It's Raining, It's Pouring!

It's raining, so we're having a PJ Day at Chase Place!  We're pitching tents, playing with flashlights, and reading books!

It's so neat to have two!  They look so alike, but each have their own personalities!

See, personality!  That's what they have!

I love their innocence, their pure joy!

And the way that they take care of each other!

Sophia has such a joie de vive!  It's contagious!

Relaxing is always fun!

Yes, we like to pose!

And we love you, too!

'til next time!

Let's party!

The Bed-Man Cometh . . .

We all know who "the man" is . . . he's a fictional character, sometimes embodied in the form of a complete stranger, who assists in handling or disciplining the little ones.  I think I've been using "the man" a bit too often . . .

The other night, it was WAY past Sammy's bedtime, and Mike sent him into our bathroom, where I was taking a bath, to say goodnight.  Sammy began crying and saying that he wasn't tired.  Yeah right, I've heard that line before.  I quickly told him "Sammy, you need to hurry up and go to bed.  The man is coming, and he's not going to be happy if you're not asleep!"  Sammy's eyes got wide, he kissed me goodnight and hurried out of the room, and my BFF Amanda (whom I was talking ok, gossiping on the phone with) giggled and said I was going to give my own child nightmares.

Turns out I gave my husband nightmares, instead.  Two days later, in casual conversation, Mike asked me, "Honey, who's the bed-man?"  "What?"  "The other night, when I was putting Sammy to bed, he told me he had to hurry up and go to sleep because the bed-man was coming."  "Who?"  "I know, I said the same thing.  But Sammy says the bed-man comes over every day when he takes a nap.  Who's the bed-man??"

OMG, seriously??  Who is the bed-man?  I wish he was a house-cleaning fairy . . .

We're So Glad to Help Daddy!

Sophia and Sammy were so glad to have Daddy home, they were excited to help him unpack!

Aren't they adorable?

Love my towheads!

It's Only About $300 . . .

I am going to share a big secret with you.  Mike has been out of town for two weeks now.  That's right - 2 weeks.  He left last Sunday, on his way to Las Vegas for a work conference, and we picked him up at the airport tonight.  I've been silent about it, I know - but it was for several reasons.  One being safety, and the second being my sanity - I figured if I didn't give myself the chance to acknowledge and complain about being a single parent for two weeks, I wouldn't notice how terrible it was.

OK, it wasn't that terrible.  But it was a bit stressful.  Don't get me wrong - I have the kids by myself all day long.  However, I'm used to having my relief pitcher come in at 6:30 pm each night.  And I didn't have that.  Plus, I didn't have my best friend, my husband, and the father of my children around.  It was a tough two weeks, but Sammy, Sophia and I survived.  And so did Mike.

We couldn't make it the whole time without a crisis, though.  Our big crisis came in the form of the garage refridgerator.  We have a fridge in our garage.  It's a cheap fridge - we bought it at the Scratch 'n' Dent store for $150 when we moved into our house almost 5 years ago.  We use it for beverages (aka beer), and to hold all the extra meat we buy.  Every January, it gets filled up with deer sausage and all of its various accessories (backstrap, jerky, etc), and we also store ribeye steaks, shoulder roasts, and pork steaks that I find on sale throughout the year as well. 

The crisis began innocently enough.  I had a babysitter on Tuesday night (to celebrate my friend Trish's lingerie shower), and on Wednesday morning I headed to the garage to pull out something to defrost for dinner.  I was a bit suprised to find that the freezer and its contents had started to defrost.  I thought for a second, then figured that perhaps someone had gotten a coke out of the fridge the night before and shut it too hard, which will invariably pop open the freezer (hey - I said it was cheap!).  I pulled out our dinner for the night, shut the freezer, and went about my merry way.  I didn't think to check it again on Wednesday night, or Thursday morning.

As a matter of fact, I didn't check on it again until Thursday night.  Mistake number 1.  We had just finished swimming at my brother Aaron and Trish's house, and I was trying to find something quick to make for dinner.  Imagine my horror to find that now, the entire freezer, all of its contents, and the refridgerator were now defrosted.  Really?  Yep, really. 

I was confused.  Absolutely confused, and unsure how to go on.  I might have started crying.  I called Mike, called my brother, called my parents, and tried to call others.  My brother, Aaron, came over, and he helped me clean out the freezer of its contents.  We were a bit scared to do anything with the food.  After all, while it was still cold, it was definitely defrosted, and who knew how long it had been that way . . . at least since Wednesday morning.  Aaron took the deer sausage home, and he and Trish ended up grilling it and then refreezing it since it had been smoked and cured before.  Everything else was trashed.  About $300 worth or so.  Including the salvaged deer sausage.

I still couldn't figure out what was wrong with the fridge.  The lights still worked, but it was no longer cooling.  My only guess was that the cooling element had gone out.  It was a cheap fridge, right?

Wrong.  We picked Mike up from the airport on Friday night at 8:30 pm.  We got home at 9:37, and he headed out to the garage to check out the carnage.  He opened the fridge door, stood there for a second, and then asked, "Who messed with the dials?"  What?  "The dials are completely turned off, who turned off the dials?"  You know, the temperature dials - the ones that regulate the temperature in the fridge and the freezer? 

Yes, I'm that dumb.  I didn't check the temperature dials.  I just figured the cooling element went out.  Turns out there was a culprit.  "Sammy, who turned the dials?"  He looks at us sheepishly, then says, "I did!"  Really, Sammy?  Wow - $300 later, I'm glad he's technical, but really?  Sammy and I had a little talk about not messing with the fridge anymore.  Mike turned the dials back to the correct temperature. 

And in the meantime, I have a little confession to make.  I was honestly a bit tired of deer sausage.  Everytime I don't feel like cooking, Mike suggests I make deer sausage.  So I've grown to resent it a bit.  Just a bit.  Not enought to purposely sabatoge it, but enough to be a bit glad that my 4 year old fiddled with the temperature dials.  Besides, now I get to fill the fridge and freezer with what I want to fill it with.  You know, popsicles and ice cream!

Kicking and Screaming

I had a watershed parenting moment this morning.  After church, the kids and I went for our weekly shopping trip to our neighborhood HEB.  I like HEB - their produce is fresh, and they also have samples around the store.  Free food is always a plus!  Another plus about HEB is their shopping carts shaped like race cars (although they are a bit tough to steer, and leave me the butt of several 'women driver' jokes around the store) and their free balloons at the entrance. 

I like the free balloons, as does Sammy.  He especially enjoys throwing the balloon up in the air to watch how it falls.  I appreciate the lesson in gravity, but after the third time I have to retrieve the balloon and hand it to him, it gets a bit old.  Especially on a crowded Sunday morning in HEB.  After he started up his game, I told him, "Sammy, I am warning you once - do not throw the balloon again.  I will not get it for you next time."  He responded, ever the optimist, "That's ok, Mommy, I can catch it if I throw it again."  "Sammy, just don't throw it again."

Several aisles later, when we were in the chip aisle, and therefore almost done with our shopping, Sammy decided to test my resolve.  And I'll be honest, as soon as that balloon hit the floor, I hesitated.  I hesitated for a brief second.  It's that age-old parenting dilemma, and it all boils down to an impulse taken in a split second.  Leave the balloon where it lies, and walk away, teaching Sammy that I mean what I say . . . which will end in a screaming fit by him . . . or pick up the balloon, thereby avoiding the screaming fit - and at the same time teaching him to disregard any words that come out of my mouth.

I wanted to take the easy way out.  I really did.  It would have been so easy to pick up the balloon, hand it to him, and press on in our shopping expedition.  Tear-free.  A woman with less resolve would have.  But, alas, I have resolve.  I have an iron will.  Or at least I hope that I do. 

I walked on.  Away from the balloon.  And the screaming started immediately.  As did the stares.  You know which ones I'm talking about.  I was THAT parent.  The one who obviously cannot control her little monster for just a brief excursion to the local grocery store.  And yet, I pressed on.  I asked Sammy to stop crying, I explained patiently to him that I told him I would not get the balloon if he dropped it again, and he chose not to listen.  It was like talking to a brick wall. 

As we turned down the frozen foods aisle, still attracting stares, and now some sheepish glances from other parents who've been there, Sammy chose that moment to swivel in his seat and smack my arm.  Seriously?  He hasn't hit me for not getting his way since he was 2.  OK, wait, he threw a screaming fit like this one in Sam's Wholesale Club a few weeks ago and hit me several times, but I honestly thought that was a one-time thing.  Apparently not. 

As I trudged on, I wondered how far down the parenting totem pole I would fall if I made a mad dash for the potato chip aisle and grabbed the lost balloon.  Just as I was about to, I noticed a little girl skipping out of the chip aisle with a huge smile on her face, and a big blue balloon in her hands.  There went my little rescue plan.  Lucky me.  Not.

I wanted to pick up both kids and make a mad dash for the exit now, shopping cart be damned, but we really needed the food.  I hadn't been to the grocery store the week before, and I didn't want us eating PB&J's all week long.  So I soldiered on to the laundry detergent aisle.  Where I noticed a potential saviour in an HEB red polo.  He was an older man, and he was giving me the eye.  Not the condemning eye, but the good for you eye.  I seized on it.  I leaned over to Sammy and said, "Sammy, oh my gosh.  Do you see that man over there?  You have got to stop crying right now - he's coming over here.  He looks really mad.  You have to stop!" 

And my saviour obliged.  He walked over, stood next to the cart with a disapproving frown, crossed his arms and said in a gruff voice, "What's going on over here?"  Sammy's eyes got huge, he wiped his nose with his sleeve, sniffed a bit and said, "NOTHING."  "OK, then," said the saviour, "keep it quiet."  Sammy's eyes got bigger, and he nodded.  As I turned to the man, my eyes welled up with gratitude, and I mouthed thank you.  He nodded in cameraderie and walked on.

Yes, I used a stranger to help me quiet my son.  But hey, it takes a village, right?  Right?  At least he stopped screaming . . . and we were able to check out, and eat for the week, with no more condemning stares from people who do not know - or have not yet experienced - the joys of children.  They're a joy, right?  Right.  I'll keep telling myself that.

Blackberries!!!

Every year, I try to take the kids to one of the local farms in the area and have them pick blackberries.  I think it's so important for children to learn where food actually comes from - not just the produce section in the grocery store.  Plus, I just plain love picking blackberries!  The place we went last year, Blackberries of Houston, was all out of blackberries by Memorial Day weekend, so we drove just a bit farther to the Matt Family Orchard.  We had to walk a bit farther, but overall we still had a great time!

Sammy and Grayson had a great time palling around!

And Sophia enjoyed eating blackberries!

As did Sammy - look at that bucketful of blackberries!

Sammy, Sophia, Bailey and Grayson

What a great day - after picking to our heart's (and heat's) content, we loaded up and headed to an air-conditioned restaurant.  Yes, we enjoyed our trip down Memory Lane, but at the same time, it's way too hot!  Too bad blackberry season has to be in the hottest part of the year!

He Wasn't Close Enough to Bite!

This morning after Sammy's swim lessons, I took both the kids to the park to play.  Imagine our suprise when we found a new playmate!

Sophia was pretty excited when she first noticed him . . .

Albeit a bit worried he might try to take her food!

But she ventured to take a closer look . . .

And eventually decided that maybe squirrels weren't half bad!  Sammy decided that we should name our new friend "Courage."  Nice to meet you, Courage - come play again someday!

Creative Letters

When you are helping your child learn their letters, don't forget to come up with some ideas that will get their hands and body involved - the tactile-kinesthetic style of learning!  Research shows that younger children, especially boys, really benefit from learning in an active, creative manner.

Some of the ideas I've used with Sammy have been to make letters out of playdough, making our own sandpaper letters, and using our bodies.  However, Sammy came up with this idea all on his own . . .

More than Just a Pretty Face

When I was growing up, I had a very close friend who was always referred to as being "so pretty."  I'll admit it, I was jealous.  She was always the pretty one, and I was referred to as the smart one.  For the longest time, I thought that I wasn't pretty, because I was just the smart one.  Then one day when I was in my early twenties, I woke up one day and realized, it wasn't that I wasn't pretty as well.  It's just that my friend wasn't smart, so they had to make her feel special, too. 

Keeping that in mind, I've realized lately that I spend a lot of time referring to Sophia in terms of how beautiful and pretty she is.  And just as I spent my whole childhood thinking that I wasn't pretty, I don't want my daughter to spend her childhood thinking she isn't smart.  Therefore, I've been making a conscious effort to praise Sophia in different ways as well.  I tell her how sweet she is, how smart she is, and what a ham she is. 

And now I'd like to brag about how creative she is!

See, Mom - it's not just a basket to hold toys!

I can dump it out and pretend it's a chair or a car, too!  Pretty creative, huh?

Oh yes, and I'm pretty, too!