The (glass) coffee table in the family room is about 15 hand prints across. Small boys who've just scarfed down most of the two giant pizzas I made them and declared themselves full will still manage to demolish two giant bowls of popcorn not ten minutes later, in about five minutes flat. Our "incredibly soundproof" home where we often cannot hear the children playing upstairs is not quite soundproof enough to mask the unmistakable sounds of seven small boys JUMPING ON THE BED. Telling people "no gifts, please" is apparently southern-speak for "cold hard cash is preferred." I swear I did not...
Remember Love Thursday? I was thinking the other day that I sort of miss it. And then some fine ladies brought it back, because Love Thursday will not be denied, man. It's a powerful force that will not just go away. Let's face it---in a world where the news is topped by supposed adult politicians bickering like children, famous actors overdosing, and any other number of tragedies, I dunno about YOU, but I could certainly use a little more Love Thursday. Just sayin'. So I started thinking about it, and first I thought that love is my husband saying that yes, sure, let's have a dozen small...
Once upon a time, your life was perfect. Ideal! You lived in a nice house with an intact nuclear family. Everything was flowers and rainbows and sunshine, and no one ever yelled, and the food was always exactly what you wanted, and you never did anything wrong because everything was exactly the way you liked it. (Well, you were both under 5, back then. I'm SURE it's not that your memory is hazy or wholly manufactured; it was really JUST LIKE THAT. Obviously.) Then, of course, everything went wrong. Your parents got divorced and life went to hell, because now nothing was perfect anymore and...
Every piece of family advice I've ever read (all two of them) suggests that bedtime is the right place to reconnect with your loved ones. Everyone's a little sleepy and has maybe let their guard down, and no matter how the day went, this is your final note to be held onto until you can start all over again in the morning. Lord knows I TRY to make bedtime harmonious around here, but often it's late and the kids are screwing around and my patience is done and the whole thing is a hurried, cranky affair. And don't even get me started on my and Otto's bedtime. I'm one of those people whose mind...
Today I took the children with me to Publix, which is really a story in and of itself, because I'd promised them something REALLY FUN that we ended up not being able to do for reasons out of my control [Dear Cool Activity Establishment, If your web site says "Drop-In Class" and that means it's only for adults who've taken instruction before, rather than little kids who might want to try it out, you might want to PUT THAT ON THE WEB SITE rather than making me look like an ass. Just sayin'. Love, Mir], and apparently my idea of a consolation prize was to say "Well, we need orange juice, let's...
It's very interesting, spawning a tiny little clone of yourself. You'd THINK that doing so would render you uniquely able to meet your child's every need, but you'd only think that IF YOU WERE ON CRACK. The reality, of course, that there is little in the universe more annoying that being confronted with a mirror of all your most annoying attributes, and if you knew how to deal with them, YOU WOULDN'T BE LIKE THAT. And now you know how it is for me and Chickadee. On the bright side---funny! Oh my LORD, she is SO funny, and she keeps me laughing. On the not-so-bright side---doesn't know when...
So yesterday I told you all about the last round of presents with the kids---the rest of their Christmas presents, and Monkey's birthday presents, which should be enough presentage (totally a word) to hold us for many months. That, combined with having the kids back home again, should've rendered Saturday the perfect day. But none of that was what I was REALLY looking forward to. No. I mean, it was good to finally have the kids home, and all, but the part I was excited about was not that first night home and the cake and the presents. Sunday morning we had pancakes. No, that's not the...
Monkey and Chickadee are safely home again. They arrived yesterday evening, tired and cranky and all hopped up on a long day of travel (because LORD KNOWS there are no direct flights between Boston and Atlanta, nooooooo! I'm certain that flying Boston to CHICAGO, then Chicago to Atlanta made the most sense, and probably saved hundreds of pennies in the process) and hungry but too tired to eat and excited to be back but bereft over saying goodbye to their father and generally at the very edge of their ability to cope. I squeezed them tight and kissed their cheeks off and went almost an hour...
Attention Young Master Monkeypants: Today is your birthday. You are eight whole years old! That is---as your sister solemnly informed you a month or so back---the beginning of being a tween. From there you'll become a teenager, and from there it's off to college and a life that in all likelihood does not include snuggling your mother at every possible opportunity. I cannot say that I approve of this progression, but I am trying to deal with it. This is the first time in the 9-and-a-half years since I became a parent that I am not with one of my kids on their birthday. You are still hanging...
