Fireworks...

I can honestly say that, as a couple, The Man and I's disagreements only get to the yelling/crying point about once a year. Today was that day. Cause nothing says "Happy 5th Birthday, Kid!" like the sound of your parents screaming and slamming doors.

Sorry, Boo. We suck.

Just for the Record...

I hate Mother's Day. I hate the people who brag about what their children made them for breakfast. I hate the expectations. I hate the cranky children.

I have it pretty good every other day of the year. Personally, I'd like to send fire ants to the founder of the "holiday."

Cranky children? Cranky mama.

What's Wrong with this Picture?

Photo taken December 12, 2008: Zane's one-year birthday.

In case you were worried, I'm still alive and kickin worst mama butt...

The Weekids are now 2 and 4 and for whatever reason that feels infinitely less intimidating than last spring when they were a mere 1 and 3. For one, Clara is walking this spring (running and hopping in fact) which gives me a new found sense of freedom. We are taking more outings. Initiating more playdates. Even taking mini-trips to see relatives. And so it was that, just last week, I found myself cheerfully sharing with The Man my newfound sense of parental confidence in my ability to take them places without turning into a frazzled, shrieking banshee.

So, Thursday night Ben had soccer practice. Allie and Brandon had practices/lessons of their own and were unable to help with Clara so I brought her along. She has her own pink soccer ball and chair and snacks and was playing happily. I was keeping her blonde head in the corner of my eye while chatting with the other soccer moms and intermittently yelling at Ben to pay attention gently encouraging Ben to stay focused. Then, suddenly, another mother came up to me and said

"Isn't that you little girl over there?"

Sure enough...the blonde head I had been keeping in the corner of my eye belonged to another child completely. Clara was easily fifty yards away in the middle of a soccer game in progress in another part of the park, obliviously kicking her neon pink soccer ball. Play had stopped completely and the parents of the playing teams were looking around baffled at whom the child could belong to. It was in short, a stellar parenting moment. The looks I received from the parents of the playing teams (and even some on our team) as I sprinted to collect her clearly solidified my worst mama ever status. Forever.

So let me stop now to remind us all of a cardinal parenting rule that I had forgotten: One should never, ever, use the words "parental" and "confidence" in the same sentence. If for some reason you have cause to think those words, keep them quietly to yourself. Because, for the record, crow tastes like poo.

Bath time!

Me: [Attempting to get the troops excited to head to the tub] OK, who in here needs a bath tonight?
Sarah: Me! I do! I'm stinky.
Kate: Oh goody we never get to take a bath!


oh dear.

I Will Not Survive His Being Ten

awful smell! dead mouse?
elusive - can't quite nail down
bothering my nose

child walks by. that smell!
what?!? same socks worn for six days?
SIX HOCKEY FILLED DAYS?

focus on the good
this explains spares in suitcase
don't wring grimy neck!

Zero Nutrition Friday

What Oliver (1) and Lauren (2 and 1/2) have eaten today:

breakfast: dry kix cereal

lunch: strawberry banana yogurt, a slice of cheese, and cheese puffs

late snack/early supper: apple juice, more cheese puffs, and fruit loops