O Tannenbaum...

Well since I'm home now, and jobless (for the moment), we went ahead and got our Christmas tree early this year. Last year? We didn't even go out and get a tree. We put up an old cheapo fake at the last minute and didn't take the time enjoy it at all.

Our current tree stands proud in the corner of the living room, all 8 feet of real Fraser Fir. The kids are thrilled, the scent of pine fills the house, and the season seems to have begun.

This evening we broke out the boxes of decorations and let the kids have at the tree. Of course only the bottom 5 feet or so got decorated, mostly in the front, but it was so cute!

I was in charge of unwrapping the ornaments and telling the kids stories about each one. "What's THIS one, Mommy?!" they chirp, offering me an ornament, breathless with excitment.

"This one is from your first Christmas, Plato...." I say, holding up a giraffe ornament with a little blue pacifier around its neck. His eyes widen and a smile of pure glee lights his face as he gingerly takes the ornament from me, handling it as if it is priceless.

"Me! Mommy, Me!!" squeals Lulu, as I search for something of hers. I pull out a large foam snowman that houses a picture of her at 6 months, fluffy hair and adorable toothless grin on display. "This is you when you were a tiny baby, Lulu..." She claps and giggles, bouncing excitedly. "Look at my fuzzy hair, Mommy!"

We compare Plato's hand size at age 5 months with his current size. We delicately handle homemade tatted snowflakes passed down through generations. The kids ooh and aah over ornaments dated years before either of them were born. "Yes, Mommy and Daddy DID celebrate Christmas before you two were born," I grin.

Designer trees are beautiful, even gorgeous, with their coordinated ornaments and perfectly placed lights. And sure, someday I want one. Maybe as my "second tree."

When I actually have a house large enough to accommodate a second tree. Which is hard to swing when you're jobless. But I digress.

For now, my mismatched ornaments and homemade keepsakes make the most beautiful tree I can imagine. Its uniquely ours, and will provide precious moments for years to come.

How about you, readers? Designer trees or memorabilia mish-mash? Do tell!

A Pause to Remember

This time of year I always start thinking more about my late Grandpa. His name was Milo, aka "Mike," and he is my mother's father, my maternal grandfather. He has been gone now for seven years....wow, it's hard to believe. He died suddenly, in his sleep, three days after Plato was born. We hadn't even left the hospital with our newborn yet when I got the call from my mother telling me that Grandma had found Grandpa dead that morning, in his bed with a peaceful expression on his face.

The timing of his death couldn't have been much worse for me, but how selfish is that? At his funeral, I was strapped in tight to that postpartum hormonal, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived rollercoaster; at its complete mercy: no steering wheel for me. I remember sitting in the church trying desperately to hold it together by focusing on my squirming newborn. I did not need to hear what a wonderful man he was, loving husband, father, and grandfather. I knew all that in my very core; hearing it out loud would surely put me over the emotional edge.

One phrase, however, breached the walls of my hastily-spun mental cocoon. The priest's voice boomed, "...and most recently, great-grandfather to newborn Plato, whom he never got to meet but whose arrival he looked forward to greatly."

I lost it. I don't lose it often. And my "losing it" doesn't involve hysterics or theatrics. It's a forced loss of control, a trait I cling to fiercely. Losing my desperate grip on my control, I cried, hard but quietly. The effort of trying to control such a raw and powerful emotion left me unable to inhale, instead gasping in great, echoing, hiccup-like breaths; which turned heads, garnered sympathetic looks, and sent me spiraling into uncontrollable sobs. The worst thing anyone can offer me when I'm upset is compassion.

I couldn't wait to get outside, to the cemetery. I gulped the humid air. Barely cooler than my lungs, it offered little relief. The crowd around me, simultaneously sympathetic and curious about my infant, was inevitable but unwanted.

The graveside ceremony is a blur; I spent most of the time attending to the curious who wanted a peek or a cuddle with 6-day old Plato. He was a gem, alert and cooing at everyone who held him. After the graveside service, I walked to the grave to say goodbye. My eyes watered anew as I gazed at the headstone. I remember Grandpa and Grandma taking us by their burial plot to show us the headstone they'd had made. On his side was a farm scene, representing his life as a farmer. On hers, a desk with an apple and ruler, signifying her career as a second-grade teacher. At the time I just thought it was creepy: the names with birth dates and empty spots for the death dates. In a moment of clarity, I was suddenly able to appreciate the significance of the earlier visit to the grave. He was showing us how he had made arrangements in preparation for this very day.

My Grandfather was a planner. Of course he had planned much of his own funeral. It was his nature. He was forever reading Consumer Reports and having discussions with my father about the latest products. He never had the internet. It's probably for the best - I'm certain he would have been addicted! I credit him heartily with my own appetite for knowledge, but where I am hungry for it, he was voracious. Five years before he died, he had a devastating stroke that left him essentially paralyzed on one side. His mind was quite intact, however. After the stroke, he had been researching stroke treatment advances, particularly the area of stem cell possibilities. Every time he would see his doctor, he would ask hopefully, "How are they coming on those stem cell studies?" Alas, there was never any good news. Seven years later, they are still not, to my knowledge, doing stroke therapy with stem cells, but he would be excited to know that they are doing studies with autologous stem cells (from a person's own body) and tissue damaged by heart attack. A stroke is a brain attack: brain tissue can't be far away.

Before Plato was born, Grandpa asked all kinds of questions about my pregnancy. He was fascinated by the ultrasound pictures I showed him. His mind seemed to be slowing down a bit, but that couldn't squelch his eternal curiosity. The last words he said to me were, "Take care of my great-grandson," as he hugged me across my burgeoning belly from his wheelchair with his good arm and kissed me on my cheek with his drooping mouth. His eyes were still sharp and bright despite his broken body, and they sought mine as he said those words, making sure I understood him clearly.

The day after I delivered, my parents went to visit Grandpa, and brought pictures of Plato. He asked about the birth, digging for the details, and scrutinizing the pictures carefully. Looking back, I wonder if he knew subconsciously that he would never meet his first great-grandchild face-to-face?

My Grandmother came to me on the day of her husband's funeral and actually comforted me. She, who had lost the man she had been married to for over 50 years, put her arms around me and held me. She held Plato in her arms for the first time that day, and remarked on the miracle of life, and how sad yet amazing it was that Grandpa had left this life so close to the time that Plato had entered it.

To this day I feel there is a strong metaphysical connection between Plato and the Great-Grandfather he never knew. It may sound hokey to some, but I actually feel his presence at times around my son. Maybe he is watching over him, or maybe he is still curious?

Where Were You When....?

I watched the movie "World Trade Center" today. I remember when the movie came out, I couldn't watch it because it seemed to be "too soon," and I wsan't sure I could handle the intensity.

Well, the intensity was still there, but the edge was off enough for me to get something out of the movie. It was sad of course, yet the movie strove to focus on the positive aspects resulting from the tragic situation. I am glad I watched the movie, all in all.

It got me thinking. 9/11 was one of the defining events of my lifetime. I remember down to tiny details that September morning. Plato had just turned 6 weeks old. He was colicky and slept very little. I was incredibly sleep deprived, and had sent JeepMan off to work that morning planning to try to squeeze in a little more sleep before Plato started screaming. As usual, it wasn't to be, and I got up, changed his diaper, got him a bottle, and sat down in the recliner just before 9 am to feed him. I turned on the television and started flipping channels. It wasn't long before I came across a news channel with that eternal image: Tower 1, rising up against the clear blue sky, black smoke billowing from the upper floors and the occasional lick of orange flame appearing momentarily. I squinted my bleary eyes as my brain tried to process what I was seeing. I flipped to another news station, then another, and another, unable to process what I was seeing. Soon I watched the second plane hit Tower 2, and at that point the phone rang: JeepMan asking if I was up and if I could believe what was happening. Reality struck at that moment: I couldn't deny what was going on if another living person was sharing my bafflement.

I picked up Plato, cuddled him close, and paced the floor. Soon thePentagon was hit, then Tower 2 collapsed, then the plane crashed in Pennsylvania, then Tower 1. I couldn't stand it anymore. I turned the television off and danced around the living room holding Plato tight and singing him songs from the "O Brother Where Art Thou?" soundtrack: "I'll Fly Away," "You Are My Sunshine," "Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby," "Down To The River To Pray," "Keep On The Sunny Side," "Angel Band," "I Am Weary (Let Me Rest);" for months I listened to these songs over and over again. I still listen to them frequently; sounds from another era, heart-wrenching, bittersweet, optimistic, and spiritual...they can still remind me that despite great tragedy, we move on.

Remembering 9/11 sparked other memories:

The Challenger crash: I watched it in 6th grade, and despite the tragedy, I don't recall being terribly moved. A combination of my youth and the fact that I was watching TV, I suppose. The enormity of it didn't hit me until I started hearing the backstories of the astronauts.

OJ Simpson - the Chase: Out on a date with Hubby at a seedy little bar. Buzzing nicely, wondering what the heck all the cops were doing chasing down a white Bronco that was only going about 20 mph.

OJ Simpson - the Verdict: This was a scary one. I was doing a psych nursing rotation for school. My assigned ward was the schizophrenia ward and they were doing medical trials which involved taking patients off their meds for weeks (med-washing), then getting brain scans and re-working their medication regimen. So I was sitting in the commons of a locked psych wards with about 15 non-medicated schizophrenic patients when I heard those dreaded words, "Not Guilty."

Princess Diana's death: working nights at my first ICU job. Not a very busy night, and we took turns checking the patients while the rest of the staff sat in an empty patient room watching the scene unfold.

There are probably other defining moments, but these are the ones that come to mind.

Do you remember where you were?

(pssst...if you're trying to calculate my age, I'll make it easy for you: I'm 35)

Happy Birthday Lulu! (+ a wee little rant)

Today my gorgeous, loving, smart, precocious, strong-willed, darling daughter turns FOUR. It's kinda crazy. It seems like it wasn't so long ago that she snuggled her tiny little 7lb. body into the crook of my neck and sighed her warm, sweet baby breath into my neck as I bent slightly to brush my lips against her downy newborn head.

And here she is today. How time rushes by! You can see her strong-willed-ness plain as day in this pic: she insists that whatever pants she wears must be rolled up. Jeans to capris, capris to shorts....I shudder to think what she plans to do with shorts... And the socks must be pulled up too. Usually I insist on short socks but today was chilly and it's her birthday so what the heck? She's happy.

She was most excited about taking birthday cupcakes to her daycare for her 4-year-old class. Here's where my rant begins. When I was a kid one of the coolest things about having a birthday was getting to take treats to school. My mom was quite clever so I brought the best treats, and the class always loved me and said I had the "best mom ever". I would nearly bust with pride, and the treats were always fantastic. Running a close second was the cake I would get at home and of course the presents.

So we got a note a couple months back saying no birthday treats at daycare. They instead encouraged us to send gift bags of little toys for the kids (read: small bags of choke-hazards and junk). Ugh. They have since relented and okayed treats IF, and only IF, a comprehensive list of ingredients is attached. Mind you, treats are still discouraged, but if one MUST send them, they will somehow be screened for allergenic and/or offensive ingredients.

I think they did the list thing just because they figured no one would want to take the time to bake AND write a synopsis. They don't know ME. I just rustled myself up some vanilla cupcakes, glopped as much homemade birthday frosting on them as they would hold, sprinkled them with pretty artificially-colored sugar sprinkles, and cut out the ingredients list from the box, taping it on a notecard with a few other ingredients,. Eh -VOILA, Lulu had a whole mess of contraband cupcakes to take to day-care.

All the while JeepMan was telling me I shouldn't do it, that we should just buy some apples or carrot sticks and dip.

Birthday apples? Birthday veggies? This would have been a sure way to get ostracized and possibly beaten up after school when I was growing up.

I think birthdays are for sugar. And calories. And fun. And special treats. If the moms can't hack their kid eating a cupcake, then tell the staff they can't have one. If your kid is allergic to something, I'm sorry, life sucks, and the rest of the kids shouldn't be punished for it.


Miss Teacher's eyebrows damn near made contact with her hairline when I walked in with the cupcake tray. I promptly handed her the ingredient list and told her Lulu wanted to give cupcakes for her birthday and that's what she was going to do. 'Nuff said. They said, "...Okay..." for what else, really, was there to say?

You and I both know all the teachers are in the back room scarfing the leftovers anyhow. And do I care? No way! Birthdays are for cupcakes, with oodles of frosting and sparkly sprinkles. And don't anyone try to tell me otherwise.

***Addendum: Curses! The daycare gestapo got me...sent me home most of the cupcakes I made, minus a few the staff ate and one for each of my kids. Said, "Sorry, but these didn't come out of a certified kitchen so we aren't allowed to serve them." WTF is a "certified kitchen?" 'Cause I'm telling you from first-hand foodservice experience that I have never seen a commercial kitchen that is cleaner than mine at home. Certified what? Roach -free? Pesticide-free? Kosher? Vegan? WHAT??? Oh, well. Maybe next year I'll just have the daycare make Lulu's cupcakes in their own CERTIFIED kitchen. Grrr...****

Post-Memorial Day Breather

Wow, what a crazy and busy Memorial Day weekend!!

Sliding into the weekend, I actually got to spend three days doing 3 cases at my hometown account!! This was HUGE for me, as prior to this I had only done one case there since being off orientation in April. Hopefully this signals a turn toward more staying at home and less traveling.

Friday's case went kinda late, so I scurried home to decorate Lulu's birthday cake. I had the (rare) foresight to bake the cake Thurs nite so it would be ready for decoration Friday. The kids decided on their own to give up playing at the park with Dad to get me a sandwich and bring it home to me. What sweet kids...I'm so lucky! Of course that gave me 4 extra hands for cake decorating, which I didn't need. So I hung out with them, then decorated the cake after they went to bed. It turned out pretty well. If I'd had more time I could have made it a little fancier, but Lulu was pleased.

Saturday was mad house-cleaning then party at a local restaurant at 11am. Grandparents and Great-Grandmas made it, along with my Sis and BIL. Lulu's b'day always falls around Mem Day weekend, so our turnouts for her parties can be hit-or-miss. It's nice to have just family, though. And I'm putting off the kid-parties until the kids insist. Ugh.

Sat. nite we travelled to my folks to spend the night, then got up and hit the area Amusement Park all day Sunday. What a gorgeous day! 85 degrees and breezy. Lovely! We wore ourselves and the kids completely out, and had a blast. Plato is the daredevil, he will go on any ride and generally want to go again. He's SO disappointed when he's not tall enough to go on a ride. He's about 49 inches, so once he hits his next growth spurt he'll probably be making most of the height limits. Lulu, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is a big chicken. It takes a lot to get her on a ride, and half the time she cries the whole time. "Baby Rides" (as Plato calls them) are about all she likes. She is a huge fan of the bumper cars, though, and would probably just ride those all day and be quite happy.

Monday we had breakfast with the folks, then went downtown to watch the new Indiana Jones movie while Lulu hung out with G'ma and G'pa. We really enjoyed the movie, as all of us, including Plato, are big Indy plans. Growing up, I even had a dog named "Indy." Thought they did a fantastic job of integrating Harrison Ford's age into the story, and Cate Blanchett was stellar as always.

Then back home, and early to bed for the kids. I've been working all day today, and so far don't have to travel this week, which is nice. Looking forward to a nice short work-week!!

Sorry I haven't been around to the blogs lately, I actually haven't been on the internet for a solid week!! Amazing and sorta scary...I think I'm having withdrawal symptoms...

Nostalgia

So last night I had a dream about this cereal I used to love. Of course I didn't remember the name, but I remembered the cereal: flying-saucer-shaped sugar puffs that tasted almost exactly like Cap'n Crunch, except the rounded shape of this cereal didn't shred your gums or the roof of your mouth like its current counterpart. I wracked my brain this morning trying to remember what it was called, finally gave up, and the answer came to me (of course) while I was taking a pee. Yeah, that's where I do some of my best thinking....in the bathroom.

Anyone, Anyone? Bueller?

Here it is:

Remember? I loved it!!!

So then I got to thinking about all the things I used to love but aren't around anymore. Like Nabisco Heyday Bars, Tato Skins, and PB Maxx.

So then I found this website that I just had to share:

http://www.inthe80s.com/food/

It's a treasure trove of discontinued and/or nostalgic foods from the 80's era.

It's there that I remembered things like O'Boisies, I-Screams Cookies, and Burger Buddies:

Fruit Stripe Gum

And the product that sustained my body during my early college years:


Not the guy. I don't know the guy. But he's holding a TACO BELL CHILITO. Oh, how I miss chilitos..

Things gone, but not forgotten. Visit the website. If you are wondering where anything in particular went, ask a question under, "Unknown."

There's one product that I am sorry I missed out on, and it created the most nostalgia on the list. Anyone remember Malt-Duck Malt Liquor? It has apparently achieved cult status amongst the 70's kids.

Dang. I' m hungry. See ya!

MomInScrubs is back...

Last published...August 23. So pathetic! I have no excuse other than my own laziness and lack of time. Mostly the laziness part. But I've been INSPIRED!! Thanks to my friend Monnik and her inspiration Travis, I have decided to publish my version of the classic: "My Favorite Things."

Best Day of the Week

Saturday morning and I get to sleep in
Snuggle my hubby and keep on a-dreamin'
I hear soft footsteps so I sneak a peek;
Saturday morning, best day of the week.

Sleep-touseled toddlers in warm footie PJ's
Lift up the covers to invade my bed space,
Nudging me over with grunts and a squeek;
Saturday morning, best day of the week.

Curling their fingers around in my hair,
Whispering, giggling without a care,
Cuddled beside me, warm breath on my cheek;
Saturday morning, best day of the week!

When it's Monday
Such a Glum Day
Wanna stay in bed...
I know Saturday is just six days away,
And then I don't feel
So DEAD!

Deep, Dark Secret

I bought a Swiffer yesterday and I must say: it is an EXCELLENT invention! I have been wanting one for a while but I just never got around to it. I needed to clean my floors for Lulu's birthday party and my mop mysteriously disappeared - I have no idea where it went! I sort of wonder if I threw it away last time I mopped, thinking, "I hate mopping! I'm going to throw this mop away so next time I want to clean the floors I will HAVE to go buy a Swiffer." Pretty pathetic - it's been so long since I mopped I can't even remember if that's actually what I did. I would like to think I am so shrewd ... the less glamorous truth is it's probably stuck back in some closet where I will find it 6 months from now.

I don't listen to music or watch TV when I clean - I listen to the voices in my head. I do the same thing when I am trying to go to sleep: I just start thinking random things. It's very organized random thinking, not just thoughts that zip through my head like cars on the freeway. No, this is more like the neverending train that you didn't have the good fortune to beat when you are in a hurry to get somewhere.

Guess I know where Plato gets it.

Whilst Swiff-ing (Swiffer-ing?) I began thinking about my sixth-grade teacher, Ms. W.; specifically, the "Deep, Dark Secret" incident:

Ms. W was my sixth grade teacher and also my neighbor. Her eldest son was one year older than me. Her twin boys were 2 years younger than me - my sister T2K's age. While the older brother wanted nothing to do with us, we sometimes played with the twins. They had a swimming pool at their house, and we sometimes got to swim.

One day in class we talked about deep dark secrets. I don't remember why; probably it had some relevance to a book we were reading or a film we saw. Ms. W gave us the assignment of writing a paper about our "deepest, darkest secret." She assured us that this paper would not be shared with the class. She promised that at the end of the week, she would share her own deep dark secret with the class. We were tantalized, and all week were buzzing and speculating about what her secret could be. What kind of skeletons might be in her closet?

I had my own deep dark secret. It was horrible and I agonized over whether to share it with her. You see, when I was in first grade, I was certain that I had bought myself a one-way ticket to Hell.

When I was 6, my family moved across town and I started a new school halfway through the year. I didn't really like my teacher that much, probably because I wasn't her pet like I had been at my old school. I remember her making me do lots and lots of "catch-up assignments," and I wasn't making friends very quickly. One day for show-and-tell, a boy in my class brought a few neat rocks to share. They were many different colors: all of them smooth and polished and shiny.

It is imperative at this point in the story that you understand my fascination - nay, obsession with rocks. I had boxes and boxes of rocks at home, collected largely from the gravel road we lived on but also from various places I had visited. Rocks can be found almost everywhere, and I spent many an outing with my eyes riveted on the ground. My Grandma S's farm yielded arrowheads, fossils, and an occasional geode, and was my favorite destination for "rock-hounding." I had several books about rocks. I would spend hours just looking over my collection: washing them till they sparkled, trying to identify the kinds of rocks I had using my books, planning what types of rocks I would really like to add to my collection.

So this boy, Steve (my sister's friend married him) brought some polished stones for show-and-tell. He passed them around, and I ogled them. One of the stones was obsidian - also called "volcanic glass." It looks black but you can actually see through it. This rock was only about the size of an olive, but I was captivated. I just had to have it. At some point I managed to pocket the rock. I took it home, feeling my actions were justified since I was planning to give it back; I just needed more time with the stone to ponder and study it.

Steve must have noticed his missing obsidian, because the next day our teacher asked the class if anyone had found it. I just sat there innocently, not wanting to give up the stone and not wanting to get caught. I wasn't done with it yet...

After a few days the novelty was wearing off and the guilt was taking over, made worse by the fact that the teacher was still mentioning it every day. I decided to take the stone back, figuring I would just casually put the stone where it would be found by someone in the class, and no one would ever suspect that I had actually taken it.

That's when I realized I had lost the rock.

I looked everywhere, and I couldn't find it anywhere. The stone had been my nearly-constant companion ever since I brought it home. It had been in every room of my house, in the car, in stores, at restaurants. Retracing my steps to find it wasn't exactly an option.

I was sure that I was going straight to Hell. I had coveted. I had stolen. I had broken two of the ten commandments in one fell swoop. I agonized for months, and remained distraught over my actions for much longer. Indeed, by sixth grade the incident was still the first thing in my mind when the subject of deep, dark secrets was proposed.

It was with heavy heart and leaden pen that I put into writing my deepest, darkest secret. I am certain my hand was trembling when I handed it in. I waited for the backlash - surely, this was the worst secret in the whole class! Steve was still in my class. I had nightmares in which I was forced to stand in front of the whole class and confess.

I waited. Nothing happened.

At the end of the week, Ms. W went up to the blackboard and wrote in all capital letters: "MY DEEP DARK SECRET." She then slowly turned to the class and gave us a sly smile. There was a mass inhale, and we all held our collective breath. She turned back to the board and wrote one word: "SMITH." She proceeded to explain that her deep dark secret was her maiden name.

My jaw dropped. Maiden name? What kind of a secret was that? Heck, that wasn't a secret at all, since her parents were also my neighbors! I had bared my soul to her, opened a window into the blackest recesses of my conscience, and her idea of a "deep dark secret" was telling us her MAIDEN NAME?? I felt completely deceived. What had I expected her to disclose? Certainly something more sordid.

A few years later, we went to her house to swim with the boys. We went into the house to get some towels, and ended up having to get them from the master bathroom. Imagine my surprise when I saw Playboy and Playgirl magazines strewn all over the bedroom! I was at once both titillated and shocked.

That would have made a much better secret.

Tranquility

I have a rare few moments this evening to jot down my thoughts.

I'm sitting in my comfy sweats and oversized T-shirt, relishing the cool breeze of the evening. Through the open windows, the light perfume of crabapple blossoms from the tree in my front yard mingles with the heady aroma of fresh-baked banana bread. As I look out the front window I catch glimpses of an apricot sunset as the tree branches bounce and sway in the wind. The random "click, click" of a zipper occasionally breaks the monotony of the dryer hum. Distant squeals and giggles are becoming less and less frequent as the neighborhood children drift inside for homework or bed.

JeepMan is at the parts store, ordering a part for the truck. I hope it's a cheap one. It's his second trip out tonight, the first being an "emergency" trip to the store after Plato told us over dinner that he had invited the neighbor girl, Olivia, over for dessert. It's the first time he has done such a thing; unfortunately we don't keep much dessert stuff around, and the banana bread wasn't going to be done. Rather than disappoint him (and his friend), JeepMan ran to Fareway and picked up some sundae cones. What a good dad! The kids ate cones on the front steps, then played a while before bedtime.

Lulu is down the hall talking herself to sleep. She does this every night; it cracks me up. The minute I leave her to fall asleep she starts chattering. Unfortunately she doesn't have volume control, and usually has to be reminded several times to keep it down. I just reminded her, again, to whisper, and she told me, "I'm telling my STORIES, Mom!!"

Plato is asleep already. He's a champion sleeper, which probably accounts for the fact that he still wears a PullUp to bed. He falls asleep almost instantly and rarely wakes in the night. Most every night I go in about an hour after he falls asleep and "unwrap" him: his technique for falling asleep involves actually wrapping his head up in his blanket. It's creepy, and it used to freak me out completely. It's still unnerving, but I figure if it hasn't killed him yet it probably isn't going to. I actually bought his blanket with his habits in mind, making sure it was very breathable.

Tonight Plato was in thinking mode. During prayers, he was listing the people he was thankful for: Mom, Dad, Lulu, family and friends. Then he said he was thankful for Christians. It caught me off guard as we haven't discussed Christianity per se. He paused, then asked me what a Christian was. I explained that Christians believed in Jesus, and this seemed to satisfy him. He then said he was thankful for "...well...who was Noah again?" I told him about the Ark and the animals, and he said, "Oh yeah. I am thankful for Noah. And Jesus. And Johnny Appleseed."

As I was tucking him in, I asked him if he had fun playing with Olivia. He said "yeah," and started blushing! I asked him if Olivia was his friend (like many little girls, her friendship is fickle). He said "yeeeesssss," and started grinning like a cheshire cat. I raised my eyebrows, and he offered, "Well....she's actually sort of my GIRLfriend, but I'm trying to keep it a secret!" I asked him if his friends knew about it, and he said "Noooo." I asked him if Olivia knew about it and (thankfully) he said, "she doesn't know."

Oh boy.

Well, the dryer is chirping. And LOST is starting. What a great night!

Weekend

I had a really great weekend with my sister and my two best buds. Sis's birthday was Sunday, so Saturday night we took her out. We ate good (fattening) food, drank beer, played pool, and inhaled more than our share of second-hand smoke. Best of all, I paced myself, so no hangover the next day. It was great to see my friends. We still have so much in common, even though we have been out of high school for 16 years and live about an hour away from each other. We are all busy with family and work, but when we are together it is like time just falls away and we pick up where we left off.

My sister is also my best friend. We are 2 years apart (she's 32, I'm 34) and we fought like cats and dogs growing up. When we hit puberty though, we became buddies. We are so much alike: we look kind of alike (except she's way skinnier) but our mannerisms are almost identical. I have had people tell me they met her and knew she was my sister just because of the way she acts (I'll take that as a compliment?). She and her husband of 8 years just graduated chiropractic school. I am SO proud of them. They are now in transition, trying to set up a practice and get their feet on the ground. Hopefully soon they will be able to start trying for a family...I can't wait to be an aunt!

JeepMan got to go to a Jeep club thing, so he got some alone time. It's good for him, and he is much easier to live with when he has an outlet for his "creativity."

I got to spend some quality time with the kids. The weather was rotten so we mostly played games. It's hard to play games with an almost-3-year-old who thinks she needs to play too. The Boss gets frustrated because she wants to be included, and Plato gets frustrated because The Boss is "ruining" the game. I get frustrated because we are supposed to be having fun. Pretty soon it ends up being nap-time. The kids HATE nap-time. I love it. My kids still need naps. This makes me very happy...mommy-time.

Unfortunately the weekend went too fast, as weekends do. Next thing I need is a weekend at home, but that's not going to happen for a while. Oh Well.

I think I just rambled but there it is, saved for posterity.

Dinner Table Conversation 3/16

As a child growing up in my parents' household, I remember that dinner as a family was a high priority. Many topics were discussed, and even the silent dinners still held a sense of sanctity and cohesion. In spite of having a bit more hectic schedule than my parents, I have struggled to preserve this ritual for myself, my husband, and our children. However, it is only in the past year or so, as both my children are becoming eloquent in expressing their thoughts, that I have really come to reap the rewards of this nightly ritual.

Our conversation at dinner last evening went something like this:

Plato: Mom?

(most of our conversations start like this...)

Yes?

Plato: Mom? I LOVE you.

Thanks, babe. I love you too.

The Boss (in that cute squeak that can only come from a 2 year old girl): I LUB YOU TOO MOMMY!

I love you too baby.

Plato: You're the best mommy in the whole wide world.

Thanks, honey. And you are the best boy I could ask for.

The Boss: MOM!! You are da best mommy ebber!

Thanks LuLu (my pet name for her). And you are the best little girl I could ask for.

I notice JeepMan taking all of this in. The kids really do lavish a lot of attention on me. I think it may have to do with the fact that I reciprocate? Anyway, I try to involve him:

And what about Daddy?

The Boss: DADDY IS A POOPY DIAPER!! (she cackles hysterically, very pleased with her sense of "humor")

Plato, nearly 6, is a bit more diplomatic:

Plato: Well, Daddy IS stinky, but he's a good Daddy anyway.

JeepMan just shakes his head and smiles that little smile of his. I never know if he is trying not to crack up or if he is secretly irritated.

Silence for a while. Plato is deep in thought. After a while he speaks:

Plato: Mom? What if the Earth crashed into the Sun?

I struggle to process what he just said. I stare at him. Finally I manage an oh-so-sage reply:

...What?

Plato: What if the Earth crashed into the Sun?

JeepMan steps up to the plate to hit this one out of the park:

JM: Well, I suppose we would all burn up.

(ugh!) Plato's eyes are getting big...time for damage control:

Honey, that would never happen. The Earth has been where it is forever, and it is not going to crash into the sun.

Plato: Well, what if a bunch of people got really fat and the Earth went crashing into the sun?

That couldn't happen. The Earth is much too big.

Plato contemplates this for a minute. Then speaks:

Plato: Well, THAT's why I am NOT going to eat too much sugar!
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I wonder where he gets such thoughts? He comes up with this stuff all the time. Wacky questions that usually start with "Why" or "What if...", observations that usually start with "Did you know..." I realize that much of this is normal for kids his age. He is exploring his world, learning new things every day.

But there is so much more to his thinking. He worries, obsesses.

For instance when he was 4 I had put him to bed. This is a kid that usually konks right out and I don't hear from him for 11 hours. But an hour after I put him down he was in the kitchen sobbing. I asked what was the matter and he told me he couldn't sleep. He was nearly inconsolable! I finally managed to calm him down and when I asked him what the matter was he said, full of despair, "I am NEVER going to learn how to drive a car!!"

He went through a phase at 4 1/2 where he was devastated that he was not going to be able to marry his sister. He obsessed about how he was EVER going to find someone to marry.

His wish upon blowing out the candles on his 5th birthday? "I wish I was seventeen."

His first week of kindergarten was spend mooning over the 3rd grade girl who rides his bus and how she wouldn't be his friend and she was the PRETTIEST girl he knew.

And his current obsession. Death. He told me, "Mom, I just care about EVERYTHING. I don't want anything to die!"

This child has put me at a loss for words numerous times. What do you say to a 5 year old who thinks like a 10 year old (but still is really a 5 year old)? I am finding diversion to be an excellent tactic.
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Well, I am sure the dinner table will continue to provide endless material. That's all for now...

G$