Tempting Fate and Predator Encounters

Today Larry took the kids to the summer festival one town over, just like we do every year. Except when we don't. Looks like we missed - oops! - 2 whole years, even though it is only 10 minutes away. 10 minutes!

Larry decided it would be most efficient to take the kids there right after the pancake breakfast at church. Because we parents of large families are all about convenience and efficiency.

"Um, you're going to let them go on rides with their stomachs full of scrambled eggs?" I said.

"Hey, it's not every Pancake Sunday they can throw up only 10 minutes from home," Larry answered. " Last time, we traveled a whole hour, remember?"

[Note to new-ish readers: you must click on that link - it's worth it]

"So, you're going to take them straight from the Pancake Breakfast to rides that spin them in circles..."

"Yes! Exactly! They can ride those bears that twirl around..."

"The Barfing Bears?"

"Yes!"

"And the merry-go-puke?"

"Right! And don't forget - the Tilt-a-Hurl!"

We just crack ourselves up.

I am happy to report, however, that everyone returned from the fair with their breakfasts intact. Larry bought them snow cones and lollipops, too. Anyone wonder why he is the favorite parent? Rachel was disappointed that she wasn't allowed on the bumper cars, but we thought it best not to let her test her driving capabilities.

Oh - and then, after that, while walking to a nearby shopping center for a lunch date, Larry and I saw an honest-to-goodness coyote. First Larry insisted it was a dog, then he suggested a fox; I think he just didn't want to admit I was right, because I yelled "Coyote!" before he did. He can be sorta competitive that way.

You know how they say to make yourself look large and threatening if you run into one of these creatures? Well, you can't do that when you are under 5 feet tall. So I cowered behind Larry and exhorted him to "Look taller!" while the creature stared at us and wouldn't move. It finally decided that Larry wasn't going to abandon his lower-on-the-food-chain wife and slunk away, in a very coyote-like fashion.

But it looked really hungry...

A Pox On Mother's Day Bake Sales

The title of yesterday's post should have been Friends Don't Let Friends E-Mail When They Are Totally Tired, Cranky, and Fed Up - but I thought that would be too lengthy. I regret if I may have inadvertently led some of you to believe that I was actually tipsy when I wrote that e-mail to my friend. I assumed that my typical reader (aka, another mom) would know that that sort of missive could be penned on almost any typical day by almost any mother without the aid of intoxicating beverages.

Truth to tell, I don't drink. Oh, occasionally I will sip some wine and try to enjoy it. But I do not like the taste of alcoholic beverages. MadMad can attest to this, having dined out with me while we were stalking the Yarn Harlot. While those around me were enjoying whatever those drinks are that have salt (or was it sugar?) on the rim of the glass, I was enjoying a nice refreshing glass of water. With lemon. I'm weird that way.

Larry took me out for a sandwich at our local bagel shop this morning (I know, I know, all you moms are jealous), where we were able to hash out in peace (i.e., without a zillion interruptions and without teens listening in and promising themselves to never, ever make the mistake of getting married) how to balance Larry's desire to attend his niece's wedding on Labor Day weekend and my desire to not have our August vacation plans completely ruined. Once I was able to vent for 5 minutes - all about how if his family really wanted us to be there, maybe they should have asked when we could make it and maybe they should have realized that traveling on Labor Day weekend involves a colossal amount of traffic, which I guess they couldn't even imagine, since a traffic jam to them is anything more than 3 cars on the road at once (okay, so maybe I vented for more than 5 minutes) - anyway, after I had said my piece, we actually had a constructive discussion where we both agreed the situation sucked but, come hell or high water, we were going to make it to the nuptials with all the kids anyway.

Come to think of it, perhaps I am not giving his family enough credit. Maybe they purposely scheduled the wedding on Labor Day weekend, in hopes that we wouldn't be descending on their celebration with our kid-heavy clan. I wouldn't blame them, really.

After this thoroughly fun and romantic conversation, Larry treated me to a kid-sized hot cocoa at Starbucks. Then I picked out a new booklight at Barnes and Noble and he paid for it and handed me the bag and then I opened it and pretended to be surprised.

Yes, Larry does know how to show a girl a good time. Why do you ask?

Later today, I spent over an hour at the bookstore (all by myself), reading knitting books. And Larry watched the kids all by himself. Everyone was still alive and unharmed when I came home. Which means that they fared better than if I had been the one stuck in the house with them on a rainy Sunday.

I informed Anna (before I went out) that her gift to me would be making the potatoes for dinner while I was out. She accepted this task with her usual grace and good humor. It was a touching moment. And to think I gave birth to that child without the benefit of painkilling drugs. And that I spent all of last Friday in the kitchen baking multiple loaves of banana bread for the teen workcamp fundraiser - the Mother's Day bake sale.

I do hope that you all are seeing the irony of holding a bake sale on Mother's Day. The teens' mothers slave away Friday and Saturday baking breads and cookies (Happy Mother's Day!), then all the dads and kids buy these baked goods after Sunday Mass to bring home and give to Mom, who of course oohs and aahs over their gift and then feeds it to them. That is, if she hasn't already run away from home, due to a surfeit of baking duties.

Frankly, if a mother is going to consume those sort of calories on Mother's Day, they'll be from some good quality chocolate, not from some crappy baked goods that some other poor mom had to bake under duress. Not that I am bitter or anything...

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Quiet as Mice

Quick note to any dieters out there: it may not be in your best interest to leave an open box of Girl Scout cookies (Trefoils) next to your keyboard. Just take my word for it, okay? And did you know that Trefoils are best when you chew them up really well and then just sort of keep them in your mouth for a minute or so? I mean, in theory? Ahem.

During my cleaning frenzy this morning, I decided to go above and beyond by actually cleaning the furnace filter. I entered the furnace closet only to find that apparently Larry has stopped checking the mousetraps nightly. Which means, who knows what might be decomposing in our attic even now? That's a fun thought.

I was complaining to Larry that I couldn't finish writing the stuff that I might actually make money from (as opposed to these blog posts that he sees me wasting time over) because, by the time I sit down to work at 9 PM, I'm too tired to do anything but mindlessly surf the blogosphere. And I can't write during the day with 2 little girls dancing around my computer chair and trying to sit on my lap. The Yarn Harlot, I pointed out to him, has been sequestered this week in a cabin in the Canadian woods, just so she can get her writing done. Larry was kind enough to refrain from pointing out that she is a professional writer, as opposed to being a whining dilettante (um, that would be me). But he did call my bluff by taking the 4 youngest to the aquarium for the day. The teens are out at chess club and flute choir all afternoon. Which left just me at home, with no distractions whatsoever....(well, aside from the box of Trefoils, of course)....

Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with no distractions? It's so damn quiet in here. I actually had to take a walk to the bookstore to get anything done. (And to get away from the blogosphere...) (Not that I am blaming you guys for my lack of productivity or anything...)

Nothing interesting is happening here, nothing. Not even anything cute and endearing...although I took Bia's advice and had a family night here yesterday evening (the teens were out, which made it easier - they don't want to know from family nights at their age). David was in charge and he chose pizza and monopoly to be our food and activity for the evening. We had Hershey's kisses and mini-Reese's cups on free parking - aren't I fun? A good time was had by all, so thank you, Bia, for encouraging me to be a nice mommy for once.

And yes, I've been writing down all the chocolates and pizza - and I haven't gone over my Weight Watchers points. But if someone doesn't grab this box of Trefoils away from me, I'm definitely in trouble.

She Loves Me (Not!)

What Anna (my chronically alienated teenage daughter who used to be the sweetest girl in the whole world and still is deep down inside somewhere) deems to be my fault:

1. When she's tired because she stayed up way too late and then had to get up before the crack of noon
2. Any day that her neighborhood friend is not around to hang out with
3. When she has to go to the doctor because she has given herself a puncture wound while doing dishes
4. Her beloved flute teacher's falling ill and cancelling a lesson
5. That life doesn't consist of doing whatever she wants, when she wants.

I have to work on all that, I guess.

She did like us briefly a few nights ago when she was scared silly by a bat that somehow got down our chimney and was zooming around our living room. Though I must say that her shriek (which woke us up) should have been enough to turn my hair white. Larry took care of the problem, while Anna and I barricaded ourselves in the bedroom. You know, if it's retro to feel that the guy has to take care of all bugs, rodents (flying and otherwise), and any other type of household intruder, then just call me old-fashioned, all right? I sat up in that room and listened to Larry chasing the bat all over the main floor of the house and thanked my lucky stars that I'm of the female persuasion. (And he did get rid of it - he managed to chase it out of the house with a laundry basket. See? I never would have thought of that.)

Summer Burnout

You know, after a summer spent incarcerated with 4 children and one angry teenager (the other, non-angry, teenager having been smart enough to get himself the heck out of here for the summer), I'm beginning to think that the joys of family togetherness are vastly overrated. June was fun (even with moving and all), but since then we've had approximately 60 days of temps in the 90's, humidity ditto; we've done 6 (count them, 6) jigsaw puzzles, eaten around 16 gazillion popsicles, celebrated about 15 "special" lemonade days, went to the pool so much that even the kids begged not to go again, and got absolutely nowhere on renovating/painting/cleaning up this house. In other words, we're in a rut. I think I'll go tell Larry that we need to take a cross-country trip, just to liven things up. He looks like he needs a vacation, anyway. And I've developed a strange hankering to see the Great Lakes.

I'd would like to point out (with a certain sense of pride) that I have not written about vomit for over a week. If I were just a bit more computer-savvy, I'd figure out how to put one of those widgets(?) on the side of my blog that would proclaim "This blog puke-free for (fill in the blank) days." Of course, I would have reset the counter to zero with this paragraph, I suppose.

Dishwasher Suicide and Other Problems

Most amusing sight this week around our household - Larry lying on the couch, ignoring all the boxes and miscellany crowded into our family room and reading a book titled Get It Done. All I can say is, it wasn't working.

Theo has returned home from his summer job to a hero's welcome. I won't say it wasn't an emotional reunion at times, particularly when he opened the refrigerator door with tears in his eyes. He looks to have lost about 15 pounds over the summer. At least I've now got one kid who truly appreciates a full fridge and central air conditioning.


It's only been 2 months in our new abode, and we've already managed to kill the dishwasher. Actually, I think it committed suicide. After 20 years of being used only once or twice a week by the former owner, it just couldn't hack our 2-times-a-day-sometimes-3 regimen. Larry and I moseyed on over to Best Buy (anything to get away from the children, you know) to purchase a new one (because we are made of money); and we were surprised to realize that dishwashers (at least, ones sturdy enough to withstand our not-so-typical use) are costing upwards of 600 dollars these days. We were also surprised (well, not really) to realize that, out of approximately 20 display models, there was only one model that we managed to agree on. And it didn't come in white. So we came home dishwasherless, much to the dismay of Anna, who wants to know "what do you mean wash the dishes by hand?" and who is feeling much put upon lately. Anna is no longer 13, by the way, thanks be to God; we're hoping that her being 14 may bring us some relief from the hell that she has been putting us through for the past year.

We are even more relieved that Rachel is turning 5 tomorrow, which means that she will no longer be 4 and that maybe, just maybe, we can put the events of last year behind us. Not that we were traumatized by all the plumbing incidents, stuffed-animal beheadings, and whatever else she inflicted upon us over the past 12 months; we are just hoping for a teeny little respite from not being able to trust our own children. Age 5 is still too young for boarding school - I checked. Of course, she doesn't endear herself to me any further by her habit of voicing her thoughts out loud to herself. The other day, as I was getting dressed, I heard her commenting, "Mommies have big bottoms. Not cute little bottoms like mine." I guess it's time to get back to those Weight Watcher meetings.

David, Brian, and Susie are enjoying all the festivities and cake which are attendant on having 2 family birthdays within one week. And we are all enjoying (with the exception of Anna, who does not enjoy anything involving us) having Theo back home to cook us gourmet meals (hey, I do do most of the shopping and food prep). At least all the good food has helped to distract us from the fact that it has been in the 90's here for approximately forever, and it will remain that way for the foreseeable future. I think we need to move to Canada. Larry doesn't seem receptive to that idea, however. I think he's lost his sense of adventure somewhere. That's what happens as you age, I guess. He's got only 2 more months until he turns 40; and he's turning grayer by the minute. Though that may not all be due to the aging process, now that I think about it.

Well, time to be getting to bed - I've got 1/2 a bushel of peaches to turn into preserves in the morning, if they don't manage to rot overnight. Yet another over-enthusiastic purchase of mine at the local farmer's market, I'm afraid. At least they didn't cost as much as the 40 quarts of strawberries the kids brought home in June. I think we buy more produce in one summer than most people used to see in their entire lives.

Enough, already!

January Blues

Well, the post-vacation euphoria has worn off, to be replaced by the winter sickness blues. We seem to have 2 versions of the plague moving (slowly) through our house. You know your weekend isn't going to go as planned when you're informed in the middle of your leisurely Saturday morning shower that someone has thrown up outside the bathroom door. I was able to duck that one by staying in the shower until Larry had cleaned up the mess (hey, I had conditioner in my hair, all right?); but I had to handle the next episode, because Larry was hiding in the basement again. On top of it all, the baby is teething; she may also be sick, but we can't tell, as she still doesn't know how to talk.

We're excited because the Verizon guys are coming tomorrow (once we take the QUARANTINE sign off our door and hide it) to install an Internet connection that is faster than, say, 2 horsepower per kilobit, or whatever it is that we have now over our phone line. Actually, these Verizon guys were here a month ago; but it turns out that they are the "inside" guys (as they patiently explained to us), and they can't do their work until the "outside" guys have shown up. Tiny little mix-up on Verizon's part, but I do think we would have gotten faster remedial action if Larry had followed my suggestion and held the inside guys hostage until the work was done. Nobody ever listens to me around here, however.

Larry's been having fun working out the yearly budget, and he's starting to get that wistful look in his eyes - you know, the one that says, "Why couldn't I have married someone with marketable skills instead of a baby factory?" Too late now, sweetie. It doesn't help that our gas bill doubled, and our electric bill increased by 50%. It also doesn't help that our kids insist on eating 3 square meals a day. Spoiled, I tell you.

Our local library is still letting us in, despite our embarrassing book habits. Everytime we go to check out, it turns into a 15-minute ordeal of being reminded of which books are still out, which are overdue, how many are on hold, and haven't we mentioned our 50-book limit on the library card, ma'am? This time I thought I had it well planned out - Theo and Anna both used their own cards, so as not to impinge on my 50-book allotment. We still went over the limit. Each week I walk in there, I expect to see a police officer standing by the circulation desk, handcuffs at the ready. It didn't help last week when I accidentally shushed a librarian who was speaking too loudly near my sleeping baby. I wonder how many people have ever had to tell a librarian to pipe down?

David and Theo have joined a chess club. Anna didn't want to join because you are not allowed to talk while you are playing. In her words, "What's the point?" We may have just hit on the primary reason that the world of chess grand masters is dominated by men. Anyway, David comes home and teaches Rachel (well, he tells her where to move - I don't think she's learning anything). She likes to capture his pieces so she can play with them. They make a nice sound when she jingles them together in the skirt of her dress. I'll bet that isn't allowed at chess tournaments either.

Well, I've rambled long enough - it's time to go see if Susie will let me put her down in her crib. Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream....

Larry and I are so glad to be home, in our own house. We're both sounding like George Bailey at the end of It's A Wonderful Life - Hello, drafty old house! Hello, falling down apple tree! All the kitchen chairs are breaking - isn't that terrific! You'd think we'd been away a year instead of a week. It just felt like a year. But we're back. We survived. Some highlights:

Rachel's potty-training progress has gone right down the toilet. I knew we were doomed the first day of our trip when I took her into a rest stop bathroom to go pee. She said, "It smells funny here. I'll pee at home." Good thing I brought some diapers.

We had to caravan, as we can't fit everyone into one vehicle. Even so, both cars were packed full of stuff. Unfortunately, I don't like doing the driving on long trips. My back starts hurting, my knees start hurting, my hips start hurting (no, I'm not done complaining). To top it off, I harbor the conviction that I am going to die of deep-vein thrombosis from sitting in one position too long. So Larry, in a foolish attempt to flatter me, congratulated me on driving all the way from Mass to Maine on the third day. Give me a break - what choice did I have? Refuse to go on and live at Westover Air Force Base the rest of my life? When I pointed this out to Larry, his face lit up and he said, "You're right - it's the deathground principle!" For those of you as uninformed as I am, he was referring to Chinese military strategy as discussed by Sun Tzu (apparently the East's answer to Clausewitz) - it seems Chinese generals would purposely place their troops in positions where they would have to either fight or die - no retreat possible. I don't know whether to feel flattered that I passed the test or annoyed that my husband deems it acceptable to manipulate me using battle tactics he learned at the War College.

Anyway, I survived the drive; I'm sure a few years of therapy (psychological and chiropractic) will undo any damage that's been done.

Anna is apparently the only person in our family to feel inconvenienced by having to share a hotel room with 7 other people. I almost left her behind in Massachusetts.

McDonald's is everywhere, but it is extremely hard to find exactly the same McDonald's as last year - you know, the one with the best playland ever. We had to settle for the second-best playland, which made certain members of our family very sad. The restroom there was pretty good, however.

I spent most of my vacation driving and doing laundry (not at the same time, but wouldn't that be a good idea?). The best laundryroom was at the Air Force base in Massachusetts - 4 stackable washer/dryers in a row, so I could do all our laundry at once. I am definitely installing one of those stackables in our kitchen once all the kids grow up and leave. Then I would never again have to walk into our laundry/utility room/Larry's storage unit. It would be very good for our marriage. I found myself wondering what sort of laundryroom Mrs. Claus has. Does she have to wash all the elves' clothes too, or do their wives do that? Do elves have wives? Does Santa Claus frown on civil unions? These are the sort of questions that run through my mind when I spend most of my Christmas vacation doing laundry.

Uncle Frank is apparently getting more lenient in his dotage. He actually let the kids help decorate the tree this year. Up until now, he has never even let them touch the tree. Maybe it's because we make him watch the Grinch every year, and he's finally taking the hint.

A lot more happened, but I think I am trying to block it out. It's less painful that way. I know I've said this before, but there's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

Christmas is Coming...

It's been a while since my last letter, but not much has happened around here of note. I have decided that perhaps it would be best if I took a little time to clean my oven more often than, say, once every few years. Nothing like a minor grease fire to make me reevaluate my housekeeping methods. The fire was a great learning opportunity, however - the kids got to see how effective baking soda really is on a kitchen conflagration. And I think the flames actually burnt off a lot of the greasy buildup. So it wasn't a total loss.

After faithfully exercising for the past 3 1/2 months at the Y, I've come to the inescapable conclusion that exercise makes me fat. Apparently, I am not the only one to think so. The other day, as I was bending over to wipe out the tub, Rachel happily said, "Mommy, you have a big bottom." That kid used to be cute; I don't know what happened. When I shared my scientific findings on exercise with Larry, he muttered something about the chocolate factor, whatever that means. Hey, is it my fault the Y is dumb enough to have a candy machine in the lobby?

Rachel woke up one morning recently and apparently decided that using the potty was a pretty good idea. I would like to note here that this happened at the exact same age that Anna learned to use the potty, which leads me to think that it really didn't matter what I did as far as toilet-training went. What I need is a set of identical twins to test this theory on.

In case Anna reads this, I would like to state as a disclaimer that of course Anna has always used the potty and would never dream of doing otherwise.

I suppose I should be writing a Christmas-type newsletter right now, sharing the year's highlights and all. Unfortunately, I don't remember a darn thing that happened before the baby was born in May. And since then...well, you've been kept up to date on all the excitement. I'm not truly in the Christmas spirit right now, as we have to drive up to Maine this Wednesday to celebrate with Larry's family. I don't see why we have to do that, as we have a perfectly good tree right here at home. His family's okay, but not worth a 12 hour drive with 6 kids in two vans. Larry, of course, does not share this opinion. If someone would like to steal our van late Tuesday night, I'll give you my keys. Just don't return it until the 26th.

Of Costumes and Commodes

Relatives are visiting (ain't we got fun?). Larry's sister Kate is here, which means all the little ones are sitting around wielding crochet hooks and other implements of destruction. She brought Grandma with her. Grandma is prefacing everything she says with "I may be repeating myself, but..." Yes. Indeed, yes. Most emphatically, yes.

Anna's Halloween costume (a damsel dress) is progressing well, thanks to Auntie. If she hadn't showed up to help, Anna would have been stuck with wrapping herself in old newspapers and going trick-or-treating as the Goddess of Recycling. Or perhaps as an order of fish-and-chips. Or the floor of a bird cage, even. The possibilities are endless, if you simply use your imagination.

I have officially given up - I do not know how to potty-train a child. I am open to any and all suggestions that may help Rachel to kick her diaper habit. (And, no, the suggestions may not involve the use of duct tape.) I just read an article in The New York Times (see - I can still read) claiming that the fashion now is to toilet-train one's infant, before it develops that nasty and expensive dependency on diapers. One mother is quoted as saying that she has a much better relationship with her 10-week-old now that she has learned to read his cues which signal his need to poop or pee. May I humbly suggest that there is one woman with way too much time on her hands? Anyway, it's too late for Rachel, who apparently (at this late age) needs some sort of 12-Step program in order to graduate to undies.

Rachel has commandeered a camping lantern for her bed (battery-operated, don't worry). "See, Brian," she showed her brother. "This is my lighttern." "No, Rachel," he sagely corrected her. "That is a lamptern." Despite their differing opinions on most things linguistic, theirs is a mostly harmonious relationship. Oh, Rachel does swat Brian on the head with her little purse from time to time; but he's taking Tae Kwan Do 3 times a week now, so he should be able to defend himself pretty soon.

Until next time...

Beach Trip - Sept 2005

Boy, did it feel good to get out of town for a couple of days! And the kids didn't even notice we were gone (ba-da-dum). But seriously, folks, just a short(?) 3-hour drive and we left those blood-sucking mosquitoes (whoops, redundant) behind. It was worth the $100 in gasoline (2 vans, remember?). We were relieved to find that our accommodations were decent. We had reserved, sight unseen, a 3-bedroom, 2-bath trailer on a National Guard base for only $60 a night (your tax dollars at work - thanks!); so we were a tad apprehensive as to what we were going to find when we got there. Good beds, clean bathrooms, complete kitchen - well, almost complete. As we were sitting around the table eating our lunch, one of the children asked, "Hey, where's the dishwasher?" Larry didn't miss a beat - "You're looking at them," he replied.

The beach was great. The surf on Monday was so high that none of the children could get beyond the first set of breakers, which suited me just fine. Rachel was repeatedly knocked over by the waves, but she would bounce right back up again like one of those blow-up punching clowns we used to play with as kids. It was very windy, so it reminded me of Newport - particularly of Larry's Reserve Unit BBQ where we had to keep chasing down the tops of our hamburger buns as they blew off our plates. Ah, fond memories...

But I digress. I noticed a woman about a quarter-century older than me staring at us as we arrived and set up all our beach paraphernalia. I figured we had ruined her day and she'd get up and move, but she stayed to talk. Turns out she had raised 6 kids with the same age spacing as ours, but her youngest is 25 now. I'm not quite sure if she was getting nostalgic or if she stuck around to remind herself how glad she is that they're all grown-up.

The second day, we drove a few miles up the road to a state park beach - it was all natural (sand dunes, no buildings), but with bathrooms - who could ask for more? We saw porpoises (dolphins?) swimming just offshore, and we were jumping up and down and yelling and pointing to show them to the kids. Everyone else on the beach was a local, as it was the day after Labor Day, and we realized that they were looking at us funny, so we settled down. After a few hours the baby was fussy, so I took her back to our trailer early and left Larry to gather up all the beach stuff and shower/de-sand five kids. I would have felt guilty, had I not done it myself all the time 2 summers ago in Newport. It's payback time, amigos!

I can be unbelievably petty at times.

Larry took the kids out boating Tuesday afternoon. There was a huge salt-water pond on base and we could rent a rowboat for a mere $3 an hour (again, your tax dollars at work). There was also a playground next to the pond where Larry attempted to injure himself by showing the kids that he could do a flip on the rings. Brian told him he was too old to do that. My thoughts, exactly. Disability insurance is expensive, you know.

We packed up the cars Wednesday morning for the return trip (by the way, both going and returning, we hit the road at 9:50 AM - we figure that must be our set point for departures) and we couldn't understand why Rachel was so anxious to get in the van. Turns out no one had explained to her that we were going home. So, after several hours of riding and, I guess, great anticipation, she burst into tears when she realized that our final destination was not, in fact, the beach.

There's no place like home.