Friday, October 23, 2015

Real Conversations

***After finishing the bedtime ritual... Twice***

Me: Spain. Go. To. Bed.

Spain: Don't you mean "go play"?

***After yelling "INSIDE VOICES" at the oldest two***

Alex: Sometimes mama is like the hulk.

Spain: I love the Hulk!!!!!

***Introducing himself to new people***

Spain: My name is  Secret Agent Spy Darth Vader Batman

***While on the phone with the insurance company***

Alex: Chester* is like the last of his kind. A long time ago there were lots of Chesters, but then they started getting recalled. And now, I think Chester is the last one.

Spain: Ooh!

*Chester is our 2009 Toyota Corolla. 

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Dear children,

There seems to be some confusion about a specific item pertaining to our kitchen policy. I realize that some of you are new and still learning the ropes, while others have been with us for years. At no time have we encouraged toys, books, or bedding to be brought into the kitchen. The presence of these items in the kitchen is not just a safety matter, it makes me want to lose the small amount of sanity I have left.
I understand sometimes you are in your ninja/superhero/Darth Vader outfit that is not complete without an inappropriately dragging cape. However I have spoken with the Ninja Council/Justice League/Emperor, and they have approved the shorter non-dragging capes for kitchen usage.

In short; do not bring toys, books, blankets, pillows, or stuffed animals into the kitchen.


Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Stranded... The Ongoing Saga

Dear Mostly Bald One.
I am so glad that you are feeling better. It is wonderful to see you back to your adventurous self again. I just want to remind you, that I am always willing to accept your help. There is no need to screech at me in monkey if you want to vacuum.



I was woken up last night, not by the Mostly Bald One, but by the Tall Redheaded one because he wanted ideas to fall asleep. I've left our copy of the Merriam-Webster unabridged dictionary next to his bed.

Monday, October 5, 2015

Stranded. Tales from an Outnumbered Mother

I started the day with high hopes of retaining the crews' tentative loyalty. Since the fastest way to my heart is with food, I decided that was a good starting point.
I managed to find enough items in our provisions to make a batch of pancakes for the crew. Initially, the Curly Haired One was not impressed. He complained loudly about the lack of blueberries and granola available. His complaints soon turned to concern over the shape of the promised pancakes. Once he was able to convince me that they should all be circles, and have mango preserves smeared on top, harmony returned to our little camp.
After breakfast the Curly Haired One buried his face into my shoulder and sang "jingle bells". When I expressed confusion over the ritual, he explained that he was "singing in to me".

My spirits were lightened.

The Mostly Bald One continues to improve. As evidence by the many dancing parties he has tried to start. Sadly none of the attempts have resulted in a full out dance party.
A well-timed humanitarian package arrived in the afternoon. A sense of peace enveloped our little camp for a few brief hours. Long enough for us to band together as a family, instead of feuding like rival mafia dons.

Bedtime continues to be difficult. Tonight it was the Tall Redheaded One that tried to prolong the inevitable. The Mostly Bald One fell asleep while I cleared away the remnants of dinner. I tried to immortalize the moment, but as soon as I had photographic evidence, he woke up. The Tall Redheaded One tried to start a conversation about abstract theories, and I snapped. In a fit of exhaustion I announced that anyone not asleep would be eating quinoa for dinner the next day.

  Tomorrow's dinner is quinoa.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Stranded. Tales from an Outnumbered Mother

Though I am recovering, the Mostly Bald One is still plagued by this foreign virus. I spend hours each night helping him find enough comfort so he can sleep. My eyes are gritty from sleep deprecation, and I find myself wishing I could sleep while standing- Without risk of bodily harm.

Things between the Tall Redheaded One and the Curly Haired One are slowly escalating. Tonight the Curly Haired One focused on preventing the Tall Redheaded One from sleeping. For hours, I listened as the Curly Haired One kept up a constant barrage of jokes, songs, folklore, epic poems, personal philosophy and scientific fact, all designed to keep the Tall Redheaded One from sleeping.
During a particularly dry monologue, I tried to help Tall Redheaded One sneak into a deserted area of our camp to find some blessed peace. Unfortunately the Tall Redheaded One did not approve of abandoning his spot in the camp and complained loudly for quite some time.

I had hoped that we could search for another diversion, but the Mostly Bald One's illness is keeping us close to camp. 


I woke this morning to a barrage of questions. The Curly Haired One and Tall Redheaded One presented a united front as they requested the resources needed to study small animated creatures. I granted permission, and tried to sink back into the sweet embrace of sleep, when the Mostly Bald one bolted up from a sound sleep and launched an attack upon my person. The struggle was fierce, but short lived. A loud THUD came from the other side of the camp and diverted the Mostly Bald One's attention, allowing me to escape with my eyes intact.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Stranded. True Tales from an Outnumbered Mother

It's been three days, since the crew and I were stranded, separated from the Mysterious Captain we all adore. Whatever respiratory disease tried to take over my body seems to have given up. If I had expected the crew to rejoice over my improving health... Well, we can safely assume that was a side effect of my impaired status.
I suspect the crew may be planing a coup. 
The Curly Haired One shrieks in code throughout the day, alternatively irritating and amusing the Tall Redheaded One. They seem to be struggling to find the balance of power between them. 
The Small Mostly Bald One seems to be torn between allegiances. 

I discovered that allowing the Curly Haired One and Tall Redheaded One to watch a documentary on small pocket creatures seems to sate feelings of unrest. I know this is only a temporary solution to the problem though.

I can only pray that the disease retreats quickly, and I can regain the allegiance of the crew before things become unspeakable.


Our supply of fresh provisions was running low. I suggested a small foraging expedition to help replenish our stores. I also hoped that the expedition would serve as a distraction over the bid for power that is looming closer by the hour.
The Curly Haired One expressed dismay, horror and outrage over most aspects of the outing. He stated that the craft was not correct multiple times. He petitioned for a craft decorated with bright colors and wheels, in place of the simple utilitarian craft we possessed.  Shortly after that, he expressed bitter disappointment over the produce we were able to procure. At one point, he became adamant in his desire to have sweetbread.
We made it back to camp safely, where I plied the Curly Haired One with fresh bananas.
If I were not in charge of this motley crew, I would be tempted to mutiny myself.

Better Late Than Never

I've never been on a blind date, but I imagine it's kind of like visiting a new church. We've been looking for a new church since our move last year. Even though we haven't found the one for us yet, we've met some wonderful people along the way.
At a homeschool gathering another mom recommended a church in passing, and Sweet Husband and I decided to try visiting it. On Sunday morning we double checked the service times, fed the crew to avoid any unfortunate incidents, and set off on our adventure.
We ended up taking the wrong exit, and arrived at the church eight minutes after the posted service time. As we walked into the sanctuary I noticed with some surprise that everything was already in full swing.

This is a very punctual church. I thought to myself. Instead of the usual worship service and sermon, the church had a visiting Youth With A Mission group come speak about their recent time in Nepal. When the group finished speaking about thirty minutes later the pastor concluded the services. Sweet Husband and I exchanged puzzled glances. Alex and Spain joined us after the Sunday School class was over "Mama, Sunday school started at 9 o'clock. We were so late." Alex whispered.
9 o'clock?! The website definitely said 10.

Several people came up to us after the service and welcomed us to the church. A few asked us how we heard about the church, and I replied that I found it online while looking for AWANA programs in the area. The church members looked so confused at my answer "We don't have an AWANA program here though..." they would respond.
I had found the church through the AWANA website, but I figured the AWANA website might just be due for an update.

As we walked toward our vehicle I thought about the things that weren't matching up. I had enjoyed the visit, but there was something off. I pulled the church bulletin out of the diaper bag and looked over it. There was no name on the front of the bulletin, but on the inside cover in small letters I found the church name.

We were at the wrong church.
We were an HOUR late to the church service we attended. Because our GPS is convinced that the church we were trying to attend and the church we actually attended are the same.

They aren't. They're just in the same zipcode.

It's Not Vermont.....

There's nothing quite as sad as a sick baby. It just breaks your heart to look at them.
Some stomach bug was making the rounds, and we were lucky enough to bring it home with us.
Luke was miserable.

Luckily Sweet Husband was home, so while I nursed Luke 22/7, he got to spend the remaining 2/7 changing diapers.

On day three, Luke was feeling good enough to let Alex hold him while I stuffed my face with whatever we were having for dinner that night. 
All of a sudden, from the couch Alex starts screeching "VERMONT! VERMONT! VERMONT!".

I stared at the back of Alex's head bouncing up and down on the couch. Trying to figure out what sparked his sudden interest in this particular state.... Other than maple syrup, of course.

Before I could ask, Alex spun around, panic written over his face "Luke vermonted on me!"


They're Cute..... And Wiley.

Bedtime rituals are taken pretty seriously in our house. They've slowly evolved over the years into what we currently have.

-Wheel of Fortune (yes, we're that family)
-Tea and snack
-Teeth brushing
-Into bed

The goal is to have Spain in bed at 8, so we tend to cut out story time if the boys are dragging their feet.

One night, Spain was running on his own time zone. It was ten minutes to 8, and Spain was running around the couch, clad only in his underwear and waving his pajamas like flags. Sweet husband announced "no story tonight.". Spain immediately bounded to Sweet Husband and thrust his pajamas at him "Papa, I just need help" he explained. Sweet Husband helped Spain into his pajamas, and reminded him that it was almost bedtime. Spain looked up with angelic big green eyes and his halo of curls, and in a soft sweet voice said "Please papa. Just one story?"

Sweet Husband relented. "One page." he told Spain. "Go pick out a book, and I'll read one page to you."

Spain sped off to pick out his promised story, and returned almost immediately holding our copy of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary.