Naps Are Good

Today I made the mistake of trying to get by without a nap for Trent.  It wasn't a huge mistake - it fell in between cutting my own bangs about a year ago and telling my kid to go take a shower because he stinks, but then realizing it was me.  

Anyway, Trent usually takes a nap at about 1:00, and today we breezed right past it with no problems.  Until I called him to the dinner table and when he didn't come, (he sort of loves food), I went looking.  He was asleep on the couch.  At 5:30.

But I knew better than to wake him up, because my kids are beasts when they are awoken against their will.  Waking him up would have meant holding him and reassuring him that he was OK for at least an hour before he calmed down.  So I left him.

At 9:30 he woke up.  It sucked big time.  He was grumpy, (no dinner), and I was already tired...  So I fed him dinner, and then we watched two episodes of Gilmore Girls while we knocked out a bag of Twizzlers.  Then we played cars.  Then we changed into our jammies and watched one more Gilmore Girls.  Finally I talked him into going back to sleep.

Now I'm super exhausted and he's had a lot more sleep than usual, so he'll be up with that obnoxious woodpecker that has a thing for the tree outside my bedroom window.  (AKA 4:30 AM)  I'm going to be so beat tomorrow.

So why am I still up?  Too many Twizzlers, I think.

You Know You're a Mom When...

...you're so desperate to get a good picture of the kids that you're willing to have a Carmel Apple sucker in the photo.  Bribery - it's the mark of a desperate parent.

Boogie Wipes

You all remember my Poster Child for Birth Control, right? No? Here - I'll remind you:

After I posted that picture ten million people threw up just a little, and one sweet woman from Boogie Wipes took pity on me and sent me a box full of her product.

Not that it matters all that much, but the package came in the cutest little presentation. There were two huge packs of Boogie Wipes, plus a healthy sprinkling of individually wrapped wipes, all atop a cute little layer of crinkly orange confetti.

The Magic Menthol wipes smelled so good that I immediately shoved one up my nose and left it there until it dried. My kid's favorite was the Grape scent. Smells kind of like chewable Grape Tylenol, which I'm always tempted to munch on like candy.

And the wipes are so soft! It's like silk, or air, or, hey, like a saline infused tissue. My kids actually held still while I wiped their noses! Boogie Wipes are basically a baby wipe with saline in them. And because I use baby wipes in a pinch for just about any cleaning job, there's really no reason why a regular wipe shouldn't work on snot, right? But Boogie Wipes contain some little extra bit of magic, because I swear that I didn't have to wipe the kids' noses as many times to get all the gunk out. And I could be wrong, but it seemed like the snot didn't start flowing quite as soon afterward.

I don't know if there is magic in these things, or if there are just some really smart ladies behind them, but either way, I'm a believer.

And thanks to these lovely Boogie Wipes, Trent has cleaned up pretty nicely!

*I was not compensated for this review in any way. I'd already gotten awesome free goods when I decided to write this. I just loved Boogie Wipes enough that I wanted to share my love with all of you!

Me And Poison Control - We're Tight

Tonight marked the fourth time in a little over a year that I have called poison control.

I'm not sure if I'm really paranoid or just a huge nit-wit. So I present it to you all - and you can decide.

The first time was when I called my mom at work and told her that I'd had a day from hell and by the way, guess what weird things my kid had eaten that day? A paintball and a shell casing from a .22 pistol. (Or something like that - I don't keep up on my gun lingo.) I thought she would laugh and tell me how crazy my life was, but she didn't. She got all freaky and started to wonder what kind of metal those casings are made of, and could it be lead?

And then I was sure that if I didn't do something my kid would die of lead poisoning.

In comes poison control.

And they told me that I had to take my kid to the emergency room to have an x-ray to be sure he had not swallowed it, or that if he had swallowed it, it had passed through his bowels.

Long story short, the x-ray was clear. And that trip to the ER will be paid off in approximately five more months. But you know what happens if you call poison control and they tell you to take your kid to the hospital and you don't do it? Neither do I. But I bet they sick the CPA on your ass and make sure all your neighbors know you are an unfit parent.

Episode number two happened a couple of months later when I had been babysitting my nephew full time for about a week. He got hold of the diaper rash cream and thought he'd see if it tasted better than that crap, Enfamil.

It was kinda humiliating to tell my sister that it only took me five days to almost kill her child.

My third call happened when my husband asked me to help him work on his 1963 Volkswagen Beetle. (Tip for the men-folk: Don't hook your gas line up to a compressed air tank and tell your wife to look into the gas tank and tell you if there are bubbles coming up in it.) So two eyes full of supreme unleaded gasoline later, plus a little in the mouth, we had call number three in the books.

Tonight I just laughed. Trent brought me a tube of rub-on insect repellent, which he had unscrewed the cap from and taken a bite out of. I honestly couldn't believe I was about to do this again.

After that third incident, my mother brought me a fridge magnet with Poison Control's number on it and a pamphlet that is meant for thirteen year old babysitters who are idiots and let their charges drink Windex and snack on Vicoden. Mom knew it would come in handy for me, too. And boy, did it! It was nice to not have to Google the hotline number. This way is much more efficient.

So I called and told the operator, (I always get a man), that I had a pretty thick file there somewhere with my information. He still asked for my name, the culprit's name, and our phone number. I gave him all the info he asked for and assured him that even though I was a repeat offender and a bad mother, I had not used a fake name.

Apparently, deet, the active ingredient in this particular type of insect repellent that Trent decided to sample, can cause seizures in small children, but given the amount that Trent ate, (and likely spat out), and his astronomical weight, he'll be fine.

But the nice man from poison control called back an hour later to check on Trent. And probably also to make sure I hadn't negligently damaged any of my other children.

If there is a black list at Poison Control - I'm sitting right at the top.

The Saddest Part of Summer

Poor, poor Trent.

Baby Face

I wish I had this picture hanging in my house. Maybe in every room. It's my baby - back when he was small. It only lasts for such a short time, and this picture makes me want to love on my kids every second I get. Especially that little Trent who isn't so little anymore.

Trent was born with this expression on his face, and he pulled it out, chin quiver and all, quite often during his first couple of months of life. I knew it was too precious to last forever, so one night I growled at him to scare him to pieces so I could capture this exact face. I felt horrible for doing it, but I'm so glad I did, because now I get to remember how sweet he was anytime I want to.

Cause he ain't to sweet anymore.

Thanks, Mama Kat, for this assignment. I think I might actually frame this puppy now.

I also loved the prompt about wishing you had taken action but didn't. I wrote about that not long ago. If you didn't see that one, be sure to read it here. There's naked people and a hose involved. Good stuff, I tell you.

Now get over to Mama Kat's place and link up your own stories, or read some of the others!

My Son, The Evil Genius

Trent was a really good baby. The best. He smiled all the time. He never cried, but if he did, it was so quiet you could hardly hear him. He had no need for toys, he was over the moon just to watch people and smile at them with his chubby, chubby cheeks.

I thought I had it made. The last baby was going to be a breeze and we'd sail through the final years of toddlerhood without any trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

It seems a switch was flipped a while back and my angel baby has become a pint-sized Godzilla-type creature. He pillages, destroys, and generally leaves a path of destruction wherever he goes. Much like any other one and a half year old. You know the kind.

But every once in a while, I have to sit back and marvel at his genius. I swear he is smarter than any other kid on Earth. Yes, even yours, mother who just scoffed and thought, "She hasn't seen my nine month old play the violin." Trent is smarter than violin playing babies.

Don't believe me? I have proof. Take a look at the picture below.

See my sweet, serene, sleeping babe? He's not sleeping. He is FAKE SLEEPING so that he doesn't have to talk to my mom! I kid you not, my mother started to talk to him and play with him, and Trent immediately closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping so that she would leave him alone. And he did it with a straight face.

My mom would leave him alone for just a few seconds, until he thought she had gone away, and then he'd open his eyes and look around. He'd catch sight of her again, she'd smile and say something sweet to him, and he would instantly be asleep again.

If that ain't genius, I don't know what is. Seriously. How many kids under two would think to do that? I'm going on vacation with his college fund, cause he's not gonna need it.

As a post script, I need to say that my mom is perfect and has never been anything but awesome to my kids. Trent just doesn't like her when I'm around. It's not her fault. Boy, he seems to love my dad, though, huh? Fake sleeping in his arms like a good little baby.

Mom, I'm Bored!

I took some of my own advice, added some from this blog, and created the Boredom Jar today. I didn't decorate mine, cause I have boys and they don't give a damn if there's ribbon on it.

So our rules are that if you complain of boredom, you can draw a slip of paper from the jar, but once you commit to being so bored that you have to have help to pull yourself out of the pending doom of depression, you have to do whatever is on the slip of paper. Even if it says that you have to clean a toilet. Yes, there are chores in the jar. (But not many - I'm not 100% mean.)

The boys were excited to try it, so I let them pull a paper this morning. The slip they chose was perfect. It said to visit someone. We all threw our shoes on and went down the street to see the baby chickens that a sweet little grandma had invited us to see last Sunday at church.

The boys had a ball! They saw the chicks, even got to pet one, fed the hens some scratch, learned how the chickens are taught where to lay their eggs...it was fun and educational! The sweet couple who hosted us were really good with the little kids and I am so glad we went.

On the way home, Cameron said, "All this excitement is making me want to be a farmer!"

Lessons At The Berry Farm

I have fond memories of berry picking with my mom and siblings every summer. We went to blueberry farms and plucked dozens of pounds of fruit from the heavy branches. Those outings were always one of my favorite parts of summer; I felt peaceful and happy.

Yesterday I took my boys plus Bryan to a local farm to pick strawberries in hopes that they would find the same simple joy in filling buckets that I had found in the task when I was young.

It almost went well.



I hadn't really taken into account that I was making this journey on my own with two one-year-olds, one three-year-old, and two school-age kids who were so anxious to fill their containers that they didn't bother to check that the berries were ripe before they plucked them from the vine. Grrr...



Add to that the babies who were stepping on the plants, taking bites out of green strawberries and then throwing them, and Drew who ... well, he pretty much did the same thing as the babes. There wasn't enough of me to keep up with them.



Then the wind kicked in and began to blow dirt into all of our eyes. My contacts were screaming in rebellion, while tears streamed down my cheeks.



I completely lost my cool and was chewing kids out for wandering off, picking unripe berries, and everything in between. I felt really bad for turning our outing into an unpleasant experience, but I decided to just fill the stinking boxes as fast as I could and get everyone back in the car before my eyes turned all that dirt to mud.



The day was not a total loss. I learned to never take toddlers to a u-pick berry farm without reinforcements, stay home if it's windy, and that no amount of squashed fruit or sticky hands is worth me becoming the uptight mom who rains on the parade. The kids still had fun, and we used those berries to make some killer smoothies.

Birth Control

Honestly, if this doesn't make you want to strap on a chastity belt, I don't know what will.

Dear Whoever May Be Reading,

Wow, have things been crazy lately. I'm trying to re-vamp myself and prepare for summer, (providing the snow ever decides to stop), and I've let these little updates slide. Well, enough of that.

Last night I asked Cameron if he wanted me or his dad to go on the field trip with him to the zoo today. I reminded him that I am the cool one who compulsively buys things like candy and souvenirs.

But there's just something about a boy's bond with his father. So today, Andrew went with Cameron to the zoo and the planetarium. I was really glad that Cameron chose Andrew because Andrew never gets to do that kind of stuff with the boys. And really, the only reason I gave Cameron a choice is because I like to put my kids in awkward situations of having to chose their favorite parent and then guilt the hell out of them for it later on.

But if he had chosen me, that would have meant one entire day of not wiping bottoms or noses, and I would have been more than ok with that, too.


Cameron at the zoo with his group. I gave Andrew a ten so he could be the cool dad and get the kids some candy from the gift shop. We like to take every opportunity we can to buy friends for our kids.

Today, Ethan got his first library card. I announced that I was going to the library tonight and he volunteered to come along. (Cameron couldn't come because he was being punished for favoring his father.)

Ethan felt so grown up holding that gray piece of plastic. We spent a half hour perusing the books and when he found out the he could check out a movie he nearly burst with pride. When finally we got in line to check out our selections, Ethan turned to me and said, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll pay for these with my card."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing at him.

And when we got home, I had to take a picture of him pretending to read this book that is 135 pages long, has no pictures, and is far too advanced for him. He's been an avid pretend reader for two solid years. He really does sit there staring at a page for about two minutes before he turns to the next page and pretends to read that one, too. About three days after this process begins he announces that he's finished with his book and would like to start on the next one in the series. He's nuts, but I'll keep him.


Drew has finally mastered the potty. I can happily announce that I have not thrown away a pair of poopy underwear in at least three days. He hasn't had an accident of any sort in quite a long while, and he attributes his success to his tri-cornered hat. It's good luck. He also finds it helpful to bring a snack - thus the empty baggie previously containing potato chips.

We don't really take snacks into the bathroom or wear costumes when we go, I just thought this one incident of both happening was pretty comical. I can't even walk into the bathroom if I'm still chewing something - I have to stand in the hallway and swallow before I go in. So don't go calling the sanitation police or anything.


And our caboose - Trent. This picture depicts the reason I hate giving him a bath.

Because it isn't just him that gets a bath - I end up soaked, too. There have been times when he has gone four or five days without a bath because I couldn't bear to clean up the mess. I hope he grows out of the splashing obsession, because the other parts of bath time are kinda cute:


Just not cute ENOUGH.

So until next time folks, me hopes you are well. I'm going to fold laundry now.

Like Christmas, except in January and just for me.

I have no shame. We've all seen it before, and the following will be another example.

I wish to tell you of my three purchases tonight. They are three things that I have been waiting to buy for longer than any normal person would wait.

A bra.

A baby gate.

A vacuum.

I think they all warrant their own story.

Once upon a time, like back in 2000, I had a respectable amount of breast tissue. Nothing to brag about, but enough that no one questioned my gender. Then I had Cameron and lost a little. Then I had Ethan and lost a little more. Then I had Drew and lost the little bit that I had left. Then I had Trent and became concave.

Padded bras have been my curse for going on nine years now, and not just a little padding. There's enough there to unroll and sleep on when I go camping. And under wire is an absolute must - without it, there's no point.

And speaking of no point, I decided several weeks ago that there was no reason for me to strap on an ill-fitting, sweat producing padded bra, when I could just go without. My chest looks like that of a pre-pubescent girl, so why bother?

I know that a lot of you are thinking at this point that I just need to go get a professional bra fitting. You're wrong. I measured myself, and the measurement of my bust at the fullest point is actually only a little less than an inch bigger than my measurement just below the bust. I am officially a double A. 34AA. (I apologize to all the men who are reading this and cringing at my "overshare".) But I just don't care anymore. There are worse things than being flat-chested.

So I've known for a while now that I really need to find myself a training bra. (You know - for the cold days.) Because no one actually makes AA bras.

Tonight I was at Target, crossing from one end of the store to the other, and I happened to wind my way through the little girl's department. I walked straight into the bra section, saw a ridiculously multi-colored thing that looked like it belonged on a Miley Cyrus fan, and what do you know - it was on clearance for a buck seventy-five. I grabbed the thing and headed for the front of the store with my head held high. It is a lucky girl who gets to buy her non-padded, (finally!), under wire bra for less than two dollars. Take that you voluptuous vixens!

Cameron and Ethan happened to be with me, and were not quite as thrilled as I was. They asked me who it was for, as though they knew that such a silly thing could not be for a grown woman, and I told them it was for them. They both flushed red and sweat bullets all the way to the car.

So there you have it, I am a nearly thirty-year-old woman in a training bra. At least I won't have to worry about being saggy.


So, the baby gate. I have safety locks on all of my cabinet doors, except for two. Those are the two that Drew broke about a year ago when he learned that if he just yanked hard enough over and over, the lock would eventually snap and the cabinet door would open. He got away with that twice, and then he got what was coming to him and never did it again.

Enter Trent and Bryan.

Trent and Bryan have two things, and only two things, that they like to do during the day. The first is to follow me around and cry/whine/unfold the clothes I just folded. The second is to empty all the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. There are child-proof latches on them, again, except for the two that Drew got to, but their arms are just flexible enough to reach into the little space provided before the lock kicks in, and pull out anything that their chubby hands can grab at that weird angle. I have spent a lot of time re-washing measuring cups and bottle nipples and cooking utensils that were clean before they were sucked on by drooling toddlers. And then there is the cereal cabinet. Lots and lots of cereal scattered on the floor. And finally, today, the container of cookies dumped and tediously sampled, one by one.

I'd had my fill after the loss of all those chocolate chip cookies. So tonight, I bought a baby gate and giggled and grinned while I installed it. Then Andrew and I took turns impersonating the reactions we are expecting from Drew, Trent, and Bryan in the morning when they find that they can no longer watch me splutter and turn purple in the face after they finish dismantling the order of the kitchen. I can't wait. I'm going to stand in the kitchen, stick out my tongue and give them the world's most grown-up "nee-ner, nee-ner, neeeee-ner!"

Lastly, this might shock you all, but our vacuum broke over three months ago, and I just replaced it tonight. When it broke, I thought, ah, well....I'll get a new one next time we have an extra fifty bucks. And in the mean time, we can play Redneck and use the shop-vac.

So I've been crawling around on my hands and knees for three months now, vacuuming the rug in the living room with the stupid little hose of the shop-vac, and completely ignoring the bedrooms because the three-pronged plug of the shop-vac didn't fit in the two-pronged outlet of the bedrooms. Sure, we have an extension cord, but that seemed like too much work to then have to crawl around with the hose and pretend that I was making a difference in the cleanliness of the carpet.

In case anyone didn't know, a vacuum hose does not do much for carpet. You really need that spinning brush to lift the fibers and comb out all the junk that 5 kids and one husband can make. (I counted Drew twice, because he's just that messy.) Also, our shop-vac is rather noisy. The first time I plugged it in to give the living room a crawl-over, all the residents of the cemetery down the street came knocking at my door to ask what the horrible noise was.

Every time an extra fifty dollars became available, (which I think happened just twice in those three months), it sounded like a lot more fun to go out to dinner or to a movie instead of buying a vacuum. So once we ate at Wingers - no regrets - and the other time... I don't remember what we did. But it was surely more exciting than a vacuum. This is called being poor and making choices.

Tonight, I buckled down and spent the stupid fifty dollars for a vacuum that will get the job done. My carpet is no longer matted, but back to being slightly shag-ish and soft. It was like all the strands stood up and said, "Well, hello again! It's nice to see you! Won't you please walk on us?" And I can't see anymore flecks of crushed Goldfish crackers scattered about the floor.

So excited was I by the clean living room floor, that at 11 PM I took the vacuum back to my bedroom, where two nights ago Drew ate microwave popcorn. The remnants of that popcorn are actually what put me over the edge and made me go get the vacuum. So I started vacuuming away, humming a happy tune, ducking under Andrew's video game controller cord as I tried not to get in the way of his game, and ran over the vacuum's cord. The stinking overzealous vacuum sucked up it's own cord and the motor instantly smelled like the aftermath of an atom bomb.

I have never, in all my years of vacuuming, seen a machine suck up it's own cord. All my previous models have been smart enough to know to stick to food particles and hair, and to leave the cord alone, should I happen to run over it.

Enough of the plastic coating was chewed off the cord that I now have to patch my new toy with electrical tape.

Or, I could use the cord to zap the first kid who decides to climb over the baby gate.

Dearest Kiddos,

You all are growing up so fast, and I can't decide if I want it all to slow down or hurry up.

Cameron, I promise it's not all bad. Life, I mean. Third grade is tough, I'm with ya there, but you'll get through it, and fourth grade will be a breeze because you'll be used to mountains of homework and tests every week. One day you'll be 35 and you'll have no homework at all, and then you'll wish your problems were as easy as all those math worksheets. So enjoy!
You are an intense little dude, and you definitely learned that from me. Your father is so laid back about everything that it's hard to get a rise out of him at all. So I have to tell you that sometimes those crazy emotions that pop out of you nearly every second of the day are a good thing. We all have our moments where nothing goes the way we want them to, and we flip out a little, but the trick is to let those ones slide and pay attention to the good outbursts. Like when you were busting at the seams to tell me that you aced your reading test, and all those prizes you've been winning for rockin' it on Success Maker! Your perseverance amazes me!
I have to tell you that I so appreciate your helpfulness. I can always count on you to pitch in and to do it with a smile. I don't know what I'd do without your help and your good attitude.


Ethan, how many of you are there? Did I also pass on my split personality gene to you? I never know what to expect from you. I guess that's a good thing because you keep it interesting. I was watching you in Primary today, (I had a good view sitting right behind you), and I was so impressed with your maturity. You were the only kid in your class that didn't fall out of their chair today. Good job, Dude! I love that you respect your elders. I didn't think your Dad and I were doing such a great job of teaching you that, because we never sat you down and said, "If you ever talk back to an adult, we'll beat you 'til you bleed." But I guess it wasn't necessary, because you figured it out on your own. I like that. You are socially smart and you got the book smarts too. I loved that Cameron was quizzing you with math problems at breakfast today and you nailed every question he threw at you. I could tell that you were pleased, too, and you should be.
I just wish I could talk you into liking to read. What gives? You are so good at it when you try! Sounding out words might make you feel kinda silly, I know, but you gotta do it. It's the only way to learn. In a few years, you'll know all kinds of words, and you won't have to sound them out. Like capricious and beguiling - both of which describe you with perfection.
And hey - when I figure out how to make your sense of responsibility carry over from school to home, you will be cured of writhing on the floor and making gagging noises when I ask you to clean your room. I know how much you hate to be reduced to that condition, so don't worry, I'll figure it out.


Drew, we are going to make it! I wondered there for a while which of us would kill the other one first. You seem to be getting to the age where you like to be helpful, but not in a way that makes more mess that it's worth. I'm so glad we're here! And a whole new world of two-way communication is opening up to us - I'm so excited! Today I understood so many things you said that I had to stop and let my jaw hang in amazement for a bit! I don't think anyone else can understand you yet, but you'll get there. As long as I know what you want for lunch and when you feel the need to wash your hands, we're good.
And can I just say that I'm thrilled that you like to watch movies now? 'Cause Backyardigans was getting old and then some. I'm particularly pleased that you aren't obsessed with Star Wars. Ethan ruined all those movies for me a long time ago. Please don't feel the need to get overly comfortable with any one particular movie. Variety is a good thing.
And while we're on the subject of movies, I'd like to say that I know you like popcorn with your flicks, but if you dump the bowl out onto the carpet one more time, I just might lose it. I know we have a vacuum and all, but there is not an endless supply of popcorn here. Take it easy with the destructive compulsion, okay?
One final thing: I know you're talking better now and getting older and trying to be cool like your brothers, but please, please, please - don't ever stop saying, "Eee-tah seep a me?" If ever you should stop saying that, in just that adorable way, I will cry tears for the loss of my tiny Drewby and you will have to suffer the loss of getting your way every night at bedtime, because your dad and I can't get over how cute it is, and we'll let you have whatever you want as long as you keep that up. Just a tip.



Ah, Trent. It's been almost a year, and I am sad! You started out bigger than you should have, and it's only gotten worse. In case you weren't aware, you wore Drew's clothes to church today because his 3T stuff fit you better than your 2T stuff did. You are unfairly huge! Last babies should all be small for a very long time. And it isn't just your size - you finally learned to pull yourself up into a standing position. (No small feat considering your size.) It won't be long until you're walking and I no longer have a baby. Big, fat sigh.
You are still the happy little guy that we've always bragged about. Always good, always smiling. And boy, do you love to eat! I've started stripping you down to your diaper at every meal to spare the washing machine. Consequently, you look kind of disgusting sometimes, (if you don't believe me, then just look at the picture below), but only from the neck down.
Be a good boy and stop growing. Just for a little while.


I love you all to pieces. Now go outside and play!
Love,
Mom

Maybe it would help if we moved to Philadelphia.

Brothers are a wondrous thing. Quarrels between them never last, wounds of both the physical and emotional kind heal with lightening speed, and there is always someone who will laugh rather than scowl when you fart.

For brothers, tattling seems to come with unspoken guidelines. It's perfectly acceptable to tell on your brother when he does something to harm or annoy you, but to rat on your bro for jumping on his bed after "lights out" will bring you no satisfaction, but rather shame and dishonor. Unfortunately, boys are rough, and most of the tattling in our home comes from a wrestling match getting out of hand. One child will cross the line between playful jabs and malicious wallops, and then everything is fair game, including intentional knees to the groin or running to mom and crying foul.

Drew has a capacious vocabulary in a language that we have yet to identify. We're thinking it might be a combination of German and Mandarin Chinese. While we don't understand the majority of what he says, he jabbers along at a rapid pace, fully expecting an intelligent reply to whatever nonsense to which he is informing us. We usually reply with an, "Uh-huh," and then wonder if we told him that he could, in fact, take the car keys and practice his parallel parking. There is one phrase that we understand enough of to know how to respond. It goes something like this:

"Maa-oom? Eee-tah hitted meanowhytosaw!" Which means: "Mom, Ethan hit me and I want you to punish him!" ("Ethan" being either Cameron or Ethan, because Drew hasn't mastered the tongue and voice maneuvers required to form the word "Cameron" so he simply refers to both of his brothers as "E-tah".) My standard response to Drew's jumbled tattling is to give him the go-ahead to run and tell his brothers to be nice. I never know if they have actually committed a "rough-housing foul" or not, but figure that they could always use a reminder to be cordial in their daily bashing matches.

I once got tired of hearing the complaints of who smacked who first and whether someone hit on purpose or too hard, so I removed myself from the equation with the regrettable words, "I don't want to hear it. You two deal with it yourselves." Cameron and Ethan were six and four at the time and "dealing with it themselves" was wholly beyond their capabilities, and I would surely pay for suggesting it. Five minutes later, I heard a ruckus from upstairs followed by crying, then a shrill scream, and then more crying. My reward for excellent parenting had arrived sooner than I'd anticipated. I called the boys back downstairs.

"What is going on?" I demanded in my most exasperated mother voice.

Cameron whined, "Ethan hit me in the face with a baseball bat!"

There was only a plastic bat upstairs so, despite the blood slowly running from his nose, I wasn't overly alarmed. "And so what did you do to him?" I asked.

"I threw a hanger at him."

I looked at Ethan's face, and sure enough, there was a small scratch on the surface of a bruise that was already forming under his left eye.

Tattling then became the mom-endorsed form of retaliation.

Blunt honesty is also a trademark of brotherhood. A boy can tell his brother anything and know that he cannot be demoted to the status of a mere friend or acquaintance. Brothers they will remain. I have noticed that in our house, the boys tend to listen to each other's words of advice more than they will mine or Andrew's. They have an ability to reason with one another that we, their parents, will always be left to envy.

It was a few years ago that I was in my bathroom getting ready to go shopping with my mom, (something that happens only when someone is getting married and Mom needs either a gift or a new dress to wear), and I heard the following exchange between Cameron and Ethan, who were bickering loudly over something completely ridiculous, I'm sure:

Ethan: Just relax, Dude! (He was three at the time.)

Cameron: What?!?!?

Ethan: It means, Don't be grumpy.

Cameron: (telling Ethan off for bossing him around, which lasted long enough for me to remove 8 curlers from my hair...and was finally interrupted by Ethan shouting...)

Ethan: Don't be an ASS!

Cameron immediately stopped being an ass. Problem solved. Ethan's vocabulary, however, has been undergoing constant therapy ever since.

Ethan was able to enjoy four years of being the youngest of just two children before he became a big brother himself. Drew was loved by Ethan unabashedly for almost an entire year. In his first days of life, Drew would sometimes be left at our home with my mother while Ethan and I took Cameron to school. As we were leaving one day, Ethan shouted back to my mom, "Take good care of my bebe!", and then slammed the door behind him. Proclamations that Drew was the cutest baby ever were made by Ethan on an hourly basis, and holding the tiny guy was the greatest pleasure his older brother could be given. Ethan was protective in a way that showed he truly grasped the responsibility that came with being a mentor to a younger brother.

And then Drew learned to walk, and overnight he became the biggest pain in the butt that Ethan had ever encountered. "Cute" no longer held value, and holding Drew was a bothersome chore which gave no excitement or joy whatsoever.

I have never understood it, but Ethan's favored form of entertainment is to put on a movie, grab an action figure that somehow goes along with that movie, and then skip, hop and run back and forth from one corner of the living room to another acting out the scenes in the movie and making one kind of bizarre sound effect after another; an ability which seems to be coded in the male DNA.

About two months ago, and much to Ethan's horror, Drew began to mimic Ethan. He would find an action figure of his own and follow the odd room-crossing procession right on Ethan's heels. Ethan has been very distressed by this new development in Drew's interests, and told me one day that I needed to make Drew stop following him.

"Why do you care if he follows you?", I asked. "What's the big deal?"

"He's making me feel like an idiot!", came Ethan's frantic reply.

I just laughed and told Ethan that Drew follows him and copies him because he loves him and wants to be like him. Ethan was neither flattered nor gracious about my explanation, but now stops his scene reenacting whenever Drew joins ranks. Too bad, really, because Ethan did look a bit like an idiot when he did it, and I really enjoyed watching him.

I think that I am not alone in looking forward to the day when Trent becomes a viable playmate for Drew and the older boys can occasionally be left in peace. In a house filled to the brim with active, boisterous male-type children, I fancy myself an expert in the field of brotherly love, but I know that they have more tricks up their sleeves, and I will continually be taught by them. Like it, or not.

Abnormalities Such as Giant Body Parts

Here's another picture from our trip. This one was taken when we pulled up to Natalie's house after a long and glorious day at the zoo. We wore the kids right out, and in fact, there is a picture where you can see all four of my boys sleeping in the car at the same time, but I wanted to use this one due to it's disturbing nature. I believe that if you double click on the image above, you will be better able to see that both Cameron and Ethan are sleeping with their eyes open. Ethan more than Cameron, but still creepy. All of my kids happen to sleep with their eyes open, at least occasionally. They get that from me. My, (our), eyes are so big that to keep the eyelids shut completely actually requires conscious effort. Thus, when sleeping, completely out of our heads relaxed, we can no longer hold them shut, and they sit in whatever fractionally open position is naturally comfortable. Disturbing, I know. It also causes painfully dry eyes on the mornings when I have spent most of the night totally knocked out with exhaustion, staring, blankly, straight ahead.


(And speaking of large body parts, Trent weighed in at exactly 24 pounds at his check-up yesterday, but Drew has jumped up to a solid 28 pounds, so he's got a nice lead on his brother who is 18 months younger than him. Way to go, Drew! And Trent, it turns out, is more abnormally tall than he is abnormally chubby - shocking, isn't it?)

Here's some more zoo pictures... I know it's always more fun to go to the zoo than to look at pictures of other people at the zoo, but I'm documenting my life, here, so just suffer through it, and try not to jump out of your seats with excitement!


My second favorite stop at the zoo - the sea lions!


Lazy male. Typical.


Rumor has it that there are two female lions at the zoo. We only saw one. She was trying to decide which child to hunt down for lunch.


Beautiful, beautiful animal.


This was as close as we got to any nature channel education. Seems like the animals are always feeling frisky when I'm at the zoo. Mr. Lizard is irritated with me taking his picture. "Do you mind?"


Hams.


HELLO!


This just cracked me up. Peaceful with many cattle and children? Is that possible?


Tommy was not happy about being carted all over, but he was game for some play time!


Blurry Michael.


Andrew working hard.


This baby elephant is almost as hairy as Cameron was when he was a baby.


The result of being told "no" when they asked for a quarter for the candy machine. Aren't they lovely?


Tommy, red; Michael, blue. Yes, I'm sure. I called and asked. I'm ashamed.


If my rear were that pretty, I wouldn't wear pants, either.


My favorite animal at the zoo - the Mandrill. Sometime I'll have to tell the story of the school class that came through and was asked by their teacher if they could tell her which was the male? Well, those of us who had been standing there for a while could have told them exactly which one was the male without resorting to boring references to size or aggression.


That just makes me sad. Hang on! Your new habitat is almost done!!


Trent loves him some string cheese.


"Hey! There's Aunt Kellie!"





Cameron and Ethan's favorite - the crocodile. Or is it an alligator? I can't remember.