Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Climbers

I have nothing witty to say about this because it's late (like that matters - I am always tired) but just felt like posting these pictures of the older two boys, who have now officially entered the tree climbing phase.

I'm all for tree climbing but told them that the basic rule is this: if you go up, you've got to be able to figure out how to come back down. So far, so good.

And for a boy, there is really nothing quite like the fun of climbing trees, is there?

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Reorganizing

It's not that I am particularly DISorganized, but I must admit that keeping some parts of my life organized is a real challenge.

One of these areas is my kitchen cabinets and pantry. Let's just say, my spices are NOT alphabetized. An avalanche upon opening a cabinet, an extra big shop at Costco, or my mom finding a few spare minutes are typical catalysts for finally pulling everything out and replacing it neatly, coherently.

And about the time I do actually kick into cleaning mode, it's only because I have discovered not one but seven open boxes of Oreos, or a complete depletion of my baby food supply when the hungry munchkin is already strapped into his high chair and screaming for nourishment.

I reached my wits end the other day when I was halfway through cooking an already late dinner and couldn't find a single can of tomato paste. Tomato paste! Isn't that one of those pantry supplies that you never run out of? That mysteriously multiplies like rabbits when the pantry door is closed? Or is that only my perception because I buy it in big boxes at Costco, only to buy it again two weeks later because my mush brain couldn't remember if I recently bought any or not?

Anyway, I was so annoyed by my lack of ability to find the stuff that despite being in the midst of dinner, I frantically started pulling things out so that the cans - and I - could regroup.

At some point Tadpole and Tigger wandered over to grab a few carrots off my chopping board and casually ask what I was doing. Knowing how my kids LOVE to help, I thought carefully about my response. I wanted to do it myself for the sake of organization and efficiency, so I simply stated, "Reorganizing. It's a very important Mommy job."

They didn't bat around my words, just left. Perhaps I looked a bit crazed and scared them off.

Dinner finished, boys in bed, I still had a mess on my countertops... but stuck to task, replacing everything in the pantry neatly (yes, found the tomato paste), and smiled in satisfaction at the small victory I just won over my chaotic pantry. It was worth the time and effort.

Until the next day, when I disappeared into the bathroom briefly to slap on some make up, and returned to discover two of my little helpers reorganizing my pantry. To their standards, of course, not mine. Apparently they thought they were doing a very important job in helping me.

Which begs the question: why do I bother?

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Must Be Chaos

[To the tune of one of our Christmas favorites, Must Be Santa]

Must Be Chaos

Where can you go to find four small boys?
My wild house has four small boys.
Where can you go to hear lots of noise?
My wild house has lots of noise.

Four small boys, lots of noise
Must be my house, must be my house
Must be my chaotic house.

Where can you go for wrestling fun?
My wild house has wrestling fun.
Where can you go and get nothing done?
In my wild house you’d get nothing done.

Nothing done, wrestling fun
Four small boys, lots of noise
Must be my house, must be my house,
Must be my chaotic house.

Where can you go for testosterone?
My wild house has testosterone.
Where can you always find a tumbling zone?
My wild house is one big tumbling zone.

Tumbling zone, testosterone
Nothing done, wrestling fun
Four small boys, lots of noise
Must be my house, must be my house,
Must be my chaotic house.

Where can you go where life’s never tame?
At my wild house it’s never tame.
Where can you go for days never the same?
At my wild house days are never the same.

Never the same, life’s not tame
Tumbling zone, testosterone
Nothing done, wrestling fun
Four small boys, lots of noise
Must be my house, must be my house,
Must be my chaotic house.

Tantrums wrestling tattling tackling
Running jumping playing whacking

Never the same, life’s not tame
Tumbling zone, testosterone
Nothing done, wrestling fun
Four small boys, lots of noise
Must be my house, must be my house,
Must be my chaotic house...

Must be my house, must be my house,
Must be my chaotic house!

Friday, December 11, 2009

Happy Returns

A sure sign of having lots of little kids presents itself when I need to return an item to the store. Inevitably the receipt was shoved into an already overcrowded purse in the first place, so it didn't stand much of a chance of staying neatly folded and safe. By the time a few weeks pass and I find myself regretting a purchase or teetering on getting busted by Hubby for an excessive Target bill, the receipt has probably been through the laundry, stuffed into a myriad of different pockets, or chewed or colored on or wadded into a golf ball by one of the kids.

This morning while I got dressed, Quatro laid in the middle of my bed and somehow reached my purse. (I tell ya, that kiddo is on the move... let the fun begin. Again.) Luckily I don't carry choking items such as loose change or diamond stud earrings, though it has been known to collect loose sticky Skittles or random cracked acorns.

And what did the little cutie find? The Target receipt that I had spent 45 precious minutes searching for last night. Which was not a good thing since I was headed there after school drop-off to return a few items I had purchased in a whirlwind, I-don't-have-time-to-actually-think about-whether-or-not-this-is-the-right-size/style/function shopping trip.

Here is the receipt after I managed to pry it out of his grip prior to him actually ingesting it.

As you may imagine, I was rather fearful that the good folks at Target would laugh in my face when I arrived at Customer Service. Smartly, I had the younger two children with me, kinda a defense for my argument.

I handed the young man the receipt. "Uh. What happened here?" he asked slowly. I pointed to my charming, grinning baby and simply said, "THAT happened."

"Uh. Oh. Okay. Well I can't really read this..." Of course he couldn't. But, he refunded it to me anyway.

Yet another reason to love Target, like I needed one...

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Hard Habit to Break

Lately - and I have no idea how this began - the boys have started a habit of sneaking into our room and into our bed when they wake up in the morning. A bad dream, eager to start the day, anxious for a cuddle, this reason and that... different reasons. But we have found that nearly every morning in the last week, by 6:45am there are somewhere between two and four little boys in our bed.

I absolutely love this (when it's AFTER 6.30am).

But Hubby and I both agree that as a general rule we do NOT like the kids in bed with us.

Oh, but how sweet is the early morning cuddle with a tiny baby and cute toddlers not yet awake enough to be whacking each other over the head and shoving each other off the bed. They snuggle in close and "tunnel" down under the covers, entertaining the baby and laughing so sweetly.

I want to savor it, because of course the phase is somewhat short lived. I mean, can you picture my 13, 14, 15, and 16 year old lanky teenagers squeezing like sardines into our bed, let alone wanting to, let alone even being ALLOWED into my bedroom?

To allow them to continue to join us in the wee hours of the morning, or not? I don't know. Because it is so sweet, it's definitely a hard habit to break.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Ornamental Catastrophes

I've always had in my head a pretty picture of a sweet family tradition - decorating the tree together. In pursuit of my dream, we started having "Tree Decorating Night" last year. That didn't go over very well, as we had purchased a prelit fake one and didn't think to plug it in to check that the lights work until AFTER we had set up the entire tree and even started putting ornaments on it. By that time, the kids were restless, we were annoyed, and it was way past bedtime for the three little guys and a tired pregnant mommy.

This year we attempted the tradition again. My parents came over, we made hot apple cider and big, soft, chewy gingersnap cookies, cranked up the non-traditional Christmas music (much to Hubby's horror), checked that the lights were still working, and proceeded to open up the bins of ornaments.

Thinking only of the two-year-old who would wipe out all the ornaments within two minutes if they were in his reach, I smartly decided to place all the ornaments higher up... on the kitchen table. This way, I figured, the older boys could reach them and Cubby couldn't, we could help Cubby select and hang them on the tree, and everything would be, as they say, honky dorey. (Where did THAT phrase come from anyway?)

What I didn't worry about - but clearly should have - was the older boys actually handling the ornaments. One by one they hauled them off to the tree to hang them, and one by one they started breaking. With a CRASH CRASH here and a CRASH CRASH there, here a CRASH, there a CRASH, everywhere a CRASH CRASH... Yes, several made it safely on to the tree, but they were not breakable in the first place.

Somewhere around the seventh breakage, including sentimental ones from Hubby's childhood like Mickey Mouse and an ornament we got during our first year of marriage, my impatience started to collide with my love of Christmas decorating and my desire to begin this family tradition. I took a few deep breaths, however, and pressed on with a smile. I gobbled about four gingersnaps in a row at this point too, to ease the pain.

It was then that I remembered a few ornaments that I had purchased for 2009, stuffed in a Target bag in my closet. (Which is a funny statement in itself, because there is a sea of Target bags covering my closet floor and rendering it impossible to actually walk IN to my walk in closet and retrieve any clothing. Which is why I wear the same three shirts all the time - they get hung over a chair in my room and I don't actually HAVE to attempt to walk into the closet for clothing.)

Um. What am I writing about? (It's extremely late. 9:00pm.) Oh - new ornaments. I retrieved them, and with great fanfare hid them behind my back and presented them to my husband, saying, "Honey! I found the most wonderful new ornament for us this year!" Tada! It was a Big Ben, which of course, sweetly represented our first four years of marriage which were spent in London. "Cool!" he replied! "Big Ben!" the boys sang in unison. "Perfect!" my parents proclaimed!

And "CRASH" went my precious new ornament, right out of my hands, sending teeny shattered shards of glass all over the lovely new hardwood floors.

Oops.
Pout.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Man Talk

It was obvious that the widespread downpours meant that the older two boys did not get out on the playground at school this morning, because it took less than five minutes upon arrival back at home before they were wrestling and tackling each other.

Several times I thought about breaking it up, but figured that we'd be eating lunch soon enough and it was good for them to at least get a few minutes of energy out. I decided to kept my eye on them and listen instead.

About two minutes later I witnessed Tigger tackle Tadpole and inadvertently whack him in the crotch region. I waited for the scream, but instead Tadpole, in a very calm, adult-like voice, said, "Be careful! You can hurt a man like that."

Wonder who they picked that up from.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Upside

Last night was rough, a trend lately, it seems. I was up four or five times (who's counting) in the night, and all six of my family members were awake from 4-5am.

The reason for everyone being up at 4, but not the reason for my blog, was this: Hubby trying to calm a screaming baby, me changing a stinky nappy on Cubby, and suddenly during those events, a wild scream from Tadpole who unusually fell out of bed, woke his frightened brother Tigger, and greeted me in his doorway with a blood covered mouth (he somehow managed to cut his lip and chin).

So this morning, Hubby asked me for the following information: how much sleep I got (he sweetly asks me this daily, as my level of exhaustion is a top concern for him, albeit somewhat out of his control) and the rundown on everyone's ailments.

I launch into the list: I was in bed eight hours, but awake nearly three of those. Tadpole has been coughing all night and since he woke up, feels sluggish, and has a gash on his lip and chin. Tigger seems to be fine, but told me that he "did not get enough sleep" (that means trouble by about 3pm today) and promptly upon waking had a bad bout of the dreaded runs. Cubby happens to have eczema on his bum, compounded by horrific nappy rash that sprung up overnight and has left his bum nearly raw. He also awoke with a diaper blowout and a terribly runny nose. Quatro is on day 15 of a bad body-covering rash, continues to run a slight fever after the four shots he had on Tuesday, is coughing like his eldest brother, and is generally cranky because he just cut his first tooth and is in all likelihood, since teeth arrive in pairs, cutting his second one.

My husband looked at me wide-eyed (probably thinking to himself that he's glad to have to go to work today) and simply commented, "There's one positive to all of that." I couldn't imagine what in the world it would be, when he responded, "It will make a really interesting blog entry."

I suppose that's one way to look at it...