Sugar and Spice

Well, today, my number 1 son had his last day of preschool. Next stop (after a summer of some T-ball and pool time and Disney): kindergarten. The big time. The school bus. The cafeteria. The homework (kindergarten is the new first grade, I hear!).
But, before Q left the easy-going ways of preschool, I was invited - along with the other moms in the class - to a Mother's Day Tea the other week. The kids made our lunch and put on a few little skits based on nursery rhymes. (Quinn was fabulous as one of the king's men, despite failing terribly at putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.)
The kids made recipe card holders as their gift to us. Each child had also dictated a favorite recipe to the teachers and added the recipe to the holder. You can see Quinn's here.
I have to admit that I was initially disappointed that he started out by indicating that we buy the cookie dough at our local grocery store....I make my cookies from scratch, thank you very much! At least Q remembered that we add eggs and chocolate chips. Then, when I realized that other kids had written recipes for microwave hot dogs and Kraft Easy Mac, I figured that I came out looking pretty good. Besides, he could've given out my super-secret waffle recipe (open freezer....take out box....walk to toaster....) or my most excellent french toast recipe (see waffles).

On the way home, after such a great morning, I was marveling at how totally wonderful my son is. How sweet and kind. And how smart (for keeping my culinary secrets safe). I was feeling so happy about the day. I was singing along to his favorite tunes.
And then this from the back seat: "Uh, zip it, mom."
OK, I'm never going to be a Broadway star, but I thought telling me to zip it was a little harsh. So I said so: "Quinn, that wasn't very polite."

His response? "Zip it, please."
Ah, yes. He's sweet, kind, smart and polite. Lucky me.

Mom Really Does Know Best

Another mom once asked me if I felt that I was short-changing my son by adopting our daughter. I wasn't really sure what she was asking, and I said so. She seemed to be getting at something along the lines of loving one more than the other, or treating them differently or something. I responded that, no - I love them both the same and that I'm sure Quinn felt as short-changed as any 5 year old with a little sister, no matter where she came from. (This same mom also said that she would consider adopting....maybe....someday....she wasn't "above adopting".....huh? what's that supposed to mean??? But that's for another post....)

Anyway, after declaring that I love them both them same, I thought back to these same types of declarations my mom used to make. Way back when, I used to frequently pester my mom about which of us 4 kids she loved the most. I was alternately convinced it was my brother (the oldest and only boy), little sister #1 (based solely on her cuteness, smallness, and generally quiet disposition), or little sister #2 (youngest...they always get everything, right?!). Anyway, my mother consistently maintained that she loved us all the same. Impossible, I'd say. Surely there would have to be leanings one way or another. Nope, she'd say; all he same.

You know, I don't think my mom ever lied to me, but really, I thought she was just being a little bit nuts here. How could you not have a favorite? I was just glad she was so good at covering it up, because I was pretty sure the fav wasn't me. Just sparing my feelings, I thought.

But now 30 years later I realize she was indeed telling the truth. You can, in fact, love them all the same. You love them all with the same fierce, pure, full-to-overflowing love. The love that makes you cry just looking at their angelic, sleeping faces. The love that makes your heart leap for joy when you get an unsolicited I Love You. The love that wants their lives to be happy, healthy, and lived to their fullest potential. The love for your kids that is purely parental.

And it has nothing to do with who brought them into this world, but who is helping them make their way in this world.

So, thanks mom, for that lesson. It may have taken me a while to really learn it. But I'll never forget.

Gettin' Bossy

Quinn and I have a little running joke going. Sometimes, when he asks why I'm doing this or that, I respond with this: Because moms can do whatever they want. (That's not the joke part!)

Quinn grins and says, "Wellllll.....you're not the boss of the house; daddy is!" Of course, my super clever comeback is, "Oh yeah?"

And so it goes.

But tonight, it got a new twist. And a very nice one, I think.

After telling me that I'm not the boss of the house, he tacked on this: "But you are the boss of the love."

Oh. Well. How sweet is that?!

I guess I am in charge after all.

Of course, he may just be angling for more double-stuf oreos! He knows it only takes a little bit of sweet-talking, since in reality, I want them as much as he does. But either way, I'll take it.

Watch out Springsteen, there's a new boss in town!

Parenting Tips #44 and #45

No, no - you didn't miss my tips #1 to 43, it's just that these little items are so insignificant, they didn't really merit numbers 1 and 2, so I jumped ahead a bit. Besides, it is just an excuse to write a little and post a few more cute pics. Pics which really have nothing to do with the post, but I won't let that stop me.

So, here they are....


Tip #44: Spunky daughter will keep hairbow in for the duration of church - not touching it one.single.bit! - IF you promise a donut afterward (see also this post for more on the Almighty Donut!). Said spunky daughter also fully realizes her promise and the significance of the deal - after a couple hours of leaving the super-cute hairbow alone, she promptly removes it once the donut has been fully consumed. We're are nothing here, if not good to our word.



Tip #45: You can spend lots less at Target if you go with no cart and a 2 year old on the loose! I left there with 2 items (all I could carry while keeping one free hand to avoid unnecessary destruction of aisle end-caps!) and I spent only $3.12. Amazing. Even more amazing: a girl galloping (literally) through Target can illicit smiles from the somber and stickers from the managers.

As the mighty one says, "Kiki happy!"


And there's nothing better than a Happy Kiki.

Except for a Happy Kiki and a Happy Quinn.

Good Day, Sunshine!

It is a little rainy here today, so I'm providing my own sunshine by way of a few pix from Wednesday. Keira's playgroup met at White River State Gardens and the Zoo and we had a great time. Her playgroup consists of 6 girls (which includes a set of twins), all about the same age (Sept - Dec 05 birthdays), all adopted from China within a few months of each other, and all living here in the same ol' suburb. I feel lucky that we somehow found each other, and hopefully the girls will feel as lucky to have each other, too.
We often get together on one of Quinn's off-days from preschool, so he tags along. He makes the most of it and enjoys chasing the little ones sometimes. (A few of the other girls have older siblings, but they are already in school.)
Anyway, here are a few photos from that bright and sunny day (seeing as how Quinn is squinting in more than one photo, me mentioning the sun is probably a bit redundant)........

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!

Can You Tell Me How to Get....

....how to get to Sesame Street?
Well, last Friday, you could get there via the Murat Theatre in Indianapolis. Yup, Elmo and the gang came to do a live stage show - Elmo Makes Music! It was great fun.
This was Miss Keira's first live show and, after some initial crying and clinging to mama, she loved it! At one point, she was yelling down to Cookie Monster and Zoe, "Hewwo! Hewwo! Hiiii! Hiii!", all while waving furiously, totally convinced they could see and hear her. She was loud enough that maybe they could hear her, but since we were front row balcony, I'm pretty sure they couldn't see her.
Even big brother Quinn had a good time, despite initial protests about going to a "baby show". The threat of being left at home, alone, out of the fun was too much. He reluctantly came along. And had fun.
Soon enough, he'll learn that momma always knows best. Of course, if he's like most kids, he will fully appreciate me in, oh, about 30 years or so. At best.
After the show, Keira was most proud of singing the ABCs along with Elmo. "A-B-Shee-Q-R-P...Elmo!" she squealed.
She was also proud of sitting in her own seat. But, she has a little problem with pronouncing the "s" sound. She tends to make it a "sh" sound. So, imagine my initial reaction to her claims: "Mommy sheet! Gege sheet! Kiki sheet! Own sheet!" And by the way, the "n" on the end of "own" is none to clear either, so think about that.
Needless to say, we've been practicing "ssssssssssssseat, sssssssssseat."
Of course, being no PhD in speech pathology, the results I get are like this: Sssssss-sheet.

Oh well, one step at a time.
At least now we know how to get to Sheshame Shreet.
In the shhpring time, no less.
Shhuper!

Shop Until You Drop

Until you drop off to sleep, that is. Let me explain.....

For the past few weeks at bedtime, Keira has been asking for The Crayon Box that Talked as her bedtime story.

We got the book a month or so ago, courtesy of Quinn's preschool Scholastic Book Order. Love those Scholastic book orders! I remember loving Scholastic book time as a kid, too - when mom said that yes, I could get such and such book! Oh the thrill! Anyway, this particular book was one of Scholastic's 95cent features - where you take a chance on the book because the description sounds cute, knowing that if the book turns out to be a dud, you really aren't out much coin.

This one has turned out to be a winner. In Miss Keira's eyes at least. She likes the illustrations, as do I. And hopefully she likes the story as well. It is about how, even though the crayons are all different and none look the same as the others, they all end up working together to make something fabulous. Oh, if only the world worked this way as well.

But tonight, the winds of change were blowing. As you'll note in the picture to the right (and maybe you noticed in a similar photo I posted a few days ago) Little Miss is perusing a Hanna Andersson catalog. We have a big hunk of pottery in the corner of our family room that plays host to a wide variety of catalogs - LL Bean, Eddie Bauer, Pottery Barn, Cherry Republic (go now and order their cherry salsa; I'm serious; you will thank me later!), China Books, Asia for Kids, etc.

Yet for the last couple of weeks, Keira pulls out HA's catalog and checks it out. She does this on a daily basis. Sometimes only for a few seconds. Sometimes for several, several minutes. The shopping bug bites early, I guess.

Anyway, tonight she brought the catalog upstairs with her at bedtime, along with her new best buddy, Meow-Meow (the beanie-baby kitty that was in her Easter basket from grammy and gramps - thanks so much!). Fine, drag it along, I think. What's a little more clutter upstairs? Just means a little less clutter downstairs!

So, after bath-time, changing into PJs, and brushing teeth, little Vera Wang toddles into her room, grabs the catalog and her blanket, points to the rocking chair and says "Read story, mama."

And my friends, that's how it happens. That's how you end up reading a catalog to your daughter as a bedtime story.

That's also why parents end up getting second and third jobs. Not because college tuition is so expensive, but because moms who don't have any better ideas, allow clothing catalogs to be used as children's literature.

"Summer 2008," I began, "by Hanna Andersson. Home Sweet Home collection...."

Excuses, Excuses!

Yes. I know, I know. It's been a while.

I hate to be someone full of excuses....that's why I prefer to think of them as reasons why I haven't posted in a while.
And you'll have to admit, some of the reasons are pretty darn cute - like Quinn and his 4 days of birthday-partying (preschool, with grammy & gramps, again with the preschool gang, and again with g & g and the rest of the family).

Of course, some of the reasons are pretty nuts....like the whole thing with the preschool gang. (Why, again, did it seem like a good idea to invite 11 preschoolers over? Why? Actually, the Pirate Bash was not that bad - the kids had fun and it was over in 2 hours. But I digress....)

Additionally, in no particular order, there was Palm Sunday, Pirate Party Preparations, and Easter.

The Easter Bunny and Easter Baskets and Easter Egg Hunts and Easter Dinner.

Birthday cake and birthday presents and birthday, birthday, birthday.

Running the kids here. Running the kids there.

So as not to seem as though I'm blaming all my bloggy-slothfulness on the kiddos, I do have a few problems of my own. Addictions, really. Mostly to the Stephanie Plum novels by Janet Evanovich. I recently discovered them and I can't put them down.

I also have a little problem with the TV. I think it secretly calls my name. Sends subliminal messages. Before you know it, I'm watching Survivor (every episode, every season). Or maybe sneaking a peak at American Idol or Dancing with the Stars. I'm not really addicted to those last two or anything. Really. But I do have a problem staying away once I see them. Once the effects of the writers' strike being settled really kick in, and my TV choices grow exponentially, I'm done for.

And also on a TV note, there's this: the NCAA Basketball Tournament. What a great time of year. Even though the Boilermakers are out (and I am totally stinking it up in my pools!), there are all those games on TV, all the time. It's just too much. Who can resist?!
That, and it always reminds of tourney time five years ago: me and hubby, a lovely L&D room at the hospital, narcotics coursing through my spinal column, our first child about to be born, and hubby and I watching a few bball games. Then later, a warm little boy, all 8 lbs 4 oz of him, snuggled close to me. And watching more basketball. Ahh, the memories.

So without boring you even further with the blah-blah-blah of Excuse-ville, enjoy the photographic version of the madness.

Oh yeah, and did I mention it was sunny and 60 here today? Good for swings, slides, and scooters.

And good for mommy's state of mind.

Not good for blogging.
It's trade-off I'm willing to take.