Child's Play

Last week I was doing my daily cleaning out of the backpacks and I flipped through the stack in Charlie's folder to see if there was anything that would make the cut into the 'I may keep this forever' stack instead of being recycled immediately.

First, I saw this photo:

Super cute, right? A new little kinder drawing about his experiences on the school playground, lots of detail and appropriate colors; all the hallmarks of a maturing artiste.

I continued to flip through the stack and physically startled when I happened upon this gem:

What the french?! What in the world is going through his mind?! Is he a budding psychopath? Just...what?! I took a moment and paused. 'Hey, Char-what's this picture about?'

Here's his explanation (I made him re-explain for me to record it):

A giant grizzly bear (that I didn't have time to color in all the way) who he's fighting with his brother and dad in order to protect his baby brother in the tree is so much better than what I'd been thinking. It's what happens when we apply adult thinking and experiences to what we see little kids doing. Still probably a little more gory that is optimal, but more indicative of a healthy imagination than a Dexter-esque future. Save your worries for another day, mama. Simmer down.

iText

Living in 2014, it's not news to anyone that texting while driving is no bueno. Would it surprise you to know that it is just a dangerous as driving while intoxicated? Likely not if you've read a newspaper or listened to a newscast, or even seen a Facebook forward about the latest tragedy caused by a driver who was distracted by their phone. (Coincidentally, I saw this article on Facebook today)

But, I know that there are many, many people still glued to the screen, when they should be glued to the road. I know this because I see them every day, but also because I've been guilty of it myself. With a full schedule and too many commitments, driving down the road something will pop into my head and 'if I don't do it right now. I'll forget about it!'  Rolling up to a stop sign and sitting there that second longer than necessary so I can tap out a quick note to myself, glancing over to see what x had to say in the text that just popped up because 'What if they need something from me right now?!', any task that just takes a few seconds so it wouldn't really be a distraction because I'd be able to look back at the road in a jiff...it's not as if I did it flying down the freeway, or while negotiating heavy traffic, or with a Keystone cracked open in my lap (although one could argue that drinking Keystone is a crime, driving or not), so that makes it all better, right? Right?

Believe me, I know how it sounds. 'Hi. My name is Sara, and I'm an iAholic.' 

One of the awesome parts of having a tendency to be anxious is that you get to spend chunks of your day letting worst case scenarios play out in your head...what if I got into an accident while I was texting? What if somebody died because I was so self-important that I thought anyone would need something from me so urgently that I couldn't wait to look at a text until I got home in about three miles? 

Then, my mind went a step further...forget all of the horrible guilt and damage, what would actually happen to me (legally) in a worst case scenario? What would my kids and husband do if I had to go to prison because I answered a text? Just so's you know, the sentencing guideline for vehicular homicide in the state of Washington (RCW 56.61.520) for a first-time offender driving recklessly is 51-68 months, and for driving with disregard is 21-27 months. The thought of missing that much of my kids' lives alone turns my stomach. It has to stop. Immediately. As in, cold turkey.

It's not something that people talk about a lots because we all know that it's completely irresponsible. Just writing this post was hard because I'm sure people will judge me for being careless, but being a (kind of) good Catholic girl, I find relief in confession. And gratitude that I'm writing this post as a 'what if' and not a cautionary tale. Anyone else care to 'fess up and commit to quit?

Holidaze

With a husband whose job requires shift work, I'm often left to fly solo on the holidays. Thanksgiving I woke up early and literally didn't leave the kitchen until I put 'dinner' on the table at 11:30am, so we could eat together.  The meal lasted approximately ten minutes, during which I heard a lot of 'this is gross' and 'I don't like like my (fill in the blank) like this.'

I roasted my first turkey, including the overnight brine, made the smitten kitchen green bean casserole which had amazing thin-sliced (home-fried) crispy onions atop a bed of blanched green beans in a from-scratch mushroom sauce. It was delicious. Or disgusting. Which depended on whether or not you were in the over or under 8-years-old set. Jack ate everything, like the gracious baby he is, and the big kids were excused from the table. After clearing the table and glumly accepting my husband's praise and gratitude for the meal, I did what any strong-willed, self-respecting grown-up does. I went into my bedroom and cried. Seriously, I didn't even take any photos of my food that day-that's saying something! Next year I'll be sticking to my original idea to have Thanksgiving brunch. Although the layered Pumpkin Pie Toffee Cheesecake was ahhh-mazing. But you can totally eat cheesecake for brunch.

Christmas was spent at our house with my mother and father-in-law and I made my first prime rib, which turned out fabulously (we'll be doing that every year!) with all the trimmings of a steak dinner; horseradish and jus, twice baked sweet potatoes, green beans and salad. The kids all loved their deliveries from the jolly guy (including the KidKraft play kitchen that took a certain elf until 3:30 in the morning to build...) Sweet baby, Jesus, maybe next year she should start before 11:30 on Christmas Eve, but there were a lotta pieces! We had friends over for dessert a few hours after dinner, and it was the perfect meld of food and fellowship. Thanksgiving's sadness was erased.

Any day spent playing blocks with Grandma is a good day.

Tiny Pliny in the kitchen

Fast forward to New Year's, where J worked the afternoon shift which ends shortly before midnight, so I decided to host a small New York New Year's Eve with friends (read: we shuttle the littles to bed when the ball drops in Times Square...at 9pm.). Living on the left coast definitely has its perks. After a search of pinterest for ideas, I knew I wanted to keep it simple, so I put together little bags of dollar store finds for random times throughout the evening. The first was mini tubs of play-doh to occupy kids that were feeling left out, or tired of playing with legos, while the adults ate dinner. The second was about an hour later, a bundle of bead necklaces to wear while watching a movie. The third was blowers (not noise makers) to 'get your second wind' at about 8:15, then it was mini bottles of bubbles to 'break out the bubbles' at 8:45. For the New Year's toast, I did Shirley Temples with a cotton candy float. All of the supplies (including the cotton candy, but excluding the drink fixin's) were purchased at the dollar store for less than $10. I just put them in brown paper lunch bags I already had, and labeled them with labels printed in shades of the same tone and attached with washi tape. Simple, but fun. Just like our evening. I hope you had a great night and that 2014 is treating you well!

Nothing says party boy like skinny jeans and a sweatervest

Luckily J got home in time for an actual kiss at midnight. But this would have been a close second.

Voluntary Commitment

It seems that life has a way of rushing in and swooping me along the swift path of productivity, and I often don't notice it until I find a little lull and have a minute to appreciate just how busy I've been. At the beginning of this school year, because it was such a rough school year last year, I tried to keep our after-school commitments to an absolute minimum.

This Spring, seeking some additional physical outlets for him, I decided it was high time we tried swimming lessons again. Our prior sessions resulted in H acting like a little spinner dolphin on the side of the pool while he was supposed to be sitting patiently awaiting his turn, or listening raptly to the instructor. Needless to say, it was counter-productive. This time, I asked that he not be given flotation devices and wouldn't you know, the realization that you may drown if you don't do as instructed has had the desired effect. Swimming, to me, is one of those life-skills that are not an 'extra'. Our trip to Aruba in December confirmed that my kiddos need to be confident and competent swimmers before our next water trip, because it will just be more enjoyable for everyone.

This session went really well, so I signed him up for the next as well. At the same time, I signed Charlie up for his very same lesson and was shocked when the child who had clung to me like a frightened spider monkey anytime we approached any form of water aside from the bath-tub, leapt into the arms of his teacher without hesitation on the very first try. Go figure.

Lessons proceeding swimmingly (aren't I so witty?!), I read an article in the Union-Bulletin about an imagination yoga class offered through parks and rec. Designed to help kids aged 4-12 control their bodies, quiet their minds and gain greater attention spans, I did not hesitate to sign up both of my bouncing baby boys for the April session.

Oh, and did I tell you that I had also promised H he could sign up for T-Ball? Right...when I started entering the games and practices into my calendar, I realized that there will be several nights when we go from swim to T-Ball, or Swim to Yoga, and I started to panic. Wouldn't you know, H had one of his best weeks ever in school when we were committed to the gills? Not that I'm advocating over-committing your kids, or that it will work for us each time, but with a little overlap of activities, I'm glad I didn't sacrifice one for the other. Also, while my calendar looks really full, the actual time commitment is not huge. A half-hour lesson twice weekly for swim, 45 minutes once a week for yoga and T-Ball practice three times  a week (one of those days being Saturday morning or early afternoon) for about an hour; taken piecemeal, it's not so overwhelming.

I've tried to do this with any other requests that come in for my time; can it be done in the evening after my kids are in bed? Is it something I can do on my own, without having to coordinate schedules with someone else? If I stay on task, how much time will it really take? If I think about it that way, and I feel like it's something I can truly manage, I'll take it on. If it interferes with the sanity-saving time I've laid aside for my own needs (read: time that Charlie is in pre-school), I say no. I felt a crushing wave of guilt when I declined coaching H's team for T-ball, but the realities are these: I would be a really shitty coach, since I don't know very much about baseball. I really want to be H's cheerleader, not his instructor, because it's just a better combination. Finally, I have darling Charlie to drag along with me as it is and he's, how do you say, attention-starved since the revelation of baby #3 on board.

After the initial guilt passed, I'm so happy with my decision. With Junior Club (my town's version of Junior League), exercise and other 'self-care', the activities that the kids are in, a burgeoning belly and an already full schedule, I feel like I have a full plate. But, it's delightfully balanced with leafy greens, carbs, protein and a little bit of dessert at the end.

How have you managed to stay balanced with a busy life?

Mile High Club

I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath, but I think it's taken this long for me to think about the second half of the flight to Aruba as anything bordering on amusing. Because we lived across the country from our friends and family for so long, my kids have flown a lot. I feel like I'm a fairly seasoned mama flyer to date, so I've got a pretty good system in place. I knew what to pack, what wasn't necessary, and kind of what to expect from my kiddos.

Since we planned to stay at the hotel for the duration of the trip, we decided to forego lugging the carseats around the airport and just see how wonderful our little cherub could perform in only the confines of the seatbelt. Could they make those things any easier to unlatch? Sure, it's great if you're in a plane crash, but when you're trying to contain a three year-old? Not so much.

After driving four hours to Portland, we had dinner with the fam, bathed the kids there and put them in jammies in preparation for our first leg, which was a red eye to JFK. The check-in process could seriously have not gone any more smoothly, and before I knew it we were settled on the plan and both kids had fallen asleep-a state in which they remained for the duration of the flight. I'm not a stupid person, but it honestly hadn't dawned on me that when we landed at JFK at 6am, it would really only be 3am. I gathered a sleeping C in the sling and started to carry him through the airport. Of course he didn't stay asleep. We had a very tight connection and had just enough time to squirt some Stonyfield yogurt tubes down their throats and take a quick trip to the potty before they were boarding our second flight. And that's where it all went downhill.

Being awoken in the middle of the night isn't much fun for anyone, but it's aparrently really not fun for Charlie, and he wasn't afraid to let us know. For the next five hours, J and I alternated between sitting next to H, who was strangely and almost concerningly content for the entire 5.5 hour flight, and sitting next to a child who I was sure at any moment would spin his head around and vomit all over everyone. If you've met Charlie in real life, you'd know he is not a quiet child. Between trying to physically retrain him from climbing all over the seats, quiet him as he screamed in proportion to my growing frustration, and nursing my split lip that was the result of him head butting me-I finally just had to let some tears roll down the ole cheeks and pray for this part of the trip to be over.

Crazily, we didn't get the stink eye from anyone and when we landed, Charlie magically turned into Sir Charming, and had the couples in front and behind of us laughing. I was not joining them. I am a grudge holder, and he wasn't my favorite person just then.

We made it down the concourse in one piece and proceeded to customs. Trying to keep the kids still after sitting for almost 12 hours was super fun, and my shining moment was when I looked over at the adjacent (empty) cubicle to see Charlie standing in a customs officer's chair, getting ready to tap on the computer keys. They were not amused. Luckily, we were still allowed in the country.

We exited into the humid air and glorious sunshine just as a taxi pulled up to the curb, and I could feel my tension lift. As we pulled up to the hotel, our bags were collected and held to the side while we went inside to see if, please God yes, our room was ready for early check-in.

We were arriving several hours before my sister and her family, and she'd told us that they should have the room ready for early check-in, but if not it wouldn't be long...she lied.

As my feral children ran circles around me on the slick marble tile, I waited patiently while they explained that our room wasn't ready, but it should be in about an hour. We decided to sit and have some lunch, where J and I sucked down frozen concoctions laced with alcohol and the kids enjoyed a virgin version of the same. When we walked back to the lobby, we were notified that our room wasn't quite ready yet and we had to go through several people in order to access our bags, because we figured we could at least spend the extra time in the pool, instead of crying a river of self-pitying and pathetic tears. Being tired is not pretty on me.

J is usually a very practical person, but he stood rifling through his bags in his flannel shirt which was by now soaked with sweat. Flannel is very practicaly for the Pacific Northwest, but not so much when you know when you're flying to the Carribbean.

Blissfully ensconsed in the pool, we immediately forgot that we'd been sticking to our clothing just moments before, and almost forgot that our kids had been acting like total jerks. I kept trying to remind myself; You're in paradise. Stop being a baby. But really, all I wanted to do was lay down in a bed and sleep. I checked back at the front desk an hour later and was told that our room would now not be ready until after the actual check-in time. Seriously? Did Metallica stay in our room and trash it?

Not happening. This is when it came in handy that someone had witnessed my stellar parenting, because another hotel employee came over and asked if I hadn't been in there with the two little boys. Yes, yes that was me. We've come from the west coast, we're exhausted and I'm trying to be nice, but I'm really tired.

With a couple clicks of the keyboard, we were moved one room over to a clean room with everything else the same and I went to collect my children...I really just wanted to go up to the room by myself, but I'm pretty sure J would have divorced me.

Showered and changed into island appropriate attire, we settled the kiddos down for a nap, and I promptly fell into a coma next to them. I awoke a few hours later to the sounds of my sister and her family arriving, along with delivered pizza. It wasn't even good pizza, but I didn't realize how hungry I'd been until I started eating. Sherrific and I then caught a cab and went grocery shopping for our week. The next morning, it was as if the flight had never happened. We were all extremely well-rested and ready to face the biggest decision of our trip; beach or pool, pool or beach? Don't worry, we did both.

It was blissful. Perfect temperatures, wonderful water, and spending time with my sister which is a rarity now that she's decided that she's a mid-westerner at heart for seven whole days. Henry loved being in the water and Charlie had a ball with his cousin, who was equally as wary of that liquid stuff that kept encroaching on their personal space. Yep, they were the edge clingers.

The only blip came when Charlie threw the biggest tantrum of his life on our next to last day. Sheer exhaustion caused him to bust out his only curse word, buttface, which he used approximately 700 times in a three minute period, mimicing a fantastic tourrettes episode. He was spitting, screaming, yelling, kicking and biting me for almost thirty minutes before I finally 'swaddled' him in a beach towel and rocked him to sleep. It was a tantrum of epic proportions and I couldn't help being a little impressed by his stick to-it attitude. The kid is nothing if not willful. I kept waiting for the knock on the door from a security guard saying they'd heard a child being abuse in the next room, but it never came, I stayed calm and all's well that ends well. He awoke three hours later with no memory of his terrible behavior. Which I guess is good?

Too soon, we were pakcing our bags again and I was terrified that we'd have an encore performance of the previous flight, but alas-they were exhaused in the best way. Seven days of sand, sun and water had created the zen they needed to be angels. I'm not being sarcastic. Henry was in heaven since the only kid show playing on the TV was Sponge Bob, so he finally got to partake in the wonder of the little creature who lives in a pineapple under the sea-and Charlie was content to play with stickers. We arrived in Portland tanned and happy, settled into our hotel and drove home the next day just in time for H to attend his class Christmas party.

Both J and I agreed that, beautiful as it was, it'd be a long time before we fly that far for a beach again. Hawaii's just a short flight away, and we've yet to explore Mexico...lots of beautiful beach vacations await!

Kinder Care

My lack of posts of late is not because I don't have a million ideas swirling around, but because I haven't had the time or presence of mind to sit down and translate them into actual words. Here's my best attempt.

Last year, we made the decision to retain H in Kindergarten. As an August boy we understood that he would be the youngest in his class and that might go over like a toot in church, but that's how we roll so we sent him anyhow. I don't regret that decision because he learned a ton and I became a better mother to him, which I attribute to being able to appreciate his sweet quirky self a whole lot more when I wasn't bombarded with it 12-14 hours a day. Over the summer, we had a great time and I didn't ever feel that 'when is school going to start?!' panic that so many of my friends described to me.

Then school started. For the first week, he was the model student with a normal amount of testing his limits and missing his mama. Then the shenanigans came to a head and culminated in the use of the 'D' word by more than one person at his school. That's right; they were calling my little cherub defiant! Okay, so I know that he's stubborn, willful and really likes to do his own thing, but defiant just seemed like such a harsh word. And, that's when I realized that if I, as his mother, didn't advocate for him and take the bull by the horns, then who would? I don't know how many of you have had to take 'the call' from school, but I started to dread that number flashing on our caller ID. We had stopped watching TV during the school week at the suggestion of a friend, my kids are asleep every night by 7pm and we practice 'the family meal' at night with healthful breakfasts at home and lunches packed each day. I don't know what else I could be doing while still maintaining my sanity (and three blogs, a marriage, a running training schedule, a 3 year-old, Clifford the big black dog, the rest of my household and a small knitting business, ha!)

After a consult with his pediatrician and collaborating with his teacher (who I really like) on an informal behavior plan that was very concrete, Mr. H has had a much better time at school and is even starting to (gasp) enjoy it! He has two things to focus on: Listen and Follow Directions.

I found an article online about living with strong-willed children that gave me goosebumps as I read it because it could have been written about H. He's a super smart kiddo who's pretty quirky, and has a huge heart. However, he's a six year old boy who doesn't seem to understand (or yet care?) how all of his actions affect other people. Being super concrete, setting specific limits which are consistently enforced, along with physical exercise after school everyday and trying my very, very hardest not to raise my voice with him have all seemed to culminate in positive behavioral change. This could be just a honeymoon phase, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my voice to zen-like tones in hopes that this school year is the true gift of time that we intended it to be.

School should be enjoyed, especially kindergarten! I'm finally starting to see how fun school can be for him, so here's to a banner year for Mr. H (and his mother who would most likely be put on Zoloft if I cry one more time when his teacher calls.) What fun has the new school year brought for your family?

One Little Word

My sister posted about the 'one little word' concept last year, and I noticed she was doing it again this year. I had struggled back and forth with what my resolution would be this year because there are so many things I'm working on; training for and completing a marathon (huge!), working on one knitting project at a time (I tend to get ahead of myself), getting my house organized (and staying that way), signing up for at least one race a month from March to November, by which time I hope to have shed the last 50 pounds I still want to, and be knocked up again. Be a present and mindful mother and wife instead of someone who's just 'there' a lot. Make healthful meal choices for myself and my family, even when the chinese take-out menus and pizza delivery boys are singing to me, at least five days a week.

How to sum that all up in one resolution? I know! How about instead of trying to use lots of words, I'll just pick one. There will be a lot of roadblocks, and excuses along the way I'm quite sure, but in the end I want to cross that finish line, bind off one by one, and most of all, be a good example to my kids about how you can have what you want if you're willing to work for it in spite of all the things that make what you want really, really hard to get. But more importantly, that you can still have a life outside of your goals.

My husband is the inspiration for this word as whatever he sets out to do, he gets it done. He read the entire Shelby Foote Civil War series line by line, page by page in the space of less than a year. That's a million and a half words on over three thousand pages. He completed Ranger School, and then hung around with those boys for another four years. He muscled through eleven years of higher education to get his first 'real' job. He's becoming quite the accomplished 'car stealer' on Grand Theft Auto (okay, so I won't count that one). He's been married to me for almost eight years, for crying out loud; I bet he'll say that one was the hardest. Perseverance folks.

And this year, I'm gonna get mine. Perseverance.

In Vino Veritas

Yesterday I put on my magic pants (aka compression tights) for the first time. Which led to a second 'first' for me; going commando. The only time I don't regularly wear underwear is to bed. I know that the majority of people don't wear them when they run, but I was not sad to be a minority in this matter. Why the sudden change of heart? Because when you stuff sausage into casing, there's often not room for foundation pieces.

After yesterday's run, I could be convinced that it's a better way to go. I'm just glad that I take care of that 'situation' or it may not have been as comfortable.

On the running note, I've officially registered for my first full marathon. It's not the same one I talked about before, but it will be a great fit because Jared will be there to cheer my on, and my best friend is running with me. I think my sister-in-law who ran with the two of us at the Fine Wine half-marathon in July is going to run as well. My friend and I are marathon virgins, while my sister-in-law has birthed this baby before, so it will be interesting to see how our experiences differ. June 4th, 2011 in Newport, Oregon. I'm equally excited and nauseated, but I'm willing to apply the same suspended disbelief that I did while training for the marathon and only focus on the mileage for the week.

Last night J and I went to a fun holiday party. A good time was had by all and the vino was flowing freely. A little too freely, actually. It was my day off in the game, so I relished my glass five glasses of cabernet and a cab/syrah/merlot blend and had a great time meeting some of the people with whom Jared spends those long days and nights.

I was feeling nice and toasty, but not bad, as we paid and thanked the sitter, went through the nightly routine and the enjoyed the rest of all that date night entails. (see C.D. I do talk about sex sometimes!) Okay Dad, you may want to stop reading now.

Anywho, the fear of all parents became a reality for us as I heard the pitter patter of little feet, about a fraction of a second later than I normally do and voila; coitus interruptus. Awesome. As I lay mortified in the bed, J ushered a sleepy and seemingly unaware H back to bed. Within about 30 seconds both kids were awake and crying for their Mama.

Rocking them both in the La-Z-Boy, I was starting to drift off when I felt that unforgettable hot and flushed feeling. I called out for J trying not to wake the sixty plus pounds of dead weight that was pressing on my guts and exaccerbating the urge to purge. J to the rescue and kiddos were extracted from my grasp just in time for me to rush to the bathroom and tango with the gods of drinking. I'm so glad I left the lights off because I can only imagine I would forget what I'd drunk and think I had stomach cancer.

Teeth brushed, clean shirt slogged over my head (does anyone successfully avoid splash-back?), water swish-swish-swished and then a glass downed and I welcomed the surrender to my bed. Thanks to a caring spouse who's been there, done that a cold cloth was pressed to my forehead and I was out like a light, but only after I murmured 'Seriously, how old am I? Nineteen?!'

This morning brought two pre-schoolers who don't really care to know about what you did while they were sleeping, and raring to go with zero sensitivity to noise, action or speed of movement.  The show must go on so rally I did with a bowl of oatmeal fortified with greek yogurt, peanut butter and some ibuprofen. Opening the Advent Cubicle for the day's activity and found the rest of my cure, watching my kids decorate gingerbread cookies (well, mainly eat candy and frosting.)

K.I.T. (Knitty-in-training, of course!)

From the time we lived in Massachusetts, H loved to sit next to me and 'knit a stitch' of whatever I was working on. He was usually content to put his hands in the general vicinity while I manipulated the yarn and needles to create the sense of accomplishment while I maintained my own tension and gauge. I know, I'm a complete freak. Well, the jig is up, folks and H wants me to 'help his hands' no more!

Last night, as I was knitting java jackets, I handed him a skein of wool and two needles and gave him my blessing to do with it as he wished (after he was moving the needles in and out of the afghan on our bed). I looked over and to my horror found a pile of yarn that was more mangled than a plate of spaghetti that had been put in the spin cycle. 'What are you doing?!' I shrieked. He dropped the yarn and offending needles and looked a little hurt by my lack of appreciation for his fiber genius and replied 'You said I could do whatever I wanted with it.' Right. You've got me. 

All he really wanted to do was create something and I acted like a total freak when what he created was a fat lot of work for me to wind the ball back up. But, it was my own fault, a fact of which I quickly assured him. Clearly, we were going to have to start back a few steps. I remembered when I was attending a training for work and there were several knitters in the room. My friend was knitting on one of those plastic looms and is just one of those people who would unabashedly say 'Yeah, they're actually for little kids.' Good thing she did, because today H and I took a little trip to Jo-Ann's where he picked out a skein of bulky technicolor yarn and a plastic loom so that he could create a neck-warmer for himself; or a moo-whoo as we're calling it, since Cowls are obviously a combination of cows and owls. 

He actually got the hang of it really quickly and this has been the most fantastic quiet time ever. I have to do the loops on each turn to make it go more smoothly for him, and so it won't keep unraveling; it's a nice balance of a project to work on together but that still allows him some autonomy.  He's a young five, and I got one for Charlie also, but I think I'll be returning that loom. For my kiddos, I think five is plenty young. If you're blessed with quiet, sit-still girls who listen to you, have at it a little younger!

The only thing is, I realized after I'd opened the package that the loop we got is for baby hats, so hopefully it fits over his melon when he's done. I told him that on the off-chance it doesn't, I'll buy him another skein of the yarn and make one myself so he and his dolly can be matchers. If we wanted to do a scarf with the loom as my friend did, the ends would just need to be seamed. However, I'm thinking I'd have a couple calls from his teacher if he went to school with a scarf, so I'm not even going there. 

The torch is being passed, my friends.

Update: I bound off after he got bored, and it's literally an arm-cuff. If you want to replicate this crafty endeavor, get the largest size you can!

(Not So) Guilty Pleasures

I love, love, love the food blog 101 Cookbooks. Over the last couple of years, I've become more interested in having a 'natural kitchen.' Ms. Swanson's books Supernatural Cooking, Supernatural Everyday and Cook 1.0 are on my amazon wishlist. I'm gradually switching my kids over to Adams Peanut Butter instead of Jif, honey and maple syrup and sweeteners instead of white sugar (my cryptonite) and the idea that yogurt or fruit with some whipped cream is dessert. This is as much for me as it is for them. Well, actually it's probably more for me than it is for them. I love sweets.

The Game On challenge has been very good for me in helping me to identify the times I eat, the things I eat and, aside from my day off and meal off, eliminating butter, white sugar and white flour from my diet. I am not saying that nobody should use the above ingredients, I'm just saying that I grossly overused them in my daily life. There have been many meals where I found that a spritz of olive oil cooking spray did the job just as well or better than a pat of butter, and meals where I found the opposite. My attempt to make a butterless whole-wheat pie crust was edible, and better than having no pie crust at all on my roasted vegetable tart, but really, I'd rather save pie crust for a day of indulgence and blend those lovely crumbs of butter in.

The contest only goes for four weeks at a time. As we're settling into the third week, I've been trying to prep for ways that I can still implement a lot of the principles of the game in my everyday life in a way that's sustainable. Drinking three liters of water a day is something I should have been doing all along, and one of the facets I'll definitely keep. Drinking black coffee, or no coffee at all? Not so much. However, I've definitely developed a much lower threshold on the sweet factor and am satisfied with a lot less; one tablespoon of creamer is just fine in my coffee instead of the two or three that I would have used before. Also, and I'm admitting this even though it makes me ridiculous, if I were eating grape nuts or a similar cereal before, I'd have sprinkled a little sugar on top. I know. But, I don't anymore, so that's that.

I love to bake, so have been looking for ways to feel fulfilled in that area without feeling like I'm just filling my house with sweets. You can only bring so many treats to the school, afterall. 101 Cookbooks to the rescue again. I found a Peanut Butter Cookie recipe that is not only fairly healthy, but it's a recipe you can make for a vegan friend without having to make any adustments, and it fits into the parameters of the game (if you eat one and count it as your fat for the meal.)

I hope you enjoy these as much as I did! I think the biggest trick is in underbaking them a little bit so that they don't get dried out and crunchy. I had my neighbor taste-test them without telling her they were 'healthy' and she liked them. I didn't have whole wheat pastry flour, so I just used regular whole wheat flour and it just adds to the nuttiness of the cookies. Lastly, I measured out almost a cup of the Adams creamy (no salt added) and then topped off the cup of peanut butter called for with some Mara Natha Almond Butter. Yum! My kids loved them as well, and were able to taste-test the batter since it's egg-less. Bon Apetit!

Dawning of the Ages

Today J and I attended our first ever parent-teacher conference, or 'goal setting meeting' as they're now called. We were talking about Henry's test scores and how he's adjusting well now (which was not the case in the beginning of the year...there were a lot of tears that first month, and they weren't all his.) When we were almost finished, his teacher asked J if he had any questions since she and I talk almost daily, and he said that he felt like I'd kept him pretty up to speed on what the teacher and I planned to help H adjust.

As I was watching him talk, it was one of those moments when you realize; we're really parents. This is our child we're talking about! I felt so adult, yet so surreal all at once. It's not as if it escapes me that I'm ten years out of college and responsible for helping to shape these people's lives, but you just get so swept up in the day to day and time flies by and for the most part, I still think of myself as that silly undergrad with a flaming crush on that cute older guy in my 8am Philosophy class. (It should also be noted that said older boy is the whole reason I started getting my bratty behind to that class every single day without fail.) He was prompt and consistent that one.

Fast forward eleven years and steady he remains; I couldn't ask for a better partner, or role model for my kids. Earlier this summer we planned to train for the Walla Walla Half-Marathon together...then I decided I'd just do the 10k because getting out and getting in the miles has been really hard for me this time around. A couple weeks ago, I downgraded myself to loving cheerleader, since I get to do the Barber to Boise the following weekend, oh yeah, and because I hadn't really trained yet.

I have nothing to blame it on, really, because I was crazy busy in Massachusetts as well, but I found the time. I have great running routes right out my front door and I invested in the double BOB stroller, which I love. I really miss my running group, they were amazingly supportive and motivating. But alas, they're gone (or rather I am) so in the last week I've started to get into a routine again and I joined the Y today as well. Yesterday, H said to me, 'Mom, let's go for a little run.' All this time searching for a running partner, and they were right here all along.

Mr. J, on the other hand, has been lacing up the sneaks and heading out the door from the moment he said he would. His steadfastness is one of my favorite things about him.  Well, almost my favorite...but that's for another post.

Sittin' On a Corner...

Today was the first day that I not only sent H off to school for a full day, but that he started the day by stepping into the hands of a stranger. That's right; the school bus. I have to say, it was a far less traumatizing situation than I thought it would be, but the bus driver was the antithesis of that of South Park's which I'm sure aided in my comfort level.

Rewind to the night before at about 5:30 when I realized that I hadn't even asked the school what time the bus would be there. Thank goodness for the age of the internet, because they had their schedule posted on line. Phew! Crisis averted, but oh-so-typical of my organizational skills these days.

I just couldn't get over the fact that my baby, flesh of my flesh, was getting on a bus to be in school all day long. Away from me. Out of my influence. Spreading his wings. He was so excited, and just seemed so grown up. After he left, Charlie and I walked back to the house, C crying the whole way that he wanted to ride the bus. Oh Charlie, for the love, let me have my moment. Back at the house, I settled him in his carseat so we could go grocery shopping.

Momentous occasion number 2 for the day came when I got to order a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks because it's Fall again! That out of the way, I went to Super 1 Foods to get the items from my grocery list to fulfill what will amount to about two weeks' of meals, Charlie acting as monster truck driver all the while and then it was home again, home again, Jiggety Jigg.

As we walked in the house and were greeted by our pooch, the now-familiar smells of my home greeting me, I took a look around at the walls that finally had some of our decor on them, my seven year-old rubber tree that had been lovingly tended by my co-workers in Portland during my stint in New England had been brought back home, and time itself had started to make its stamp. I felt myself release a breath I didn't quite realize I'd been holding. It was like running in that the first mile is always hard for me. I run and run and think, this is never going to feel good or natural and then at about the same point every run I take a deep breath and release it and my body just settles in. But, if I'd stopped before that point, I would say with conviction that I hated running. I don't hate running, I just hate getting into my run.

Walla Walla, I think I'll settle in after all.

Sugar High, Sugar Low

Just before the start of Easter weekend we got word that our mortgage and house closing would be going forward as planned. Now, it's just the underlying sense of unease that all new home-owners tell me is normal; the I-can't-believe-it-until-the-keys-are-in-my-hands feeling. I'll take that over what I felt all last week any day!

On Saturday, I went with my training group for our 5 mile run, which was mapped at 5.25 miles. When I got done I was tired, but I didn't feel like I needed to sit down or that I couldn't go another step. I picked my kids up from childwatch, wrestled with Charlie in the back seat while I changed the world's poopiest diaper and then it was off to the Starbucks drive-thru for my weekly post-run reward. Honestly, the fact that the group runs are stationed near the only drive-thru Starbucks in Central Mass is incredible motivation each week. Before we arrived, H asked if he could have a donut. I told him I'd love to get one for he and Charlie to share. 'But I want one to myself!' Fine. They sell really cute little mini-frosted donuts at Starbucks now, so I told him he could have one of those.

His response? 'Is there more sugar in a big donut, or a little one?' Well, um, the big one most likely. 'Then I want a big one.' Yeah, it's either the little one or nothing. 'Okay, the little one.' That's what I thought.

Before my run, I'd done my weekly weigh-in and realized that since I started running about a month and a half ago, I've lost sixteen pounds. While I haven't been on a diet, per se, my food choices have seemed to change on their own. I don't necessarily want to eat a burger for lunch if I know I'm going to run later in the day, or if I've already run, I remember how hard I had to work to burn the calories I did, so the trade-off no longer looks quite so appealing. Instead of the usual weekend mocha that I may have rewarded myself with, just getting a nice nonfat latte felt pretty good.

Not so for H. Lately, the kid is obsessed with sugar! Easter, Christmas, Valentine's Day and every other sugar-fueled holiday has not helped to end his love affair with saccharine goodness, so this year I asked that the Easter bunny only bring as much candy as the kids could eat in one sitting...I'm done storing the leftovers until time memorial so that they could have candy each night until they were twenty, and because I don't want to have candy in the house all the time.

After they finished their breakfast of peeps and chocolate, we got ready and headed over to a friend's house for a pot-luck Easter brunch. It was so much more enjoyable than sitting in a restaurant, paying an exorbitant amount of money for the tiny bit of food they'd eat before they were 'done' and made you eat with the goal in mind of making a quick exodus.

This time, the kids played in the basement, the adults enjoyed the offerings, and then we all went out for an egg hunt. It's quite possibly the first Easter in NewEngland in the last decade that has been this lovely, but it was seventy-five degrees! We sat in the sun while the kids played and our food settled, then headed back in for a quick dessert. My friend had made the most fun little deserts by dipping a balloon in chocolate, and then popping the balloon to make it look like half an egg. Then you fill it with chocolate mousse and, instead of cherry, each confection was topped with a peep.

By the time we got home, the kids were fast asleep. I had time to submit both posts to Green MomCentral before we felt obliged to wake them, and then it was time for the circus of the night-time routine to begin. We switched Charlie to a 'big boy' bed this weekend (aka the crib rail came down) and the first night went ridiculously well. Last night when I put him to bed, he started messing around, so I reminded him that he needed to lay down or he'd have to be in a baby crib again. He settled immediately and went to sleep...or so we thought.

After about an hour, H went in to join him in slumber only to find that he was waiting for big brother to get the party started. Guess who had to be the party pooper? Of course. So, H in our bed, and Charlie in the pack-n-play, both kids were asleep within about five minutes. But only after J doled out the worst punishment ever...'No Candy For a WEEK!' And just like that, the party was over.

*Photo credits go to Michele of mQn photography. If you're looking for great candid shots of your family, you won't find anyone better, or at a more reasonable price!

More Than Meets The Eye

Today, after a leisurely morning of running kiddos to and fro, I told H we had a birthday party to attend that afternoon. He was ecstatic for the opportunity to wander the toy aisle at Target, pronouncing for all to hear exactly what he'd be getting for his birthday...in August.

Amidst protests by H that the birthday boy would not like a bottle of wine, I indulged him in the under ten dollar purchase of the Transformer, Scalpel, (a creepy microscope/flying insect) with a matching Transformer card, of course. Oh, did I mention that this was a 30th birthday party? For one of J's co-workers?

Luckily, said birthday boy is probably one of the most gracious and genuinely nice people you'll ever meet and he took the time to open the gift with H, take it out of the packaging and then 'transform' it...which, I don't know how many of you have tried that lately, but it's not exactly an intuitive process. It's the little things, like seeing them acknowledge how excited your child is about something that may not be exciting to them, that makes you genuinely like someone.

Cake consumed, a ball-game playing in the back-ground and a party foul perpetrated by H (who quickly pronounced over the spillage of beer 'It's okay! It was empty!') I decided it was time to tuck the kiddos under my arms and head home so that J could enjoy some much-deserved social time with his friends.

Before leaving, Birthday Boy suggested to H that they 'share' the Transformer, and that H's shift would start tonight. Of course, you could tell from the shifting of his eyes and sly smile that this was what H had planned and hoped for all along. The car ride home was spent with me reinforcing to H that this was a very special exception and he would never get to take a birthday gift home with him again.

And, yes, it's tucked in with him right now.

As the evening wore on, I was plagued with questions; Did I do the wrong thing? Should I have allowed him to get the gift even though I knew it was completely age-inappropriate, and kind of a gag gift even if H wasn't in on the gag?

I hope I didn't set him up for disappointment at future parties where he'll get the hairy eyeball if he presents the guest of honor with a parenting plan for joint custody of the gift. Then again, I think we'll just cross that bridge when we get there.

You're Beautiful, It's True...

Recently, each time we pass someone; neighbors, burly maintenance men, teen-aged girls going home from the bus, H has one phrase for them. 'You're Beautiful!' The reaction has been fairly universal; the recipient of the compliment smiles and says thank you. That should be a source of pride for me, right?

So, why, after the second or third week of this have I started telling H, 'You know, you don't have to say that to everyone.' Perhaps it's because he's said it to the same neighbor about 400 times now. Or that sometimes, there's a look of confusion before the comprehension of what he said clicks in, or just that I don't want to have the weird kid who gushes compliments to strangers...

When I broached the subject with him, saying that maybe he doesn't have to say that every time we pass someone, he countered with; 'But everyone always says thank you.' You're right, they do. And, maybe, it's the only time somebody will have someone else say that to them, and maybe he really is able to see the beauty in everyone.

What is wrong with me that after four years of drilling into his head to use kind words, I'm suddenly trying to add caveats to the rules? I have to tell you, the first couple times it was sweet, but now it just feels awkward.

Yet another parenting moment when you just have to get over the way you feel about something, because in the end, he really is just saying something nice. Isn't that what I've been asking him to do all along?

Let's Confer

Today, I passed another parenting milestone; my first parent-teacher conference. Yes, H is only in pre-school, but you'd be surprised how nerve-wracking it was! I walked in armed with a list of H's positive attributes just in case they weren't able to discern from their bi-weekly interactions with him that he's perfect! Yes, yes, I know that I've intimated he may be less than, but that's my prerogative as his mother.

I've been told by the pediatrician, the social worker at the pediatrician's office who gave me a 'courtesy call' after I broke down in tears over my apparent inadequacies and then today by H's preschool teacher that I'm 'really hard' on myself. Um, yeah. Isn't everybody? Maybe I'm just less afraid of letting my freak flag fly.

So, after I dabbed my leaking eye sockets with a tissue, H's teacher realized that a lot of the statements in his evaluation were phrased kind of negatively. She took some time to talk about his positive attributes which, really, is what every parent wants. A list of things to work on is great, but everyone needs to know that at the end of the day, their child has more positives than negatives, and that you're doing a great job. Or, at least, the very best you can in this given time and place.

(Recognize that little cherub? Yep, it's Junior from Problem Child.)

Temperamentally Yours

Following H's four-year check-up yesterday where I had a tearful moment after H spent the better half of the time I was trying to converse with the doctor enamoured with the crinkling sound of the exam table paper, I dusted off my copy of Temperament Tools: Working With Your Child's Inborn Traits.

Yes, I cried at the doctor's office. I cried because I'm tired of looking like she who cannot control her offspring. I cried because I'm terrified that my kid who couldn't sit still for three seconds during the appointment will be labeled as ADHD, ODD, ADD or whatever other thing I don't think he is. Lastly, I cried because laughing just didn't fit the bill. (see intensity of emotions below, maybe that's why we butt heads) Never fear, H didn't even notice because he was too busy with his symphony o' scratchy noises on the exam table.

I'm not saying I broke down, but the voice got quivery and my eyes welled with tears. I love our pediatrician, and he was very reassuring that he wasn't seeing anything that was concerning; H was behaving like a four-year old boy in a new situation and I was correcting him appropriately. Given that H is adapting so well to preschool and listening well there, that is a more important indicator than how they act in a 30 minute appointment. A fact that my rational self knows, but my perfect parenting self does not. He asked at that point why I was being so hard on myself. I explained then what has been dawning on me more and more; I don't have anything to 'show' for my 'work' anymore except how my kids turn out. He said "Well, then you're getting an A! H is great He's fine."

Emotional crisis averted, I asked him to check H's foreskin because I didn't think it had retracted yet, and it's not exactly easy to check at home. Yes, I'm going there, and you'll see why. Sure enough, still stubbornly in place. He said that he wasn't concerned, but that if it wasn't retracted by the time he was around 8, but definintely by puberty, that I could go see a urologist. I dumbly asked "And what will they do?" Yep, you guessed it, a circumcision.

I just let my head drop back. "Awesome, we chose not to do it when he was an infant because we didn't want to do something that would cause unnecessary pain, and now he might have to do it when he's eight?!" Doctor: "There you go being hard on yourself again! You made a good decision when he was born, and it's most likely that this will resolve itself. It's not medically necessary at birth."

Sweet. If you want your son to stop liking you, I've got an idea, make a decision for him at birth that causes him to have penis surgery when he's about to enter puberty! Here I thought baptizing our infants into the Catholic faith would cause controversy later. Oh no, no, we'll go ahead and one up that with pain in the here and now. But enough about that.

Back to Temperament Tools. Tired of constantly going to bed at night thinking of what I should have done better, questioning why I said that and promising that tomorrow would be a better day where I didn't let my four year-old wind me up only to repeat said routine, I realized that this just wasn't a battle of the wills I was winning.

So I got a pen this time, instead of just trying to mentally picture my scores as I went and I began marking the x's where both H and Charlie fall on the temperament traits of Activity, Adaptability, Approach to New Things, Frustration Reaction, Intensity of Emotions, Mood, Regularity and Sensitivity.

When I reached the end, I read the brief descriptions of the behaviors that go with certain 'temperament clusters' and was having a hard time finding which of the last three to pick. Then I saw "This high-energy child has many of the behaviors of the previous three. If you are therefore having trouble deciding which chapter to pick, turn first to page 117." Okay...turning pages, turning pages...then (because all the temperament examples are named after animals) 'The Bear Cub Combo";

Imagine the darting speed of a bird combined with the intesity of a prowling tiger and the powerful determination of a whale. When the temperaments of BeiLing Bluebird, Tiganda Tiger and Walocka Whale all combine in one small body, the result is the Olympic Challenge of Parenting.

You don't say!

The book then moves on to talk about learning styles, parenting tips and common behavioral issues. I have to say, as I was reading the three chapters of the animals that combine to make the temperament most like H's, the more disturbing or truly hard characteristics did not describe him. It's amazing how arming yourself with more information can suddenly turn "What the hell?! How am I this horrible a parent, and where did this ferral child come from?!" into "Oh, H isn't anywhere near that bad!" It's all relative, folks.

Learning about temperament is important to me, because I feel like the one thing I'm always so concerned about is smothering his spirit. Providing examples of effective discipline for each temperament-style, it's certainly not a book that just wants parents to let their children be free as a bird, but instead to incorporate all personalities and temperaments into a harmonious family, and not letting the intensity of one child, or your fear of their reaction to something rule the roost.

J had commented a couple times how H and I just wind each other up. Sure enough (in the Tiganda Tiger example); Intensity fuels intensity. When Mom yells, "Stop that!" or, "Be quiet!" or spanks Tiganda for hitting another child, Tiganda's intensity rises even higher. Which makes the kiddo less flexible, which makes mama mad, and the circle of strife continues.

Aparrently remaining calm will allow you to take control of the situation more effectively than flapping your arms around as you direct, demand and shout in loud tones. Oh, and probably having a non-neurotic parent helps out as well. Who knew?

Go Nuts! Or Not.

Today was H's first day of pre-school. Yep, after much back and forth, a particularly rough week was followed by the fortuitous placement of a poster advertising openings at the YMCA pre-school.

The fact that uber-frugal J didn't bat an eyelash when I told him about it, and that I'd like to send H asap means that everyone had begun to notice my mounting frustration with my lack of ability to sufficiently entertain/busy the kiddos; even though I felt like I was running myself ragged from Farmland to Seashore and back again to do so.

After visiting the school and paying the insanely low registration fee of $25, my next stop was at the pediatrician's office to sweet talk the receptionist into giving me written proof, on the spot, that H doesn't have rabies, and won't give them to any of the other kids.

As I went through the packet from the school, I realized that some of H's staples were nixed from the list of foods that could be sent with his lunches, foremost being peanut butter and peanut products. Some of the others surprised me...no raw carrots, even if they're cut up. No grapes that haven't been quartered. Really? He's been eating whole grapes for over two years now.

No popcorn...there goes the snack bag of Smartfood that would be a treat for him. Hmmm...the list was getting shorter. I know! Pretzels! Whenever he sees other kids that have pretzels, he always mooches some...nope, guess that one's a no-no as well according to new federal regulations regarding choking hazard food items in schools.

About to face defeat, I remembered that my friend who has a child with multiple allergies talked about sunbutter (made from sunflower seeds and actually quite tasty), so I put it on my list. Did you know that most grocery stores charge around ten dollars for a jar of sun or almond butter? Thank God for Trader Joe's, where it can be yours for the low, low price of $3.99 (which I snapped up before picking him up today, because why would I plan ahead and buy it before school started?)

So, after I felt like I had all the rules, regulations and expectations down pat, I packed H's lunch last night. As J was drifting off last night, I casually mentioned that I was buying sun butter and he was not to eat it, because it was just for school lunches. "What's sun butter?" was the response. I explained the peanut-free facility concept and his eyes snapped open. I could feel the snide remarks coming...welcome to parenting in the Third Millennium, J.*

*I know, I know...we'd feel a whole lot differently about this if our children weren't hearty German/Swedish kids who don't seem to be negatively affected by any food groups other than too many blueberries (a whole other post).

Smash, Bang, Crash!

Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood by Koren Zailckas

My review

So far, there are a couple of reasons I really like Smashed. (I'm only 30+ pages in, so bear with me.) First, she's exactly my age, so when she's talking about things that happend in highschool, etc, it's kind of fun to see the social parallels, but secondly,she's from New England. I'm more than a little obsessed with all things New England since I'm a transplant. (I've watched The Departed and the Dennis Lehane movies more times that I can count). Her bio says she grew up in the 'suburbs of Boston', but when she's talking about a girl who goes to her regional high school andsays "Billie lives in the bordering town of Clinton..." I gasped in excitement, because that's just up the road!

It's a bio that I'm hoping doesn't turn out to be bogus like that of James Frey.

From the inside flap:

"Koren's story is that of thousands of girls like her who are notalcoholics-yet-but who routinely use booze as a shortcut to courage, asstand-in for good judgement, and a bludgeon for shyness.

A crucial book for any young woman who grew up under the allure of booze, orfor anyone who is concerned about someone locked in a pattern of dangerousdrinking, *Smashed* is eye-opening, wise, utterly gripping and destined tobecome a classic."

I wanted to read it before sending it off to my 15 year-old niece as a'cautionary tale' (yep, I'm *that* aunt) and have found that it's really good, frank, and I think that most parents would benefit from reading it even if your kids aren't there yet.

She says in her preface "I grew up in the Northeast, a white, middle-class teenager among other white, middle-class teenagers, which plunks me down in one of the highestdemographics of underage drinkers..." and...

"I am fourteen, which is the norm these days, when the mean age of the firstdrink for girls is less than thirteen years old." *

*Devon Jersild, *Happy Hours; Alcohol in a Woman's Life, 96.

Even though the 'times are different' it hasn't been all THAT long since I was in high school, but I feel like I've forgotten a lot of the nuance. Oh yeah, and I never drank in high school.

I'll post more when I finish the book...

Jon and Kate Plus Hate

Last night, I salaciously tuned into the Season 5 opener of Jon and Kate Plus 8 on TLC. While I'd occasionally watched the show before, I never could watch an entire season just because I'm not great lately at following weekly shows. With the current tabloid frenzy over the did he/she or didn't they, I couldn't resist.

I shudder to think what people would say about me were cameras in my home to capture all my parenting moments from the fab to the flubs, but you'll note that the airwaves are void of the hit show J and Sally Plus 2, so I felt relative comfort in my urge to judge.

I expected a great show full of juicy stuff to blog about, but turns out; it was just sad. When it's a real couple, divorce is just not entertaining. We're not talking about Jerry Springer quality foibles; just a couple who've had five (well, really, almost ten counting the twins but two kids is not eight) looooong years of raising two sets of multiples.

The episode was centered around the sextuplets fifth birthday. Kate, as usual, treated Jon like a ninth child which had always really made me angry before. Unfortunately, this time it came hot on the heels of me wanting to crawl out of my skin because J was doing the kids' bath and bed routine...and he failed to do it in my order! Hmmm...multiply that annoyance by 4, and add in an even more type-A personality and I'm not so far from Kate after all.

I remember once when I was getting ready to go somewhere and I was, in detail, telling J the kids' routine. He said to me "Why don't you just type up a little folio like you would for a baby-sitter?" Totally missing the sarcasm, I brightly said "Okay!" Forgetting that each parent has their own style is just too easy.

Kate has been on the road a lot lately due to book tours and speaking engagements, which led to Jon quitting his job to stay at home with the kids full-time about two years ago. As he said in the show last night, he feels like choices were made for him. Kate has made statements that make it obvious that she feels guilt about being gone so much, which I'm sure is exacerbated by her perfectionist tendencies when she knows that things are being done just so.

She made the best statement last night that I think all working moms, or moms in general really, should take to heart; Are my kids happy, healthy, safe and loved? If all four of those are a yes, then things are good (not a direct quote, but just how I can remember her saying it.)

For a long time, Kate has sat in the love seat clutching the side away from Jon as if mass destruction would result from her falling into the center and touching him, so the tension in their marriage has obviously been a-brewin'.

Back to the crux, though. I remember watching last night and thinking...Five. Five! They'll be in Kindergarten this year, or maybe next depending on how their birthdays fall. That means half or full-days with ALL EIGHT children in school.

Surely they've got royalty money and other savings that would allow them to just use the first year to take care of themselves? I set out to write a biting post, but really it was just too sad to see these two people in such a bad place. I hope that they can seek private counseling or whatever will help take them back (or forward, since you can't really ever go back) to a place where they can love and appreciate each other. Most likely this will not happen while they are being filmed in their home. I hope that some exec at TLC sees that they're marriage is more important than ratings and they don't offer the family a Sixth Season after they fulfill their contractually obligated fifth.

One thing, though. I swear that if that smarmy-ass Dr. Phil comes onto their show to have an even more public three-ring circus of a therapy session, I will boycott TLC. Sadly, I know I'm helping to fuel the dilemma of ratings, as I'll be tuning in for sure this season. Who can turn their eyes away from a 10 person pile-up? Especially when eight of them are children?