I LOVE it when that happens

I am quite terrible at RSVP'ing to the birthday parties that our kids are invited to. This is true despite the fact that I was terribly hacked off at the people who hadn't called when *I* was planning a party. But the fact that most of these invitations are placed in the kids mailboxes at daycare does not help. That is probably my lease organized time of the day. Between toting a baby through the snow, taming Max from running all around to talk to his old teachers and trying to get two 3 year olds to put on their coats, mittens and hats as well as collect lunch boxes, the mailbox contents are really low on my totem poll.

So, when I got the email this week saying "Hey, let me know if you are coming to Jayden's party Sunday (that I invited your children to 3 weeks ago but you have been too lame to reply)," I responded quickly that Yes, in fact, we would be very happy to join, if we were still invited. It also seemed great timing, given that we had an open house from 1-3pm, and the party was 2:15-4:15. My mom and I got everyone packed into the car ~12:30, went to grab some lunch (wouldn't want to dirty the kitchen), then hit Target for gifts and headed out to nowheresville Plymouth to Pump-it-up. It was totally worth the no-nap day to get the physical activity of 2 giant rooms of inflatable slides and bouncy rooms.

Why, oh why don't I recognize any of the children waiting at the front of the lobby? "We are here for Jayden's party....?" "Who?"

Yeah.... it's NEXT Sunday. Who sends out the "are you coming to the party?" email TWO weeks ahead of time?? Who does that?? 

It's been really fun having the boys back at the house with no naps and no physical activity. I think my mom's in the other room seeing if she can fly standby out of here.

That's a new one...

Spencer came to show me the t-shirt he had chosen this morning. This, of course, means he comes running my way with the t-shirt on, and nothing else.

As he went shooting away from me to complete the rest of the task, this was the battle cry:

LIGHTNING PENIS GUY-UY-UY-Uy-Uy-uy-uy......!

I don't really know what else to say about that....

Vacation

I would say that Omar and I are really about 96% compatible in this life. We have similar general takes on life, on what is the 'small' stuff and the 'big' stuff. We love the same foods and miraculously parent the same (something that was never discussed before we stood at the alter of Lone Lake accepting each other for better and for worse).

But, his idea of a vacation, well... it's just so boy. I know, I know, I had better get used to that... but what is so wrong with sitting around doing nothing for a week. Why can't sun, sand and Pina Coladas be an acceptable way to pass the time? His response - "I want to DO something..." My suggestion of snorkling has fallen on deaf ears. This is why we haven't been south of the border since I kidnapped him for a 36hour trip to Cancun in the days before Max could walk.

So, what does he want to do? What HAVE we spent our vacation time doing? Skiing. Now, I love skiiing... I do. I learned when I was 4 and have never felt any fear out there. I rather prefer to just aim the skis straight down and see how quickly I can get to the bottom. Swerving side to side is for woosies. But, here's the problem. Skiing is COLD. I don't know if Omar has noticed or not, but we've got enough COLD in our lives. To vacation from Minnesota in February to Montana... well that just seem stupid.

Thus, Omar has solved our little problem. Omar is going skiing. Max is going skiing. They leave for Montana today without me. I will be home with all the non-skiing boys for the next 5 days.

I guess that's what I get for saying I don't want to go....

One for Omi and Baba

Well, since I had packed the cord that connects my camera to the computer into some dark recess that has yet to be unearthed, Omar brought a similar cord home from work for me. This is a just a review-in-pictures of the last month or so, for the snow-bird grandparents in Florida (and the always warm ones in Oklahoma, too!)

Bless his (nutty) little heart

Any of you who actually hang out with my family know that Spencer is the kid that refuses to be put in any sort of Ansari Box. Max and Cal look alike, talk alike, play alike and are closer to twins that the twins. Leo looks like another carbon copy of those two, and his disposition so far seems to be following suit - layed back, happy and go-with-the-flow.

Spencer refuses to be lumped into the anonymity. The current

 theories on his path in this life include actor, musician, artist... anything that includes passion for what you do and a refusal to compromise on the way you see the world. As you can imagine, these characteristics in a 3-year-old can be somewhat challenging at times. He colors with wild abandon... paper optional. Drawing on one's own chest is a personal favorite. He flies into your face for hug, with little regard for your nose. He weeps with true devastation when he can't find his blanket, tears pouring down his face (uh, spencer, your blanket is 1 foot behind you...).

He used to have minimal ability to take redirection (no really, you DO have to get dressed, really), but is now taking some pleasure in pleasing others. After a grim breakdown over putting on his own shoes (I CAN'T DO IT!!!!), he has proudly donned them independently for the last 3 days and is thrilled with his little self.

My favorite recent Spencer task showed that he is starting to get a sense for some degree of order in the world. It was more a "letter of the law" than spirit, but it still gave me a sense that if we say something 129485 times, he will get it:

We came home to our squeaky clean home, having emphasized to the kids that we really are trying to keep the house clean. He proudly tromped his muddy little shoes over to the boot tray that Omar had put in the entrance (~5 feet from the door), tromped a second path of muddy little prints back to the front door, put the tray down, then stood on it to take off his shoes. He was so proud of himself, having taken those shoes off RIGHT ON THE TRAY that daddy had set out.

I gave him a huge hug, thanked him for doing so well, and then went to find a mop...

Buying some boxing gloves

A friend of mine is one of 3 boys. He has warned me of the daily loaf of bread and gallon of milk I can expect. Immediately after the twins were born and we knew our life was following in his footsteps, he warned me that boys will beat on each other, no matter what my little peace- lovin, girly self thinks. He also told me his father used to give him and his brother each a pair of boxing gloves if they were fighting and tell them to go out in the back yard and settle it.

When he first told me this, I was mortified. What self-respecting parent would actually tell their children to go beat each other. Surely, this man was half off his rocker...

I can see it.

Seriously, they are only 6 and 3 1/2 years old, but I can see it. When the kids start yelling at each other, whining about whatever grave puzzle or bionicle injustice has just occurred, I have already tired of trying to help solve it. "Use your (damn!) words, not your hands/feet!" is a familiar mantra around here. And I am starting to sound like a broken record. I am realizing that I will have to say these words for the next 18 years (longer??), and I doubt it will be heard any better at age 13 than it is now. After the 3 of them were having fun sliding down their grandparents' half staircase in a sleeping bag, they were shocked to learn someone could get hurt during such an endeavor. After Max got smooshed by a flying Spencer, he decided the proper response was a knee-pile-driver to the young man's stomach. 

Good god....

Ok, I'm never really going to buy boxing gloves, but keeping this place from looking like an evenings entertainment in Vegas is going to be quite a battle...

The latest of the little man

This little guys continues to be the happiest dude around.

LET THE BIDDING WAR BEGIN!

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you.... my children.

Please buy them.