Return from Pooh Corner

Here we are, back from the Happiest Place on Earth.

Yes, we had a great time.

The kids loved it and we enjoyed being with our family. I will get around to posting some photos when the mood strikes, but it may be a few days. That takes energy and I am still in 'vacation rehab' mode. It takes a little while to get back in the swing.

I've decided that some time away, is good on a number of levels.

I love having undivided attention with the kids, except when I am competing with Buzz Lightyear.

I love being away but I am also reminded how comforting it is to come home. There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed--well, unless you share it with too small people and then it's not really yours anyway. But sleeping in your own room with two midgets who sleep sideways still outranks sleeping a a foreign bed with ill-fitting sheets and questionable spring strength.

I also have a deepened admiration for my own carpet. Soft and cushy and although not exactly spotless, at least I know what's on it.

I am not however, glad to return to my own cooking and cleaning. The kids really liked those buffets and I think that indulgent dining only sets me up for culinary rejection in the coming days. Spencer ate more table food at Disney World than he's eaten in his entire life. I'm also in the market for a housekeeper who's name doesn't start with 'M' and end with 'E'.

Well, it's great to go and it's good to be back.

Our Bags Are Packed, We're Ready to Go . . .

The next time the sun pokes his little head up it will be time to board Jay-Jay Jet. We've been counting down the days to Disney World by the number of times the sun has to come up. We're excited and Matthew can hardly wait. Spence doesn't know what awaits him, but he'll get excited and get his little pointer finger out and make his lion growls as soon as we get there. I love watching the kids light up like little Christmas trees. Isn't that really why gazillions of parents have traded Hawaiian hiatuses for the Wonderful World of Disney?

It's 9:50pm, it feels like I've been packing for hours and I still have miles to go before I sleep. See you next week.

Happiest Day

September 21--Matthew at his 4th birthday party with family and friends. I made a chocolate cake (his favorite) and he carefully and lovingly placed a Thomas train and carnival backdrop (from his store bought cake he ate at his friends party), Winnie the Pooh, and some plastic balloons. Chocolate cake=birthday, no matter the occasion. Whenever we eat chocolate cake, he insists that it have candles and we light them and he blows them out--TWICE. So when there is chocolate cake and there is REAL birthday--well, it just doesn't get ANY better than that. He invited some of the neighbors that he likes. He told them they could come without an invitation. He's going to be an Event Coordinator when he grows up. He loves social engagements.
Matthew had his 4th birthday party on September 20. He invited 10 boys and girls from the neighborhood. It was Thomas themed--of course. Each kid got a conductor's hat and whistle (NOTE TO SELF: hand whistle out as a parting gift--not upon arrival). My dad manned a ticket booth where the kids gave their ticket to get on the train.
My labor of love--three trains called Thomas, Percy and James. I stayed up late, I roped Corbin into painting, but I was dead set on making these to enhance the spirit of the day. They turned out just darling--if I must say so myself. Matthew thought they were cool--my work was done.
Our Wal-mart treasure. Sure, I could have made it but I was focusing on cardboard trains instead. Matthew loves to pick out his cake at the store and I'm an easy pushover to make him happy. In my family growing up, we always had a store bought cake for our birthdays and I thought it was pretty cool. Birthdays were the only time we got store bought bakery items, since we lived with Queen Baker.
Pinatas, games, presents. . . it's a wonderful life.

I'm Going to Miss This

This is my sink. It's collection includes, but is not limited to, dirty bottles, sticky bibs, medication, a dish cloth, a face cloth, leftover water from last night's dinner, etc. Pretty much every room in the house looks like this. Alot of days the clutter gets to me, but this morning when I looked at the sink, I thought of these words from country singer Trace Adkins:

You're going to miss this

You're going to want this back

You're going to wish these days

Hadn't gone by so fast

And suddenly, I didn't care what the sink looked like. . .

Halloween Haunts

For the second year, Matthew and I have constructed Halloween haunts from white trash bags. Matthew is in charge of stuffing a second bag in to form the head. He's good at it. I'm in charge of eyes and smiley faces. This year we have a ghostly family--with each designated a member of our family. The "ghost-es" (as Matthew calls them in plural) adorn our aspen trees beckoning all to have a happy holiday.

Matthew is really into decorations right now. He rates the houses we go by according to their decor. He finds "dumb" houses with little or no Halloween trinkets. I certainly don't want to be on the "dumb" list. Who wants to live in a dumb house? I'm so glad for trash bags because they raise our house a notch above the rest--at least according to those on the street who are four feet and under.

Sounds & Smells

What is it about sounds and smells that can immediately trigger a recall of years? I was just finishing up my lunch and heard a heavy metal (not a rock band) crunching that reminded me exactly of the sound in Titanic when the ship was breaking apart. I was in a movie theater in Arlington, VA when I last heard that noise. Hopefully the building isn't breaking apart.

Smells seem to have the same powerful effect--good or bad. Honeysuckle and lilacs always make me visualize where they grew when I was small. The honeysuckle on the Knarr's wooded property and lilacs on the fence at church. Those images never go away when I smell those.

I also can whiff out what I call "somebody's house." This is not to say that someone's house is stinky but certain houses have peculiar odors and I can identify any piece of clothing back to it's rightful home when they carry that somebody's house smell that I recognize. Call me crazy. Maybe I should have been a police dog.

My favorite aroma I have been blessed with for 40 years now, and is none other than my mom's baking. We just got our annual allotment of Halloween sugar cookies created from the timeless little cutters employed from decades ago.

There are darling little ghosts with chocolate chip eyes (I have it on good authority that due to the larger size of the chips this year that my dad actually inquired if they were eyes or a big chest--good one), pumpkins with orange bodies and a dab of green stem, and a more recent addition--the leaf--in orange, green and yellow varieties. My sweet mom has made more batches of these cookies for every holiday under the sun than I can count. I can still smell them--literally and figuratively.

What a sweetie she is. Children all over the nation are now awaiting Grandma and Aunt Geraldine's heralded cookies, nestled in their carefully packaged boxes to minimize breakage. It's a science, really. Have I mentioned how much everyone loves my mom? After one of her cookies, your tummy whispers to your heart how much she LOVES you.

The Annual Photo

Yesterday I took the boys to Gardner Village for their annual photos with Heather George. http://www.heathergeorgephotography.com/ I try to make a point to do professional photos once a year so that their little faces are memorialized. There will come a day when they will balk but I'll do it as long as my motherly power of persuasion prevails.

The clothing is always a dilemma. We lucked out and found some clothes ,previously worn by Matthew, for Spence despite his miniature status. At this stage in Matthew's life, he was in 24 month and 2T but Spence still fits pretty comfortably in a 12 month. We managed matching shirts although Spence's hung down. Just so happens that Matthew has the same Gap shirt in a 2T and a 5T. What luck.

I missed the exit to Gardner Village because I was so concentrated on arriving on time and then landed in a mess of traffic trying to correct the error. We finally arrived and Spencer was in the mud--all over his shoes and pants within 5 minutes. He wouldn't sit, stand or do anything requested of him. No surprise for a spunky, overactive 13 month old. I was thinking that I may get a photo with the boys but I was sweating from chasing Spencer the first ten minutes and said goodbye to any resemblance of a hair style.

We made it through despite the protests from the younger brother. Matthew was pretty good this time around. I will get the photos back and love them, like I always do despite what it takes to get them. Thank heavens for Photo Shop is all I can say.

p.s. A big HAPPY 16th BIRTHDAY to my oldest nephew, Trey. Look out Lancaster! Yes, my oldest brother is back in Lancaster County. It's kind of like "Welcome Back, Kotter." To the best of my knowledge, the family is settled in and liking it, even though they never expected to be back in Lancaster. You can check it out at http://www.newhollandmediakit.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=newsreleases.DisplayNewsReleases&NewsID=231

A Day with my Little Man

Yesterday Matthew and I ate lunch together while Spencer was in the Land of Nod. We both had a PB&J on soft white bread.

It was delicious.

Then we shared Cheez-it Stix. They're addicting if you haven't tried them. Matthew put one in his mouth and told me to bite the other end. He was giddy with delight as we engaged in the exchange. Then I picked up my brightly-colored plastic 8 ounce tumbler from Wal-mart and toasted his with a "cheers." You would have thought I was the best mom to ever live as he giggled and told me that they did that on "Ratatouille."

It's these moments that make it all worthwhile.

I did lose points when I invited him to help me decorate for fall/Halloween. In the past, these decorations have been synonymous. He was excited to help but he lost passion for the pursuit as in his mind, colored leaves and ceramic pumpkins did NOT constitute Halloween decorations. He asked if we had a skeleton or witch that stands up and does this (wherein he held up both arms close to his head, fingers curled in an arthritic pose, nose pointed upward and teeth exposed.) I told him sadly we did not. I suppose I will be buying "Halloween" decorations hence forth.

The Stylist

I went for my quarterly clip yesterday with Jackie. I don't think she would mind if I shared her name because that's just the kind of gal she is. I know that Jackie has to wonder about my grooming habits. Everytime I go see her, I seem to have my hair in a clip and look like I haven't cared in days. I think she takes great pride in primping me up. As divulged a few posts ago, we lost fancy awhile back. Yesterday, the choice came down to washing my hair twice--a little redundant I thought--or letting her wash my hair and having time to vacuum. I think I chose the better part because the floor was quite crumby.

As soon as I got there, the chatter began as if I had just seen her two days ago. How are my kids, how are her kids? Is this a gift of hair stylists? I'm just wondering because most seem to do it. Perhaps it's on the stylist aptitude test. Yesterday we discussed her stepdaughter's tattoos and piercings. Interesting. And thankfully right now, I don't have alot of motherly experience to contribute but I did my duty to hold up my end of the conversation equation. What is it about stylists that invites disclosure? I'm not complaining, I like it. Who wants to spend an hour with someone who is right up in your face not saying a word? Dentists try to do it but it never works out the same.

And it goes both ways. I tell Jackie about my life and although I'm not sharing anything requiring FBI clearance (I did have an FBI agent visit my home about some clearance issues last year but that's a story for another post. "Oh hi Corbin, say, can I call you back? I'm just here with an FBI agent. Yes, he's at the house. No worries, it's all good.") , I somewhat expect the information exchange to be kept on a semi-confidential level, despite the lack of an official hair stylist code of conversational ethics. It seems to work ok.

Maybe it's something about letting someone else see you with your hair all funny that breaks down the barriers. Whatever it is, it's good.