Plato's Plans

As I was getting ready this morning, Plato (now 9 1/2) was in a rather expansive mood... likely in part due to the sugar-high he was on from the Oreos he had eaten for breakfast. It was one of those increasingly infrequent mornings where he just talks and talks and talks... and I just listen, nod at appropriate intervals, and murmur, "mmmhmmm..." every once in awhile.

But I'm not ignoring him, oh no. I love to hear him talk. I drink in his words like they were the elixir of life; and I suppose in some way they are.

Lately Plato has been rather fixated on planning out his life. It is so like him; I have always thought of him as a rather old soul, and others have pointed this out from time to time as well. School has provided many opportunities for him to become interested in a variety of topics, which lead to his random announcements as to what he is going to be when he grows up.

Thankfully, he has outgrown the urge to be a garbage man... I mean, *ahem,* Sanitation Engineer. And I am not saying that because of the pay: I honestly can't imagine my little man working in STINK all day every day!!!  No, his interests of late tend to lean toward more lucrative professions which puts me in a bit of a mommy-quandry: I don't want to push him toward working "for the money;" at the same time I know that working for little money can really suck rocks. So if he leans toward something financially appealing, and happens to LIKE it too... well, doesn't that mean I should nudge him in that direction while he is interested? That doesn't make me a bad mom, does it?

This morning he told me that he is going to hold down several jobs. He is going to be an orthodontist, a professional baseball player, an architect, and a chemist. All of which, he points out, pay well. I told him I'm just glad he is planning to do something that he loves when he grows up. He says he will.

He paused a bit and I checked his reflection in the mirror as I applied my mascara. He was in classic Plato "thinking stance:" head down, hands in pockets, rocking on his toes a bit as he studied them. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his little head. Something inaudibly clicked, and he suddenly looked up at me. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Do people actually get PAID to drive a zamboni?"

It was really really hard to stifle a giggle, or to keep from poking my mascara wand into my eyeball. "...well, I mean... of course they do. They don't do it for free."

His shoulders dropped and he blew out the breath he had been holding. "Oh GOOD.  'Cause that's how I am going to help pay my way through college. I'll drive a zamboni part time."

Quite satisfied with himself, he turned to head to the living room. Calling back over his shoulder he reassured me, "See Mom? I've really got my life all figured out. It's gonna be AWESOME."

Yes, Plato. It is going to be awesome. You rock, buddy. Mama loves you.

Overheard #1 and Lulu Pops The Question

As the kids get older, they keep each other company a lot.  Plato and Lulu get along awfully well for a brother and a sister.  Sure, they quibble, quarrel, and push each others' buttons. But most often they are laughing and playing together.  Lately I've been lucky enough to overhear a lot of their private conversations.  I can't believe some of the things they talk about!  Above all, though, it fills my heart with that Mommy-love.... you know what I'm talking about Moms, that indescribable feeling of love, pride, blessedness, and something more that makes your chest feel like its going to burst.

This afternoon as I was preparing the ingredients for our Snow Day Cookie Fest, the kids were parked in front of the TV ('cause I'm such a great mom).  They were watching Tom and Jerry, the cat and mouse cartoon I grew up with in the 80's.  They loved it!!  Cracking up hysterically and chattering to each other about what was going on.  Eventually Lulu made the observation, "I wonder why they don't talk ever?"

Plato had apparently alreaady figured this out, because he didnt even pause as he answered, "Because it's an OLD cartoon, Lulu, and they didn't talk in OLD cartoons!!"

Guess that makes me OLD.

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As I was tucking Lulu in to bed (remember, she's FIVE), we were going through our ritual bedtime kisses:  Butterfly Kiss (eyelashes), Eskimo Kiss (noses), Regular Kiss (lips), and a Biiiiig Hug. 

She held me in our Regular Kiss longer than usual, and when she pulled away she grinned at me.  "Mommy, we just had SEX!!!" she giggled.

Rather than grabbing her by her little shoulders and shaking her, demanding to know WHO has soiled my baby's pristine little mind, I pulled on my Calm Mommy Mask, complete with Composed Voice Technology. 

"What makes you say that, Lulu?" I asked.

"Well," she began, fixing me with the toddler version of the teenage standard 'my god you're dumb' look.  "When you kiss for a long time that's called sex." 

"No, it's not." I countered.

"What's sex, Mommy?"

I had not planned to have this conversation for a few more years; sheesh.

"We can talk about it some other time, Lulu.  It's time for you to go to sleep."  I flicked on her princess-crown nightlight, which seemed suddenly surreal in the context of the conversation. "I love you, Sweet Pea," I told her as I walked out of the room.

"You have to lay on top of each other while you're kissing for sex, right Mommy?" she called after me, her big hazel eyes and little upturned nose peeking up over her Dora The Explorer comforter. 

I sighed and turned slightly.  "No, Lulu. You don't have to." 

"But sometimes, right? Thats how Eva says you have sex"  (Eva is her older 1st grade friend.... her mom and I will be having a chat).

"Yes, sometimes.  But not always.  Goodnight Princess."  I walked out and shut off the hallway light.  From the recesses of her room I heard her muffled little voice:

"Eeeeeewwwwww......!"

Kid Funnies

Plato and Lulu are now 8 and 5, respectively.  They are both in elementary school, she in Kindergarten and he in 3rd grade.  I watch them interact with each other with a fair amount of nostalgia for my own childhood.  I have a little sister.  I remember many similar conversations, and the dynamic between my two is eerily similar to the dynamic I shared with little sis. 

No doubt there will be more to come on this subject, as they only become more  frustrating fascinating as they grow up.  For the purposes of this post, however, the theme is competition.

I suppose there's a natural amount of competition between siblings.  I imagine it's even healthy, and in the end prepares them in some way for adulthood.  Watching this dynamic evolve, as each becomes more sophisticated and skilled at "the game," is a real treat.  When I'm not banging my head against the wall, that is.

For example, one of their favorite new pastimes is "one-upping" each other. I picked them up from school last week, and our ritual conversation ensued: what did you learn today, who did you play with, what did you have for lunch, etc etc.

This particular conversation itself has evolved, with them reciprocating by asking questions of me as well: what did I do today, what did I have for lunch, etc.  I love this as I take it as a sign that they may be outgrowing (just a bit) their natural egocentricity. 

On this occasion, I informed them that I had eaten a banana for lunch.

To which Plato replied, "Well THAT's not much!"

And I confirmed that indeed, it was not.

"Well, the important thing is that you ate SOMETHING..." he wisely observed.

Not to be outdone, miss Lulu sat up straighter in her car seat and, in a measured (read: superior) cadence, pointed out that, "nooooOOOO..... What's IMPORTANT.... is that you didn't DIE!!!"

Smugly satisfied, she sat back in her booster, arms crossed over her chest and a signature Lulu smirk on her defiant little face. 

And who can argue with that kind of logic? I searched the rearview mirror, finding Plato's eyes already seeking mine.  I smiled at him.  He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

That's my boy.  Picking his battles already. 

And Lulu, her self-confidence ratcheted up a precious notch.

Hey, everyone's a winner.

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!

Alas, Poor Eggy... I Knew Him Well...

A couple weekends ago I was inside, folding laundry - one of my most detested domestic chores - when the kids rushed in excitedly from outside. I knew it was a big deal, as their physical presences were preceeded by pounding footsteps and breathless cries of, "It's MINE!" "Dad said I could hold it TOO! You have to SHARE!!" This is really nothing new in our house but I WAS curious as to what could have captivated them so thoroughly.

As they burst into the living room, tromping all over and scattering my neat piles of freshly-folded laundry, their heavy breathing and dilated pupils spoke to the true extent of their excitement. They stretched all four of their hands toward me, together cupping something that they obviously considered highly precious.

In the makeshift "nest" of their four hands was a perfect-looking Robin egg. Blue with tiny brown speckles, not even a miniscule crack in its shell. It was a little miracle of nature, and the kids were entranced. They were also FULL of ideas.

Lulu's concern was property ownership, and she kept admonishing Plato, "It's OURS, Plato. Dad SAID. It's OURS, right Mommy?"

Plato's concerns were for the egg. He was making plans to incubate it and hatch it, checking all over for a secure surrogate "nest" and appropriate nesting materials.

While they were making themselves busy fulfilling this mission, I was left to babysit the newly christened "Eggy." I looked at him warily, wondering why exactly he was found on the ground intact, as opposed to in the security of his nest or smashed to bits by a pillaging marauder. I gingerly sniffed it. Much as I was certain I'd smell a rat, Eggy smelled just fine. I've heard of mother birds ridding their nests of rotten eggs, but I would figure if little Eggy was rotten, I'd be able to sniff him out pretty easily. Nope - he smelled like fresh mown grass and that's about it.

I let the kids make him a nest from a paper cup and some layers of tissue paper. They each wanted to take turns "guarding" the nest, so I indulged their creative ideas for awhile. Eventually though, I told them that Eggy might prefer to sit in a quiet sunny corner of our kitchen. After much pressuring, they agreed reluctantly.

That evening at the dinner table, Eggy was the topic of conversation. I tried my best to encourage the kids' imaginations without getting their hopes up too high. I kept mentioning that we didn't know what was actually in that egg, maybe there was no baby bird at all, or maybe it had died. Just to prepare them.

They were not to be deterred, however... I overheard them conspiring together about how to get Grandma to give them her bird cage, since Eggy would definitely be needing one when he hatched.

That night, all slept peacefully, and in the morning, Eggy got special status at the head of the table as the kids ate breakfast together. JeepMan and I went about our usual getting-ready-for-work routine. Nothing seemed particularly out of place.

The kids were fed and dressed, JeepMan was ready to go, and I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup when from the kitchen came a loud "ARRRRGH!!!" of pure disgust. This was followed by several things simultaneously: the pounding of Lulu's feet as she ran full-tilt into the bathroom to wrap herself around my left leg, the roar of JeepMan yelling, "ALLRIGHT!! WHO DROPPED THE EGG?!?!" and the horrified wail of Plato screaming, "LULU!!! YOU KILLED EGGY!!!"

Lulu had been on the verge of tears but this accusation from her brother could not go unaddressed. Jutting out her chin, she stomped back toward the kitchen yelling, "PLATO!! I DID NOT KILL EGGY!! HE WAS WOTTEN!!!" She got about three steps from the kitchen, clamped both hands over her nose, did an about-face, and ran back into the bathroom, mumbling nasally, "UGH, and he SMELLS BAAAAD!"

Now I've heard that a rotten egg represents a formidable olfactory assault, but I have never had the debatable pleasure of experiencing the odor firsthand. There are about 5 paces from our bathroom to our kitchen. At exactly two-and-a-half paces, I walked into an invisible but solid wall of stench. There was JeepMan, God love him, on his hands and knees with paper towels and spray cleaner. I had to force back a gag and backpedal with haste. The smell? It was a nearly indescribably noxious mixture of sulfer and rot. For an egg no bigger than a Hershy's Kiss, that sucker delivered a stench that would rival an entire truckload of full-to-the-brim Port-O-Pottys. Man oh man.

After opening all the windows in the house and praying for a nice all-day breeze, we piled everyone into the car to make school and work drop-offs. About halfway to daycare, I noted Lulu holding her wrinkled-up nose in the back seat. I asked her if her hands were still stinky even after she had washed them. She shook her head decisively, once, continuing to hold her nose. "Then what is it,?" I asked.

She looked down at her dress, brow furrowed, and held up a few ruffles. "SEE!!! I've got Eggy all over my dress and he STINKS!!"

Thankfully we keep a spare set of clothes at daycare... what a morning!!

Random Kid Funnies

It's been awhile since I've done any Kid Funnies - in part due to the fact that I'm around my kids a lot less. Nonetheless, they DO still say some hilarious things, and I sometimes have the presence of mind to write them down for publication! Here are a few of late:

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Plato had his half-birthday celebration at school last month. He is a summer baby so never gets to do his ACTUAL birthday at school. He got to be the "Star of The Week," brought treats, the whole 9 yards. When I asked him about his special day, he said excitedly,"Mom!! For my birthday? In Music? The whole class sang happy birthday to me and I got to hit a BONG!!!"

I was speechless for a few seconds. Seeing the look on my face, he explained, "You know, like when we were at the Mongolian Grill and I put a tip in the jar and got to hit the BONG and make that loud noise?"

"Oh!! Honey, I think you mean a GONG..."
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My dad sent us some pictures in an email of the President's visit to his hometown. He was involved in preparations for the President's visit, and got to watch the helicopters land and the president go to his limo, all from the roof of his work building. One of the pictures he sent was titled, "My Friends," and was a photo of 3 snipers posing with their "golf bags."

Try explaining snipers to a 4-year-old. Plato got it, but Lulu was just confused. I used an example of a butterfly flying across the street.

"See that butterfly? A sniper could shoot it with a gun and not miss it. They're really really good at shooting things."

She processed this for awhile, then asked, "....sooooo, they like to shoot butterflies?"

"No, honey, that was just an example!! Butterflies are small, and that one is far away, and a sniper can shoot something small from very far away, that's all I'm saying."

She was not to be deterred. "But butterflies won't hurt you, so you SHOULDN'T SHOOT THEM!!"
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Another Plato-ism:

JeepMan: "I brought you kids some gum, who wants some?"

Plato/Lulu: "ME!!!"

Plato: "What kind is it?"

JeepMan: "Cinna-Mint"

Plato: "Sediment? What kind of gum is THAT?!?"
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And the not-s0-funny:

Plato: "Mom? What does a boy have to do to help a girl make a baby?"

GAH!!! He's only 7!!

Kid Funnies

A couple quickie kid funnies from this weekend:
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Today I decided to exercise at home rather than at Curves. I changed into my yoga pants and tank top, and as I was changing Lulu said she wanted to "exter-size" with me. I said sure, and we proceeded.

As we were stretching on the floor in Child's Pose, Lulu and I were making faces at each other from under our arms. We were giggling like crazy!

As we rolled to our sides, Lulu asked me, "Mommy, why are you growing your hair so long?" I HAVE been growing my hair for the past few months, and was surprised she'd suddenly made an issue of it.

"Well, honey, I want a different hairstyle. And when it's long, I can pull it back into a ponytail."

She stared at me a moment with her brow furrowed, then seemed to grasp what I was saying.

"No, Mommy, not THAT hair!! I was talking about your armpits!"

Guess its been a while since I shaved. *blush*

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Plato was snuggling in bed with me this morning. He was in a speculative mood. We were suddenly talking about life after death.

"Mom? When we die we turn into angels, right?"

Right, honey. That's what I think.

"Well, if you die before me, you'll be an angel first. When I die will I be able to see you ever again?"

Of course, Plato!

"Well, how will I find you? Or how will you find me?"

Well, honey, when people love each other very much, their spirits can always find each other, no matter how far apart they may seem.

He mused on this for a long moment.

"Like how? Echolocation?"

Holy crap. This kid is unbelievable!

MY AWARD!!!! (and a Plato funny)

Dude, I'm so lame. I've been desperately trying to keep up on my blog-rounds, and have come to depend on my handy-dandy little widget over to your right there to let me know when people have posted. It's like my own Google Reader, right here on my front doorstep!

Anyway, the thing doesn't, of course, tell me when I've missed more than one post....so when I go visit, I need to click on the blog title, not the post title, then scroll through to make sure I haven't missed anything.

Well I goofed. Big time. SUV MAMA gave me an award on NOVEMBER 29 (yes, you read that right!) and I only just discovered it this weekend. I'm not sure I even still deserve it, but since she hasn't taken it down or yanked the graphic, I'm claiming it today. Here's what she wrote (about moi)!

"...I don’t think she’s revealed her “real” name but I think it’s okay if I call her G.

G was kind enough to meet me for dinner in Denver. I had a lovely time. We talked as though we had known each other for years. She’s just that kind of person- warm, funny, and sharp. My kind of cheese. G’s brain is always on, always working, and always going faster than the speed of light. Her view of life is positively interesting- and centered on being a grounded, dedicated wife & Mom who has achieved success through hard work- and yes, ingenuity..."

(sniff, sniff) Oh, you're done?

Well, I will agree with my brain always on, but the "always working" part seems to have been missed this time. Maybe it's because it's been going TWICE the speed of light lately...yeah, that's it! Either way, you all know me by now, and I am going to chalk this one up to a blonde moment.

Thanks, SUV Mama (Jess). I'm honored by this award and will place it proudly in my sidebar. You rock, and I'd love to meet you in Washington should I ever get the pleasure of going there again. Keep that baby boy of yours snug in your belly for the holidays, and I can't wait to hear all about him when he arrives, safely and soundly. You're the best!

Now, here's the award:

Tah-Dah!!
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And a Plato funny:

We spent Saturday night at my folks; they babysat the kids while JeepMan and I went to a lame-0 Jeep Club Christmas Party (that was so lame it doesn't warrant elaboration).

The next morning my sister, "Aunt Tiff" and I were at the breakfast table with the whole family, discussing the evening before over fresh strawberry belgian waffles, a-la my dad. She had babysat the kids with my mom.

Apparently they were having a snack of sliced apples when Plato inquired as to what the nutrients in the apples were good for (a topic near and dear to his heart ever since the nutrition unit in 2nd grade).

Aunt Tiff: "He wanted to know if they were healthy for his eyes....or for his bones...or for a 'chest cold...'?"!

This last was accompanied by a cocked eyebrow and quizzical look.

Me: "Well, he HAS had a yucky cough for a couple days, but we've never called it a 'chest cold;' wonder where he heard that?"

Mouth full of waffle, Plato mumbled something that sounded like, "Thf nf wumf umf dumf."

Me: "Plato, don't talk with your mouth full. Swallow, then you can speak."

Dutifully he chewed and swallowed. Even took a drink of juice. He cleared his throat and spoke.

Plato: "I SAID, 'That's not what I said.'"

Aunt Tiff: "Well, then, what DID you say?"

Plato: "I ASKED, was this healthy for my eyes, my bones, or my Testicles!!"

Suddenly JeepMan was trying desperately not to spray waffle all over the table, my mom was speechless, my sister was turning several shades of red trying not to bust a gut laughing, and my dad was hunched over the waffle maker, his shoulders shaking with probable laughter.

Plato, being a quick study, immediately claimed the spotlight:

"You know, my BALLS!"

Dear Lord:

Please Save Me Now.

Amen.

Scraplets and Chunklets

My life has been very disjointed lately, and so this post shall be reflective of that state.

On the Blog front: I have to say this because it just makes me giggle over and over. I've installed the new Feedjit widget, which lets me know where my traffic comes from and how it gets here. I am surprised at some of the searches that lead people to my little thoughtful spot: "Vitamins for Fidgety Children," "Boobs Showing Scrubs;" etc.

But the one that almost made me spew hot coffee out of my nose was this one: "Brendan Fraser Nipples."

Holy Crap. That's awesome!

Now I see why Penelope uses "Rush Limbaugh" as her chumming material of choice. Put it out there, and the sharks will start to circle!

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On the Man front: I haven't mentioned JeepMan lately. Probably because he's being very, very good. In fact, this whole travel-work-thingy has brought us closer together. It's definitely deepened our appreciation for one another, and we cherish the time we have together even more. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder...or (pick a cliche).

I see him mellowing in his "old age," too (37!). Maybe it's because the kids are getting older, and more self-sufficient, and the gap in development has narrowed. He can really relate to them now, and that has chilled him out immeasurably. I really love listening to him talk to the kids, joke with them, play with them. He really is a great daddy, and I can see that very clearly now.

When they were infants? Well, I must admit that I sort of wondered what the heck I had gotten myself into, getting knocked up by THIS guy...!

He did something a few weeks ago that I keep meaning to post but keep forgetting. It's really not a huge thing on the surface, but for HIM? It's big. Huge.

My man, my no-nonsense, pragmatic, get-your-own-door, open-your-own-jar-you-weenie, MANLY-MAN...

(you may want to sit down. seriously.)

...gave up his office - his CORNER office with TWO windows and a DOOR (that closes and locks!)- the office that he earned after 8 years of service in his department- for a CUBE.

Why, you may ask? Is he NUTS? In point of fact: no, he actually isn't (at least not in this particular instance). So what drove him to this masochistic behavior?

Get out your Kleenex.

You're still sitting, right?

He gave his office up for a co-worker who just came back from maternity leave and is still breastfeeding. She has no where to pump except for the ladies' room, and he thinks that's not right. So he gave her his office for as long as she needs to pump.

I'm Verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves.....

After I wiped my watery eyes (which he rolled his own eyes at), I told him, "Now, you KNOW she could breastfeed for the next YEAR or more, right?" He said, oh-so-nonchalantly, "Yeah, well, it's no big deal. I don't mind a change of scenery for awhile."

WHAT A MAN!!!

And before you start getting all suspicious, his cube is NOT close to the hottest woman in the office, or any of the cute work-study students. SHEESH! Like I would'nt see that one from a mile away!!

Besides. I checked.

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And finally, on the Kid Front: Halloween is over, and here are some pics:

We love Halloween - What a blast!

Plato's been pretty quiet lately. He's learning about dinosaurs at school, and by osmosis, I'm always learning about dinosaurs that weren't even named when I was a kid. Like, Teratasaurus? I can't swear it wasn't around, but it wasn't one of the big dozen or anything!!

Lulu has been increasingly chatty. And she's a chatty kid anyway (maybe that's why Plato has been so quiet?). Now that the election is over, she's all excited that Barack Obama won. Which cracks me up! I'm sure it's just because it's fun to say his name.

The funniest thing is that she sees him EVERYwhere. Basically any young-ish, good-looking black man is Barack Obama to her. So far he has been spotted driving a school bus, putting gas in his car, walking his dog, pulling over a speeder, and shopping at Wal-Mart.

We were in the drive through at Burger King the other day, and the guy taking our money was a young black man. Then another young black man came to the window with our food. With both of them at the window, little miss Lulu observed (very loudly): "MOM!!!! DEY HAS TWO BARACK OBAMAS HERE!!!"

I just smiled at the guys. And hit the accelerator as the kids were wailing about ketchup. Ketchup? We have ketchup at home, dammit!

I later had a conversation with her about why she thought those boys were Obama. She said, "Because dey're BROWN BOYS, Mommy! Barack Obama is a brown boy, too!" I explained that just because people have the same skin color, that doesn't mean they're the same person.

Then used a very clever example about Daddy and Brendan Fraser having the same skin color, but obviously NOT being the same person!

Now when she picks up Plato's Nintendo DS and plays basketbal, she yells at the screen, "Shoot the ball, little brown boys!!" Once she caught me giggling and she said, indignantly: "WELL!!! I don't know dere NAMES!!!"

Well, at least she isn't yelling, "Shoot the ball, Barack Obamas!!"

That's all, Folks!

From The Mouths of Babes

Sorry I haven't been around much; not even lurking, which is usually what I'm doing when I'm conspicuously absent. I think I'm having computer withdrawal!

I actually got to be home all last week, which hasn't happened since May. Forgive me, but I didn't go near the computer at all, except one day when I had to do some online expense reports and miscellaneous "housekeeping" chores for work. Other than that, I just enjoyed my kids, my husband, my house, my yard, and my most-favorit-est holiday: Halloween.

Pics to be posted later this week, I hope. For now I am posting a quickie before I embark on my first of 3 flights in the next 3 days.

I try to decorate the yard a bit for Halloween. This year, I put some candy-corn lights in our tree, hung up some ghosts, and made a little pretend graveyard in the flower bed at the corner of our house. I did all this in about an hour on a day when I had to fly out; I wanted to leave the kids a little surprise for when they got home that evening.

When I talked to JeepMan that night, he said the kids loved it.

Lulu sat at the window for about 15 minutes just taking it all in. Then she got up from the couch, walked downstairs, and turned off all the lights.

When JeepMan asked her why, she put her hands on her hips and said, "Daddy! We need to save the batteries for Halloween!"

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Plato has been big into his school's "Election" goings-on. He has been speculative about many aspects of the campaigns. He has already voiced his opinion about who should be president.

The other day he told me that he knew that he could run for president after he turned 35, but that he didn't think he would ever want to be president.

I asked why, and he said it was a lot of work, and that he would probably rather be vice-president.

Again, I asked why. He was thoughtful for a few moments

"Well, the vice president doesn't have to do ANYTHING. Unless the president dies."

Well, honey, the vice-president gets PAID to be vice-president, so he must do SOMETHING, don't you think?

"Well, I guess so..."

(thinks on it a while)

"Well the White House is pretty big...the vice-president must have to be the butler."

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And lastly, we were all getting dressed to go out to the park, and JeepMan walked into the room with no shirt on. Now, he's no, ahem....Brendan Fraser...but my man looks pretty good to me.

Apparently Lulu doesn't agree. She took one look at him, and her jaw dropped.

"DADDY!! I didn't know you had big boobs like Mommy!!"

Poor guy. Guess I'll have to get him a "BRO:"

The Presidency, Explained

I picked Plato up from school yesterday, which he absolutely loves (so do I). He was bouncy and chatty, telling me all about his day. The highlight of his day was helping his class spell the word "VOTE" with red and blue plastic cups pushed through the holes of a chain-link fence separating their schoolyard from the street.

As we drove by and he proudly showed me his handiwork, he asked, "Mom, are you going to vote?" I told him that of course I would. He replied, "Who are you going to vote for?"

I explained that I hadn't quite decided yet, that I was still listening to the candidates talk and discuss important issues.

Plato informed me that if he were voting, he would vote for Obama. I asked him why. He rolled his eyes and said, "Moooommm! Don't ask me WHY!"

"Well, Plato, you don't just vote for someone because everyone you know is. You vote based on what you think of the candidates. Do you know who else is running besides Obama?" (I was figuring he just liked saying "Barack Obama." It does kind of roll off the tongue...)

"Uhm, John McCain?"

"Yes! Good job, Plato. You've been paying attention!" (as if he has any choice)

Plato thought a moment. ""Well... I would vote for Barack Obama because he talks smarter.

Aannnddd, he LOOKS smarter, too."

"Well. That's a MUCH better reason."

Plato is quiet, mulling something over. Finally he declares, "Mom? I would never want to be president."

"Really? Why not?"

"I think you have to take too many tests, and you probably get really tired."

I agreed, figuring he was talking about the rough campaign schedule and debates.

"Mom? When you run for president do you have to: (pumps arms wildly and pants) RUN for president?"

I stifle a guffaw. Barely. "No, honey, it's just a phrase. Everyone wants to get to the White House, so it's like a race, so they say you're RUNning for office. You don't actually have to run."

"Good, 'cause that didn't make any sense to me."

Reincarnation & Hamsters

Plato asked me last night, "Mom, when we die, do we like, shrink up and come out of another mommy again?"

I had to try hard to process this question, but I finally asked him, "Do you mean, when we die do our spirits come back as a baby so we can have a new life?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

Plato goes to a very culturally diverse school so it isn't surprising that some of his friends might have these beliefs.

"That's called 'reincarnation,' Plato, and some people think that's what happens when we die. I'm not really sure what happens - no one knows, so it might be possible."

Plato was quiet for a few moments, then declared, "Well, I hope that's not what happens. I don't want to have to get all those shots all over again!"

------------------------------------------------------

Doing clean-up today:

Lulu: (holding up a pair of dirty socks) Mom? Where do I put deese?

Where do you think they go, Lulu?

Lulu: In da dirty hamp-ster?

Loves and Fears

A lovely weekend was had by all here at the MIS household. JeepMan got to spend two whole days helping a buddy build a Jeep in Capitol City. The kids and I took a weekend at my folks' house, and my sister joined us there as well, as her hubby was also taking a project weekend.

I love staying with my folks. They are homebodies like me. Not that I don't like to go out and do things, but really, I don't need to leave home to feel that my day was well-spent. This is a fundamental difference between JeepMan and I: he feels that staying at home doing mundane things or just "hanging out" is a detestable time-wasting activity. Many are the weekend days that we have argued about how he feels we have "wasted half the day" or more by not being up, showered, dressed, and out of the house before noon.

Seriously? Gee whiz, I thought relaxing was what weekends were for! My idea of relaxing does not involve showering, let alone wrestling with two kids to get them out of the house...just to BE out of the house!

Anyway, weekends with my folks are my kind of weekends: get up whenever, hang out in our pj's, drink some coffee, make breakfast (or more often, "brunch"), then putz around finding something to do. Frequently we play games with the kids, (Plato used to call my mom "the game grandma"), chat, putter around the yard in the small fruit orchard or the huge garden, then maybe decide to go somewhere, or not. Either way it doesn't matter. No planning, no schedule. Just right.

When JeepMan is there? You can watch him fidget. Not ALWAYS, you understand...over the years he has mellowed considerably and can just go with the flow sometimes. More often than not, though, he ends up hand-washing/detailing the car, mowing my folks' lawn (it takes a long time, good for him!), or running errands. He just can't relax. Or maybe that's how he relaxes? I'll never understand it. His Type A vs. my Type B, I guess.

So this weekend he was hanging out building a Jeep, eating pizza, and drinking a couple beers. He was in Jeep Heaven!! I was snuggling my kids, drinking a couple coffees, chatting with my family, and wallowing in yesterdays' stink: Traveling Mom Heaven!! What a nice weekend.

Saturday we did finally get around and leave the house en masse to go to the Science Center in Capitol City. We rolled out the door around, oh, 1:30.... all the while the disembodied voice of JeepMan screeching in my head, "It's so late it's hardly even worth going now!! It's not even worth the admission price now!!" as I giggled crazily and stepped on the gas while my sister shot me a sideways glance of concern from the passenger seat. Truly, 2pm to close (5:30) was about perfect for my little sleep-deprived offspring. Suck on that, JeepMan!!! Whee!

We took in two demonstrations: Fire and Ice (featuring Dry Ice sublimation, Liquid Nitrogen reactions, and Hydrogen gas combustion), and Crazy Chemistry (highlighting the creation of gas by solids and liquids, as well as the hydrophobic properties of oil and water). Lulu was impressed by the demonstrations, but Plato was hanging on every word, and later told me it was the "Best Day Ever!"

The next morning at breakfast brunch, we were all chatting away when Plato broke in with, "Am I a Carnivore?," through a mouthful of ham. We talked a bit about Carni-, Herbi-, and Omni-vores. Plato decided he was an omnivore, and then my Dad asked Plato if he was a "Phobi-vore." Plato mused on this for quite some time, and with a little prompting decided this meant "was he afraid of his food?" He quickly brought up the science demonstrations from the day before, reiterating the fact that oil is hydrophobic, meaning it is "afraid of water." We asked him what hydro meant (water), and phobic meant (afraid of). We asked him if he was hydrophobic, and he replied, "No way, I LOVE water....but CATS are hydrophobic." We then discussed other phobias. He decided he is "Monster-phobic," "Big Dog-phobic," and "Shot-phobic," amongst other things.



Then he asked what the word was for "like." We explained that "-philic" means "loves." He replied, "Oh! Then I'm 'Mommy-philic!!" (awwww...) He then went around the table naming everyone and putting "-philic" after each name. Even Lulu piped up with, "And I'm Pwato-philic!" I wonder how much she learns from just listening to us...

Finally Plato was quiet for a minute or so, thinking...the boy is ALWAYS thinking. He got a mischevious twinkle in those chocolate-brown eyes, flashed his no-front-teeth-grin, and said, "Mom? Know what else I am?"

"Girl-philic!"

Oh boy.

Under-Britches (A TMI Story)

Home for a 3 day weekend; ahhh, bliss. Lots of hubby-time, and lots of kid-time.

It's funny, when I'm home for a few days the kids stick to me like hot bubblegum to the bottom of a shoe...except, unlike bubblegum on my shoe, I kind of like clingy kids.

They follow me everywhere. I dare not turn around abruptly for fear of clothes-lining one of them or body-checking them into a corner or doorknob!

One place I do miss my alone-ness is in the bathroom. We've never been even remotely modest at our home, which may freak some of you out, but that's just us. Bathroom doors are seldom, if ever, closed. I think nothing of a kid in my face telling me about her school-day while I'm trying to (insert bowel-movement euphemism here), then suddenly grabbing her own nose, screwing up her face, and breathing a nasally "Phew, Mommy, turn on the fan!"

This immodesty doesn't just apply to bathroom duties. We change clothes in front of each other and the kids, too. We don't have shame about our bodies, and we don't want our kids to have it either. My kids have seen just about every part of me, and they're comfortable with that. Consequently they have few qualms about where they put their hands. We respect each others' "privates," (Lulu calls them 'part-ments'), but "privates" is a pretty exclusive term in our house; essentially confined to what's squarely between our legs.

We are a very physically close family, too. Cuddle time is whenever we can. Plato, now seven, unbashedly crawls into my lap and snuggles right in whenever the mood strikes him. I rarely restrict cuddling. I mean, how long are they going to want to do that? I'm taking and giving whatever I can while they're still receptive! As we cuddle, I gently tickle their skin, rub their backs and their feet, stroke their hair, inhale their scent, and kiss their foreheads. They like to reciprocate, offering me kisses and hugs, and tickling and stroking my torso. They especially love my breasts. Sorry if you think that's weird, too. Really, when you think honestly about it, why wouldn't they? A mother's bosom is a soft, comforting place to rest your head; a primitive tie to your first days on this earth and blissful pure love. Heck, there have been times in my adulthood where I think it would be perfectly lovely just to rest my head against my own mother's bosom while she strokes my hair back from my forehead.

But I digress. The point is, my kids like to rest their heads on my chest, and in doing so, occasionally absentmindedly run their hands over my bosom. It reminds me of the gesture of an infant, when breastfeeding. It doesn't bother me, especially if it is truly an absentminded gesture. I do sometimes become uncomfortable with it, mostly if they are fixating on it or trying to push my buttons (no pun intended *snerk*). I'll eventually have to draw the line; "OK, those are Mommy's boobs. Everybody off!! Mommy needs some personal space!"

So this afternoon, Plato and Lulu were following me around. I had gotten undressed from my work clothes and was getting ready to change into something more comfortable. I got down to my bra and underwear, and as I often do, just flopped facedown on the bed for a minute to relax. Of course the monkeys took that as their cue to climb all over me and smother me with kisses and hugs. Sweet, right? Well, Lulu was doing the huggy/kissy thing, but I realized that Plato was rubbing my butt! I was wearing a shiny satin, ...ah, 'control garment,' and he appeared to be enjoying the way it felt, smooth over the vast expanse of my squishy gluteii maximii. I looked back over my shoulder and said, "Hey! Plato! Um, what are you DOING?"

He looked up at me and said, "Mom, are these slaps?"

"What? Slaps?"

He did a thorough mental word-search, absently rubbing his hand in circles on my butt cheek. "I mean Smacks... Are they Smacks?"

Slaps. Smacks... Ahhh, (light bulb!) I get it. "No honey, they're called 'Spanx.' And you can stop rubbing my butt now."

He grinned his little two-front-teeth-missing mischevious smile and told me, "I LIKE Spanx. They feel slippery."

Well, as long as he doesn't want to wear them himself, I guess it's all good for now.
















Why, oh why, do they have skinny bitches model this stuff? You and I both know
they don't wear 'em!!

Hey! The Wal-Mart generic rip-off product could be called:

Skanx

Little Known Facts on KangaWoos

We were driving to the airport today to retrieve my delayed luggage (3rd time in 3 flights - grr), and the kids were looking at the scenery and conversing amongst themselves. I happend to catch a snippet of what they were talking about:

Lulu: Look, Pwato...dere's a kangawoo!!

Plato: (Sighs) Lulu...that is NOT a kangaroo.

Lulu: Yes it IS. Wite over dere!

Plato: I know where you're looking. There's NO kangaroo over there.

Lulu: Uh - HUUUUH..... I see one...

Plato: Lulu, you CAN'T see a kangaroo 'cause there's no Kangaroos in Collegeville.

Lulu: (sassily) Oh, yeah? Where dey fwom den?

Plato: (eyeroll) They're from TEXAS, Lulu.

(Lulu is silent as she thinks about this.)

(Plato is silent as well for a few moments. He's obviously second-guessing himself on the Texan Kangaroo thing.)

Finally:

Plato: Or maybe they're from Asia. They're just not from around here, I know THAT.

Lulu: (sing-song) Asia, Asia, Asia, Asia.......

Come Again?

Here's a recent Plato-ism that I'd forgotten to publish:

To fully enjoy this story you must understand that I'm blown away by the public education that Plato is receiving. We chose the location of our home based heavily on the reviews of the local schools (there are about 10), and we chose a district that was consistently in the top 3. Are we glad we did!

The curriculum that Plato had in first grade was phenomenal. It's amazing how times have changed. I remember being bored out of my mind in first grade. I didn't like my teacher, and she treated me like, well, a first-grader. How dare she?! I didn't have homework until the fourth grade, at least not regularly. Plato has homework about 3 days a week, mostly math. Pardon me, "New Math." This is pretty advanced stuff for first graders if I do say so myself. Graphing, statistics, addition, subtraction, beginning multiplication/division, geometry, and even pre-algebra...I've seen examples of all this year. It made me nervous, actually. And I worried about the homework load. Still does, to be candid.

But it's amazing how much my little sponge of an almost-seven-year-old absorbed.

A few weeks back, Plato and Lulu went to church with my folks while JeepMan and I slept in. If you've been with me for a while you may recall my ambivalence on Catholicism and organized religion in general. That's not the point here, though.

The kids came home with candy bars, courtesy of the weekly post-mass fundraising efforts. They were quite excited.

I asked the kids if they got the big chocolate bars or the little ones.

"BIG, mommy!" Lulu squealed. "Weely, WEELY big!!... Can I hab it for bret-fust?"

No dear, you may not.

Plato was more contemplative. "Mom, they're not exactly big...they're kind of medium."

(The child is a fanatic about perfect descriptors. Where could he have possibly gotten that hang-up?) I asked if it was the big flat rectangle kind:

"Well, not exactly."

I couldn't picture any other kind. I said as much.

"I don't know mom. It's kind of a ... well...uhmmm... a trapezoidal prism."

Meh?

Then he showed it to me:

Well, so it is, Plato.

So. It. Is.

...................................................................

Just for grins, I took this quiz:

You're Catch-22!

by Joseph Heller

Incredibly witty and funny, you have a taste for irony in all that you
see. It seems that life has put you in perpetually untenable situations, and your sense
of humor is all that gets you through them. These experiences have also made you an
ardent pacifist, though you present your message with tongue sewn into cheek. You
could coin a phrase that replaces the word "paradox" for millions of people.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Too true. And weird.

Crap, now I have another book to add to my "Must Read" list.

A Dose of Plato Honesty

Conversation of the weekend:

I was getting changed Monday to go out to the movies. I changed from my PJ shirt into a rather form-fitting shirt that I always wear under something else or with a jacket over. I hadn't put my jacket on yet when Plato walked into the room.

Plato: Mom? That shirt makes you look reeeaaallly pretty.

Thanks, Plato; that's very sweet of you to say.

Plato: (thinks a bit ) .....Mom? Why do girls wear shirts that show some of their boob-skin?

(trying not to choke)....uhhh, well,....Plato, when girls' breasts start to grow, most shirts will show at least a little of their cleaveage. As long as it's not too much, it's okay...

Plato: Weeellll.....I think it looks very very pretty!

Thanks honey.

(a long pause as Plato is obviously mulling something else over that he wants to talk about)

Plato: Mom?

Yes, Plato?

Plato: .....um, you know what? I even like it when a girl's shirt shows some of her boob-crack. I think that is super-pretty!

(ACK!!) ...That's very nice of you, Plato, but I wouldn't go around telling strange girls that you like their boob-crack, ok?

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...

Car Conversation ala Plato & Lulu

JeepMan went in today for an MRI. He's had a couple episodes of visual disturbance recently, and the MRI is to rule out any major cause. You know, work from the worst case scenario to the best, that kind of thing.

This morning on the way to drop Plato off at school, he asked what JM and I were doing today. I told him we had to take JM to a doctor's appointment. As always, both kids immediately wanted to know if Daddy was going to get a shot. I told them no, just an x-ray, nothing that would hurt. Plato pointed out that even grownups had to get shots sometimes. Lulu added that sometimes the shots even hurt, but grownups don't cry.

That's when the conversation took a detour:

Plato: I know someone who got a shot in the BUTT once!

Lulu: In da bumby? (this is her term for girl-parts)

Plato: No. OW!! That would really, REALLY hurt! Not the bumby, but right in the BUTT. I hope I never have to get a shot in the butt.....(thinks on it for a while).....um, will I ever have to get a shot in the butt, mom?

They don't give many shots in the butt these days, Plato.

Plato: Did you ever have to get a shot in the butt, mom?

Well, actually, I did get a shot in the butt once. When I was seven. I needed an operation and they gave me a shot in the butt to help me go to sleep.

Plato: YOU had an OPERATION once Mom?!?! Did it HURT??

Lulu: What's a op-uh-ra-shun, Mommy?

I needed to have my tonsils taken out. Your tonsils are little pieces of skin that hang in the back of your throat. You usually can't see them, but sometimes they can get really big and infected and make you sick. My tonsils made me sick a lot. They would get so big I could hardly swallow. The doctors decided to take them out. They gave me medicine to make me go to sleep, then they opened my mouth and took them out. My throat was sore for a few days, but after that I never had trouble with my tonsils again.

Plato: (awe in his voice) Wow, Mom. I hope I never have to get MY tonsils taken out of my throat!!

Lulu was quiet. She's pretty much never quiet. She seemed to be actually processing all that information. Finally, she spoke up:

Lulu: Mommy?

Yes, Lulu.

Lulu: I bet you'll never eat THOSE again, huh?

Random Thought by Plato

This morning as I was dressing him:

"Mom, when do you think I need to get a job?"

Oh, probably not until you're, like, 18 or so.

"That's good. I really like being just a kid."

(God I love that boy....)