a bracelet, a branch

Wyatt made me a friendship bracelet in Sunday school. I thought about not wearing it as we walked back to the car, but then I just felt it: this need to wear this little reminder that I need to love him.

And I know I shouldn't need a reminder, but right now my head is filled with that... I love you, but I don't like you phrase.

So, I'm wearing this bracelet, I haven't taken it off since putting it on.

::

Wyatt has been struggling with everything and everyone. He complains:

Why do I have to put my pajamas in the laundry?

I never get to... you name it.

Why did you make my pants too tight?

Why did you buy me new shoes, these are too tight/too loosely/too velcory...?

Do I have to clean up this mess, why do I always have to clean up?

I hate (what the opposite of whatever you just said).

It's so hard, coming after Christmas, where he gets so much, has so much, only to hear the negative come out of his mouth.

It's not ever been my goal to be a friend to Wyatt, I don't think parents should be friends with their kids. My goal is to just be his mom, and just love him.

So, to me, this bracelet isn't really a friendship bracelet, it's an olive branch.

oh, snap

Have I shared this with you yet? (Probably not, because it's less than flattering... and I'm super vain. No, really, I'm not that vain.)


Our latest professional photograph (and I use the term professional loosely here).

I can pretty much count this is what we were thinking as the camera went *click*.

Me: "Chin out, chin up, but not up too much you can see in my nose. Please let me get one photograph were my double chin isn't the most obvious feature on my face."

Edy: "I'm just resting here. I'm about to fly my arms and arch my back again in 3...2...1."

Wyatt: "The picture lady put that jar of suckers on the floor. When she's not looking, I'm totally sneaking one into my pocket and playing dumb when Mom asks 'where I got it from?".

Henry: "La-la-la, look there's my shoe. La-la-la, there's a string on my shirt. La-la-la, I wonder what I can make with the string..."

My husband: "If you put that f'ing stuffed parrot on your head one more freakin' time, I'm going to go off on you. Just snap the f'ing picture."

And this one was actually the best of the bunch to pick from.

Adding family picture to the list of 2012 things to do,

again.

tooth math

This is Henry's tooth bed.

Stop judging me.

I actually thought I was pretty smart with the 'let's make a bed for your tooth instead of putting it under your pillow' thing. Yes, I know that they make cute little things called tooth pillows, with cute, tiny little pockets for your dear loved one's tooth to go into, but the first tooth falling out kind of caught me by surprise. So, I wasn't prepared. Plus, I kind of like not having to go hunting for a tooth hidden under a pillow while someone is sleeping. Plus, you know... I'm cheap.

Me + tooth bed = genius)

So, the tooth was placed in it's special bed last night awaiting the fairy's arrival.

This is the fairy's 7th visit.

The first visit was complete failure, involving me running into his room and throwing a dollar under his bed saying something about 'Are you sure you didn't see it? It must have fallen'.

And the last time the tooth fairy visited, I didn't have cash. I never have cash, I wish that the tooth fairy was suppose to leave something that I always have on hand, like string cheese. Yes, I'd be completely happy leaving a string cheese in place of the tooth.

That, or being able to tell Henry I'll put his tooth fairy payment on my Visa.

Sigh... a girl can dream.

So, I rummaged through the coins in my wallet (and in the coin thingy in the van) and managed to come up with 4 quarters. I quietly tip toed into his room and dropped the coins into his tooth bed.

Success.

I was smiling about this as I was get ready that morning. Only then I hear my husband pulling back into the garage from his leaving for work 5 minutes early.

'Forget something?' I whispered.

'Tooth fairy' he whispers back to me.

'I already did it!' I responded.

'How much?' he asks.

'A dollar.'

He silently scoffs at my 'dollar' and climbs up the stairs to Henry's room. He placed the money on the night stand and started to walk away, only Henry is awake and says 'the tooth fairy only gave me coins!'

Busted.

My husband says something about there being more money he didn't see.

A five dollar bill!

Apparently, our going rate for a tooth is 5 buck and 4 quarters.

Let's do the math on that:

6 bucks x 20 teeth x 3 kids = financial ruin

or another equation to look at...

(Husband + scoffing at my $1 a tooth = not so genius)

*

So, what's the going rate for a tooth at your house?

Santa can't bring snow

They both chime in a whine from the backseat "but it's not fair!"

"We are suppose to have snow, it's so not fair. It's my third favorite thing about Christmas" Henry punctuated from the back seat.

I'm mentally doing a little dance, thank you, God, we don't have snow. We've had snow 8 months out of the last year, we deserve a no snow month!)

"Last night," Henry continues, "I even prayed to God for snow."

(insert the audible sigh here from me.)

"I should have asked Santa for snow too," he finishes.

I scoff from behind the wheel, not loud enough for him to hear though. The visit from Santa went something like this...

::

9:30am, because we aren't standing in any line for a visit to Santa, we only stand in line for important things like free cappuccinos to the first fifty people.

We waited at the curtained gate to reveal what type of Santa we are going to get. (Yes, it's strange, but this is the way Macy's does it.) We always prepare the kids... either it's the real Santa (aka decent looking, smells good) or it's one of Santa's helpers (aka, fake beard is falling off, eyebrows are made-up with white cake makeup).

Lucky for us, he looked like the real deal, and the boys acted pretty much stunned.

So much so like two deer in headlights that I had to tell this Santa what they each wanted (not that Santa asked; he was more like let's go, get the picture, get you guys out).

Then Santa proceeded to stick his fingers into Wyatt's dimples and told him to 'keep smiling' in this creepy way. Instead of knocking his fingers off my boy's face, we packed up. We got a picture without Edy actually crying. Yippee for us.

One more time before passing through the curtains, weird Santa said again to Wyatt "keep on smiling, come on, keep on smiling... there you go!"

::

So back in the car, I waited from him to say it... without fail, Henry says "Can we visit Santa again? I need to ask him for snow too."

Umm, no. We will not be revisiting creepy, keep smiling, Santa.

I respond "Santa can't bring snow in his bag, Sweetie, sorry. You better just stick with the microscope."

Apparently, our Santa only brings the heebie jeebies.

break fast

I hate breakfast time, that horrible morning rush. It's packing snack, packing lunch and packing backpacks. It's pulling off covers, pushing in showers and pleading with people. It's one breakfast, two breakfast, three breakfast, then four.

My breakfast is eggs, microwaved. And I eat them standing up. I'm so glamorous, I know.

Yes, I may hate that time between 7:30 and 8:30am, but I love knowing that I giving them a great start to their day.


See this little graph, it states that 89% of moms want their kids to eat breakfast, but of that 40% don't have breakfast daily. That families spend only 17 minutes preparing and eating breakfast each day.

17 minutes... for me, it's worth adding breakfast to that morning rush.

I get to see Henry practicing his Chinese flash cards. I get to hear Wyatt singing to Edy. I get to talk to them about gym today. I get to cheer about a puppet show at preschool.

Even if I hate that rush of breakfast time, I get to give them the best start to their day.

And that starts my day off pretty nicely too.

Disclosure, this post is sponsored by Kellogg and The Motherhood, though all thoughts and opinions are mine (and not taken over by any alien). I really do believe in the power of breakfast and thank Kellogg for asking me to participate.

the deer one

Wyatt gave me a present for Christmas. No, I haven't opened it yet, but it's an ornament.

I know, not because I have x-ray vision, like I try to convince my children I do, but I know because Wyatt is so sly. "It's made out of glass, Mom"... "or it's not". "OK, I'll tell you, it's an ornament"... "or maybe it's *not* an ornament". "You guess!"

Of course, I guess things like a snotty Kleenex or a shark, or a half eaten peanut butter sandwich because I won't dare guess an ornament.

The card is adorable though, reindeer painted by him and inside is a note about this present being from my little 'deer'.


Wyatt said "Do you get it, Mom?" Yes, I do... thank you very much.

Climbing into the van after preschool, I asked him to explain what he painted...

"Here's me, the one with the red nose, I'm Rudolph". As he points with his finger, moving along, "then there's you, and Dad, and Edy."

I look at him, my eyes giving him that little look, "But where's your brother? Where's Henry?"

Wyatt responds "He's just gone, he's not there".

I poked at him a little with a giggle and a "well, why didn't you paint your brother?".

Wyatt settles down into his booster seat and slowly says "I'm not talking about this anymore."

So, our suspicions have been, apparently, confirmed.

Wyatt is (literally) planning on taking Henry out of the picture. (I'm teasing, of course, kind of.)

All of his screaming at Henry... all of the jumping on him and kicking in his sides... every time he smothers him with a pillow during a so-called friendly pillow fight... has just be practice.

Oh yes, Wyatt, he's my 'deer' one.

just missed

10 days until Christmas. I look at Edy and think about where she was a year ago. She was not the giggling, pointing, following the lead of her brothers for everything that she is now.

This is how she was the last time my sister saw her. One year ago.


My sister's coming home. From Afghanistan. From her second tour of duty. Just a few weeks after Christmas.

She'll just miss it.

So much of me wants to be shocked, that she's released early. That she'll walk through that door, smiling, a white Russian in her hand, announcing 'Surprise!'... we wish it with every bone in our bodies.

Just looking at my daughter, I can see how much she has missed. It's so tangible in this picture. It makes me feel down far in my gut how much she's missed in her own family; her daughter, her son, her husband.

I'm counting down the days. 10 days until Christmas. A few more days and she'll be home, but right now...she's just missed.

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