How Great Thou (Donuts) Art!

My mom gave me this piece of advice long ago, before my first ever holiday dinner party: Avoid these 3 things in conversation - religion, politics, ...and something else I forget now (it may have been s*x, but I can't imgaine her saying that to me at 16...but maybe). Anyway, avoid those topics, she said, and you should do just fine.
Well, I did follow her advice then, but I shall deviate now, just for a moment.....

The other day, a friend from church forwarded an e-mail with some funny quotes supposedly from Garrison Keillor, poking a little fun at Methodists. If you're a Methodist too, you might recognize yourself a little and get a bit of a chuckle. Here is some of what he had to say.....

We make fun of Methodists for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed, and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese....I do believe this: People, these Methodists, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you can call up when you're in deep distress. If you're dying, they will comfort you. If you are lonely, they'll talk to you. And if you are hungry, they'll give you tuna salad. Methodists believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud....Methodists think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace. Methodists drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament. Methodists feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall. Methodists are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at the church....And finally, you know you are a Methodist when: it's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service. You hear something funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can. Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee. When you watch a Star Wars movie and they say, "May the Force be with you," and you respond, "and also with you." And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye!

Now, I wasn't raised Methodist but my husband was, more or less; and we attend a Methodist church here in Indianapolis. Both our kids were baptized there and go to preschool there. And, after reading the above, I know I am doing a great job raising these little Methodists....they know the power of donuts!

I think "doh-nee" was one of Keira's first words actually. Q and K both chant for donuts furiously when we pick them up from Sunday School after "big people's church". Sometimes, I think it is the only reason Q agrees to get up early Sunday morning. They even know the way to Fellowship Hall (aka The Donut Room) and can weave you through hundreds of people better than any GPS system. (Our church has more people in attendance any given Sunday than there are people in my whole hometown, so this is no small feat!)

But here is where I may be straying from the niceness Methodists are supposedly known for: I have been steering them away from Fellowship Hall and toward Dunkin' Donuts. I apparently have anti-social tendancies and after an hour and a half of being a good, kind, polite Methodist, I can no longer stand to further socialize and make small talk. I'd rather shepherd the kiddos to the car and hit the DD drive-thru.

That, and they don't have jelly donuts in Fellowship Hall.

The kids don't seem to mind my quirky ways. They get their sugar fix either way (you can see them here giving double thumbs-up to the marbled-frosteds). And I get a latte with mine. (Hey - Methodists may love their coffee, but making it well is another story! Of course, I'd hate to say anything.....)

At the Park, Park, Bo-Bark....

Remember that Name Game Song? Really, really, way before my time, but a catchy little tune with all that rhyming. Well, when discussing names for the kids, before they made their appearances in our lives, hubby fulfilled a role similar to the singer of that song....rhyming all the possible names on our (my) list, coming up with any possible bad playground nicknames. And once a bad-actor was found, the name was ceremoniously scratched from consideration.
I'll admit, at times I thought it was overkill, but after our day at the park earlier this week, I'm betting the mom we met wished her husband was as thorough. And here's why: we met a boy named Tucker.
He and his little brother were playing nicely at a nearby park when we arrived.
My son, who somehow got the recessive out-going personality gene, introduces himself to the boy, and then asks the boy his name and his age. Upon discovering they were close in age (heaven forbid a 5 year old play with a 3 year old), Quinn and Tucker begin some Power-Rangering on the playground while the younger siblings try diligently to keep up.

Minutes after the new-found friends depart, Q notes that he had fun playing with that new boy, Sucker.
Me: What did you call him?

Q: Sucker. You know, mom, like a lollipop. Some people call them suckers.

Me: Oh. Yeah. Well, I think his name was Tucker.

Q: Hmm. Ok. I thought it was Soccer at first, but then I decided Sucker.

Me (in my head): That worked out about as well as it could have....

Of course, me with a daughter named Keira....a name I have to constantly spell and teach others how to pronounce (Keira-Keira-bo-beer-uh...), should hardly be giving naming advice!

* * * * * * * * *

All that naming business aside, we had a great time at the park. The weather was great (and so now I can finally stop complaining about spring's elusiveness)! As you can see in one pic, Keira is very fond of going down the slide w/o holding on. She often throws her hands in the air and squeals the whole way down. We foresee a future roller-coaster dare-devil . Toward the end of our time there, she actually started walking (walking!) a few steps down the slide, before falling to her bottom and sliding the rest of the way. Sheesh.

Other highlights......catching Quinn on camera sneaking back to the stroller to steal some of Keira's Goldfish snacks. (He'd already eaten all his fruit snacks.)

Minutes later, catching K sneaking over to steal Quinn's drink. One good turn deserves another, I suppose.

On the way home, Keira pooh-poohed the stroller and wanted to walk. They were so cute together I had to get the camera back out.

And then of course, me getting the "C'mon, Mom!" look shortly thereafter.

Oh yes, life is good.

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

It started with 3 little words: Gege hit me. That's it. Plain as day.

I turned around from my post at the toaster (making "homemade" waffles for the kids' breakfast) and saw the look on Quinn's face. He knew it as well as I did: now that Keira was speaking much more clearly, his free-pass, getting away with more than he should, was now over.

Now, in his defense, I will say this. Despite his proclivity for hitting his sister for any number of infractions - minor or otherwise - he always fesses up. Of course, his confession is usually proceeded by, "Wellllll...Kiki did such-and-such...and then...and then......"...yada yada yada. But, in the end, he comes clean.

And like a good mom, I make sure they both get a good talkin' to. Don't hit your sister. Don't pester your brother. Or, as heard by them: yada, yada, yada.

So on this occasion, the hit (a smack on the hand) was precipitated by a failed attempt to grab someone's milk cup. Keira ratted him out. And I actually got a good chuckle of of that. "Your life is about to change, young man," is the compassionate piece of motherly advice I doled out.

Well, wouldn't you know. I got mine. In the form of Miss Keira climbing out of her crib. And she does it so gracefully and gingerly, I might add, that you really don't even hear it. (Unlike Quinn, who - the 2 and only 2 times he climbed out - thunked to the ground so hard I think our cat went into hiding for hours!) Anyway, it was only a matter of time before she figured out her escape and quite frankly, I'm surprised it took this long. She mastered the pack-n-play long ago. But now yes, my life is about to change too.

The squirt cheerfully greeted me the other morning, only this time she was at my bedside instead of the other way around. And she greeted me again that afternoon after her nap. "Hi Mama! Kiki did it!" (in reference to getting herself freed from the cage). The whole while, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

After those sweet tastes of freedom, she also escaped the next afternoon after deciding she didn't want to nap. She climbed out and tiptoed downstairs to try to find me. Only she turned left when she should've turned right and I saw her first. I swooped her up and put her back in her crib. It happened so fast, she didn't know what hit her. Being quite startled at that turn of events, she hasn't tried the ol' escape-before-sleep trick since (knocking on wood now).

So what's next? Well, I suppose we should put up a gate or put her in a big kid bed or something. But to be honest, I really love waking up to yet another cheerful face in the morning. Seeing the most beautiful girl in the world so pleased with herself first thing in the morning is priceless.

If only I was so pleased with myself just for getting out of bed.

Well, now that I think about what a morning person I'm not, most days, I am pretty pleased with myself for getting out of bed.

It's the little things, you know.

Perfect Timing

It was another example of the stellar sense of timing kids have. You know, how there's always a bathroom emergency right before you leave for preschool (and who can rush that, so now you are late....again)? Or how that ear ache was raging and their temperature was climbing the night previous but the next day as you sit in the doc's office, it is all gone?

Well last week, it was Quinn v. the "jungle swing" (that's what we call the disc swing on a rope at the end of our swing set). Three days before his upcoming dentist appointment, the swing and Quinn's tongue have an untimely meeting. Swing wins. Tongue has major cut. Lots of blood, sweat, and tears.

Initially I wondered if it might need stitches (if you can do such a thing). But the bleeding stopped relatively quickly, as did the crying (I promised ice cream for dinner). No actual marks on his lips or otherwise on his face. So I figured all was well. And after an incident with Keira's tongue last year, I recalled the nurse telling me that tongues are very vascular and heal quickly. Definitely no worries. Right?

(By the way, that is Miss Keira chugging down Q's chocolate milk shake. In a sort of Freaky-Friday-on-Tuesday turn of events, Quinn only ate a quarter of the shake while Keira slugged down the rest...who would've thought? That cup is as big as her head! And none for me! Wah!)

Well, 3 days later, and Quinn's tongue was still healing nicely. It was the morning of the dentist appointment. While I was drying my hair Quinn came into the bathroom to show me "a neat trick"....he managed to get the small helmut from his Earth Ace Planet Hero to somehow sunction itself to his face. The area around his mouth was bright red. He stopped thinking it was oh so hilarious the moment I not-so-calmly told him to get that thing off! He complied. But it was too late. Purple marks outlined his bottom lip.

Hours later at the dentist office, when his cleaning is all done (no cavities!) I'm called back to the consultation room for a kindly interrogation of sorts. About the tongue gash. About the marks on his face. About did I know I could call because you could lose teeth after mouth trauma and that I should watch for tooth discoloration. Q may be especially at risk because of the way his teeth align (slight underbite). Et cetera. Now of course, they were all so nice about this, but still. I felt a bit inept. It actually never once occured to me that I might call his dentist about this. Thankfully, the dentist has 3 boys of her own and sees only pediatric patients, so she knows how stuff just seems to happen.

Oh, and did I mention that I never actually saw this accident happen? Uh, yeah. That feels good when you have to sheepishly admit that you have sketchy details because you weren't exactly there. I have the word of a 5 year old, who was crying so much words were unintelligible. And the word of a 2 year old, whose only contribution was "Gege cry! Gege cry! Gege big owww-ee!" (Thanks, sweetie, that much I got on my own!)

Well now that it is Sunday, nearly a week after the initial tongue assault, things still seem to be healing just fine. And his teeth are still bright and shiny.

Of course, his 5-year check up with our pediatrician is this Friday, so who knows what is in store this week! Wish us luck!