Four In A Row

Go!

2008-01-15T11:21:00.001-06:00

Are you still here? You need to be here: www.fourinarow.net!

I'VE MOVED!!!!

2007-10-16T10:25:00.000-05:00

I've got a new blog address at www.fourinarow.net. Check it out. Same painful experiences, new web address. Be sure to bookmark it once you're there!

Did you know...

2007-10-15T20:14:00.001-05:00

...that "gonga" means "chimney" in Spanish? (Neither do any Spanish speakers.)

This afternoon while were were playing outside, Luke kept saying something that I just could not understand. So, I asked Maria what he was saying.

"He's saying gonga!"

"Gonga?" I asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means... chimney in Spanish," she says. ?!?!

A few minutes later, it dawned on me that Luke was saying "gone." "Gone, gone, gone," he said when he finished his popsicle. "Gone." "Gonga." Whatever.

...that bubble bath is not to be used in a jacuzzi tub? I did, which is why I'd never do it.

However, I discovered today that just a tiny bit of baby wash on a pouf shouldn't be used either!

It's been several hours. There are still bubbles in the bottom of my tub.

... That Jack can climb a tree? A really tall tree? A really tall, flimsy tree? I mean, do you see how skinny those branches are and how high up he is?

I'm definitely seeing the ER in my future (especially since my first instinct is to run for the camera rather than spot him as he climbs down.)

...that it is absolutely hilarious when a 15-month-old pulls his sister's hair? (To the 15-month-old, anyway.) And, when she escapes - after being scalped repeatedly - it's almost as fun to crawl over and try (hard) to pull your brother's ear off?

Really, that's what Jack and Maria get for being sooooooooo completely absorbed in a TV show.

...that I really wish you people would leave me a comment or two? I mean, it's nice to hear you say you like my blog and it's nice to get the occasional email. But, I'd really like you to post it here so the whole world can read it! (Not that I'm looking for an ego stroke or anything.)

Well...

2007-10-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

I know you are all just dying to know how Friday at the Y went. You’ve probably all been checking my blog every few minutes for an update. Right? Right?

Sorry to keep you all in suspense!

You can congratulate Luke next time you talk to him - he was a GOOD BOY!!! (Or, maybe you should congratulate me for coming up with a scheme that worked.)

Before heading out to the Y, I took Luke’s blankie from him. (Blankies are the be-all, end-all around here. They’re worth much more than candy, ice cream or even a trip to Grandma’s. Seriously.) I put the blankie high up on our baker’s rack and showed it to him. Then I looked at him eye-to-eye. I told him that if he was good at the Y, he’d get the blankie back when we got home. But if he was BAD at the Y he wouldn’t get his blankie back until BEDTIME.

“I’m going to be a good boy ALL DAY,” he announced. When we arrived at the Y, we went over things again. However, there was a little blip on the screen this time.

Mom: You’re going to be good, right?

Luke: Yes! All day!

Mom: You’re not going to be mean to anyone, right?

Luke: No. I won’t hit anyone or poke anyone.

Mom: Great. What are you going to do if someone hits you?

Luke: Hit him with a rock.

Mom: *Deep breath* Noooo, you tell the teacher. Okay?

Luke: Okay.

Mom: Okay?

Luke: Okay.

I don’t know if they put him in isolation or what, but when I picked him up Luke announced that he was a good boy, as did entire the childcare crew.

Whew!

Oh, and we went for cookies again and everyone got one. This time Sam got an oatmeal raisin cookie and managed - just barely - to finish it before conking out.

Sad

2007-10-12T13:17:00.000-05:00

Sad: This darling little boy falling asleep IN THE MIDDLE OF EATING A CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE.

Sadder: Maria taking advantage of the situation and stealing the remaining cookie before the poor guy can wake up and defend himself.

Saddest: The reason for the chocolate chip cookies was to punish Luke the Duke.

How does one use chocolate chip cookies as punishment, you ask? Easy. You just take your FOUR children to Lasater’s to buy THREE fresh, chewy, yummy chocolate chip cookies (and yourself a coffee).

Three cookies, four children.

Guess who was the odd man out in this situation? I know. I’m a mean mommy. (Luke told me so. Oh, and I need a timeout.)

“Poor, sad, Lukie,” you’re thinking. (Let me tell you, with the look on his face I was almost thinking, “poor, sad, Lukie.” He’s got it down.)

Then I recalled how just minutes before he was kicked out of the YMCA’s childcare AGAIN. Today, he didn’t even last an hour. They pulled me out of my spin class (thank goodness it’s dark enough in there to hide my embarrassment) to tell me Luke had picked up a rock and hit another kid with it.

Sh*t!!!!!!

What’s a mother to do? I made him sit for a while. Then I told him Max couldn’t come over to play as planned. Then (because he seemed completely unaffected by those things) I announced to my crew that we would be picking up cookies on the way home! And, when Luke started participating in the “hoorays” I quickly explained that his behavior did not warrant a cookie.

So call me a cookie monster.

We’ll be back at it again tomorrow, so wish us luck. Three in a row doesn’t bode well.

Not-So-Sweet Lukie

2007-10-11T13:16:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I know it’s cheesy, but we have been calling Luke “Lukie” now for most of his life. He even calls himself Lukie. What can you do? His name, however, is not exactly the subject matter for this blog entry.

You may have noticed that I put this entry under the “milestone” category. Now, let me explain that for this family, a milestone is not just a positive accomplishment in the life of a child. No, we count all kinds of firsts.

Today, for example, Lukie marked a milestone that none of the others have yet to achieve (which is actually pretty amazing if you know this gang). Today, Lukie was KICKED OUT of the childcare area of the YMCA.

A medal for this he did not get.

The MANAGER of the childcare department had to track me down during my workout to let me know that our sweet Lukie was beating up the other kids, pushing them around and poking them in the eyes.

“So… ummm do you want me to come get him?” I asked, hoping foolishly that she’d say no. Well, she did say no. Sort of. She said she’d bring him to me rather than having me come get him (guess they were in a hurry to get rid of him).

Once I had him back in my possession, Luke and I had a short discussion about his behavior.

“Luke,” I said, using his real name. “You can’t beat up the other kids.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s mean and you can’t play in there if you’re mean to the other kids.” (Not to mention I won’t get to workout, which is not in the best interests of this family.)

“Ooooh. I’m so sorry mom,” says Luke with his saddest face and tears welling in his eyes.

~~Minutes~~ Seconds later, the tears dried up when he saw my friend Kristina and realized his “punishment” would be to sit at a table while she and I socialized. (I may have had to give up my workout, but I wasn’t going to give that up, too.)

In honor of his milestone today, I think we may have to stop calling him Lukie and switch to something more fitting. Luke the Duke?

One of THOSE days

2007-10-03T13:30:00.000-05:00

I should have known when Jack woke me up this morning before 5 a.m. to tell me there was a button missing on his uniform shirt that today wouldn't make my Top 10 Days of 2007 list.

I had a busy morning planned. Take Jack to school at 7:45. Take Maria to school at 9:00. Kill some time until the MOMs club meeting at 10:00 (for which I was donating a beautiful Uppercase Living expression for a door prize). Kill a little more time. Pick up Maria at noon.

Well, things didn't go exactly as planned. I did get Jack and Maria delivered. As far as killing a little time before the MOMs Club meeting... well, things went a little awry.

I grabbed a coffee at Lasater's and then brilliantly asked Luke if he thought we should go to the park. A resounding "YES!" from the back seat. Perfect. The park is just 2 minutes from the MOMs Club meeting. Wooohoooo!

We enjoy ourselves at the park and with 5 minutes to spare, I gather the boys and head to the car. As I'm walking, I feel my pockets for the keys. No keys. Hahaha. Feel around some more. No keys. The panic is starting to rise in my chest. Desperately I feel around some more (by this time I'm sure the other park-goers thought I was a little weird). NO KEYS. I walk to the van. There are the keys! On the front seat, next to my fabulous door prize.

Now guess: Were the doors to the van (a) locked or (b) unlocked?

If you chose (a) locked, you're a winner! Thankfully, I had my phone in my pocket. Not that I wish illness on people, but I'm also thankful that Max puked all over himself at preschool this morning, because that meant that my wonderful friend Kristina was in her car somewhere (and not at the Y) just waiting to respond to my distress signal.

Remember the PK* days? I don't know about you, but we were so critical of all those parents we observed doing what we thought was such a terrible job. Or, how about when you first became pregnant? We were always saying, "We'll never _______!" (Fill in your favorite affront to parenting here.) For example, who in the h*ll would EVER allow their child to ride UNRESTRAINED in a car?!? We'd NEVER do that! Well, I ate my words today (admittedly not for the first time). With my van locked up tight, we had to transport Sam *gasp* unrestrained, in my lap, in the front seat of Kristina's car. (Luke was lucky enough to score a booster, as Riley was in school.)

It was a morning of endless driving, but: we all made it through unharmed; the MOMs Club got their door prize [barely] before the meeting ended; Kristina was ever so thankful for having something to do other than tend her sick child at home; and, we made it to preschool for Maria's dismissal with plenty of time to spare (albeit a bit crabby).

So, I have to admit the morning wasn't all bad. I also had a wonderfully light moment on the drive home when my sister called to tell me the Poop-in-the-Hamper story. (Remind me not to complain anymore about the things I find in the bottom of my hamper.) I was cracking up! I think I was still laughing about it when we arrived home. Until, that is, I let the dog out of her crate only to have her shake pee all over me.

What time is it? Not even 1 p.m.?

Maybe I'll feel encouraged if I reflect some more on the good things:

My wonderful friend Kristina.
My sister's hilarious story.
The wine I've got sitting in the fridge!
Maria's "dance" (seen here) - which was kind of a pick-me-up this afternoon :-)

Oh! And my wonderful husband, Dan, who just called to tell me he loves me... and that he'll be very late tonight.

Maria's letter of the week at school this week is "F". Coincidence? I think not.

*prekid

[Working] Weekend

2007-10-02T16:19:00.000-05:00

What's that quote? "Many hands make light work"? Clearly, John Heywood never met my progeny.

Think the gas grill was fixed this weekend?

By the way, if you look really carefully, you can see that Dan is in this picture. (Kinda reminds me of the Highlights Magazine hidden picture pages I used to do as a kid.)

I scream, you scream...

2007-09-29T19:56:00.000-05:00

We all scream for... Frostys?

The kids were due an "ice cream party" for getting enough marbles in their good-behavior jar. (So what if it took them six months.) We were going to go last night, but no one ate their dinner and it got late, so we postponed until this evening.

~~Everyone~~ The kids decided on McDonald's soft serve cones. After lots of hoorays and dancing around, we piled into the van and headed out. Thinking we were saving ourselves a lot of potential pain, we chose the McDonald's without the playplace.

When we arrived, I corralled the boys into a booth while Maria accompanied Dan to the counter to place our order. Four vanilla cones and a chocolate milkshake (that's mine).

The boys start squirming. I notice that it does seem to be taking a while. (We're the only customers, so it's not like we got caught in a big soft-serve rush.) Jack looks over and exclaims, "they're filling the ice cream machine!" Sure enough, they were. Just then, Maria appears with my milkshake and two cones - one for Jack and one for Sam. They start licking away.

"Where's mine?" Luke asks. "It's coming," I unknowingly lie, as I sip my shake. Maria then asks if she can have Sam's cone. "No," I tell her. "Yours is coming." (Another lie.)

I look over and see Dan in what looks like a somewhat-heated discussion with the McDonald's shift manager. Hmmmmm. Dan's pretty easy going. But, it is getting late and two of our children are still lacking ice cream.

The next thing I know, Dan's coming over to the table to tell those of us with frozen dairy products that we have to return them. Huh?!? What's THAT about?

"Even me?" I ask.
"Yep," he says.
Well sh*t.

I began to herd our justly disappointed children out of the store and into the van. "It's okay," I tell them. "We'll go someplace else." Jack requests going to Wendy's for Frostys.

When Dan joins us I ask for a report. He explained that after two cones were made, the ice cream machine ran out and he was told it would be an HOUR before any more ice cream would be ready. Dan asked for his money back and was given $2.17.

"But I paid you $6.30," he says.
"Yes, but you received some of your order already," says the shift manager.
"You don't understand," Dan explains. "I still have two children without ice cream. I didn't get my full order. I want my money back. You can have your food back."

I could go on a bit, but I'd rather not. Dan returned the food and got his money back and we headed to Wendy's.

Again, I got the boys seated while Maria assisted Dan. Unfortunately.

Dan ordered four Frostys. Seconds later, Maria shows up at the table with a half empty Frosty and a crushed look. "I did the best I could, Mommy," she says. *Sigh* Apparently, in the six feet between the counter and the table, she managed to dump half of her Frosty on the floor.

Dan took the half-empty Frosty to the counter and asked for a replacement, which they were happy to give. Wow. (The floor-half of the Frosty remained where it was, in a high traffic area, but hey, you can't expect too much.)

As Dan sits down with Maria's replacement, she announces the need to pee, so I escort her to the ladies room...

The kids began to make their way, s-l-o-w-l-y, through their Frostys.

"These are HUGE," I tell Dan. "We are never going to get out of here."
"Yeah," he tells me, "but you should have seen how small the minis were."
"WHAT?!? They have minis? I don't care if they're the size of a shot glass! You should have gotten those!" I tell him.

Just then, Jack announces his need to pee. Dan takes Jack to the men's room. Around that time, I realize that Sam is more interested in eating his shoe than eating his Frosty. Then, Luke says, "uh oh," and requests a napkin. Just as I reach for one, Maria paints me with a spoon full of Frosty. Dan and Jack return. As they sit down, Dan looks at Sam (who is in my lap) and states, "He's pooping."

Time to go! Jack throws his Frosty in the trash. (I think he ate 1/3 of it.) Luke starts crying because we make him throw his away. (It literally has two bites left - of, like, 20 oz.!!!) Maria puts a top on hers and announces that she's taking it home. (We'll be chipping that out of the freezer next May.) Sam continues to entertain himself by munching on his shoe. (Not as gross as it could be as he isn't walking yet!)

So... next time they fill the marble jar? They're getting a bag of candy from Wal-Mart.

Say...What?

2007-09-28T15:17:00.000-05:00

It's supposed to be, "Say Cheese!" But by the time those words are out of my mouth, my Four In A Row are out of alignment.

There's no way to get all four in the same picture, at the same time, all looking toward the camera, much less faking a smile of some sort. (One of these days I am going to get a digital SLR and simply hold the shutter down. Surely I'll get a good one in the split second it takes the shutter to click off a picture.)

I don't get it. I guess I didn't pay enough attention in science class. Is there a name for the electrical-like charge that occurs when a parent puts one or more sibling within touching range of another one?

I cannot put my kids together without some weird force zapping between them causing them to bounce around and laugh (or, more likely cry) hysterically. And, this applies to more than just my insane attempts at photo shoots.

Yesterday, Jack proudly brought home his new Scholastic books. His favorite is a book about Sharks. (Dan has worked hard at cultivating this interest, using Discovery Channel's "Shark Week," which airs each summer.)

Jack couldn't wait to have me read the book to him. Neither could his siblings. Before I could get through the first two sentences, however, Luke goes into his High Pitched Ear Piercing Scream mode. Why? Because I have Jack sitting on one side of me on the couch and Maria on the other and Luke wants to sit next to me.

I read louder.

Luke continues. (There is no off button on this one.)

I pause in my reading and explain to Luke that he'll have to sit next to Jack or Maria. By this time, I now have Sam in my lap because he was upset due to Luke's HPEPS mode. (Pronounced H-peps).

Pushing, prodding and squashing everything and everyone, Luke finally finds a spot while I continue to read. Sam grabs at the pages. Jack keeps trying to flip to the scary picture page and now Luke has begun to antagonize his baby brother. Maria ~~complains~~ whines about the commotion. I hold the book further away from everyone and continue to read. Loudly.

I did finish the book. Was there any enjoyment or comprehension on anyone's part? I think not. All I could think about as I clawed my way up from the bottom of the kid heap with tattered Shark book in hand, was, "I'm out of wine. I wonder if I can get in and out of the liquor store with all four children and no damage?"

See. The craziness rubs off. My kids in a liquor store? With TOWERS of GLASS BOTTLES begging to be knocked over? I shudder to think of it. I waited until Dan got home.

Another Afternoon of Beauty

2007-09-26T10:03:00.000-05:00

So. Maria and I found ourselves with little to do the other afternoon while The Little Boys were (thankfully) napping.

I decided that it would be fun for us to give ourselves curly hair! I got all excited and asked Maria if she wanted to make her hair curly! After explaining that I'd go first, she readily agreed. Fun!

We broke out the Hot Sticks, plugged them in and waited impatiently for the tiny red dot to disappear, indicating that they were ready to use. Then carefully, with Maria watching, I began to roll my hair around the sticks.

P. I. T. A.

I finally finished rolling my hair. There weren't enough Hot Sticks for us do our hair at the same time, so we had to wait for my hair to set, take them out, reheat them and then curl Maria's hair.

I was able to remove the Hot Sticks without ripping out too much hair (as if I have any to spare). The curls were... ummmm... not very uniform.

I was a tad bit concerned that when Maria saw the results, she'd decline to have her own hair done. Enter the TV. Huge distraction. She seemed not to notice my inconsistent curls.

I reheated the Hot Sticks. Smart mom that I am, I decided to do Maria's hair not in the bathroom, but in my room while she sat on the bed in front of the TV. (You know how they say a nursing baby will let just about anything be done to him as long as he's nursing? Well, Maria is like that with the TV. It puts her into a trance -- at least until real pain strikes.)

I got several curlers in before I got an, "OWWWWWWWWW! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

Deep breath for both of us.

We continued. Got a few more in before she again claimed torture. But, determined, I did not quit! Throwing caution to the wind, I did the rest as fast as possible. By the time I was finished she had rivers of tears down her cheeks, puffy red eyes and a runny nose. "I don't WANT curly hair!" she screamed at me.

Again the TV rescued me. I was able to get her to wait out the time it took for her hair to set and was able to get the sticks out with minimal (for her) screaming.

Unfortunately, Maria and I both have such straight and flat hair that by the time our photo session was over our curls were about gone. By the time Dad got home from work there was nary a wave left to show him. At least we had pictures!

Despite the terrible suffering and torture she had endured at the hands of her evil mother, the first thing Maria asked me the next morning was, "Can we make our hair curly again today?"

You gotta love that.

P.S. You won't believe this, but she's behind me right now saying, "Mommy, Mommy! Can we make our hair curly?"

What have I done?

Whoo Hooooooo!!!!

2007-09-24T18:58:00.000-05:00

My ship has come in!!! We are the next Partridge Family. Who wants to sign us? (No offense to the little guys out there, but we're really only interested in signing with one of the big labels.)

Email me for a demo tape and I'll get it out to you ASAP.

By the way, not that you should have any problems, but the title to this one is:
Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

Kachow!

2007-09-23T12:40:00.000-05:00

Luke got a cool new backpack yesterday. (They were marked WAY down at Target - $2.48!!!) Now he can pack up his blankie for family trips.

Eager to show off, we decided to take a pic. Well... KACHOW! Didn't realize the reflective strip was even there until the flash hit it. Cool, eh? Now he's just like his favorite character.

Still on the topic of my adorable Lukie, he, along with his older siblings, accompanied me to an after-baptism party this morning at our good friend's house.

Donuts were involved.

In spite of my fears, all of the kids sat very nicely at the table, eating and drinking their food.

While I was mingling, Luke hunted me down to ask a question. Not that I could understand it. His mouth and cheeks were so full of chocolate donut that when he opened up to talk, chunks of donut started tumbling to the floor. Horrified, I walked him back to his seat and asked him to finish chewing and swallowing his food before talking to me.

Five minutes later (or so it seemed), when he was finally finished with his mouthful, I asked him, "Now... what did you want?"

"'Nother donut," he says.

My Luck

2007-09-23T11:49:00.000-05:00

Just once, I'd like to find diamonds or gold in the bottom of my hamper instead.

Then She Kicked Me

2007-09-20T21:20:00.000-05:00

Picture Day at the Hemmersmeier Household, September 2007

To the tune of "Then He Kissed Me" by The Crystals (You can click here to get the tune going in your head):

Crystals - Then He...

Now, replace first round of lyrics with these:

Well she woke up this morning
And I told her that she needed to dress
Photos would be taken
And I didn’t want my daughter a mess
When she rose her smile was tight
And then I dared turn on the light
She rushed me with all her might
And then she kicked me...

I promise - she's still alive and well. Looking back on it, it was actually quite comical. Sleepy, hair askew, mad as h*ll, tripping over herself to get to me in her frustration. I don't think she really even made contact.

Not even 15 minutes later, she was dressed beautifully (on her own) and ready for breakfast and then school.

Remarkable :-)

Thanks

2007-09-20T14:20:00.001-05:00

Thank you to all who ordered wrapping paper for Jack's fund-raiser at school.

His class had the most orders in the school and won an ice cream party.

Jack also received a prize for his efforts... a clown nose.

We played with it while he was at school.

Interesting...

2007-09-20T13:53:00.000-05:00

This is what happens when I don't monitor Maria's lunchtime more closely.

Jack's Heart

2007-09-18T21:51:00.000-05:00

Today was more than crazy and at 5:00 p.m. I found myself furiously trying to get soccer socks on Jack. I was pushing and he wasn't, so his knee ended up in his chest.

Jack: "Owwwww! Your pushing against my heart and that hurts. You're hurting Jesus a little bit. He's in there, you know."

I love being a mom.

The SOI Rule

2007-09-16T22:26:00.000-05:00

Let's hope my dear husband doesn't read this one. I don't think he'd relish being the subject of my blog - no matter the topic.

But, I can't resist. I have to ask, am I the only one living with someone who follows the Step Over It rule?

You know what I'm talking about:

Shoe lying in the middle of the floor.
Step Over It.
Sippy cup leaking milk on the kitchen floor.
Step Over It.
Cheerio (not the dog) in your path.
Step Over It.

Are you getting the picture?

At first, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I thought it might be possible that things were being dropped on the floor after he walked through a room but before I followed in his path. But, no. When the kids are all locked upstairs* and he and I are the only ones downstairs, that just can't be.

He is quite a bit taller than I am. Maybe from up there his eyesight isn't what it should be. But, then there's the whole STEP OVER IT thing. Obviously, if he STEPS OVER IT, he sees it, right?

Close on the heels of the SOI rule is the Leave It There rule. Sometimes they obviously coincide. But, the LIT rule covers more than just the floor. Pistachio shells on the kitchen table? LIT. Newspapers scattered about due to curious crawler? LIT. Shampoo bottle in the toilet (also due to the curious crawler). LIT. Leaves and dirt clumped together with sap tracked all over the carpet? LIT. Cat barf on the rug? LIT (after notifying your spouse, of course).

I have to admit that I'm not the best housekeeper. My baseboards are not cleaned weekly (or even monthly, for that matter). If you surprise me with a visit you may even find the occasional clump of dog hair floating around. But, I really do try to at least keep the house fairly neat and clutter-free. After all, I can't afford to have a visitor sue me for tripping over something in my house.

Maybe my dear husband is just trying to challenge me. Or, maybe he thinks that since I have the time to blog (in the middle of the night) I have the time for constant walk-throughs. Or, maybe he just figures that I'm closer to the ground, so I should be the one to pick everything up.

Anyway, things are going to have to change. There's not much enamel left on my molars.

P. S. For the sake of my husband and my readers, I'll table the IDIL** discussion I was going to include.

P.S.S. For the record, I just want to state that I know my wonderful mother-in-law did NOT raise her son this way. Something must have happened between her house and mine.

* locked on the second floor via stair gates - not locked in closets or anything.
** I'll Do It Later

There's no crying in soccer

2007-09-15T13:20:00.000-05:00

At least there's not supposed to be. (Okay, so I don't know that for sure... I never played so I can't say I know all the rules.) Maria's not crying because she's hurt or because she lost the game. Is she just crying because her dad's the coach? I mean, what else is there to cry about in soccer?

So... this is how Maria's first soccer game went. She stood on the field, head down, crying while the other girls played (or at least tried their best). Sam, Jack, Luke and I did our best to cheer her up and cheer her on, but we weren't too successful. After we left her behind with Coach Dad to get Jack started on his field, Maria perked up a little and at least ran around the field some. Even toward the ball at one point.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it isn't her dad coaching that has her teary-eyed, but her mom on the sidelines.

I guess I'll have the make the ultimate sacrifice and stay home on soccer days.

Bummer.

Remarkable

2007-09-13T08:07:00.000-05:00

Main Entry: re·mark·able
Pronunciation: ri-'mär-k&-b&l
Function: adjective
: worthy of being or likely to be noticed especially as being uncommon or extraordinary

Lucie, cousin to The Four Crazies, started preschool for the first time this week. When picking her up after school, Lucie's teacher told my sister that Lucie is "remarkable."

Now, if that was one of my kids' teachers, she'd be saying, "He/She is remarkably _______________." (Fill in your favorite not-quite-positive adjective here).

But with Lucie, I know the teacher meant remarkable as defined at the beginning of this blog. She is extraordinary. She's beautiful and sweet and very, very smart and creative and neat and well-behaved. (She can also drive a boat, but that's probably something her preschool teacher won't get a chance to see demonstrated).

I know it must have been hard for Caroline to send Lucie into the classroom of another teacher. (After all, Caroline is the former BTITWW -- her decision to stay home is the only way I've been able to bestow the title on Jack's Mrs. J.) However, it sounds like Lucie is at the right school with the right teacher - one that recognizes all her talents.

Caroline may have chosen to stay out of the classroom, but it's obvious that she never stopped teaching. Lucie is definitely remarkable, but she gets it from my sister.

Once again, I lament that we're so far away from each other... way too far for any of that remarkableness to rub off here.

Pretty Princess

2007-09-12T22:01:00.001-05:00

Cousin Gwen came and went. Safely, I might add. I don't think she ended up with any permanent damage from her visit with us.

While she was here, we were able to get some quality girl time in. Gwen, Maria and I played the Pretty Princess game. Maria won. (Gwen really won but we kept playing.) This time we didn't even have tears over the dreaded BLACK RING. (No one wants the black ring... you can't win if you have it. Plus, it's ugly). When Maria had possession of TBR, she hid it behind her back so she didn't have to look at it.

Pictured here as a Pretty Princess, Maria doesn't look like the type to walk (bawling) off the soccer field during her first practice...

I don't think they were halfway through their 30 minute practice when Maria came toward me, crying her eyes out, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Dad (the coach) hurt my feelings!" Maria claimed between jagged breaths.
"How?" I inquired.
"He let someone else use my pink soccer ball!!!"

Ummmm... when is the season over?

After all that...

2007-09-12T21:55:00.000-05:00

After all that guilt I inflicted upon myself, Jack said absolutely nothing about missing out on show and tell.

Glutton for punishment that I am, I had to mention it.

"Did we forget something today?" I asked him.
"What?" He said.
"Ummm... show and tell?"
"Yeah, you should have snuck in my room last night while I was sleeping to get it and put it in my backpack. I guess you couldn't see in the dark."
-?!?!?!?!?!?!?!-
"You'll just have to bring it next week," I said.
"Yep," he says.

Sheesh.

I'm SUCH a loser

2007-09-12T13:10:00.000-05:00

Right now... RIGHT NOW - 1:10 p.m. on Wednesday, September 12, 2007 is Jack's very first show and tell.

And, HE HAS NOTHING.

Ugh. I am sick to my stomach. Jack is going to be just crushed. Sign me up for the Worst Mom of the Year Award. All last year in preschool there was never a show and tell. His teacher just didn't do it. Maria's teacher did. It was always a bummer when Maria was able to bring a show and tell and Jack couldn't.

This year, when we found out there was weekly show and tell we danced around the kitchen together. We were excited! TBTITWW had us get through the first few weeks of school before starting, then she assigned each child a certain day. I wrote it on the calendar. I circled it. I reminded myself a hundred times.

When I picked Jack up yesterday we talked about it and he told me what he wanted to bring... a xylophone. He'd just gotten out of music class, so he was pumped up about instruments. I suggested that we put it in his backpack that night so we didn't forget.

We forgot.

I tried to call Dan to see if he could run over to the school and be Jack's emergency surprise show and tell, but he was tied up.

I am soooooo not looking forward to seeing the tears and disappointment in Jack's face when I pick him up from school this afternoon.

Oh, and while we're at it, let's pile on a little more guilt. Since Dad packed his lunch for today, Jack got really cool notes on his napkins. Did I put cool notes on Jack's napkins yesterday? No. I forgot to even send napkins in his lunch.

Can someone please set up some type of reminder service for me? Something that will smack me over the head as I'm leaving the house in the morning would be great.

Dear Gwen...

2007-09-09T12:36:00.001-05:00

You probably thought I was joking when I told you to bring your battle gear for your upcoming visit. I wasn't.

In good conscience, I have to warn you: This isn't my sister's house. It isn't nearly as clean. Something is bound to crunch under your foot as you walk through our kitchen. When you sit at the table you're sure to rest your arm on a sticky spot. If you see something hairy in a corner or under the couch try not to be frightened... it's probably only a giant ball of dog hair. (It could be the cat, but it's not likely).

Whereas my sister's children are relatively sane, mine are not. There will be running, screaming, crashing and spitting of food (that's mostly Sam, but when he does it everyone else likes to join in). You will notice that all toys, books and walls have looked like they've barely survived a bombing. In reality, they've barely survived my boys. (Somethings don't survive, although we have yet to lose a family member.)

When you come here, you are essentially entering a battlefield. Do not bring any clothes that are remotely nice. You will see from my family's stained, torn and holey clothes that art projects and meals can get a little out of hand. You might want to wear a hat to avoid anything foreign clumping in your hair. Earplugs will come in handy, although we can issue those to you upon your arrival.

Don't bring anything you don't want crushed, spilled, flushed or thrown into a ceiling fan.

Finally, you will need to sign a waiver indicating that you, with your belongings, have entered our home at your own risk and you will not hold us responsible for anything that might happen to you or your things.

Enjoy your stay!