired girl, B, who is the daughter of a coworker and exactly one month younger than he. They have always been in daycare together. In fact, when he changed daycares last year, she was switched over to his new one a few months later.

Since B's mother works with me, we drop our children off at the same time in the mornings. As we approach the school, The Widget will call out, Is B there? Is B's car there? And when he spots that red-orange minivan, he switches to B is here! B's car is here! Yay! B is here!

However, as soon as we walk through the classroom door, he's all cool and reserved. It's very much a Hey...what's up, girl? sort of attitude.

He's playing hard to get already.

He's still my little cuddlebug, though, that boy. I still get those arms wrapped around my neck, those plump little lips pressing kisses on my cheeks. Now, however, I also get the words I wuv you, Mama! I wuv you! 

And I melt.

He'll always be my baby. But there are compensations for the loss of his babyhood.

Happy Birthday, my not-so-little Widget!

PSA for Parents

You know when your kidlet decides to have a meltdown in the middle of the mall? As in full-force Mach 5 tantrum with screaming, crying, hitting, and "I hate you"s as a special bonus?

You have two choices: (1) be utterly humiliated and drag the brat kicking and screaming the entire length of the mall while uttering threats and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone, or (2) find your sense of humor, try very hard not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, and drag the brat kicking and screaming the entire length of the mall while saying I'm sorry you feel that way. I love you! and smiling at all the gawkers.

I'll give you a hint: Choice Number Two doesn't give you a migraine and tends to result in amusement from onlookers rather than surreptitious searches for the phone number to the Department of Human Services.

Oh, and DramaBoy? I still love you.

Parenting in the Age of Bakugan

A conversation while driving home:

DramaBoy: If you are very good, I will give you a surprise!

TeacherMommy: You'll give me a surprise?

DB: Yes!

TM: If I'm good?

DB: Yes!

TM: What do you mean by being good? What do I have to do?

DB: If you wash the dishes all the time, then  I will give you a surprise!

TM: Really? Wash the dishes?

DB: Yes! But if you wash them only two times--only one time, then maybe I will give it to you right now.

TM: So if I only wash the dishes once, I'll get the surprise right away?

DB: Yep! I will find my Bakugan! I haven't found them all yet.

TM: I see. Bakugan. Hmm. I'm not so sure I would really want Bakugan, honey.

DB: You're right. You don't really like Bakugan. You only like work.

TM: ....

DB: Look! I will give you something for work!

*he picks up a travel coffee mug off the floor of the car where it must have fallen from my bag*

DB: See?

TM: Thank you, honey! I wondered where that had gone.

DB: You're welcome! Now go wash the dishes!

I May Have Missed THEM, but I Didn't Miss THAT

Ahh, kidlets. It had been just a little over a week since I saw mine, since they went down to Florida with their father for a week of kinda-sorta-warm vacation. It was a good week for me and them, in our mutually exclusive Weeks O' Fun, but I was starting to miss them. I went out bowling and to dinner on Saturday and tiny peoples were EVERYWHERE and I found  myself looking at them all awwwww and fighting the urge to squeeze them. At the bowling alley there was a birthday party (OMG the little people were everywhere and so dang cute and all the little pink coats on the little girls and pretty shoes and for a split second I ALMOST wanted another kid--i.e. small daughter to dress up--one day and then my brain kicked in and told me I'm an idiot) and a tiny boy who had to be maybe a year-and-a-half old wandered over and tried to pick up my bowling ball. Mind you, I'm a wimp, so I had a very lightweight ball, but there was no way he was going to manage it. So I got his mind off the ball and then realized he seemed a little lostish. Of course my mama self kicked in and I was all Where's your mommy, honey? and he was looking around with growing panic before a woman walked with the correlating Where's my baby? look on her face and they had a joyful reunion.

All together now: Awwwwww.

Where was I? Oh yes, MY babies. Except that when I saw them last night they weren't babies. Because apparently one week away = OMG THEY GREW UP. I swear they each sprouted an inch or two, and The Widget has made a sudden linguistic leap and is speaking in pretty dang complete sentences. As in Mama, we took pictures at Mickey Mouse's castle!!! I mean, when he left two Fridays ago, that would have been more like Mama! [DramaBoy] and me! Pictures Mickey Mouse! Castle! which I totally would have interpreted, but now he's adding in all these subjects and verbs and prepositions. He still has that totally adorable squeaky little voice of his that makes me all melty inside, but he's starting to sound like a little boy instead of a toddler. He is also stretching out and developing that little boy body. He's still all soft and cuddly, but there's hardly any chub left, and I miss my chubbers.

Le sigh.

I texted this to a friend and received back the very comforting reply, Don't blink or they'll be in college and I was all GAH! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME?!

And then DramaBoy came in during the night and peed on the carpet next to my bed because he was still mostly asleep and obviously very confused and I started looking forward to the days when I would no longer be on potty duty.

Because, peoples, when they're all big boys and stuff, I am so not cleaning their bathrooms. In fact, I may have to figure out how to have a separate bathroom entirely. I still have nightmares remember what my male college friends' bathrooms looked like. *shudder*

You think they're too young to start learning how to scrub toilets?

Different Wavelengths

DramaBoy: Are you bored? Are you having fun, just sitting at your computer and watching TV?

Me: Yes, I'm having fun.

DramaBoy: No! You are NOT having fun! It is more fun to play! Don't you want to come upstairs and watch me play my game?

Me: That doesn't make any sense. Your game is a computer game. So wouldn't I just be sitting at the computer and sort of watching TV?

Silence.

********************

Three minutes later:

DramaBoy (with a tone of great concern): Mama, are you SURE you want to watch us play Batman? Are you SURE you want to watch us play?

Me: No, I'm not sure.

DramaBoy: Okay, you can watch us play. And then when you want to work, you can take your computer with you and not watch TV.

For two people as good with words and communication as we both are, I'm not convinced we're getting our messages across.

Some Angels Come In Chocolate Flavor

Oh, my Widget. He's adorable, you know. Seriously, deep down, yummilicious, angel-boy adorable.

It's not just me who thinks so, I swear.

He's my shy one, but once people spend some time with him, he wiggles his way right into their hearts. And once he attaches, he's there for good.

Today when I picked him and DramaBoy up from school (as we call daycare, because really it is school for them rather than a glorified babysitting service), I was struck yet again by how he's charmed the staff. Any day I'm able to take my time rather than dash in and out, I have a half-dozen teachers tell me about something he did or said that day that just melted them. Today as I chased DramaBoy (who was extra-hyper, God help me) down the hall and The Widget marched along in my wake, I turned around just in time to see him blow a kiss to his teacher Miss T. at the other end of the hall.

Did you see that? she practically squealed to the Assistant Director. He blew me a kiss! Oh, how I love that boy.

Did I mention that, while shy, he is also an accomplished flirt and ladies' man? Sometimes it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

I'm so glad that he and DramaBoy are so different. I was worried all those years ago when I discovered I was going to have a second boy. Would I have enough room in my heart for two little boys? DramaBoy was so bright, so charming, so special. Would he suffer by having competition for attention? Would he resent his little brother? Would my new little boy suffer by never having sole focus? Would he always be compared to DramaBoy and live in his brother's shadow?

I think it would be much harder if they were more alike. They look very different, they act very different, they have different strengths and weaknesses. DramaBoy is flash and charm and laughter, a slim little mini-me who brightens every room he enters. He is precocious with language, already a wee wordsmith. The Widget is quieter, slower, more observant. He sits on the sidelines at first, watching and learning and assessing each situation. He is slower to put his trust in someone, but his waters run deep and true. He is slower with words and speaking (with an absolutely adorable voice, mind you), but quite amazingly dexterous and precise with physical manipulation of objects.

The thing that a lot of people don't get is that slower does not necessarily mean a lack of intelligence or ability. And there's no doubt that I have two very bright little boys on my hands. Which, really, is kind of scary. There are times when there's a certain look in The Widget's eyes that makes me wonder just what's going on in there. I think there are an awful lot of wheels turning, and it's a little intimidating to wonder where they're headed.

You see, they're both handfuls in their own ways, too. DramaBoy is more defiant, but The Widget is remarkably more stubborn. I may argue more with DramaBoy, but when The Widget gets his mind set on something, my stomach sinks.

Someday he may actually win. (Don't tell him I said so.)

But he melts my heart. There isn't a bad mood that can't be leavened when my curly-haird blondie crawls into my lap and whispers I love you, Mommy! What's even better is that he does that on a very regular basis.

And his kisses? They're chocolate flavored.

Like I said, he's yummilicious.

In Which I Ramble and Debate Existence as an Appliance

So I seem to have added a follower in the last couple of days, which is amazing because hello, haven't been here much. Nevertheless, gratifying and all that.

I seem to be in a blogging block right now, and even though I understand WHY, it's a little difficult to figure out how to overcome it all. Because people, there are so many things I CAN'T talk about on here that it's becoming difficult to figure out what I CAN talk about.

Things I Can't Or Won't Discuss On Here (At The Moment or At Least At Any Length):
1. My divorce--you know, all those legal things and not wanting to create drama if I can help it
2. My ex--because he doesn't want me to and I'm not sure how to write about him anyhow
3. My boyfriend--because he also likes some privacy and it seems like a lot of my family is all weirded out about me having one anyways and, you know, the divorce is still ongoing and all that crap
4. My angst--well, I could, but I don't want to because there's been too much of that and I'm getting sick of myself already

So on the rare occasions lately that I've even sat down at the computer, I find myself in the virtual equivalent of blank face and gaping mouth. What I do write seems to come across flat and uninspired. My sense of humor seems to be lacking, for one thing, at least when I write here.

Believe it or not, I still do have one. It just seems to be reserving itself for Real Life. Ask my friends--I've been making jokes and laughing and being snarky as usual. Really. But when I sit down here...it all seems to fade.

This post was a lot funnier in my head. You know, while I was sitting on the toilet thinking about posting something for once.

Isn't it phenomenally unfair how the best posts seem to come at the worst times? I'll be driving or in the shower or on the toilet or in the middle of teaching or cooking (ha!) or out on a four-wheeler or something, anything that means I cannot sit down right that minute and even jot ideas down, much less get online and write the post. I'm a brilliant writer in my own mind. Unfortunately, my mind doesn't come with a secretary.

That would be an awesome invention, you know. Some sort of device that could plug into the brain and record ideas when you want it to. Then you could work with the text later. Oh, I know there are those little note takers and voice recorders and all, but really, I need something that jacks into my brain directly.

No doubt this would lead to all sorts of horrific brain hacking and greymatter viruses, though, and then we'd just all be destroyed.

Of course, my brain already was hacked by the two little parasites I grew in my womb. I'm pretty sure they downloaded most of my brainpower between the two of them. It's hard to resent it too much, though, because they are awfully bright and brilliant and beautiful, those boys.

Me (cuddling boys close after mediating a wrestling match to determine who got to hug me the most): I love my boys!

DramaBoy: I love my girl!

The Widget: Yeah, I love my grill!

Me (laughing): Oh, so I'm a grill?

DramaBoy (grinning mischievously): Yeah, and I'm a stove!

I'm glad SOMEONE has a sense of humor around here.

Twenty-Four Hour Sunday

I cannot sleep because my head hurts and at the same time a million thoughts are whirling through it. Perhaps the two are linked. I am finally drifting off around two in the morning when a friend who is far too young and doesn't realize that some people might need to sleep texts me and jerks me out of my doze.

I am still awake fifteen minutes later when my youngest son begins coughing and crying in his room. He has been suffering from the sniffles and his congestion is making him miserable. I lift him, his warm but thankfully not-feverish body solid in my arms, and take him to my bed. He falls asleep nestled against my chest, and then I manage a parenting twist on the classic hug-and-roll technique, depositing him safely beside me.

Half an hour later I am still awake, this time because there is no way I can sleep easily with a small sniffling person jamming his feet into my side. There is a noise from the doorway and I roll over to see my slightly larger small son shuffling in. Mama, I want to sleep with you. I can't sleep in my bed, he whispers. I sigh and open my arms, the signal for him to clamber over my body and take up most of what little space his brother has left. I rearrange both children and finally gain a precious ten inches of space for myself.

Slumber does not come easily when elbows and knees are being jammed into one's extremities with the occasional whack of a hand across one's face, but my children are kind enough to sleep in two hours later than usual, so I do not wake until almost eight in the morning. My bed is warm and full of snuggles.

************************

I survey the catastrophe that is the house in the aftermath of three small people having a late-night playdate. For a moment I regret passing on my friend's offer to help clean last night, but it was already almost 11:30 when we got back and she still needed to drive home with her little girl. I am glad my boys had so much fun, but the chaos is a bit overwhelming.

Time to clean up the mess! I announce to my small boys. You can watch TV while you clean up, but all these toys need to be put away. All the train stuff goes in that box, and the Legos in their bin, and everything else goes back on the toy shelves.

Can we have a snack? DramaBoy asks.

After you clean this up, I reply, and they slowly start to pick things up.

I climb the stairs and face the four large baskets of clean clothes waiting to be folded. With the boys downstairs working at a snail's pace while they watch Backyardigans, I am free to watch my non-kid-friendly shows like CSI and Cold Case and The Soup while I fold clothes. There's nothing like crime and gore and celebrity stupidity to make chores go faster.

************************

The giggles erupting from the bedroom alert me to my children's lack of focus. Snacks of chips and raisins and a lunch of macaroni and cheese have kept them going all day as they worked through their mess, but there's only so long they can concentrate on the task at hand. I walk in to discover them wrestling on the floor clad only in underwear and pull-ups. Thankfully they have already picked up the toys that could hurt them in their rough housing. All that's left are the clean clothes still strewn about the floor, now performing the role of wrestling mat.

I cannot bring myself to be stern with them. Their giggles are infectious and I soon am on the floor with them, turning the wrestling match into a tickling match with some wet raspberries thrown in for good measure. Finally they conquer me and I end up on my back, two small bodies bouncing merrily on my belly. Worn out, I rescue myself and stumble from the room, promising them a treat if they finish cleaning the room. I still have a duffle bag to pack and two more loads of laundry to wash, dry, and fold. Their giggles are diminished but still bubbling as I walk down the hall.

************************

Do you want to go out in our pajamas and go through a drive-through tonight, or do you want me to have pizza delivered? I ask the small Spiderman-clad boy in front of me.

I want to go to Lucky Duck Pizza and get pizza! he declares.

No, baby, I say. We're just in our pajamas and so if we go out, we have to go to Taco Bell or Arby's or somewhere like that.

We can wear our pajamas? he asks.

Yes, I say.

Mama? he asks, a twinkle beginning in his eyes.

What, honey? I say.

We have to wear our shoes if we're going to get our booty! he says and bursts into giggles.

I snort back laughter and hope he's referring to playing pirates.

************************

I sink deep into the liquid heat, the bubbles rising up until my chin is covered. I breathe the sweet scent of vanilla and exhale, muscles loosening one by one. I wiggle my toes against the end of the tub and reach for my book. I hear the hushed murmur of my boys' voices from their room but relax in the knowledge that they are unlikely to emerge again tonight. I open the pages and submerge myself in another mind's world. Perhaps by the time I crawl between the newly laundered sheets my own will be soothed enough to allow sleep to come quickly.

Silence falls upon the house.

Odd How My Bank Account Gets Smaller the Bigger They Get

These little people called kidlets (you may have heard of them before) have this bizarre habit of growing up. And changing. Oh, and costing money. Strange how those go together. I'm not sure if my boylets are in some sort of conspiracy, but this week has been one to make my head reel.

First there's all the talking from the Widget and that crazy writing thing that DramaBoy is doing these days, and now they're daring to grow physically at the most inconvenient times. You'd think they could hold off a week or two so that Christmas gifts could fulfill some needs, but no....So out comes the debit card and a couple of pesky emergency purchases are made.

The first emergency has been, in reality, creeping up for a couple of weeks, but I was in denial. You see, neither of the boys could fit comfortably into one of the car seats in my car. Not just any car seat, but the very first car seat we ever had. The car seat in which we brought home the teensy tiny DramaBoy, who was so very small that I had to wedge him about with rolled-up receiving blankets so that his wee head wouldn't bobble out of control. The car seat which then held the almost as teensy tiny Widget when he came along less than a year-and-a-half later, also wedged with rolled-up blankets.

Tangent: What would we do without those things? The blankets, I mean. I had about thirty of them and never seemed to have enough. Note to new mothers: you can NEVER have too many receiving blankets!!!

Anyhow, DramaBoy could no longer be forced into the seatbelt in that thing at all, and The Widget was having to hold his breath most each trip we took. Too tight! he would say, patting his chest with a look of mild desperation. Too tight, Mama!

It was time and more than time. Yesterday I headed off to Target to grab one of their Cosco brand transition seats--you know, car seat one way and booster chair another? As I pulled its simple plastic-wrapped bulk off the shelf, I couldn't help but chuckle over how we had researched car seats for months and purchased the (quite pricey) deluxe suede-and-faux-leather car seat (HA! What were we thinking? Ever tried to clean baby vomit out of suede?!?) all those many years ago, whereas here I was snagging the very basic store brand seat that cost perhaps one-sixth as much, if that.

Ah, parenting. How time changes one's perspective.

The old seat cradled the new one on the way back to the house:

I hope its feelings weren't hurt too much.

Farewell, thou old friend. You have been through the wars. May you rest in pieces peace.

What you can't see in this picture: the cuts, the stains, and who knows what else...

Both my boys are now safely strapped in and (bonus!) able to breathe. All good, right?

HA. Today as I was putting on DramaBoy's shoes at the mall play area, I realized there was a gaping hole in the toe:

Finger shown for display purposes. This would have been his toe, without a sock.

So we had no choice but to head off to Target yet again (Who would have thought five years ago it would have become my go-to store? Ah, the realities of parenting...) to search for shoes. The Widget's were looking a little worn and tight as well, not to mention that buying new shoes for one boy and not the other would NOT go over well.

Sometimes they're as bad as twins.

Ah, but we couldn't just get any old shoes. DramaBoy made it clear he wanted Spiderman shoes or, at the very least, some sort of superhero. The Widget chimed in with his parrot act agreement. And lo, Target had Spiderman shoes, in both "good" and "bad" versions. And lo, there was a pair in The Widget's size! And...oh crap. None in DramaBoy's. We searched high and low. Nothing. No other shoes were deemed suitable for replacement, either.

Finally, in desperation, I called another Target and sent the poor customer service lady in search of Spiderman shoes (either moral compass acceptable from my point of view, though DramaBoy insisted he really wanted the "bad" Spiderman) in the right size. She was quite confused at first, but finally found one pair ("good" Spiderman) in size 9. SCORE!!! I informed DramaBoy that if he didn't want the "good" Spiderman, he could settle for a pair of the "bored" shoes. All or nothing, buster.

We bought The Widget's pair and then travelled the twenty minutes to the other store, where the shoes were waiting at the Guest Services desk. They fit, DramaBoy decided (after a look at my face) that the "good" Spiderman was just fine (Now The Widget and I have the same kind! he declared with a fixed smile), and he wore them out of the store so that his poor tootsies would no longer be wet and frozen.

The heels flash when they walk. 

This way I can find the boys when they try to hide from me. 

Mwahahahaha!

Call me a sucker for giving in to my child's demand for brand name merchandising, but whatever. The price was right, my boylets are happy, and I no longer look like a mother who can't keep her children's toes covered.

It's all Win.

Boylets, Brothers, and Bragging

Yesterday I got to see my two boylets for the first time in six days. The Widget was still asleep in his little daycare cot when I arrived, and I kissed his soft cheek until he awoke, realized it was me, and flung himself into my arms for a snuggly cuddle. Then we went off to find DramaBoy, who raced across the room with a joyous MAMA! and flung himself in turn into my arms, only to then begin whining and snarking about this and that for the next several hours. It's his way of letting me know I'm being punished for my absence. I may be used to it, but it doesn't make me any happier.

I also discovered, because I'm so on top of things, that last night was the official Holiday Celebration at daycare, and DramaBoy's class was scheduled to perform for parents. So we went back to the house and bumbled around for a couple of hours, but returned by six for the performance.

It was my first ever official holiday performance to attend as a parent!!!!

Holy crap, my kidlets are growing up.

It seems that every time I turn around (especially these days when I go for some time without seeing my boys) they're maturing and changing in leaps and bounds. The Widget's speech is expanding extraordinarily. No longer is everything in shorthand. Instead of simply demanding Water!, he now says Mama, I want water. Instead of simply observing Tree! when he sees a Christmas tree, he now says Look at Christmas tree! It is Christmas time! Instead of simply reporting [DramaBoy]! Hurt! Ow!, he now says Mama! [DramaBoy] hit me! He hurt me! (Ah, the joys of brotherhood.) He asks full questions. He plays little jokes. He carries on conversations instead of merely listening.

As for DramaBoy...Oh my. A week and a half ago he moved up from the Preschool class to the Pre-Kindergarten class. He is now the youngest in the class at just-barely-four. And last night when I was wandering around his classroom, I saw this:

He can write. He can write whole words, with readily identifiable letters, including both capital and lowercase, and they're more than just his name.

I had a mini-heart attack when I saw it, then promptly took a picture and texted it to half a dozen people.

Not to brag (okay, who am I kidding, I'm totally bragging), but his teacher told me that he is better at letter recognition and writing than quite a few of the kids who have been in that class for a year.

I'm so proud I can hardly stand it.

Then we went into another room where all the parents perched precariously on tiny chairs and about a dozen tiny people filed into the room and sang "Jingle Bell Rock" for us. DramaBoy knew every word and even did those fist/arm pump thingie motions when they sang the word "rock." So. Dang. Cute.

Then we ate lots of yummy food and the children played and I caught up with a good friend whose daughter is DramaBoy's best friend.

When we went back to the house, they ate some yoghurt and got into their superhero jammies and went to bed and had way too much fun talking and playing with each other until well after nine o'clock.

And my heart was full.

A Letter to My Oldest Son on the Occasion of His Fourth Birthday

My dearest DramaBoy:

Four years ago when I gazed at your tiny, perfect face I had no concept of the boy you would be today. You hop through my days filled with giggles and jokes and smiles and fun. Your words spill out of you a mile a minute, always questioning, always commenting, always full of that unique mix of logic and imagination. I watched you last night waving your arms like a miniature preacher man, telling your big cousin once removed a fantastical story about the witch who lives in the dollhouse you discovered there, and again I marvelled at the breathless reach of your mind.

You humble me. That a little creature so bright, so vibrant, so full of life and love and laughter, could have come out of me--I am blessed beyond measure.

Happy birthday, my brilliant little four year old. I love you.

Your Mama

(P.S. I am thankful for YOU, too.)