Greg, by trade, is a type of project manager.  And by “type”, I mean “Ninja”.  He can “better, faster, cheaper” in a way that is responsible, brilliant, and just a little bit irritating.  Why?  Because some of his solutions are so simple, you want to smack yourself for not thinking of it first.  Some of his solutions are so complicated, you want to smack him for giving you a headache while listening to the 25 minute “brief summary”.  Greg has about 7 ideas per hour, and between living with Idea Man Greg, and Wildly Creative Sara..I sometimes wonder how I’m still breathing.  I know I say this often, but, it’s my daily truth: I love them.  I’d die for them.  They might kill me first from exhaustion.

Sara came home yesterday, just bursting with pride.  Her latest academic hurdle has been mazes, and while she’s successfully navigated a few easy ones, the harder ones have been met with frustration.  Daddy worked with her over the weekend, and I heard him say several times, “You can’t cross over the black lines”.  And SO, at school, after 2 obvious and diligent attempts, and after NOT crossing the lines, Sara found a MUCH BETTER WAY TO GET TO THE POT OF GOLD. When she proudly handed me her solution, my first reaction was, “Did Daddy teach you to do this?”  Her answer?  “No, I figured it out!  I’ve been working and working so hard not to cross the lines, and I then I didn’t!  I didn’t cross any lines!  LOOK!  It’s so much easier to go this way!”

And really, how can you argue with this solution?  If you tell a kid to take the Leprechaun to the Pot of Gold, and the rule is, “Don’t Cross Any Lines”, why in tarnation would you go through a maze of lines when you could just walk around in far fewer steps and GRAB THAT DAGNABIT GOLD?  You don’t need the Luck ‘o the Irish.  You need to think like Sara.  Who clearly, without question, thinks like her Father.

Together these two could rule the world.  Or bleeping destroy it.  I’m just not sure yet…I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

One of Sara’s more colorful combos: a summer dress, polka dotted turtleneck, fall leggins, patent leather shoes, pink purse, monkey hat, and a knit cat she tied around her neck.

Driving home from preschool today, we passed a road, seemingly under construction.  Sara squealed, “I see a crack pipe!”  WHAT did you say you saw?  “A crack pipe Mommy!  Look!”….as I’m having flashbacks to my time as an ER nurse at Boston City Hospital.  The first time I smelled crack, I threw up on my shoes.  I’ll just tell you as an RN, you’ll never live that one down.  Gonna get teased FOREVER if you puke on your shoes.

Looking down, I saw a cracked pipe being pulled out of the ground by men in hardhats.  Crack-ED pipe.  CRACKKKEED Sara.  “I know, that’s what I said”.  Quickly changing the subject (because, knowing Sara, we were 2 seconds from her asking what is the difference between a crack pipe and a cracked pipe), I asked, “What did you do at preschool today?”.

Sara (quite matter of factly): We put our hands on our bottoms and learned to dance the Macarena in gym class.

Mommy: OK.  Well that’s…different.

Sara: Yeah, Coach was really getting her rock on.

Mommy: What does THAT mean?

Sara: She was dancing all over the place. (Her tone was very 13 year old, “Duh Mom…were you born 100 years ago? Which is always pleasant coming from the lips of a 4 year old.)

Mommy: Did you mean she was rocking out?

Sara: That’s what I said!

For a Monday, pretty average stuff at our house.  When we got home, Sara demonstrated a full dancing knowledge of the Macarena, again, causing me to cringe.  The ER memory had faded, being replaced by a foggy recollection of the year some nursing pals invited me to Gay Halloween, circa 1998: imagine me in a crowded bar somewhere near the Boston Harbor, after a few too many Long Islands, “rocking out” to The Macarena, dressed as Monica from “Friends”.  No one can pull off a “Type A-hyper-brunette-cook-who-cannot-dance” like I can, especially in a bar full of gay men.  The Momma and dancing go together like my gut and the smell of crack.  Sara has clearly inherited my sense of rhythm, so we have to look forward to…

Photographic evidence as to why I rarely let the girls dress themselves: Sara’s pocket is actually unraveling down the front of her dress!

I’m always on a campaign to teach the girls mind-calming sleep methods.  So far I’m about 0 for 10, but you gotta keep trying, you know?  Friday night, undeterred by failure, I tried again.  [Read more →]

A few of you have been so kind as to ask, “When are you going to show us the entire playroom in one shot?”  With me and big projects, it’s always, “just one more thing”.  Just let me touch up the fireplace.  Finish the pillows.  The curtains.  Wait!  I’m rethinking the curtain pattern (or non-pattern as you well know, I rarely use patterns).  The kitchen tools were missing something, but what was it?  Ah-Ha!  I found it at Mass Ave Toys…we needed a rolling pin.  Of course!  All kitchens need a rolling pin!  The perfect tool for beating the cats!  I’m joking.  Unless they are puking up Cheerios again, and then…let me just say this out loud…I’ve got some cats for sale.

Soulemama is encouraging us to take Fridays to blog a moment in the week we’d like to remember.  The girls have been a handful this week, to say the least.  The weather broke today, and that was a very good thing.  So this week, I’d like to remember that right after the sun set, I ran across Mass Ave with 2 hot coffees in my hand, and peered into the windows of my favorite toy store, to see my hardworking husband holding 2 tiny coats, watching his girls play and laughing with Kay and Felicia (who can magically help a store full of people while chatting with the girls about their hilarious hodge-podge outfits, at the same time).  With the cool wind (not bitter cold) bouncing off my parka, and the sounds and smells of eclectic Mass Ave all around me, I was energized to be in my life.  Not wishing for a hot bath or better weather or easier times…just content, in that moment.  Maybe that should be a weekly moment for me as well: find a time in the week when I’m not wishing for just one more thing, either material or ethereal.  Contentment, amidst the chaos and unrest that comes with parenting, replacing the need for “just one more thing”.  Hmm…with that thought, I shall leave you with wishes for a lovely and “contentful” weekend.

Makes you salivate a little, yes?  Imagine how much you’d want to eat these desserts if your Mom had hidden all the sugar in the house…3 weeks ago?  I’ve mentioned I don’t believe in using fake sugars, but I don’t have any rules against FAKE FOOD.

You may recall a wonderful visit I had from my friend Hillary, the woman I credit with teaching me to sew.  I knew a few things about sewing when I met Hillary, but she taught me how to bravely sew.  Hillary taught me how to take 3 dresses, rip them apart, and piece them back together into 1 killer costume.  I can’t sing, but I can sew, and therefore, I was the best dressed no-lines Emerald City cast member in “The Wiz”, circa 1989.  What can I say?  It was the 80’s, and we all secretly wanted to be Molly Ringwald in “Pretty in Pink”.  I’m too embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve watched that movie while sewing clothes for the girls.

After our visit, Hillary and her fantastic daughters returned home and made us a thank you present.  Some people send cards (and by the way, Hillary did you make that card too?  It’s so pretty that I can’t take it off my fridge.).  My friends handcraft with felted wool.  Because my friends are AWESOME.

The girls have been so excited by these play treats, that, A) They are in the same perfect shape by which they arrived B) They never leave their tea table in the play room.  C) They are never used as anything other than, “fancy food”; they are never stuffed in a play purse, or otherwise lost in their play kitchen.  The girls don’t even want me to touch them.  As Sara says, “These are very, very special, and although they look real, we cannot eat them.  But we want to eat them.  Always, we want to eat them.”

I’m posting close ups (as good as I can get with my rookie camera skills) so you can see the immense detail.  Every “sprinkle” is a hand sewn bead, even those tiny itsy-bitsy white dots on the chocolates.  The white chocolate with the detailed nut on top might be my favorite.  It’s so classy!  Hillary even sent a stack of beautiful chocolate brown dessert plates.  We often spread those out, and make sure every doll gets just one dessert.  Because, after all, fake dolls need to monitor their fake sugar intake. We can’t have Tippy Toes, Rainbow, and Cinderella up all night on a sugar buzz.  Bon appetit!

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I found the perfect preschool Barbie house for under $20 at an antique/consignment/mostly junk and a little non-junk kind of mall.  What can I say?  I’ve become a junker in my old age.  Every piece of it folds out of the walls, leaving no small parts that can be detached or lost.  This house did not have so much as a scratch…it was mint.  The girls squealed with delight on Valentines morning, and then Kelly proceeded to rip the front door right off.  That would be her 3rd dollhouse door “issue”.  What IS she, the Incredible Hulk of 2 year olds?

They went about “decorating” it immediately, and when I came down with the camera, I couldn’t help but giggle under my breath.  Good thing they made some attempt to block out the light, because by the look of Cinderella and that chic from High School Musical, the Barbies had a LONG night, if you know what I mean.  They look like a couple of sorority sisters who attended a formal, had so much fun, that they decided to ditch their fraternity dates, go dancing at Papa Lou’s Chug, bought some $1 per slice pizza from the sidewalk vendor outside their apartment at 3 am (maybe his name was Shannon…if I were to MAKE UP a name…and Shannon, if you are reading, sorry about the endless begging for a 3 am discount), and finally passed out from “exhaustion” in their fancy dresses.  Cinderella was able to find her bed AND take off her shoes, but HS Musical girl fell asleep not where the couch IS, but where she thought the couch SHOULD BE.

No judging: the girls came home together, without boys, and their dresses are in good enough shape to loan out to another sister.  All college rules have been obeyed in this picture.

I don’t miss the drinking (now that I can afford decent wine!).  I don’t miss the bad apartments and the nasty bathrooms at The Chug.  But I do miss dancing with my girlfriends while wearing a beautiful dress.  Good times, good times…

So much indoor time (it’s officially very cold and very wet outside) has shown me that if Sara jumped off a cliff, Kelly would indeed follow her.  But Kelly would take responsibility for such a mindless decision by throwing her own twist into it….like, halfway down she’d start to blame Sara for poor leadership and she would bite Sara’s finger off.  Because you know, that would change everything.  Let’s just say their behavior lately has been an endless string of taking turns jumping off the cliff, and whomever is left, quickly turning into a lemming and following.

I’m praying today is as bad as it gets.  I’m praying the weather will break.  I’m praying that somehow my parenting will rise from the ashes and these girls will turn into little ladies…ANY…DAY…NOW.  Sara stayed at school for a much coveted “extended day”.  She’s been trying hard at school to leave her Wigglebottoms at the door (I keep it in my pocket for her, and make sure she has enough to use during gym class and recess); she has earned a “lunch buncher” day.  At pick up, we were invited by friends to join them for an after school snack.  How lovely!  Yes!  All 3 of us cheered a resounding, “We’d love to!”

I’d love for the story to end there.  We had fruit smoothies and enjoyed a chat about summer camps, and voila!  What a great snack, period.  But you know me well enough to know…I’d never blog that story.

Do I start with Kelly eating all the grapes to Sara’s dismay, and Sara, in retaliation, dumping the rest of the fruit upside down on the table?  Or do I just jump to the part where Sara took her smoothie straw and tried to draw in the mess as I was cleaning it up?  Maybe I should start at the moment Kelly kicked Sara, jumped off her chair, and kicked me twice?  Let’s not leave out Sara throwing 2 napkins at my face.  To the grandparents reading in complete disbelief: THESE ARE YOUR GRANDCHILDREN AND I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP.

I called it a day (not soon enough and after too many shallow threats), and forewarned of impending consequences, thereby reducing both girls to blubbering [insert loud] tears. And then I realized I couldn’t find my keys.  Because as every parent with a decompensating preschooler knows…THAT’S HOW THAT WORKS. My good friend Camille is a brilliant brunette, and while the world thinks all brunettes look alike, brunettes secretly know that all brunettes can read each other’s facial expressions.  She saw the quiet panic in my eyes, and assisted in my wild hunt for those damn keys.  Camille is also the kind of friend who will call you later and make you feel better about your Lord of the Flies children.  Where would we be without the kind of girlfriends who never make us feel like we’re doing it wrong?  Hugs Camille…big hugs.

Once in the car, the girls realized the trip had gone horribly wrong.  I won’t bore you with the long list of, “What on earth were you thinking?”, and “No one will ever ask us to snacks again”.  Because, at the end of it all, I said it.  IT.  The thing Mothers who live in farming communities say to their children; the thing said to me in the Cinderella Shop by my Mother’s friend when I was 7; the statement I found so offensive, to this day, I haven’t forgiven Joyce for saying it to me:

“Were you raised in a barn?”

Ugh.  Raised in a barn.  When I was 7, I was horrified that anyone would compare me to a barn animal.  I’m a YOUNG LADY.  BARN?!  Have you ever been in a BARN?!  Who would raise a child in a barn? You know my Mother is addicted to her vacuum and cleaning supplies!  We live in a surgical suite, not a barn.

Today? 31 years later?  I’m offended on behalf of those cows.  I’ve known a fair number of docile and well-behaved barn animals in my life, and they would have looked at my daughters today, shook their heads, and thought, “I am ashamed to know these people. Don’t look at us, we’re not together.  We live over there in that beautiful, peaceful barn.”

After taking away their Tuesday night at Gymboree, after making them sit on their beds to contemplate their behavior, after my own stewing in silence, I remembered a great Frank Zappa quote: “The more boring a child is, the more the parents, when showing off the child, receive adulation for being good parents — because they have a tame child-creature in their house.”  I won’t need to pencil “receive adulation” into my calendar…whew!  What a time saver.

The girls conceded that they’d like to apologize to their friends, and if they had it to do over, they’d admit they were too tired to meet for snacks.  Those thoughtful insights did not win their Gymboree playtime back, but it did win them grilled cheese on a carpet picnic with Mommy, where we could talk about better ways to express the emotion of, “I’m so tired that I cannot possibly act like a human for one more second.”  Good chat girls.  Now go to your barn…I mean your bed, and we’ll try, try again tomorrow.  Oh Lordy, does this ever get easier?

Remember when I found this singular pencil, and in and of itself, it inspired the entire Monkey Rainforest Party? Honestly, when the girls asked for a butterfly party this year, I thought, “Piece of Cake” (literally, those are the cakemakers I use, Piece of Cake…awesome bakery).  Who couldn’t do butterflies?  I’ve done a Ducky Luau, Candyland, a Max & Ruby Tea Party, and I’ve been rained out at my own rainforest extravaganza.  Butterflies?  Come on, challenge me.

And then I went and bought these hideous things.  I should have gone pastel, but you know me, I can’t do the classy thing when under duress.  Counting out these suckers and digging for ALL pink with the girls at my feet proved to be too much for me. GO BOLD!  GOOOO HIDEOUS!  I’m turning all of these into wearable butterflies for our guests, making THESE the colors of the party.  Yikes Scooby.  I asked Sara and Kelly if we could pick a few colors, and they said, “OH NO, we want them ALL!”.  Of course you do.  The 100 feet of army green, yellow, and brown pennant banners from last year’s party isn’t going to blend with carnival butterflies.  I should have themed it “Ole One Eye”...he was a brown butterfly.  I think we can all agree my Birthday Banner will match this mess perfectly.

I know what you’re thinking, “Lori, their birthdays are in the late summer.  It’s March.  First. Take a breath.”  But you know the method to my madness: big, nasty, homemade birthday parties get eaten one bite at a time.  Don’t wait until the week before the party to finish the last of the hand-sewn favor bags, ram a rotary cutter through your hand, and end up in the ER.  You can’t hang 80 laminated paper monkeys from your kitchen ceiling with your hand bandaged.

So here’s my thought: bad muse means better weather this year.  You heard me Fates: I WANT BETTER WEATHER.  The Momma with the winter birthday who gave birth to summer babies wants SUN and SPRINKLER FUN at this year’s Butterfly Party.  If these girls aren’t catching butterflies in nets in my backyard come July, we’re going to have some serious words.  Post any fun ideas in the comments!  I’m just getting started on my annual crazy birthday crafting list…

The weekend started out weak; I won’t sugarcoat it.  You witnessed my mood on Friday, and when Sydney Cat puked all over my arm at 4 am on Saturday morning, I realized it wasn’t going to be an isolated day of wicked juju.  My bad mojo was going to LAST for a bit.  Before I could finish the morning paper, Kelly fell down a flight of stairs.  Unhurt, yet oddly exhilarated, and after a good cry, she seemed as if she’d like to try it again.  Luckily, she decided she’d rather play in the basement, where she found a forbidden pen, colored on the walls, the windowsills, the suede couch, and her legs and feet.  Yes!  Because if this day is going to tank, let’s do this right!

But you know me, when the Fates come a-knockin’, I like to pull out my boxing gloves and challenge those witches to a duel.  OH, you think you can make a mess of my house Fates?  I’LL SHOW YOU BEOTCHES HOW IT’S DONE.  You haven’t seen household chaos until you’ve messed with The Momma.  Let’s Get This Party Started…

So I stole my niece for the night, and declared it…THE COUSIN OLYMPICS!  [Read more →]

Not having a great “Mothering” day.  Don’t ask me today if I’m thrilled that I chose to become a parent.  Greg handed me this comic as I stood in the kitchen in tears, and I had to laugh….yep, that’s Motherhood.  Then the doorbell rang with a delivery of a skirt.  As a daring surprise, Greg bought me clothes.  He ran across a beautiful olive green, teflon, indestructible, yet adorably constructed skirt he thought I might like.  Like?  I LOVE it;  it’s the greatest Mommy-skirt of all time.  You know what makes everything better?  A great summer skirt that fits perfectly.  I dried my tears and bought a sweet tea.  I’m drunk on sugar.  I know how WRONG it is for me to drink this tea, after all the sugar talk.  But seriously, it’s either this tea, or I’m running away to Nantucket and changing my name to Bernice.  Just Bernice, nothing else, but everyone will whisper as I walk by and call me, “That lady who permanently lost her voice from yelling at her ungrateful and misbehaving children.” Let’s face it Mommies: not every day can be crafts, cookies, and handmade dresses.  Some days?  Just SUCK.