For every Olympic athlete, there is a mother that is stressed-the-hell-out.

Yup. It's going to be my SECOND sports post of the week. Officially making it 2 for 2. Also amazing, because I don't *play* sports, I just pretend to on T.V.

Just kidding. If I pretended to do anything athletic on T.V., viewers would assume I was having a seizure.

Today G had school and then a 2nd grade swimming party at a local pool. Weather was perfect for it, all of her pals were there. And then, around 5:30, we got our butts in gear and hauled on out of there.

Because.

We raced home, shoved dinner in her pie-hole and put her in swimsuit #2. Turnaround time: 40 minutes. In preparation for our FIRST PRACTICE EVER on the swim team that practices in a diamond-studded pool.

Just kidding. It was a normal, community pool. I didn't even see our name on a plaque, but I am so sure it's being carved and bedazzled as we speak.

She did GREAT! They worked her like a dog, thank God, because every minute of practice costs, like $5. So we totally got our money's worth, and this girl is going to build up a crap-load of endurance. Let me tell you.

And I think she LIKED it! She saw some success, because they evaluated her and moved her up a couple of lanes, which is just the kind of confidence boost she needs.

Also, somewhere along the way, between swimming outing #1 & swimming outing #2 (diamond edition), I dropped L off with her father who was responsible for taking her to soccer practice. Oh, falafel. I cannot handle 3 extra-curricular outings in the same 3 hour period of time, particularly when two of them involved large pools of water (and gemstones). It makes me CRAZY-like-I-want-to-eat-cigarettes-and-rub-glue-all-up-in-my-hair. Thank goodness her dad works in real estate and not nuclear-arms testing, because that would make it impossibly unsafe for this type of late-afternoon kid shuffling.

Deep breath. I am home. And done with my commitments for the day. Except for homework, and well, who the hell has time for that????

Where my son confuses soccer with Nazi Germany.

Apparently, when I reminded Big J that he had soccer practice this afternoon, he mistakenly thought I said that I was going to chop off all his fingers and serve them ala mode.

NO JOKE.

The kid SCREAMED for 45 minutes, for most of which I sent him to his room. Not out of punishment, but I just couldn't formulate a plan to MAKE IT STOP (Dear God, make it stop) while he was shrieking directly into my brain-drum.

I asked him to use words.

Shriek!

I asked him why he didn't want to go to soccer?

Shrieking with violent arm movement.

I asked him to take a breath.

Gigantic snot wad on my couch. Followed by shrieking.

His small (yet LOUD) stint in his room was followed by dry heaving. DRY HEAVING. Caused by SOCCER. Here is where I decided to avoid conflict by reading some books and running some errands and pretending like soccer was NEVER invented.

We ran to Sam's Club. More dry heaving and what appears to be deep depression. I'm beginning to think it's viral.

We ran to Hobby Lobby. Dry heaving with a giggle. FAKER.

I clued Mike into the fact that we *might* have a problem on our hands, come practice time. We debated the pros/cons of having the other kids at practice and the timing with which we needed to get him dressed for practice, AND we formulated an anger management plan to be implemented during practice.

When we arrived at the field, Big J looked nervous. And then he started to do this thing that looked like hyperventilation. But when Mike began walking him to the field (I hung back with the other kids), he lost it.

How to best describe it: He was CORRECTLY exemplifying all of the behaviors outlined in those emails that tell you what to do in the event you are being abducted in a parking garage.

You know.

SCREAM loudly. Check.

Flail all arms and legs to avoid being thrown in a window-less van. Check.

Draw as much attention as possible. Check.

Fight like hell. Check.

It would have been REALLY sad, if it hadn't been so darn DRAMATIC. Yes, I know he thought we were going to bludgeon him to death and use his flesh as garden fertilizer. But still. It was kind of funny. Like, rehearsal-dinner-video kind of funny. If I could have videotaped his rampage.

Which I tried to do.

But our camera memory card was full. And I was in the process of downloading it, but then the first threat of a dry heave arrived. Wisely played, Big J. You sensed my inappropriate video-taping and raised me a pizza vomit.

He eventually blew 12 more pounds of mucous out of his nose and joined practice, tear-free. Then, he ran around and kicked the ball and played a scrimmage and smiled when he came off the field. It ended well, with all fingers in tact, not a chunk on vomit seen.

But I will have my camera ready next Monday.

I love thee with words and a sharpie.

I am out of town. Again. And my sweet husband is in charge of our small flock of chickens.


I left this note on his pillow yesterday, before I headed out. It's totally true. I consider myself a writer, and yet, I very rarely use my words to tell my husband how very dear he is to me. It took 2 minutes, in all of the craziness of getting out of here.

He is totally worth 2 minutes. Actually, he is worth a million times more than that.

Now. Go forth and give the gift of kind words today!

My most beautiful garden.

Oh, I don't know. Because sometimes it's 5:30 and the kids are watching Star Wars and I have this nagging urge to dip their fingers in paint and *make* something. But I want in on the action too, and so it turns into an inappropriately-timed art hour that is really fun. And then I think I want 25 more, with my main FOCUS being a large thumbprint sun that says "You are my Sunshine". Yup, that sounds nice, maybe I'll try it as we are trying to head out the door before school starts tomorrow. That's funny, because its IMPOSSIBLE.

This is how obsessive habits are formed.

Love to you all. Hope you all are having a GREAT week.

It costs HOW MUCH????

So last night, I mentioned that G will be part of a year-round swimming club. You *might* recall some of the anxiety that came with watching her be a part of her first competitive swimming team this summer. So, yeah, it's totally natural that I would want to drag that kind of neuroses out for an ENTIRE year.

Once again, I blame this on not having played any sports as a child, which has somehow made me socially awkward in situations requiring either myself or my child to perform in an athletic setting. G, you are SOOOOO welcome for the lack of confidence that I am gifting to you! With a pretty polka-dot bow, thank-you-very-much. I DO NOT understand the learning curve associated with sports, particularly when we are talking about a 7-year-old. I worry that she's not getting it, not liking it, not focusing, not trying hard enough.

You know, I might as well carry a knife around the pool and drive a van without windows, because that is just CRAZY.

Particularly since G had to try-out for this team--not to be included, but to place her according to her ability--and she swam beautifully. Guess what? She listened this summer! And she (kind of) liked it. And she focused like an age-appropriate 7 year old. And she pushed herself across that entire pool effortlessly. Knives are unnecessary for motivation, apparently. They should tell you that when you check your baby out of the hospital.

G isn't really that interested in sports, but it's not an option. She has to be on some kind of team. It's good for her on so many levels, that you can just go ahead and research on the Internet, because I am sure they exist. But mostly, I am saving her from months of therapy as a mother when she realizes she is having a panic attack at her child's first day of t-ball, or whatever.

So we are committed! To a team that practices 3 times a week! At 7:15 p.m.! Bring it butterfly and flip turns and Speedos. We are in it, and we have worked through, like 1/16th of our issues when it comes to sports. I will watch and shut-up and read a People magazine and maybe take a Valium (or 3).

G tried out, got her placement in the "Developmental" group...and then I was handed, I kid you not, a packet of 200 papers. Registration, and ethics codes and more national registrations and practice schedules (on a SPREAD SHEET), and mandatory parent volunteer sign ups (????????). Whoa.

And in the middle of it all was the PRICING spreadsheet.

$1,300. And some change.

I mean, just to be clear, we're talking about swimming. Swimming. In a pool that already has water in it? Or are they planning to add a wing on to the Rec center and name it after us? Or possibly stud her suit in real diamonds (she would LOVE that). I theorized that they were maybe swimming in actual, liquid gold. $1,300???????? My dad was a college swimmer and I'm pretty sure he told me he grew up swimming in drainage ditches--right Dad? I see how that is neither safe nor even remotely possible that there was enough run-off water to float a child, but still.

If I had 2 children who would choose to be on a swimming team, that would equal $2,600???? And now, I totally understand how younger siblings get hosed. Not to worry kids, we'll squeeze the liquid gold out of G's suit after practice and in like 35 years, we'll have a money tub for you to swim in.

People who put their kids in sports--IS THIS HOW MUCH YOU PAY?????????

If you tell me no, that there are cheaper options, that there are starving children in Africa, that I should just buy a shark and put it in the pool with G and she'll learn to swim *real* fast, well, none of that is really true. I mean, children ARE starving in Africa. But in reality, a shark in a pool with G would end in disaster and not proper swim technique. And also, there are very few swimming programs out there for little kids, that teach them well. I have LOOKED. And LOOKED. This is kind of it because I think this program is a big hairy beast that ate all the cute little baby programs. And it is rather impressive, based on its Declaration of Rights and general laws, as outlined in our packet.

Because here's the other thing? At least I am only having to buy a team suit and a swim cap. There are no *special* shoes required for swimming (that i know of). But I can think of a million other sports where the gear is pricey too. Hockey? Football? Golf? Tennis? I'm guessing none of it is cheap.

How I can rationalize this: G will receive a college scholarship in swimming, therefore making it OKAY for me to utilize her college fund for lessons. So simple. And also, I am thinking of creating my own children's sport as a financial safety net. I am thinking of Little League Biathalon, because nothing says fun and safe like little kids on skis with guns.

What 34 looks like in gifts.

Happy Birthday, to ME!!

I bought a LARGE, polka-dotted bowl. Are you surprised?

Also, for the next five-years worth of birthdays and Christmases, I have signed G up for a year-round swimming team. And apparently they will be doing laps in a diamond-encrusted pool filled with liquid gold.
More on that later.

And my husband bought me this rooster (and 9 months worth of swimming lessons for G).
Ba-GAWK!

Yes, he was being serious.

Because I asked for it, like, 4 years ago. I have a *thing* for roosters.

And it is AWE-SOME.

Feisty comes in small, Asian-shaped packages.

This one has gotten off to quite a start in kindergarten. I NEVER saw it coming.

L is the trouble-making, unpredictable, non-listener in her class. No joke.

When her teacher pulled me aside at pick-up, ON DAY #4, I can honestly say, I was shocked. Which probably came off as denial, because she doesn't act that way around me. Right? Friends of mine, who see me with L? Would you ever consider her a wild child? Behavior issues????

Here is where I will also add that L has been in preschool for 3 years prior to kindergarten. NEVER have her behavior or listening skills been an area of concern for her teachers. In fact, today, I asked her last preschool teacher (who had her for 2 years) if there were any listening issues that she had to deal with? Even small ones that seemed too inconsequential to bring up?

She couldn't believe we were talking about the same L.

Little J and his tonsils are most often the one blamed for that kind of behavior. NOT L. And it has me kind of crazy, because behavior is like the polka-dot of childhood. It's the pretty little wrapper on the outside of the immature little package. Ugh. And you know me, I like to fixate on the APPEARANCE of things.

Mike and I have spent A LOT of time talking this through. A LOT. Because seeing as I am a rule follower (and polka dot lover), this really freaks-me-the-hell-out. But the behavior of L comes down to the heart of L, which I believe to be beautiful, yet sinfully flawed. She is like no other, never has been, not for one single day of her life. I KNOW that, and it influences every minute of the way I parent her.

L has given us the benefit of being a twin. Next to Big J, I see her so clearly, because they were created as almost complete opposites. In their first 6 months of life, in the NICU, L was undoubtedly handed the rougher road--her complications were mostly more severe, unusual and often required very risky treatment. She (obviously) thrived through her ordeals. She didn't fuss much, which made it difficult to diagnose some of her issues. She exceeded expectations very early on.

Big J, on the other hand? We practically had to wrestle his ventilator tube out of his lazy little esophagus. Big J didn't like to *work* so much. He was content to let a machine breathe for him. When you gave him a sedative, he slept FOR DAYS. To this very day, he will tell me he doesn't know how to put a shirt on. And if I don't get on him ASAP, I will be wiping his bottom until he goes away to college.

But back to L. As a baby, she was confined by what she couldn't do--walk, talk, eat, etc. But she was lively and independent in the areas under her control. She got rid of her ventilator first. She learned to use her right side, even after two strokes. She learned to eat at the age of 4, when we were told it could be 7-8 years. She can't see out of half of each eye, and I have NEVER seen it limit her physical activity. She is fearless. She isn't shy.

She sees the world without boundaries. And that, folks, is the key to my L.

Once I figured it out, I had to smile a little.

I have very few problems with L, because I know how to parent her. I know she needs FIRM boundaries, because they don't come naturally for her. I am fortunate to have a daughter who sees a world full of opportunity, and none of the fight against other's expectations or opinions. She really doesn't care. She assumes every answer is yes, until she hears no (at least 10 times). Oh, it is rare to have a girl with that kind of spirit and confidence in her.

We have ALWAYS given our kids a lot of rules. Without them, they would go all Lord-of-the-flies and you would find our heads on a stick in the front yard. It is Survival 101. Our kids know EXACTLY how this place works. Disobedience meets consequences. PERIOD.

L works really well under these conditions. She knows where her boundaries are, and she operates independently within them. She doesn't whine (like most of my other kids have, at some point), because she is creative in what she does with her limited freedom. She watches almost ZERO television, but always entertains herself in the time that her siblings are chillin' in front of the boob tube. In so many ways, she is our easiest child.

She is struggling, because she is in a new place, and she has NO IDEA what the boundaries are. And her boundaries ARE NOT NORMAL. Unless you tell her, she doesn't know that she shouldn't rip her name card off the table. She pushes little details like that, everyday. Also, she's used to having four teachers in her classroom, which made it very easy to establish and enforce the boundaries quickly, and now she is testing the limits of one, very new teacher. She has no fear. She operates under her own rules, until someone tells her differently.

And she doesn't understand fluff, or choices or anything less than firm and rigid. Listen people, this is where I am going to tell it straight. When I parent my kids, I most closely resemble a military drill sergeant than Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar. It (mostly) isn't touchy-feely. There are very few choices, because my littlest kids can't handle choices. And fairness is an impossible standard to keep.

L, God bless her, does the best with this system. She is the LEAST emotional when it comes to rules. I have never seen her cry because her feelings are hurt. And if you know her, then you know she is the spunkiest, happiest little girl you have ever met in your life. She just is. Our biggest and most recent fight happened this past winter, when L went through a period of horrible eating habits. HORRIBLE. She would be distracted, and refuse to put a bite in, and then let it sit in her cheek for-ever. Classic disobedience, it made me crazy. And then I found out she had strep throat. But never once complained of a sore throat or general feelings of crap. She is the exact opposite of what you usually, normally, expect.


But L is growing up, and while she knows her boundaries with Mom and Dad, she is quite obviously testing them with the world. There have been instances where babysitters have told us she has been a bit difficult (for the same reasons), but it's almost impossible to know her language and her needs and the way to communicate with her, without actually being her parent, or present on a regular basis. Not to be snooty, but that's kind of what I'm paid for. In poop, mind you. Not actual dollars.

The classroom setting? Now that's a different story. Because that territory is her teacher's to own and rule with an iron fist. I am working with her by setting incentives and consequences at home, to get her behavior in check. But I'm also encouraging her to set her discipline policies and be firm (L can smell uncertainty). I am fairly certain we will see some success just based on L's fear of me, but I think in the long run, she has to respect the boundaries her teacher's set, apart from mom and dad, to have a lasting kind of impact.

Wow. It's hard to have a non-conformist. But it is equally exciting to see where she's going.

Target, this makes up for your little girl swimsuit selection this year.

(As seen and ADMIRED in the ADULT men's section at Target.)

Dear Target,

I like the way you are thinking. This, right here, is Christmas-stocking-worthy underwear for men. Please send more of these, and less of the big girl swim suits in neon colors and inappropriate cut-outs in the midsection. I thought we had agreed that polka dots were acceptable and looked kindly upon?

Oh! Little boy Speedos in the underoo theme for 2011? Done and done.

And also, you can continue with the Paul Frank monkey socks. Love those. Though the weather here never permits it, I have big plans to wear the knee-high ones with my tall boots. I would LOVE to know of this magical place where it is cold enough to wear a cashmere sweater AND boots, yet warm enough to leave my knees/half thigh exposed. I am intrigued by this land, where the weather pattern changes vertically, by the inch. And yet, I KNOW it exists, because J.Crew shoots their fall catalog there every year, where they insist on pairing booty shorts with wellies (LOVE it, so cute). If you could send the unicorn to fetch me, it would be most appreciated.

You are awesome,

Me

*********************************

In other news, Hobby Lobby decided to screw me by making their decorative knobs and pulls 50% off this week. It looks like I have a year of half-painted bathroom cabinets to look forward to.

Second grade.

This one started the second grade today. I don't even know how that happened, because it feels like just last week that she was wearing diapers and eating canned meat. Yes, you organic lovers, I fed her meat out of a CAN, because: a.) Spam is near and dear to my heart, and b.) the chemicals and preservatives make it extra squishy.

Squishy trumps sodium intake, every time. You know what? It's just not that big of a deal for me.

Oh relax. I didn't feed her Spam (until she was 2). I'm talking more about the Gerber liquid stuff and Vienna sausages. Though, I really fail to see how that is any better.

But really, I can tell it is going to be her year. Just a general feeling, plus I've noticed that she seems more comfortable in her skin. She will probably always be my *reserved* kid. She hates any kind of spotlight (good or bad). She doesn't like to sing in the car. She is afraid of looking goofy, she likes to be middle of the pack. She is my daughter, all over, and I am learning to encourage her in ways that don't embarrass her with attention.

Though. She did say the highlight of her day was MATH. Say what? I almost requested a DNA test. Oh wait, I birthed her (coincidentally, I almost requested this test when she refused McDonalds?????). Anyway, she clarified and said they were doing counting work with M&Ms. Genetic mystery solved.

A note about the picture posted above: I had several, better shots, but in EVERY ONE, L was exposing a nipple. And because this is a family blog, we just can't be promoting kiddie porn.

Anyway.

I promised G that we would head to Quik Trip after school for slushies. Just a note, not every Quik Trip sells the same stuff...as I now know, based on our tour of Quik Trips in the St. Louis metropolitan area. Specifically, we were looking for Blue Raspberry and Strawberry Banana.

Of which my children probably took 5 sips?

It seems slushies are better in THEORY, than as an actual, tangible treat. But I *think* they were satisfied with their reward, even if they acted like it was canned, liquid meat. I know there is a disconnect right now, between what they WANT and what they actually LIKE. But I'm doing my darn-dest not to open my mouth and form their opinions for them.

Hard. REALLY hard.

I will speak up if they think they want the word "SEXY" embroidered across their bottoms. Because I know 16-year-old boys LIKE and actually WANT that.

Hope the school routine is going great for all of you out there! Here's to a fantastic year!!

Proving the correlation between hoarding and inadvertently drugging your child.

We are in a frenzy getting child #4 ready for her first day of school. Just trying to figure out what I am going to do with three solitary hours of freedom has me dreaming up new projects that include painting cabinetry. PLEASE tell me it's a bad idea. Because I started a bedroom painting project 18 months ago, and I still have 1.5 walls to complete.

But if you can relate to me, and Hobby Lobby is like straight-up crack, then you might happen to see their selection of knobs and pulls. And they might inspire you to paint every room and piece of furniture you own. Just so you can have blue knobs with lime green polka dots. Gasp!

Anyway. I was kind of at a loss over what to post tonight. And then, wouldn't you know it? I go and do something really stupid...and well, there you have it.

Yes, it has something to do with those medicine bottles.

That all look EXACTLY the same, btw. That's a really dumb idea. I might lobby congress about it.

Because every night, I give Little J some prescription anti-itching stuff for his eczema (like stronger benadryl). Mostly it knocks him out, I think.

Now.

You would THINK I would remember that this medicine is clear. And therefore, when the medicine I put in the syringe tonight was tinted orange-ish, well, that *might* be a red flag?

Nope. I am un-observant, and this is dangerous for any number of reasons.

Little J said it tasted funny. I said he was crazy, go to bed. Well, there should be NO problem there.

Because I came downstairs and saw that I gave him CODEINE. From his tonsillectomy last spring. Thankfully, the dosing is the same as his prescription Benadryl. But Little J be high as a kite right now and dreaming in lots of neon.

And I win mother of the year. While simultaneously proving why it's a BAD idea to hoard old medicine.

I figured out a recipe for poop.

Let me begin this post by telling you that I am now VERY skeptical of baking soda. All stemming from the day that shall hence forth be known as, the day of unintentionally unleavened bread.

On this particular day, I decided to bake 183 loaves of mini-bread for my kid's teachers, as a general guilt offering to cover all sins and offenses. Gifted on the first day of school, per biblical specifications.

I remembered all of the ingredients, but BAKING SODA, it seems. No biggie right? One teaspoon of BAKING SODA, can't be a big deal? I mean it's not like I forgot the sugar or anything.

Mike's reaction: You forgot WHAT? I think you might want to cut into one of those and make sure it's okay.

Puh-lease. Honey, it's BAKING SODA. Some taste-less white powder. Can't be too important. It probably just won't rise quite as much. I'm pretty sure I just discovered the recipe for the worlds-best-banana-bread-ever. My exact words.

Folks, let me tell you. If you omit that teeny, tiny teaspoon of baking soda? It will taste like you took a crap in an aluminum baking pan, colored it tan and shaped it into a loaf. No. Joke.

And when you cut it open??? It will slice as if it is completely cooked, but appear visually to be completely raw. ????????. I don't even know how that is possible.



So I decided to look a little more closely at the box. Because it appears to me, that any substance that can make bananas and butter and sugar taste like raw sewage *might* possibly be some sort of crazy voodoo concoction that is killing me softly. READ the box, people. Where on earth did we discover a white powdery substance used for baking, cleaning, deodorizing AND the relief of heart burn and indigestion??? If I could channel "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" for an uno-momento, I believe we have found the modern American equivalent of Windex?


Try #2. I moved on to poppy seed bread, and in a remarkable twist of fate, used a recipe that called for NO BAKING SODA. Much better. Edible. Not so much like poop in a pan. Pictured are our back to school teacher treats (bribes), gifted on day #2. Except for our kindergarten teacher, whom we gifted store bought cookies on the very first day, because it just felt like a brand new teacher, in her FIRST class needed a treat on her very FIRST day.

But as a side note and general warning.

I. Am. Watching. You. Baking. Soda.

This little light of mine.

Ahhh. The first day of kindergarten for the twins. In the mad rush that is trying to feed/dress/brush three young children before 8:00 (haven't been out of bed this early in MONTHS), I happened to snap a few shots. Big J and L NEVER fail to deliver a great portrait...today was no exception (see above).

Contrary to the "deer-in-headlights" look that they nailed, they were so excited for school today. We've been talking it up, but they didn't need it. They were just ready. I'm pretty sure L will be the teacher's aide (paid, salaried position) by the end of the week, as I heard her instructing another little boy at her table to "put his name tag on" within SECONDS of finding her seat.

They have been in school FOREVER it seems, because I put them in preschool before they even turned 3...with their prematurity and their delays, it was always very important to us that they be surrounded by children their age who were modeling age-appropriate skills and behaviors. But truth be told, there was never much of a difference between them and the other kids who didn't struggle to breathe and eat and live for the first 6 months of their live. Hallelujah.


It took a lot of hard work for Big J and L to be here. Half of which, I don't even really know or understand, because I simply watched them struggle from the sidelines while they were pumped full of oxygen and blood and narcotics. Our prayer for them was very basic: LIFE. Minute by minute. I know I've written about their birth A LOT, but it was horrific and scary. It was that way for MONTHS. And almost from Day 1, we were told that if they survived, there would in all likelihood, be some potentially big disabilities.

Oh my god. Right from the start, Big J was born with bleeding on his brain. And, they were painfully attached to loud, high-frequency JET ventilators. Then, the surgeries. The first one, heart surgery, probably one month in--on L who weighed less than 2 pounds. We had ZERO choice. When they brought her back to the NICU, the incision was literally covered with a normal sized band-aid. Then the hernias and eyes and stomach tying to control their vomiting. For good measure, L went and had herself a couple of strokes, and we were told she would probably walk with a limp and not be able to use her right side much.

I tend to feel pretty nostalgic about those first months on their birthdays, because that day takes me back to the very beginning. But on most days, they are simply my 5-year-old twins. Who drive me nuts. Who laugh. Who fight. Who started kindergarten today.

Taking the prematurity out of my focus is an AMAZING blessing. I am unbelievably changed by their experience in the NICU, but not SCARRED. It didn't make me hold them so close that I fail to let them see the world they were always intended for. It doesn't make me sanitize everything with Purell (please, I barely shower). It doesn't make me overly anxious--my own mental issues do this all on their own, and believe it or not, the NICU actually helped to calm me. Because I am not in control. And no amount of sanitary wipes or surgical masks or generally-living-in-a-germ-free-bubble will change that.

You would also need to know that in every school the twins have ever attended, they have been preceded by a folder of paperwork at least 4 inches thick. They have received hours, upon hours, of therapy: physical, occupational, developmental, speech. Up until today, they have always attended school with an IEP (Individualized Education Plan), which details what extra help they need to "act their age", if you will.

Our goal, was ALWAYS: To be developmentally adjusted by kindergarten.

Today, they don't qualify for any therapy, because they meet the standards by which they measure incoming kindergartners. I know that sounds *normal*. It seems as if that *should* happen, given how much therapy and work these guys have received in 5 years. Sometimes even I have to remind myself that NOTHING about Big J and L *should* have happened. They really shouldn't have survived at birth, the odds were not in their favor. They should have some major disabilities. They should have several, minor disabilities. L should walk with a limp and have a right-side deficiency (she is, in fact, right-handed and our most coordinated child). They should have asthma and breathing related issues.

Instead, they are healthy, asthma-free, developmentally appropriate kindergartners. Just as the Lord saw it, on the day he created the world. When he knew that Big J and L would be light in a world of incredible darkness.

And I do believe, that when God saw my kids, he saw this very day. Because a couple of months ago, I was talking to a friend of mine who has babysat for us since G was 3 months old. She was our sitter the summer that Big J and L came home from the hospital. She KNOWS them. She has touched and handled the portal to L's stomach (her G-tube). And she just happened to have a friend who was just hired as a teacher at Big J and L's school. In their classroom. Wow-what-are-the-chances-that's-awesome, I thought.

Really, I was thinking that Katie (our friend) would pass on a good word and we'd start the year in their teacher's good graces. That it would help them to stand out in a crowd (for which they need NO help, because, L just demands that it be so.)

But.

This afternoon, I got a call from another friend--a woman Mike has known for a good part of his life, and whom I respect a great deal. She went to visit her daughter's best friend, who just started her first day of teaching. At Big J and L's school. IN THEIR CLASSROOM. She saw their names & pictures, put it all together, and called to tell us what an amazing gal Ms. Ravensberger is. What great hands they are in. How she's wanted to be a teacher all her life, how she loves the Lord.

And I just know he has placed her there PERFECTLY. To teach them, and encourage them, and lead them.

Ms. Ravensberg is their perfect fit.

Because if you don't know it, my God works in every detail. In every breath, in every step, in every word, in every doctor, in every x-ray, in every therapist, in every ounce of formula, in every grasp of a pencil. Every detail that delivered them to kindergarten on even par with their peers. All designed to watch over Big J and L, his very good work.

His light.

Celebrating the start of something new.

Officially, it's the night before my three littlest kids start school. And even though we have struggled through much of this summer, I am sad that it's over.

It's our tradition to celebrate the start of a new school year. If you are new around here, or just haven't been paying attention for the last two years, I like traditions. I especially like traditions if they include cute party favors and grosgrain ribbon. And a polka dot. Or two.



So we broke out the china (I think this is the third time EVER), and had ourselves a pizza party. But before we ate, I set each child's place with a small back to school gift--think silly string and new crayons, Lego for Big J and a movie they can all share and watch this week. Nothing big and fancy, but little things they can get excited about.



Also. I HAD to monogram something. It is like a need that springs from deep in my soul. G has the same backpack in pink, which she got new last year...also with matching monogram. It is my love language.


Tonight also marks my third attempt at getting my children to fall in love with Izze soda. I am in LOVE with how cute this soda is, how fun it's colors are, how they use that sweet little daisy as a logo. I am a marketing dream come true. I fantasize about throwing parties with large metal drink tubs FILLED with every flavor. I don't care how it tastes. Oh, and if you are into health and things of that nature, I think this is some kind of natural, organic, made from skinny hyenas crap. Whatever. If you bottle baby spit up in a bottle this cute, I will probably buy it at a ridiculous price.



Pre-dinner festivities included silly string spraying. And a serious bath with lots of tears, because...well, some crazy lady (me) decided it was a good idea to paint my kids faces with black paint the night before school starts. Face painting is SO fun. But the residual black smears it leaves behind? Makes them look like small, hairy people with really bad bruises.


And now. For the SECOND greatest family picture ever taken. Never underestimate the power of black face paint and L's poorly timed need to blink.

Here's to a great 2010-2011 school year...We are monogrammed and ready to party.

If frogs could talk.

I know how you feel, froggie. When you have to suffer through a piece of fashion that is a *tad* too tight. And threatening to pop your head right off your body.

You rock that toe ring as a necklace, girl.

Happy Friday, friends!

You pick the diagnosis: I might be transgendered or be suffering from ADD.

Ahhh. My kryptonite. Otherwise known as the parent volunteer sign up sheet for elementary-school related activities.

I have had a great summer of ZERO commitments. Probably because I had the word "NO" tattooed across my forehead, and people find that off-putting.

My problem is not that I hate having obligations. No, no, my PROBLEM is that all of these things sound, like, so-totally-awesome in August. But when December rolls around, and I have volunteered for the "holiday" party, the school bake sale and the hand-bell choir at ALL THREE OF MY KID'S SCHOOLS, during the week of the twins' birthday? Well, that generally leaves me with an attitude that hates: school, Christmas, the month of December, my complete lack of organization, puppies, Elmo, non-alcoholic beverages, up-beat waiters, fat-free foods and any person that breathes.

Yup, that about sums it up.

The deal is, I can only do one thing at a time. I might be a man with female parts, because I lack all ability to multi-task, and I know that is not the female norm. I CANNOT organize the bigger picture, I only see the day in front of me. Busy weeks (like the week before ALL THREE of our schools start), send me into a sweaty, frantic mess, because I know I am supposed to be at 563 different events, but I cannot get a grip on them in my brain. Dig? I am always where I am supposed to be. But am ALWAYS feeling like I am missing something.

I have an iphone, thank-you-very-much. It sucks at prioritizing my life. And it never fetches me a diet coke. If it weren't for it's direct link to facebook, it would be worthless.

Yes, the calendar feature is helpful. But it's not the current day's events I am fearful of forgetting. It's the 894 things coming around the corner that make me wish I had a penis, and a day job that does not require me to juggle the schedules of 5 different people, in three different schools. I can barely keep my own schedule together, and it requires me being in my house (apart from my kids, I have no life).

How do you people with children do it? And would you possibly share the name of the dealer that supplies you with speed/ritalin/horse tranquilizers or whatever gets you through it?

How I commit acts of discrimination against clothing, and other birthday tales.

Today is my father-in-law's 70th birthday. Everyone say, "Happy Birthday, Bob!"

I can think of no greater gift for a 70th birthday, than taking our youngest child and throwing him ("sacrifice-style") from a small cliff, into a moving river below. RIGHT in front of a sign that CLEARLY tells us not to do this very act.




It turned out well. He lived. I mean, he was wearing his green goggles. And random crowds of people did hold their breath and cheer for him. See, cool, calm and collected:



On his 70th birthday, my father-in-law requested a field trip to Johnson's Shut-Ins. Last night, I asked my dear husband what to expect, and what type of bathing suits to dress our children in. He didn't understand the question.

You know? Gross suits or good suits?

Still drawing a blank. "Bathing suits," he said.

"Are they going to get dirty? As in icky-nasty river water?"

"They still need to wear bathing suits," he said.

"GROSS suits or GOOD suits?" I said. A little louder. With hand motions. Because now I think he is deaf.

"What's the difference?" he said, a little louder. Because now he thinks I am speaking Chinese.

"I don't want to get the good suits dirty," I say. Duh.

"If you swim in mud or you swim in bottled water IT DOESN'T MATTER. They are bathing suits. You're being ridiculous," he says.

You married it, I said. And mentally decided on gross suits.

St. Louis friends--have you been to Johnson's Shut-Ins? It is awesome. It is, in fact, a river that comes off of some sort of dam? I dunno. A few years ago, there was some sort of massive flash flood that tore through here and killed like 5,000 people. But don't let that stop you.

Just kidding! There was a flash flood, not sure what the death toll was (just researched, it was ZERO, as it happened in December and not many people swim in rivers at that time). Mike tells me it carried a house away with a baby sleeping in a crib, but the baby was recovered (alive). Anyway, it's been closed for 4 years or so, and was just re-opened a year ago, and it is real nice, Clark.

So, you come upon the river/dam/potential flash flood disaster, and you instantly jump in because it is upwards of 200 degrees outside. At that point, you're kind of praying for a flash flood, because it would be COOLER than walking on the sun (translation: life in Missouri right now). It's VERY rocky, but the water is shallow-ish and it's totally manageable. And then you keep heading downstream, and you notice that the river sort of flows over all kinds of large boulders. They are like mini-rapids that form all kinds of natural rock water slides? But these little slides connect to pools of river water that are varying levels of depth. And they are bordered by LARGE boulders and rocks that people jump off of? Awe-some. Potentially deadly. But AWESOME.

These two pics of G (above) and Little J (below) are the best I have to show you what it was like. At one point, while I was in charge of L and Little J, L went down a rock slide, only to be carried (quickly) away by the current. Yikes. Small panic on my part, while I chased her ungracefully down the MOSS covered rocks. It was like trying to find a small Asian Waldo, in the Ozark outback. While praying she didn't get clobbered by the people jumping off of boulders. She was unphased, but her survival instinct kicked in and she grabbed hold of a boulder. See, it was *kind of* like drowning in scary river. Only funner.

If you think I'm exaggerating about the "deadly" part, check out this pic of Big J. Jumping, or potentially, in the early stages of a major belly flop. Now notice that the water only comes up to Mike's knees. This had major head injury written all over it:

And a family pic. Which I would NEVER normally show you, as I am in a BATHING SUIT. However, I will have you know that this is the FIRST TIME that all four of my children have looked at the camera at the same, exact moment. Do you see the Holy Spirit? He is shaking a big, goofy dog puppet behind the camera, apparently. Oh, and Little J is a head on a life vest.

On the way home, we detoured to a little town (population less than 200) and stopped for ice cream. The place was so cute and charming, I can't even tell you. Did I mention hand-made waffle cones? With ice cream all the way to the bottom. I must have died in a river/dam/potential flash flood disaster and gone to heaven.

Happy Birthday Bob! You're the only 70-year-old I know who could survive Johnson's Shut-Ins AND resist ice-cream in a waffle cone!

Parenting issue #5,782: Regarding the proper grooming of toys.

Friends, I made me a skirt (and apparently, chopped my arms off in the process). It cost, like, $2, because the material was cheap and on sale--it's some kind of cotton with lycra in it? Not sure exactly, but I do know that it is heavier than broadcloth, and I didn't have to line it to keep it from being obscene. The idea, and instructions and even the color choice came from Dana at Made (link here). I did exactly as she did, only I didn't add big pockets, because I'm not so much an exterior pocket kind of girl.

Close up, here's the elastic thread top:

But. I loved this skirt (and it's overall cost AND it's simplicity), so I couldn't just stop there. I had to make one for my girls, this time adding pockets. Though, these pockets are of my own design, and still not quite as big.

But. I still couldn't stop. Partially because I'm crazy and psychotic. But mostly because the fabric was so cheap that I bought, like, 35 yards of it. Merry Christmas, friends and family...I will be sewing these skirts (exactly) until the end of time. Dad, you'll look great in it.

Nicki got in on the action too. And she is rockin' knee high cowboy boots, because that's just how she rolls.

And while we are on the subject of Nicki, the American Girl, I will briefly mention (and provide a pictorial) of what makes my head spin around my body, detatch, and shoot 12 feet in the air:

I think I may have posted about this a year ago. When Nicki's hair was a hot mess. Before we WENT TO THE AMERICAN GIRL STORE (also known as "The Money Magnet") to get her hair re-done. Because, apparently, in the absence of styling products and professionals, Nicki's grooming patterns are similar to those of meth addicts and/or crazy 80-year-olds who also like to sport flaming red lipstick on all areas of the lower face.

At some point in the past month, G decided to take the style out of her hair and brush it. Rule #1 with American Girl Dolls--DO NOT EVER BRUSH THE HAIR. Think of it as a hair weave. And you know you don't be brushin' no weave.

To alleviate this problem all together, let me amend my rule.

Rule #1A--DO NOT EVER BUY AN AMERICAN GIRL DOLL WITH CURLY OR WAVY HAIR.

The horror. We bought this doll in the hopes that it would be a favorite toy of G's (it is not), and then I go and have myself a hissy fit when she actually tries to play with it. Someone should have told her that American Girl Dolls are for dressing in knee high cowboy boots and admiring their style from afar.

Or.

Someone should have begun drugging me with Valium, back in 2002, about the time of G's birth. Because I may be a *tad-bit* uptight when it comes to the playing of toys and general mess incurred by children.

When my lack of knowledge of the public library system results in obsessive book hoarding.

Umm. I *might* not have thought this plan out so well. Because when I discovered that you could request books from the library, I went a little...um....crazy.

I was thinking two things.

One. That other people are just like me and FAIL to return their library books within 3 months of their due date. According to this logic, it would take YEARS for me to actually receive any of the books I had requested. Legit.

Two. The library seems like such an outdated source for book reading, what with all the fancy-schmancy do-dads and what-nots now available these days. I refuse to get that surgery where you can have a USB-port installed directly into your skull, for the purpose of digital book downloading. Gross. Just kidding, that doesn't exist. But for me, a Kindle is just as creepy.

Stick with me. If the library is like a relic from the pioneer days, it stands to reason that any book that needs to travel to my local library will probably be sent cross country (three times) via horseback or very slow moving train. In which case, it will be YEARS before I receive any of my requests.

(If you think I am crazy, then let me tell you that I was at the library today, picking up my 347th book request, and when I went to the self-check-out computer, it seemed to freeze up. The librarian told me it just needed to "rest" a while. That friends, is the mentality I speak of that suggests the useage of horse-and-buggy systems and telephones that consist of two Styrofoam cups and a long string.)

I take it back. The library is NOT opposed to technology, in fact it is semi-cutting edge. It just happens to be staffed by people who don't know how to use it and prefer to give it naps.

Anyway. Back to MY issues.

For the past two weeks, I have had a 300-500 page novel arrive at my local library EVERYDAY with my name on it. And because I am a hoarder, I cannot let any of them go. Psy-cho.

On the other hand, I have been reading like CRAZY. Which is good, right? Just finished "The Dirt", the Motley Crue biography? Whoops, I think I just proved how reading can actually kill brain cells. Whoa. Great read, but you're going to want to be sure that you are current on your immunizations before you pick it up.

Also read "Dead Until Dark," the first of the novels that the True Blood HBO series are based on? Good, but it's no Twilight. Bill the vampire is no match for Edward Cullen. If Edward Cullen were portrayed by James Franco, as I pictured it when I read the books. Or Zach Effron, because he can do no wrong.

I think Bella should be Leighton Meister (of Gossip Girl). Because K. Stew is like a wet freakin' noodle. And she better turn it on when we get to movie #4, when...well, you know.

Who is your dream cast for Edward?

Discuss. And be prepared to fight to the death for your choice.

Can you feel the love tonight?

A couple of weeks ago, One Pretty Thing picked up my idea for the canvases I made with freezer paper stencils, and apparently, you guys liked that idea. But not as much as you LOVED the picture of death that is my family on the log flume at Silver Dollar City. You people are sick.

In any case, The Creative Crate picked up the canvas idea and featured it on their blog---YEAH! My pride and emotions feel well loved without the weird-sort-of-inner-conflict that usually comes with recognition. Because I do not like attention being placed upon me in any way, and yet I crave it so. My wedding and it's festivities? Unexpected MISERY. Particularly when put on the spot to correctly identify (and gush about) a cheese grater, a pineapple slicer and a wedding certificate holder. The husband? He made it worth it to have to speak coherently in front of people.

But crafty recognition without any sort of speech? Me likey. And here is the link to my feature, and Stacie's blog, which is FULL of all kinds of inspiring projects!

And then, because this is my lucky year, Someday Crafts was kind enough to feature the canvases, too. I am falling deeper in love with this blog world, which strokes my ego ever so softly, without requiring a spoken response. Because once I open my mouth, I RUIN it. So, just go ahead and assume that I had my vocal chords removed and blogging is my only form of communication. It's better that way.

Thanks to Michelle and the folks at Someday Crafts... you can CLICK HERE to see that feature and to check out the creativity that exists out there. In people without voiceboxes. Just like me.

Kidding.

People who can craft AND speak are like my heroes. Also, if you can correctly identify a great majority of pop rock from the 80's and 90's AND own any Bon Jovi paraphernalia? Official legend status.

When it becomes appropriate to sew your pregnant belly with dental floss: A true story.

Yes, I did happen to monogram myself a scalloped shrinky-dink charm. And then proceeded to string it on an anklet. Which sits just below the daisy tattoo I just HAD TO HAVE when I was 18 years old. I have a matching, Asian-counterpart on my back. No, I am not being racist, because a.) I am Asian, and b.) the back tattoo is actually a Japanese letter.

Also. I had a naval ring. Which I wore until I was 7 months pregnant with G, at which point it looked like it could pop right off my belly and blind someone at any second. I am not kidding, it stood STRAIGHT out and sort of made a disturbing little tent with my maternity shirts, and made people think that our baby was strangely angular and pointy. Classy. Under intense peer pressure, I removed it, but continued to string dental floss through it with a needle for weeks.

Why yes. I do drink wine out of a box and have been known to own an airbrush t-shirt (or three). Why do you ask?

Anyway.

Love me some shrinky dinks. With a 40% off coupon at Hobby Lobby. Score for the kids. Score for me and my monogrammed anklet. Monogramming makes ANYTHING classy. Perhaps, I should tattoo a monogram somewhere--what's the most sophisticated part of the body?

I tried to figure out how to tie some sort of slip knot to finish the bracelets/anklets? You know, an adjustable thingy-ma-bobber that allows them to loosen/tighten? Yes, I did search the internet. Apparently you have to major in knot tying AND minor in the History of twine, just to have a chance at it. I understood that they were using some sort of string, that's about it.

I have an ongoing date with Motley Crue tonight. Because Nothing says classy like a monogrammed anklet, some random tattoos, a pregnant belly ring AND the Crue.

Happy Thursday!

Seeing green.

So this project was intended to be shared last week, but then the dog up-and-had-a-diabetic-stroke, and my world just didn't make sense anymore.



Did I tell you we had to put our beagle down? I can't remember if I've mentioned it.



Anyway. Before Bailey's unfortunate series of events, the kids and I started noticing the illustrations in the books we were reading. And how they are all so different. And if you're anything like me, the pictures tend to *sell* the book. Coincidentally, I am currently reading the Motley Crue biography, "The Dirt", and it's cover is a photo of a big bottle of liquor, which, I might say, made me want to throw it back with a funnel. That's what we call a marketing win.
{also edited to note: just READING this book makes me feel like I am drunk. I like to call that a creative writing win.}

For the purposes of the CHILD-themed activity, however, we stuck with a less offensive subject. Trees. Almost every book we own has a tree in it. So we started to compare.

And then, we decided to make our own, and use some different techniques. We started with tissue paper leaves, and the kids chose to cut their tree trunks out of paper, create them from ripped paper bits, color them with oil pastels or paint them with your standard tempra paint.

The little kids basically stuck their tissue paper squares (cut by moi) onto an area they spread with glue. G had other visions, and decided to ball her tissue paper up, before adhering it.

On Day #2, we decided to create one big masterpiece of trees. I gave them a paper plate with brown paint, and three varying shades of green. Then, I *taught* them to use their paintbrushes to dab the green paints around their tree trunks. Dabbing became swirling/clumping/mixing.

Deep breath. Color mixing is really an issue for me.

Holy cow. Their interpretations came out beautifully.

I absolutely love it all together, and if I had a wall big enough, I would frame this.

And that, folks, was last week's lesson in art and observation and my attempt at trying to teach my kids to see normal, ordinary, beautiful things in different ways.