Tag Archives: George

Last Sound Bytes of the Week

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Okay – I had a few more – one from each child. So I thought I’d do a final installment of Sound Bytes.

Starting with Oliver.

We have several kid DVDs that mention The Great Wall of China (Little Einsteins, National Geographic, etc.), and I guess he recently took notice of this landmark. Suddenly, he gets really excited whenever he sees it and yells, “Look Mommy – the BIG Wall of CHINAAH!” Now all three of my kids call it The “Big” Wall of China. This is a source of endless amusement for me.

Then George. (Or as he likes to say, “now George – now George!”)

On our daily walk to the pool, we pass a house that displays several garden gnomes in throughout the landscaping. The twins can’t get enough of them and point excitedly every time they come into view. It’s like they’re actual gnomes running around pushing wheelbarrows and mending bird wings. Anyway – it took about two weeks for George to be able to say “gnome.” He insisted on calling them “omens.” He could easily manage the phonetic pronunciation of “nome” – yet no matter how many times I (and Eleanor, my self appointed T.A.) would ask him to, “repeat after me – NOOOOME,” his response would always be, “OOOOOMEN.” (With a huge smile) Finally yesterday he said “NOMES!” and I though, “FINALLY!” Then Eleanor said “OMENS!” Sigh.

And last but not least (never least), Eleanor.

Yesterday, George took several crayons and drew all over one of the couches. Literally right behind my back. I heard a scribbling on fabric noise behind me (at this point of motherhood I know that sound well) and when I whipped around to find the source, there he was working three crayons at once at Looney Tunes speed. Within seconds he managed to cover the entire back of the couch. I was furious. We talk about “only drawing on paper” something like…oh, I don’t know…FIFTY times a day.

While he was in solitary upstairs , I used a magic eraser to eradicate the marks, and Eleanor kept me company with her running commentary on the entire debacle:

Eleanor: George drew on the furniture. He drew right there.

Me: Yes and we NEVER draw on the furniture.

Eleanor: No. George is in time out. Because he drew right there.

Me: That’s right. He’s in time out because we NEVER draw on the walls or on the furniture. ONLY on paper.

Eleanor: I only draw on paper. Or I get time OUT.

Me: Yes – because drawing on furniture is VERY naughty.

Eleanor: [in wide-eyed seriousness] And it’s VERY dangerous.

I laugh every time I think about this. I guess they do tend to get in trouble for doing things that are “dangerous.” But George’s couch graffiti doesn’t quite qualify. Well – at least one of them is listening to me…

Week of Sound Bytes Continues…

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I don’t have much time to write – but there have been some little things that the kids say that make for a nice little sound byte.

One of the funniest things (to me of course) that they’ve done recently is this:

Me to George & Eleanor: Can you guys ask Daddy to come upstairs?

George & Eleanor: [walk over to the top of the stairs and yell in unison] CHRIS! HONEY!

And I wonder why they can’t grasp the concept of an “inside voice…”

Parenting Skills at Their Best

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I try to limit the potty training references since I have some readers without kids – and one of the perks to not having children is NOT having to spend your day talking about poop. So I’ll warn you now that it IS going to come up in this one. And it’s not going to be pretty.

On Monday evening, I arrived home alone with the kids. Chris had to drive separately that day, and as usual, he had metro problems delaying him by at least an hour. Now, I am home with alone with the kids quite a bit since Chris has to travel for work. But I’ve been finding it increasingly more complicated since the twins ceased to be blobs (that’s right all you Angelina haters – babies do start out as BLOBS) and have joined their older brother in his daily mission to make me a lunatic.

Actually, it’s been a while since anyone would call George and Eleanor “blobs” – but in the recent past, they were far more sedentary. Approaching their second birthday, they are now a force to be reckoned with, and taking your eyes off of them for more than a minute can result in nothing short of global thermonuclear war. Or at least a toilet paper trail from the bathroom that circles the first floor ten times.

The first half hour was a whirlwind of the usual chaos – a blur of kids playing, crying and climbing on furniture while I tried to make dinner, get the daycare bag emptied and start lunches for the following day. It’s impossible for me to remember the exact sequence of events up until the first minor crisis – but that that pretty much sums it up.

Once everyone was busy eating dinner and watching (surprise, surprise) yet another Wiggles DVD, I ran downstairs to change a load of laundry. Suddenly, I could hear Oliver calling to me, “Mommy! Mommy!” But it didn’t sound like he was upset, so I yelled, “just a minute” a few times until I was done. When I came upstairs, I realized that he was calling me to let me know that he had to go potty. He is really only 75% potty trained and still needs help getting through the process. So all I could do was hustle him into the bathroom as quickly as possible and hope that he could at least “finish” on the potty.

Though I was fairly sure he was done, I settled him on the toilet anyway and then ran to answer the phone. It was Chris. He was calling to let me know that he was still stuck on the metro and would get back to me once he was in his car. At this point, my half naked son walked into the kitchen to announce that he wanted ice cream. I asked if he was finished on the potty and then realized that not only was he finished, but he had the subject matter smeared all over his rear end (must have happened when I was pulling down his pull up). I instructed him to “stay right there” (which he didn’t) while I ran for the wipes. Then the phone started ringing again. I ignored it.

While I was cleaning off my three year old, I heard little voices coming from the bathroom. Great! Now the twins were in there, and most likely throwing things into the toilet. After another directive for Oliver to “stay there” (which he didn’t) I ran to find the twins and was relieved to see that they were only trying to climb onto the sink and not anywhere near the toilet. “Okay – everybody out!”

Once I got Oliver clean and busy with an activity, I saw that it was time for the twins’ bath. They raced up the stairs yelling “water!” and happily scampered into the kids’ bathroom. While simultaneously running the water, getting the twins undressed and blocking them from the tub until they were in fact naked, I saw that I was going to have a big problem on my hands… George must have run into his bedroom at some point, and was now clutching his blankie.

George is obsessed with his blankie, and I spend quite a bit of time tricking him into letting go of it so I can throw it upstairs while he’s distracted. I thought I had accomplished this when we got home, but my efforts were foiled by his wily reconnaissance. Now “Linus” wanted to bring the blankie into the tub with him. He is a toddler, and neither willing nor able to listen to reason. And since his current vocabulary consists of “car, truck, train, bus, more and thank you,” there was no point in trying to engage him in discussion about it. I had to forcibly remove the blanket and put him into the water kicking and screaming.

Eleanor splashed happily while George wailed and tried to climb out. I just washed him off quickly and then set him free to reunite with the blankie. Knowing that he had left the bathroom and could, that very minute be peeing all over the second floor, I rushed through Eleanor’s scrubbing. George and his blankie returned within minutes and I was just in time to stop him from throwing the paperback that he was aiming at the water. This was the final signal for bath time to be over, and against Eleanor’s vehement protestations, I pulled the plug. Within seconds I had two naked toddlers in Oliver’s room (where we have all of the bedtime books). One was crying (Eleanor) and one was trying to sneak out the door (George). I closed the door, placed myself in front of it and started stuffing them into their pajamas.

At this point, Oliver decided to come see what all of the commotion was about and tried to open the door. After a few seconds, I realized that he couldn’t get in, and that’s when it hit me: the door was LOCKED. The previous owners installed the door knob to Oliver’s bedroom so that it locked from the outside. I gratefully took advantage of this when we moved Oliver to his toddler bed, and found it comforting to know that I could lock the door and not worry about him wandering the house while I slept. But it never occurred to me that I could get locked in with him on the OUTSIDE.

Never one to panic, I responded to Oliver’s increasing anxiety with comforting promises that I would “fix it” and a lot of the ever popular, “in just a minute.” All the while, I was running through possible action plans. Climbing out the window was not an option since it would be a three story drop, but I thought a neighbor might be outside. So I opened the window and started calling for help. No dice. Everyone was inside their air conditioned homes.

Meanwhile Eleanor, sensing the terror in Oliver’s cries to get in, started crying even louder – which in return increased Oliver’s anxiety. George was furious that I had closed the window (because, you know – that was so much fun), and started crying as well. Great – now I had thee screaming children.

I considered trying to break the door down, but after one half hearted attempt, accepted the fact that I was not the Incredible Hulk. Then I remembered that there were a few wire hangers in Oliver’s closet. DUH – all I had to do was to use the end of a wire to poke the little hole in the door knob and spring the lock. Chris showed me how to do this in our old apartment when I used to worry about Oliver accidentally locking himself in the bathroom.

Within a minute, I had a red-faced, hysterical Oliver in my lap and equally upset twins climbing all over us. Once I had everyone somewhat calmed down, Oliver started dragging us out of the evil room that had kept us away from him for the TEN MINUTES that this drama probably took to unfold. I knew that only one thing could snap everyone out of their hysteria. So I asked, “hey – who wants ice cream?” And then all was golden.

While the twins should have been settling down to sleep and Oliver should have been preparing for his own bath, we sat around the kids’ table exclaiming over the miracle that is ice cream while traumatic events quickly disappeared from our blessedly fickle short term memories.

Good times.

Originally posted on July 24, 2008. I kind of jumped the gun on this last week with that Short Rant to a Short Man falshback. For some reason I thought it was the last Friday of the month… Ah well – one less post to write this week. Visit Scary Mommy for links to more Flashback Friday Posts!

ScaryMommy

Unfreezing Through Stream of Consciousness

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Here is the problem with taking a writing hiatus: you have no idea how to pick up where you left off. After two weeks of writing nothing, I’m not sure where to start. So I think I’ll just do a stream of consciousness recap of whatever comes to mind. I may expand on some things later (and I take requests!), but here’s the overview.

I was so sad that I couldn’t be at BlogHer, but I checked Twitter periodically to see what my friends were up to and read the post mortems – all of which were strangely satisfying… Maybe I don’t have to go – I can just read about it and feel like I was there?

One of the session topics that I’ve seen mentioned involved “finding your tribe” and I’ve found myself thinking about who my tribe is. The people I read and who read me are kind of all across the board… I have connections to people who consider themselves to be writers and people who claim to be straight up mommy bloggers with no writing talent (although I sometimes beg to differ). I know artists and designers, as well as style bloggers. I follow DIY gurus and green thumb goddesses. And I’ve shed many a tear from both laughing and crying. I don’t know that I can pick out one solid group that defines me – which is what I’ve always thought a tribe does: defines you.

It all reminds me of high school. But apparently that was how a lot of people felt about BlogHer. I told Stiletto Mom in an e-mail that I imagine I would have done pretty well at BlogHer because I was very good at high school. Of course I didn’t know it at the time, and assumed I was kind of a dork. But looking back, I can see that I was far more focused on my individual friendships than any need to keep up with the popular crowd. I was generally happy to make the most of where I was with very few longing glances at groups across the room. So if it works out, I think I will head up to NYC in 2010. And there will be an open invitation to join me at my lunch table – wherever that happens to be.

While everyone was reliving the 11th grade at BlogHer, I was at Rehoboth Beach reliving my youth. I love that beach… The beach itself was hideously crowded since our house was right in the center of things. But as a city kid (now at heart of course, since I live in the sticks), I will take shops and restaurants over quiet beaches. We could drive to a quiet beach if that’s what we wanted. I want to be able to walk to the boardwalk to pick up my iced coffee.

I’ll do a beach post with pictures next week. My camera broke about three days into the week (or more accurately, George broke it when he smacked it out of my hand during an evening walk – like I’m his paparazzi or something). My mother in law has all of the pictures after that, so she’ll have to send them to me.

Speaking of George smacking things out of my hands – the twins have turned into monsters. Remember when I jokingly compared them to this?


Yeah – not laughing anymore. They are really cute…


…but throw water on them, or take a ball point pen away from them, or tell them “no” or something and this is what happens:


I moved them into Oliver’s room recently so they’re all on the same schedule now. I couldn’t do two bedtime routines anymore and this was the only way it was going to work for us. So far, I like our new set up. The routine involves a bit too much jumping around for my liking, but when it’s time for lights out, everyone goes to their respective beds. Oliver is very much the enforcer when it comes to our bed time script and prompts me in a stage whisper, “okay – now go wie [lie] down mommy…okay now kiss Eleanor…now George…” It’s a bit disconcerting though because his stage whisper sounds like a devil voice. Not so fond of this in the dark…thank god for Twilight Turtle.

They are pretty cute though when I go into their room in the morning. They’re usually all twined up in a pile like puppies. I’ll have to take a picture.

Aside: Chris is watching a show like Cops right now, and I have to wonder, do men EVER wear shirts on these shows? Either way, they certainly aren’t doing any ab work.

Speaking of abs – I’ve been attempting to do the 30 Day Shred. Except I was unable to walk on day two, let alone do jumping jacks, so it was more like the every other day Shred that first week. Then I was vacation for week three and preferred to keep my exercise recreational. So far, I’ve only shredded once in the few days that I’ve been back, but I think I’m ready to get back on track. I’m not going to put too much pressure on myself (a surefire way to make me hate it), so it will probably be more of an every once in a while Shred kind of thing.

I like doing this now that I’m a stay at home mom. Previously, I’d worry about getting my workout in and having enough time to get ready for work and get the kids ready for daycare by our 8 a.m. leave time. So this freedom to officially start our day (i.e. turn off the TV for AT LEAST 30 minutes) at 9 a.m. without worrying about a commute is quite refreshing.

Speaking of being a stay at home mom – I really need to change my profile. I’ll try to remember that when I finish this post…

And it’s going well, thanks for asking. Except for the being good at it part. That’s still a work in progress. Previously, most of my “go to” plans for days alone with children involved food and television. Apparently this is frowned upon by people who have a thing against childhood obesity. God they’re judgey.

So I decided to attempt a home school program for preschoolers that my husband found on this site. It’s really great. Unfortunately, my children are defective. They don’t think that fun things are…fun. For instance, week one is supposed to be devoted to activities involving cows. FUN right? Well they? Don’t agree.

Monday morning at 9 a.m. I announced that we would be playing games about cows. After receiving three blank stares, I thought I’d jump right into some gross motor activities. “Okay,” I continued as I dropped down on all fours, “let’s all pretend we’re cows! Look at me – MOOOOO. Can you be a cow too? MOOOOO.” Oliver crawled over to me and said “NEIGH! Oliver’s a horse!” Of course Eleanor wanted to be a horse too. And I’m not sure what George was doing…maybe emptying the toy box?

So I gave up on that idea and put everyone in the car to hit the library and search for books on cows. We’ve only attempted the library a couple of other times, and they haven’t quite grasped the concept of being quiet and not trashing the place. But with our new cow-related mission, I figured that we had some direction.

The first thing they did when we arrived was run through the aisles in a kind of zig zag formation all the way to the opposite end of the library. I ran behind whisper-yelling at them to STOP (a stage whisper very similar to Oliver’s devil voice, now that I think of it…), which of course they ignored until I caught up to them and said that we would have to leave if they didn’t stop running.

I won’t bore you with details about them dismantling three shelves while I doggedly tried to read to them, my complete inability to understand the Dewey Decimal system, or the fact that we had to leave once they started running again. But can tell you that we did not find, let alone read one book on cows.

So far the rest of the week has been more of the same – but I feel that we’re making some headway. I’m very close to identifying the exact pitch to use while yelling for them to understand that I’m serious. Now THAT is progress.

Best part of the day? Right after the twins’ nap, I take them to the pool and I recline on a chaise while they splash around in the baby pool. This seems to be the ONLY activity that doesn’t require my constant participation.

So expect to see me on Twitter between 4-6 p.m. Unless of course it’s raining. Then we’ll all be eating cookies in front of the TV. But really good educational TV – maybe about cows.

Gone Fishing (or "Screw Friendship and Networking – Tim Gunn is Going to be There?!")

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You may have noticed that I haven’t been commenting much lately (or maybe not – but just in case you have…) Last week was my last week of work. There are a number of reasons why we decided that one of us needed to stay home for a while, but I’m guessing that they’re only really interesting to us, so if you want more detail on that, e-mail me and we can talk.

This week, I’ll be getting used to being home with the kids all day (god help me) and next week, we’ll be at the beach, so I will be taking a break from posting and commenting.

I did set up posts for Wishing True for the next two weeks, so come visit me there! I should also have a post up on DC Metro Moms at some point this week, so I’ll sneak in a quick note about that. And of course I’ll have an oldie but a goodie up for Flashback Friday at the end of the month.

AND – I’m keeping my giveaway open through the end of the month. So if you haven’t entered yet, you can do so HERE.

In the meantime, to all of my friends going to BlogHer:

1. No one will think you look fat – so don’t waste one more tear over that.
2. No one will care what you’re wearing – so just wear what you like best.
3. No one will ignore you if you smile at them or try to talk to them – so smile at everyone and talk to everyone.
4. Tell Tim Gunn I said hi – because I have come very close to slitting my wrists several times since I learned he’d be there and I was going to miss it.

Seriously – I LOVE Tim Gunn. He’s one of my favorite TV personalities (I’d say “people,” but since we’ve never met that would seem a bit familiar – of course if I was actually going to BlogHer…DAMN IT!) So many times have I been running late in the morning and imagined Tim saying, “Kate, you need to leave for work in two minutes and you haven’t even started on hair and makeup. I find this troubling…really, it’s make it work time.”

I’m even sad about missing Carson Kressley. I adored the Fab Five and Carson won me over when gorgeous Kyan was bonding with gorgeous straight guy saying, “really? People say you look like Keanu Reeves? People tell ME I look like Keanu Reeves!” And Carson said, “really? People tell me I look like Ellen DeGeneres.”

Okay – so enough about what I’ll be missing. I really do hope everyone has a wonderful time, and look forward to reading the post mortems.

Here is what I WON’T be missing (from our vacation last year):












See you in a couple of weeks!

Descent into Scary Mommyhood

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One of my favorite online friends, Scary Mommy honored me with an invitation to guest post for her this week. She said that she thought it might be fun to have “a few people post their scary mommy moments (whatever that may mean).” And apparently, I completely missed the point…

She was talking about not being perfect – those times when you feel like “bad mom.” And I went in a totally different direction. Ultimately, she’s posting something else of mine that is more along the lines of what she had in mind. But since I went to the trouble of writing this thing, I’m posting it here.

So pretend that you are over at Scary Mommy’s blog and pretend that I completely nailed her guest post theme. And then leave me comments telling me what a tour de force this is so I can feel a little less moronic about the miscommunication.

Descent into Scary Mommyhood

When Jill asked me to guest post this week, she mentioned something about “scary mommy moments.” And my immediate thought was, “where do I start?!“

I suppose that’s a universal theme of motherhood, with its never-ending firsts, challenges and fears. But along with that comes all of the triumphs, the self discovery and the great gift of testing and proving your merit as a parent. It’s a heady experience.

Being a parent is absolutely the most amazing thing that I’ve ever done. Of course it’s just as terrifying as it is thrilling. And much of the time, it also really sucks.

My initiation into the world of scary mommyhood was the complete upheaval, the world turned on it’s head, the holy crap, what the hell have I gotten myself into slap in the face, otherwise known as bringing your first baby home from the hospital.

The mystery of shell shocked new parent expressions that I had previously puzzled over was suddenly revealed. I now understood. They had just willingly signed away life as they once knew it.

And I think that’s when it starts. Truly, it’s right there at the beginning. Babies may fool you for those first few sleepy days in the hospital…but the minute they cross the threshold of their new home, they turn into mini Terminators on a mission to throw their parents’ once peaceful existence into a state of constant chaos. At least for a little while.

When sleep, something so basic to a functional life, becomes a privilege and not a right, you join the ranks of zombies so easily identified as new parents. And it really gets scary when you realize that you have no idea when the madness will end, if ever.

After one particularly taxing day with baby Oliver, I looked at my husband and said quite definitively, “I don’t know how people take care of multiples – I could never do it.“

Epilogue: 18 months later I gave birth to twins.

Another scary mommy milestone would be caring for those twins during my maternity leave. Oliver was a week late and entered this world as a healthy, nine pound bruiser. Sure, he was fussy – but nothing beyond the expected newborn hoopla.

George and Eleanor were born just shy of 37 weeks and were each under six pounds. After my first tank of a baby, I didn’t know what to make of those skinny little things. They kept their wrinkly knees pulled up in a perpetual fetal position (common with c-section babies). And they looked so fragile, that even my 18 months of first baby experience made me handle them with extra care. Their tiny boniness was so foreign to me that when I dressed them in the morning I would often think that it felt like changing kittens.

They had reflux and colic and eczema and…well, let’s just say that I spent more time at the doctor’s office in those three months than I did in the previous 18 months with Oliver.

And taking care of both of them at once! Feeding them in tandem, bathing one while the other screamed, finally getting one to settle down for a nap, only to have the other wake up…When people knowingly advised me to “sleep when the baby sleeps,” I would reply, “oh yeah? Which one?” (The Miss Manners book got thrown out the window during that period of my life…)

But of course, they too eventually learned to sit up and hold their bottles, and entertain themselves and each other. And the scary new mommy phase quietly lifted away – quite the anticlimax to its bone crushing arrival.

I also think we all experience a touch of amnesia when it comes to those early months since the screaming newborn does at some point morph into a charming, cooing infant. Love and smug admiration for our offspring will inevitably win out in the end.

But then there is always something else… Some new scary development to snap us out of our self satisfied torpor. There is no relaxing in scary mommyhood.

My oldest child just turned four, and within that time I’ve experienced the NICU, the ER, hourly wake up calls for nights on end, speech and developmental delays, biting, fighting, tantrums, teething, crying, screaming and screaming and screaming…

But I’ve also experienced peals of laughter, hand holding, I wuv yous, flashes of genius, spirited identity building, earnest honesty, sticky sweet kisses, general center of the universeness and fervent gratitude for every single day that I have with those little monsters.

They have simplified my life and brought my priorities into sharp focus. My dreams for them are infinite, while my dreams for myself drop off somewhere after “showering with the door closed.” But that’s just for now because they are a daily reminder that anything is possible. They have aged me and made me feel young again. And yes – they scare the crap out of me.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way. From the very beginning, they made it clear that no matter how scary life with them can be, every day is worth it. And every day is ours.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name…

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I’m fairly certain that my neighbors think I’m an abusive parent. Or at least a raving lunatic.

Not the ones I know personally of course. They are aware of the fact that I gave birth to three children in 18 months and cut me a little slack. They’ve also seen me in action and know that I’m all about the empty threats.

Oliver! Do you want to go upstairs and take a nap!?
[Oliver hasn’t taken a nap since February 2008. Even he knows I’m bluffing on this one.]

No, I mean the ones who vaguely know me, but have never had the opportunity to meet me (i.e. the ones who walk purposefully past me and “my brood” George Costanza style, hoping that I will assume that they are very, very busy – no time to be friendly).

They hear me screaming at my children pretty much non-stop whenever we’re outside and I can only hope that they think, “well – at least she’s not beating them.”

George! Get over here! No! That is a NO-NO! Running away from mommy is a NO-NO!
[The No, No. Yes, Yes book doesn’t make quite the impact on my toddlers that one would hope.]

My poor neighbors. Every morning when we leave the house to go to work/daycare, it begins. I really do try to get everyone in the car as quickly and as efficiently as possible. But, inevitably, I have one escapee.

Eleanor! I said it’s time to GET in the car. Do NOT laugh at me, I am SERIOUS. Come over here RIGHT NOW! Do you want a spanking?!
[Eleanor is the only one whom I “spank” since she’s the only one who seems to take this seriously. Said “spanking” generally means a firm pat on her bottom. Which of course sends her into paroxysms of keening tears. She gets the shaming thing. The boys? Not so much – still figuring out what works for them…]

Since everything I yell at them outside begins with their names, it’s safe to say that anyone within a mile radius knows OLIVER! GEORGE! and ELEANOR!

And I’m not always yelling at them. Often I just “call out to them.” The yelling only comes into play when danger is involved. Or total lack of respect for my authority. Or outdoor nudity. Otherwise, I just call their names.

For example, at the grocery store. We can no longer contain them all in carts. That fun car thing on the front of “family” carts? They just climb on top of it while I’m pushing. Half the time, I’d be happy to leave them there since it means they can’t run up and down the aisles. But that kind of arrangement seems to be frowned upon by the other store patrons. And you know – I can’t stand to have complete strangers disapprove of me…

If I really need to keep them immobilized, I might throw all of them inside the cart. That way I can shove them back in when they try to climb out. But then there isn’t much room left for the actual groceries. So that only works for trips to pick up one or two items.

Plus – it is again “frowned upon” to push a shopping cart full of kids in various stages of escape. Something about the possibility of head injuries or whatever…

So nine times out of ten, I’m chasing them around the store trying to keep them in my line of sight while unloading all of the various and sundry items they fling into the cart (this ranges from cookies to boxes of Depends undergarments – they are not always particular about their choices).

I only do the serious shopping when I have Chris with me. It’s still “zone defense” but the ratio of parent to child is a little better.

The grocery store staff and other customers hear my children’s names pretty much from the minute we arrive…

Eleanor! Come back here! You have to stay where I can see you, honey…Listen to me Eleanor, that’s VERY dangerous…

…through the inevitable meltdowns…

I’m sorry George, but you are going to have to stay in the cart…NO George, don’t climb on me. I can’t carry you sweetie, you’re too big. GEORGE! DO NOT hit me! That is a NO-NO!

…to the checkout scramble (why do I NEVER remember to pick the aisle without candy?!)

No candy Oliver. I’m sorry – no. We don’t need that. Put it back Oliver. Give that to me…give it to me….OLIVER! GIVEITTOME!

There is a reason that I’m thinner now than I was before I had kids…

The general theme of all of this yelling at/calling to my children is mainly safety. So I can’t worry too much about what people think. I’d rather look like a complete bitch who yells at her kids than a frantic mother who can’t find them anywhere in the store.

And I guess at the end of the day, people are pretty understanding.

Amused even.

And often very nice.

The other day at Trader Joe’s, I had just caught up with Oliver in front of a sample display of cheese. Before I could even suggest that he stop and try some, the TJ’s staff person stationed there smiled at him and said, “Hi Oliver, can I interest you in some cheese?”

Sigh.

So yes, I think it’s safe to say that wherever we go EVERYBODY knows our names. Not so sure about the “always glad we came” part though…

George’s Hair: Kickin’ It Old School

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So a quick update on George’s hair. You may remember that Chris ruined it a couple of months ago.


It’s growing… But it looks very strange.


I think he looks like an 80s rocker.


Spiky on top. Fringy in the back.


The other day on the commute home, we were listening to an 80s rock block: Paradise City, You Make All My Dreams Come True, and then Some Guys Have All the Luck.

I looked back at George and thought, “that’s it! You are SO on your way to being Rod Stewart.


Some Guys Have All the Luck…

He’s got at ways to go before he achieves Rod’s signature look though… His transitional ‘do is probably closer to what these guys sported in their debut album days:


Of course, this isn’t so bad when you consider some of the alternatives.


On top of his 80s rocker hair, he’s skinny and pale. Remember this shot?


Chris made the rather unkind observation that he looked like a heroin addict with his shaved head, ghastly pallor and general boniness.

Great – so my baby looks like one of those lily-white losers from Trainspotting?


But I must say – the similarity between those two shaved heads is pretty dead on. And George does have this habit of sticking his whole head in the toilet when he flushes (you know – to get the best view).


It’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie, but I’m fairly sure that Ewen didn’t yell, “bye poopies!” in that famous scene. And George’s hair isn’t that short anymore… Oh well, I didn’t say it was an exact likeness.

The Big Reveal: Womily Cuff Links

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I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to post this, but Chris was out of town when they arrived. Then, as you know (if you’ve been reading), it’s been a rough couple of weeks.

But the day has finally arrived – the Womily Touch cuff links are here!

And they are so cool. Chris was thrilled.

If you read the “how to” post, you will remember that due to challenging conditions (i.e. having children), we were unable to get both twins to cooperate at the same time. So only Eleanor’s fingerprints were used for the links.

Here is an action shot (or what a cuff link considers “action”).


Very sharp!

And just because I’m at artist at heart (with limited photography skills), Here are some additional images with an edgy sidewalk chalk backdrop:


The links came with the suede pouch featured above (they are all about presentation at Womily). But did I mention before that engraving is included? We chose “Eleanor Hood, 2 years old.”

Here is a better shot of that:

This was a great investment for us since Chris wears a suit every day and allows himself to be a bit of a dandy when it comes to cuff links and ties. (Next up – a novelty tie featuring a textile pattern of Oliver, George and Eleanor’s faces…what no one is doing this yet? Calling my patent attorney as I type…)
Other Womily product options include necklaces (I want one in gold!), bracelets and charms. So there really is something for everyone.

While I’m here – I may as well throw in a few more visuals of the Hoods.

This is a picture of my daughter with a pig kite.


Seriously – why a pig?

This is a picture of Oliver playing out back with the hose.


Notice how he’s pressed up against the sliding glass door – we were afraid to go outside.

This is a picture of what George likes to call “R2 – time for nap!”


Sleep tight R2.