Dragon Pizza and The disappearance of Charlie

I thought Jamie was my stubborn child. Now I'm eating my words. I guess all two year olds are conniving, iron willed little tornadoes of furiousity? We managed to clear out the church cry room. You know...the place where noisy little kids are allowed. Either every other child in there was overly angelic, or Charlie really is that bad. Neither one is very comforting to me. I'm pretty sure the thought forefront on everyone's mind was "Supernanny/Nanny 911 candidate."

I feel like I need to turn in my resignation as his mom, or wear a sign on my head that says "I really do discipline this child."

I haven't figured out how to outmaneuver a kid who throws a fit intentionally so he will get punished. i.e. If he wants to leave the grocery store, he throws a tantrum. He knows he'll get in trouble, but getting in trouble is better than doing something he doesn't want to do.
If he's not allowed to get out of time out until he changes his attitude, then he just pretends he likes sitting there. There's almost no such thing as a punishment where he loses. At least not yet. We're still working on it.

He woke up at three in the morning and demanded cereal and mickey mouse with all the imperialism of an emperor. When that didn't work out so well for him, he stubbornly refused to sleep the rest of the night. Where does he get the will power to hang on that long? I finally "won" that battle, just as Jim's alarm went off and he and Jamie got up for the day.

I'd say how I love getting only three hours of sleep, but truthfully, I don't have room to complain. Normally, they both sleep fine. I'm pretty sure even with the evil spawn that took my sweet baby's place, my life is pretty fun. We get up, we eat strawberry pancakes, and spend the rest of the day either building giant cities out of playmobil, legos and lincoln logs, or we play Jamie's new favorite game. Dragon Pizzeria. Every now and then you stumble across a real gem at the library, and this book is our current favorite. Two dragons who make pizza and deliver it to fairy tale people? The possibilities are endless. Jamie makes the pizza, Charlie delivers it, and together they think up every possible pizza to character combination you can think of. Did you know Frosty the snowman likes ice cream pizza? Lemon drop pizza for Dumbledore, applewitch pizza for Aslan and melon pizza for Appa. The storms we encounter getting from Narnia to Hogwarts are insane. My kids can't carry a tune in a bucket, but they make good sound effects. Probably because they aren't children with human mouths and vocal chords. They're actually dragons. So they say.

Maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time with Charlie. Apparently I need to pick up Dragon Parenting for Dummies.

The post in which life turns out better than I thought

Love is a tricky thing. But when you're a teenager, you feel like an expert.


8 years ago today, Jim asked me to marry him. I'd never been so sure of anything in my life. When we went through premarital counseling, Jim's pastor told us that even though we couldn't imagine ourselves more in love, and we wondered how we could love each other more than we did... give it another day, somehow you discover you love each other just a little bit more.

True words.

We had a difficult relationship. Strict parents, with different ideas on how things should be done. He lived in Ohio, I lived in California. We both got semi kicked out of college, where we had school faculty trying to forbid or destroy our relationship. Lies, separation, lots of rules. We used to fantasize about how amazing it would be to just lay intertwined and watch a movie. How awesome it would be to talk for hours without someone telling us it was inappropriate. Living under a bridge somewhere, sounded like a happy ever after.

Everyone told us that marriage was hard work, but I secretly thought that marriage sounded a whole lot better than whatever the heck you could call our strange dating experience.

I know eight years isn't a lot of time, but so far I've been right. Marriage is so so so much easier... and amazing... and romantic. Everything I thought it would be. We still cling to each other and think, we belong to each other. And it gives us shivers.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing at 19 (still don't), but somehow I got the perfect person for life.


Although clearly I knew nothing about exposure or white balance back then.

Pill Pinching Sky Jumpers

When you've never been in a car accident before... a four car pileup with police and ambulance seems like a big deal. But a week on the other side of it and its barely a blip on the Christmas madness radar. Jim and I both flinch and hold adrenalin contests every time there's so much as a hint of a vehicle behaving abnormally on the freeway, but considering everyone escaped with their life and their health intact... I'm pretty sure that's cause for sheer gratitude.

I wouldn't go so far to say we're into near death experiences around here, but lately it does seem Charlie has a penchant for trouble. Like a cat who can climb a tree, but can't get down. He gets himself onto fridges, cupboards, garage shelves, boulders and trees, but then instead of being the type of kid who's brave and daring. He starts yowling for help after instantly concluding he's about to plunge to an early demise. Funny thing is, it didn't strike him as dangerous to peer over the edge of our hill and then just leap off. It seems like going Princess Bride style all the way down our hill, would be a more appropriate escapade for Charlie to freak out about, but no, that seemed like a good idea to him. I sustained more damage plunging after him in full emergency-mom mode than he did. Humbug.

There was also a brief stint where Charlie tried out his skills as a prescription pill napper. A frenzied call to Poison Control and I learned that alzheimer medication, thyroid and calcium is not a dangerous combination for a two year old to take. Who knew. I'm sure The Children's Hospital is grateful to have one less kid in its ER this season.

Jamie and Charlie were given swords and candy last night after dinner. Weapons and Sugar. Baboons with firecrackers and bullhorns could not have been louder or wrecked more havoc. They slept with their swords like true warriors. After all, you never know when you might need a foam and plastic weapon to call down wrath from heaven.

Now we're off to build an epic gingerbread castle. May I be granted grace and patience.

Bye bye binkie

Trip to the dentist today revealed Charlie's teeth and bite are officially taking a hit from the pacifier. Booo...



Never could get Charlie to call it his binkie or any other such cute name. He calls it his "wire". Appropriate I think, considering it's attached to him at all times (if he has his say in the matter).

I know he'll survive, but I'm not sure I will. This was the last remnant of babyhood he had left.

Trafficking Nail Polish Remover

There have been days in my life where everything went wrong, I ran out of gas, burned a hole in my favorite shirt, spent three hours driving somewhere only to find it closed... whatever. Then I became a mom, and almost every day is like that.

Last night Jamie got up at 1:30 with a splinter in his foot that I misdiagnosed and paid for by 5 am. Charlie kept throwing his covers on the floor only to wake up a shivering little mass of tears. I'm so good at navigating the space between my bedroom and theirs that I can do it without putting on my glasses or turning on any lights...that is unless the dog decides to plant himself somewhere in the middle, in which case the floor gets a german shepherd/blind girl sandwich. The funny thing is, almost every night is like that. Charlie sleepwalks into a closet door... Jamie wakes up thirsty (and by the sound of it, will die any moment of dehydration)... Jamie is convinced we're all going to eat breakfast without him... Jamie is convinced he can't sleep without the dog... I'm pretty sure it's been a good 5.5 years since I last slept through the night.

But it's not that motherhood is difficult and exhausting, it's more like your body morphs and adjusts and you have loftier goals. Because all those bad days? Really not that bad. I try to think of it like a CEO. If a pizza delivery kid had to run Google for a day, it would probably be the worst day in his life, at the very least it would be the most challenging day of his life. But if you're a real CEO, then you wanted that job, it's what you'd been working towards your whole life. So all those lives you have the capability of ruining? All the Stress? All that money you have to answer for? It's really just your new normal.

So when I got caught shoplifting at Target for stealing finger nail polish remover, I reminded myself it was not an unusual day. This was my idea of fun. I could have been on the phone like Jim, talking to cranky doctors and working out contracts. Instead I was profusely apologizing to a Target employee for my son who had tried to be helpful by bagging up our purchases...prematurely. Curses on reusable shopping bags. They sit in shopping carts tempting small fingers to fill them. I walked away from the experience, only to discover two more (very small) unpaid items in my bags, which I then had to confess and pay for. I got in even bigger trouble the second time, and they certainly didn't congratulate me on my responsible values.

Today I brought home a forty dollar bottle of champagne I did not want, but yet somehow bought anyway. I'm not sure what happened. Costco is one of those places with checkout counters where you go one way and your cart goes the other way. Not a good situation when you have two tap dancing monkeys in the cart. They escaped, I of course was a whole counter away (not close enough to enact a successful death stare), and acrobatics ensued. There was more employee angst, and suddenly I ended up at my car with a receipt for way more than I thought I'd spent. Some people would never make a mistake like that, they probably have a policy against signing receipts without looking at them. However I am not one of those people.

Which brings me to supermoms. They don't exist. Everyone complains bitterly about the hapless supermom, but it's so far past cliche these days it needs to be stricken from the English language. Supermom is made of glass and stuffed with straw. We only set her up when we want to rant about someone but can't name names. We do it (I think) to make ourselves feel better, which is what I'm doing now. I just compared my life to a CEO, and yet I've stooped so far below what a good mom should be, I don't even know what she looks like anymore.

But I did buy an unopened Psalty record today at the thriftstore for a dollar. That makes me happy. It makes Jamie and Charlie happy too. It's been a long time since I rocked out to "Arky, Arky".


Oh, and I lost Charlie somewhere in a McDonalds playplace. Those twisty, plastic maze things swallow children whole.

The year of the bees...

So many things I want to write down to remember. Like Jamie can read now, Charlie has finally made it out of the zero percentile for height and he says "peep-a-peet" for "trick-or-treat". Jamie did not inherit my sense of direction, as he quite regularly tells me things like "are we going to take the 15 or the 125 to Great Grandma's house?", he also works as a mini navigation system if I'm off in la la land. I get annoyed because driving used to be the only time I could think for a few minutes without being interrupted, but those days are gone.

Mostly though, this has been the year of the bees. If bugs were chess pieces. Spiders would be rooks because they can only move laterally. House flies and ants would be pawns and bees would be the queen, because they move every which direction and have an uncanny ability to check mate. Last year we had whole nests of bees and I lived in holy fear they would sting us...of course, we never got stung. This year there is nary a bee around. A few in the garden, a few flying here and there but nothing out of the ordinary. My poor children however, have had the worst luck. Jamie got stung in the foot, and it swelled up so bad it looked like someone blew up a latex glove and painted it purpley red. Last week he was playing outside and a bee flew up his boxers and stung him right in the nether regions. I sort of panicked, not knowing if private parts needed different treatment for stings than other areas, so I called his ped. Turns out abnormal swelling and itching are the biggest symptoms of a sting in that area. All week I've had to explain to concerned looking parents that Jamie really isn't doing what it looked like he was doing. Thankfully everyone was more than understanding and it healed up just in time for Charlie to get stung in the neck on Monday. It looked like a jungle native nailed him with a poison dart to the carotid artery. Such a pleasant picture for one's baby. It got him out of his scheduled immunizations that day though, so I guess there was a silver lining from Charlie's perspective. I sympathize with his pain, as I personally would rather take a whole platter of vaccinations over a bee sting.

I almost feel like banning the outdoors as I'm pretty sure we must have blinking signs over our heads saying "sting me...sting me.". Although yesterday I caught Charlie trying to catch a bee with his bare hand, so that may have something to do with it as well. Our trusty dog is an ever present help in times of trouble as Barnabas views bees as a tasty delicacy. He snaps them right out of the air and eats them with grace and panache. I need to clone him though, as he has a hard time being near all three of us at the same time.

I took Charlie's two year old portraits finally. You'd never guess it was the same location as Jamie's. Amazing how the landscape can change so fast. Charlie's such a funny looking little chap. I tell Jim he has as many moods as a pms'ing girl...until I'm actually around a pms'ing girl and then it's manifestly obvious he isn't nearly as bad as I think he is.

Zach The Horse

He was a part of my childhood, a constant presence that followed me through to adulthood. I nearly accidentally killed him in 2005, but old age finally caught up with him and the sweetest horse that ever lived, died yesterday.

(Hannah and Zach in Spring 2004)


He was a great big, chestnut gelding, with a gigantic head and an even bigger heart. Despite the fact that he was easily the most laid back horse on this hill, he maintained such respect and genteelness, he was at the top of the herd's pecking order (second only to Kayla who is neither nice nor sweet). Kids learned to ride on him (including myself), and while he would never in a million years be anything but gentle, he stubbornly ignored all commands until you learned to sit firmly in the saddle and issue them correctly. The best part was, that unlike most mellow horses, he still had that spark of personality in his eye and he could run like the wind out on the trail.

Once, Jim and everyone else on the hill was out of town. I was home alone with the infant Jamie, it was a foggy, dark night and someone knocked at my door. I cautiously asked who was there, got no reply and after commanding my beating heart to calm down, I opened the door to...nobody. Thinking I had been hearing things, I locked the door and turned the TV back on. This time there was a knock at my kitchen window. Again, I gave a quivering "Hello??" before sticking my head out the window and seeing...nothing. By the time the third knock came, I was beyond all semblance of calm or brave. I got the shotgun out from under the bed, despite having no idea how to load it or even where the shells were (don't judge me). I figured if worse came to worse, it was also the closest thing to a club I had in the house.

Sure enough, another knock came at the front door, and this time I was crouched and ready for the sinister intruder. I threw open the door, empty shotgun at the ready, and into my living room swung the biggest horse head you've ever seen. Seems someone (me probably) forgot to lock the corral gate, and Zach was snacking his way in circles around my house.

Good thing I don't know how to load a shotgun.

We miss you Zach, and I'm sad my kids won't get to grow up riding you.