My yellow food dye turned out rather…orange-y.
Oh, the humiliation. What will my husband say when he sees it? I am confident he will be chuckling at me for…ever.
And Mary would like you to know that food dye tastes yucky.
Just in case you were ever tempted to eat some.
I’ve got pictures from before our Disney trip that I’ve been meaning to post. Sorry that my blog is not in chronological order right now.
Bill’s sister and parents visited us the week after Christmas. The days they left, we said, “Hey, we didn’t take any pictures.” Nobody minded taking a picture with Aunt Margaret, who left before New Year’s and who is surrounded by the flotsam of Christmas gift giving. But cooperation was scarce for the grandparent picture. It was too sunny, they all felt. I finally bribed Mary with a candy cane to get that last picture.
Homemade muffins for breakfast: check.
Team effort house cleaning spree: check.
Confession at the cathedral: check.
Family rosary in the car on the way home: check.
Afternoon run in the fabulous 70-degree temps: check.
Vigil Mass with boys as altar servers: check.
Plenary indulgence for confession, rosary and Eucharist (times 5): bonus points.
Homemade stew for dinner: check.
Babysitter: check.
Two hours uninterrupted conversation: check.
Kids asleep when we get home: 5 out of 6.
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| The kids in Lafayette Park. What a beautiful day. |
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| The cathedral in the background. Bill and I went to Lafayette College and love that Lafayette Park is next to the cathedral. There’s a gorgeous house for sale right across the street, too. |
Here’s my middle aged hippie/rocker husband with a mullet/ponytail.
How in the world does he get away with that ‘do in the Army?
Last night, Bill and I loitered over our dinner. Most of the kids had excused themselves, but then there were the hangers-on…the ones who suspect that something monumental might be discussed and they wouldn’t want to miss it. Or perhaps they just enjoy our company so much, that they can’t bear to go into another room.
Jenny was climbing all over Bill, and behind him. She was making rabbit ears and other annoying gestures which he couldn’t see, and which did not amuse me (her audience) in the slightest. But when she crouched behind him and spread her hair over his shoulders, I nearly fell off my chair.
I much prefer the high-and-tight cut.
When your 5 year old has a meltdown at 9 am, to include phrases such as “I hate Disney,” it is probably an indication that said child needs a day off. Be thankful that he did it before you left the hotel and not at the park.
Note: the 5 year old has been happily playing with his older brothers’ LEGOs all morning, the ones they have nastily told him he may not touch, and neither he nor his 3 year old sister seem to mind at all that they are “missing out” on the “Magic.”
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When your 3 year old cries at 2 am, and you groggily get out of bed and imagine that the blurry path between you and the bedroom door is a queue with a feather pillow as a swinging gate at the end, it is probably an indication that you need a day off. Or at least more sleep.
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There is no single food kiosk at Disney that will please the palates of all 8 members of my family. Besides the obvious parent food vs kid food dilemma, the selections are generally so limited at the fast-food restaurants that somebody is bound to be unhappy. Better luck might be had at the sit-down restaurants, but the cost would be enormous. Fast-food eating with sharing of fries and drinks runs us $55-$65. The nicer places would cost at least $200.
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Staying in a suite with a full kitchen and bringing a cooler packed with home-cooked meals, lunchmeat, and even convenience food saves you big bucks. And honestly, a ham and turkey wrap followed by cheap store-bought chocolate chip cookies is healthier, yummier and more filling than fried food or popcorn.
But splurging on ice cream is always worth it.
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I love having a washer and dryer in my hotel room, even if they are so tiny I can only wash one outfit at a time.
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When looking at an extended forecast, remember that it is only a forecast, a prediction. Pack for temperatures ten degrees up or down. Just as it would be annoying to not be able to use the pool when the temps were unexpectedly mild, it is equally annoying to be freezing one’s nether regions off because the temps are cooler than predicted.
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If I’m not paying for it, I like the heat to be set at 74.
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There is no way to see everything at the Magic Kingdom in one day, at least not if you have little children in tow. Little children can only handle about 5 or 6 hours at an amusement park before becoming overwhelmed/exhausted/insane. It’s best to get out before the meltdown. If you want to see the fireworks at 8 pm, do not go to the park until long after lunch and maybe naps.
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Gifting your children with souvenir/snack money is a great way to eliminate older children’s begging for stuff. It’s amazing how stingy they become when it is their own cash they have to cough up for that really-cool-thing-strategically-placed-right-where-they-will-see-it. And the snacks brought from home taste much better than the ones sold at the park when the ones in the backpack are “free” and the cost of the ones at the kiosk induce heart-attacks in otherwise healthy people.
Note: this plan does not work with 3 year olds at all.
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Packing beer, gin, and tonic water is prudent on so many levels.
Given the long list of things I have to do to prepare for an impending vacation (laundry, putting away Christmas decorations, calling the kennel), it was with amusement that I discovered myself vacuuming the garage. I’m sure there are many who will think that vacuuming the garage ever is sheer lunacy, but for every one of you, there is someone else nodding her head in agreement.
And for every one of those, there is someone else saying, “What’s the big deal? I vacuum the garage weekly.”
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Another really important task that absolutely had to get done before vacation was dropping off the various bags of items I’ve been assembling to give to Goodwill. As I furtively loaded the car, I impulsively grabbed the exersaucer and loaded it up too. I’m not sure if this means I’m (a) admitting I am done having children, (b) thumbing my nose at Murphy and his laws, or (c) sick and tired of the bulky thing taking up space in my garage. I’m leaning toward the last one.
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When I stopped at the recycling center, I learned that they no longer took glass. I rarely have aluminum cans, but always have some glass to recycle. When I bemoaned this fact to a long-time resident, her response was, “What recycling center?” I will never again feel guilty about tossing a cereal box in the trash bin.
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I don’t get 9 year old girls. They are foreign creatures, and I deny ever being one. Case in point:
“Katie, would you please play Play-Doh with Mary instead of doing your school work?”
Moan, whine and wail: “But then I have to clean it up! Why do I always have to clean it up? I don’t want to play Play-Doh with Mary!”
“OK, then. Fritz, would you please play Play-Doh with Mary instead of doing your school work?”
“Oh, sure!” For a 12 year old boy, the choice between Play-Doh and schoolwork is obvious.
Moan, whine and wail: “But I want to play Play-Doh with Mary! How come I never get to play Play-Doh with Mary?!”
Sorry…I thought “I don’t want to” meant “I don’t want to.”
My husband has explained to me that this behavior is typical of all females of every age. When you see him, ask him if he gets a good night’s rest on the couch.
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The 3 year old girl is doing her best to exhaust me. Frequently she interrupts my day to announce, “I have to go potty.”
“Then, GO,” I will say.
She will start to leave, but then will tum back and say, “You’re not coming, Mommy!” And she’ll wait for me to get up and come. If I’m not fast enough, she’ll do a little dance to show how urgently I need to move.
When there, I’ll try to help her pull down her pants. “I DO IT!” Fine. I’ll try to help her up on the pot. “I DO IT!” Fine. I’ll try to help her wipe. “I DO IT!” Fine. Pulling up her pants, washing and drying her hands: “I DO IT!” Fine.
But that’s only half the time. The other times, she needs me to do everything for her, and there’s no telling which mood she’s in. If I leave her independent self alone in the bathroom, she’ll call me back in. I’m beginning to think she just wants the company. Katie and Jenny tend to go to the bathroom together, another behavior I just don’t get. I generally manage to hit the restrooms without a partner. Maybe I can get Mary to ask her sisters to tag along instead of me.
But then I’ll probably hear moaning, whining and wailing. “I don’t want to!”
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It’s been a long time since I had a little 5 year old boy to school. Peter, who has always charmed me with his brilliance, is nevertheless still just a little boy. He’s not too happy with school, because I actually want him to sit down and do it. I watch him squirm and fidget and move up and down and all around, and it drives me nuts. For the first few months of the school year, I seriously thought there was something wrong with him. Jenny wasn’t like this; Katie wasn’t like this. But then I stopped to think. Jenny isn’t a boy; Katie isn’t a boy. Billy? Fritz? Oh, yeah, wiggles and wriggles big time.
I pity kindergarten teachers.
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Fritz had to write a ~700 word essay. He chose to write about the Greek gods.
Editing that paper was…painful.
I pity middle school teachers almost as much as I pity kindergarten teachers.
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And since I feel bad if I mention only 4 children in a random post, I have to add a few things about my other 2.
We did a morning chore swap, and now Katie and Jenny are emptying the dishwasher instead of Fritz and Peter. While I no longer have to help Peter differentiate between the big and small forks (which have different receptacles), I now have to guess in which drawer Jenny decides various utensils belong.
A friend loaned me the complete Harry Potter series, and I’ve worked my way up to the 4th year (I had read books1-3 previously, but I re-read them so I could remember what happened). Billy discovered the stash and dove right in. He now disappears for hours on end, and is up to the 3rd book (I need to get moving!). Unfortunately, I have to hide the book in order to get him to do chores, schoolwork, eat, go to the bathroom, play outside in the sunny, mild weather, etc. It’s a good thing breathing is an automatic thing.
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And now, back to work.
Yesterday, the 3rd Sunday of Advent, is the day we usually put up the Christmas tree. We don’t put up the ornaments, just the tree and lights. That didn’t end up happening, but that’s not the point of the post.
Because the intent was to put up the tree, and because I’ve done absolutely nothing to ready the house for Christmas, getting the room ready for the tree involved quite a bit of dusting, vacuuming and moving of furniture. This, of course, highlighted spots and stains in the beige wall-to-wall carpeting that one might not normally notice.
So I hauled out the Bissel rug steam cleaner (an investment that has paid for itself many times over), and I set to work removing evidence of sloppy, dirty children who are not allowed to bring food into the living room but who do so anyway.
It’s my fault that I have not removed at least one child’s left ear to show the others the punishment for eating in the forbidden zone.
Since the cleaner was already out, I continued to the space between the living room and dining room which is high traffic and a magnet for spilled food. Then I shuffled the dining room table around the lifted the rug there to clean all the spots that landed just off the area rug and onto the beige wall-to-wall carpeting.
People who put beige wall-to-wall carpeting in a dining area obviously do not have children.
I shudder to think how bad the carpeting would be without the area rugs.
I plan to take all my pretty area rugs to a professional cleaner in 10 years or so to remove all evidence of urine, juice, spaghetti sauce, etc. For now, the busy patterns hide the mess.
We had other things yesterday (Mass, children’s party at church, flag ceremony for Scouts), so my cleaning took most of the day, and I finished up just before dinner. I was almost done when one child decided that she desired some purple grape juice (a rare treat, and the only kind of juice she really likes). A crowd gathered and suddenly everybody under the age of ten was indulging in a cup of dark purple liquid. One child (not the 3 year old and not the 5 year old) immediately walked into the living room to see what was on TV and promptly spilled her drink.
My freaking out less than saintly display of emotion was quickly tempered when I saw she was in tears. She had seen me working all day long, and knew the rules, and was very very sorry.
This is why my children have all their ears.
Fortunately, I was still finishing the dining room, so clean up was easy. I am once again happy to walk into that part of the house. A clean house fills me with joy, and no matter how vacuumed the rug is, stains and the dinge of traffic are not “clean.”
I pulled another rug from the garage and put it in the awkward spot between the dining room and the living room. It looks stupid, since it is unanchored by furniture, but it looks better than plastic. Anybody’s grandma have plastic on the carpeting? I used to think it was odd or tacky.
Now I just think it clever.
It’s a talent I may be able to use in the future. I see professional looking invitations for the most mundane of events (“Mom’s playdate, my house, 3 pm, BYO Margarita glass”).
Because I’ve been making stockings, my real job (wife, mother, cook, housekeeper, teacher) has been somewhat neglected. It happens. It’s part of our family plan: things run smoothly 11 months out of the year. December, everybody fends for himself/herself. This is why my 5 year old is able to help his 3 year old sister make a turkey on a bagel sandwich snack. Waiting for mom, you’d starve. It’s a mini-boot camp for independence.
Guilty mother confession: my children had cereal for dinner last night. Yes, I hang my head in shame.
I’ll give them veggies in January.
However, inspired by this challenge, I decided that I would do my usual Friday clean-the-house routine, at least as far as the kitchen counters go, and also tidy that space above the sink. The floor will not be getting mopped today, but the sink looks great.
Here are some before pictures:
After taking everything off the sill and cleaning it and the window, I put the money, matches, gum and cleaner back where they belonged. The oils went back on the counter nearer the stove, where they used to live. Most of the drugs were from a recent sinus infection that my husband had and were disposed of. I did keep the one he takes daily out, but I slightly hid it behind some cheery ribbon. I removed the sticks that rotate the blinds and tucked them in the top pane behind the blinds where they can’t be seen (from the kitchen – they can be from the playroom, but the kids don’t care). And I secured the strings that raise and lower the blinds mostly out of sight behind the curtains. Since the window looks out on the playroom/sunroom, the blinds are never adjusted. And now my Kitchen Madonna does not have a stick dangling in front of her.
Check out other kitchen sinks here.
Our blood has thinned. The heat does that to you. Yesterday it was only in the 40’s…you would have thought a blizzard was imminent with how my children pulled out the gloves and hats. Last night Fritz had Scouts and he wanted to know where his winter coat was. Alright, it was in the 30’s by evening, but the meeting was indoors. I’m doing fine with layers.
The boys have a camping trip this weekend. The Webelos are hanging out with the Boy Scouts in preparation for their crossing over in March. Billy gets to sleep in a tent with Fritz and do stuff with his patrol. It’s a good thing, too, because Bill and I have an event Saturday night, and it would be difficult for us to camp with Billy (Cub Scouts typically need a parent or other guardian with them on campouts).
Neither Bill nor I were particularly eager to camp out either. Bill did it last month with Billy, and the morning temps were close to freezing. It makes the event somewhat less enjoyable. Especially when you have to work hard to get that hot cup of coffee.
But it seems that God is smiling on the Scouts this weekend. The daytime temps are expected to be in the mid to upper 60’s. Saturday morning might be uncomfortable for Fritz with temps in the upper 30’s, but Sunday morning temps should be 10 degrees higher. The camp is local, so Bill will be able to get up, enjoy freshly brewed hot coffee with ease, and head over to retrieve them in time for Mass and not expect to find two Popsicle Scouts. Maybe he’ll even bring some hot chocolate.
It’s hard to believe that Billy will be a Boy Scout soon. It amazes me to see how mature Fritz is getting, not that Scouts is completely responsible. But I do think it helps.
Of course, as I write this, staring up at me from my desk is a blue card that would show he had completed his Environmental Science Merit badge – a tough one and a requirement for Eagle. It would show he completed it…expect that he left it in his pants pocket and put it in the laundry. Now it doesn’t say much of anything.
So, he is maturing. But he’s still very much just twelve.
Reit This Way 