Home Improvements

Last spring (or maybe winter) my parents gave me a bench from their dining room table. They bought the bench at an unfinished furniture store that was near a soccer field where I played in grade school. Needless to say, the bench is a borderline antique - except that where the Antiques Roadshow people might like to see "patina" what we have is a foot rail (actually, maybe we weren't supposed to put our feet on there?) scraped to the bare wood. My father recommended that I paint the bench, since it was unlikely to take stain evenly given its worn condition.

Like a moron, I mentioned to the kiddies that I was going to paint the bench. Since that moment, I have been asked every single day by at least one if not all three kiddies "When are we going to paint the bench?" Even when we were away from the summer, if they saw a bench of any kind they would say "When we get back to our house, can we paint the bench?" During the spring and summer it was too hot or too humid or we were too far away. So far this fall it has been too hot or they have been too busy. But when I heard the weather forecast for dry sunny weather today, I decided that it was time to paint the bench.

Like a moron, I mentioned to the kiddies that we were going to paint the bench today. Between every bite of their breakfast they asked "Is it time to paint the bench?" Every time they needed to do something they checked in with me "I need to go to the bathroom, please don't paint the bench until I get back."

Finally, I got the bench out the door and found a square of sandpaper for each of them. The sanding was a bonus chore that they had not been expecting, and they took to it with such enthusiasm, they probably could have removed all of the stain if I'd asked them. Equally fascinating and enjoyable was the wiping off of the dust with a wet rag. I had to repeatedly tell them that it was clean enough, but we would likely still be outside wiping it down if some neighbors hadn't come by to play. I managed to strong arm them inside by telling them that the bench had to dry or we'd never be able to paint it.

When the neighbors left, the kiddies sat down on the floor of the carport to eat lunch next to the bench, perhaps in fear that I would paint it while they were shoveling down a turkey sandwich (at this point the 11 songs of the High School Musical soundtrack had been playing on a continuous loop all morning).

With lunch done and the treats polished off, I made the announcement that it was time to start painting, except that I couldn't paint with the High School Musical soundtrack on. The bench painting day may be memorable as the one time in my life that they ever turned it off without protest.


Little paint contractors they are not. Marty had the first turn with the roller, but he wasn't a huge fan, because he wasn't pressing it hard enough to get it to roll. He soon traded with Lauren, and then proceeded to spend a half hour and half a can of paint brushing the same spot on the seat. Repeatedly dipping the brush in the paint and then brushing in little circles over and over again. Turning the paintbrush bristles into the hair of an angry demonic clown. Whenever I tried to get him to paint with the grain or another part of the bench, he would just look at me as if I were a little slow and say, "I need to paint the seat."


Lauren took the roller next and refused to roll with the grain of the wood, no matter how many times I showed her how to do it. On the few occasions when she did roll it rather smoothly, Marty and his clown brush would spring into action and redo the circular streaks. Aislinn decided to do some detail work while she waited for her turn with the roller, so she went to find a little paintbrush and came back with one the size of a nail polish brush. When I suggested that the brush might be a little small, she went and traded it in for a brush that came in a water color set. When it was finally her turn for the roller, she used it everywhere, even on the spindles (which I told Lauren were called spokes, and she was calling them strokes, and now that she's gotten that straightened out I'll have to teach her the right word tomorrow).

The paint was supposed to be burgundy. In fact, the name of the paint shade is "Wine Tasting." However, the paint in the can was a rather bright, cheery, and bold magenta. All of the neighborhood girls who stopped by thought we had chosen a wonderful color. I was a little concerned, but judging from the dried puddles of paint all around the painting area, if we get enough coats on the bench, it probably will look the right color. Unfortunately, I don't think we are going to have enough paint to get enough coats on the bench. So any of you lucky enough to be coming to dinner may find yourselves in a seat of honor on the streaky, bumpy, drippy, magenta bench.

Of course, the crappy paint job is worth it, because I've never seen them have so much fun when snow cones or bathing suits were not involved. I had no expectations of perfection, so everything they did made me laugh. In fact, I'm almost ready to try to think of something else we could paint. Of course, I've learned my lesson and will not be mentioning it to them until 15 seconds before we start.

Cute pictures will follow tomorrow. Blogger won't upload them although it keeps claiming that it has. Pain the the @#$%.

An Old Joke

When Aislinn turned five, the HP gave her an Eric Carle book called Mr. Seahorse which was all about the daddy fish in nature that take care of the fish eggs before they hatch. One of these fish is Mr. Tilapia, which Lauren, who was not quite three, called Mr. Tiyapia. Mr. Tiyapia apparently carries the fish eggs in his mouth to keep them safe before they hatch. Once Lauren acquired this little bit of knowledge, she spent the entire summer having the following conversation with any one who would pay attention to her:

Lauren: Lily/Elizabeth/Grandma/etc., guess what

Lily/Elizabeth/Grandma/etc.: What?

Lauren: I had a dream about you last night.

Lily/Elizabeth/Grandma/etc.: Really.

Lauren: Uh huh. You had a baby in your mouth. HAHAHAHAHA!

Lily/Elizabeth/Grandma/etc.: Blank stare

No one understood this joke, including me, until I finally made the Mister Tiyapia connection and tried to tell people why she was saying this. Eventually, whenever she launched into the joke, people would humor her and say "oh my!" and she remained convinced it was one of the funniest things anyone had ever heard.

What does this story have to do with the events of the past few days? Nothing really, except that I encountered Mr. Tiyapia at the fish counter yesterday.

He was deyicious.

A Busy Afternoon

Today when Lauren got off the bus, it was clear that she had recently been crying. When I asked her what was wrong, Aislinn informed me that Lauren was upset that she had too many things to do after school.

Mommy: What do you have to do?

Lauren: I have to go to CiCi's pizza and I have to go to CCD.

Mommy: We're going to CiCi's pizza for dinner. We always have dinner so that's not really extra. If you don't want to go to CCD you don't have to. You can start another time.

Lauren (still weepy): Okay.

When we got into the house, she headed straight for her bedroom and took off her shoes. I told her not to change into play clothes because we were going to dinner in an hour. As I was saying this, she climbed into her bed and fell into a drooling coma.

An hour later I spent 10 minutes rousting her and drying the sweat off her little head. I managed to get her to the pizza fundraiser and although she was cold from getting out of her warm snuggly bed, she ate a good dinner. On the way home, she announced that she was feeling better and was ready to go to CCD. I was rather skeptical, but I took her and she surprised me, participating right off the bat and even forgetting I was there occasionally.

Tonight when she walked out of her bedroom (to tell me she couldn't sleep, surprise surprise) she looked suspiciously taller. So I guess growing was another one of the things she needed to do today after school.

(And I'm really glad that she cheered up, because I didn't want to be brought down on the day I got to make a solo visit to another holy place - DSW)

Add It Up

I have been torturing Aislinn (and forcing others to torture Aislinn) for four straight days with addition flash cards, because I was given no notice that she will be taking a timed addition test where she must finish 30 random problems in 2 minutes. This was never told to me by the teacher, who apparently thinks that a 7-year-old in her 3rd week of second grade is ready to take in and report to me on all future assignments.

She is good at math, but this little endeavor is sapping all of her confidence, because she is not good at doing math fast. I never thought speed was a priority. I can see the teachers encouraging them to do problems faster, but not testing them on it.

To her credit, she got the flash cards out this morning while she was eating breakfast, at which point I told her "You are really working hard on this and I can't believe you are doing the cards without even being asked. Don't worry about the test tomorrow, because I know you are really trying your best."

Today she got 20/30 done on the practice test. Can we really expect her to do 1.5 times better tomorrow?

I was thinking of getting some multiplication flash cards so that she could learn them really slowly over a long period of time. She'd be ahead of the game before her crazy teacher starts the clock.

But then I remembered subtraction. Which probably starts next week.

So we're already behind.

Arggh.

The Crying Game

All I really want is a little quiet. Not days of quiet, just a couple hours where I don't have to play, "I Spy" or "I'm Thinking of a Color" or "Going on a Picnic" or "The Copying Game" or "Lightening McQueen and Tow Mater" or "The Animals on the Farm Keep Falling Off the Horse and Need to Take a Deep Breath and Get a Bandaid," and a couple hours when the kiddies are off being entertained, taught, and/or fed by trained professionals. Those couple of hours have been mighty hard to find lately.

Today I got the girls through breakfast and onto the bus, both seemingly happy and well-rested. I brought Marty back in for a banana and some chocolate milk, and started to mentally fantasize about my 5 free hours.

Then the phone rang.

Nurse: Hi, we've got Lauren here in the clinic. She's crying and says that her stomach hurts. Was she crying before she left home this morning?

Me (I'm not super mommy but I really wouldn't send a sick kid to school): No, she was fine. She was happy when she got on the bus.

Nurse: She has a temperature of 99.6 degrees, which is almost a low grade fever, but if she was feeling fine, maybe she's just upset.

Me (There is not a single possibility that I will be going to pick her up before school even starts unless she is projectile vomiting): I think some one may have hurt her feelings. Usually when she gets upset, instead of saying she's upset, she says her stomach hurts. In fact, the last time she went to the clinic it was because she was upset. (She didn't get her turn to wipe the cafeteria tables - this from a girl who can put on a writhing full-body whine when I ask her to help pick up the toy room)

Nurse: Okay, I understand. I'll talk to her a little more to see if I can figure out what went wrong, and then I'll send her back to class.

Me ("Thank God"): Okay, thanks.

I had a few momentary pangs of guilt that I am not the super mom who would rush over there to comfort her, but really, I didn't have it in me. So I packed up Marty, who sang "Get Your Head in the Game" from the High School Musical soundtrack not once, but twice on the way to school, and headed for the day care.

As soon as we got out of the car, he started to cry.

Marty: I don't want to go to my school

Mommy: You like your school

Marty: NO I don't, my school is gross

Mommy: Your teachers are waiting for you

Marty: No they're not

Mommy: Well you can be a saddy boy if you want to, but you are going in.

Throughout the sign in and our trip through the halls, Marty refused to speak to any of the other adults there, and stared daggers at the ones trying to cheer him up. Unfortunately, back when he was little mister sunshine racing me to his classroom, he met everyone in the entire place and every one knows his name, so he was able to insult a wide array of people just in the lobby.

At the room, his teacher had a painting area all set up for him. He informed us that he doesn't like painting, he was not going to do any painting, he was not going to do any puzzles, he was not going to do anything.

Super Mommy: Okay, just sit in that blue chair over there and cry. I'll see you after lunch big boy.

When I picked Marty up, he told me that he was crying because another kid was crying, but his teacher told me that Marty was the only one. He also told her that he didn't get any breakfast. Maybe he needs toddler therapy.

Later, when Lauren got off the bus, I immediately opened the investigation, trying to get to the source of the morning misery.

Mommy: Lauren, was someone mean to you before school today?

Lauren: No

Mommy: What happened first thing? Did you give the cake mix and frosting (from the teacher wish list) to your teacher?

Lauren: Yes

Mommy: Did she say "thank you?"

Lauren: No, she didn't say anything.

Mommy (starting to fume because really, that is just rude): She didn't say anything?

Lauren: No. We had a substitute teacher today. And she said when we finish our morning work we hadded to put our heads down, but we only put our heads down when we're in trouble.

Investigation closed.

Everything's Coming Up Roses

Today was not a banner day. A had a long list of errands to run, workouts to complete, and cooking knock out while Marty was in hourly care. Of course to his delight, he didn't go, and my whole day was shot. I was exhausted from all the visits to the dentist, the school, and the mountain of homework that Aislinn has to dig out from under every day. It was the kind of day that you just wish an old friend would call out of the blue or send you a card (or even better a check) in the mail to know that someone was thinking of you. But I was too depressed to even hope for that.

Later, when I was in the kitchen fetching yet another something for Marty, I noticed the FedEx guy parking, and I thought to myself "Oh great, those are probably the running shorts I ordered and will never get to use since I am never alone..."

But it wasn't the shorts, it was these:



Yep, there's 20 of them, and all different colors because the HP knows I think red roses are cliche. A little present from the psychic HP to mark the last 60 days of the deployment.

We've just got to get through the last two months. A milestone that we thought we'd never reach.

Thanks HP.

An Homage to Dr. Daugherty, My Childhood Dentist

When I was younger, just a bad little kid
My mama noticed funny things I did
Like shooting puppies with a B.B. gun
I'd poison guppies and when I was done
I'd find a f#$%^&% cat and bash in its head
That's when my mama said

What did she say?

She said, "My boy, I think someday
You'll find a way to make your natural tendencies pay

You'll be a dentist
You have a talent for causing things pain
Son, be a dentist
People will pay you to be inhumane
Your temperament's wrong for the priesthood
And teaching would suit you still less
Son, be a dentist
You'll be a success

Oh, shut up. Open wide. here I come!

I am your dentist
And I enjoy the career that I picked
I am your dentist
And I get off on the pain I inflict
When I start extracting those molars
You girls will be screaming like holy rollers

And though it may cause my patients distress
Somewhere in heaven above me, I know that my mama's proud of me
'Cause I'm a dentist- and a success

Say ah! Now spit. - Little Shop of Horrors

(and if there was a similar song about a hygienist, it would also be applicable)


The first time I saw Little Shop of Horrors, I finally felt like someone understood my childhood. I had braces twice, but nothing my orthodontist ever dreamed up ever compared to the hell visited on me by my psycho dentist. I suppose I should have had some sort of therapy to help me get over my treatment at his hands, but eventually I aged out of it.

The scars, however, are fresh enough that I am more than a little paranoid/neurotic/overprotective/hair trigger when it comes to the people who will be approaching the teeny little teeth of my children. The last dentist I had used to take my blood pressure every time I went in (and it was always low, due to genetics - if I get out of bed too quickly I get dizzy), but if they took it when I brought my children in, they'd probably offer me a cot and a tranquilizer.

So today the kiddies went in to meet yet another dentist in their short little lives. I was very agitated because Lauren was claiming she thought she had four cavities and Aislinn clearly needed more teeth extracted.* When I mentioned in passing to the hygienist that Aislinn had had teeth pulled in June, she said "Oh, by Dr. Mark," at which point I began to have double vision but managed to stammer "Aren't they seeing the same dentist?" She must have seen something in my face because she said "No, he's off today, but all of our dentists are really good. Really good. Really good with kids."

As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. The replacement dentist was as nice as the orignial dentist, and he even blew up gloves as balloons and then decorated them as fish for the girls. He spotted one cavity on Lauren (rather unfair since she is the least sugar houndish, but she did have a long stretch of chocolate milk) and one tooth of Aislinn's that needed to be pulled, but he didn't lecture anyone or draw blood just to prove a point. He smiled and waved at the girls and said "See you soon! Good luck in school!"

When you think about it, dentists should be really, really, nice to the kiddies who need more work and meaner to the kiddies with perfect teeth. After all, we are the ones who are forking over the money.

What I am not so happy about is that I have to take them back tomorrow. Two days in a row in the dentist office may bring back flashbacks.

* The dentist told me that in the past 3 years he has seen a sharp increase in baby teeth that refuse to come out. He guessed that maybe kids were over fluoridated and their teeth were so strong that even the big bad grown up teeth can't force them out of their mouths.

Queen of Kindergarten

Looking back over the recent posts, it seems that Lauren has not been getting her share of the attention. Part of this is because now Marty and I are always together. Part of this is because Lauren, having conquered Kindergarten in an impressive fashion, has a rather large attitude. We have been having regular disagreements over if/when she will do the things that I ask her. This attitude, coupled with her well-honed debate skills, absolutely exhausts me. Although she is still as sweet and funny as ever, sometimes I have trouble putting the latest tussle out of my head.

Today, however, she came home from school a little tired and a little sad. Apparently two boys told her that she was a "teeny tiny eyeball," which I guess is insulting, and then told her that the lettuce on her sandwich was all shriveled up. She had a bump on her head from falling and bumping her head "on the mulch." She sat on my lap while she ate her afternoon snack, and reminded me of the little bugaboo that she was just a short time ago (when she also didn't realize how much sleep she needed).



She talks such a good game, sometimes its hard to remember that she's only been around for five years. But she's tough, and ready to go back into the fray tomorrow.

The Copying Game. The Copying Game

I suppose there comes a time in every child's life when he is temporarily enamored of the copying game. Unfortunately, that time in Marty's life began about a month ago and seems to be without end. Example:

Mommy: Marty, did you finish your dinner?
Marty: Marty, did you finish your dinner? Hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!

Mommy: Marty, if you don't eat your dinner, you can't have a treat.
Marty: Marty, if you don't finish your dinner, you can't have a treat. Hahahahaha!!!!

Mommy (smiling and shrugging): ...
Marty: Mom?

Mommy: Yes, Marty
Marty: You're supposed to say "Mom"

Marty: Mom?
Mommy: Mom?

Marty: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Marty: Mom?
Mommy: Mom?

Marty: Mommy, if you stop copying me, I'll stop copying you.
Mommy: Okay Marty, please eat your dinner so you can have a treat.

Marty: Okay Marty, please eat your dinner so you can have a treat. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Is For Apple

Number of children requesting apples for breakfast: 2

Number of apples washed and cut up for children for breakfast: 2

Number of apples consumed by children for breakfast: 0

Number of apples I wanted for breakfast: 0

Number of rapidly browning apples I ate for breakfast because there are starving children in China: 2

Overheard on the Trampoline

Sydney: I’m going to name my dog Cocoa, but I don’t know what to pick for a middle name

Aislinn: How about Cocoa Wedding?

Sydney: Wedding?

Aislinn: Yeah, my aunt Erin is getting married in June to her FIANCE

Sydney (suddenly serious, standing up and putting one hand on her hip): Well you know her fiancé better be a grown man and better treat her right or I’m going to have to have a talk with him. Me and my dad are going to have to have a talk with him.

Aislinn and Lauren (jumping around like crazy people): He is!! He’s so nice! You’ll love him when you meet him! He’s so funny!

So D'oh, you'd better be a grown man. And not just because you are way tall already.

An Average Tuesday Afternoon

Tuesday is folder day, when the school sends home all of the crap that needs to be filled out and returned. Technically, this is now quadruple the task it was last September because I have one extra kid with filling-out-crap requirements and one less husband to help with said filling-out-crap requirements. I tell you this only so you will know why the kids were outside unattended and came rushing to the screen door.

Lauren: Marty, I’m going to ring the doorbell.

Marty: Mommy!

Mommy: What is it guys?

Doorbell: BZZZZZZZZZZ

Doorbell: BZZZZZZZZZZ

Doorbell: BZZZZZZZZZZ

Mommy: Guys, what’s the…

Doorbell: BZZZZZZZZZZ

So I abandon the pile of crap and make my way to the kitchen door where Lauren and Marty are waiting.

Lauren: Mommy, there is a bug on Aislinn’s head and she’s afraid it might kill her.

Marty: Yeah, and Lauren too.

Mommy: What?

I walk out to the front lawn where Aislinn was supposedly raking leaves, and rather than running around in a panic or shivering in a state of shock, she is rather nonchalantly spinning her rake around, until she saw me and realized it was show time.

Mommy: Come here.

Aislinn (with a look of weepy distress): There was a bug on my head and it really hurt.

Lauren: Aislinn, it might be a tick

Mommy: I don't see anything.

Aislinn: Well, it might be gone now but it really hurt. MOMMY!!! NOW IT’S ON YOUR HEAD!! AHHHH! I THINK IT IS A BABY DRAGONFLY!!

Mommy (shaking my head and brushing it with both hands): Is it off?

Aislinn: NO!!!

Mommy: Is it out now?

Aislinn: NO!! I THINK IT’S A BABY DRAGONFLY!!!

Mommy: Now?

Aislinn: NO!!!!

Mommy: Well, where is it? Can you show me?

Aislinn: Well actually, it’s just flying around your head. Can you help me with my roller skates?

So here are the roller skates, and the new play shorts. Perhaps a step down from the Von Trapp children's curtain play clothes, but they'll probably last for years.

Marty was experimenting to determine how the chalk looked after it was wet. Seconds later we had a heated debate after I told him to stop drinking that water.



They may be loony toons, but at least they all like each other. And now they can all eat dinner on the same side of the table, as if they are on their own TV show.

Basketball?

The kiddies are a little late to the High School Musical party, since I read about it in the spring and they just saw it for the first time at the end of August. For those of you who don't know, its full of singing, dancing, singing, dancing, minor high school drama, and basketball. All three kiddies are wandering around the house singing their versions of the songs (and they know quite a bit considering they've only seen it a few times), calling each other by the character names, and reenacting their favorite scenes. Considering their obsession with music and penchant for drama, none of that really surprised me.

Here's what caught me off guard (no pun intended): Aislinn has become obsessed with basketball. Every day now she wants to go outside and shoot hoops in the "Grow to Pro" basket we got her for her 3rd birthday (I did raise it to 5 feet this week, but it had been at the same 3.5 foot height for 4 years). She's trying to organize a 2 on 2 tournament with Lauren, Marty, and one of the neighborhood kids (I'm not helping). When we went to Target to find some dark blue/black shorts for them to wear as play clothes (needed due to a sudden increase in black stains coming off the swings - origin unknown but I'm blaming Ernesto) I could only find boys shorts. Her reaction "I like those because they look like real basketball shorts."

I know this is likely a phase that will pass, but for now I'll just be glad that High School Musical inspired her to go play rather than to start gluing sequins on a wireless microphone.

A New Challenge to My Authority

Over the past few weeks, I have noticed that Marty occasionally mentions someone named "Coachie," and for some reason, Coachie never seems to agree with what I'm saying.

For example:

Mommy: Marty, eat your dinner.

Marty: Coachie says never to eat any more dinner

Now, however, I don't just get the Coachie pronouncements second hand. If I make an unreasonable request like "Marty put that popsicle stick in the trash" or "Marty it is time for a rest," Marty grabs the closest inanimate object and dials Coachie up on the spot:

"Hi Coachie... Uh huh, uh huh, okay, Coachie, bye"

"Mom, Coachie says I can never put my popsicle stick in the trash"

"Hello, Coachie?? My mom says to take a nap. Okay, whatever you say Coachie. Bye"

"Mom, Coachie says to never take any more naps."

Then he gives me an expectant look as if to say "You heard it yourself. Are you really going to defy Coachie?"

Of course, I am. But today he went over Coachie's head and called the judge, who informed us that Marty does not need to finish his milk before he has a treat. I defied the judge too. I can only wonder who's next. The pope?

Life With the Buddy Boy

8:09 am: Marty wakes up.
8:10 am: Marty declares he will not go to the bus stop.
8:10:15 am: Marty demands to go to the bus stop.
8:10:25 am: Marty declares he will not go to the bus stop because he won't wear shoes.
8:10:45 am: Marty screams that he wants to go to the bus stop.
8:11 am (as the bus comes into sight): Marty demands chocolate milk for the road.
8:11:15 am: Marty decides to leave his chocolate milk at home and drink it after the bus.

*****************************

On the way back from the bus:

Marty: I want a ice krispy treat.

Mommy: That is a treat. It's time for breakfast.

Marty: I want an ice krispy treat.

Mommy: You can have one for a treat after lunch, but right now it is breakfast time.

Marty: I want an ice krispy treat for a snack.

Mommy: You can have one for a snack after lunch.

Marty: I want lunch.

*****************************

At the playground:

Marty: Mommy, we're playing Winn Dixie. I'll be Oval (Opal) and you be Winn Dixie

Mommy: Okay.

Marty: Oh Winn Dixie, I'm so happy you're back. Let's go to Oval's house.

Mommy: Okay.

Marty: You're supposed to say WOOF.

Mommy: Woof.

Marty: Come on boy. Climb the ladder with me

Mommy: Dogs can't climb up the ladder.

Marty: You're supposed to say WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOFWOOF.

Mommy: WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOFWOOF

Marty (at the top of the playground): Come on Winn Dixie, let's go down the slide.

Mommy (having banged my back on the top of the spiral slide): Ouch.

Marty: You're supposed to say WOOF.

Kindergarten Insomnia

Aislinn took a nap every afternoon until the day before she started kindergarten. She needed a nap, and I needed her to take one. I attempted to follow the same pattern with Lauren, but she gave up her nap when she was three and three months old because I couldn't take the nonstop debate that ensued every afternoon at one o'clock. Also, since she has always been able to amuse herself and leave me alone for sometimes an hour at a time, I decided I'd get a good enough break even if she didn't nap. The main advantage of our arrangement was that she would fall into a coma 2 minutes after bedtime, which is when I really Really REALLY don't want to see my children anymore.

So last night, after her first grueling day of kindergarten, imagine my surprise that at 9:15 (an hour and 15 minutes after bedtime) she was still awake and wandering out to the living room to see what I was doing, forcing me to get off the couch and parent (the mean way). She kept telling me she wasn't comfortable, even though she had tried 5 different places to sleep (the head and foot of her bed, the head and foot of Aislinn's bed, and the floor). I spent most of today trying to figure out how she was getting by on so little sleep.

Tonight at dinner, I found out. Yesterday I heard a little story about how Aislinn got very upset on the bus after school because Lauren was not on it yet. She jumped off the bus and went to find her sister (in a big sisterly way that I have raved about and praised her for continuously). Today, I heard the rest of the story from Lauren. Apparently that rest mat that I bought (the 2 inch one rather than the 1 inch one) is so amazingly comfortable, that Lauren fell into a coma during rest time. She slept right on through wake up time, get ready to leave time, and get on the bus time. She was the reason her class was late for the bus. She fell asleep today too, but not as long (in fact she was the worried one on the bus looking for her sister today).

I never asked if she had fallen asleep at rest time, because I never would have ever thought she would. When I was looking at the mats at Walmart, I decided on the 2 inch one because I figured she'd be rolling around for the whole half hour. Now I find out she's too comfortable. And yet her pricey bunkbed at home is apparently uncomfortable.

Damn that 2 inch rest mat.

First Day of School in Pictures

With the resolution on this photo, one might think that Marty was upset about his sisters going off to school. Actually, that is just his new, charming "picture face," that he trots out whenever he sees the camera.


Although it wasn't windy, Aislinn appeared to be walking around in her own private photo shoot, because every time I pulled out the camera, a breeze would blow through her hair.

Lauren was perfectly happy to meet her teacher at her new classroom (and pose with her slightly deranged brother).

Unfortunately, they didn't meet at the classroom, they met in a big gaggle where the buses unload (the kiddies got a ride today so that they could transport the enormous rest mat - see photo 1) and after about 20 minutes of standing around there, Lauren was having trouble keeping the nervousness at bay.

Although according to my calculations there must be 40 new boxes of tissues in Lauren's classroom this morning, I couldn't find one. Fortunately I had one crumpled yet generally clean tissue in my bag. With her enormous mispelled ("Lauran") backpack stowed and her seat at the table located, Lauren pulled it all together and kicked off kindergarten like a champ.






When the bus finally arrived 40 minutes late, I had just come back from my 3rd trip back to the house. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the camera until the final trip, so I did not capture any of Marty's 40 minute song and dance routine with repeated jumps from the bus stop bench. But at least I got pictures of the happy scholars.