A pee-pee story

There are those things people tell you might happen, but you don't ever do anything about them until they actually happen.

This weekend we enjoyed our first trip this season to our community pool. It was a beautiful day, and the kids were actually enjoying themselves - Dylan was even going down one of the little kid slides completely on his own. Kyle had been a bit more timid, but after a while he discovered the bubblers that send spouts of water about two feet into the air, and I had to grab my camera. Leaving Michael with the boys, I ventured back to our lounge chairs.

On my way back across the pool play area, I could see Kyle stepping on top of each bubbler, joyfully making the water disappear and then reappear with his foot. Michael was sitting on a mini lounge chair that sits at the edge of the beach-style entry to the pool, sort of staring off into space, enjoying the sun and the water. Dylan had taken a break from playing and was now - and this is the picture I have as I stand roughly 30 feet away - revealing parts of his body and had begun to pee on a palm tree nestled near the edge of the pool. Around him children are playing, adults are tanning, gossipping, chasing down other children. Kids are splashing. My kid is peeing. In public. At the pool. Thankfully, he wasn't peeing in the pool, but still ....

After a shout out to Michael, Dylan was scooped up and taken to the bathroom with a total look of shock on his face. It's the same look I see when Kyle is doing something he shouldn't and instead of saying, "Kyle!" I bellow "Dylan!" accidently and completely baffle poor Dylan who is on the other side of the room doing something perfectly normal and nice and not at all mischievious.

Michael lets the kids pee outside, my parents let the kids pee outside when they are in the pool, and even I have pulled my car over so a barely potty-trained kid can relieve himself by the side of the road. So after all of these experiences, it makes sense that my kid would think it perfectly normal to pee outside.

This would never have happened had I had twin girls.

Sharing

Dylan and Kyle are really starting to understand the true meaning of sharing. Like, the other day, I was eating ice cream, and Kyle asked for a taste (don't worry - Kyle had already had his own dessert. He chose vanilla pudding). And then he asked for another taste. And another. Then I had no more ice cream. Kyle smiled and said, "Mommy, I shared with you!"

Blog Expectations

Lately the expectations I've been setting for myself have been so ridiculously high, and these raised bars have infiltrated my world of blog. This is not a good thing. I think I'm finally learning to cut myself some slack - to quote a wonderful mentor, "I am a choice." I can choose to be this way or that way. I can choose to do laundry or watch The Apprentice. And at the end of the day, I have to own my choices and know that whatever I did was the best I could do at that moment ... and not feel guilty. To quote another budding mentor (I'm sure a mentor to many, but a new face in my life), "Sometimes we have to say no to the good so we can say yes to the best."

So, on that note, I restart my blog. Ta da!

I was in Tucson most of last week (Tuesday night through Sunday afternoon) to play my part in the opening of ATC's RepFest - an amazing theatrical feat, I must say. I've spent this much time (and more) away from my kids, but they're getting to an age now where it affects them more.

It's not unlikely for Dylan to wake up in the middle of the night or early part of the morning and crawl into bed with us. He's learned to go to Michael's side, because while I eventually put him back in his own bed, Michael treats him like a teddy bear. Michael would also sleep through a tornado, so his tolerance for the kicking and snoring is greater than mine.

Every night since I have been back, Dylan has woken up in the night (around 11:30 or midnight), crying and calling for me. He never does this. He always comes to us. This time he sat in bed and cried until I went to him. When I got to his room, he asked me for milk. I got him some. He then lay down in his bed and sucked on his sippy cup, just like a baby would a bottle. Then he fell back asleep.

Coincidence that I had returned? Probably not.

Despite my displeasure for having to wake up and cater to him like an infant (minus the diaper change), I enjoyed knowing that even though they are growing up so fast, they still need their mommy every now and again.

You read about the pink hat - Now meet the pink apron!

Dylan and Kyle go to school. OK, so it's preschool, but it's school. They seem to love their teacher, Miss Melissa, and I think they are in desperate need of the structure that preschool provides - You know, especially since Michael and I let them run around all crazy-like and do whatever they want. No, no no . . .

I drop them off at 8:30 AM and pick them up at 12:15 PM. During that time they learn about something: butterflies or birds and feathers or Valentine's Day or whatever. They do an art project that revolves around the lesson. They play outside. They have storytime. They eat lunch. They have free time to play inside. In just under 4 hours, it's about all you can do with 6 kids. Usually when I pick them up at 12:15, they are enjoying some free play time. It's always fun to see A) who they are playing with and B) what they have chosen to do with their time.

On Monday when I walked in the door, Dylan was cooking. Not really cooking, but pretend cooking on one of those kid-sized pretend kitchens. If I remember correctly, I believe he was frying eggs. It was adorable, but more adorable was the pink apron he was wearing. Oh, and the purple beaded necklace. Just like a good little homemaker.

Kyle was running around with a giant snake trying to scare the other kids.

It's such a gift that I can experience the juxtaposition of my children's likes, dislikes and talents. Dylan loves to "pretend," loves storytime, and loves to talk (and listen). Kyle loves any kind of hands-on activity, whether it's cutting paper for an art project, or stacking blocks, or pointing out the letters that make up words.

I love that they are completely different kids, that they play well with others, that they are so aware of each other's likes and dislikes ... Although I wince at the thought of them being all grown up just yet, I can't wait to see what fabulous people they become.

"Where is pinkie? Where is pinkie? Here I am!"

I've stalled for long enough.

Almost two weeks ago, I nearly cut off the entire tip of my left pinkie finger. Yesterday I had the stitches removed, but my finger still looks like a piece of dried-up meat. Click here to see the damage.

It was Sunday. My mother-in-law was making a cozy lunch party for some friends who were in town for a short while. Michael was freaking out because his football banquet was that evening, and he still had not completed the annual highlight film. So, the twins and I headed over to help prepare lunch, and Michael was to follow shortly thereafter.

There were many deli meats and cheeses, and bag after bag of interesting bread selections. To be helpful, I started slicing open the various rolls. Let's start with ciabatta bread. Sliced one perfectly. Next. And, yeah . . . that was it.

It happened so fast, I didn't even see it coming (and usually seconds before I do something stupid I feel like I am outside of myself watching my own stupidity). Towel. Pain. "Call Michael. Now."

When he showed up, he tried to hand me the car keys. The highlight film still wasn't done and wasn't going to be ready unless he worked non-stop on it. But no one else could drive (except my mother-in-law who was expecting company), so off we went. He dropped me off. David met me right as I was being seen (you know, after they make you pay and everything).

David is a medicinal boy scout - always prepared. Valium (when the nurse wasn't looking). Truly more damage had been done to my mental state than to my finger. Better.

It took 9 stitches to make my finger stay on. Somewhere in there my mom left work and showed up at the hospital as well. Michael called to joke around. He sort of thought I had just cut myself and they were going to give me one of those butterfly bandages or something.

People have been asking me, "Are you mad at your mother-in-law?" or "Are you even talking to Michael? Is he in the dog house?" First of all, I have no reason to be mad at my mother-in-law. I was the idiot who cut myself. Plus, I offered to help. I chose to be careless while I was cutting. She just chose to buy a thin, dense bread that is hard to cut. Not to worry - It will never be seen in our homes ever again.

And Michael . . . He was so worried about taking care of so many other people, he failed to take care of me. Not that this makes it OK, but don't we all tend to take for granted those who we love and need the most?

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And now, some accolades.

A few people said (or wrote) things to me that made me really laugh when I was recovering. You'll enjoy these:

Cary: "Now how are you supposed to order 5 beers with one hand?"

Matt: "Look at the bright side: if you get back into teaching at a later date, you are now qualified to teach woodshop."

Joshua: "What the hell is the point of Ciabatta anyway? Even when it's right it tastes stale and crunchy. Impenetrable sponge keeping me from my meat. Be gone."

emu: a large, flightless bird of Australia, resembling the ostrich but smaller & having a feathered head & neck & rudimentary wings OR Jen's nemesis

It feels a little strange to have been trumped by emu oil.

On Saturday I participated in the Farmer's Market in my community. So, from 10 AM until 2 PM I sat under some palm trees by the lake and didn't sell anything. OK, so I sold one 1 oz tube of hand creme for $4.

I went with the intention of selling holiday gifts. Everything was packaged and ready to go. Easy spa shopping, right?

I was sandwiched between a sage burning, cedar flute playing hippee and the emu lady. The emu lady had a huge booth with emu-related products like feathers and eggs. Across from me was the fruit and nut mountain man. My spa stuff looked pretty good . . .

At first I worried that I had made a mistake by really promoting the holiday items because it seemed like most people were really shopping for themselves. People would stop at my booth, comment on how cute the packaging looked, maybe smell a demo product, hear my schpeel about Spa Escapes, and off they went.

Not a single person who stopped at the emu lady's booth left without buying something. Some bought expensive starter kits with a bunch of products, but most got their own 1oz bottle of emu oil. Want to get rid of scars? Emu oil. Have arthritic pain? Emu oil. Sore muscles? Emu oil. Dry skin? Emu oil. Cracked heels? Emu oil. There was a woman with a sad-looking Yorkie that was recovering from a horrible flea problem, and what do you know? Emu oil will make it all better. It's great to put directly on the irritated skin, AND she can give the pup a teaspoonful with her food everyday to keep her healthy and strong.

About 30 minutes before the end of the event, two young women came up to me and were very interested in the adorable stockings I have that are filled with miniature versions of our holiday products. Everything she looked at was chocolate, gingerbread, pumpkin, or peppermint scented. After smelling everything, she asked, "Do you have anything a little more Christmas-y?" I was speechless. Um.... So I picked up a snowman mug filled with cocoa mix and peppermint body tonic and a sparkly red 'Happy Holidays' decoration. She said she'd be back. Uh huh. Michael came by soon thereafter to help me pack things up, and I told him about the girl. He looked at my display and said, "More Christmas-y? Did she want little elves passing out samples and Santa Claus ringing her up?"

The next event is December 16th. Perhaps more people will be looking for gifts at that time. On the bright side, I heard the emu lady can't make it on the 16th. Too bad.

A house of animals: or a really bad toddler version of 'A Chorus Line'

The twins have a new game, and it's hysterical. You name an animal, any animal (dog, cat, lion, Stegosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, meerkat, bird, etc.) and they act it out. This is really Kyle's game, and Dylan plays along. It is a riot to watch. For the most part, Kyle only has two (maybe three) animals. Half the animals make high-pitched noises, and the other half make deep, throaty noises. Most walk on all fours.

The other day, Kyle was being a jaguar, and Dylan didn't like it:

Dylan: I no like the jaguar Kai-Kai. No do that one.

Kyle: OK.

Dylan: Be a zebra Kai-Kai.

Kyle: OK.

Interestingly enough, Kyle's jaguar and zebra walk on all fours and make the same deep, throaty noise. Dylan wasn't scared.

Today we challenged them: Be a fish! Be a turtle! Be a snail!

Oh my goodness . . . Isn't there a scene in A Chorus Line where someone talks about having to be an ice-cream cone or something in acting class?

Paging Ms. Babcock! Ms. Babcock, are you there? Is Tyler around? . . . .