My big news: new blog site

I’m moving my blog off the WordPress site to my own little real estate on the web. The new address is a just a bit different from this one.

books are our friends

So, set your bookmarks to my new site. Please do not comment here anymore, because Doc is having a heck of a time moving the comments over to the new blog. Thanks.

(Ha! I’m not pregnant. I just know some of you – especially those who know me off-line – suspected that’s what my big surprise was going to be. Fooled ya, didn’t I?)

The baby is a dictator

Lucy, 14 months, is in true toddler mode. Her favorite game is yanking books off the shelves and making a large carpet of them on the floor. Her mother is not too fond of the follow-up game, “Pick Up Lucy’s Mess.” From the bookshelves, she goes over to her next favorite thing to do: Dumpster dive. Lucy is the perfect height for the kitchen garbage. A lid-less garbage, I might add. Enough said there, I think.

There used to be a lock on the pantry door. I sure do miss that lock. I’m not sure what the attraction is with the various bottles in there, but Lucy likes to hug a bottle of Balsamic vinegar to her chest like a baby doll. Last week I caught her with a piece of dog kibble in her mouth. Boy, did she cry when I pried that away from her. Maybe I should scattter a few cookies on the pantry floor so she has at least human food to choose from.

Lucy marches about the family room with a broken Nerf basketball hoop from the big boy’s room around her neck like it’s the latest bling-bling from a chic boutique. Then the baby babble starts complete with her waving her pudgey arm at us. The only thing missing is a hand on the hip. Whatever she’s saying, it must be important because she says it with such conviction.

My impish girl must think she’s in charge around here.

The playpen is a wonderful invention.

You know you’re a book nerd when

You dream of buying this for your six-year-old boy. The lecturer at the library recommended it when we were there the other day.

My subconscience must be trying to tell me something, so I’m going to buy it.

Resolved

I found it in the closet under a t-shirt. Duh.

At 5:16 pm eight years ago

You made me a mommy. Happy Birthday to you, my eldest girl.

This could turn out to be my most embarrassing day ever

I’ve lost my bra. That’s right. I took it off last night and now it’s gone. Can’t find it. Looked everywhere I’ve thought to look and it’s just not there. Maybe I shouldn’t have left it on the coffee table after taking it off in the living room last night while watching TV. Don’t all moms do that? Please tell me yes.

Me thinks little hands may have confiscated it. Drat.

The wayward bra is a Victoria’s Secret. No, I don’t indulge in expensive undergarments on a regular basis. This particular bra I bought a few months ago was in celebration of weaning Lucy. It’s a regular bra, with no flaps. All you nursing moms out there know what a big deal this is. To wear a normal bra after a year of “lift-the-flap” is a welcome change.

This is could prove to be the Most Embarrassing Moment in my life. I have visions of Edmund or Peter producing the brassiere as some type of plaything when we are all singing “Happy Birthday” at the birthday party this afternoon. Or maybe it’s outside hanging from a tree. Or maybe it’s mixed in with the toddler’s toys.

Lord, what a day this is going to be.

On the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, we ain’t

I’m stressed this week. I’ve yelled – a lot – at the kids, burned Doc with dinner (long story), and fantasied about large amounts of chocolate.
Saturday is Susan’s birthday and I’m going to have a girlfriend in my home who has never been here before. My friend has a beautiful home, with a well-manicured lawn, paved driveway and brick walk way. The Works when it comes to a nice home.
Our house is… uh, … a work.
A piece of work. A work in progress.
With a long way to go.
When we first bought this small house, when Susan was just a baby, we planned on adding more bedrooms, fixing the bathroom, remodeling the kitchen, but we had no idea it would take this long. My husband has almost done all of the interior remodeling himself. You know how that is, ladies. There is only so much one man can do in a day.
Needless to say, my house won’t be featured in Better Homes and Gardens anytime soon. How about Incomplete House magazine? Or Home Repair Gone Bad?
My poor husband. He’s got enough on his plate without me nagging him to hurry up and finish the house construction (no, Doc rarely reads my blog, so I’m sure he’ll miss this entry, so this doesn’t count as nagging.)
In all honestly, I don’t want my friend to see my house. Can I blindfold her when she’s here? It’s not like I don’t want her to come to the party. I’m hoping we get a chance to chat. So I’m in panic mode now knowing she’s coming.
I did attack the backyard a bit the other day trying to make it look presentable. The back porch overwhelms me when I look at it. I really wish it were ready for Saturday, but first it needs to be set free from Man’s Workshop Land. And it would be lovely if the old bathroom could go from Ugly to Pristine New with a magic wand. Alas, the plunger won’t work for that trick.
Dare I post a picture so you can commiserate with me?
So I’m stressing. I’ve been to the supermarket twice this week and forgot the blasted list each time. I never leave the house without my list. That’s how screwed up I am this week. I can’t get my head on straight.
Party Day is two days away.
I wish it were Monday.

Happy birthday to my firecracker boy

Today Edmund is beyond the three’s. I never thought I would have a baby born on a major holiday. My third-born came several days late, so when I woke up the morning of July 4, 2002, and I knew baby was fiinally coming, I thought, “This is going to make birthday party themes a piece of cake.”

Speaking of cake, I’m off to the kitchen to bake one and to finish cleaning the house. I’ve two birthday parties this weekend. One for my Susan – she’s eight Saturday – and a family party this Sunday for both my July babies. (Just so you know, blogging will be light this week because I’ve a lot to do to get ready for the weekend.)

And I have a surprise that I’m getting ready to unveil, so stay tuned.

Reflections

I took Susan, Peter and Edmund to the large creek near our house this afternoon. I was going to bring a book, but at the last minute decided against it, and to wear my water shoes instead. I’m glad I did. As much as I love reading outside on a beautiful day, it’s fun wading in the cool water with my children. Lots of “Mommy, look at me!” and “Look at the minnows!”

If I had been buried in the pages of my novel, I would have missed getting my feet wet. I would’ve missed carrying seven-year-old Susan piggyback becasue she had sneakers on instead of waterproof shoes. She’s almost too big for me to carry now. Susan will be eight next week and becoming more independent everyday. How did the time go so quickly? Where is the baby I carried tucked in the crook of my arm?

I would’ve missed admiring the water striders with my boys. The boys have seen water striders before, but not with me wading alongside them wearing blue water shoes and cut-off shorts. Will they remember this day?

Memories aren’t made sitting idly on a park bench while my children discover new things under a rock or in a shallow pool.

Today was a day to lay the book aside and get my feet wet.

I’m so glad I did.

Understanding Edmund

I took Peter, 6, and Edmund, almost 4, to the library after dinner tonight for a lecture about reptiles and amphibians. During the slide presentation, I kept thiniking of a book I recently checked out – and never finished – The Minds of Boys by Michael Gurian and Kathy Stevens. Who can understand the mind of an energentic 3 year-old-boy? Certainly not me. Energetic is putting it mildly. Hyper is more accurate. Edmund refused to sit still, squirmed constantly on my lap, while I had him in a tight grip. I was afraid to let him go, lest he be running about room. Doc and I call it “Teletubbie mode.” (Remember when those goofy creatures bounced off everything. That’s our Edmund.)

Peter had his moments when he was that age, I remember. But tonight he was a mother’s dream child. Sitting so attentively in the chair, hand shooting up to answer questions. Maybe the next time I’m in the library I’ll get The Minds of Boys out again. I should also re-read Dr. James Dobson’s Bringing Up Boys. He had a lot of good encouragement for raising boys in his book.

So no more library lectures for Edmund until he is seven. Hopefully by then what Gurian and Stevens call “boy energy” will be tamed. If it’s not I may have to feed him to the first large reptitle to come along.