Tag Archives: Little Ones

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.

Why I Hate Being a Truck Driver

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Now that I’ve got your attention… I don’t really drive one of the big rigs. I drive a Ford Expedition. SUV owners are either saying, “Eh – My Tahoe is just as big,” or “Oh yeah – my Explorer is quite big enough, thank you very much.”

The truth is – I’m just not a “big car” person. They don’t suit me. I don’t know how to gracefully enter or exit them, I can’t park them to save my life, and if I didn’t have a little alarm that lets me know when I’m getting too close to something behind me, I would have taken out any number of trees and bushes by now.

Obviously this truck was not my choice. After almost a year of cramming three car seats across the back seat of Chris’ Jeep Liberty, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we really needed something roomier. Like any other proper suburban family, we initially discussed minivans. Chris was very against this idea. He practically broke out in hives at the thought. But I could have cared less. I’m not much of a car person in general.

I think my disinterest in cars was cultivated early when as a teenager, I drove a 1985 used “Red Renault Alliance.” I put this in quotes because that is generally how people referred to it: “the Red Renault Alliance.” Here is a picture:

My parents purchased this when I got my drivers license so that I could drive myself to school (at the time I had a very inconvenient public transportation commute from Capitol Hill to Georgetown). My father seemed to believe that I was incredibly lucky to have my own car to drive instead of sharing theirs. I of course, knew that “lucky” better described my friends who were getting new Suzuki Samurais and Cabriolet convertibles for their sixteenth birthdays. Seriously though, I now agree with my father. Upon the Red Renault Alliance’s demise just two short years after we bought it, my brother did have to share a car with my parents. Which in his sixteen year old opinion “sucked.”

The next car that I had was purchased after I got my first job out of college. It was a little blue Toyota Tercel. And in my own twenty-two year old opinion, it “sucked.” But it was all I could afford. And after the dramatic explosion/car flipping/burned feet drama of the Red Renault Alliance, I was not interested in buying anything used. My tiny Tercel had vinyl seats that burned the backs of my legs in the summer and no power steering. This completely destroyed the amazing talent for parallel parking I developed in my parents’ crowded Capitol Hill neighborhood. But just like the Red Renault Alliance, the Tercel was not a status car, and I continued to view cars as simply a means of transportation.

Eventually, I had other larger sedans (Saturns, a Camry), but my interest level never increased. I liked driving a shiny new car, but had no inclination to actually maintain it.

When I met Chris, it was clear that he wasn’t not a car person either. In fact, when I first started dating him, I always drove. His car was a hand me down from his grandparents. I don’t remember the make, but it was white with maroon interior (I believe his friends called it the “maxi pad”) and it had started emitting fumes that made him light headed after about 15 minutes of driving. He moved on to a very basic Jeep Cherokee and shared my apathetic attitude toward maintenance.

So fast forward eight years, three kids, several mediocre cars and a suburban commute later…and we were at a loss as to what we wanted. One weekend, Chris went out to test drive some minivans he had researched online, and instead came back with this:

I was speechless. It was huge. I had to step up onto a running board in order to hoist myself into the front seat. This was by far, the biggest vehicle that I had ever tried to drive. But it’s now been over a year, and like anything else, I’ve gotten used to it.

Reasons why I hate driving it include the following:

Like I said, I’m terrible at parking it. And I don’t even mean parallel parking. I walk out of the grocery store and locate my car by looking for the big truck parked on a diagonal. No matter how carefully I try to get into a space, I usually end up crooked or right up against one neighboring car and a mile away from the other. I’ve even been keyed! And I often end up with some man trying to help direct me in – like those airport guys on the tarmac helping planes pull up to the gates. It’s just humiliating.

Additionally – I find that people are mean to me. Maybe they see my big truck and think that I have an aggressive personality to go with it. All I know is that I have the hardest time getting people to let me change lanes in traffic. It’s like they’re in their little economy car thinking, “Oh no you don’t, you big gas guzzling bully – you’re not cutting in front of me.” If only I could install a sign that said, “I am not driving this car by choice – I have too many children to fit into an environment-friendly compact car.” I doubt anyone would care. They’d probably just key my sign.

Finally, we just don’t match. I don’t look like a big car person. Not only is it not my style, but I don’t have the attitude to pull it off. I’m not particularly petite, but I’ve seen tiny girls climb out of trucks bigger than mine looking like they own the parking lot (they, of course can park without taking up two spaces). This will never be me.

So what car SHOULD I be driving? Most would answer this question with their idea of a dream car. Something eye catching, fast, vintage, expensive… But I’d rather spend the money on my house or a great vacation.

Someday my children will get their drivers licenses, and they’ll be the ones envying their friends with fancy new cars. That’s right – they’ll be driving whatever junkie jalopy we give them. And they’ll be damn lucky to have it!

A Different "Meme"

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Meme is a term that is new to me. It’s what people call lists of questions that are passed around in a blog game of tag. It’s never been defined for me, but my high school French dictates that it simply refers to giving the “same” list of questions to different people. If this is wrong – please correct me in comments. I won’t be embarrassed since I’ve pretty much passed the point of no return on that front.

There have been a few that looked fun, but I haven’t tried one yet. I did consider a meme that required one word answers to all the questions… Nuff said – not happening here. And I forgot to keep track of where I saw others that caught my attention. So even though I want to try one out – I don’t actually have one…

My good friend Nancy (who really needs a blog by the way), pointed out that one of my advertisers, Tea, will be launching their own blog this Fall, and they’re looking for “writers interested in conversation about raising little citizens of the world.” As someone who has always loved to travel (one of the highlights of my entire existence was a business trip to Beijing), I really like this idea. I want my children to be citizens of the world. I want them to have interesting cultural experiences. I want to visit the countries of our great great grandparents. I want to take my family to restaurants that offer both traditional and fusion cuisines from around the world. But there is one problem. Actually there are three, and their names are Oliver, George and Eleanor.

Oliver is three years old and George and Eleanor are still a few months away from two. So they’re not really the best candidates for intercontinental travel and fine dining. There were six questions posed to us as writers for subject matter in potential blog contributions. I found that I could not only NOT answer them, I couldn’t really imagine how ANYONE with children small enough to wear Tea designs could possibly contribute to such a discussion.

So I’m creating a new meme. It’s called Citizens of the World. Here are the questions and my answers:

Q: Do you know great places to travel abroad with kids?

A: We have no experience in traveling as a family outside of the U.S. but I believe my husband’s take on our flight to Boston for a wedding was “never again.” I don’t think that Paris will be our next destination.

Q: Do you remember what your child thought the first time he/she tried sushi?

A: My children don’t eat anything that isn’t breaded and/or doesn’t involve cheese. So unless someone can come up with a sushi grilled cheese combo – I just don’t think I can answer this question.

Q: Are you celebrating cultural traditions with your family?

A: Well…unless you count doing take out pizza for dinner every Tuesday (HEY – I’m ¼ Italian), then no.

Q: Do you have a funny or memorable story about an international adventure?

A: YES! Where do I start? Oh wait – you mean with the kids. Yeah – no.

Q: Is your child learning another language?

A: My children can barely speak English at this point. But Oliver can count to five in Spanish thanks to all of the TV watching. Yeah Dora!

Q: What are your favorite children’s books that feature images or stories from around the world?

A: Okay – this is a little more in the realm of possibility for us. An all time favorite book in our house is one from my own childhood bookshelf: Come Over to My House written by Theo LeSieg and illustrated by Richard Erdoes. An American boy visits children all over the world and gets to see where and how they live. It’s adorable, surprisingly inoffensive considering that it was written over 40 years ago and has great illustrations and memorable rhyming text.

The truth is – I’m just being snarky. These questions are perfectly reasonable for people who have to travel frequently as a means of visiting family, people who have one child, people who have really well behaved children that are great at entertaining themselves for long periods of time (it could happen), and people who may not travel but do a lot of cultural things within their cities and really make the effort to teach their children about other countries and cultures.

I would like to be this person – but I’m usually such a mess trying to keep up with our daily routine that I’m lucky if I can get everyone to eat one bite of a vegetable. Exotic foods are out of the question. And like I said – air travel with three toddlers is exhausting (for everyone). Small children tend to prefer routine and my kids are perfect examples of that. Sleeping in a new room in a new place translates either to them sleeping in my bed with me or me sleeping in their beds with them. And neither is particularly restful.

But the idea of this is actually very interesting and also motivating. I do want to expose my children to other cultures and encourage them to be inquisitive and curious about how the rest of the world lives. I want them to travel and have those once in a lifetime experiences that I did. I’m not willing to pack them all up for a once in lifetime trip to Beijing right now (that would definitely be “once in a lifetime” since I don’t think any of us would survive the trip). But I can take them to Chinatown. Hey – we used to take Oliver out for dim sum all the time before he decided that he wouldn’t anything that wasn’t covered in melted cheese. So maybe I do have some stories to tell.

I’m challenging myself on this one. I’m gong to come up with a post to submit. Even if it’s not used, I’ll feel more inspired to try new things with my kids and contribute to their illustrious future as citizens of the world. Everyone is invited to join in – I’d love to see the posts you submit. And also feel free to use my meme. It’s not exactly what I had had in mind – but sometimes you have to get out of those same-old same-old patterns and try something different.

I’m Huge in Utah

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Oh – I’ve just been having a little too much fun with this blogging thing…my day job is starting to suffer. So I’m taking a “professional health day” from the internet tomorrow. My online activity will be limited to work-related searches only. This will be painful.

But first I want to thank all of the funny Mormons who commented on my last post. My husband said he cringed when he read it. He was very worried that I’d be run out of town on a rail (that’s a saying right?) But he was right when he said that that Mormons are lovely people. Okay – “lovely” is my word, not his, but that’s what he meant.

I’m so glad that I haven’t been shunned by this huge segment of the blogging community at large. In one of the comments, it was noted that I have a number of Mormons in my list of favorite blogs. I noticed that as well, and it was sort of what made me want to write that post. I seem to be a Mormon groupie (or in this context – a Mormon “lurker”). And honestly, it’s a relief to finally be outed.

I will not be up until midnight writing one of my typically long diatribes like this one or this one. The twins have head colds and are taking turns crying and wanting to be rocked. And Oliver has decided that I’m his new favorite security blanket, and won’t let me leave his room at night. Tonight we’re letting him stay up ridiculously late in hopes that he’ll be so exhausted that he’ll just fall asleep and end this recent pattern behavior. And anyone who has ever tried to get a good night’s sleep while sharing a toddler bed with a three year old will understand my sense of desperation.

Wish me luck and see you Thursday.

Empty Threats, Bizarre Statements and Why the Wiggles are so Thin

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I’ve found that ever since I became a parent, I’ve started doing something that as a teenage babysitter, I swore I’d never do. I threaten my kids with consequences that have no basis in reality. For example, although Oliver no longer naps, I habitually claim that if he doesn’t stop the problem behavior at issue, I will send him straight up to his room for a nap. It could be 10 a.m., 2 p.m. or 7 p.m. That’s the threat. It’s ridiculous, but I just can’t seem to come up with anything better in the heat of the moment (and don’t even talk to me about time outs or naughty steps because we’ve tried it all and none of it works for us).

One result of this is that I can now identify any empty threat, even if I’m hearing it from a random stranger passing by. Prior to having my own kids, I only spotted the obvious ones from the people I knew well. But now that I’m a parent, I can tell when other parents are being less than truthful about punishment. Recently at the mall, I overheard a woman telling her kids that if they didn’t stop fighting they “wouldn’t be able to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner.” Oh sure, I can hear it now, “Hi Mom. Bad news. Yeah, the kids are fighting. Mmm hmm – so we’re not going to be able to make it for dinner tonight.” Like that would EVER happen.

I’ve also heard myself say some of the most bizarre things without even a hint of irony. Here is a selection from the past couple of weeks:

  • Boys without pants can’t go outside.
  • Boys who poop in their pants don’t get ice cream.
  • You can’t be naked – the floor is too dirty.
  • Please don’t throw things at her head.
  • I won’t sit with you if you keep flinging yourself at me.
  • There is no way that you’re bringing that dead caterpillar inside.
  • Stop doing that to the worm. He doesn’t like it.
  • Hey – who wants to watch Barney?

And I can honestly say that I never expected to feel exhilarated at the sight of an unflushed toilet. That is – when it is my son that didn’t flush, and only if it shows some hard won results of the never-ending torture that people call potty training.

Not only have my conversational skills suffered, I’ve also gotten nerdier (if that’s even possible). Not only do I enjoy many Wiggles songs, I am sometimes unable to restrain myself trying out some of their more complicated dance routines. All under the guise of entertaining the kids of course – but it’s hard to resist those Hoop De Doo Wiggly Polka moves. The good news is that all of this ridiculous leaping about is very similar to a high impact aerobics class.

With the exception of pushing the double stroller around on the weekends, I really don’t have free time to exercise these days. Luckily, my schedule from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed doesn’t afford many opportunities to snack; and running up and down the stairs of my town house is kind of like exercise. But I’ve decided that if I ever need to incorporate some more intense cardio, I’ll just “do” a Wiggles DVD. The movement involved in each one seems to be the equivalent of an hour long 80’s jazzercise class. No wonder they all look so trim in their brightly colored, monochromatic lycra-blend outfits.

This work out plan will not be effective with all kid DVDs of course. I’d say that The Backyardigans are another good choice since they do a lot of dancing (and they totally rock) – but Barney won’t work. He’s not very dynamic. Hmm…seems as if I’m back to the bizarre statements… Now if I want to come full circle, I just need to find a reason to threaten Oliver with a nap.

More Star Wars Underwear, an Entire Chocolate Chip Pound Cake and Various and Sundry Extras

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Since the Darth Vader underwear was such a big hit (and surprisingly drove some traffic to my little blog – wonder what those people were expecting…), I thought it would be a shame not to give Yoda the spotlight.

After putting the twins to bed, I came downstairs to find Oliver, post-potty, sitting at his table, pantsless and playing with Play-Doh. I immediately put some underwear on him and then got inspired to get my camera when he was leaning over. I mean, I’m sorry but a chubby heiney (excuse any misspellings – but this word does not seem to be in spell check) displaying an image of battle-ready Yoda is just screaming to be photographed. Clearly, this can in no way match the black Darth Vader underwear – but it’s pretty awesome nonetheless. Poor Oliver – what did he do to deserve this?

I also thought I’d fulfill my cake related topic for the week by admitting that I have consumed an entire chocolate chip pound cake from Whole Foods over the course of two days. I don’t know what is more disgusting – the fact that I ate the equivalent of a pound of butter or that that I’m wishing that I had purchased two of them…

In case you are doing some online shopping, I thought I’d announce that two companies in my “market place” (i.e. ads for which I get a sales commission – which really just translates into discounted shopping pour moi) are having some good sales right now. First, Tea Collection, one of my favorite baby/kids clothes brands is having a Summer Sale with up to “75% off select items” through July 31. They will also be offering an “Every Day Deal” through the end of July in which one full price item is discounted for one day. And the Pink Olive Boutique is offering a “surprise gift” with a purchase of $50 or more through July 30. Why not July 31? I’m not sure – personally I would have rounded out the full month. You can access both sites from my side bar, and if you feel strongly against me getting a commission, not to worry – you can still get the discounts by going directly to their websites.

Lastly – I thought I’d let you know that someone from Portland Oregon actually found my website today by searching for “how big is a piece of poop” on Google. I’m so honored that I can be found on Google by anyone who would like to know the answer to this thought provoking question. It ties in nicely with my first post about looking for a domain name. So when I’m not amusing myself with domain name searches, I’ll be checking my site’s keyword searches for new and interesting entries. In the meantime, please let me know if you find me with any other poop-related searches. And if I don’t hear from you, have a great weekend!

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Wrap Up

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10:30 p.m. on Sunday, the flight from Miami to Dulles
The Big Piece of Poop

So how was the rest of the trip? Really great actually. Everything was 100% better with Mom home. We had tons of time in the pool, went to see the Key West fireworks right on the water, and even made a second trip to the Butterfly Museum. That last one wasn’t my choice, but Oliver and I happened to be passing by and he got so excited when he saw the sign that I couldn’t say no. What did we have to do anyway? It’s not like we had previous engagements.

The only problem with these great experiences (butterflies, fireworks) is that Oliver doesn’t understand that we can’t do them whenever the mood strikes us – like we can jump in the pool, watch the Wiggles or rip off our clothes and run around naked (that would be him, not me – must be something about Key West, I had a hell of a time trying to keep clothes on that boy). So the morning after we went to the Butterfly Museum, he marched out of the bedroom and said, “butterflies please!” And of course, if we got into the car to do something really fun like buy groceries or pick my Dad up at the shop, he would be convinced that we were going to see butterflies. Then the same thing happened after we saw the fireworks. He just couldn’t understand why we weren’t racing down to the pier to catch the next showing.

I think that the Fourth of July fireworks may have been the most exciting event that Oliver has ever attended. And even with the crowds and last minute plans, it all went quite smoothly. Although we did have a slight delay in our leave time due to Oliver having a “number two” accident in his pull up. Anyone who has used pull ups with their kids will know that they are not engineered to accommodate much more than a pee pee accident. If the pull up isn’t positioned perfectly on Oliver’s fairly impressive backside, the coverage isn’t quite adequate. Basically, not only did I have to clean up the messy pull up, I had to clean up a little mess on the floor. At least I knew about it and handled it before Oliver could “help.” It never ceases to amaze me how someone who has zero inclination to pick up his toys will suddenly become my best helper when there is poop on the floor. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until someone walks over and hands you a piece of poop.

Sorry about all of the poop talk, but it’s a minor miracle that I’ve managed to write this blog for the past two weeks without mentioning poop. It’s like the real theme of my life right now with two toddlers in diapers and one preschooler potty training. I should have named my blog “The Big Piece of Poop.” Okay – enough about that – even I’m grossed out, and I’ve actually let my kids puke in my hand.

Back to the fireworks – it was spectacular. Matt stayed home with Mom, so it was just Dad, Oliver and me. Oliver had never seen them in person before, so we weren’t sure if the loud noises would scare him. They didn’t, but he did seem to get a kick out of putting his hand on his head and saying “ouch – hurt my head.” Not sure where that came from – but as long as he was happy, I was content to say, “oh no – are you okay?” (which is the expected scripted response). One thing that struck us as rather odd was that he insisted on calling the fireworks “addition.” The minute they started, he was exclaiming, “Oh look – addition!” After a few questions about what he meant, we just went with it and said, “wow – addition! Look at that one!” My mother figured it out the next day – she asked if he could be saying “magician.” I didn’t think so – it would be more likely that he’d just say magic or hocus pocus. But when I asked, “Oliver, can you say magician,” he gave me a huge smile and said, “addition!” My mother is the original Baby Whisperer.

One other interesting incident from the Fourth is that as we were leaving our parking place, we were accused by the driver behind us of hitting his front bumper. My father was driving, so I would be the first one to ask if he did hit the other car, as well as become skeptical if informed that he did not. But I was in the passenger seat and can attest to the fact that I did not feel anything that resembled significant impact. Okay – here is the interesting part. When the angry man came over to our car to complain, my father just looked at him and said, “no, I didn’t hit your car.” When the man animatedly pointed behind him and said that both he and his wife felt it and he could see the mark on his bumper, my father said, “no, I did no such thing.” And then we drove away. Now if it were me driving, I would have been outside comparing bumper scratches and arguing about whether the man’s scratch was silver (like our car) or in fact white. I would be trying to smooth things over, worrying about what those people thought of me and beginning to question whether I may have actually backed into them without noticing it…. But not my Dad. He just says, “no idea what you’re talking about,” and drives away. It was just that easy. This really gives me a new perspective on my overwhelming sense of responsibility in the world. I may just adopt this novel attitude. Tell me that my membership expired last year? I’m sorry but your computer must be mistaken. Claim that I didn’t give you the full payment due? You must be wrong, since that was definitely a $20 that I handed you. Ask me why there is a big piece of poop on the floor? Poop? What poop?

We had a lazy weekend of long walks and swimming. Dad taught Oliver to blow bubbles in the water and do a sort of underwater half swim – redeeming himself for instigating that “push grandpa in the pool” game. And we even all went out to dinner on Saturday night. I’m really going to miss everyone when we get home. We had a terrible reason to have a wonderful time. But as I’ve said before, we’re taking things one day at a time and only considering one outcome in which Mom will be well again. In the meantime, I’ll have to bring the twins down to see her since she won’t be able to come to us in August as we had planned. And I can’t wait to see those little guys! I may have to wake them up when I get home.

9:30 a.m. first morning back at home
We’d Like to Welcome You [Back] to Munchkin Land

I am SO tired. I knew that I’d need to take a personal health day to catch up before heading back to work tomorrow – but I had no idea how much I’d need it. We didn’t get in until midnight, didn’t get all of our bags (need to deal with that today) and didn’t get to bed until almost 2 a.m.

This morning I was welcomed home by George and Eleanor who appear to have aged about five years over the past week. I forgot how chaotic they make things. I let Oliver sleep in so I was alone with the kids after Chris left for work, and the twins didn’t stop moving or talking for a second. And they have both added many new words and phrases to their repetoire while I was gone.

Eleanor has been my naysayer for a long time now. The answer to any question will always be “no.” “Do you want a waffle?” “No.” “Do you want to color?” “No.” ”What are you reading?” “No.” “Why do you have a diaper on your head?” “No.” Chris said that he worked on this with her over the weekend, and every time she said “no,” he would say, “yes.” So after a while, she caught on and started to work “yes” into her answers. Unfortunately, she’s now just combining the two, and instead of saying “no” will say “no-yes.” We’ll have to teach her to be more decisive before she starts dating…

George wanted to wake up his big brother, so I let the twins run into Oliver’s room when it was time for him to get up. They just climbed up on his little bed and made a toddler pile. It’s not easy to wake Oliver up in the morning. His circadian rhythms seem to run along the lines of staying up late and sleeping late (if you consider 7:30 a.m. late) – so I often feel like I’m trying to get a teenager out of bed in the morning. He pulls the covers over he head, rolls over and whispers, “sweeping” (which means “sleeping”). But he couldn’t resist his little brother poking him in the eye. Yes – it was just too much fun. So the three had a big roughhousing reunion with joyous shouts of “Oller!” from the twins and delighted giggles from their big brother. I’m so happy to be home with my little people.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II (continued)

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9:30 a.m. at the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory
Butterfly Sanctuary

With Mom coming home and the holiday weekend, I probably won’t have another post until Monday. But I did want to get a short one in today since we did something that we ALWAYS do in Key West. We went to the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. Oliver and I make a point of visiting the “butterfly museum” (that’s what I call it – Oliver just says “BUTTERFLY!”) whenever we come down to Key West. My brother and I first went several years ago before I had kids, and it was totally surreal. We walked in and immediately started laughing. It was like we had been transported to a scene in a Disney movie, with clouds of colorful butterflies flitting to and fro everywhere we looked. And Oliver has now been three times. Last year when he was two, he called them “bah-whys” and I have video of him storming around pointing and saying this over and over. Today was more of the same – but he can actually say “butterfly.”

The butterflies are hard to take pictures of when they are flying, but there were some opportunities for still shots. I probably shouldn’t have let Oliver roll around on the ground like that – but whatever. I’ve had to stop him from licking the floor before, so looking at a butterfly didn’t seem so bad. At one point a big blue one landed on his shoulder (no good pictures of this unfortunately), and he spent the rest of the time we were there trying to coax another one to do the same. He didn’t have that much success with his technique which mainly entailed lunging at them with his shoulder thrust forward and shouting, “BUTTERFLY!”

A couple of friendly butterflies followed us out. Just kidding – they make sure nothing like that happens, but they do give you little paper butterflies to stick to your shirt. I’m not sure that Oliver made the differentiation – he was so thrilled. But then again, I hope he eventually did since by the time we reached our next destination, his paper butterfly was ripped to shreds.

Incidentally, this is what I look like when I’m in Key West. No makeup, tee shirt and flip flops, hair either air dried or just frizzy in the humidity. Okay, so that’s generally what I look like every weekend in the summer heat – but I do put in a little more effort for the office!

Darth Vader Underwear for Five Year Olds

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Or at least that’s the size my giant three year old wears. Just a little something I’ve been meaning to post… Black background, light saber blazing, cape billowing in flames. Awesome. And totally age appropriate. I had to buy it (besides – it was the only underwear in his size at Target). And of course, I couldn’t resist the photo op. That’s right – I’m the best mom EVER.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Part II

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3:00 p.m. at my parent’s house
Splash Down

Well the news wasn’t particularly good, but it could definitely be worse. As much as it’s not going to be pleasant (to say the least), we’re just grateful that there is a treatment plan. So continuing in the vein of taking one day at a time, we’re looking forward to getting Mom home on Thursday if all goes well.

In the meantime, Oliver and I have been hanging out with Dad, going to the shop and playing in the pool. We saw my brother Matt when he got back from work yesterday, and we’ll get to spend more time with him since he’s not working on Wednesday or Thursday. Oliver was fascinated with one of Matt’s bicycles and I think I’ve finally gotten him to realize that if we touch it and anything bad happens, Uncle Matt may put us on the next plane off the island. He builds bikes entirely out of parts that were purchased on ebay and through other resources he uses. It’s more than a hobby – to me it seems like borderline obsession, but a cool one at that. I tried to take a picture, but I’m not the best photographer (except for that picture of the twist tie on the hook – that was a masterpiece). So I asked him to e-mail me one:

We’ve spent most of our time in the pool with Oliver, and my father has come up with some great new games for them to play. There is the one where he swims the length of the pool and back underwater while Oliver watches (because Oliver is so good at following directions and staying “right there” until Dad resurfaces), the one where Oliver pushes him into the pool, and a variation on a game that Oliver calls “jump down” at home. In “jump down” he will pick the highest point he can find and then leap into your arms whether you are ready or not (although he does warn you with a hearty “JUMP DOWN!”). In the new game, “splash down,” the goal is less one of altitude and more one of force. The players try to make the biggest splash they can manage – preferably when someone fully clothed is nearby. I just can’t wait to try these out at the community pool…. Here is a picture of that fantastic “push Grandpa in the pool” game:

Now a responsible parent would have put an end to this immediately, explaining that it’s not safe and that we never push anyone in the pool. My reaction was to say, “hold that pose – let me get my camera!” Seriously – I think I have about 50 shots of this. Yes – that is the number of times that this trick was performed (at least). But I think that today when I was home alone with Oliver, playing in the pool (for TWO HOURS, god help me), I made it clear that it’s the push Grandpa in the pool game, not the push Mommy in the pool game. So hopefully, he’ll reserve that activity for Key West – you know, as a special thing between them.

10:30 p.m. at my parents’ house
A Useful Talent

I’m sitting next to my Dad while he watches (well, while we watch) America’s Got Talent. The only time that I ever watch reality programming is with my parents. Apparently, it’s the only TV genre that they can both agree on. They don’t watch the scary ones where people eat bugs – but they just love anything that involves dancing – Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance – and singing – DUH, American Idol. And of course America’s Got Talent has lots of singing and dancing. Since this particular night is one of the early shows, it’s the first round of tryouts and the acts include a lot of bizarre novelty stuff. Right now a man is swallowing a sword. Earlier a 7’ tall man (named GEORGE – like my sweet baby boy at home) wrapped a long tube around a volunteer from the audience. Then he threaded one end through a nostril, pulled it out of his mouth and stuck it into a bottle of milk. THEN he took the other end put it in his mouth and started drinking. He’s going on to the next round. I was happy to hear that we’ll be watching So You Think You Can Dance tomorrow night.

Okay – I take it back. I just saw a tiny autistic nine year old who sang before he learned how to talk get voted up to the next level. The tears are flowing.

Many things today have made me feel a little misty. Seeing my mother’s strength and courage, as well as experiencing the support of their little community. Key West is much like a small town in that people who live here get to know each other in the shops, restaurants and daily comings and goings. A woman who has a baby gear rental company, Holiday Baby, found out while renting me a jog stroller that my mother was sick. She was dropping the stroller off at the shop and in addition to insisting that I keep it as long as I need it at no cost, she told my Dad that she would come sit in the shop for him whenever he needed some help. The wonderful young woman who works part time for my parents and a friend of hers that works at another home furnishings store are going to arrange their schedules to help my mother complete decorating jobs that she simply can’t physically do on her own now. A woman that my mother knows has offered to drive her to and from her treatments if my father can’t leave work. Every time we see someone that has found out about Mom (and news seems to travel fast here), whether they are a good friend or just an acquaintance, they all want to help. And it’s not just the, “anything I can do, anything at all,” kind of help – it’s tangible, practical suggestions for things they can do for us. It’s pretty inspirational, and it makes me feel good to know that when I leave at the end of the week, my family will have a whole community eager to support them.

At this point, we have a plan for treatment, an incredible amount of support from friends and family both near and far, and we have every reason to believe that we’ll get through this again. Mom made it clear that she wants nothing but “positive thinking” around her. And THAT I can do. Surprisingly, in spite of a somewhat unhealthy amount of insecurity, this is something that I’m really quite good at. I won’t be sad or upset one minute before I absolutely have to. You can call it dissociation, you can call it denial – I won’t dispute that, but I prefer to think of it as “positive thinking.” So with that attitude, we’re now moving on to the next round…