My mom and my sister (Jill) both mentioned they enjoyed my new positive tone, and were glad I don’t hate my kids and want to give them away.  Actually, I think they only said the first part.  Out loud.  And while in ‘real life’ I try to be a pretty happy person, and I do love my kids, I was a little nervous about sounding too nice.  I have read some blogs (craft blogs can be guilty of this) that are so sunny and cheerful and EVERYTHING is always GREAT and the house is clean and decorated at all times and all of the kids are cute and well-behaved and after a couple of posts I want to YAK.  I was a little nervous, for about seven minutes, until I realized that will never be an issue here.  As in, ever.  So I will try not to be too bitterly sarcastic all of the time, and you can remember that when I joke about putting them up for adoption I’m mostly kidding, and together we will have one big happy fuzzy blog!  (Well, sort of.  I wrote “we” to sound nice, but it’s actually mine.)  (And I’m kind of thinking that pointing that out just negated the “nice” part,  in which case this whole “nice” business may be harder than I thought.)

So, funny story!  The twins are too big for a stroller, and refuse to sit in a cart, so I generally try not to take them to stores if I can help it.  However, I needed to pick up a prescription that I should have started a few days ago, so off to Target we went.

Have I ever mentioned that BUTTS are the funniest thing in the world?   We LOVE butts.  (Ha ha!  Butts!)  So as we are walking through Target the twins thought it was hysterical to point at EVERY WOMAN WE PASSED and loudly proclaim “Look at that big butt!  There’s a weally weally big butt!  I see anover big butt!”   Nothing I said mattered, and the more I glared at them the louder they got.  It also didn’t help that most of the women really did have a sizeable rear.  As you can imagine, this was NOT EMBARASSING AT ALL.  Thankfully we finally got to the pharmacy, and were standing in line, when they started grabbing things off of the endcaps.  I’m hissing “Don’t touch” and trying to put one thing back as the other one grabs something else.  Finally it was my turn and I told the pharmacist I needed a prescription they had on file.  As she was looking me up in the computer Gregory picked up a bottle of spray suncreen, squirted himself in the eyeball, and started screeching like a howler monkey.  She asked “which one?”, and I may have been a little too emphatic when I firmly, LOUDLY ANNOUNCED ”the BIRTH CONTROL PILLS”, because the other people in line burst out laughing at this news.  In retrospect, however, it is possible they were laughing with RELIEF at the thought of my womb being shut down by oral contraceptives, so maybe that is not actually a funny story.  Not that I don’t love my PRECIOUS ANGEL BABIES, they are just so precious I don’t think I could STAND any more… preciousness.

BUTTS!  (Ha ha!  Now that’s funny!)

The other day after Gregory woke up from his nap he quietly sneaked in to my bedroom.  I thought everyone was sleeping, until I heard a strange ssssssss sound.  This is what I found-

Has anyone seen There’s Something About Mary? 

For hours afterwards he kept patting his hair, amazed, and asking me why it was hard.  I’m no rocket scientist, but it may have something to do with a HALF OF A CAN OF HAIRSPRAY.  It was pretty funny though, and I was thankful that was all he got in to. 

Of course I have to include a picture of my favoritest person in the world some random relative.  She looks just like me!  (No, she really doesn’t, but I CAN PRETEND.)

They play together nicely!  Until they start fighting, anyway…

Let’s have a craft blog!  I’m crocheting a blanket here.  Notice my clean, peaceful house in the backgroundOR NOT

The finished product-

Dumbledore is not sure she approves.  But notice my pink ottoman!  PAAANK!!  I love Ikea.  I LOVE Ikea!  (Pank!)  (I sometimes pronounce “pink” as “PAAANK!”.  I find it amusing.  Possibly because I am crazy.)

I occasionally call a twin by the other’s name.  Daddy, however, gets them confused ALL OF THE TIME.  (Which is not difficult, Matthew never knows who they are either.)  The other night, though, Andrew was supposed to be getting his pajamas on.  He was dawdling, and Mike snapped “Hurry up, Gregory.”  I said “That’s Andrew”, and when Mike looked at him Andrew gave him a huge grin and enthusiastically said “Nice to meetcha!”  I laughed so hard I almost fell over. 

That is all for now!  I have finally run out of words.  Nice words, anyway.

So, I figure I would write something sort of nice, so everyone is not all “wow, all she does is whine and bitch about her kids” and someone [my husband Mike] read it and said, and I quote, “it was okay, but kind of sappy.”  SAPPY.  So a thousand apologies to anyone who SUFFERED through my CLOYING SAP.

Ha ha!  Just kidding!  I don’t apologize.  In fact, Matthew wrote this at school yesterday:

“The Amazon has at least 80 cindes of monkes!”  “Blue frogs get poisonis from the poisonis ants thay eat and the bright blue stands out to prediders so don’t touch blue forgs!”  (I don’t know what is cuter, the spelling, or the enthusiastic exclamation points that end all of his sentences.)

On the way to school this morning Matthew told Andrew (and I HAVE NO IDEA where this came from) “You should get a beard, ladies love them!”  So on the way home Andrew used a pen to draw a beard on his leg (?) and proudly announced “Babies love me!” 

Funny, right!  Don’t get too concerned about their rampant adorableness.  We have been home for twenty minutes and they already dumped cereal on the floor, whiiined because of, well, EVERYTHING, and chased each other while threatening to “kick you in the face!”  Oh, and broke the lid to a toy bin.  And threw a can of Spaghettios when informed that 9:18 am is not, in fact, lunchtime.  NO ONE HERE will be drowning in sap any time soon.

More ‘Grandrew’

                   Normally I am the awful kind of mother that, to the chagrin of my kids, insists upon buying cereal with some sort of nutritional value.  Cheerios, Kix, and Frosted mini wheats are the usual, with some (healthy) variety thrown in if it’s on sale.  (Daddy, on the other hand, checks the labels to see which cereal contains the highest amounts of artificial colorings, flavorings, and marshmallows.  And purchases the winner.  Sadly for some, Mom does the bulk of the food shopping.)  I could not resist the other day in the cereal aisle, though, when Andrew and Gregory asked nicely for some Yucky Charms.  I think it is SO CUTE, in fact, that I have not allowed the older two to tell them they are Lucky Charms (even though it is driving Matthew crazy to know something they do not, yet be unable to tell them that he knows something they don’t.)  Yucky Charms!  Since they are my last babies I am hesitant to correct everything they mispronounce, because they get closer to boy than baby every day.  Which is mostly good, but a teeny bit bittersweet, because I LOVE babies.  And toddlers.  And their funny language.

Michael has Legos called Bionicles, which are robot- alien- I’m- not- sure- what creatures that disassemble in to a lot of little pieces.  The twins love to play with these “Barnacles”.  Barnacles!  Oh, and when it is cold outside they need “glubs” for their hands.  Glubs!

I also loved when Michael started kindergarten, and spelled everything phonetically.  His schoolwork was so cute, I was actually a little disappointed when he started spelling correctly.  But even though you lose some things as they grow, other things take their place that make you love your child so acutely you can feel the pressure in your chest. 

After Michael lost his last tooth, he put a note with it under his pillow.  In neat, careful printing it said:

           Dear Tooth Fairy,

                          I hope some day I may see you.  But one thing I’d like to know is why you can’t be seen.  And why last time did you leave my tooth?  Could you give me three dollars tonight?  I really need the money.

                                                                                   Thanks,

                                                                                          Best Wishes,

                                                                                       Michael Hall

When it comes to begging for money, my kids are shameless.  He “really needs the money” for what?  Food?  Do his cruel parents make him pay rent?  Even more important- Pokemon cards.  But “Best Wishes”?!  Of COURSE he got three dollars!

(In case you were wondering, she left the previous tooth because his head was sleeping on top of it.  And she did write back, in silver ink on a little purple paper saying that her magic only works when kids are sleeping.  Because it was late and she was tired and couldn’t think of anything better. )

I love that my kids believe in at least a little magic.  (They are already planning traps for catching a Leprechaun, who always leaves behind candy and green glitter magic dust.)   Matthew explained it to me as “Some people say the Tooth Fairy/Santa/the Easter Bunny aren’t real, but I know they are because you guys wouldn’t just give us money/candy/toys for nothing.” [insert 13-year-old girl head-bobbling attitude here]  Well naturally Matthew, because we are (say it with me now!) SO MEAN.  Except for when I do purchase candy/ice pops/toys/Yucky Charms, but those times don’t count, because they are not, you know, ALL the time.  (Or whenever Matthew specifies, and trust me, that is ALL THE TIME.)

We went for x-rays last week, and it wasn’t even for Matthew.  We tell the twins (who are FOUR and should KNOW BETTER) not to put stuff in their mouth all of the time.  (which translated in to ‘Grandrew’ means “pop all manner of non-food items in to your mouths at all times!”)  Now this is not usually for their safety, but rather because Daddy does not want drool on his legos.  (Yes, Daddy’s legos.  I’m pretty sure he has more toys than all four children put together.)  Anyhow, Gregory noticed a penny on the floor, so he picked it up and stuck it in his mouth (for safekeeping?) and promptly swallowed it.  Because he is a jeenyus.   Being about as far removed from anxious first mother status as one can possibly be, I merely thought to myself “Good job, moron” and we went back to what we were doing.  Later on, feeling a niggle of guilt, I called Mike and told him to google penny swallowing and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW google came back with dire warnings(!)  Any other coin would have been fine, but pennies manufactured after 1982 (or ‘88, I forget) contain high levels of zinc, which if not passed out of the body can eat a whole through the stomach or intestines.

Aack!  I called the pediatrician, and we went for an x-ray, and saw the offending penny.  The doctor said to watch for it, and if it did not visibly exit the rectum in a week’s time Gregory would get another x-ray.  I could have combed through his poop like I was panning for gold, but not being an overly-anxious type A mother I figured if I didn’t see it winking at me from the potty we would just get another x-ray.  Which is, you know, less gross.  Of course, it has been over a week, and I have not seen it, and we haven’t gotten around to another x-ray, but honestly- if it was eating a hole through an organ some discomfort would be involved.  And if there is one thing the twins do NOT do it is suffer in silence.  At least that is how I am justifying my lack of acute concern, because I AM AN AWESOME MOTHER LIKE THAT.  Although, in my defense, all four boys are not only still alive, but still in possession of all major vital parts.  And as an exhausted mother of four active injury-prone boys one learns to celebrate small victories.  And you had better believe that there are days that keeping them alive until bedtime is a victory.  As is not putting them up for adoption.  Not that I don’t love them desperately, in fact, maybe it is in part because I love them so much that they have the ability to wear me down to a frazzled, sugar/carbohydrate gorging shell of myself.  That has become obsessed with cinnamon buns.  Specifically, Entenmann’s Ultimate cinnamon buns, which come in a box of four.  A box of four that weighs about SEVEN POUNDS.  In which supposedly each bun is 2 servings.  I can plow through a box a day, which would be a hefty victory were it not due to my recently developed double chin.  The more I gaze at my double chin, the better adoption sounds.  Because something has to go, and it SURE as hey won’t be my cinnamon buns.

Yesterday Matthew was riding his bike with his friend Sean.  I am CONSTANTLY having to remind the older boys to wear their helmets, so I was pleasantly surprised to see he had remembered on his own.  I made a mental note to commend his responsibility, and a little while later he parked his bike and came inside.  I asked him where his glasses were and he remembered he left them at Sean’s house, so he rushed out to get them.

Is anyone sensing some foreshadowing here?

SURE ENOUGH,  a few minutes later our neighbor bursts through the door and shouts “Matthew’s hurt bad!”  I was so concerned that I ignored his poor grammar and hurried out.  There was a dazed Matthew, blood running down his glasses, down his face, down his coat, dripping on his sneakers- blood everywhere.  He “didn’t have time” to put his helmet on, so instead we spent THE ENTIRE EVENING getting sutured and tested for brain trauma. 

Four stitches on his forehead later he was back to his old self, even hatching a scheme to get the tooth fairy to feel sorry for him so that she would leave extra money.  (He lost his tooth at school yesterday.)  The tooth fairy wanted to point out that she had just forked over thirty bucks for a co-pay because he was too stupid to wear his helmet while on the two wheeler he had just learned how to ride without training wheels, but with great effort instead just replied “hmm.”

He also wondered aloud if his head injury would prevent him from doing his math homework, but by the time I finished laughing he had wisely abandoned that idea.

So that was last night!  Since I was watching Matthew get stitched up like a quilt I didn’t have to cook dinner, which was a nice break.  Mike took care of feeding the other kids.  (Microwaved chicken nuggets, pickles, and milk is too a nutritious, well-rounded dinner.  In some countries.  Like, the third world ones.  Maybe.)

You may remember from previous posts that Matthew is TERRIFIED of anything canine, while simultaneously insisting he wants a pet dog.  (He is not concerned with so-called “logic”.)  On the way to school this morning he informed me he “doesn’t want a German Shepard anymore.”  (Probably a good idea for someone scared of puppies the size of hamsters.)  So anyway, now he wants a “mudge”.  “A whatnow? A mutt?”  [insert eyeroll here]  “No, a MUG.”  (Duh, mom.)  “Do you mean a pug?  With the squished up faces?”  “Yes, one of those.  Because they have little tails.”

The doctor assured me there was no concussion, no brain damage.  If it was anyone but Matthew I may be wondering about that, but no- he is definitely his normal Matthew self.

This is only the second time I have been on a computer since Christmas!  Nothing says “you are awesomely popular” like 748 new email messages!  Only about eight were from actual real people, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. 

Our computer is broken.  SORT OF.  It is broken for me.  Mike, on the other hand, works with computers for a living, and can get it to function using some advanced technological components, such as the cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper.  If THAT gets too squished he adds a child’s mitten to the elaborate cable/plug support structure.  Desperation leads to drastic measures, and he needs to have a functioning computer at home.  How else could he repeatedly view amusing Super Bowl commercials, I would like to know?

I have been absent due to any number of factors- general busy nonsense, procrastination, a fondness for sleeping, twins I must referee by being physically planted between for 14 hours a day, blah blah whatever.  I also had a mental ’issue’ where the longer it had been since I had written, the more I felt a pressure to compose a massive perfect all- inclusive post detailing everything that had happened since the previous one, and so that pressure led to procrastination, which I overcame by realizing I am CRAZY.   Because that is RIDICULOUS.  So as a result of all that CRAZY I am not actually telling you anything right now, but merely confirming my continued existence (and trying to remember how to type.)  I will catch up gradually, with small posts.  Or not.  Who knows?  What I do know is that not writing makes me CRAZY.  (Well, a LOT of things do, like finding abandoned toilet paper tubes all over the house, but I won’t get in to that right now.)

I will be back before March!  I will even be back before we elect an entirely different President!  Which happened the last time I stopped posting  (Goodbuy George W!  We is miss you!  It is a burden having a leader that can complete a coherent sentence.)

I am not actually writing a post. I mean I am, kind of, but not really. Because I don’t have TIME. Just like I didn’t have TIME in December, and won’t this weekend either, but am DETERMINED to write anyway. This weekend! That is, however, if I can pry the computer out of my husband’s clutching fingers. (I may have to go all Kung Fu Panda on his internet-hogging buttocks.)