Dear Craigslist:

For Sale: Brother-in-Law

1964 Heterosexual.
Never married. Low mileage. No baggage.
Original hair and teeth.
Handsome, smart, funny, athletic.
Owns own home and business.

Interests:
Sports,
Mooching meals,
Drinking beer,
Long walks on the beach
Name-calling
Introducing minors to scatological humor
Arriving 30 minutes prior to nephews' bedtime for
Wrestling Extravaganza!

Motivated seller.
All serious offers considered.
Pictures furnished upon request.


The fine print:
*BIL is being sold "as is" and all sales are final.
** Potential buyers must survive pass rigorous interrogation by mother, SILs, big sister.
*** Apply at your own risk.

Trying to Reason with the Hurricane Season

Full Jimmy Buffet download to follow but for now, Kristen, this one's for you:

Send more business cards. Everywhere I wear these, I always get complimented and questioned.

We Can't Have Nice Thingz - The (letter between R and T) Edition

Five Weekz. I don't know what I'm complaining about. I mean, my lovely, lovely laptop waz whole and complete with all 26 letter keyz pluzz all thoze otherz for a whole five weekz.


Now we have thiz:
And, following my attemptz at repair, we have thiz:



(Iz it juzt me or doez four piecez for a button the zize of my ring finger pad zeem a little excezzive?)





Damn you, June Cleaver Nirvana and your damn Pot Luck! If I weren't on your zite, RC might have actually recieved my attention and not climbed onto my lap to flick the (letter between R and T) right off my keyboard!

What waz that? You were zerving me up an AWARD when thiz occurred?



Um. Never mind. I'm delighted! You make my day everyday! Ezpecially thoze witty and wonderful pot luckz!

Why I Spell Kenmore with an F

Before:

After:

I can't even blame the boys for this one. Just really cheap parts.

No Matter What

Yesterday afternoon, we are once again out on the school playground, RC happily and peacefully playing in the sandbox with his girlfriend, Sophia, me, chatting it up with the other mommies, and HRH...

I heard a funny "click" sort of noise and turned to see HRH completing his pitch, arm returning to his side. "What did you just throw?" I ask. "A rock," he answers.

And as I stand there, I can hear a strange hum and look to see the LARGE plate glass window of HRH's preschool splintering into a million little spider-webby cracks. It took me a minute to process and called to another mommy-friend to make sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. Sure enough, HRH had broken the window - but good. Marilyn says, "you need to go tell the Director." Um...yeah...

I call the two boys and head for the school's entrance. HRH grabs my arm and I turn to find him crying. "Please don't tell Mrs. Stoffel!" He pleads. "I've got to, buddy. This is a big deal." He doesn't want to follow and I eventually tell him to stay with Marilyn while I go in search of a teacher.

As the director and I examine the damage, she sighs, "it's the big window." Of course it is. It's also shatterproof glass so although it's smashed into a million pieces it's still intact, for the time being.

Afterward, RC and I go back to the playground to get HRH. He's no where to be found. The other mommies said he'd followed me into the school. I begin searching the school and calling for him. The remaining teachers and Director hear me and begin looking as well. Minutes that felt like weeks later, his own teacher finds HRH hiding behind a large bush in the front of the building. She calls to us and when I arrive, she's hugging him and telling him it's okay. He is sobbing and his face is blotchy red.

I get down on my knees and hug him telling him how worried I was, that he should never hide when he's afraid, that although I didn't like what he did, this was an accident, it was okay, and all the other soothing mommy things. He looks at me and says, "I didn't think anybody would want to see me again." I answer that I love him and everyone understands it was an accident. He says "I didn't know if you'd still love me after that." I answer,

"Babe, you know how I always tell you 'I love you, no matter what'? Well, this is no matter what. And I love you. Let's go home."

We've discussed it. We've talked to Daddy. We learned that he was throwing the rock at the playhouse in front of the windows, not at the windows himself. What we did not do was punish him. If the goal of punishment is to help the child learn from his mistakes and feel a sense of remorse, I didn't have to do a thing. Except catch him when he fell.

We Can't Have Nice Things - Birthday Edition

And with the third birthday, comes the third birthday present from Nana. Behold, the Fisher Price Batmobile ATV: Last night, fearing potential rain damage, I grabbed it from the front lawn and deposited it in the dining room. Rookie mistake.
This is what the hall floor now looks like. The round-ish scrapes are actually about the size of a quarter and go right down to the bare wood.

It's an outside toy. Serves me right for trying to shower.

Technique

Actual conversation at our house:

Andy: Hey, did you know that RC knows how to lock the bathroom door?

MM: No...when did he figure that out?

Andy: He was twisting the lock with the door open while we were in there tonight.

MM: You know it's just a matter of time.

Andy: I want you to remember, when it's time to break down the door, the stairs are right behind you.

MM: Uh-huh...

Andy: So make sure you don't try to kick it down (demonstrates Kirk kick move). You'll end up at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, use your shoulder (demonstrates COPS move).

MM: Thanks for the tip.

It really is only a matter of time...

Apparently, He's Not a Fan of Daylight Saving Time

Here's a Riddle for you:

Question: What time is it when your clock looks like this?

Answer: Time for a new clock.

Knock Knock.

Who's There?

It's RC ripping the hands off my clock.


Editor's Note: This is my 100th post. I've been thinking about it and trying to come up with something memorable/special. Actually, I think this one reflects so much more.

He's Got Your Back

Yesterday was our second actual warm-ish, sunny day in months, when the kids were able to play outside after school. It's hard to say no after this interminable winter. So RC is happily digging up rocks in the sand and HRH is engaged in The Pushing Game with his classmate, Timmy, in the school playground.

The Pushing Game (for those of you who are female and/or only have daughters) involves running full bore across the grass and slamming into your friend with sufficient force to knock him down. Apparently, it's a blast. So after seven or eight times of Timmy's mother and me admonishing them to slow down and be careful, we simply gave up. Boys truly will be boys and besides, the grass is like a sponge from all the melting snow and rain.

While we're chatting, we take note a particularly brutal (but clean) hit that lands HRH on the ground with his elbow under him in an unnatural way. We head over to survey the damage. HRH is stoic and doesn't cry but RC witnesses this interchange from his vantage point in the sand. He runs over and with a rock (a stone actually, about half the size of a brick) and launches it, connecting with Timmy's shoulder. "Don't you knock over my big brother," he yells!

Thankfully, both HRH and Timmy were fine and Timmy's mom understands the nature of little boys. No harm, no foul.

Not surprisingly, Andy regaled his entire office with this tale, with all of the men and most of the women congratulating RC on his loyalty and protective insticts. Tonight's dinnertime discussion centered around clean hits and no weaponry.

A hard concept for an an almost three year old. And for a mommy.

Can't Wait to Hear This Explanation

For those of you who know my 2-year-old, it's no surprise to hear that he's never met a mess he didn't make. I knew when saw this shirt on Babybrewing.com, that I had to have it. Truly the perfect marriage of man and medium.

Here is RC with his new shirt (Diego yogurt stain sold separately):
Here he is, several stains of unknown origin later, about to upend the dog's food and water and throw it all over the kitchen.which involved the use of these:and causing him to be placed in time out:
The shirt held up beautifully.
Manic Mommy? Not so much...

What a difference a day makes

Yesterday, after we put the kids to bed, I lay on my bed in my pink plaid flannel pajamas and told Andy that today had felt like failure. The score was:

Kids: 1 (or 1,000 if I felt like being melodramatic)
Mom:0

Both kids have had a cough for the better part of a month. That's it; a dry, croup-y, wakes them and us up all night, oh-by-the-way, we-don't-give-cough-medicine-to-kids-under-age-40-anymore cough. They're irritable, I'm irritable. We're having listening issues, and respect issues, and sleep deficit issues.

Oh, and RC continues his antics in spades. Yesterday, it involved him attacking this Erector set/drinking straw/scaffolding-looking thing that HRH's whole class had worked together to build and was being displayed in the hallway for all the parents to admire. Uh, not anymore. It's funny, it's exasperating, it's two-year-old behavior - and it's happening far too frequently to be amusing anymore.

It basically came down to me not being the kind of mom I wanted to be. I yelled when I should have reasoned, I reacted when I should have ignored, I relented when I said no too quickly, and I resented being that way.

Fast forward 24 hours: I was reasonably sure that the primary topic for tonight's Parent-Teacher conference would be my allowing HRH to attend preschool when he clearly has tuberculosis.

Instead, Andy and I sat and beamed while the obviously skilled and insightful educator explained that in all her years, she has NEVER had a student so advanced for his age - academically and socially. That my boy is "a joy to have in the classroom," that he eagerly helps others, expresses his emotions positively, blah, blah, blah: superlatives, compliments, accolades.

I'm modest, so I won't bore you with the praise she heaped on us for the work we've done with him.

Clearly, I am the best mother in the world. Until tomorrow.

The Death of Me

Huh?

Hmmm...

Uh oh...

Hmph.

Personally, I would have skipped the Special K and gone for the Lucky Charms.

But that's me.

We Can't Have Nice Things - 2 - The Car

As I was taking these pictures, then downloading them, I had to decide if I was too emabarassed to show them. I guess I have no shame. For ease of reference, I've divided the pictures into specific sections.

I. PHYSICAL DAMAGE:

A. No good deed goes unpunished.

Andy was away on business at the same time that my youngest sister totalled her car (I know, bad omen). Rather than her shelling out the money on a rental, I told her to take my truck for a few days while Andy was traveling and I'd drive his car. How can I get mad at her when she was hit and run in a parking lot? I can't - Andy can get a 'little' mad...

B. Why Andy can't be mad at my sister anymore.

I previously mentioned Andy's boat, That Kintner Boy and that he'd gotten most of the parts from Ebay. One such part involved a drive to a farm in Rhode Island. After carefully loading the parts into the back of the truck in big plastic bins to keep the back neat, he proceeded to drive into a huge boulder located directly in front of where he'd parked my truck.

C. From dual zone control to zero zone control (what a metaphor).

As a child, I fondly remember sitting in my friend's father's car and playing "driving" and thinking my parents were total party poopers for not letting us play in their cars. Uh, well, if you look closely, you'll see the shiny copper of a penny stuck in the bottom of the slots where the heat/AC controls should go. Attempting to remove the loose change (the penny has friends) cost us both hand controls. We now rely on a old house key to adjust the heat. Very handy.

II. TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

A. Can you say "peripheral vision impairment"?

Last year, HRH was having some difficulty with some of his pronunciation, so we signed him up for speech therapy. After each session, the therapist would give him a sticker for a job well done. After the first visit, he was so proud of his sticker, he asked if he could place it on the window. I, of course agreed. Never in my wildest imaginings did I envision just how many places will hand out stickers to preschoolers when asked using perfect diction and an adorable smile. You may recognize the top ones as the labels Starbucks uses to denote different blends of coffees. They're the kids' favorites.

B. The 'way back' Mr. Peabody.

Here we've got leis and stuff from the Jimmy Buffett concert on Labor Day, my yoga bag, grocery bags (I'm so green), hand-me-downs returned by my sister more than a week ago that still haven't made it into my house, the stroller, an extra sweatshirt or 12, and to be honest, I just don't know what else.

III. SUPERFUND SITES

A. Harboring that Supervirus Bossy Mentioned

This is the door handle on RC's side of the car. Other than the lollypop sticks, I really can't identify the what else is there. I don't open or close his door from the inside so it took me a while to even notice this petrie dish.

B. What? His Feet Don't Touch The Floor

This is the floor in front of the seat where I allow my child to sit. Whatever he's got in his hands, gets immediately dumped - M&Ms, goldfish, vanilla milk from Starbucks, giant M&M cookie from Starbucks (are we sensing a pattern here?) orange crackers, etc. I know; stop letting him eat in the car. NOT AN OPTION.

** In answer to the question all of you are asking, yes, these pictures did shame me into taking the car to the good car wash that vacuums it out for you. And yes, I tipped well.