Spring has Sprung

This afternoon I took the kids outside to play while I spring-cleaned the minefield of doggie-business that our backyard had become.

It took me about an hour and a half with a pooper-scooper and a trash bag, and I literally developed callouses from all the pooper-scooper-handle-clenching.

I don't know if that counts as working out, but I'm totally putting it in my workout journal. That is, I would if I still had a workout journal. Right now my workout journal mostly consists of a mental note along the lines of ....Monday: ran for thirty minutes when I totally intended to run for forty-five and I only did a level three on the treadmill when I should have upped it to a level four, and I was just going to eat a salad for lunch but now I am STARVING so screw it, I'm gonna go to Jimmy John's and get me a VITO sub because doggonit I love those things, I guess I'll just have to do better tomorrow when I SWEAR I'll run for like seventy-five minutes on a level three hundred and I'll either skip lunch or eat like a brussel sprout or something....

Anyway, trust me, the lawn clean-up coupled with the Wii Fit Plus challenges that Noah kept insisting I play with him means I'm chalking today up to a total exercise NINJA day.

So we are gearing up for Spring Break week; we'll leave Saturday for a week in Wisconsin Dells. I know what you're thinking, But Diane, Wisconsin is such a heavy Spring Break destination, everyone just flocks to the Badger State in early April, aren't you worried it will be crowded, teeming with spring breakers from all over the country?

It may not be a terribly exotic vacation destination, but it is relatively easy and the kids at this age totally love it. Indoor water parks, amusement parks, bowling, go-karts, Wii Sports Resort and/or Guitar Hero marathons....here we come.

At Least They Don't Bark

Some kids have imaginary friends.

Travis? Has imaginary wiener dogs.

It all started about three years ago. I've always been one to read the kids a book before bed, but Ben has always been more inclined to tell them a story. Typically he tells them a story about some random pet from his childhood.

Ben had lots of funny pets as a kid.

Anyway, there was one night when I was putting Travis to bed, when he was about three years old, and I told him a story about my childhood wiener dog, Tessa. I am not nearly as good at story-telling as Ben is, but I told him about how Tessa used to grab one piece of dog food at a time, and run into the living room to eat each piece, before running back to the kitchen to grab another one.

Something about that story or about my description of Tessa resonated with him, because not long after that, he started making up his own stories about his own wiener dogs. His invisible wiener dogs.

He has multiple wiener dogs, sometimes as many as a hundred at any one time. I just asked Travis how many he has and he replied, "A hundred and thirty two right now. I used to have one more but it just had twins so it is in my invisible backpack with its babies."

His invisible wiener dogs show up in any number of random places and situations. Sometimes they are in their invisible flying car and they race us to our destination. (They usually beat us, but it's not really fair, seeing as how they really don't have to deal with speed limits or stop signs.)

It should be noted that they are actually flying invisible wiener dogs, but they generally prefer to take the flying car when traveling long distances because otherwise they get tired.

They have been known to help Travis find lost items in the house. Or, at least, taunt us with the knowledge of said items' whereabouts. For instance, perhaps we are looking for Travis's gloves, which he did not put in their proper location upon removal the prior evening.

Me: Travis, where did you take your gloves off at?

Travis: I'm not sure. I thought they were right here.

Me: Well, you need to help me look for them. Where could they be?

Travis: My wiener dogs know where they are! They can see them right now!

Me: ......[grumbling] Tell your wiener dogs we are almost late for school. I could really use their help right now. I don't have time for games.

Sometimes I think I forget that they are, in fact, imaginary.

Other times, the wiener dogs get used as scapegoats for Travis's transgressions. I didn't run into Sophie, mom, my invisible wiener dogs did! They were trying to get to the kitchen for snack time!

I remind Travis that, as they are his invisible wiener dogs, he is responsible for their actions, and he needs to make sure they follow the same house rules as everyone else.

Their most important and useful function is generally when Travis is in a bad mood and can't seem to find his way out of it. Like when he's ultra-whiny and I tell he needs to improve his attitude. Once he realizes he is missing out on something fun or exciting, or is just ready to get out of his funk, he'll say, My wiener dogs told me a joke and made me laugh and forget all about being whiny! I think it is his way of wanting to get over it but not wanting to admit that he was being ridiculous in the first place. Whatever works.

Here's Travis sitting with his invisible wiener dogs. All one hundred and thirty two of them. Some of them are flying above his head. Others are sitting on top of each other.

Although you can't see them in this picture, Travis tells me that you can see them if you close your eyes.

Go ahead, give it a try.

Pretty cool, eh?

Naturally, Travis is the only one who can see them with his eyes open.

With this whole thing having developed several years ago, when Noah was a mere infant, he has really just grown up with Travis's invisible wiener dogs being a normal part of his existence. The other night, as I was tucking the boys into bed, Noah said, "I think there's a bad dream in my bed. It's okay, my wiener dogs will take it back to their house with them."

And the saga continues.

One Foot at a Time

Mom, can I have a cuddle?

That's Sophie's method of requesting some snuggle time. She used to say "I wanna cuddle", which I assumed meant, in grammatically correct fashion, I want TO cuddle.

Now, I realize, she was probably actually saying I want A cuddle. Which has now morphed into Can I HAVE a cuddle.

Like a cuddle is an actual, tangible item.

Isn't that awesome?

I just re-read that, and now the word 'cuddle' seems like a completely nonsensical word to me. It also seems kind of.....harsh... for what the word portrays. Those letters, in that order....I don't know....they don't seem very cuddly. Maybe it's the two ds and the l right there in the middle, all sticking up in defiance. And a 'u' just seems like the least friendly vowel, doesn't it? Kind of like it's angry. I wish the word for cuddle would have been created to be a little cuddlier, like maybe 'slooshie' or something.

Who's with me?

Yeah.

So, Tuesday morning, I got up early and went to the gym. After my workout, I went back to the locker room to shower and get ready for work.

I reached into my gym back, and pulled out two right-footed flip-flops.

I bring flip-flops to wear in the gym shower, because, well, otherwise.....ewww. I have this old pair of cheap-o vinyl-y gold flip-flops that do the trick quite well.

Yesterday morning, I had realized there was only one cheap-o gold flip flop in my bag. I suspected Sophie had something to do with that, so I went to the shoe cubby, and sure enough, found another cheap-o gold flip-flop in there, which I shoved into my bag.

Turns out, I have TWO pair of cheap-o gold flip-flops. I'd forgotten. They are not exactly the same, but similar. Cheap. Gold. And I had two right-footed ones.

And I had to go shower.

The prospect of going barefoot did not linger in my mind as a possible solution.

I grabbed the two right-footed flip-flops, and kept my running shoes on as I made my way to the shower.

I couldn't very well shower in my running shoes, so inside the shower stall, I slipped a flip-flop on my right foot. I stared at the other flip-flop.

I wished I had two right feet.

(It would have been smarter to just wish for a left-footed flip-flop, since I'm wishing and all, but whatever....I can't control how my mind works in these emergency situations.)

I shoved the right-footed flip-flop on my left foot, maneuvering it and cramming it somewhere in the middle of my toes. It felt unnatural, but it was on. And I could shower.

I actually got used to it by the end of my shower, and it didn't feel quite so foreign. I sort of felt like an idiot walking back from the shower to my locker with my dual-right-flip-flops, but the mission was accomplished and I didn't have to sacrifice my feet to some germy, bacteria-laden experience.

Now I'm thinking I should invent some uni-foot flip-flops.

Million dollar idea, no?

Fast Food Mayhem

Chaos.

That's the best way to describe our evening last night.

Yesterday, a friend at work stopped by my office and told me she was taking her two boys, ages 8 and 4, to a movie; and asked if I wanted to bring the kids and go along. Our husbands are both bowling in a league together on Tuesday nights, so she decided she was going to do something fun, doggonit, and not just sit around at home just because it was dads-night-out.

Sophie has yet to attend a movie theater; I'm not sure how she would do. The first and only movie that Noah has seen in a theater was Toy Story 3, and he spent most of the time standing up in his seat, leaping into my lap, and screaming "TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!!!!"

I turned down the movie.

But, she also mentioned that they would be going to Chick-Fil-A for dinner, Tuesday is kids night; they have a play area, free kids meal with purchase of adult meal, plus they were making silly putty and had balloon animals. All sounded like good fun, so after picking the kids up after work, we ventured out to Chick-Fil-A to meet her there.

I got there a little early, so I let the kids play in the play room before eating.

The play room is really nothing more than a giant curly tube slide, with a couple tunnels and a little toddler area. But the kids loved climbing up, through the tunnels, into the little hidden cubbies, and down the slide, ad nauseum.

After about ten minutes, I told the kids they had one last trip down the slide and then we'd put shoes on and go eat, and they could play again after eating. Right about that time, I saw Melissa and her kids entering the restaurant; perfect timing. Sophie ran right up to her and insisted that "Wissa" carry her; Travis started putting his shoes on, and Noah....was nowhere to be found.

Noah?

NOAH!

The play area is in a room by itself, and I had been sitting right next to the door, so I knew he wasn't gone. He was hiding.

I called for him to come down in my firmest, I-mean-business voice. I heard a random kid from somewhere inside the maze of tubes and tunnels say, "Are you Noah?"

There he was, hidden in one of the tunnels, at the top of the play structure. If I stood on my tiptoes and craned my neck, I could see the top of his little head through one of the mesh walls.

NOAH!!! GET DOWN HERE NOW!

Nothing.

I instructed Travis to go get him.

With my shoes on, mom??

Yes. I don't care. Just go get him.

Travis made his way up. I could see him pleading his case. Come ON Noah, mom says you need to come DOWN now!

No luck.

I tossed my handful of bag/coats/purse/food to the floor and marched my way over to that blasted play structure. Up the teeny stairs and through the itty-bitty tunnels, like Alice in Wonderland, I made my way through until I found Noah's hiding place.

He saw me and froze. How did YOU get up here, Mom?

Never mind that, you get down there RIGHT NOW, I am not playing around, and you are in BIG TROUBLE.

I forcibly shoved him down the slide, kind of reminiscent of the little kid in A Christmas Story.

I made my way back down (I did not go down the slide, thank you very much), leaving stunned little kids in my wake.

I shoved Noah's shoes on, grabbed my stuff, and went out to meet Melissa, Sophie, and her kids in the restaurant area. Noah was crying, but at least not making a terrible scene. We sat down to eat.

Travis sat with the 'big boys', Noah was forced to sit at the grown-up table, and Sophie sat on my lap. She ate a couple nuggets and some fries, scarfed down some milk, and then insisted on getting down.

I wanna play in the playground!

Not now Sophie. Let's finish eating.

[sob] I WANNA PLAY IN THE PLAYGROUND!!! [whimper] [sob]

Sophie. Finish eating first. We'll play in a minute.

I WANT SOME ICE CREAM!

No, no ice cream. We'll go to the playground once you finish eating. Here, have a nugget.

I WANNA SIT WITH WISSA!

Thankfully, Melissa was amiable as ever and let Sophie sit with her, distracted her with kiddie toys, and calmed her down somewhat.

The boys got some balloon toys. I let Travis go play but made Noah sit with me until we were all done eating, in a half-hearted attempt to enact some punishment for his earlier mishap.

Finally we all went back to the play area. It had gotten exponentially crazier since we'd been in there the first time.

There were some older kids running around playing tag. A couple kids bonked heads together inside the tubes and both came out wailing. Some little girl that couldn't have been more than four wrapped both her arms around Sophie and picked her right up, to Sophie's utter delight. At one point there was a bottleneck inside the tube slide and about ten kids got backed up in there, with one or two kids at the front blocking the way out. Once the area was cleared, one by one kids made their way out, some giggling, others screeching with delight, still others tearful and crying. It was like a clown car of toddlers and pre-schoolers and pre-adolescents.

I reprimanded a couple older kids for climbing up the slide, and being a little too rough around the younger kids. (I was wielding Noah's balloon sword. They were sufficiently threatened.)

One of the other moms in the play area appropriately lamented, Don't they serve wine at Chick-Fil-A?

Finally, it was time to go. I rounded up the kids, Noah behaved this time, and made our way out of there. We stopped by the silly putty table on our way out and each kid got a plastic Easter egg filled with homemade silly putty. ("It looks like birthday cake frosting, Mom!" Noah later exclaimed.)

On the way home, Noah and Sophie fought incessantly over the balloon sword, and Sophie kept opening up her Easter egg and wailing, "You fix it, Mom?!? I broke my egg, you fix it??"

Now we're home. I'm exhausted. And all out of wine.

Aligning my Chakras

I hate taking medication.

I don’t really know why. I just do. I cannot EVER seem to stay on medication for any appreciable amount of time, because I just stop taking it.

Take my new thyroid medication, for instance. I did good for a short while, was a little spotty for about a month, and then just didn’t even get my last refill. I’m supposed to be going for more bloodwork this month to test my thyroid levels and see if there is any improvement, but I can’t very well do that when I’ve only taken the blasted pill twice over the last 30 days.

I know this wreaks havoc on my already hormonally-haywire endocrine system. I know I’m not doing myself any favors.

But I HATE taking medication.

I told Ben this week that I feel like it’s ‘cheating’. Like I’m taking this pill as the easy way to rectify some imbalance in my system, rather than fixing the imbalance itself.

So I’ve done some research on natural remedies to restore thyroid imbalances.

I’m not a kook, by any means. I believe in Western medicine. I don’t buy only organic foods. I don’t give a crap about Feng Shui.
(If you’re reading this, and you’re a kook, please don’t take offense. I mean none. I’m just not particularly passionate about this sort of thing, in general.)

At any rate, turns out I should be ingesting more iodine. Who knew. I am seriously considering trying that route because I think I will have less of an adverse subconscious reaction to taking an herbal supplement rather than a prescription drug. I admittedly don’t know that much about herbal remedies, so I will need to do some research about reputable sources and whether this is really the right thing to do. I’m not totally committed to this idea yet, but I’m just not convinced that, even though my prescription is now refilled, I’ll actually diligently take the darn thing.

By the way, it was Ben that finally called in my prescription refill and picked it up for me. I'm even bad at doing that. He was tired of me complaining about my fatigue, depression, etc. No crap, Diane, those were the reasons you STARTED taking that medication that you haven’t taken in three weeks. Are you surprised by this??!

Ironically, a significant majority of my immediate family earns their living from none other than a prescription drug store. Sorry, family.

Ready for Work

Today, I was showing Noah how to make an "excited mark" per his request. In the other room, I heard Sophie loudly and emphatically proclaim,

"I'm READY for work!"

Hmmmm....what could that mean?

I glance in her direction. Apparently what she means by 'ready for work' is that she's got an ink pen and my mp3 player haphazardly shoved in her pants pocket, a little keychain shoved in her other pocket, and her tiny feet pressed into my flip flops, the ones I use to take the trash outside.

Oops. Almost dropped my thingamajigger.

Then tonight, after Ben got home, we heard her make the same announcement.

"I'm READY for work!"

This time, she had a boot on one hand, a sock on the other, and a roll of duct tape around her ankle.

As it stands, to Sophie, preparing for work means accessorizing with completely random and utterly nonsensical household items.

What on earth does she think we do at work?

In other news, I took Noah to the dentist today. He had his regular check-up less than a month ago, but in the last couple weeks I've been noticing his right front tooth is a little discolored.

I first thought I was just imagining it, which Ben reinforced when he told me he couldn't see any such thing. But I just kept noticing it and finally decided it must be something more than a hypochondriac-by-proxy reaction.

I called the dentist this morning, we got an appointment for this afternoon; sure enough, the nerve was dead and they performed a "baby root canal". All told, the procedure lasted fifteen minutes, no numbing was required - just a little laughing gas. Noah was a champ. The dentist was impressed with his iPad abilities. That's my boy.

Here he is with his 'fixed tooth'.

St. Patty's Day Lovin'

Kiss me, I'm Irish!

Growing Pains

No, not the 80s sitcom. I mean the muscle and joint aches that generally occur in children ages 3-5.

I'm pretty sure that's what Noah is going through these days, as he woke me up multiple times crying and complaining of knee pain.

This is not a particularly new development, but last night was by far the worst.

At around 9:30, while Ben and I were still downstairs watching TV, I heard Noah screaming at the top of the stairs. I tried to console him to no avail, and ended up bringing him downstairs to cuddle for awhile.

His 2nd and 3rd wails of misery occurred around 1 and 2:30 a.m., respectively. Each time, he made his way to our bedroom, complaining that each step hurt his poor little knees.

He whimpered, "mom! rub ALL of the parts!"

So I rubbed them, which he usually wants, but seemed to cause more pain than relief.

And then later, at 3:30 or so, his fourth or fifth go-round, he whispered, "mom, i need a band-aid...." because, as we all know, band-aids are miraculous devices that eliminate any and all pain upon contact. As luck would have it, I had a few band-aids on my night stand, so I applied one, which at least calmed him down and let him sleep for a little while.

He continued to sleep fitfully at best, which means I did the same.

In the morning, upon waking, he was pretty much pain-free. I can't figure out what it is about sleeping that makes that joint pain so bad.

Incidentally, upon waking Sophie this morning, she immediately noticed the bright orange band-aid on Noah's knee. She thought for a second, then held out her finger (the nearest available body part) and exclaimed, "mom! I need a band-aid! I huwt my finger!"

She's been corrupted by the Band-Aid Machine.

Here's Noah assuring me tonight that his knees felt better:

And here he is, goofing off with his brother and sister before bed:

(They were saying "tick tock, I'm a duck!" following by fits of giggling. I have no idea where this came from. These kids are nuts sometimes.)

Good night.

Contraption Time!

It's that time again.

To culminate this weekend, which included a friend's three-year-old daughter's birthday party, and a St. Patty's Day brunch at another friend's house, the boys and I decided to put together a contraption. Sophie was around, but we did our best to keep her otherwise distracted -- she's not exactly quality 'helper' material. She's cute though.

Travis decided that our contraption's goal would be to trap a flying fish (of the Mario Brother variety). Naturally, it was Fire Mario's job to accomplish this goal.

Here's Fire Mario, seen here cavorting with the Wonder Pets prior to his daunting task.

Travis sent Fire Mario down the paper-towel-roll chute!

Mario hit the dominoes, with as much force as his tiny half-ounce body could muster.

The rest of the dominoes fell, the last one knocking out the block that held the cup in place. The cup tipped over, sending the ball down the little slide.

The ball made its way down the slide....

Then struck this little cardboard box

which landed on, and trapped, the flying fish!

The end

We got you, flying fish!!

High fives all around!

And now, the video.....

A Kindergartner's Perspective on International Trade

Scene: Travis and I are in the car, on the way to tae kwon do class.

Travis: Mom, it seems like everything that has a tag on it that says where it's made says "Made in China"....

Me: Oh, really?

Travis: Yeah, see, my tae kwon do belt says "Made in China". It seems like everything is made in China!

Me: Yes, it kind of does seem like that. Why do you think that is?

Travis: I don't know...... I guess they must make a lot of stuff in China!

Me: I would guess that is true.

Travis: And then they send a lot of it to the USA! It seems like they send a thousand things to the USA!

Me: I bet it is even more than a thousand.

Travis: I think I have only seen one thing that says it was made in the USA.

Me: What was that one thing?

Travis: ......I can't really remember. All I remember is stuff made in China!!

[I grab my purse from the seat next to me, open it up to reveal the tag...made in China. The digital camera is in the center console; the sticker on the bottom shows it was also made in China. I share those two things with Travis.]

Travis: I wonder why the USA doesn't make more stuff and send it to China? It just seems like everything is made in China! Isn't that silly!?

Me: It certainly is.

We did not discuss the dilemma of cheap labor costs versus civil rights violation issues, and the implication of foreign outsourcing on the local economy. Maybe next week.

In Search of the Cleaning Fairy

Look, I'm not much of a housekeeper. I never have been, even when it was just me and Ben. And it is becoming quite apparent that having kids did not create in me a motherly nurturing instinct to become all June Cleaver-esque.

Firstly, I really don't want to spend my time at home stressing about keeping the house clean. Playing with the kids generally leads to things getting messed up, and I am perfectly okay with that.

The problem is, now that there are five of us, my lack of motivation and skill in this department is exponentially more problematic than it used to be.

Add to that the distractingly difficult chore it has become to get even a modicum of work done around the house with three young ones underfoot. I could generally be more productive in a coma.

Take this weekend, for example. We really had no plans -- we took the kids to a museum yesterday, but today had nothing to do and, except for Ben, none of us even left the house. By Sunday afternoon the destruction was really starting to catch up with us. I was feeling mildly motivated and ready for a decent cleaning session. Ben headed out to do some grocery shopping and also head into school to get some work done. The account that follows is literally - no exaggeration - what happened as I tried to tackle the tornado that is our homestead.

My goal was general straightening, dusting and vacuuming of the main floor. Nothing drastic, remember who you're dealing with after all.

I start by picking up random trash, toys, dishes, etc. Pass by the kitchen to drop off a stray glass (yes, it was a wine glass from last night, don't judge), and realize my best bet is to start with the dishes before they revolt and start a battle with the kitchen appliances. Forget the general straightening and start on the dishes.

Midway through loading the dishwasher, Noah asks me to come see something in the castle that the boys are playing with. I don't want to blow the kids off just because I'm trying to get some work done, so I agree to go check it out. Head into the front room and watch Noah show me some Mario character going through some secret exit. I pretend to be thrilled and am sufficiently interested for the requisite amount of time, and then flip the light switch on my way out of the room, because it's twilight and starting to get dark.

The light bulb burns out. I head to the laundry room to get a replacement bulb.

In the laundry room, I realize I really should have started by beginning a load of laundry, so that the washer would be running as I worked on my other chores.

Dump the dirty laundry into the washer, and gather some additional from upstairs. Pour in the detergent but then realize that before I start the laundry I really should go search the rest of the rooms in the main floor for the random articles of clothing that my offspring generally toss aside throughout the day.

Go in search of socks, pants, undies, what-have-you, underneath the living room couch, in the bathroom, crammed in dad's snow boots, the usual. Realize that I never got that light bulb for the front room that the boys are playing in.

Dump the laundry off and grab a light bulb. Replace light bulb.

Head back through the kitchen and finish up the dishes.

Realize that I never started the washing machine after tracking down all that laundry. Head to the laundry room and start the first load.

Move on to sweeping the living room and kitchen. Go let the dog out because apparently his life's mission is to destroy any and all brooms that dare make their presence known in his vicinity.

Sweep for a couple minutes, and then realize I haven't seen nor heard from Sophie in about ten minutes, which is never good. Search for her while calling her name. Find her with the bag of crayons that I had fully intended to seal up and put away about twenty minutes prior but never got around to.

It becomes clear that Sophie has been planning a gigantic crayon treasure hunt throughout the house. Crayons are hidden EVERYWHERE.

I enlist the boys' help and we search for crayons for about fifteen minutes. Travis locates a jackpot of crayons in the tray table stand, but we also find some in the princess chair, wedged in the heat vent, on the staircase, and in the dog food bowl.

Crayon bag sealed up and put away.

I head back to sweeping. I sweep up a glue-stick lid in my pile, and realize that previously, there HAD been a glue-stick (complete with lid) sealed inside that crayon bag. No longer. Search in vain for the glue-stick that matched up with that lid for about ten minutes. Decide to go back to sweeping and daydream about the havoc that Sophie has probably wreaked with said uncapped glue-stick, like gluing up the iPad or my suit jacket or something.

Finish sweeping and let the dog in because he is barking bloody murder at the neighbor boys shooting basketball.

Begin dusting. Am dusting the piano and the kids come to me and ask if I can play some music so they can dance. I've recently been playing songs on the piano for them to dance to, but today offer to tune the TV to one of the music channels. They agree.

Finish dusting with JT's Bringing Sexy Back blaring in the living room.

Spray the carpets with carpet cleaner. Instruct Sophie to stay out of the dining room, which is covered with white foam. Sophie stomps out of the room and joins Noah in dancing to the Pussycat Dolls.

I drop a few blankets off in the front room and spot the glue stick, sans lid, inside the castle. Retrieve it and reunite the two.

Head back to the dining room and spot some incriminating, footie-pajama footprints all through my foam-sprayed carpet. Track Sophie down, she is in the bathroom trying to take off said footie pajamas so she can "sit on the potty!" Assist her in this endeavor, which does not have any satisfying results, but at least it is good practice.

Decide this is a good time to take the trash and recycling out before vacuuming. On the way back in, slip on a teeny tiny swatch of ice on the driveway. Catch myself before falling, but feel a twinge in my back that is not likely to turn out good.

Come inside, Sophie has a penny in her hand. As she watches me, she puts her hand up to her mouth as though she is going to eat the coin. I sternly demand that she desist and give me the penny. She furrows her brow angrily, throws the penny at me and runs away.

At this point, who cares.

I give up. I collapse into the recliner and decide to write a blog about it. I'm way better at that than cleaning anyway.