Please Don't Rob Me

We are finally at the beach and awaiting the arrival of the HP in a few short weeks. I even remembered to bring the software from my digital camera so I can download pictures at my parents' house. Hopefully once I have come down from the stress of packing up the house, arranging to have it cared for (2 most beautiful words in the English language? lawn guy) and transporting almost everything in it to Delaware, I will once again be capable of writing an amusing post. Until then, thank you to all of you who find no content here and yet continue to check back anyway.

Entropy Rains

Today marks the 5th day in a row that raindrops have fallen on my head. The kiddies cannot go out and play because everything is soaked. They ask to watch TV then wander away. They call me to see a room they have straightened up, then destroy it again after I've admired their work. They complain that they are too hot and too cold and too bored and too tired and too hungry and too thirsty to think of anything to do. There is only one solution - we must go to the beach and we must go as quickly as possible.

Marty Can't Sleep

So I'm glad he is still confined to his crib. So far he has sung Happy Birthday to: himself; Wags the Dog; his stuffed dog named Ruggy; his stuffed hedgehog/porcupine; his sisters; several of the Von Trapp children; and his blanket.

Now he is doing the Von Trapp children roll call.

Dear Busch Gardens,

There is a situation at your merry-go-round that requires immediate attention. No, the horses are not wobbly and the speed is not too dizzy, but I'm afraid that your merry-go-round operator is both. She is the kind of weird that makes people want to run all the way back across Europe in search of sanity and a drink.

While waiting our turn for the merry-go-round, the ride came to a stop, and the people started to get off. Then the operator chastized them via her microphone for not waiting until the bell rang, as directed by the prerecorded announcement. She then restarted the ride, because it wasn't really over, she had just wanted to see if the people had been listening to the safety announcement. The bell is in her control, so in her mind, she could stop the ride and people would have to sit on the horses for the rest of the day if she never rang the bell.

Call me crazy, but the average park goer, who is spending a minimum of 50 dollars a person for fun, is not looking for testing while they are riding on the merry-go-round.

When the ride was actually over and the people cleared off, she was going on and on rather loudly about how "people don't listen to the safety announcement, people just don't pay any attention, people aren't doing what the rules say." Oh, and her little diatribe? Was all but drowning out the safety announcement that she claimed everyone was violating.

On our turn she did the same stop in the middle, which was annoying enough since it was the first ride we'd managed to get on, but not as annoying as everything else she was doing.

She kept stopping the music and saying "Britney...I want that hat Britney...I'm coming for that hat Britney..." over and over again - calliope then "Britney..." calliope then "I want that hat."

How many people like merry-go-round music? Everyone. There is a reason all merry-go-rounds have the same music - it's merry-go-round music. It never changes because it is perfect for the merry-go-round.

How many people like hearing a creepy powermad merry-go-round operator harrass a small child trapped on a horse? I'm guessing zero. And little Britney was truly trapped on the merry-go-round, because if the crazy operator didn't ring the bell, no one was allowed to get off. And, every ride at Busch Gardens has a fence around it that must be opened with a special key held by, in this case, the mentally-disturbed operator.

Surely this was not the experience you planned for your guests when you constructed this little bit of Europe in Virginia. I'm all for integrating the mentally challenged into society, but you can't put the bell in their hands. It's just too much power waiting to be abused.

Set the merry-go-round free!!


Love, Shannon

PS. If you see people with small children, please direct them towards the rides in Germany so they don't waste precious time and said children's good humor wandering the streets of London.

Would That Be Alright???? Are You Kidding????

While we lived in Kentucky, we began to suspect that their was something in the HP's secret Army file that prompted the Army to surround our house with chaplains. In Kentucky, we had 3 chaplains in the surrounding houses, and here in Virginia we have 4. However, none of those chaplains has ever, ever, had any interest in interacting with us. I think that when they put on their special chaplain glasses, they see a big picture of the pope on our front door, so they know we will not be coming to their revivals or Protestant Women of the Chapel bible groups.

Here are a few stats of my interaction with the chaplains here:

# of chaplains within 1 block: 4

# of chaplains that introduced themselves to me (or at least waved): 0

# of chaplains' wives that introduced themselves to me (or at least waved): 1

# of chaplains that saw an 11-month-old baby pick up a beer in my drive way: 2

I began to have a bit of a grudge against these chaplains. I didn't want them to come to my house and talk Bible to me, but couldn't they at least be friendly or even neighborly?

That is, I had a grudge until today. Today, all is forgiven. Today the chaplain across the street saw me outside and then ran over to introduce himself, shake my hand, and speak the most wonderful words I've heard in a long time: "I was just about to fire up my riding mower to mow my grass, and I would love to mow your grass this afternoon. Would that be alright?"

Swimming Pool Fun

Mr. Clean and I finally gave the kiddie pool a good scrubbing, and the kiddies had a fun afternoon splashing around. They wanted to know why I didn't want to put my feet in, but I think this picture of the sunscreen oil slick and floating debris answers that question.



When I attempted to fill the pool, I realized that the plug was missing. Instead of raging against certain grey furry rodents that may or may not have been responsible for the missing plug, I went inside and found this alternative:



Yes, that is a wine stopper. Mommy's drinking comes in handy again.

Lauren's Long Day

In order to enroll in kindergarten in Virginia, the little kiddies must undergo a medical evaluation that probably dwarfs the one given to potential astronauts. As if the poking and prodding at the doctor weren't enough, here is what Lauren went through today:

7:30 am: Awakened from sound sleep to get ready to take Aislinn to camp

8:00 am: Strapped into car seat for 40 minute round trip to Aislinn's camp

9:00 am: Turned loose in the playroom, but warned to keep shoes on for return to camp

9:30 am: Strapped into car seat for 40 minute round trip to Aislinn's camp

10:20 am: Turned loose in the playroom, but warned to keep shoes on for Marty drop off at 11:00

11:00 am: Strapped into car seat for trip to drop off Marty and then to the Commissary where she is rewarded for her patience with one green bean

12:30 am: Returned home for lunch, bullied into a fingernail trim, allowed to remove shoes, but warned that we will be leaving for her checkup at 1:20

1:20 pm: Strapped into car seat for trip to doctors

1:40 - 3:15 pm: Weighed, measured, checked, poked (two shots in one leg, one in the other), prodded (blood draw), puzzled (peeing in a cup) and finally released to be strapped in the car seat once again to go pick up Marty

3:30 pm: Fed Motrin and a pink frosted cookie, allowed to go outside and ride bike

3:40 pm: Bonked in the head by padlock which she was attempting to remove from the shed that held her bike

4:00 pm: Stepped on by Marty on the trampoline

4:30 pm: Stubbed toe while running through sprinkler

5:30 - 7:55 pm: Bathed, fed, and put to bed, audibly sighing with relief when she finally falls asleep

Applause, Applause for Super Mommy!!

Aislinn started an 8-day summer enrichment program/camp today. Here is my list of accomplishments:

I got everyone home from the beach and in bed by 8:30 last night!

I got out the map and preplanned our route to the school where the camp is held!

I picked out clothes for everyone and laid them out for easy dressing!

I woke up early and got breakfast ready!

I located the paperwork to find out if she needed to take anything with her on her first day of camp!

...Which unfortunately was yesterday.

This is a glaring example of the sort of thing that would never happen if the HP was home. He would have read and reread and summarized and timelined and filed the information they sent us. I looked at the one place where the date was noted wrong (actually, half wrong - Tuesday June 21) and convinced myself that they really meant Wednesday. Upon closer inspection, every other paper lists the dates correctly, but I managed to overlook them. Oh well, better luck next year (if they let us back in).

Marty Is Not A Passy Boy

This weekend I forgot to bring Marty's pacifier with us, mainly because he only uses it in bed, and since I only think 10 minutes into the future, I never considered what would happen at bedtime. About halfway to the beach I remembered it, but I thought I had left one there, and put it out of my mind until bedtime, when I realized I had not left one there.

He naps without it at daycare, so decided to see if he could manage without it, and he did. This morning he told his Grandma and Grandpa "I'm a big boy without a passy," and they wholeheartedly agreed. I knew it wasn't completely over, but tonight when we got home and he said "I want my passy," with a smirk on his face, i realized he knew that the passy issue was settled. And it is.

He took some extra stuffed doggie friends to bed with him to keep him company, but when I said goodnight to him, he said (as always) "Where are you going?" and I replied (as always) "I'm going to say goodnight to your sisters." And that was the end of it. I heard him singing and playing the way he always does. Even though he looks just the way he did when we left on Friday, now he is a big boy.


So let's take a minute to remember baby Marty.







Holy Moly, who is that kid?

Visual Aids

How Can You Tell That Father's Day Has Tanked?

1) The US Open ends with a whimper and another Phil Mickelson choke. Clearly that is not optimal, but bearable.

2) Grandson Marty sings a song with a dominant lyric involving throwing Grandpa in the trash. Actually, everyone found that song rather entertaining.

3) The air conditioning on the second floor of the 4 month old retirement house stops working. Yes, that was rather upsetting, but still borne by the crowd with Chardonnay-induced good humor.

4) While attempting to locate the problem with the air conditioning, my brother Drew's leg comes through the ceiling of the second floor of the 4 month old retirement house, causing chaos, crying, and a huge mushroom cloud of insulation. Bingo.

Awards Day

I thought Aislinn was all grown up until I saw this picture. I guess sending the kiddies to a school with an enormous hulking principal is one way to keep them looking small.

Huh? (part 2)

Marty: Mom, Lauren is being mean to my orange juice!

Lauren: I told him that we are playing night time and we need to put his night time drink on the table.

Mommy: Is that okay Marty?

Marty: Yep! Let's go play Lauren!

Huh?

The other day on the trampoline, the kids were playing a game where Marty was the hot air balloon, Lauren was the snow cone, and Aislinn was the guest. After a few minutes, Lauren and Aislinn asked me to mediate an argument about whether the game could have two guests, or if it really needed one of them to be a snow cone.

Barkeep! A Round of Ritalin for My Friends!

This morning when we arrived home from the commissary, Marty asked if they could go on the moon bounce (a little inflatable bouncer that Aislinn got for her birthday). Figuring this was a perfect way to occupy Lauren and Marty while I got the groceries unloaded, I lugged out the whole contraption, pounded the stakes into the ground (and let Lauren and Marty pound with the hammers for a while too), tied up all the things that needed tying, plugged in the blower, and set it up for them.

I know David Letterman says the shortest measurable unit of time is the duration between the time a traffic light changes to green in NYC and when the cab driver behind you honks, but I have a new contender. Before I could even get the door unlocked to begin bringing in the groceries, the kiddies announced that they were done with the jumping.

Later today, after school, Aislinn (who got ratted out by some boys for sitting with one of her friends near the back of the bus) was feeling sad and asked if she could use the sidewalk paint. Trying to be a nice mommy, I got all the stuff out, filled up the paint tray, rinsed out all the brushes, and spent at least five minutes at the sink poking a toothpick through the holes in the splatter attachment. When I finally went outside and settled into my chair with a glass of water, Aislinn announced that she wanted to jump on the trampoline instead.

I sent the girls over to the trampoline and piled up all the paint stuff. I picked up my chair and Marty and carried them over to the trampoline. Approximately ten seconds after I dumped Marty through the net and settled into my chair, Aislinn announced that she wanted to ride her bike instead. At that point I had to lay down the law and order them to have fun on the trampoline.

They did jump for a while, but one by one they wound up back inside the house. As I stood at the sink washing out the sidewalk paint brushes, Lauren asked me to open a stationary set that Aislinn had received as a birthday gift, and to get her a glass of orange juice. The set was being held closed by approximately 10 pieces of tape that I was cutting with scissors. Here is what happened for the next three minutes:

Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren, I’m trying to open this for you,” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” (Repeat 10 times). When she finally disappeared with the now open stationary set, I poured her some orange juice and walked out of the kitchen to tell her it was ready when…

I kicked over Marty’s orange juice that was perfectly positioned on the dining room floor. I stopped to clean that up, and immediately heard Marty say “I’m going to go drink some of my orange juice now.” Here is what happened for the next three minutes:

“Mommy, where is my orange juice?” “I spilled it Marty.” “Mommy, why did you spill my juice?” “I didn’t see it on the floor Marty.” “Why did you spill it?” “I didn’t know it was on the floor, Marty.” “I need some more orange juice, Mommy.” “Okay, here you go.” “Don’t spill this juice Mommy.” “I won’t.” “You need to be careful, Mommy.” “I know.” “I don’t want you to spill my juice again, Mommy.” “I won’t, Marty.” (etc. etc. etc.).

When I finally got Marty out the door and opened the refrigerator to put the orange juice away, the horseradish fell out on my foot. I, the once sane and well-adjusted, well-respected, and well-paid chemist, looked down and asked the horseradish, “What the hell is your problem? Now your lid is broken, so you are going in the trash.” Yes, I am talking to condiments.

I know things always ease up at the end of the school year, but the slope that things are sliding down in this house is dangerously steep. Things that are back in vogue here include paper plates and cups, TV during dinner and before bed, and piles of laundry that occupy whole corners of every room. I am suffering from a non-alcohol-induced fuzziheadedness that may start to threaten our very safety if I don’t find some relief soon. I need a little quiet, a little time to stare at the ocean, or at least a little time away from the Entropy Three debate team.

Question of the Day

Posed by Lauren as she was dosing off at 8:15: Do snakes have eyelids?

My answer at 8:15: Uh, I don't know.

The correct answer: No.

One Last Post About the Birthday

On Sunday morning our house was putting on a piece of performance art, perhaps as a tribute to the families of Katrina or perhaps as a foreshadowing of the hurricane season to come. Normally, if the house looked like that and I was hosting a birthday party later in the afternoon, I would be: 1) rather grumpy; 2) rather stressed out; and 3) rather inclined to start drinking at an hour that some people might characterize as "daybreak." Instead, I was lying on my living room floor in the midst of the mess, watching my little nephew tear up tissues and throw little Blue's Clues figures around the room.

How could I be so calm?

Let me tell you friends: We held the final celebration of Aislinn's birthday at the local McDonalds which guaranteed me happy meals, paper hats, place mats, cake and ice cream, toys, goodie bags, and an hour and a half to ourselves in the play area. The price of this extravaganza? $50 for 10 kids, $6 for each additional kid. I never attended a McDonald's birthday myself, but from all the screeching that occurred while I was there, I gather that it is rather fun for the guests.

My only complaint? What the McDonald's people call goodie bags I would actually refer to as miniscule bags of expired Ronald McDonald cookies.

My only moment of confusion? When our designated McDonald's employee host brought the cake out and asked me if I wanted a knife and a spatula. Umm, yes. I think I would prefer that to letting 13 children tear into the cake with their bare hands (that were recently all over the play area).

My only question? Why oh why have I been holding birthday parties at my house?

Product Review

Last year for a full month before her birthday, Aislinn told us every day that she wanted a slip and slide for her birthday. This year, Aislinn told me she wanted markers and paper for her birthday. We don't need markers and paper, so I was on my own to come up with a memorable birthday present. I decided to get her the newly invented sidewalk paint since I am overly susceptible to flashy advertising and since every activity that can be done outdoors is worth a try. Aislinn got the BIG splattering paintbrush for a present, and I got a set with a regular paintbrush and roller as a consolation (literally) prize for the other two.

Here is what we discovered. On the bad side: to make the "Happy Birthday" picture like the one on the box, you would need approximately 5 gallons of sidewalk paint (the kit comes with 12 ounces); the big paintbrush is way more trouble than it's worth; and as an play activity, it is rather expensive (for three kids it probably works out to $5 per paint session).

On the good side: the paint does wash off with the hose or an average rainstorm; the paint washes out of clothes without any problems; the colors are actually very bright; and most importantly, the paint is enough fun to keep the kiddies occupied for up to an hour.

In the end, I would recommend the sidewalk paint, but not the BIG brush. Although the kiddies love splattering the paint, it is hard to load it into the brush (about 3 minutes of loading time for one second of play time) and then if they don't hit it just right on the sidewalk, it doesn't really splatter. No matter what you do, it will not paint continuously the way it is depicted on the box, so save your darlings the frustration. Turn them loose with the paint tray, brush and roller, and you too can have your own pink, yellow, and blue boardwalk.


I'm not really sure what that's about either. Anyway, the paints certainly made them happy.







Note: This is what happens when you use them on antiquated cement sidewalks. If you have a sealed asphalt driveway, you might have better luck with the BIG paintbrush.

Having a Field Day

Lauren, Marty, and I went to watch part of Aislinn's field day today, to cheer her on as she carried a wooden egg on a spoon and a paper plate under her chin. Unlike every other field day I have ever attended, it was very well organized and the kids seemed to actually have fun.


I was rather fatigued however since it took me four tries and until 5:30 am to retrieve Aislinn's teeth from under her pillow and leave the tooth fairy loot.

Fun on the Slip 'n' Slide

Our slip and slide is more of a stroll and slip, or a sprawl out and low crawl. None of the kids seems inclined to throw down and slide.



They do seem to have a lot of fun though.

When Words Failed Marty

After the slip and slide fun the kids went to play on the trampoline. Unfortunately, Marty was playing too roughly and the girls decided to get down. I think Marty felt bad because he didn't realize that he was being too rough and when the girls left him it hurt his feelings. Also, apparently he was thirsty. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out how to tell me all of that, which brought about the following episode:

Aislinn (weeping): Mommy, Marty stepped on me and kicked me in the eye

Me: I'm sure it was an accident. Let me finish cleaning off the slip and slide and I'll talk to him.

After I managed to get the slip and slide draped over the fence and hosed off, I headed over to the neighbor's yard, where I met Sydney coming the gate.

Sydney: Marty keeps grabbing my wrist and pulling me

Me: Okay, I'll talk to him.

I continued over to the trampoline where Marty was now standing alone in his bathing suit singing to himself.

Me: Marty, are you being nice to the girls?

Marty: Yes.

Me: Did you kick Aislinn in the eye?

Marty: Umm, no.

Me: Are you pulling on Sydney?

Marty: Umm, yeah.

Me: Now all the girls got down because you are being too rough. You have to be nice to the girls if you want them to stay and play with you.

Marty (bursting into tears): Mommy, you are telling me all these things

Me: You don’t want me to tell you what you did wrong

Marty (looking unconsolable with huge tears running down his cheeks): Now one bathing suit boy is crying on the trampoline

Me: I know Marty, I don't want you to cry, but you have to be nice to the other kids on the trampoline

Marty (continuing to cry): All the guys got off the trampoline and it’s not fair

Me: Do you want to get down?

Marty (sobbing, sobbing, sobbing): No, its not fair and you are telling me all these things

Me: Come here Marty, stop crying…

Marty (tearily): No, I’m not coming there, one bathing suit boy is crying. I’m a saddy boy.

Me: Marty, just come here…

Marty (wiping his eyes and sniffing): No, all the girls left and that’s not fair

Me: Do you want to go play on the playground with them?

Marty (sad and angry all at once): No, I’m not

Me: Marty…

Marty (as if he's had a sudden revelation): Do we have any orange juice?

Me: Yes, we have orange juice

Marty (smiling): Okay, I’m going to go inside and have some orange juice in a BIG cup

Me: Okay Marty, come here and we'll go get some juice.

Happy Birthday Unker Obb!!

And Happy D-Day you little devil...

Unloose Tooth

On Monday of Memorial Day Weekend, as we were buckling seat belts and getting ready to drive home, Aislinn informed me that she felt like she had two sets of front teeth. When I looked in her mouth, sure enough one of her permanent teeth was coming in. A rather lazy permanent tooth since it couldn't be bothered to push out the baby teeth the way it was supposed to. Since Aislinn is not a shark and should not have more than one row of teeth, I took her to the dentist this morning to find out what we should do. Since I am not that bright, I took Lauren and Marty with me, figuring they could get to know the office so when it was their turn to go they wouldn't be as nervous.

I was expecting the dentist to take an x-ray and then determine what to do next. Instead he took a quick glance inside her mouth and said "Yep, that happened to one of my daughters too. We'll need to take out those two front teeth. Should we do it now?" I asked him how he was going to get the teeth out, and he said he would give her some novacaine, rub some gel on her gums, and then wiggle the teeth out. I had no idea teeth could be removed so easily (and I hope there are no frat boys out there being inspired by this story).

Anyway, since I had nutjobs #2 and #3 with me, I had to take them back to the waiting room and leave Aislinn to fend for herself. How did she take it? No crying, no cringing, no wincing, and no complaining. I think she even impressed the dentist with how stoic she was. I felt so bad about abandoning her that I was ready to let her stay home from school if she asked. But after we'd been home 30 minutes and her gums stopped bleeding, she started gathering up her stuff and asked me to take her to school.

So here I must lay to rest Aislinn's reputation as a drama queen. I'll admit she liked the shock value of telling her friends about the double extraction and I'll admit she may tend towards drama when nothing is at stake, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, our little Aislinn is all grown up and tough as nails.

Ouch

Today was one of those days, where everything seems to knock the kids off their feet (literally). Shortly after the photo shoot below, Lauren fell off the bike and scraped her knee. An hour later, when Marty fell off the curb and scraped his knee, the triage unit was still assembled in the dining room. After I fixed up Marty's knee, he fixed up mine:



Thanks Doc.

What's Good About Demolishing Your Daughter's Tricycle?

Getting to see this:




And this:



And this:

More Evidence of My Superior Parenting Skills

What makes a mark like this?

Unfortunately, it's this:


Oops. Looks like Lauren will be getting an early birthday present this year (at least she wasn't riding it at the time).

Oh, It's One Guest for Every Year

In our house somehow it's one party for every year.

Aislinn turns seven on Friday. Let the celebrations begin!

The Only Audience Our Boy Needs

Mommy: It's time to come in now Marty

Marty (in song as always): And you can stay at my house...

Mommy: Come on Marty, let's go inside

Marty: And you can run in the sprinkle if you want to...


Mommy: It's time to go dry off Marty

Marty: And you can come to my house...

Mommy: Come on now Marty, we need to go start dinner



Marty: Pants and shorts, pants and shorts, pants and shorts...

Mommy: Marty, what are you doing?

Marty: And you can get all wet if you want to...

Mommy: Marty, stop singing it's time to go inside

Marty (in absolute exasperation): Mommy, I need to finish my song.

Mommy (in absolute exasperation): Okay, hurry and finish up then



Marty: And you can take care of a baby if you want to...

Mommy: That's very nice

Marty: My shadow likes my singing.

91 Degrees Again?

Our little wading pool has been in dry dock since last fall in what the Army Housing Manual calls our "drying yard". The drying yard is a dirt pit partially enclosed with a fence and equipped with an antiquated spiral clothesline strung with old dirty string of questionable strength. Before he left, the HP fastened the pool to the inside of the fence, and so it has remained, becoming more and more caked with dirt with every passing rainstorm. The pool is going to need a long date with Mr. Clean, a scrubbrush, and me (and possibly Aunt Kate unless she reads this before she begins her journey down to visit) before it can be considered safe for kiddie play.

We also have a slip 'n' slide which was the only thing Aislinn wanted last year for her birthday, but it is rolled up in the storage box outside, and it too probably needs a good scrubbing. I'm not entirely sure whatever happened to our lawn sprinkler, but I believe it was borrowed and never returned in Kentucky. When we got back from running an errand this afternoon, I was seriously considering letting the kids loose with the hose.
Fortunately, since all three of our children have never forgotten a single thing that has ever happened in their lives, one of them remembered that we had a sprinkler that could float in the pool. We decided to test the theory as to whether it could also float on the lawn. Luckily for all involved, water was soon spraying everywhere.