As a surprise to my wonderful, caring, hardworking and (way) older-than-me husband, i planned a surprise trip to NYC to celebrate his birthday. we would fly down after work, spend the whole next day and night walking aimlessly around the city with cameras in hand, and fly home the next afternoon. easy and fun right? well, let's remember who we're dealing with here. nothing i ever do can be both easy and fun. that would be just way too, well, predictable. and i'm a hot mess at all times, so let's not let a little getaway sans children be any exception.
the last time we took a little weekend to ourselves was this summer when we went camping ("Not- Quite Campers"). remember that whole little bit about paranoid husband making me carry around a pocket knife just in case, i don't know, some bear jumped out at me or something? well, i'm lazy, and that knife was sitting in my weekend bag this whole time under my bed. that is, up until a couple of nights ago. that knife is now sitting at the security checkpoint at the airport. just a reminder, everyone: knives are not allowed on planes. they get kinda freaked out when you claim to have no idea what they are talking about as they pull you aside to dump your whole bag. (and, um, yeah... here's how our weekend began).
In an effort to both save some money and enhance our true sense of adventure, i pulled out the directions i had scribbled off the internet. google said that it was soooooo easy to get from the airport to our midtown hotel, and if google says it, it must be true, right? to make a very long, irritating story short, let's just say that google lied. after approximately 3 conversations with strangers and 3 different sets of directions, 4 unnecessary train transfers, 100 utterances of "are you serious, jen?", five long manhattan blocks in the rain, and one very lost walk through an empty grand central station in the middle of the night, we finally arrived at our final destination. note to self: subways are for natives, not suburban-like mothers who drive SUVs. us on a subway at night = fail.
We woke up the following morning looking forward to a fresh start. the concierge told us that if we stood in front of the hotel, times square was a couple blocks in front of us, central park was a 5 minute walk to the right, and soho was a quick subway (here we go...) ride to the left. no problem, we thought. we can totally do this. and we won't even look like tourists (cuz, uggghhh, who wants to look like a tourist?!?) so we started walking. stopped to eat, and continued walking. and walking and walking and walking. and nothing looked like anything we had seen in previous trips to the city, and the park (where we were headed) was no where in sight. and oh yeah, it was the only cold and rainy day the city had seen in over a week. 40 minutes later we smartened up, swallowed our pride, and asked some random person where we were. imagine the level of delight we experienced when we found out we had been walking in the WRONG DIRECTION for the entire time. the only thing that was better than the news was the weather- it was now pouring/sleeting, and of course neither one of us had a winter coat on.
but true adventurers don't let a little weather get them down, and we were determined to make the best of this little mishap. we ducked in to the nearest starbucks so i could let my slicked-back wig-like coif frizz out a little, and devise a plan. after a quick trip to soho (so i could get my picture taken in front of Dash of course- and no, much to husband's dismay, kim wasn't there.) we decided to do what any other smart couples without their children would do- start eating and drinking heavily. and i think husband ended up having a pretty decent birthday.
and then it was time to go. the sun was shining brightly, people were all over the streets loving their lives, fake purses were being sold at the street corners, and we, of course, had to say farewell to this crazy city. don't worry ny- we'll be back for round two. and we'll probably get insanely lost again. but we'll still love it, as always.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
missing princesses
i walked in to the bathroom the other day to find my two-year-old scrubbing the floor with my toothbrush. as i sit here and type, the two of them are in the tub together and i'm pretending not to notice that they're spitting water in eachother's faces. (as long as they keep laughing about it, I'll keep ignoring). as we looked out the window the other day longing for summer, i said, "ugh, don't you miss swimming in the pool?" and one of them replied, "Yeah. and don't YOU miss digging for worms?" now, i may be way off here, but i gotta imagine that little girls don't do this stuff.
when my sister and i were growing up, we scrubbed our TEETH with our toothbrushes, played with My Little Ponies in the bathtub, and were completely grossed out by worms. we were normal.
we have tried to be as gender neutral as possible in our house, never shying away from certain toys or colors because "they are for girls". in fact, i let them play with my makeup when they are curious, paint their nails (well, a couple of random fingers) when they tell me mine are fancy, and laugh when they try on my heels and parade clumisly around the living room.
and yet, when perusing through a toy catalog the other day, my three-year-old insisted that we turn the pink pages immediately if not sooner because "that's all the girl stuff". in a room full of all kinds of toys, neither one has ever picked up a baby doll, or something pink to play with for that matter. instead, they are instantly attracted to all things moving, making noise, and destructive. they enjoy superheroes, trucks, and robots. they build towers with the intent to knock them down, and let their race cars go at the top of the railing to see how fast they will crash in to the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
i always pictured myself as a mother who took her little girl to ballet on saturday mornings, painted her nails on sunday nights, and did her hair before school. i always thought that at this point in my life i would be picking out sparkly party shoes and dresses with matching headbands. i NEVER imagined myself wondering what in the world was just stuffed down the toilet (again), or asking who wants to go watch the diggers at the construction site down the street. and yet, now, i absolutely cannot imagine it any other way.
i could launch into a diatribe about society's subliminal pressures and gender stereotypes here (and trust me, as a high school teacher for 10 years, i could go on and on), but i won't. instead, i'll just leave it plain and simple: every single day, these boys fascinate, puzzle, amuse, amaze, and educate me. and yes, i'd be lying if i said that i never wonder what i'm missing out on by not having any princesses. but then i snap back to reality: no other girls to mess with my stuff= mama stays the princess of the house. and that i can live with. happily. And GOD, I love my boys!
when my sister and i were growing up, we scrubbed our TEETH with our toothbrushes, played with My Little Ponies in the bathtub, and were completely grossed out by worms. we were normal.
we have tried to be as gender neutral as possible in our house, never shying away from certain toys or colors because "they are for girls". in fact, i let them play with my makeup when they are curious, paint their nails (well, a couple of random fingers) when they tell me mine are fancy, and laugh when they try on my heels and parade clumisly around the living room.
and yet, when perusing through a toy catalog the other day, my three-year-old insisted that we turn the pink pages immediately if not sooner because "that's all the girl stuff". in a room full of all kinds of toys, neither one has ever picked up a baby doll, or something pink to play with for that matter. instead, they are instantly attracted to all things moving, making noise, and destructive. they enjoy superheroes, trucks, and robots. they build towers with the intent to knock them down, and let their race cars go at the top of the railing to see how fast they will crash in to the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
i always pictured myself as a mother who took her little girl to ballet on saturday mornings, painted her nails on sunday nights, and did her hair before school. i always thought that at this point in my life i would be picking out sparkly party shoes and dresses with matching headbands. i NEVER imagined myself wondering what in the world was just stuffed down the toilet (again), or asking who wants to go watch the diggers at the construction site down the street. and yet, now, i absolutely cannot imagine it any other way.
i could launch into a diatribe about society's subliminal pressures and gender stereotypes here (and trust me, as a high school teacher for 10 years, i could go on and on), but i won't. instead, i'll just leave it plain and simple: every single day, these boys fascinate, puzzle, amuse, amaze, and educate me. and yes, i'd be lying if i said that i never wonder what i'm missing out on by not having any princesses. but then i snap back to reality: no other girls to mess with my stuff= mama stays the princess of the house. and that i can live with. happily. And GOD, I love my boys!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
February Staycation
so here it is- february break in gloomy, snowy upstate new york. the highly anticipated week off chuck full of sledding, playdates, and otherwise fun outings. and all we have done is watch tv. a lot of tv. yo gabba gabba, handy manny, mickey mouse clubhouse, and of course the new favorite- jake and the neverland pirates. ah yes... february break and my kids are sick. not just runny nose and sneezy kind of sick. no way- my kids like to do it big. we're talkin' 103 degree fevers and breathing treatment kind of sick. so instead of sitting here typing furiously away with vents about our plans that went awry, i will instead focus on how big a fan i am of children's tv.
cj (a well-rounded, smart, social kid btw) watched his first baby einstein video when he was 4 months old. his dad came home with the entire collection as a surprise for him a month later. i know, i know, there are parents everywhere gasping right now- "but kids aren't supposed to watch tv till they're two!!" well, i think that is the sole piece of "expert" advice I didn't pay attention to. and guess what happened? NOTHING!! except that he learned what a "wombat" was before he was two years old, and began pointing to the parrot on his nursery wall and saying "tropical bird". thank you, baby einstein.
ty, as anyone who knows from either firsthand experience or from reading this blog, knows that he was unlike any kind of baby we ever could have prepared for. when he first came home from the hospital, there were nights when literally the only thing that would stop him from crying was sportscenter. not kidding. and not just any show would do. the only other show he would/will stop dead in his tracks for (which again, everyone knows doesn't happen often with him) is mickey mouse clubhouse. a show full of colors, counting, opposites, shapes, and call-and-response- what's not to love?
i could seriously go on and on, but neither disney nor nick jr. is paying me nearly enough. let's just say that i owe it to handy manny for teaching my kids spanish, the friends in gabbaland for teaching them life lessons (seriously- do you think they're gonna listen to me when i tell them "keep trying, keep trying, don't give up, never give up" or "don't bite your friends"? yeah right. but if it comes from muno and brobie, it must be truth). oh yeah, and a special thanks to jake and the neverland pirates for babysitting for me while i went upstairs to take a shower by myself. (oh c'mon- don't act like you've never had the tv be your babysitter. you know you'd take the bridge just like the rest of us if it wasn't there to act as your salvation once in a while...)
i literally almost died the other day when i sat down to do playdoh with them, and cut out a bunch of different shapes. (note: see? i do other things with my kids besides watch tv. we actually read a lot and stuff, too...) "oh cool pattern, mama," cj said. excuse me? cool what? where did you learn that? "blue's clues". so thank you also to blue's clues.
so we may not be out sledding or catching up with friends this week, but we are still enjoying our QT together on the couch. it's like one long pajama party. well, minus the party part and with the addition of some horrible virus and periodic doctor visits. we may just come back from this illness a little bit smarter.
cj (a well-rounded, smart, social kid btw) watched his first baby einstein video when he was 4 months old. his dad came home with the entire collection as a surprise for him a month later. i know, i know, there are parents everywhere gasping right now- "but kids aren't supposed to watch tv till they're two!!" well, i think that is the sole piece of "expert" advice I didn't pay attention to. and guess what happened? NOTHING!! except that he learned what a "wombat" was before he was two years old, and began pointing to the parrot on his nursery wall and saying "tropical bird". thank you, baby einstein.
ty, as anyone who knows from either firsthand experience or from reading this blog, knows that he was unlike any kind of baby we ever could have prepared for. when he first came home from the hospital, there were nights when literally the only thing that would stop him from crying was sportscenter. not kidding. and not just any show would do. the only other show he would/will stop dead in his tracks for (which again, everyone knows doesn't happen often with him) is mickey mouse clubhouse. a show full of colors, counting, opposites, shapes, and call-and-response- what's not to love?
i could seriously go on and on, but neither disney nor nick jr. is paying me nearly enough. let's just say that i owe it to handy manny for teaching my kids spanish, the friends in gabbaland for teaching them life lessons (seriously- do you think they're gonna listen to me when i tell them "keep trying, keep trying, don't give up, never give up" or "don't bite your friends"? yeah right. but if it comes from muno and brobie, it must be truth). oh yeah, and a special thanks to jake and the neverland pirates for babysitting for me while i went upstairs to take a shower by myself. (oh c'mon- don't act like you've never had the tv be your babysitter. you know you'd take the bridge just like the rest of us if it wasn't there to act as your salvation once in a while...)
i literally almost died the other day when i sat down to do playdoh with them, and cut out a bunch of different shapes. (note: see? i do other things with my kids besides watch tv. we actually read a lot and stuff, too...) "oh cool pattern, mama," cj said. excuse me? cool what? where did you learn that? "blue's clues". so thank you also to blue's clues.
so we may not be out sledding or catching up with friends this week, but we are still enjoying our QT together on the couch. it's like one long pajama party. well, minus the party part and with the addition of some horrible virus and periodic doctor visits. we may just come back from this illness a little bit smarter.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Life Stinks
I have come to the realization that my kids will be in diapers until they are ten. Possibly longer. One of them was potty trained at two, only having "accidents" when he was just too busy to be bothered with going to the bathroom. By the time he was two and a half, he was no longer even wetting the bed at night. We were such proud parents and enjoyed bragging about our *obviously* advanced child.
A couple weeks ago, this same child prodigy did Number Two in his pants at the dinner table just because. I, genius mother that I am, had no idea what happened. I thought nothing of it when he announced out of the blue that he wanted to be "maked" and jumped out of his seat to take his clothes off. (After all, the kid is ALWAYS wanting to be maked). When I followed him in to the bathroom with the intention to get him re-dressed, they were nowhere in sight. He nonchalantly mentioned while climbing back up to finish his dinner that he threw them in the garbage because "they were getting old". He failed to tell me that they were filled with a mess of brown nastiness.
Meanwhile, the little one waits until he gets in the tub to do his thing. The first time he did it, he was less than a year old, and had been in the water less than 5 minutes. I may or may not have scooped it out and continued bathing him. I'll admit that was probably not my hit moment as Mother. When it happened again about 2 weeks ago, I didn't do that. I actually got him out and cleaned the tub. The following night, I didn't have to do anything. And that's because his older brother took care of it for me. I put them in the tub and went in to the room across the hall to put away laundry. (They have about 6 inches of water in the tub and the door stayed open, so don't panic here people). Anyway, when I heard a little voice say, "Mah-ahmmm, Ty poo-pooed in the tub again", I returned to the bathroom to find a little brown log sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Yes, CJ had picked up his brother's "accident" and removed it from the water.
I felt compelled to share these stories after my entire household was plagued with the stomach bug this week. So, ummmm, yeah. (SO GROSS.) And I've realized now that my one kid is fully back in diapers at bedtime since he has gone back to wetting his bed every single night, and my other kid won't even look at the potty without saying, "No way. Later", that maybe they aren't the prodigies I once thought them to be. (Well, when it comes to bodily functions at least...)
I love my life. Most of the time. And other times, it... well, just plain stinks.
A couple weeks ago, this same child prodigy did Number Two in his pants at the dinner table just because. I, genius mother that I am, had no idea what happened. I thought nothing of it when he announced out of the blue that he wanted to be "maked" and jumped out of his seat to take his clothes off. (After all, the kid is ALWAYS wanting to be maked). When I followed him in to the bathroom with the intention to get him re-dressed, they were nowhere in sight. He nonchalantly mentioned while climbing back up to finish his dinner that he threw them in the garbage because "they were getting old". He failed to tell me that they were filled with a mess of brown nastiness.
Meanwhile, the little one waits until he gets in the tub to do his thing. The first time he did it, he was less than a year old, and had been in the water less than 5 minutes. I may or may not have scooped it out and continued bathing him. I'll admit that was probably not my hit moment as Mother. When it happened again about 2 weeks ago, I didn't do that. I actually got him out and cleaned the tub. The following night, I didn't have to do anything. And that's because his older brother took care of it for me. I put them in the tub and went in to the room across the hall to put away laundry. (They have about 6 inches of water in the tub and the door stayed open, so don't panic here people). Anyway, when I heard a little voice say, "Mah-ahmmm, Ty poo-pooed in the tub again", I returned to the bathroom to find a little brown log sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Yes, CJ had picked up his brother's "accident" and removed it from the water.
I felt compelled to share these stories after my entire household was plagued with the stomach bug this week. So, ummmm, yeah. (SO GROSS.) And I've realized now that my one kid is fully back in diapers at bedtime since he has gone back to wetting his bed every single night, and my other kid won't even look at the potty without saying, "No way. Later", that maybe they aren't the prodigies I once thought them to be. (Well, when it comes to bodily functions at least...)
I love my life. Most of the time. And other times, it... well, just plain stinks.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Dear Ty,
As is customary in my family, each person on his or her birthday has to (gets to?) hear from Mom what it was like the day they entered this world. Although all of us (now 31, 28, and 25) could tell our stories in our sleep, our birthday doesn't seem complete until we've heard it one more time. So in keeping with Greeno tradition, I have a little story for my littlest (I mean, youngest) boy:
Dear Ty,
I couldn't have asked for a more planned, textbook pregnancy. We decided when CJ was a baby that we wanted him to be a big brother right away, and our wish was granted. (so easily granted, in fact, that I knew for about 3 weeks that you were in there, even though the pregnancy tests and nurses were trying to convince me otherwise). I'm not even gonna mince any words with you- from the very beginning, you were huge. People started asking me if I was pregnant (I hate people) when I was only 8 and a half weeks along. (Just to keep this in perspective, I didn't have to tell anyone with CJ until about 14 weeks.) My favorite comment came from someone at the gym who, after I told her I was about 12 weeks, thought to say, "Damn, girl, whaddya have- 5 in there???" yeah, 5. good one. So anyway, I kept telling the doctors that I thought you were going to be huge, and they kept insisting that i was measuring "right on", that you'd probably be about 7 pounds or so.
time went on and your dada decided that he wanted to know whether you were a boy or a girl. even though i dreamed of being a mama to little girls, once i had your brother, i was hoping and praying that you were a boy. how great would it be to be able to give my boy a brother?! well, for some reason, i was convinced during my entire pregnancy (up until about the last month for some reason) that you were a girl. i wanted to stay surprised, but dada found out. he kept a secret for 4 whole months!!! (well, from me at least- just about every other person got told!) but regardless, he couldn't keep a birthday present a secret from me, and i cannot to this day believe that he never told me what you were. he even prepared your nursery all by himself without me finding out!!
everything kept progressing as normal, and when i went in to get checked out at 37 weeks, you had moved in to position and i had dilated. you were due on december 30 and we were all hoping you'd be the first baby of the new year. (i mean, c'mon, who wouldn't want a year's supply of diapers plus the added bonus of your face plastered all over the news just seconds after going through labor?!? sign me up!) so our plan was working out nicely, until our appointment the following week. the doctor, at 38 weeks, couldn't find your heartbeat!!! come to find out, she was looking for it in the completely wrong place- you had completely flipped around! your heart was actually way up by my ribcage. not good, ty, not good. little did i know, you were actually doing me a huge favor for which i will forever be grateful.
so because of all of the complications i had with CJ, they couldn't risk me going in to labor and possibly having to give me another emergency c-section. instead, they told me to "pick a day", and panicking, all i could think to say was "not Christmas".
And so somewhere around 9 in the morning of the 26th, i hopped up (well, kinda heaved my gigantic belly up) on the operating table, and started talking to my doctor about our Christmases through a blue sheet as she pulled and pried you out. (and destroyed every ounce of ab muscle that i had, after saying they were the strongest ones she'd ever felt. they'll never be the same. so thank you for that, too.) now, i promise to never tell you a lie, and i'll start now: when you came out, yes, i was elated to hear that you were a boy, BUT, your dad and i looked at each other and kinda wanted to put you back in. you just weren't cute, Baby. (But dont' worry- you've since made up for it!) you were nothing but fat (reeeaaaallllyyyy fat) cheeks, a loud cry, and pointed head from where my ribs were squeezing the heck out of you. i almost died yet wasn't really surprised when they told me that you were 8 pounds and 14 ounces. (I'll choose not pushing out a 9-pound load of child over some free diapers any day.) we expected you to look like another little CJ, and i guess we were just surprised when you didn't. In fact, you two looked and still look nothing alike. weird. your dada said he wanted a paternity test. i told him to go ahead and call maury.
starting that night in the nursery, you were a crybaby. i stayed by myself so that dada could take care of cj at home. even though they tell you not to, i let you lay in the hospital bed with me during the day and let the nurses take you with them at night. they never had to wake me up when you wanted to eat because i could hear your cry as they pushed you down the hall. i wonder when you're going to stop crying...
from that day on, besides the whole crying all the time thing, well... and the non-sleeping thing, oh yeah, and the acid reflux thing that happened when we got home, you were a good baby. you and your brother have extremely similar personalities, except that you are a little more carefree. you are very funny and love making people laugh. you finally started walking when you were 14 months old and still spend a lot of your time walking like you're drunk. (why can we so easily picture you as a frat boy smashing beer cans on your forehead?!) you love sports. in fact, watching sportscenter with your dad was literally the only thing that would calm you down in the middle of the night for a while. you are SO smart, and LOVE to be held. you are very in tune with people's feelings. we are so blessed to have such happy, healthy boys who are already best friends.
i can't believe that you are two years old already, ty jonathan. i love your laugh, your crazy curly hair, your big blue eyes, and your fatter-than-fat cheeks. thank you for completing our family. you'll always be my baby.
Love,
Mama
Dear Ty,
I couldn't have asked for a more planned, textbook pregnancy. We decided when CJ was a baby that we wanted him to be a big brother right away, and our wish was granted. (so easily granted, in fact, that I knew for about 3 weeks that you were in there, even though the pregnancy tests and nurses were trying to convince me otherwise). I'm not even gonna mince any words with you- from the very beginning, you were huge. People started asking me if I was pregnant (I hate people) when I was only 8 and a half weeks along. (Just to keep this in perspective, I didn't have to tell anyone with CJ until about 14 weeks.) My favorite comment came from someone at the gym who, after I told her I was about 12 weeks, thought to say, "Damn, girl, whaddya have- 5 in there???" yeah, 5. good one. So anyway, I kept telling the doctors that I thought you were going to be huge, and they kept insisting that i was measuring "right on", that you'd probably be about 7 pounds or so.
time went on and your dada decided that he wanted to know whether you were a boy or a girl. even though i dreamed of being a mama to little girls, once i had your brother, i was hoping and praying that you were a boy. how great would it be to be able to give my boy a brother?! well, for some reason, i was convinced during my entire pregnancy (up until about the last month for some reason) that you were a girl. i wanted to stay surprised, but dada found out. he kept a secret for 4 whole months!!! (well, from me at least- just about every other person got told!) but regardless, he couldn't keep a birthday present a secret from me, and i cannot to this day believe that he never told me what you were. he even prepared your nursery all by himself without me finding out!!
everything kept progressing as normal, and when i went in to get checked out at 37 weeks, you had moved in to position and i had dilated. you were due on december 30 and we were all hoping you'd be the first baby of the new year. (i mean, c'mon, who wouldn't want a year's supply of diapers plus the added bonus of your face plastered all over the news just seconds after going through labor?!? sign me up!) so our plan was working out nicely, until our appointment the following week. the doctor, at 38 weeks, couldn't find your heartbeat!!! come to find out, she was looking for it in the completely wrong place- you had completely flipped around! your heart was actually way up by my ribcage. not good, ty, not good. little did i know, you were actually doing me a huge favor for which i will forever be grateful.
so because of all of the complications i had with CJ, they couldn't risk me going in to labor and possibly having to give me another emergency c-section. instead, they told me to "pick a day", and panicking, all i could think to say was "not Christmas".
And so somewhere around 9 in the morning of the 26th, i hopped up (well, kinda heaved my gigantic belly up) on the operating table, and started talking to my doctor about our Christmases through a blue sheet as she pulled and pried you out. (and destroyed every ounce of ab muscle that i had, after saying they were the strongest ones she'd ever felt. they'll never be the same. so thank you for that, too.) now, i promise to never tell you a lie, and i'll start now: when you came out, yes, i was elated to hear that you were a boy, BUT, your dad and i looked at each other and kinda wanted to put you back in. you just weren't cute, Baby. (But dont' worry- you've since made up for it!) you were nothing but fat (reeeaaaallllyyyy fat) cheeks, a loud cry, and pointed head from where my ribs were squeezing the heck out of you. i almost died yet wasn't really surprised when they told me that you were 8 pounds and 14 ounces. (I'll choose not pushing out a 9-pound load of child over some free diapers any day.) we expected you to look like another little CJ, and i guess we were just surprised when you didn't. In fact, you two looked and still look nothing alike. weird. your dada said he wanted a paternity test. i told him to go ahead and call maury.
starting that night in the nursery, you were a crybaby. i stayed by myself so that dada could take care of cj at home. even though they tell you not to, i let you lay in the hospital bed with me during the day and let the nurses take you with them at night. they never had to wake me up when you wanted to eat because i could hear your cry as they pushed you down the hall. i wonder when you're going to stop crying...
from that day on, besides the whole crying all the time thing, well... and the non-sleeping thing, oh yeah, and the acid reflux thing that happened when we got home, you were a good baby. you and your brother have extremely similar personalities, except that you are a little more carefree. you are very funny and love making people laugh. you finally started walking when you were 14 months old and still spend a lot of your time walking like you're drunk. (why can we so easily picture you as a frat boy smashing beer cans on your forehead?!) you love sports. in fact, watching sportscenter with your dad was literally the only thing that would calm you down in the middle of the night for a while. you are SO smart, and LOVE to be held. you are very in tune with people's feelings. we are so blessed to have such happy, healthy boys who are already best friends.
i can't believe that you are two years old already, ty jonathan. i love your laugh, your crazy curly hair, your big blue eyes, and your fatter-than-fat cheeks. thank you for completing our family. you'll always be my baby.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, December 2, 2010
'Tis the season
There are two things in particular that I am loving about this holiday season so far: the threats to call Santa; and the ridiculously large, delicious meals (and the bottomless drinks) that seem to be everywhere I look. Ah yes, this really is the most wonderful time of the year.
I have been waiting for the day when I could say "You better behave yourself or I'm calling Santa", or "Hmmmm, I don't think Santa would like that", or "Do that one more time and I'm telling Santa to take back all of your presents". Well, that day has come, and Yes, I have officially become THAT mom. And you know what? I'm not apologizing for it. It is unbelievable how well it works.
I'm not sure what family meals are like for the average person out there, but all of this eating has had me thinking about the average family meal for me. One of the most recent gatherings at my parents' house went something like this:
My brother stopped at the gas station on his way over, and walked in as he was cracking open the can of Ridiculousness that he had just purchased (It's approximately 40% alcohol, 40% caffeine, and 20% sugar). Appalled not at the fact that he was about to give himself a heart attack, but rather at the fact that he was drinking out of a can at her dining room table, my mother poured about 2 shots worth of his drink in to a wine glass with ice and poured the rest down the drain. Then overcome with guilt, she slipped him a 5 dollar bill so he could stop and get another one on the way home. (Um, who drinks a $3 can of alcohol out of a wine glass, btw?)
Just as everyone took their seats, Ty began smearing yogurt in (great-great) Aunt Jane's hair. CJ, refusing to even LOOK at the piece of chicken on his plate, promptly picked it up as he yelled, "I will NEVER eat chicken!!!" and whipped it across the table, nearly knocking over the lit candlesticks. That was approximately 17 seconds before my sister yelled at me (yes, she actually did raise her voice) for even thinking about mentioning the New Boyfriend, (who's not-a-boyfriend-so-mind-your-own-business-and-stop-talking-about-it:oh-my-GOD-you-are-SOOOOOOO-annoying). And that fiasco was followed up with my cousin dropping it on me and letting me know that not only is my blog only KINDOF funny sometimes
, and really, I come across as one of those crazy housewives who slips Ritalin into her coffee and madly types away at her computer while the kids go crazy in the next room. (OK, so I've contemplated Hydrocodone once or twice- big deal).
Yes, this dinner really happened, and yes, it was considered a normal series of events. And luckily, we get to do it about 5 more times before the season is over. I hope all of you are as blessed with family as we are. Happy Holidays!
I have been waiting for the day when I could say "You better behave yourself or I'm calling Santa", or "Hmmmm, I don't think Santa would like that", or "Do that one more time and I'm telling Santa to take back all of your presents". Well, that day has come, and Yes, I have officially become THAT mom. And you know what? I'm not apologizing for it. It is unbelievable how well it works.
I'm not sure what family meals are like for the average person out there, but all of this eating has had me thinking about the average family meal for me. One of the most recent gatherings at my parents' house went something like this:
My brother stopped at the gas station on his way over, and walked in as he was cracking open the can of Ridiculousness that he had just purchased (It's approximately 40% alcohol, 40% caffeine, and 20% sugar). Appalled not at the fact that he was about to give himself a heart attack, but rather at the fact that he was drinking out of a can at her dining room table, my mother poured about 2 shots worth of his drink in to a wine glass with ice and poured the rest down the drain. Then overcome with guilt, she slipped him a 5 dollar bill so he could stop and get another one on the way home. (Um, who drinks a $3 can of alcohol out of a wine glass, btw?)
Just as everyone took their seats, Ty began smearing yogurt in (great-great) Aunt Jane's hair. CJ, refusing to even LOOK at the piece of chicken on his plate, promptly picked it up as he yelled, "I will NEVER eat chicken!!!" and whipped it across the table, nearly knocking over the lit candlesticks. That was approximately 17 seconds before my sister yelled at me (yes, she actually did raise her voice) for even thinking about mentioning the New Boyfriend, (who's not-a-boyfriend-so-mind-your-own-business-and-stop-talking-about-it:oh-my-GOD-you-are-SOOOOOOO-annoying). And that fiasco was followed up with my cousin dropping it on me and letting me know that not only is my blog only KINDOF funny sometimes
, and really, I come across as one of those crazy housewives who slips Ritalin into her coffee and madly types away at her computer while the kids go crazy in the next room. (OK, so I've contemplated Hydrocodone once or twice- big deal).
Yes, this dinner really happened, and yes, it was considered a normal series of events. And luckily, we get to do it about 5 more times before the season is over. I hope all of you are as blessed with family as we are. Happy Holidays!
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Wheatons do Halloween
I was never a huge Halloween fan. I mean, sure, as a kid I always liked dressing up and getting tons of candy, and as an adult I always liked dressing up and getting drunk, but I never really got in to all of the decorations and scary music and stuff the way some people do. And carving pumpkins? No thank you. Not fun. But Halloween with small kids is so great! Going to Target for the sole purpose of looking at all the "scary stuff", walking through the dark teepees at the pumpkin patch 50 thousand times, and picking out the perfect costumes are things that we are so excited about now! I almost hit the floor when my husband, Captain Businessman (CB)himself, (who I FORCED in to a cheerleading costume while we were dating), actually SUGGESTED that we all dress up as Yo Gabba Gabba this year. I think it might have been the most ingenius idea he's ever had.
Yet the second he stepped out of the car, he overcame the intial embarrassment. It started out as cute when kids dressed up as bumblebees, Spiderman, and ladybugs pointed and yelled, "Look! There's Yo Gabba Gabba!" It became funny when mothers of little Buzz Lightyears, Woodys, and other superheroes announced to each other and their kids that, "There goes the Yo Gabba Gabba family". And it became downright crazy when four seperate fathers on four seperate occasions approached us to say, "Wold you mind if my kid gets a picture taken with DJ Lance?" I kid you not. This actually happened. CB, who has never been in the running for Animated Father of the Year was doing Halloween Disney World style- walking around waving, smiling, and posing for pictures with random children.
When the zoo staff picked up on the fact that children were stopped frozen in their tracks not because they were mesmerized by the sad animals dreaming of worlds bigger than the confines of their metal bars, but instead by the fact that DJ Lance had somehow jumped out of their tvs and come to the zoo, they too took our picture. "We don't know who you are, but we think it's just great when whole families dress up". (Wait, I thought. How do you not know who we are? Are you trying to imply that there's life outside of Yo Gabba Gabba??? You must be crazy!)
Real Halloween came and went a week later, and was noted with a whopping ten minutes of trick-or-treating that was rudely interrupted by snow, sleet and a high temperature of approximately 15 degrees. Additionally, I learned that my children enjoy carving pumpkins as much as I do. (Yes, I carved both of them by myself while they beat on the side of the bowls with their spoons.) But who cared? Not us. After all, we had just become famous! We made it to the cover of the Zoo Newsletter, and got a spot on the website! Hooray for Halloween!!
We decided to make the day the zoo hosted it's trick-or-treating event the day we would debut the outfits. For the two weeks leading up to the day, CJ had changed his mind about 67 times about what he was going to be. First it was Spiderman, then Iron Man, then Buzz Lightyear, then it stayed at Scuba Diver for a solid 4 days (Whatever... he likes to wear his goggles in the bathtub... so what?) But luckily, with some major playing-it-up on our parts, (and the ordering of some pretty legit costumes) he decided that Plex would be a pretty fun option, too. So we dressed up and headed out.
As soon as we pulled in to the ridiculously crowded parking lot, CB noticed that he was the ONLY father dressed up. "Oh hellllllllllllllllll no" he said to me. "There is no way I'm going in as the only Jack a$$ in a costume. I can't believe you tricked me in to this" (sidenote: I tricked him in to nothing. Every mailing that got sent to our house to promote this event showed entire families in costume. Not my problem that so many other fathers were boring.)
Yet the second he stepped out of the car, he overcame the intial embarrassment. It started out as cute when kids dressed up as bumblebees, Spiderman, and ladybugs pointed and yelled, "Look! There's Yo Gabba Gabba!" It became funny when mothers of little Buzz Lightyears, Woodys, and other superheroes announced to each other and their kids that, "There goes the Yo Gabba Gabba family". And it became downright crazy when four seperate fathers on four seperate occasions approached us to say, "Wold you mind if my kid gets a picture taken with DJ Lance?" I kid you not. This actually happened. CB, who has never been in the running for Animated Father of the Year was doing Halloween Disney World style- walking around waving, smiling, and posing for pictures with random children.
When the zoo staff picked up on the fact that children were stopped frozen in their tracks not because they were mesmerized by the sad animals dreaming of worlds bigger than the confines of their metal bars, but instead by the fact that DJ Lance had somehow jumped out of their tvs and come to the zoo, they too took our picture. "We don't know who you are, but we think it's just great when whole families dress up". (Wait, I thought. How do you not know who we are? Are you trying to imply that there's life outside of Yo Gabba Gabba??? You must be crazy!)
Real Halloween came and went a week later, and was noted with a whopping ten minutes of trick-or-treating that was rudely interrupted by snow, sleet and a high temperature of approximately 15 degrees. Additionally, I learned that my children enjoy carving pumpkins as much as I do. (Yes, I carved both of them by myself while they beat on the side of the bowls with their spoons.) But who cared? Not us. After all, we had just become famous! We made it to the cover of the Zoo Newsletter, and got a spot on the website! Hooray for Halloween!!
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