50 Easy Steps to Sunday Morning Waffles

1. Refuse to get out of bed until the absolute last minute even though each kid has come in twice to report on everything from the content of their dreams to details of their current Lego creation to the quality of their bowel movements.

2. Walk into the kitchen only to find that it and the living room look like something from The Hangover even though everything was in its place when you stumbled into bed 6 hours earlier.

3. Have a mini-stroke and go back to bed.

4. Try hard to ignore the increase in decibels coming from the other room.

5. Give up on sleeping, say a small prayer, and get up for a second time, hoping that somehow things are better.

6. Find that very little has changed but muster up all of your patience to calmly tell the children that you will make pancakes if they get things cleaned up.

7. Meet resistance. They want waffles.

8. Agree to make waffles while desperately wracking your brain to remember where you put the waffle iron.

9. Experience a wave of relief when one of the kids runs to the right cabinet and excitedly pulls out the waffle iron.

10. Have second thoughts when you realize they've pulled out the Darth Vader waffle iron.

Darth Vader's handiwork

11. Tell the kids to get out the ingredients while you go to brush your teeth in an attempt to buy yourself a few more minutes of peace and quiet.

12. Be met by an anxious pre-teen who tells you he can't find any pancake mix.

13. Tell him to look again. And, then again.

14. After he tells you that he can't find it a third time, look for yourself.

15. Realize too late that the three attempts to find pancake mix have triggered an anxiety-induced meltdown.

16. Try to talk your pre-teen down from his meltdown while rummaging through the pantry.

17. Determine that there is indeed no pancake mix in the house and that you don't have time to go out and buy some.

18. Look in three other cabinets hoping that pancake mix will somehow miraculously appear while simultaneously debating the merits of running to the grocery store at this time on a Sunday morning.

19. Suppress your growing sense of panic when the younger two children come to see what all the racket is about and immediately insist they be able to help.

20. Despite your best efforts, watch as the melting down older son triggers a completely different (but equally difficult) response in the younger son.

21. Dodge incoming jab, shoves, and the occasional flying object from melting down younger son who is overwhelmed by the noise and chaos.

22. Hand younger son an iPad in an attempt to keep him from single-handedly triggering the apocalypse.

23. Grab your Kitchen Survival Guide (seriously, you guys, my mom gave this to me for college graduation, and I STILL use it more than any other cookbook I have) and frantically search for a waffle recipe.

24. Realize (with a wave of relief) that you have all the ingredients the recipe calls for.

25. Talk your older son down from his meltdown by giving him the job of measuring everything.

26. Plug in the Darth Vader waffle iron and try to remember how you're supposed to know when it's hot enough.

27. Help pre-teen find and mix everything while demonstrating the difference between sifted and unsifted flour but not before rummaging through the cabinets as you try to remember whether or not you have a sifter (you do).

28. While you're waiting for the waffle iron to heat, send the pre-teen to the garage freezer to look for sausage links.

29. Immediately regret that decision as he can't find sausage either and retreats to his safe space in an attempt to avoid a second meltdown in an hour.

30. Go to the garage and get the damn sausage yourself.

31. Start heating the sausage and realize that finally the waffle iron is ready.

32. Put the first batch of batter in.

33.  Wait....for a really long time

34. Try to ignore your 12 yo who is in the other room muttering under his breath about how big a mistake your failure to just go to the grocery store and buy more pancake mix was.

35. Wonder whether the light was supposed to be on or off and open the waffle iron to check.

36. Decide the light is supposed to be off.

37. Wait.

38. Realize you can't keep the 6 y.o. distracted by iPad videos forever.

39. Tell him to get out forks and put fruit on all the plates.

40. WILL the waffle iron to heat the waffle faster.

41. Peek inside the waffle maker again and decide there's no way you're making church, especially since the 12 yo is starting to panic again, and the 6 yo is freaking out about not having a waffle, yet.

42. After waiting for 30 minutes with no luck, get out the back-up waffle maker.....you know, the one you got for your wedding but completely forgot you had.

43. Plug it in.

44. Try to remember if the green light is supposed to be on or off.

45. Decide it's supposed to be off.

46. Wait.

47. Even though the Darth Vader waffle is clearly not done, scrape it out of the waffle maker and give half of it to each of the younger kids since they're the only ones around and seem desperate enough to eat anything.

This all-American breakfast brought to you by Moe, the world's greatest mom.

48. As you're putting batter into the back-up waffle maker, realize you only have enough for one more waffle.

49. Begin negotiations with three children to figure out how to avoid World War III.

50. Wish you never got out of bed.

Why I'll Never Be a Good Japanese Mom # I'velostcount

An essay, in pictures:

How many insanely small droppers full of tonkatsu sauce does it take to fill one of these ridiculously miniature truck-shaped holders? I don't know. But, the guantlet, it has been thrown, so I'm about to find out.

The answer is 12. Twelve droppers full. I'm pretty sure that if I was a Japanese mom, each drop would contain a little piece of my heart and overflow with love for my children. But, love? Love was not what I had in my heart when I undertook this particular exercise. #whyi'mabadjapanesemom

Goodbye little truck. May you inadvertently be disposed of with the trash.

This Is So Amazing It Should Be on Pinterest

Pink P has lost four teeth over the past two weeks. And, really I--I mean the Tooth Fairy--was doing a good job keeping up with it all. Then my semester ended and 60% of us got sick (including Pink who had a fever for EIGHT days), and I lost my everloving mind.

Loss of mom sanity leads to all sorts of collateral damage. In this case, it meant that I TOTALLY forgot about Pink's lost tooth and my role in the Tooth Fairy exchange. I completely spaced it. That is until Pink woke me up at 5:15 in the morning a couple of days ago to tell me that THE TOOTH FAIRY DIDN'T COME!!! WHY DIDN'T SHE COME?!?!

Crap.

I suppose this might be like forgetting to move the Elf on the Shelf, which, by the way, is why I won't ever allow one of those darn things into our house--that and the fact that the elf requires me to maintain a pattern of constant and intentional deception, AND it teaches kids that they should behave only when being surveilled. Given my stance on the whole elf thing, the irony of my response to Pink's tooth dilemma isn't lost on me. As soon as I realized I'd blown it, I told Pink that the Tooth Fairy probably didn't come because Pink had been treating her brothers so badly lately. I'm not proud (even if it is true that Pink's been a bit of a terror, what with the fever and all). Parent fail times two.

Later in the day, I encouraged Pink to write a letter to leave for the Tooth Fairy. She wrote this:

FRONT: Dear Tooth Fairy, Why did you not come? I lost my tooth. Why did you not come? (Repeated and highlighted for added effect).

BACK: Please come next time. Merry Christmas, Tooth Fairy.

Oh, to have a child who believes so strongly and to be a mom who fails so miserably! (I also, for example, completely forgot to prepare gifts for approximately 40% of the people who work with my children, but that's another story).

After I saw Pink's note, I swore I'd do better. No way would I forget again. Never!

The next morning, Pink came in crying because the TOOTH FAIRY STILL DIDN'T COME. MAYBE SHE DOESN'T LOVE ME. WHY DOESN'T SHE LOVE ME?

How could something so cute induce so much fear?

Crap.

This time, I did what any rational parent would do in this situation. I told Pink to put her tooth under my pillow and sent her back to bed.

When she was gone, I locked myself in the bathroom with the tooth pillow, a pen, and all the coins I could scrounge up. I wrote this note, put the note and coins in the pillow and shoved the whole thing back under my pillow.

Merry Christmas, Pink! Sorry I was late. Lots of teeth and the cold makes my wings slow. Love, TF

Five minutes later, Pink was back asking for it. She thought it would work better if she kept it under her own pillow. Thirty seconds after she walked out with it, I realized I HADN'T TAKEN OUT THE TOOTH! 

Ugh.

When I went to her room, I asked her if she'd checked the tooth pillow. She hadn't. This gave me the perfect chance to pull out the coins and the note and hand them to a thrilled Pink. "Wonder when she left this stuff?" I asked, sneaking the tooth out of the pillow and flushing it down the toilet.

"I don't know. I just saw the note and I didn't see a dollar, so I thought she forgot. I didn't know she left coins!"

"Next time you should look more carefully BEFORE you get upset. The Tooth Fairy wouldn't forget you," I said without an ounce of irony in my voice.

Sigh. With these kinds of parenting skillz, Christmas could be a complete catastrophe!

The Luck of the Leprechaun

This came home from school with Pink on Friday afternoon.

"Your homework assignment is to create a leprechaun trap to bring to school. We will set the traps out at the end of the day on Friday, March 14th to see if we can catch a clever leprechaun on Monday, March 17th.....Some helpful hints: color your trap green and decorate it with green items. Leprechauns like four leaf clovers, Lucky Charms,  Skittles, and rainbows..."

Do you ever feel like school is just making up things for kindergarteners to do for homework? I do. First, there was the turkey decorating, then the Christmas tree, then the 100th day of school homework, then Dr. Seuss's birthday (a whole week of activities) and now this. Normally, I wouldn't mind,* but this weekend Ren and I are getting ready to make a trip of undetermined length to the Mayo Clinic,** so I am a bit stressed with trying to get my work stuff in order, preparing everything to help my parents while they watch the kids, and packing for our trip.

Really, the last thing I need or want to think about is a leprechaun trap. It doesn't help that I was not blessed with any genetic predispositions toward crafting or creativity. When I mention that I think the assignment is silly since leprechauns aren't real, Pink interrupts me to explain that I am wrong and she knows I am wrong because their teacher would never tell them to make a trap for things that don't exist. I back pedal quickly, remembering that Pink's belief system is still fully intact (unlike her brother's), and reply, "Well, I guess they could be real. I've just never seen one."

After buying some St. Patrick's Day garland and raiding our craft stash, we came up with this (I knew those new shoe boxes from Stow's brace-friendly shoes would come in handy! I'm feeling pretty thankful for leftover sequins from the sensory boxes, too):

Pink feels certain no leprechaun is his right mind would skip this party. And, she knows the camouflage garland is sure to trick him right into that hole. I, on the other hand, feel pretty sure the whole thing may be destroyed before drop-off day (we've already had to make two repairs due to the antics of a certain curious two-year old), and even if it does, there's no way she's going to get it to school safely on the bus. Lucky for me, I guess, that's one problem I don't have to worry about (sorry, Mom and Dad!).

Wish us all luck!


UPDATE (3/17/14):

The leprechaun came to the classroom while the kids were at recess and damaged all of their boxes. WTH?


* Actually, that's not true. I tend to get annoyed by busy work that they can't do on their own and that has no educational value--not to mention "homework" that requires me to fabricate stories about make-believe green tricksters.

**In the interest of Ren's privacy, I'm not going to go into detail on this other than to say that the back still stinks and, well, we have to go to Mayo Clinic, so that should give you a pretty good idea of how things have been going.

Perspective by MOE

I just posted a picture of the shoes I bought (on sale!) for Stow to wear with his new braces (link). Under it, I wrote, "Sometimes I totally rock (and other times I fail miserably, so I guess it works out in the end)." This second part is the real truth.

Proof in point: Pink P's glasses.

Pink lost her first pair within 32 hours (link) but then found them. And then lost them. And then found them. And then broke them before losing them again and deciding she didn't really want to wear them after all--which was good because they were broken and we were moving, and I didn't want to mess with them.

The first week of school, I tried to send Pink to kindergarten with her glasses, but by then, she'd chewed off both of the nose pieces and didn't like to wear them. I know I should have been proactive and figured out a way to make the whole thing a learning experience for her, but I was starting a new job and trying to get Early Intervention for Stow and an IEP for Sky.

Then classes started, I went to Japan, and Ren had back surgery. Then it was Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year before everything started all over again in January.

In other words, I let Pink go to school without her glasses for a very long time, and I felt bad about it. I really did.

In the meantime, Sky's glasses got broken in PE class and weeks of soldering and/or duct taping eventually took a toll on the integrity of the frames. So, two weekends ago, I managed to get both kids in to be fitted for new glasses (after, of course, being forced to call the old optometrist to request she resend the prescriptions which I'd lost). I also had Pink's old pair repaired, so she'd have a back-up pair.

And, for a brief moment, I felt like I'd managed to get my sh** together.

The feeling lasted almost a week. But then this happened:

At least she didn't lose the teeny tiny screw.

And I thought that maybe some battles really aren't worth fighting.

*****

Pink is the kind of spunky that can make a mom a little crazy, especially when she does things like take Sky's stash of "calming" gum and pass it out to all the other kids on the bus without offering him a piece of his own gum (....not that this really happened or anything.....). But, right at the exact moment when I am pretty sure I'm going to lose my cool with her, she turns around and does things like this:

"I love mom more than gum and Skittles."

Or, this:

"My Mom Wind" (Sorry for the poor white-out job today--too tired to match the color)

And, I am reminded that I have to keep fighting the good fight for all three kids, no matter how crazy it all seems or how much I seem to fail at it. Because, even when I think I'm blowing it, they think I'm a winner (or, more precisely, a wind-er).

How to Survive Winter Vacation

The actual title of this post is, "How to Survive Winter Vacation When the Kids are Sick, Your Spouse Can't Walk, and the Temperature is -2 Degrees Fahrenheit at Noon on a Sunny Day," but that seemed too wordy. You get the idea, though. We've been stuck at home a lot this break, and as a slacker mom hoping to turn over a new leaf (what a weird expression, by the way), I've been trying harder to keep the kids active with things that also give them the sensory input they seem to need. A few weeks ago, I posted a blog about the various sensory toys we've accumulated over the past several birthdays and Christmases. You can read that post here.

We're great about equipping them with sensory tools, but Ren and I aren't good with messiness. The kids have all sorts of chances to draw and build things, but we've been known to avoid activities that might stick to the floor or stain the carpet. This break, however, after realizing how much the kids love to play in sand and snow, and being reminded (repeatedly) by Stow's OT that he would really benefit from messy sensory play, I decided it was time to get over my own cleanliness issues.

The first step: Play-Doh. To our credit, we have Play-Doh in the house. We even have some of the doodads used to shape and cut the dough. Granted, these things have been played with a total of five times since we bought them when Sky was in preschool, but that's beside the point. A couple of nights ago I decided to get them out, so the kids could have a Play-Doh fest while I was making dinner. This went remarkably well, actually. They played quietly together for close to an hour--so much better than trying to stir fry while at least one child cries at my hip.

Proof that I let them use Play-Doh. Oh, and we were obviously having a family bad-hair day.

The next day, I decided it was time to try making a couple of sensory bins. A friend brought hers over to play one day, and my kids loved them. The ideas for hers (and therefore mine) came from a blog called No Time for Flash Cards. Check it out if you haven't seen it already.

I decided to make a Princess Bin (link) and a Construction Bin (link). First, I bought a couple of 15-liter clear plastic boxes with lids on sale for $3 each. Smaller ones might have been a little better for Stow's short arms, but I wanted to contain the mess. (To compensate for the higher sides of the boxes I just have him stand on a chair so he can reach over the edge.) Sky and I bought corks, paint stirrers, clothes pins, multi-colored sequins, princess buttons, pom-poms, and a container of beads at the craft store. Next we went to the grocery store where we bought a bag each of pinto beans, black-eyed peas, and white rice. Finally, we stopped at the dollar store and bought a small dump truck. Altogether, we spent about $35.

At home, Pink helped me put the bins together.

The construction bin. I'm still hoping to find a small power shovel car for this. The yellow beads are from a mixed assortment.

Big Sis likes this almost as much as Stow (maybe more).

The princess bin. The scooping cup and spoon are leftovers from Pink's birthday party. Sky and I found a set of six princess buttons (a castle, a carriage, a glass slipper, a horse, a dress, and a tiara) that Pink loves to dig for. Clear beveled beads are great "diamonds."

By dinner time, the bins had gotten several hours of play from multiple children. Not a bad investment. Best of all, the kids know how to clean up after themselves, so there was no mess.

Maybe hands on sensory play isn't so bad after all.

UPDATE:

Two days later, I decided to try a couple of more sensory bins. The Arctic Ice bin seemed like a good match for the freezing temperatures here in the upper Midwest (click this link to the original post on No Time for Flashcards). We already had the Arctic Toob from Safari Ltd, so that was a bonus. To make this bin, I put water in my large cake pan, added a small bowl full of marbles (to weigh it down), and then placed the whole things on our back porch for three hours. Not only did the water freeze, but the snow accumulation on my pan of ice increased the realism for sure. The ice was good for well over an hour, and once the whole thing started to melt, Stow enjoyed blowing bubbles in the cold water (brrrr!).

Before the snow melted.

Another 45 minutes of group play with no crying or fighting.

Close up.

Stow experiments with freezing water (and ends up with a wet face).

Keeping with the winter theme (since it's minus degrees outside today and snowing again), the last bin I made is a Winter Sensory Bin (link). We have plenty of packing peanuts around! We added snow flakes, blue pom poms, ribbon, clear pebble-shaped marbles, and penguins. The older two liked using the clothes pins to pick things up and even racing to see who could pick up the most. Stow got a bit frustrated trying to master this skill that is still a bit beyond his years, but he liked burying the penguins in the "snow."

Trying to master the clothes pin.

Materials.

Close-up of Winter bin.

Ren thinks I may be going a bit overboard with four bins in less than a week, but since I plan to rotate them, the kids shouldn't get bored any time soon. For now anyway, Stow is giddy every single time he sees the construction bin, and Pink can't get enough of the princess bin.

After I make a fairy one, I promise I'm done for awhile.

FINAL UPDATE, ONE DAY LATER...

Because, duh, I told you I was going to make a fairy bin. This one I came up with on my own. It has butterfly sequins, flower buttons, feathers, beads from my bead assortment, and the same sticks and corks I used in the construction bin. It also has two bowls to serve as fairy huts and blue rocks to serve as a pond. I decided to avoid using pasta due to gluten issues. I've discovered the kids prefer hard smooth things to soft, fluffy things, so I decided to go with all white beans (lima beans and great northern beans) instead of cotton balls, which was my original plan.

Pink P immediately constructed a gate to a secret garden.

Building a secret garden. And then a doctor's office and a nursery for the baby.

Fairies from the Fairy and Fantasy Toob. Probably not worth the $8 I spent on them. Pink P is a tad freaked out by the baby fairy.

All the materials.

So, I'm pretty sure that's it. I've tapped the extent of my creativity. At least we have a few bins to keep them busy!

The Talk. Yes, That Talk*

It all started with DNA (as most things do, I suppose). Sky wanted to know how he is related to various members of our family--not what the relationship is but how much DNA he theoretically shares with them. Though odd, this seemed like a safe enough conversation.

Soon we were talking about how a baby shares his mom and dad's DNA. And then Sky said,"But that's the part I don't get. How does that happen?"

(Mayday, mayday, help!) As improbable as it seems, I did NOT see that question and the ensuing conversation coming. But once Sky got on the topic, there was no way around it. So I responded vaguely, "Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other and get married, they can have a baby."**

"I don't get it."

(Of course you don't. I was being purposely vague. Crud.)

"Well you know how boys have boy parts and girls have girl parts? When two people get married, their parts fit together and sometimes they make a baby."

"What?" He asked, looking doubtful and slightly incredulous.

Look, I'm not going to give you a play-by-play because, frankly, I didn't do the greatest job explaining things to Sky. I was so desperate to avoid having the conversation, I made it more confusing than it needed to be.

The high/low point was when Sky asked, "Wait, so you mean they take their clothes off? WHY would anyone DO that?"

Other notable moments include when he said, "What if your penis ends up in the wrong place?" and "Can I accidentally make a baby?" Then there was the unfortunate parallel I drew between the truth about Santa and the truth about sex when I was trying to make the point that his classmates probably weren't ready for either truths.

Fortunately, we have a great book about the body. Also, lucky for me, Sky is exceedingly scientific. Once I gave up my resistance, the book made it easy. It showed everything from how an erection occurs to how sperm makes its journey. It also had an in-depth illustrated explanation of fertilization and all that follows.

In the end, I found myself very grateful for my scientific son. Forty harrowing minutes later, the conversation was over and Sky seemed completely satisfied with my explanations.

I, however, was a bit traumatized. So I went to talk to Ren about what had just happened.

"I just explained sex to Sky," I said.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked, without even taking his eyes off the newspaper he was reading. "You could have just told him they come from peaches.***"

It never, ever occurred to me to lie to Sky. But, maybe Ren had a point. Why'd I need to make things so complicated? Maybe Sky didn't really want to know the details. Maybe I'd just traumatized him for life and set him up for a future of delinquency.

Talking to Ren didn't relieve my anxieties at all. So, next I ran Ren's explanation past Sky hoping he'd make me feel better by rolling his eyes and telling me he didn't want to hear a silly old children's story.

Instead, he said, "They do?!?!!"

And that's when I decided I would let Ren handle these things from now on.




* I know I'm paying for my post tricking you all into thinking my talk with him about Santa was THE talk. I'm not sure I like how these things come back around to haunt me...
** Yes, I know there are many other ways that people get babies, but I wanted to start with something he could easily grasp.
*** Search Wikipedia for "Momotaro."

And Then I Got Reverse Love Bombed

When I got up this morning, Ren handed me this. "Sky said we should open it together."

So, we did. And we were both kind of blown away. It's not our birthdays or mother's/father's day. It's just a regular weekday in December.

Although, not any more.

See, I was really in need of a love bomb, too. The last five months have been so great and so hard. We love our new house, and I really do have the best job. But, moving is hard. Everything takes time. The kids have struggled to settle in. And then, the back surgery.

It's difficult to put into words what it's like to go through multiple major surgeries with a loved one. I mean, it's hard, obviously. Life is turned on its ear--the routines fall apart and the work piles up. By about 15 days post-op, I lose my patience with everyone (and especially Ren). Unfortunately, recovery takes much longer. Days 16 to 160 kind of stink. I feel simultaneously pissed off and guilty for feeling pissed off. I'm pretty sure Ren goes through something similar. He feels guilty for being grumpy and for asking me to do things he used to be able to do for himself. We fight. Because he wants to do more and I don't want him to overdo it even when I really do need the help. I can't face the idea of another back surgery, so my pleas with him to let me take care of things have a certain urgency that he doesn't appreciate. It's all so ridiculous and so understandable and so darn frustrating. So, Sky's timing is pretty impeccable.

Thanks for the love bomb, Buddy! We needed it.

The Talk

So, you remember how I was worried about having "the talk" with Sky? You know. The one about Santa.

Wait, what did you think I meant?

Anyway, way back in August, the topic came up again, and I kind of knew this was my chance. After all, we were far enough away from Christmas that he didn't have all of the pent-up nervous energy that begins to build about the end of October as we head into Halloween and strengthens uninterrupted as we go through his birthday, Thanksgiving, Pink P's birthday, and Christmas in quick succession. Invariably, things fall apart for him during that seven-week period, so revealing such big news then wouldn't go well. Plus, I've made it a practice to avoid lying to them about the whole Santa thing, and that's much harder to pull off the more sophisticated their thinking becomes. I didn't know how I was going to get through this Christmas season with Sky without having to do some blatant fib telling.

So, when he looked me in the eye and asked me again whether Santa was real, I closed the door and told him the the whole story. I told him that Daddy and I believe in the spirit of Christmas and want to help them believe in it, too, so that's why we talk about Santa. I asked him to help me keep the magic alive for his sister and brother. He immediately outlined his plans for helping me wrap presents and putting together any toys that need to be built at the last minute.

By far the sweetest, most awesome moment came right after I confirmed his suspicions about Santa. He paused to think and then said, "So you mean YOU got me the Kindle Fire? Thank you sooo much." Then he gave me a huge hug.

And, you know what? He's a lot mellower this year. I think the constant fear that he would end up on the naughty list was just too much for him (remember this post?). He's also been great at keeping the secret from Stow and Pink. In fact, tonight, when I wanted to tell Pink that those ridiculous shelf elves are just a convoluted way to force kids to behave while weaving an impenetrable web of lies, he interrupted me in Japanese and told me I'd better not. Good thing Pink can't spell or speak Japanese well. Next year it will be harder.

*****

In other news, we survived our first Thanksgiving dinner at home. Normally, we are visiting family or in Japan. But this year, since Ren is barely walking, we stayed home. Big Sissy came with a friend, so I felt some pressure to do something resembling a feast. I honestly considered serving pizza for longer than I should admit. None of us like turkey and since most of us don't have a cultural predisposition that insists we eat it on the fourth Thursday in November, we had ham. Ham, tater tots, gluten-free spinach souffle, salad, green beans, and gluten-free brownies. The tater tots were my solution to Sky's new-found aversion to mashed potatoes that resulted from consuming large quantities of them last Thanksgiving and then immediately coming down with a nasty stomach bug. Besides the amazing (and by "amazing" I mean, "I'm amazed I didn't serve pizza") feast, there were also some decorations and even fancy napkins. Next year I'm thinking about breaking out the good dishes--you know, the ones we got for our wedding 14 years ago and have never, ever used. We left for Japan two days after our wedding and subsequently moved a gajillion times. Now that we're finally settled, it might be time to get them out of storage at my parents' house. Given the fact I managed to pull off a meal this Thanksgiving, nice dishes are not out of the realm of possibility for next year.

The day after Thanksgiving, I accidentally went to Kohls and ended up waiting in line for forty minutes. I can't explain it other than to say I don't get a lot of time to shop, so it seemed like a good idea at the time. Before Big Sissy left, I made her help me get all the Christmas stuff out, so now each morning starts with Stow dancing to the various animated singing toys we've accumulated over the years. I've become wholly incapable of writing a coherent post, so I'll distract you with this video of Stow dancing and maybe you won't notice there's no conclusion to this post.

Halloween Recap

After two slightly "heavy" posts, I've decided to return to fluff and tell you about our Halloween. You can read my predictions here for background.

So, Sky went to school on Halloween with his Minecraft Creeper shirt on but no costume. Going from Catholic school to public school, he was completely unfamiliar with the Halloween parade. I tried to explain that everyone else would be wearing a costume, but no matter. There was no way he was wearing the costume to school.

The rain made the day much more complicated than it needed to be. Sky and Pink go to school in buildings that share a playground but are in no way connected. So, day-long rain meant the kids wouldn't parade in one long line around the parking lot but in two shorter lines in separate buildings at. Exactly. The. Same. Time.

Perfect.

The parades were both scheduled for 1 p.m. Both kids wanted me there, so I had to figure out how to make that work.  Over breakfast I'd told the kids that I'd go to see Pink first and then Sky, hoping that somehow they'd be staggered.

They weren't.

Despite the fact each school has more than 200 kids, Sky and Pink paraded literally simultaneously. Something I discovered only after I stood in a ridiculously crowded school hallway to watch tens of  preschoolers and kindergarteners shuffle past so I could high-five Pink P before running through the rain to the other building to try to catch Sky. I missed him. But I did see plenty of other kids sporting the same costume he refused to wear. This did nothing to relieve my anxieties about how he was handling Halloween. So, I invited myself to the class party and was deputized as a parent volunteer. When I got there, I encountered a very sullen Sky. Turns out he was anxious about all the forbidden food floating around the room, anxiety no doubt heightened by the fact I'd let him eat a Halloween cupcake at Cub Scouts a few days earlier and he promptly threw it up. After I double checked a few labels and reassured Sky that he could eat some of the stuff, he was much more cheerful.

By the time he got home from school, though, he had 102.5 fever, which probably explains most of his Halloween funk. It also answered the question once and for all of whether he would wear the costume and hit the streets for candy. He opted to keep the cardboard head on after pictures and pass out candies (and no doubt germs -- sorry other moms on our street) to trick-or-treaters. I know I should have banned him to his room, but I didn't have the heart.

As part of the Halloween festivities, we carved our first pumpkin in years. Sky retold the saga of our last pumpkin which amazed me both in its accuracy but also because I didn't realize four years had passed since we last carved a pumpkin. Turns out I was more traumatized by the fate of our last pumpkin than I thought.

Ren hasn't lost his touch. Though this one looks a lot like the kuchisake-onna from Japanese urban legend. Ren claims this was intentional, but I think he may have been trying to figure how to carve such an average-sized pumpkin with such an oversized knife. The kids loved the pumpkin, though. Plus, we have an awesome motion sensor light that makes the pumpkin scream and bark at passers by which meant that most trick-or-treaters didn't have to ring the doorbell because we could hear them scream.

Pink, Stow and I made the candy-gathering rounds in the rain. Neither seemed to mind. Stow acted like an old pro, announcing, "Hi-yo, Tricky, Thank you much!" to anyone who would listen (and even those who wouldn't). When we got home, no one, and I mean no one was going to pry his cold damp candy bag from his hands. Fortunately, all three kids seem to have a very short memory because the candy got put away and no one's asked about it since. Maybe they've just resigned themselves to their destiny of healthy eating.

I love this picture. Somehow this is what it's like to do Halloween at our house.

Never Has there Been So Much Blood

Sky greeted me by opening the garage and blubbering incoherently. Something about not meaning to do it.

One of the skills I've perfected over the last eight years of being an out-of-the-house mom is that I can quickly recognize and analyze the various clues immediately available to me. Within seconds of stepping into the door, I know where everyone is, and I have a pretty good sense of what went down while I was gone. Often, Ren doesn't want to relive his hours alone with all three kids, so I piece together what I can and only ask him when I need to fill in the blanks.

On this day, though, I knew something was up. My first clue(s), actually, were the multiple garbled phone calls I got during the 10-minute drive from my office to home. When I called to say I was on my way, all was well. Minutes later, I receive the first of several calls that were either missed or dropped. By the time Ren and I actually talked, I was making the turn onto our street. I couldn't make out what he was saying, so I said, "I'll be there in two," and hung up. I should note here that sometimes I get what seem like frantic phone calls but that turn out to be reminders to return a library book or to pick up a DVD on the way home. So, I wasn't terribly worried.

But, then, Sky met me crying. And apologizing. It was the combination of the two that got my antennae up.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Downstairs," he squeaked out before running to hide somewhere.

When I got downstairs, Ren was in the bathroom with Pink P, and Stow was trying to take over the world while no one was watching. Ren, who is normally unflappable, was thoroughly flapped.

"Call 911," he said.

For the record, these might be the last words I want to hear when I step into the door after a long week of work. Especially from Ren. He's the calm one. When Pink P's lips swelled after her first (and only) taste of peanut butter, I had no clue what to do. None. My recently immigrated husband, who also happened to be in the shower at the time, immediately said, "Benadryl." Oh, right. Benadryl. And, when Stow plummeted head first off the bed to the wood floor below, I picked him up, ran downstairs, and handed him to Ren. If there was blood, I needed Ren to deal with it (possible neck injury be damned). **

I'm not great under pressure, particularly when bodily injury is involved.

So, if Ren tells me to call 911, I'm going to call 911. By this time, I had gathered enough of a picture of what happened, I could explain it to the poor 911 operator: Pink was swinging a real-life, authentic stethoscope all ninja nunchuck-style.* Sky, logically, tried to defend himself. Unfortunately, he chose an over-inflated exercise ball to do so, thereby managing to create the freak accident of the century.

Stethoscope + exercise ball = stethoscope-chest-piece-shaped divot in the back of the head

And, oh the blood. Ren, who has seen everything, had never seen anything like this. Blood spurted straight up and out of Pink's head despite the fact she was head down and he was applying pressure. So much blood that it soaked her long hair, her shirt, and his. Miraculously (no seriously, if this isn't a miracle, I don't know what is), she did not get one drop, not a single drop, of blood on our new carpet despite the fact she walked from the play room away from the bathroom to the TV room to find her dad, and then back through the play room into the bathroom. Even if you don't buy into anything else I've ever said about faith and belief on this blog, surely you can agree that this is some kind of early Christmas miracle.

Of course, at the exact moment that the ambulance finally arrived, the bleeding stopped. Pink P is the only of my children to have ever ridden in an ambulance, and she 's done it twice. Both times, it turned out to be completely and utterly unnecessary.*** The EMTs insisted we have her checked, and since we'd called them, I could hardly refuse. So, we spent that beautiful August evening sitting in the ER waiting to be told that she was fine.

You guys can make your own decision about this, but I think the best part came when we were discharged. Without a way home, we had to wait for Ren and the boys to come get us. Pink, who looked perfectly fine from the front, looked quite zombie-esque from the back. Her hair was tangled and matted with congealed blood, and the back of her cute pink Hello Kitty shirt was completely brownish-red.**** She couldn't see it, though, so she thought nothing of flitting and dancing around the waiting room, smiling, singing, and saying hello to everyone she met. Did I mention she smelled like hours-old decomposing blood? The looks she got were priceless. But her obliviousness was the icing on the cake.

*****

*For the record, ninja didn't use nunchucks. Meh, whatever. It's not like this is a cross-cultural blog aimed at increasing understanding and eliminating useless stereotypes or anything.

** I'm not proud I did this. And, there was no blood, by the way.

*** The other time she rode in an ambulance, she was 1 and managed to make such forceful contact with her head to the pavement that we knew she needed to be checked out. At the time, we lived in Tokyo but were far from our neighborhood. So, we tried to call to find out where the nearest hospital was and ended up with an ambulance. It turned out, we had made that call from a phone booth directly across the street from the hospital where Pink P was taken (after a five-block drive along one-way streets).

**** You know, I was going to try to include pictures to illustrate, but I think whatever mental image you come up with will do this story way more justice than anything I could produce.

Scenes from a Restaurant (Or, More Accurately, Too Many Restaurants)

Five-year old girl in pink flowing dress, lying flat on the floor, spread eagle in protest of our restaurant seating arrangement. Shrilly, yet clearly, her high-pitched screams announce her intention to only and forever sit next to Mommy. Soon enough, there are no customers at any of the surrounding tables as they have all quickly moved away. Fled, really.

Moments before, an 8-year-old boy, tall for his age, demands to stand and stare at the fish in the tank. Who cares if his entrenchment inconveniently alters the flow of traffic from the kitchen to the tables of folks enjoying all-you-can-eat ribs? What's more important (to his mom, anyway) is the fact the boy's two-year-old brother has discovered the fish, too, and then effectively employed his stealth ninja-like agility to resist any attempt to put him into the high chair. Even better? The two-year-old has recently unlocked the immense power of the scream and knows it's particularly effective in restaurants.

A middle-aged woman sits in the middle of a bustling coffee shop, enjoying her pastry and iced green tea. To the casual observer, heck, to just about anyone, she appears to be a woman enjoying a break from shopping? From errands? From time out with friends? The real cause for joy? For once, she isn't forced to sit in the cramped MRI waiting room (surrounded by injured people and the ambient sound of pointless conversation and lame game shows on the television overhead) while her spouse naps comfortably in a 70 centimeter tube while magnets ping all around him. As she sits there reading her novel, she wonders at how pathetic she must be for enjoying the brief respite so much.

This restaurant is meant for kids, with its overpriced and salt- and fat-laden kids' meals and indoor play place. On a cloudy Tuesday, the place is packed with children burning energy and parents hoping to regain sanity, if only briefly. What could go wrong?

Fast forward, post unhealthy meal, and you will find one incredibly agile 2 year-old at the very top of a dark and curvy tube slide, crying because he wants to be there, but then again, maybe he doesn't. Ideally, the two-year old's older brother and sister would help him find his way back. Unfortunately for him, his older ASD brother has determined that he must experience the joy of the slide, fear be damned. An impasse.

The toddler's mother stands at the bottom of the slide, trying to calmly coax all three children down. Without raising her voice, she reminds the oldest that his brother may not be ready to go down the slide. She calls for the middle one hoping the girl might be able to convince her brothers to make their way down without a scene. In a sing-song voice, Mom tries to convince the littlest that it's really not that far.

Nothing doing. Mom tries climbing the slide far enough that her youngest can see her, but it's steeper than it looks. The play place resembles an elaborate gerbil run. She is nowhere close to the size of a gerbil. What to do? One son wants to play it safe. The other thinks he knows better. And she can't do a darn thing.

Then, the unexpected. A stranger, with three young kids himself, offers to climb up into the gerbil run. She can't imagine how her frightened toddler son will react to the stranger. Nor can she imagine that her by-the-rules, black-and-white son will let his brother slide with someone he doesn't know. But, really, she has no choice but to accept the man's offer. It takes awhile (close to forever) for the man to convince the kids teeming throughout the play structure to pause long enough for him to get down the slide with the two-year old. When he does, the child is beaming from ear to ear.

*****

When Sky was three and Pink P still an infant, we flew off to Japan. Romantic as that may seem, it went a lot like this. The first week we we there, Sky broke his foot. With no car and no knowledge of the area, it wasn't easy getting him to the doctor. Within a week, he broke through his cast. This happened twice. A few weeks after that, he face-planted on my desk, putting a tooth through his cheek. Grossed-out and desperate on a late Sunday afternoon, we found ourselves holding Sky down while the doctor attempted first, novocaine and, then, stitches.

We don't move well. Nothing in our natures makes it easy for us. Doesn't matter, though. Life doesn't stop, or even slow, when everything gets hurled into the air like mortar boards after graduation. Fortunately, perseverance is one of our specialties. Just pray we don't run into you at a restaurant any time soon.

Why I Hate Moving, Part 1 (Plus Some More Bad English Toddler T-shirts)

Seven moves in thirteen years and you're bound to misplace a few things. Big things: a pearl necklace, immigration papers. Small things: the play you wrote in college, your first passport.

Actually, we kept track of our stuff pretty well until that last big move, the move seven weeks after Pink P's birth, eleven weeks after we put the house on the market, and five weeks after we sold it. The move where some of our stuff went into storage, some of it went to my parents', and the rest of it crammed into seven suitcases and made the trip across the Pacific to Japan. 

Before that, we had a house and file cabinets, and a pretty good idea of where we'd come from and where we were headed. But, when we decided to sell the house (to move to Tokyo for my dissertation research), we became nomads, not sure where we'd end up.

Essentially, we've been living out of suitcases (albeit disguised as cheap rentals, bad furniture, and a file system relying heavily on cardboard boxes and plastic drawers) for the last six years. So, this summer marks the first time since 2006 that we know where we will be for two consecutive years. In other words, the time has finally come for us to try try to get our sh** together.

It's not as easy as it sounds. 

First, there are the books. I'm a professor (which means I basically collects books for a living) married to a bibliophile. We have tons of books. Literally. Since transport companies charge by weight, we like to move our books ourselves. When we drove up to close on our new house we took about 1200 pounds of books with us, and those 1200 pounds represent only a fraction of the books that need to be moved. Nothing good comes from schlepping books all over the world. And, yet, I feel compelled to schlep them. (Incidentally, I'm pretty sure this is how you figure out whether you should pursue a career in academia. If you feel compelled to carry heavy books wherever you go, then this may be the life for you.) Many of these books have made every single move with me. Others were acquired along the way. For this move,  between fifty and sixty boxes of book will make the journey first from my current office, then to our old house, then to our new house, and finally to my new office. If there was an easier way to do this, believe me, I'd do it.

Next, there is the small island worth of stuff still stuck in storage at my parents' house. The island, which is the size of five pallets and once reached the ceiling, is made up of all the things we couldn't take with us to Japan (and didn't want to pay to store) back in early 2008. Theoretically, if we haven't needed it for the past 5 years, we probably don't need it in our new house. But, we can't just let it sit there, either.  So, yesterday, I loaded up Stow and we drove the 80 minutes to my parents' house so I could go through it.

Stow bubbled with excitement, and when we finally pulled into their driveway, he exclaimed, "Yay! Sissy! Ganma!" (Sissy=Grandma and Ganma=Grandpa. Totally obvious, right?) While Stow played with Sissy and Ganma, I dug worked my way through the pile. Good thing I did because I found our long-lost Halloween decorations, the koi nobori I got back when I was an ALT, and the mysterious missing tub of Sky's old toddler clothes. The good news? I'm not crazy. There really was another tub of clothes. And also? I found 5 more awesome Japanese t-shirts. The bad news? Stow has already outgrown half of it.  And also, oh my gosh, how much shopping I did for that first child!

All the stuff that doesn't fit Stow.

While I was at it, I also tried to get through the closetful of stuff I'd left when I went off to to get married. I'm pretty sure I don't need the old Beta tape of my favorite television shows from junior high. Also think I can go on without the copies of my grad school applications or xerox copies of every single reading from my Master's program. I also managed to get rid of two boxes of books I'll never read again, my financial records from 1997-2001, a high school creative writing journal (shudder), and all the material I collected for my post-college job search (I graduated in 1994, so I think it was time). I didn't manage to purge myself of any of the following, however: every post-high school paper I've ever written, ten bookshelves of my favorite novels, four old license plates, or every t-shirt I've ever bought. In the end, after six hours of work, I left only a couple of boxes on the pallets in the storage room and stuff in just half of the closet. One of these trips, I'm hoping to make it back with our wedding china, which went into my closet the day after our wedding and has been there ever since.

A girl can dream, can't she?

*****

The shirts:

Sometimes the hyphen really matters.

Existential guilt from a toddler tee.

If existential guilt isn't your thing, how about some good old unintentional sexist nationalism (complete with a misplaced apostrophe)?

Sorry, even the big doe-like eyes can't make this guy cute.

<3

Perfect Imperfect Solutions

How do you manage multiple meltdowns and increased impulsivity?

That's how.  Nothing focuses the senses (and drowns out the anxiety-provoking whines of a little sister) like high definition earphones and some Sim City Creator.  Hopefully one day our interventions won't include screen-based distraction techniques, but that day is not today.

And, what do you do when your toddler learns how to outsmart your child proofing? You improvise.

This stroke of genius is from Big Sissy. Makes it hard to sit on the couch but sure beats 24/7 chaos.  See him eyeing the Girl's Day dolls?

Oh that all of life's challenges would be so easy to solve...

The Death-defying Feats of a Twenty-month Old

We have three kids at home. Only three. I know you know this, but I find it helpful to remind myself constantly from time to time. There are only three of them, but sometimes it feels like we are parenting in the middle of a Friday-night rave or Daytona Beach during spring break.

We had things under control, however tenuously, until last week when Stow figured out how to escape from our elaborately constructed child-proofing. By "elaborately constructed child-proofing" I mean a cheap sofa hastily purchased at IKEA to block the archway between the playroom and the living room. I know there are extra wide baby gates out there, but the sofa was cheaper, and it opens into a(n extremely uncomfortable) guest bed. You know my hyper-frugality requires me to buy multipurpose items when at all possible. Couch = Bed = Makeshift Baby Gate. That's three for one! Score! It seemed like such an elegant solution. Until it wasn't. And it wasn't at 5:15 p.m. last Saturday when I was cooking dinner and looked down to find Stow right underfoot. I put him back into the playroom and seconds later, he was under my feet again. After that, there was no going back. None.

Stow waiting for his chance. Don't let his innocent puzzle play fool you. It took a few tries to catch him in the act, but when I did, I was surprised to learn that not only can he get up and over the back of the couch, he can also scale down the unstable, unattached shelf just on the other side of that wall. Needless to say, we moved the shelf, but we haven't been able to stop the escapes.

Here's the thing, we weren't confining Stow to the playroom to keep him out from under our feet, though that was certainly a desirable side effect. We were keeping him there because it kept him safe.  Safe from the wild world of Pink and Sky "playing" together, safe from Skyrific meltdowns, safe from all the stuff in the living room he could so easily pull down onto his head. Plus, there's a word that describes what happens when all three kids get together unmonitored by adults. Unfortunately, I can't type it here (hint, it starts with "cluster"), but the bedlam that ensues when they are all three alone together is another reason I liked to keep Stow trapped safely nearby.

You might think I'm exaggerating.

I assure you I am not. He's only been wandering freely for three days, but the impact has been hard to ignore.

On Saturday, Stow decided to rearrange the girl's doll display (link). He is also fond of vacuuming and cleaning and was nice enough to clean the toilet with the dust mop, but only after he decided to draw on Pink P's floor with chalk.

On Sunday, Sky woke up to discover Pink P had left a lid off of one of her pens. Oh the horror! She'd let one of her pens go dry and wouldn't be able to use it any more. I'd already reprimanded Pink for this. It was old news. Besides, it did not directly affect Sky in any possible way.  Unfortunately, this was one of our manic mornings that did not involve simple facts and random observations (see link above).  Instead of letting it go, Sky proceeded to have a massive meltdown about it, berating Pink for her negligence and then  taking away all her pens and telling her that, "Mom and Dad will never buy pens for you ever again!" Part of his meltdown involved yelling at and shoving Pink. With nowhere to put Stow, I could not intervene as much as I would have liked since I knew if I let go of him, he would just join the fray.***

On Monday, Stow thought I needed help making dinner. He did this by taking things (like egg shells and icky banana peels) out of the trash and dumping Sky's cup of milk onto the floor. He also felt free to help himself to some cereal out of the cereal cabinet that I'd inadvertently left unlocked.

I knew Stow's independence was coming, but I need at least another 6 months to adjust to having three kids. Pretty, please? By then, I'll be ready for it. I promise!



***Until you've experienced the irrational meltdown of a kid with ASD, you probably can't grasp the logic of Sky's behavior or my response. Just trust me when I tell you I handled it about as well as anyone might.

A Shockingly Imperfect Solution

You know how I've been complaining lately about the fact that kids seem to get sweets and junk food just about everywhere they go? Well, one place, at least has come up with an alternative: Pink P's dance class. After each lesson the girls can choose from the candy bin or from the goody bin. Instead of suckers with red dye or M&Ms that she can't eat, Pink now has a chance to choose from stickers, tattoos, plastic jewelry, and even a few little books. So, for a brief, shining moment, it seemed like we'd overcome the special diet issue, at least at dance class.

Then one day, she came out clutching a temporary tattoo in her hand. "Look what I got, Mommy!" she said proudly, shoving it into my face so I could get a good look. What she "got" was an arm band tattoo that had butterflies made out of skull and cross bones. Yes, that's right. My daughter's preschool dance teacher's collection of temporary tattoos includes goth arm bands. Perfect.

"Wow, honey," I replied. "That's big." I mean, what could I have said? She was so excited to have gotten a prize.

"Can I put it on when we get home?" she asked eagerly.

"You'd better wait. Tonight's bath night, and you don't want it to wash off, right?"

Pink P agreed that this made sense, and (of course) as soon as she forgot about the tattoo, I put it in a safe place where no one would find it. Ever again.

Problem solved.

Only, not quite.

Today, after dance class, Pink selected another skull and cross bones butterfly arm band tattoo because, well,  why wouldn't she? (Note to self: remind dance teacher to remove inappropriate tattoos from preschool prize bin).

"Mommy, we have to make sure this one doesn't get lost, okay?"

I didn't see a way around it this time. So, after bath, I agreed to help Pink apply the new tattoo. We decided that maybe it wasn't appropriate for school, so it needed to be hidden by her clothing. After much discussion and debate, we thought we'd found the ideal spot.

On her thigh.

Only, in retrospect, that might not have been such a good idea.

Especially since tomorrow she has swim lessons.