First, The Downs

Recently, we packed our bags, loaded the kids in the minivan, and drove due north for about 6 hours to Niagara Falls and Toronto.  It was a week of ups and downs, as any week will be when five people accustomed to comfort, routine, adequate personal space, and healthy meals will be when confined to a minivan/tiny hotel room, fed a steady diet of french fries, soda, and dessert, and afforded very little privacy or quiet time. 

Of course, I took my camera to record every single whine-filled, temper tantrum-infused, awe-inspiring moment…

First up is a picture of someone’s bottom (I’m sorry) after sitting in the car “foreveeeeerrrrr! Are we there yet? How much longer? Now how much longer? Uuuuggggghhhhh, I am so booooooored. Now how much longer? Stop it! Mom! He’s kicking my seat! Mom! He’s kicking my seat! Mom! Mom! Mom! Can we stop for lunch now? When? Stop kicking my seat! I want a drink. Are we there yet? My butt is starting to hurt.”

This is a cute one of me getting out of the car at the hotel.

Here is one of me after I bought 3 ice cream cones and a slushey and the jaunty teenager told me “That’ll be $21, eh?”

This one shows me after a long day of exploring the Niagara Falls area and repeatedly restraining Jack from falling/jumping/slipping into the churning water.

Dave and I felt a little … well, bloated after all the meals out.

Here’s a photo showing what Dave and I did not get to do at all on this trip.

That’s right.  Sunbathe ourselves to a lovely golden brown.

The next shows the last of the many times Jack asked if he could have that t-shirt/stuffed moose/souvenir clock/key chain/back scratcher/yo-yo/giant lollipop/pair of sunglasses/hockey puck/snow globe/marble statue of the falls and I told him “No, you already bought two stuffed animals and a raccoon tail, and that is enough, so for the last time, stop asking me or we will leave right now, mister!”

And finally, we were attacked by a vicious Tyrannosaurus Rex, which was completely unexpected and frightening, though Jack took it all in stride.  He is so very brave.

Okay, so I got The Downs out of the way.  Next time, I will show you all of The Ups….and there were a lot.  It really was (mostly) a great week!  (Here’s a sneak preview!)

My Bratty Brother, The Rock Star

I believe I’ve mentioned my bratty brother Dave to you.  Life was good until he came along.  It was just me and my parents for five happy years and then BOOM.  The intruder.

Look at him laying there all smirky.  You just know he’s strategizing how to knock me off my throne or pest me in some way.

He really was a brat when we were kids.  He was an annoying pest.  He talked your doggone ear off.  He had a ton of girl admirers  drooling along behind him everywhere he went.  My mom won’t admit to this, but I think he was always her favorite.  No, really.  I know it’s hard to believe with perfect old me leading the way, but there you go.

As an adult, I really do like him.  But when we were kids?

BRAT.

The funny thing about my bratty brother Dave is that he was decidedly unmusical.  The rest of us were major music geeks.   Dave was surrounded by a family of choir directors, Barbershop quartet-ers, bell choir members, a flutist/violinist/trumpeter/tubaist (if that’s the word)/pianists/etc.  My extended family made up about 75% of our church choir.  But Dave was not in the choir, not in the band, and not doing anything musical, just folding his arms in a pouty stance and whining NO WAY JOSE.

In his late teens he taught himself to play the guitar.  And then he started to sing, and then he added in the harmonica.  At first he played little gigs like a business women’s luncheon and birthday parties, and I thought, “Well, that’s nice.  A little too late, but good for him.”

But he’s played for almost 20 years now, and besides playing acoustic guitar gigs he started a band awhile back called the Palm City Ramblers.  People pay actual money to hear him in real, valid, desirable venues!  They are great.  He is excellent.  And I really am so proud of him when I see him play.  His talent astounds me.

Yesterday, he and his PCR drummer, DJ, played at a local restaurant at noontime, so we were able to go and take the kids.  They’ve heard him before, but we were right up front, and they were mesmerized. 

It was a little loud for Jack.

The lovely Jamae was there of course.

Ben, who started taking drum lessons last week, was especially interested.  Afterwards he went up to talk to Dave and DJ, who was kind enough to give Ben drumstick grip hints.  Ben was thrilled.

He’s a fun uncle, a responsible adult, a good husband, and a rock star now.  But he’ll always be my bratty Davy Baby Chicken and Gravy to me.

Just a little snippet.

The Chair Story

You know how certain key words can make a person go off on the same story all the time?  For instance, use the words “willow tree” in a conversation with my mother and she will always tell you that the root system of the willow tree is very invasive and can even get into your septic line.  Every time she will tell you that.  Sometimes I throw “willow tree” into a random conversation with her just to hear that little story and have a tiny bit of a  laugh inside my head.

Me:  “…and then Jack did the cutest thing!  The sliding board at the playground was next to the most beautiful willow tree I’ve ever seen..” (slight pause on my part to allow…)

Mom:  “Oh, willow trees.  They’re so pretty, but did you know the roots can really get into your pipes?  Never plant one in your yard!”

Me:  “Really?  Huh.  Good to know.  So Jack’s on this sliding board and…”

(Honestly, I don’t have a lot for entertainment going on for me right now, so that could quite possibly have been the highlight of my day.)

Helen, a good friend of mine in college, would always go off on her own version of the willow tree tangent, a little story my friends and I liked to call “The Bagel Story”, but unlike the willow tree detour, Helen knew that we knew she’d go off and running on the subject of bagels, and it became such a joke we’d occasionally (and will still today) say, “Helen!  Tell us The Bagel Story”!   And then Helen will tell us that there are shops in NYC that sell bagels, not your ordinary Lender’s out-of-the-bag bagels, but real bagels, fresh from the oven, hot and chewy, in amazing flavors like asiago cheese and…”  That is the bagel story.  (And in Helen’s defense, 25 years ago when we were in college, bagels around here mostly did come from the Lender’s bag, so she really was imparting great bagel wisdom to the rest of us.)

I think The Chair Story just might become my new story to tell over and over.  It’s got all the hallmarks of a good detour story like romance, adventure, and a car chase, but unlike the willow tree/bagel stories, it involves no septic system or asiago cheese references, so it is possible it may not go down in the Hall of Fame of Tangents.  I’ll let you decide:

For our anniversary this year, Dave’s parents took the kids for the afternoon and night.  A whole 18 hours to ourselves!  What to do, what to do…

We went looking for patio furniture (that’s the romance part of the story). 

First we went to Lowe’s.  Everything was 25% off there, but we didn’t really see anything we liked.  Next we headed to Target.  We found some chairs there that were 75% off, unfortunately they were more of the dining-chairs-that-go-around-a-table variety than the love seat etc. that we were looking for, but they rocked and were very comfy and the 75% off kind of sucked us in.  There were a few other customers (vultures) hovering around our chairs, which added a sense of urgency (to me, not so much to Dave), however we decided it was early in the day and we kept looking.  (This whole part is the adventure time of the story, by the way, feel free to picture us both in Indiana Jones hats.)

Next we went to Boscov’s and Home Depot but we really weren’t happy with anything.   We were now closer to the other Target so we headed there to see if they also had our 75% off chairs.  Unfortunately, they only had one set of chairs (2 in a set) and they were the floor models.  At this point, I began to get really nervous that the chairs at the other Target had been snapped up by the circling vultures, so we bought the two floor models and raced across town to the other Target (this is not the car chase scene…that is still coming!)

When we got there we discovered that a) the vultures had not bought our chairs and b) the floor models we bought at the other Target had the wrong cushions on them!  Instead of the thick, plush cushions pictured on the boxes, the ones we had bought were these shabby, wimpy, little crappy cushions!  (Aren’t you just thrilled right now with the adventurous twists and turns of this story?)

We went out to the car, brought back the chairs with the crappy cushions and returned them.  Then we bought two boxes of 75% off dining chairs because it was a bargain, and quite frankly, my feet hurt and I wanted to go to dinner.  Which we did (mesquite grilled ahi tuna and lobster mac and cheese!) then we went home and Dave put together one of the boxes of chairs, and they were nice, but it bothered me a little bit that they weren’t really what I wanted for that particular spot.  Then I remembered it was our anniversary and we enjoyed the rest of the evening, thankyouverymuch.

The next day I took Ben to a friend’s house in the next town over, and since I was so close, I just thought I’d pop into Kmart while I was there, and I found a love seat/two chairs/coffee table set that was just perfect.  And marked down 40%.  DOH!!  I took pictures of it with my phone and went home and showed Dave.  However, Dave was a little annoyed that a) he had already put together two of the chairs we’d already bought and b) the set cost a bit more than our purchase on the previous day.  So he needed to think about it. 

He thought about it all day until about 7:00 that night (aaagh! vultures!) and then he gave me the green light, took the two chairs apart, put them back in the box and I headed off into the night. 

AAAGGH! NOOO! If only it were that easy!  After getting the go-ahead from Dave, I realized that Jack had been playing in the box containing the chairs all day and had drawn pictures and written his name all over it!  Also, I called Kmart and the dude there told me they only had one set of my furniture left…the floor model, and he would put a “hold” note on it, but that he was leaving for the evening.  As far as  I was concerned, a “hold” note would only make that patio set look more inviting to the circling vultures.  A quick call to Target confirmed they would still take the chairs back (God bless you, Target!), Dave disassembled the chairs and loaded them into the car, and I was off as the stores closed at 9:00!  (Cue the car chase!)

I raced to Target where two nice gentleman helped me (twice) unload my car of the giant chair boxes, then Target did indeed take my chairs back, crayoned boxes and all.  After that, I jumped in my minivan and dashed to Kmart, flew down the aisles, my heart pounding in my chest for fear that my set had been viciously bought by the vultures and I would have to go back to Target and get those other darn chairs and then have to tell Dave to put them back together again, BUT!  The set was still there with a nice little “hold”sign on the coffee table.  Dude had come through for me.  God bless you dude.
Three lovely Kmart employees helped me load the furniture into my minivan, and I drove home in glory.

Once I got home, everybody helped unload the car, but at this point it was about 9:15 and a bit dark, so we didn’t really get to see and appreciate the new set until the next day.  The next morning, with the sunshine sweetly kissing the comfy cushions of my new patio set, I relaxed, enjoyed my morning Diet Coke, and listened to the birds sing while a gentle breeze kept things cool.  The kids have already gotten sunscreen and crushed goldfish crackers on one of the cushions.  But they’re still fabulous and perfect and the only way they could be improved is if I could sit on them eating an asiago cheese bagel while gazing at a willow tree with my honey.  In his sleeveless tux. 

One Flew Over the Robin’s Nest

Are you sick of all my bird pictures yet?  Too bad.  Here are some more. 

So, you know how when your babies are born and they’re so sweet and precious and all they ever really do is just lie there, sleeping like little angels, and you think, “What are those other mothers talking about?  This motherhood thing is easy!  I could sit on my babies all day and never get tired of it!”

And then after a nice little honeymoon period, they wake up.

But you love them so.  Even though sometimes you want to hide in the closet nearby evergreen tree and scream chirp really loudly just a little bit, you remember those sweet sleeping, cuddly moments and you melt.

And then… the best moment of your life so far…

The first time they say “Mama”?  It. Is. The. Best.

But then, they keep on learning new words.  And your little nest is never quiet and peaceful again.

So, if you’re going to be a good, loving mama, sometimes you just need to take a little break and write your blog sit on the roof.  Not so long that the baby birds peck each other’s eyes out, but long enough to regain your sanity.

And then you head back to that nest and give and get kisses and cuddles and break up fights and deposit regurgitated worms in your babies’ mouths because that’s what you do:  you’re the Mama Bird, 90% robin/10% cuckoo.  And you will make it until back-to-school time your birdies leave the nest.

Maybe.

The end.

Daveo and Bethiet

Way back in the nineties, I was teaching school, going to aerobic classes, watching Friends, ER, and Mad About You, enjoying my nightly Lean Cuisines,  rocking my Rachel haircut and big shoulder-padded blazers, and whining to my friend Kim M. (Hi Kim!) about how there were no good guys left.  I had just come off of a big break-up with a long time boyfriend, had a few bad dates, had my lasagna plate stolen, and I really thought I just might be single forever.  At least my cats would be happy.

But Kim M. said she knew someone she could set me up with, a friend of her husband’s.  According to her, his name was Dave, he had very good manners, and he worked out and therefore had a really good, muscular physique.  I pictured a big, dumb, polite muscle guy, but I was desperate, so I agreed to a blind date, if Hulk Hogan was willing.  He called me a couple of weeks later, and he was very well mannered and nice, and the conversation went along easily enough.  Unfortunately, I found out two things on that phone call:  he was allergic to cats and he was Catholic.  I just knew it wasn’t going to work, because I liked my cats, and I liked my church and I knew how those Catholics liked to stick together, but when he asked if I wanted to go out, I said yes anyway.  

His plan was to have me come meet him at his house, which was about a 30 minute drive away, where we would go to dinner and then out to a club where a band was playing that he liked.  I was not crazy about having to drive to him or about seeing a band on a first date, but whatever.  One less Lean Cuisine to heat up.

Two days before the big date, he called to ask if I’d mind changing the venue to a restaurant near me, which I thought was a much better idea. (He told me later, he was afraid he wouldn’t like me and then he’d be stuck with me all night and he’d wanted more control over how the evening ended.  Hmph.  Good thing I didn’t know that then.)

The night of the date, I sat in an upstairs room in the dark so I could look out of my window at him for a sneak peek.  All I saw as he got out of his car and walked to my door was his forearms.  Can I tell you, I am just a sucker for forearms.  I like big, strong, capable looking arms, and his?  Were niiiiiiiice.  He rang the bell, I headed down the stairs and opened the door, and there he was, forearms like Popeye, and very cute, and nice and, yes…well-mannered.

The date went well.  We talked over dinner and liked each other enough that we decided to head out afterwards for a drink to keep the conversation going.  He drove me home and kissed me in the car (and it was a bad first kiss, but it was all my stupid, nervous fault, he still brings it up and laughs at me today about it, which is not very polite) and we said goodbye and he told me he’d call me.  And he did. 

And then we dated for a year, and then broke up for a year, and then he tried to get me to go out with him again, but I held him off for about three months, because I wanted to know he wasn’t just interested in hanging out.  We finally got back together and dated for 8 more months and then we got engaged and eventually married.  Yada yada yada, 3 kids and a guinea pig later and today is our 13th anniversary! 

Many, many, many thanks to Kim M. who had the foresight to see us as a couple (or was just tired of hearing me whine.  Either way).  And Happy Anniversary to my best friend.  Sorry for getting a little publicly mushy, honey.

(I tried without success 13 years ago to get him a sleeveless tux, but strangely, none were available, in fact the tux guys acted like this was the first time they’d had ever heard of such a thing…otherwise I’d totally be having you check out his forearms right now).

P.S.  Dave tried living with the cats and just sniffled and sneezed a lot, but I found new homes for them when Maddie was born. It seemed like a good time to focus on the baby and give Dave’s nose a break at the same time.  Also…I became Catholic, and it is true…we do stick together.  But in a nice way.

Jar of Rainbows

Last week the kids and I took a family craft class together.  The host was our local Splat Studio, but the evening was held outside of a local ice cream shop.

The goal for the evening was to design and decoupage a cookie jar together, with a final reward of decorating (and eating) cookies for our jar. 

Maddie suggested a rainbow theme, we grabbed all of our supplies, picked out a table, and got started!

Jack almost gave up a few times, and we all got very sticky hands!

Basically, we brushed on ModPodge, stuck on tissue paper, then painted on more ModPodge.  After about 45 minutes, with only a minor amount of whining from the boys, we had finished!

Which meant it was (major hand washing and) COOKIE DECORATING TIME!

Although the instructor showed us some decorating techniques, our cookies mostly looked like squirted piles of…frosting.  Shiny, glittery, lumpy, red, white, and blue frosting piles.

So now comes the hard part.  The sensible mother in me should have had the kids eat a cookie and save the rest for later.  But the fun mom in me (she comes out every now and then) said, “Let’s get ice cream!”  And we saved those cookies for later.

Jack had cotton candy and strawberry.  Ben had mint chocolate chip and black cherry.  Maddie had pistachio and chocolate marshmallow.

I didn’t have any.  I really really really wanted a scoop of the red velvet cake ice cream, but I didn’t have one.  I’d like to tell you it was because of my awesome self-control, but it was really because I had just enough cash to pay for three cones, and even then I was digging through my change and sweating profusely that I wouldn’t  have enough to pay the ice cream girl, so the kids would have had to dump their top scoops in the garbage can, and they’d be so embarrassed and be all, “Mooooom! I can’t believe you’d do this to us!” and Jack would be crying because the cotton candy was on top and he’d have to wave a sad goodbye to it as we head out the shop with our humiliated heads hanging low as all of the other patrons stare and point and why can’t I plan ahead or look in my wallet to see how much money I have before I go out in public?  But I did manage to scrape up enough money so that (thankfully)didn’t  happen, and everyone gave me a lick of theirs so I was (mostly) good.  Sigh.

When we got home, we placed our cookie jar on the window sill and it looked beautiful with the setting sun shining through it!

Holy cow, my window is dirty.  Don’t look at that, just look at the pretty cookie jar.  Why are you scrolling back up?  I asked you not to look at the window.  Now that is just rude, people.  Geez.

A lovely, artful evening was had by all!