No like it

Lately Dylan has been very particular about what he wears. Recall the pink hat story from March. And yes, the pink hat is still a daily presence in our lives.

I'm totally OK with him having opinions about his attire, and I've given up on making sure his clothes match (if he wants to wear plaid shorts and a rainbow-striped long-sleeved shirt, fine). My bigger concern right now is that he has a very strong opinion about clothes, and he only seems to like a small number of items in his wardrobe.

Ask my mother. She spent over an hour last week at Kohl's looking for clothes that Dylan might like. When she presented every item to him, he announced "no like it." We finally got him interested in a pair of red shorts and a blue striped top that he tolerated.

Meanwhile, my father and stepmother were out purchasing some pajamas to replace the Nemo and Mickey pajamas that are so small for the kids, I feared poor Kyle couldn't breathe! Sure enough, they found Dylan some larger Nemo PJs and some cute Buzz Lightyear PJs for Kyle. They wore them to bed last night, and this morning when I went to get them up Dylan immediately grabbed at his shirt and said, "Nemo shirt Mommy! No dress!" He didn't want me to undress him. I decided the PJs were cute enough and appropriate enough to wear to Kathy's house for the day, so I said, "OK, you can wear the Nemo jammies to Kathy's house, but I need to change your diaper."

Dylan didn't believe me.

"Kai-kai diaper," he said. So, I changed Kyle's diaper, and Dylan watched carefully as I replaced his Buzz Lightyear pajama bottoms. Satisfied, he brought me his diaper and said, "Fresh diaper. Nemo jammies?"

"Yes Dylan. You can wear the Nemo jammies."

Our Sasha

Last week we adopted a puppy. She's a 6-month-old Rottweiler, and we've named her Sasha. Aside from a very brief period of time when my family attempted to have a dog (I was about 7 or 8, I think), I have never "owned" a dog. My family has definitely always been a cat family, and I've admired dogs from afar and then sighed a breath of relief when leaving them behind at a friend or relative's house.

This adoption has definitely been (and continues to be) a journey for me, as I discover something new everyday about the life of a dog. Here's what I've gathered thus far:

• When dogs get excited, they pee.
• It is always best to lure a dog outside if you think he/she will be getting "excited."
• Dogs will eat anything.
• Dogs will stick their faces in a dirty litter box and pull out "presents" for you.
• Did I mention dogs will eat anything?
• A 52 pound puppy can bounce 5 feet in the air.
• A 13 pound cat can beat the crap out of a 52 pound Rottweiler.
• Dogs are democrats (seriously--they like listening to NPR!).
• Dogs are great at corralling young children.
• Dogs will "kiss" away your tears when you cry. Of course, then you smell like dog.
• My car smells like dog.

Happy Mother's Day

Saturday

Jen: Michael, did you plan anything special for Mother's Day?

Michael: Aren't we going to your parents' house?

J: Yes, but did you get me anything from the boys?

M: Was I supposed to?

J: I'm going to get a pedicure before I go grocery shopping . . . and I think I'll have my eyebrows waxed too.

M: (with oodles of enthusiasm) That's a GREAT idea! Bye!

Later that day . . .

M: See, aren't you glad I didn't get you anything? I couldn't have come up with anything better than the pedicure.

Sunday

(Jen gets to sleep a lot. Hooray!)

Michael: Boys, what do we want to say to Mommy?

Kyle (Dylan is busy with something): Happy Mommy's Day!!

And . . . we left Sasha (our new puppy) in her crate for most of the day, and she didn't poop in it! (don't get me started . . .)

What a great weekend.

Pity me

I am so frustrated.

My dad and I just spent an hour installing a child safety lock on my twins' bedroom door (to keep them in at bedtime), and within 2 minutes Dylan figured out how to open it.

Dylan's not even the mechanical one of the two. My mom said I could have given the materials and instructions to Kyle, and he would have installed the device himself . . . probably faster and better than we did.

I am not liking the "terrible twos." This stinks.

What if . . . real life?

OK, so as if coaching real-live football wasn't enough (not to mention pro Fantasy football that is sure to commence at the end of the summer), Michael is now participating in a fantasy-type coaching program online (www.whatifsports.com).

Here's what he's been doing lately:

"Gridiron Dynasty is your chance to work your way to the top of the college football coaching world! You'll first need to find a job and begin recruiting. As if finding the the perfect high school player for your coaching system wasn't difficult enough, you'll have a limited budget and hundreds of other coaches competing with you. After the recruiting period has ended, you'll coach your team through an entire college football season. Preparing for each opponent, dealing with player issues, administration issues (all while watching your team's national ranking) will really have you earning your paycheck! At the end of the regular season, unless you win your conference championship, then it will be up to the selection committee to decide whether your team will be playing in the post-season and have a chance to win a National Championship! After the season, your job continues - graduations, transfers and even players leaving early for the NFL. Plus, based on your success, you may have other schools seeking your coaching services - but only you can decide how best to build your own Gridiron Dynasty!"

Yep! Fake players (they even have photographs) that send you fake e-mails. Michael's in the recruiting phase right now, which they should really call the "butt kissing phase."

They're offering a special promotion, so right now this is all free. One day (soon, I'm sure) people (meaning Michael) will have to PAY to play this game.

I just don't get it.

Maybe I should create a fantasy website called "whatiftheatre.com." You would get to pretend you are the artistic director of a theatre company and you have to pick your season, hire directors and designers, cast actors, hire musicians, etc. Other participants would be other artistic directors at rival companies, and you would compete for ticket sales. There could be fake patrons who send fake e-mails telling you what they thought of your production: "Do a comedy!" or "You should only do serious plays!" Ooh! Ooh! And you could get e-mailed fake resumes from actors and fake audition footage!

Hmmm...Maybe I'm onto something.

Crazy cat lady

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a “cat person,” but then again, I’m probably not being completely honest with myself if I don’t. When I think of “cat people,” the image that comes to mind is less than appealing. In fact, my very first thought goes back to a story my friend Heather told me when she used to have my job as PR Manager for the theatre. She was carrying press packets on opening night and ran into another employee and that employee’s boyfriend. Apparently, the boyfriend claimed to be a member of the press, and their conversation went something like this:

Heather: Oh really? Where do you work?

Employee’s Boyfriend: Actually, I have my own radio station.

H: Really? What format?

E.B.: It’s an online radio station for cats.

H: Oh . . . What kind of music do cats like?

E.B.: Pretty much anything, except Ozzie Osbourne.

H: Cats don’t like Ozzie Osbourne?

E.B.: No.

She gave him a press packet. I asked her if she ever followed up with the guy to see if he reviewed the show for his audiences and if any of them purchased tickets. That sent us into a fit of giggles, envisioning cats lined up at the Herberger, ticket in paw, waiting to see the new Pulitzer-winning drama, Anna in the Tropics.

I digress.The point is that guy was a “cat person.” I love cats and find wonderful enjoyment in http://www.stuffonmycat.com/. If you have a cat at your house, I will find it and love it and make it play with me whether it wants to or not. I love my cat, Daisy. However, I do not have pictures of her displayed on my desk at work, and I do not know when her birthday is (sometime in April . . . that’s as much as I can deduce). I used to give her wet food on Sundays (because it’s God’s day, and cats deserve a special treat on God’s day, I guess), but that schedule went awry when I had children.

Why is it taking me so long to get to my story?

Lately we’ve been seeing a lot of cats around our house. About a couple of months ago, I started to hear kitty-cat howling from about 7:30 PM until 10 or 11 PM. I’d go outside and look around, but I never saw a cat. Daisy would perk up and look around as well. Last week, the twins and I were playing in the family room and there was a tiger-striped, male, NON-neutered cat rubbing against our sliding glass door. I thought, ‘Oh, this is the kitty howler.’ A few days later, I saw a cat’s shadow through our kitchen window, opened the blinds, and there was a humungous orange and white long-haired cat walking along our fence. ‘Hmmm…maybe this is the kitty howler . . . .’ On Saturday my dad and I were leaving my house to grab some lunch, and when I opened the door to my garage, the tiger-striped cat was standing right there in front of my door. Later that evening, a completely DIFFERENT orange cat (short-haired and slightly smaller) was outside our sliding glass door. We both turned to Daisy who was enjoying a lovely bath after her dinner and said, “Daisy! What’s going on here?” She’s been spayed, so it’s not like she’s in heat and all of the male cats in the neighborhood are flocking to be with her. However . . . three cats within a couple of days? Come on!So I guess I wrote about how I’m not a cat person because I really wanted to write about the cat infestation without sounding like a crazy cat person. Then again, I believe I recently blogged about Daisy.

Shit.

I’m a cat person!

"Thunk!"

"Thunk!"

That's the sound I heard about 2 minutes ago. I wasn't really surprised because Michael and I converted the twins' cribs to toddler beds earlier this evening. Basically, you remove one side of the crib, and they have a mini daybed of sorts. Same crib mattress, it's just now they can get in and out of bed as they wish.

Of course, Dylan has had no trouble getting out of his crib, which is the main reason for today's conversion. Kyle is a little less agile, so we were mostly concerned about Kyle trying to mimic Dylan and then getting hurt.

When we first got the toddler beds arranged, they had a ball. Both climbed into Kyle's bed together and pretended to sleep (complete with Dylan's breathy, "hashu, hashu"--pretending to snore). Then, Kyle ran over to his bed and started jumping on it until he lost his balance and catapulted onto the floor. He didn't cry. He just looked completely shocked and a little embarrassed (Please note: I did tell my child on many occassions to stop jumping, but he did not listen to me. The best thing for him was probably the fall).

We left the excitement of the room and finished watching Toy Story from a couple of nights ago. They were really sleepy when we put them to bed, but I was still expecting to have them jump out of bed and come find us. They didn't. They went right to sleep, and all was quiet for over two hours.

The "thunk!" was the sound of Dylan rolling out of bed. I went up to their room, and he was sound asleep on the floor. I put him back into bed, covered him with his blankie, Kyle popped his head up to see what was going on, put his head back down, and all is quiet.

For now.

Boys who don't call

I just got off the phone with a good friend of mine who is waiting for a boy to call. Not just any boy, but a boy she likes (yes, I know I'm 27 and I should be saying "man," but with my girlfriends, until you marry the guy, he's still a boy). I don't understand why boys don't call. Let's say he has realized after four or so dates that he's not really interested. Would it kill him to let her know? Could he actually really like her but be afraid to come off as too desperate?

Michael put me through the ringer prior to one of our early dates. He called me sometime during the week, and we made plans to go to out that Saturday evening. He said he would call me on Saturday to firm things up. Three o'clock rolled around, and he still hadn't called. I had no idea if we were going bowling, rock climbing, ballroom dancing . . . if we were eating dinner together, if I was meeting him someplace, if he was picking me up . . . He finally did call that afternoon and picked me up a few hours later, but what a hellish day! Didn't he know I needed to change my outfit eight times and that my eye makeup would change depending on what my outfit was and that I needed to freshen my pedicure if I was wearing sandals? When I later gave him hell about the whole ordeal I discovered that he had been holding back all day from calling me because he didn't want to come across as too desperate. Which of his idiot friends taught him that one?

My friend and I started thinking it would be really great if people could just be really honest with each other:

"I don't think we should go out anymore . . . I saw this girl at the mall today with really big boobs, and I decided that's really what I want in a girlfriend."

"I like you all right, but I'm feeling kind of lazy lately, so I have no energy to put into a relationship right now."

"I really just want to fool around and not actually talk to you."

"I think you are beautiful and intelligent, but I recently realized that I'm gay. Perhaps I can introduce you to my straight brother." (wishful thinking)

"I really like you. In fact, I think I could see myself spending the rest of my life with you, and that freaks me out a little, so I need to take a step back and think. I'll probably call you in a month or two and realize I'm being foolish. Hopefully, you'll still be single and interested in me."

"I really like you, but my best friend who is single and has never had a serious, long-term relationship told me to stay distant . . . So I won't be calling you again until next week."

"I like you, but I'm afraid you won't like me. If you decide you don't like me, can you let me know and not just stop calling alltogether? Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?"

More hot sauce please

My kids are chatty! They have been so completely adorable lately because they're starting to put words together into complete sentences. Here are some of my personal favorites:

"Look Mommy! Look! (insert object of interest)"

"No like it!" (Only said by Kyle--I know this isn't a complete sentence . . . deal.)

"No want it!" (Only said by Dylan--this is his version of Kyle's "No like it!" In case you aren't understanding, both statements are negative. I hear these phrases a lot, especially when I'm trying to dress them)

"More hot sauce please" (This is a Dylan request--Please note: "hot sauce" refers to any sauce/condiment; although, hot sauce is Michael's condiment of choice)

"No baby Dylan" or "No baby Kai-Kai" (They both say this when I try to cradle them like they are infants. Well, sometimes they like it. Really)

I'm still trying to figure out what the hell Kyle says when we go to visit our new house. When we drive down the main street and pass other houses that are being built, he says something that sounds like it's in Swedish.

Date Night: Revisited

I really try to keep my posts here to amusing anecdotes and not laundry lists of activities, but I just have got to rave about Saturday.

Michael was coaching a baseball game in the morning, so Dylan, Kyle and I set out on an adventure. Our destination? Little Chops in Glendale. You see, the last time the boys had a haircut, we took them to a regular in-and-out spritz, cut, comb place, and it was a DISASTER! Screaming, crying, kicking . . . Not fun. Actually, that wasn't technically the twins' last haircut . . . But we are never to speak of the horrible wickedness that plagued my scissors and poor Kyle's hair.

Little Chops was so great, the boys didn't want to leave! Each station has a different "vehicle," so the kids get to pick which one they like: a silver airplane, a red jeep, a white police car, etc. In addition, each station also has a TV with VCR and DVD player. I selected some lovely flick with Elmo, and they were in heaven. Dylan fussed a little, but there were no tears, no screaming, just beautiful little boy haircuts. When they were finished, they each got a balloon.

The balloons didn't last long. The trouble with my kids and helium balloons is that they won't let me tie the balloon down to anything - not their wrist, their overalls, nothing. So, off we went to Babies 'R Us to find a baby shower gift for our friends, and no sooner do we enter the baby warehouse then do those lovely balloons float up, up, up and away from my two, now quite un-pacified children. Shopping at Babies 'R Us was not fun.

On to the shower. We arrived at a packed house a women with the intention of only dropping off the gifts, but ended up staying for about an hour. Dylan and Kyle frequently got lost in the sea of legs, and I would hear, "Mommy! Mommy!" from multiple rooms. After a bite to eat and a diaper change, we were off!

Home. Nap time? No, just kidding! Michael cam home just in time to relieve me of my mommy duties, and I conked out for about an hour. Beautiful. When I woke up, the three of them were all equally ready for naps, and they all slept from 3 until 5 PM while I enjoyed the quiet time by myself. Lovely.

Since the twins had such late and long naps, we crossed our fingers and took them out to dinner to Paul Lee's Chinese Kitchen. We had never taken them to a sit-down restaurant by ourselves before (usually we travel with the grandparent posse), and it was such a success! They colored and chatted, and enjoyed the atmosphere, and they even let us eat.

To cap off our beautiful evening, we stopped by Michael's school's varsity baseball game. It was COLD, so we didn't stay long. Michael taught the boys to cheer "Go Tigers!" and "Go! Go! Go!" which they did. Whenever someone would hit the ball (be it from our team or the opponent), they would cheer "Go Tigers!" or "Go! Go! Go!" It was adorable.

What a great date!

Sedona Snow

On Friday I kidnapped Michael and took him to Sedona for his 30th birthday, and we couldn't have asked for a better experience. Mother Nature decided to give us the gift of snow, and it was unbelievably beautiful. We arrived at our beautiful hotel, got to our room, and it started snowing. These gorgeous snowflakes came floating down from the sky, and we stood on our little patio outside and just took it all in. After settling in, we headed to the restaurant there and had a very yummy meal (Michael has a new love for polenta). As we sat at our candlelit table enjoying our meal and each other's company, we could see the snow continue to drift down to the Earth, steadily growing heavier and heavier . . . I haven't felt that peaceful in a very long time.

After about 18 hours of luxury, we headed out of Sedona and decided to really trash it up by going to the Cliff Castle Casino for lunch. Michael kept telling me that the place was actually a lot classier than other Arizona casinos, which kind of frightened me. After our meal, Michael decided we should put his birthday luck to good use. I lost $10 in a matter of about 15 minutes, which sounds better than it really was. About 13 of those minutes were spent scoping out the perfect machine with which I should fork over my money. I've never really gambled much, but the whole idea of it makes me very nervous. I'm especially weird about not wanting to sit right next to anyone, and I'm not interested in sharing any of my gambling experiences with random strangers. Apparently, I was the only one in the casino who felt that way because any time I sat down somewhere, immediately some guy smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer (at 1:00 PM) would plop down next to me and say, "Are you winning much?" or "How's your luck today?" or "These chairs are heavy, aren't they?" After losing my last $2 on some game that I still can't figure out, I went to find Michael.

Michael was sitting at a virtual Blackjack table. The table itself wasn't virtual, I mean, he was actually sitting on a real chair at a real table. Instead of a live dealer, there was a big screen and every once in a while the dealer would change between a blonde with cleavage coming right at you, an Asian woman with cleavage coming right at you, and an African-American man at some sort of tropical location. A few men were playing along with Michael, and the group already had its own little rapport. I almost lost it when the older guy next to Michael commented that he didn't like one of the dealers and another guy at the table announced that the dealer will hesitate if she has Blackjack. It's a freaking computer, people! Michael cashed out when he was up $25, so with my $10 loss, we left the casino $15 richer.

What a gift for us to be able to just be with each other, even if for only 24 or so hours.

I've been tagged!

So the rules are, once you've been tagged you have to write a blog with 6 weird things/habits about yourself. In the end you need to list 6 other people to tag and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment saying "You've been tagged" in their comments and tell them to read your blog...

1. I unintentionally transfer stress from myself to my husband. What I mean is, if I'm stressed out about something like the house being clean, the way I like to deal with my stress is to tell Michael every little thing that needs to be accomplished to make me happy. Then I feel better because after I've verbalized the list of chores, it's not as bad as I originally thought. The problem is, then Michael gets all stressed out because he likes to deal with one problem at a time. So, in de-stressing myself, I end up stressing out my husband.

2. I jump at the chance to tell you that you're wrong and why. I don't know why I do this. I think I just like to be right, and I'd like to know everything, even though I know that is impossible. Once I told Joe, "I know I don't know everything, I just want people to think I know everything."

3. I get caught in horrible cycles. For example, I haven't been to the dentist in almost a year (and yes, I sort of already blogged about this in December). I hav been putting off going to the dentist because the last time I went, he gave me this stuff called Gel-Kam. I was instructed to brush my teeth with it right afterI regularly brushed my teeth. It's not horrible-tasting, but you're not supposed to drink or eat anything for 20 minutes after using it, which is really hard for me because I HAVE to have a drink of water after I brush my teeth. So, I haven't been using the stuff, and I don't want to disappoint the dentist. I figured I would put off going to the dentist, use the Gel-Kam and maybe he wouldn't notice I hadn't used it for a while. The thing is, I hate using it, so I haven't been using it, so I can't go to the dentist, etc. etc.

4. I will always see the bad before the good. This is true for so many things, and Michael points this out to me all the time. I'll come home and not notice clean dishes or pictures hung or weeds pulled, but I can walk into a room and in two seconds see Cheerios on the floor . . . and man, I jump all over him!

5. I have to pee right before I go to sleep. This may not sound odd, but you don't know the extent of it. I will pee when I get into my PJs, but if I don't immediately crawl into bed and go directly to sleep I will be back in the bathroom peeing again and again. Sometimes I will go play on the computer, then come back to my room/bathroom and pee, then get into bed and grab my book. After I read a bit, I'll go pee again. Then if I don't fall asleep quickly, I'm bound to get up once again to pee. Why? If I have time to think, 'Do I have to pee?' then, well, I do. I'm kind of surprised that I have anything to eliminate. Why didn't it all leave my body 3 minutes ago when I last went to pee?

6. I spell things with my thumb and index finger. Say I'm a passenger in a vehicle, and I see a sign. I'll pick a word or phrase printed on that sign and use my index finger to spell out each letter on my thumb (right hand only). Sometimes I get fancy and curly-qy (Ys are fun). Often I keep repeating the same word or phrase with my fingers over and over again until it kind of starts to hurt, and then I force myself to stop. Don't worry, I don't do this when I'm driving!

OK, now I don't know who to tag because the only blogs I read on blogspot are Joe's and Ted's (and Ted tagged me and Joe). Joe just informed me that I could tag myspacers, so here goes: Sara, Sarah, Missy, Mike, Stephanie, Jen K. You are IT!!

Dylan's Pink Hat

This morning Michael and I found ourselves shopping with the twins for new hats. We were headed to a baseball game in Scottsdale (the USA team vs. the SF Giants' B-team--pretty cool), and the kids needed something to protect their eyes and face.

We encountered the same situation we always encounter: only one decent hat left. I don't understand it. There are always tons of hats for girls, and there will be 1 boyish toddler hat. The one hat that was there was a Bob the Builder hat - adorable, and it fit Kyle great. With no other options for Dylan, we purchased two hats that were paired together. One was beige and the other was pink. I told Michael, "It's only $4 for both of them, so he'll wear the beige one and we can give the pink one away." Fine. Great. We paid and headed to the car.

One problem: Guess which hat Dylan wanted to wear? Uh huh, the pink one. He would NOT wear the beige hat or the Bob the Builder hat. When we got into the car Michael discovered Kyle's old Pooh Bear hat. Dylan wasn't interested.

Dylan wore the pink hat all the way to Scottsdale, which drove Michael completely crazy. The only thing that concerned me was that the pink hat clashed horribly with Dylan's orange t-shirt.

When we arrived at the park in Scottsdale, Michael was adamant that Dylan not wear the pink hat. So, I convinced Dylan that the pink hat had to stay in the car. Kyle wore the Pooh Bear hat, Dylan wore the Bob the Builder hat, and all was well. Until the 6th inning . . .

A couple of hours later, Dylan took off his hat, shoved it at me and said, "Pink one!"

By the end of the 6th inning, they had basically had enough, so we headed home. He put the pink hat on as soon as he got into the car. He's upstairs right now watching Veggie Tales, wearing the pink hat.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Yesterday I did something awful. The twins and I were having such a good day: We went grocery shopping, watched a movie, went for a walk around the lake, rode their tricycles in the backyard . . . And that's when the tide changed. We were outside playing when I noticed how long their hair had gotten. It was so long, in fact, that Dylan's hair was covering his ears like little muffs, and Kyle's was draped down over his eyes. It seemed like the perfect time to give them haircuts. They were getting pretty dirty and would need a bath soon anyway. I ran inside to grab a comb and some scissors. I thought, 'I'll just give them a little trim.'

I have a vision now of Kyle in therapy sessions.

Dylan wouldn't let me touch him. Kyle, on the other hand, is a good little boy who does basically everything his mommy tells him. He sat very still and let me completely destroy his hair. Too much on this side, too much on that side, and too many attempts to even it all out . . . Oy vey!

Future Kyle: "I always wanted to please my mother. Once, when I was two, she butchered my hair, and I just sat there and let her do it. I just wanted to please her. I wanted her to be happy."

I swear I will never ever cut my children's hair. Ever.

Speaking of hair, when I got home from a glorious day of chit-chat and vegging with Sadie, Michael greeted me at the door with a shaved head. "I'm bald," he announced.

About once every two months, Michael re-realizes that he is going bald. He keeps trying to justify his abnormal hair growth (or lack thereof): "These hairs grow this way, and those hairs grow that way, and I have this empty spot here," he tells me. Yeah, it's called a BALD spot.

What cracks me up is that I have known Michael was balding since our very first date. I also knew he was a bit on the short side (something he "confessed" to me on our second or third date) and that his tummy was, well, being sucked in. None of these things bothered me at all - not even for a second.

The only thing about Michael's appearance that worried me was that he was wearing white socks with his brown sandals on our first date. Occassionally, I have to remind him of this, and, more importantly, that I chose to go out with him again after that!

Waiting for Godiva

Last week Michael and I were watching The Office, and it was Valentine's Day at Dunder Mifflin. Poor Pam had to keep receiving gifts for Phyllis, and nothing ever came for her. I thought, 'Oh boy, this is going to be me on Valentine's Day.' Michael and I even talked about it, and by the end of the conversation, I was expecting my man to pull through. I even enlisted the help of Joe to guide my husband; although, I'm doubtful Joe came through for me because today Michael called me at work and said, "Did you know you can't order flowers on Valentine's Day? It's too late!" Yeah hun, I knew that . . . (Joe, you owe me something pink, red, fuzzy or chocolatey)

My afternoon was filled with phone call after phone call from Michael:
M - "Did you get my thing?"
J - "No, what thing?"
M - "Hmm . . . OK . . . bye"

M - "Did you get it?"
J - "No"
M - "WHAT?!"
J - "I gotta go . . . bye!"

M - "Did you get my card yet?"
J - "Card?"
M - "Check your e-mail"
J - "It's not here"
M - "Check your Cox account"
J - "It's not there"
M - "WHAT?! Bye."

You can see how in the beginning I thought I was going to actually get something. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that I realized I was waiting all day long for an e-card. I left work at 5:15 PM, e-cardless.

Later that evening when Michael was changing the twins, I went to the computer to check one last time. Sitting in my inbox were three messages, all the same:

My husband is a dufus, but I love him. Four years ago today I was sick as a dog, and he made me his "famous" spaghetti dinner (which involves undercooked pasta and Ragu spaghetti sauce). Two days later he proposed to me in front of my entire family while we were visiting them in California.

You just can't get better than that. It's not fancy, but it's real, and it's sincere.

P.S. No one else in my office received any deliveries today either . . . But Sarah got gorgeous saphirre and diamond earrings from her long distance beau . . . And Stephanie was going to dinner with her fiance . . . And Amy's husband is a pilot and was out of town . . . And Sara and Joe were out of the office (This duo could have dramatically changed the atmosphere today - Sara's husband Ira is the flower-giving type and Joe's in a brand new, lovey-dovey relationship).

Mine! Mine!

According to an article on Parentbytes.com, "Territorial and possessiveness are common behaviours for two year olds."

This is something I was aware of before I had babies, it was something everyone told me would happen when I actually did have babies, and it's something I am experiencing now.

I felt better when I read this: "If your child is reasonably good at sharing by the time they are five, then you are doing well."

Oh good, only 3 more years of this.

You see, Kyle and Dylan will pick 1 item during a paricular period of time, and all I hear is "MINE! MINE! MINE!" It's like watching parts of Finding Nemo in surround sound.

Two nights ago, this two-year-old behavior far surpassed any of my expectations. I was fast asleep, and all of a sudden I heard Kyle screaming. This is not entirely a strange occurance. He often has little night tremors that don't even wake him up. He'll scream, roll over, and go back to sleep. However, on this particular evening, his dream was so vivid that he kept screaming and screaming until I went to his side and rubbed his back and smoothed his hair. He never woke up, just relaxed and quieted. Here's what he was screaming: "MINE! My ball! No! No! No! MINE! My ball!"

My kids are fighting in their sleep.

This wasn't just a one-time occurance that evening. He actually got up 3 hours later at 2:45 AM and 3 hours after that at 5:45 AM (that did it--he was up for the day after that).

The culprit? My mother's giant exercise ball. Dylan found it in her closet earlier that evening, and both he and Kyle were entranced. They had never seen a ball that big before. I mean, they call their little soccer ball "big ball!" Apparently, Kyle was so entranced by the ball that he dreamt about it. Well, not about "it," but about Dylan taking it away from him.

I also just want to add that during these evening festivities, Michael did not stir. Not once. I wonder if there's a webpage for that . . .

Weird things the twins really enjoy

Dylan and Kyle have such goofy senses of humor. I'm not sure if this stuff is normal for two-year-olds, but it just cracks me up. Maybe I can work as a comedian for toddlers. I'd travel from day care to day care, spreading joy and laughter. Here are some of my best bits:

I say "ring! ring!" and then put one of their feet to my ear and say "hello?" They think this is hysterical.

They love the whole "this little piggy" bit. Really. I mean, I did it to Dylan's left foot today, and when I was done he shoved his right foot in my face and said "other foot!" Then Kyle put his feet in my face and said "more! Kai-Kai feet! more!"

When I take off their socks, I always smell their feet and say, "EEW! Stinky feet!" and make a grossed-out face. Sometimes their feet really do smell (especially Dylan, WHEW!). They laugh and laugh . . . I'm now having visions of farting contests between Michael, Dylan and Kyle.

(Noticing a trend? They seem to have a thing about feet . . . )

I wander around the kitchen, looking in cupboards and drawers and pretend to be looking for one of them. "Kyle? Kyle? Where are you?" "Dylan?" Are you in here?" They giggle hysterically in the middle of the room with their hands covering their eyes. They think they're fooling me. It's great.

Occasionally, I ask Kyle, "Does Daddy need his diaper changed?" He'll look at me kind of funny, then waddle (yeah, it's definitely a waddle) over to Michael, then look at me again, then try to tug at Michael's waistband, then look at me and grin as if to say, "Aw, Mom! You got me again!"

More Nemo! More Nemo!

Last night we took the boys to Disney on Ice: Finding Nemo. The evening started out a bit rough as we attempted to grab a bite to eat beforehand, and didn't anticipate the slow service nor the torpidity of Grandma and her beau (which was clearly our fault, for senior citizens don't move faster as they age, and Grandma has been a senior citizen for a long time).

We ended up making it to the arena with ten minutes to spare, and luckily it wasn't too crowded. I mean, who in their right mind would bring children to a 7:30 PM performance? Uh, yeah. That would be us . . . In our defense, it was the only possible time for all of us (me, Michael, Mom, David--Grandma and Seymour just need 24 hours notice, and then they are good to go).

Every few yards there was another kiosk set up with every kind of Finding Nemo thing you could possibly want. The first time Kyle saw something Nemo-ish, he pointed and shouted, "Nemo! Nemo!" Three yards later, "More Nemo! More Nemo!" Three yards later, "More Nemo! More Nemo!" I cannot describe the excitement in his voice, but it is a sound I will remember for a very long time.

When we entered the main part of the area and headed to our seats, both boys got a little freaky. Dylan wanted to run around, and Kyle was gripping Mom and kept repeating, "Scared, Scared!" But once the show started, they were in heaven. Dylan was so mesmerzed, he didn't even notice that his papa was right there. He sat on my lap without moving throughout the entire first act. Kyle was WAY into the show. Anytime there was music, he started dancing. Now, try to imagine he's sitting on my mom's lap, kicking both legs forward at the same time and punching his arms out (with his hands in fists) as if he is rowing a boat as fast as he can. Oh, and there is a big (no, huge!) smile on his face. It was great.

Again, a wonderful experience that they will probably not remember, but I will never forget.

Blasphemy on the Highway

Yesterday was a long day that involved many hours in traffic. Thank goodness Sara, Joe and I had each other. When my iPod battery ran out of juice, we switched the radio onto NPR (Correction: Joe put it on KFYI and I changed it to KJZZ). We sat and listened to the reports regarding the Hamas victory in Palestine.

We were quiet for a while and then tried to "fix" the problem. Isn't there a way they can all just get along? Maybe not. This thought did not improve the mood. You see, the three of us are kind of the types of people who look at a problem and come up with a solution. It might be a very complicated solution that involves a lot of compromise, but there's always got to be a way to fix the situation. Twenty-something optimists, right?

Finally, my thoughts became so heavy and we were about to reach our destination. In an effort to lighten the mood I offered this suggestion:

Well, maybe we'll have Christ's second-coming and all of the Christians would be happy, return to God and leave everyone else behind. Then, the Palestines and the Israelis could have all the land they wanted!

OK, OK, so it doesn't completely help because everyone wants the HOLY land, which is on one location. Joe suggested that the holy land be reallocated. You guys have this part of the world, you over there have that part of the world, etc.

In any event, something's got to change. Right?

They Lost

So, the Broncos lost. Michael was devastated. I got home from the theatre this evening and asked him, "Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?"

He smiled, took my hand, and said, "I was hoping you and I could watch the documentary one of my football players made about the season. It's called The Road to State."

We watched an hour and forty-five minute documentary about high school football. And he was happy.