Vomit and Mice

    Catchy title, right? I hate coming up with titles, but this post is obviously (well, I don't know) not about my misuse of titles. I have determined that there are two things the will completely rock my world, causing an elevated heart rate, a general feeling of overall weakness, shakiness, shrill tones proceeding from my vocal chords, and what I hate the most, the complete loss of any control. Vomit and Mice. Having experienced the former less than two weeks ago and the latter only moments ago (which I'm still inwardly writhing over and find the keys on this keyboard typing all sorts of nonsense and find myself frequently using the 'backspace').
    I enjoy my life, even the ups, downs and all manner of topsy-turvy and rarely experience the above physical ramifications. These two are it. It's like a nervous breakdown when those two things happen. I crack. So, vomit. Makes anyone crack. Ha. Sorry. I'm a sympathetic barfer. Hear, smell or see it done and I'm a goner. It reminds me of that Jerry Lewis movie, The Disorderly Orderly, who experiences the patients illness/ symptoms. Anywho. So once I have a houseful of vomiting babies, I may have the same sickness or not, but I will be throwing kids away from the toilet to relieve my sympathetic symptoms. That means I'm at least 3 times more sick than anyone else and it will take 3 days more for me to recover.
    Mice (which spiders could be a close second, but I can appreciate their freakishness without losing my cool. Well, as long as they are not on me or about to be.) are Enemy #1. Every little thing about them creeps me out. Like the heebie jeebies kind of creep out. The physical aversion I undergo with these little terrors would make you think something truly horrid was taking place. The time is generally in winter when it's cold outside, the place is generally my kitchen (for more than one reason), and I'm ALWAYS caught unaware and in nanoseconds have reached the pinnacle of all breakdowns. I will scale furniture, scream, dance (not in a good way) and feel nauseous (which with point #1 about vomiting, this does not bode well).
    In today's breakdown, I was on the phone with a wonderful friend of mine. I was using the handsfree device for my phone and was cleaning up stuff. In the kitchen, I bent over to pick up a card that had fallen off the island and no sooner had my hand touched the floor, a frantic rattling sound came from two feet from my hand and only a little further from my face. You will never see me move that fast. I'm a blur of movement as I scream and climb up the island. It's then I realize that I'm still on the phone. Nice. Good friend, though, for not hanging up and calling 911 before hearing what had happened. I apologise and hang up after a stilted explanation. Okay, so now what. I'm a whole lot better if they are dead. I prefer they be that way. It might sound harsh, but good riddance. They have jokes about rabbit families, but they have no idea about the producing capabilities of mice. This one, however, was not dead. He was hanging by a leg and trying to escape. Jumping and trying to scurry back under the kitchen sink. It was at this point that my middle child walked into the kitchen and said "Mom? What are you doing up there?" Yeah, I was still on the cabinet, watching the dastardly villain. "Um, well, just go out, okay?" She stared at me, clearly thinking that Mom has finally gone insane. The mouse hasn't moved in about 30 seconds, so I determine it's safe enough to get down. I grab the kid and run out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me.
    Now, what? It's another five hours before my husband gets home from work. I have no access to the sink. I'm freaked out by being in the same room with the beast. Call the husband and he laughs. Nice. So, now what. I told the kids not to go into the kitchen. Then, of course, the "why not?" occurred and we had show and tell. Caelan ready to cuddle the thing, yet again bouncing in it's trap, and Evelynn experiencing the same disgust I have. We leave the kitchen. But over the next 15 or so minutes, I start hearing it desperately trying to get out of the trap. #1: It's bad there's a mouse in the trap. #2: It's even worse that it's trying to get off the trap. #3: It would be absolutely horrid for the thing to come loose and scurry away to die somewhere in my house from it's wounds. (It's leg more than obviously broken).
    I have to do something. Be creative. How to get the monstrosity out of my kitchen and outside without getting near it. Huh. I pulled out a brown paper bag and unfolded it, laying it on the floor a few feet away. I got the broom and then climbed back onto the counter. Using the broom, I positioned the bag near the mouse, flinching and shuddering every single time he moved to get away from the bag. I start trying to herd him into the bag from my position on the counter, both of us squealing in turn. He knows it's about over so he makes a mad dash for the oven. OH NO, SIR. I move to the other end of the counter and use the broom to reposition the bag. I swish the mouse in and flip the bag up. UGH. Another shiver of repulsion. Now to get the mouse out of the house. I don't care that it's 22 degrees outside and that he will freeze. I quickly jump off the counter and take the bag outside. I turn around and realize that every single action of the last ten minutes has been observed and my children are in awe of my spectacle. Nice. I still have random shudders and words of disgust periodically escape my mouth as I visualize that monster. You know, I will never be able to stand on the small rug in front of my sink until it has been washed. I don't care if I'm wearing combat boots. He was SITTING there. IN THAT AREA. Which brings to mind the horrifying, eccentric creature known as the scorpion. I would never step on the same place I had found a scorpion in Texas. Thank you, Lord, you saw fit to move me away from common scorpion habitats. Now I just have vomit and mice to contend with.

Love Which Is Beyond Christmas

This is just a quick thought, something I've been mulling over in my mind. I just finished my Christmas cards for this year and felt twinges of pain as I have left off names of friends and family that are no longer earth-bound or for couples that are no longer together. I've had some friends and family that have lost loved ones in recent weeks or have separated/divorced, and I have found myself more grieved than if the loss of life or the end of relationships were in May or June. I understand that Christmas truly is a special time of year, but why is it that many feel their loss in a greater sense because the loss happened in close proximity to the holiday of Christmas? Why can't we feel our friends' and families' grief as acutely six months from now when there is no holiday of such familial importance? I'm not saying that these losses are any less now than they are any other time of year, it just seems that we (commonly speaking) are touched in a greater way because of the holidays. We hear of someone's passing or of broken families and we instantly remark "And so close to Christmas, too." And then we want more than anything to be with those who are left with the grief and to somehow make the holidays somewhat brighter. We are kinder, more ready to reach out to those who are mourning in a season of joy. But why only during the holidays can we be like this? Why can't we be touched by a loss and respond to the families like we would if it were near Christmas? It is an incredibly sad thing to experience loss any other time and the support or emotional feelings (Christmas Spirit induced sympathy) should not be limited to the holiday season.

"I have always thought of Christmas time as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely."

~Charles Dickens

"Somehow, not only for Christmas

But all the long year through,

The joy that you give to others

Is the joy that comes back to you.

And the more you spend in blessing

The poor and lonely and sad,

The more of your heart's possessing

Returns to you glad."

John Greenleaf Whittier

Caelan Naomi Brannon

    Three years ago, on December 5th, I checked into the hospital, anxiously awaiting the arrival of my second little bundle. Caelan's pregnancy and birth was so different from Evelynn, I should have known that her character and temperament would be completely different from Evelynn's as well. We decided to induce as early as allowed so that Caelan could be born without the birth injury that Evelynn had when she was born. Truth be told, however, Caelan did not want to be born. It was going to be done on her terms (like many other aspects of her daily life). So, we were sent home to wait yet another week.
    The week rolled by, my Mom had been in town for two weeks waiting for Miss Caelan to arrive. My sister was also due at the same time, but in Arizona and not near Pennsylvania. The evening before my mother left for Arizona, I went back to the hospital for a second try at induction. We were admitted and allowed to stay. We settled into our room, listening to Caelan's heartbeat and general hum of hospital life. I brought a couple of books and read both of them before the break of dawn. All the while listening to the woman next door (we unfortunately shared a linen closet/hall with her room) who I promise believed herself to be in the throes of death. After a few hours of this, I finally asked my nurse if the woman was, in fact dying. That was negative. She was at the beginning of her birthing process as well. Oh, my. Later on I would ask my nurse to please walk next door and slap the lady-- or at least give her an epidural. Unfortunately, again, she'd had one since almost the moment she had arrived. The nurses kindly made sure that both doors separating us were closed.
    For all the horror stories of being induced and the use of pitocin, I was really not bothered for about 10 hours. Nope, I was blissfully engrossed in my books, rarely interrupted (except for the random agony next door). Everything progressed easily and I was told that by 9am (December 11th), we'd be holding this little baby. While this was taking place, a dear friend was driving my mother to Philadelphia to catch a plane to Phoenix. And then this little baby decided she REALLY was not ready to leave the warmth of her mother's womb, or better still, that she was slightly larger than what I could physically handle. By noon, I was beyond exhaustion, Keith was not doing as well either. I had already been wheeled into the OR around 10am. Nothing. No baby. I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY did not ever want to go the C-Section route. I have a serious phobia of needles. I'm not kidding. (I had an anxiety attack, couldn't breath, and blacked out when I got my IV in place for McKenna's birth). And there was no way, a needle was going to be stuck in my spine. But like I said, by noon, I was done. Well past any physical endurance/pain I'd ever experienced in my life.
    The doctor came in around 1:30 and suggested a C-Section if nothing commenced in the next hour. I told him 30 minutes if not sooner. I had not had these difficulties with Evelynn, so the growing concern was injury to Caelan. C-Section? Bring it on. I fell asleep while they administered the spinal block and then at 2:40, Caelan Naomi Brannon was among us and not happy with the situation. I would never encourage someone to have a C-Section unless it was absolutely necessary, but I should have gone with the suggestion earlier in the day. In less than 45 minutes, the procedure was done and I was in recovery. Pretty crazy, if you think about it. Every layer of skin and muscle and the womb are opened, a baby is removed and then everything sewn back up. Keith was impressed. Actually more than impressed, he thought it was cool, in a 'science experiment' kind of way. Ummmm, yeah, I cut him off when he began the play-by-play of the procedure. And just an FYI, you will never know just how 'connected' your body is until you've had abdominal surgery. Sneezing, coughing, blowing your nose, brushing your teeth, sitting up straight, rolling over in bed, etc. is all connected at your core. I'm just saying.
    Her birth was just as special (if not how it had been planned) as the baby herself. Our little Caelan, tiny 12/11/07 herself. She is beautiful and quite the force of nature. Personality oozes from every pore in her tiny body. Our petite child who takes life as she wants it. Imaginitive, fearless, and such a joy to be around, not only to see what she will do next but for the sweet way she wraps her arms around your neck and snuggles close.

P.S. My niece was born 17 hours after Caelan was born. My mother barely making it in time and begging us (the two sisters) to never, ever have children that close together again.

The Song About Alice

I enjoy imparting songs from decades past to my children, but today my children have stared at me as I have sung this song. Oh, yes, I will be the complete embarrassment of them when they are teens if I'm already getting the "She's crazy" looks from a four year old and a three year old. And would you believe me, after reading the lyrics that the melody and harmony are quite lovely?

This is the story of Alice
Told without any malice
Alice is loved by Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Alice is very beautiful
Is beautiful, is beautiful, is beautiful
Except for one little thing

Her nose, it glows
It's red and it's graphic
It lights up in traffic
But Alice is loved by Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Alice is very beautiful
Is beautiful, is beautiful, is beautiful
Except for one little thing

Her hair despair
You've heard of a crewcut
She's got nothing to cut
But Alice is loved by Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Alice is very beautiful
Is beautiful, is beautiful, is beautiful
Except for one little thing

Her tooth for sooth
Now what could be droller
A smile with one molar
But Alice is loved by Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Alice is very beautiful
Is beautiful, is beautiful, is beautiful
Except for one little thing
Trala trala trala trala trala trala

You've heard of the story Alice
Told without any malice
Alice is fond of Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Algy is quite a handsome lad
A handsome lad, a handsome lad
Except for one little thing

His skin, chagrin
It's veined and spotted and speckled and dotted
But Alice is fond of Algernon
And there's no wondering
For Algy is quite a handsome lad
A handsome lad, a handsome lad
Except for one little thing

His voice, rejoice
It's cackled and chronic and stereophonic
His beard, it's weird
It's terribly horrid and grows from his forehead

His eyes, surprise!

One final word about Alice
Told without any malice
Alice broke off with Algernon
And there's no wondering
Now Algy is just a memory
A memory, a memory, a memory
Except for one litle thing.
Tra la la la lal la la, tra la la la la la la
Tra la la, tra la la
Tra la la la la la (last line sung as a lullaby)

Christmas 2010

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All is Calm, All is Bright

    Another long day of work for my husband, a typical 14.5 hour day. Another day that ends with his drive home and a long phone call to me. Another day where he seems undervalued and our future teeters on the promise of security. But the skeptic in me says what security? I must have been young and blissfully ignorant of the need for a definite security only a few years ago. As newlyweds we hopped around from one address to another, content and excited about the unknown. We finally settled down in 2005 and I was thrilled when we had reached, then surpassed the three year mark in our home. We had been settled for longer than we had roamed.
    I still have moments where I want another adventure, but for the sake of 'newness' and not for a lack of contentment or joy in my current circumstances. I will go anywhere my husband needs to be, but after five years, the roots are much deeper than previously. It's easy to pick up and go after thirteen months or six weeks. After five years, my eyes and heart burn at the thought of any potential move. And to clarify, there is not the potential of anything right now. We are staying put for as long as we can. I do know that for my husband to feel fulfilled in his job and the longs hours he works to be worth it, a move might be necessary.
    So after tonight's conversations, I hit a low. I've been in the dumps for two weeks now. Bah Humbug strangely becoming my mantra and negativity reigning in my mind. I am the positive thinker in our relationship. I should not be the one as affected, but I am. My heart's between a rock and a hard place. I don't want to consider possibilities. I don't want my husband coming home after a negative day at work. He absolutely loves what he does, which is why he stays. It's certain people that make it difficult. Isn't that per the usual? We sacrifice much as a family and he gives an incredible chunk of time to do what he loves. So why can't the right people recognize that? WHY?
    It's eleven o'clock at night. My emotions are unhinged, righteous indignation towards those who would make things difficult for him, stress over any potential changes in our future, and tears over what those changes could bring. I know that I would embrace any change that could come, that's my nature. But the negative thoughts can't be quelled. Then stupid Jango.com's Christmas station breaks into my cynical thoughts. Josh Groban's version of Silent Night. I hear "... All is calm, all is bright..." and my immediate reaction is 'Yeah, right. There is nothing calm and bright about this.' Then I remember that this song is not about me and my earthly situations. All is calm and all is bright because of Jesus.
    All my worries, no matter how necessary they seem to be or a future that seems to be wavering, have not been put in proper perspective. They have not been placed before the One who can hold my burdens and can smooth the negative ripples in my soul or the hurt that has heavily placed itself upon me. That's why he was born. I can 'sleep in heavenly peace' now.

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, all is bright

Round yon Virgin Mother and Child

Holy Infant so tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace

Sleep in heavenly peace

Silent night, holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight

Glories stream from heaven afar

Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!

Christ, the Saviour is born

Christ, the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night

Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from Thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "

Christmas Croak

Oh, rest you, merry gentlemen!

Let nothing you dismay;

But be prepared to meet the woes

That come with Christmas Day

Look out! Look out! You winter clothes,

To face the season's ills;

And muster cash and fortitude

To meet your Christmas bills.

And 'tis tidings of comfort and joy.

 ~Robert B. Brough, 1852

    Boxes, bows, tinsel, ornaments, unplaced Christmas cheer litter every available surface and spill onto the floor. A puddle of child-caused gooiness begs for a mop's attention. Of eleven strings of lights, only four work. Gifts sit idly waiting for the moment they are bedecked in jolly green, gold and red paper. Packages need shipping, cards sit in piles waiting for stamps and addresses. Christmas photos have yet to be taken. The girls have made their own mountain out of the laundry for skiing. The culprit from all the disorganization is the disgusting sickness that our household has endured in this first week of December. The Spirit of Christmas is lost in this mess and only Perry Como can induce any kind of joy for what is generally my favorite season, but even that is short-lived.
    Christmas music has been known to play in my home as early as October (okay, maybe even September). The tree has always been up by the end of Thanksgiving weekend. Lights should be glistening in the dark around our front door by now. The autumn wreath is still hanging on the front door. The Christmas wreath uncertain why it still remains in the attic. The Christmas village is still boxed. Of the two gifts I had figured to be a surprise for Keith, he has figured out. One was my fault for leaving the stupid window open on the computer. The other is his fault. For those of you reading this, it is to your benefit not to try to buy something you want for yourself mere weeks before Christmas. Your spouse may try to hint that you are already getting it and if you don't take the hint, they might not be so happy to tell you that they have gotten it. Said husband also left a door open that has been ardently monitored for a week, and Caelan found her 'big' gift.  So not many surprises (which are my favorite part) this year. Well, at least Evelynn should have a surprise or two.
    Desperately wishing I could get into the spirit of things, I watch Evelynn wanting to enjoy every second she can of all things Christmas. "I want to help decorate, can you make snowman cookies, jingle bell-jingle bell-jingle bell rock, I am Santa's Helper- see my hat? Where are the presents that are supposed to go under the tree? There are no toys in the stocking either. I looked. Oh, it sparkles and it's beautiful. Can we watch Rudolf? Can we watch Grinch? Can we listen to Polar Express? Can we listen to Christmas music?  Hearing her sing: I'm wishing on a star and trying to believe, That even though it's far, He'll find me Christmas Eve--- The best time of the year, when everyone comes home, With all this Christmas cheer, it's hard to be alone, Putting up the Christmas tree with friends who come around, It's so much fun when Christmas comes to town." Merry Christmas, Mom. Merry Christmas, Caelan. Merry Christmas, McKenna. Merry Christmas, Dad.
I figure I have four things going for me at this point:  1) The tree is up and decorated 2) I have most of the shopping done. 3) I'm not headed to Dixie's sunny shore this year. 4) Evelynn has enough Christmas Spirit for the whole family.

One of these things is not like the other... but just maybe

    I had the rare opportunity to take Evelynn to dance on Monday without her sisters tagging along. I realized that I don't spend a whole lot of one-on-one time with her, as the days seem to be about keeping up with Caelan or taking care of baby issues with McKenna. It takes roughly 45 minutes to get Evelynn to dance in Lemoyne, PA., give or take 15 minutes. It can be a nightmare getting through rush hour traffic in Harrisburg to get her to dance by 4:45. In that 45 minutes, I found myself in the car with a different child. She talked non-stop. I had come to think that she wasn't my chatter-bug, but she obviously was making up for lost time.
    What follows is a shortened version of the knowledge my 4 1/2 year shared with me.
"Mom, I have an idea. Do you want to talk about chickens? We kill chickens and then we eat them. We get eggs from chickens, too. Do you want to talk about cows? We kill cows and get hamburgers. We get milk from cows, too. We kill pigs and get bacon, too. Do you want to talk about trees? We get apples from trees. Apples are very juicy and when you're holding an apple, your hands can get sticky. Do you know that frogs have sticky feet and can live in a tree? You can't eat those frogs. We only eat apples from trees. That's all." I reminded her about eating nuts from trees. "Oh, that's right. Pecans come from trees and we eat them. We don't eat acorns, though. Those are for squirrels to eat. Did you see that squirrel on that line? Why is it on that line? It's running!" A squirrel was indeed running along a power line. "I think I know why it's up there. We could squish him flat if he ran on the road. How about we talk about our party. My friends will be there. Lauren and Parker, Mr. Dave and Ms. Tracy, Ms. Jennifer and Mr. Darren and Mr. Jay. It will be a lot of fun. We're going to eat a lot of food. Are we having hamburgers? Hamburgers are beef and beef is cow." The party is for Thanksgiving and hamburgers are not on the menu. I suppose we will be sitting around the table next Thursday and Evelynn will inform everyone that we are eating a turkey that we killed and it's called a turkey. 

Why?

I've determined that "Why?" is the only question Evelynn knows how to use. Day after day, most of our conversations run along the lines of "Why?" and after so many why's, I get somewhat annoyed and flabbergasted. Here's a few from today:

• Evelynn asked "Why are you making breakfast?" Because it's time to eat. "Why is it time to eat?" Because you need to eat. "Why do I need to eat?" Because that's how God made your body. You have to eat. "Why did God make my body that way?" Because He knows best and that was His plan. "Why does He know best?" Because He does.
• Evelynn asked "Why did the crocodile chase Captain Hook?" Because he wanted to eat him. "Why did he want to eat him?" Because he thinks he will taste good. "Why does he taste good?" I don't know. "Why don't you know?" Because I'm not the crocodile. I don't know what he thinks. "Why not?"
• Evelynn asked "Why is McKenna crying?" Because it's naptime. "Why is it naptime?" Because she is tired. "Why is she tired?" Because she has been playing a lot and she's sleepy. "Why has she been playing?" Because that's what kids do. They play. "Why do kids play?" Because they are learning to put things together and learning how to pretend. "Why do we pretend?" Because it's fun. "Why is it fun?" Don't you have fun when you pretend? "Yes, but why do I have fun?" I don't know, why do you have fun?
• Evelynn asked "Why does Caelan play with me?" Because she has fun with you. "Why does she have fun with me?" Because she does. "But why?" Because she loves you. "Why does she love me?" Because she's your sister and she likes you. "Why is she my sister?" Because...
• Evelynn asked "Why do I have to clean up?" Because it's messy. "Why is it messy?" Because you got all your toys out. "Why did I do that?" That's a good question, why?
• Evelynn asked "Why can't I watch a movie?" Because it's bedtime and you need to take a bath. "But I want to watch a movie. Why not?" Because that's not the plan I have for you right now. "Why?" Because the plan is to take a bath and go to bed. "Why do I have to go to bed?" Because it's bed time. "Why is it bedtime?" Because that's what happens at this time every night. You have to go to sleep so you can ask me why again all day tomorrow. "Why do I need to ask you why?" I haven't the faintest idea. "Why don't you know?" I don't know. Why do you always ask why?
• Evelynn asked "Why do I have to get out of the bath tub?" Because it's time to go to bed. "But I have to take care of my dead cow." Huh? I finally get something besides why and now I find myself asking why. After my own series of 'why's' I realize she thinks being dead is asleep and her pretend cow is asleep. She needs to bathe it. Uhuh. Maybe I should have let her watch a movie.

Skeletons, Sticky Eyeballs and Santa Claus

I have always loved the holidays. For me, they begin with my birthday in September and then it continues until at least New Year's. So I am beyond thrilled that my kids love the holidays, too. Halloween was a holiday that was generally not recognized or celebrated in my family growing up, so it has been somewhat of a new experience. I'm not about the creepy things, but my kids are. Things I consider squeamish are fantastic to my kids.
Caelan found a small, dangly skeleton. She held it up, gave it a gentle shake and was delighted to watch its appendages flop about. "It looks like Jack Skellington. It's wonderful!" she exclaimed before running to show Evelynn. Later Caelan saw a sticky eyeball. "That's an eyeball" she said amazed, "Cool!" Evelynn and Caelan were excited to learn that the eyeballs would stick to doors and walls when thrown. Another round of "Cool!" ensued. I now have two eyeballs staring down upon me from the living room ceiling. The first eyeball up there was thrown by my husband and his children were thus inspired. I'm waiting for other eyeballs to follow.
Yesterday, we were at Target (shocker) and the girls excitedly pointed at all the Halloween items now 75% off. Skeletons, spiders, Frankenstein, witches... they thought everything was 'cool.' And then they saw the tinsel and lights, Rudolph and Santa Claus, and heard Jingle Bell Rock.  I thought we would never make it out of the Christmas aisles. Not that I minded being there. Forget Halloween-- it's time for Christmas!!

"A Map of a Child's Mind" by J.M. Barrie

Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.


I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose. It would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needle-work, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still.

Of course the Neverlands vary a good deal. John's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it. John lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, Michael in a wigwam, Wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together. John had no friends, Michael had friends at night, Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole the Neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose, and so forth. On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles [simple boat]. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.

Of all delectable islands the Neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. When you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real. That is why there are night-lights.

Occasionally in her travels through her children's minds Mrs. Darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word Peter. She knew of no Peter, and yet he was here and there in John and Michael's minds, while Wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. The name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as Mrs. Darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.

What is a Girl by Alan Beck

Little girls are the nicest things that can happen to people. They are born with a bit of angel-shine about them, and though it wears thin sometimes, there is always enough left to lasso your heart—even when they are sitting in the mud, or crying temperamental tears, or parading up the street in Mother’s best clothes.
A little girl can be sweeter (and badder) oftener than anyone else in the world. She can jitter around, and stomp, and make funny noises that frazzle your nerves, yet just when you open your mouth, she stands there demure with that special look in her eyes. A girl is Innocence playing in the mud, Beauty standing on its head, and Motherhood dragging a doll by the foot.

God borrows from many creatures to make a little girl. He uses the song of a bird, the squeal of a pig, the stubbornness of a mule, the antics of a monkey, the spryness of a grasshopper, the curiosity of a cat, the speed of a gazelle, the slyness of a fox, the softness of a kitten, and to top it all off He adds the mysterious mind of a woman.

A little girl likes new shoes, party dresses, small animals, first grade, noisemakers, the girl next door, dolls, make-believe, dancing lessons, ice cream, kitchens, coloring books, make-up, cans of water, going visiting, tea parties, and one boy. She doesn’t care so much for visitors, boys in general, large dogs, hand-me-downs, straight chairs, vegetables, snowsuits, or staying in the front yard.

She is loudest when you are thinking, the prettiest when she has provoked you, the busiest at bedtime, the quietest when you want to show her off, and the most flirtatious when she absolutely must not get the best of you again. Who else can cause you more grief, joy, irritation, satisfaction, embarrassment, and genuine delight than this combination of Eve, Salome, and Florence Nightingale.

She can muss up your home, your hair, and your dignity—spend your money, your time, and your patience—and just when your temper is ready to crack, her sunshine peeks through and you’ve lost again. Yes, she is a nerve-wracking nuisance, just a noisy bundle of mischief. But when your dreams tumble down and the world is a mess—when it seems you are pretty much of a fool after all—she can make you a king when she climbs on your knee and whispers, "I love you best of all!"

Conversations

I absolutely love busy-ness. Life at a faster pace, visitors, parties... but after a month of it, I am so glad to sit here completely content with not having anything to do (other than laundry and general cleaning-- those, unfortunately never go away). Of course in the hectic sometimes chaotic days of fun, things like this blog have been sadly neglected. So I thought I would throw some of my children's sayings out there.

Evelynn: Mom, can I have chocolate? (Me: Not for breakfast) Awww, but I just know there is a golden ticket in there!

Evelynn: One day when McKenna walks, she will do it well. (I have been pleasantly surprised at the correct usage of 'good' and 'well' by Evelynn. Most adults don't even know when to use them).

Caelan: I want to watch a movie (holding a whole stack of DVDs). I want to watch Peter Pan and then after I watch it, I want to watch Ariel, and then after I watch it, I want to watch Tinkerbell, and then after I watch it, I want to watch Heffalump movie and then after I watch it, I want to watch Underdog. Otay?

Evelynn: I want to be the Red Queen for Halloween.
Caelan: No, I want to be the Red Queen.
Evelynn: No, you are Alice.
Caelan: I don't want to be Alice.
Evelynn: I want to be the Bandersnatch.
Caelan: I want to be the Bandersnatch.
Evelynn: No, I am. You can be the White Queen and I can be the Mad Hatter.
Caelan: No, I want to be the Mad Hatter.
Evelynn: No, I am the Mad Hatter. You can be a Tweedle or Alice.
Caelan: I don't want to be a Tweedle or Alice.
Evelynn: All right. You can be the Red Queen.
Caelan: I don't want to be the Red Queen.

Various song lyrics:
Evelynn:

• Hat McDonald had a farm, E I E L O... and on his farm he had a duck, and a cow and a horse...
• It swings and it dies, it jumps all over like a jelly fish, Crazy little thing called love...
• Abcdefghijklmn... po, pqrstuvwxyz.
• Christmas Halloween, Christmas Halloween, Halloween, Halloween... everybody scream.

McKenna:

• e,f,g,h,i... b,i,b,l,e...twinkle twinkle little star... I love you a bushel and a peck... Jesus loves me this I know... (This makes for a really great song of some length for her).

Ich heiße Evelynn

Over the last couple of months, I have been introducing basic conversational German to the girls. They are exceptional auditory learners and I think Caelan speaks some German better than English. Most of the days are spent alternating between the two languages, learning how to say things in German that they really like to say in English like "What's your name?" (Wie heißt du?) or "How old are you?" (Wie alt bist du?). The corresponding answers are "Ich heiße Evelynn (or Caelan)" and "Ich bin vier (four for Evelynn) or Ich bin zwei (two for Caelan)". Two very important questions to them and ones they ask frequently. To round out this conversational German, they are learning "Hello, how are you" (Hallo, wie geht's?) and "Goodbye" (Tschüs).

They are catching on very quickly, but I realized yesterday that I have now armed them with another language with which to have arguments. An almost knock-down-drag-out fight ensued over the aforementioned phrases. Both the girls were happily riding around the living room on their little cars until Evelynn 'pulled over' to take a call on her snappy Cinderella cell phone. Caelan did not appreciate Evelynn's thoughtfulness in stopping to take the call and rear ended her (repeatedly). Evelynn tried to continue her 'call' and ignored Caelan-- until the fifth time Caelan ran her car into Evelynn. Then Evelynn in all her fury informed her "I am talking to GERMANY." That didn't make a difference to Caelan, but Evelynn continued her conversation on her phone. "Wie heißt du? Ich heiße Evelynn. Ich bin vier." Caelan ran into Evelynn again. "You're not four!! I am four," said Caelan. This gets to Evelynn every time. Flustered, Evelynn told Germany "I'm sorry I have to go now. My sister thinks she's four, but she's isn't. Tschüs," slammed the phone shut and put it in her pocket. I did finally step in before "Evelynn hat ihre Schwester geschlagen."

It's Nice to See Your Face Again

    So. Thirty. I suppose I'm to be reflective, appraising the previous years of my life. I could be dreading that number, feeling as if I should be as "old" as some who are younger have told me or that I am "young" as those who are older have told me. In my book, age is relative-- not about some number that you achieve every year on the day of your birth.
    That being said, I have known for a year now that today I would turn "Thirty." Yes, yes-- we can forego the "Very good, you know that thirty comes after twenty-nine" jibes. I'm talking about the number "30" lingering in the back of my mind, ever present, taunting my enjoyment of the last year of my twenties. Have I really cared? Maybe. I don't feel older. I'm as young as I've ever been. Attitude has more to do with age than a number. The "How old are you?" quiz on Facebook says I'm nine. My Wii Fit tells me I vary between 20 and 22. See? Obviously I'm not thirty.
    A year ago, the only reason the last year of my twenties bothered me was that someone told me "It's nice to see your face again." This does bear some explanation, but keep in mind the person who said this was quite sincere and meant well. I've had three babies in four years, two of them c-sections. I question this insanity more than I question the number thirty. I love my babies and wouldn't part with any one of them for anything, EVER, but they were not kind to my body-- weight has been a ridiculous issue this bull-headed person has had a nasty battle with. So as I turned twenty-nine, I gave myself the goal to be fit by thirty. Over the last months, my goal stayed within sight. Then the aforementioned person patted my cheek and said "It's nice to see your face again. You're getting slim." Well, uh... thanks? Gees, was this person saying that my face had disappeared amidst pregnancies and babies? No, I won't go there (yes, this is denial).
    But now, as I sit here wearing pants I wore when I was twenty-one, the last epic milestone of age (I suppose), it's nice to just say to thirty, "It's nice to see your face again." So put that in your pipe and smoke it. That's how I feel about thirty.

Snippets

My children love their 'people' and thoroughly enjoyed a weekend full of their favorites. I love that my children feel comfortable around people regardless of age and I feel blessed to know that these people influence my children in so many positive ways. I have to admit though, that I'm also very appreciative of a church with a sense of humor. Evelynn was in her talkative element this year at the church retreat so here are a few of her conversational snippets. I wish I could remember more of them... I might add more as I they make themselves known.

#1. Paul Y. to Evelynn: Who made the moon?
      Evelynn: God did.
      Paul Y.: Who made the earth?
      Evelynn: The other god did.

#2. Evelynn to Christian K. (13) after watching Sponge Bob on his iPod: Do you have Elmo on here?

#3. Evelynn to me about sleeping on a bunk bed: There's no monsters in here. I will be just fine. Don't worry, Mom.

#4. Evelynn giving advice to Krista K.: Do you know what you do with toilet paper? You scratch your booty with it. If your nose itches, you can scratch it with toilet paper, too. But you never use the same piece of toilet paper.

Who knows, this might be her future in toilet paper uses.

Tetris

The way my mind viewed the day before the refrigerator incident.

I'm a tetris-brained individual.  All items on my daily to-do list must happen at specific times and in correct order so that all will come out well in the end. There is a sequence of events that must be followed. In the game of tetris, the various blocks are open to rearrangement, but they must follow the required angle to fit properly. There are certain items on the list that can be maneuvered accordingly to attain the same result. All items/blocks are manageable. Until one misplaced block jumbles the sequence of events.

The view after the refrigerator died.

The refrigerator is my stumbling block for today. It has served us well, but I could have done without its death. Why today? My list did not contain the extra blocks that its death has brought down quickly on my well laid base. The refrigerator needs to be divested of its items into various ice chests, then cleaned and then moved out for a good scrubbing of the floor and walls behind it. Laundry needs to be done, bags packed and the car loaded for a weekend filled with fun at Camp Manatawny. Delectable baked goods are in mind only, tickling the back of my mind and reminding me that they won't bake themselves. The new refrigerator, please Lord, will be delivered in the morning, but I'm not guaranteed that. Three children are quietly occupied for once and I don't want to attempt anything on my list. I'm sitting here, trying to work out a new tetris grid for a plan of attack. I will be victorious. I will achieve Tetris today.

The view that won't happen.

An Eel and a Starfish

    Swimming would have to rank at the very highest position in the minds of Evelynn and Caelan. It's been well over a year since they have had swimming at the YMCA, but let's face it... I've been a little busy since May 2009. Now that life has become a little more routine and under control, we decided to pick swimming back up. Elation would not adequately describe the girls as they saw the pool this morning. I was just as happy that this year, I don't have to be in the water with them. I now have an Eel and a Starfish, respectively.

The Eel

    Caelan was up first and she was slightly surprised to find herself surround by six other 2-3 year old boys. In comparison, my Caelan was quite calm and seemed less vivacious. Surprising, I know. However, she was a go-getter in the water, swimming where the teacher told her to swim. In her own little world of paddling, she was expending all her energy while the teacher spent hers chasing the little boys down. She was a little cold, chattery teeth and slightly blue lips, but she never complained or left the pool. Yes! Last time, I had to switch her to another class at the other Y because the water was warmer. Today's class was a swimming success for Caelan. 

The Starfish



    Evelynn and Caelan are in back-to-back classes, which make it so much more easier for me. Evelynn could not wait until she could finally get in the water. It was like being on a long road trip. "When is it my turn? Can I go now? Is Caelan almost done?" She is one of two students for this class. She went the length of the pool several times, a couple of the laps were with flippers and a board. She is still talking about her "yellow shoes for swimming" and how fast they made her go. To top off this first class, they two students climbed up on the diving stand and jumped in. When class was over, she was the last one in the pool and she was heartbroken to find that class was over until next week.

Growing Pains

While we try to teach our children all about life,

Our children teach us what life is all about.

~Angela Schwindt

    We anxiously awaited the Big Day for weeks. The excitement increased with our conversations and with the purchase of a small pair of black leather dance shoes. A stop at the McGinley School of Irish Dance will now be a permanent fixture in our weekly routine. Monday, Evelynn began her dance education, and I found myself unexpectedly caught up in my own life lesson. In the first moments of our arrival at the dance studio, I witnessed my carefree daughter become a studious, serious four year old. She did not ask for my help and was slightly offended that I had offered. She walked in with her dance bag on her arm and cooly sat down on a chair. She put her socks on and dance shoes on (although, she needed some help with the shoes, she never asked). After placing her other shoes in her bag, she walked right into the studio and sat down on a little chair with all the other beginners, smoothly taking all the activity in. I was, well, impressed. The little girl sitting out there didn't seem to be mine. Her mannerisms were so grown up.
    I stayed by the door for a few minutes, trying to catch her eye. She didn't even say 'bye' to me. She finally looked at me and I told her I was leaving. The look on her face was one of "Yes, I know. Go ahead." She smiled a little but then looked away. Oh, how I did not want to leave! Despite her excitement and calm demeanor, I really wanted her to have some kind of emotion that involved some kind of dismay. I was leaving her with strangers. She had only met her teacher once, but never the other students. I wanted her seriousness to just be uncertainty, but she never looked my way again. I walked back to the car, resisting the urge to go back in and make sure she was still okay. All was in order. This was the way it should be. She would be fine. I slowly got in my car and wiped the tears from my eyes. This is good.

I'm not asleep... but that doesn't mean I'm awake.

The feeling of sleepiness when you are not in bed, and can't get there, is the meanest feeling in the world. ~Edgar Watson Howe

Whether it's late nights or light sleep interspersed with random periods of sleep and awakeness, there has not been one night in two weeks that I've managed a sound six to eight hours of sleep. The girls are waiting. The family is not complete and going to bed with such an important member of the family away, the girls have not slept well. My emotions have run the gamut of insomnia. Frustration, irritability, denial, ignoring the situation, humored by it, etc.  I am sympathetic to their main reason and after fifteen days of this ridiculousness, their various other reasons for not sleeping are laughable.

• They are hungry to the point of starvation.
• Their thirst is insatiable (which also has other ramifications).
• Yes, trips to the bathroom. With Caelan in the midst of potty-training, it's hard to decide when the potty trips should happen and when I'm totally being played. She may play me on occasion, but she always goes. And laughs.
• The sounds of little feet and giggles as they think they have gotten away with not staying in bed.
• The concern about monsters in the bedroom. Well, if you didn't sleep with Gollum, you would be fine.

What they tell me has to be the funniest:

• "Evelynn won't go to sleep."
• "Caelan won't be quiet."
• "Evelynn's not in bed." Neither are you, dear, if you are in here tattling on your sister. "But she's not in bed." That reasoning must work for her.
• "I'm cold. I need covers." Then cover up. Their arms are broke and they are incapable of pulling the covers up. Their covers are not on them because one of them slipped into the other's room and they are wrestling on the bed.
• "I'm trying to sleep." Then be quiet. "Mom, shhhhh, I'm trying to sleep." Then be quiet. "I can't sleep because you are talking, Mom."
• "Caelan took her pants off."
• "Chaucer won't stay on my bed." Wonder why?
• "Can I sleep in your bed?" You are in my bed. You are just not sleeping. "Oh, yeah."

JC Day, Minus the Heels and Pearls

    Days, days, days... a continuous flow of time that changes very little. Then there is a random day that is so completely sporadic and exceptional I feel like June Cleaver. Everything in place, children clean and happily playing without destructive bents. The deep sigh of housewife satisfaction. Today has been a June Cleaver Day. I can actually say there is an entire floor of my house that's clean from ceiling to floor. Of course, we're not talking about the floor of bedrooms, which is one reason I'm tempted to sleep on the couch. Ah, clean and fresh upholstery.
    Today also began my foray into canning. Hey, something has to be done with the tomatoes in the garden. I know for a fact, that the writer "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" had a garden full of tomatoes. Our little garden has produced much more than we had even thought feasible. In the last week, I have picked three gallons of the small varieties that we have growing and I've picked twenty of the heirloom tomatoes that have the potential to become killer tomatoes. They are massive, some rivaling the size of Caelan's head. Before they became 'killer' I knew I had to can them. I have been queen of my kitchen today. It's been cleaned, the dishes have been done, and I've even baked cookies. Whoa. And my children are pleasant and strangely calm.
    The canning has gone well. I have succesfully canned four large jars of tomato sauce, like a spaghetti sauce. I am in my June Cleaver element. Then I recall a conversation I had with my Grandma a couple of days ago. This amazing woman, in the midst of telling her my great canning plans, tells me of her canning. I looked proudly at my four jars, in all their red, juicy, yummy goodness and my June Cleaver moment paled in comparison with my Grandma's abilities. In one day, this woman who is an amputee and had knee surgery on her only knee only eight months ago, told me that she had canned twenty jars of peach jelly and ten jars of plum jelly, the fruit from the trees of the homeplace. Burn. Forget June Cleaver. I want to achieve a Grandma day.

After much deep and profound brain things...

Well, to say that the last few days in the Brannon household were less than epic would be a complete fabrication caused by acute denial of the situations I've found myself in. I won't list them. It's exhaustive and-- exhausting. Ha, it's utter pandemonium. I hate days that are solely reactive, me on the offensive, and lasting12-15 hours. I would be the first one to say that there are no 'jobs' in the out-of-the-home workforce that have required what this one has since last Wednesday. We've had a few more 'movie' times than normal, but desperate times equal desperate measures. I have enjoyed movie time this week, for more reasons than should really be good, but oh, well, another few days of this and I think we might actually make it. I have found peace, calmness and laughter-- sheer inspiration-- from their movie choices. The characters are truly inspired and speak to me at this point in my life. I have felt to be in many of these same scenarios and might have said something similar to these characters. Mind you, I said similar. So in light of all the negatives of the last week, I choose to be encouraged by the following quotes, beginning with the title of this post, well-spoken by King Julian of Madagascar.

• Madagascar, King Julian:After much deep and profound brain things inside my head, I have decided to thank you for bringing peace to our home.
• Mort the Mouse Lemur: I like them, I like them! I liked them first! Before I even met them I liked them! As soon as I met them I liked them right away! You hate them compared to how much I like them!
  Julian: Oh shut up, you're so annoying!
• Alex the Lion: They should call it the San Di-lame-o Zoo. First they tell you, "Hey, we got this great open plan, where animals can run wild." Next thing you know, you have flowers in your hair, and everybody's hugging everybody.
• Mason the Chimpanzee: If you have any poo, fling it now.
• Marty the Zebra:Yeah! You don't see that on Animal Planet.
• Marty the Zebra: Aw a thermometer!Thanks!I love it Melman, I love it!
  Melman the Giraffe: I really wanted to give you a personal present. Do you know that was my first rectal thermometer?
• Alex the Lion: That is your side of the island, and this is our side of the island. That is the bad side, where you can skip and prance around like a magical pixie horse, and do whatever the heck you wanna do all day long. This is the good side, for those who love New York and care about getting back.That's not the fun side. THIS is the fun side! This is the fun side where we're gonna have a great time surviving until we go home! Whoo! I love this side; this side's the best! That side STINKS! You're on the JERSEY side of this cesspool!
• Melman the Giraffe: Augh! Underpants!
• Kung Fu Panda, Oogway: My friend, the panda will never fulfill his destiny, nor you yours until you let go of the illusion of control.
  Shifu: Illusion?
  Oogway: Yes.Look at this tree, Shifu: I cannot make it blossom when it suits me nor make it bear fruit before its time.
  Shifu: But there are things we *can* control: I can control when the fruit will fall, I can control where to plant the seed: that is no illusion, Master!
  Oogway: Ah, yes. But no matter what you do, that seed will grow to be a peach tree. You may wish for an apple or an orange, but you will get a peach.
  Shifu: But a peach cannot defeat Tai Lung!
  Oogway: Maybe it can, if you are willing to guide, to nurture it, to believe in it.
  Shifu: But how? How? I need your help, master.
  Oogway: No, you just need to believe. Promise me, Shifu, promise me you will believe.
• Tigress: It is said that the Dragon Warrior can go for months without eating, surviving on the dew of a single ginko leaf and the energy of the universe.
  Po: Then I guess my body doesn't know I'm the Dragon Warrior yet. It's gonna take a lot more than dew, and, uh, universe juice.
• Ice Age:1-3, Sid: I'm a single mother with 3 kids. I could use a little compassion.
• Sid:Come on, spit him out. If you don't spit out little Johnny right now, we're leaving the playground this instant! One... two... don't make me say three...
• Sid: Is this how you resolve conflicts? No wonder you're single.
  [Mamma Rex roars]
  Sid: oh, that's your answer to everything. I don't exactly call that communication. I say they're vegetarian, you say "grrr". I say can we talk about it, you say "grrr". That's not what I call communication.
  Mother T-Rex: GRRRRRR!
  Sid: See that's your answer to everything!
• Manfred: Diego (Caelan), spit that out. You don't know where it's been.
• Sid: [about the baby] I bet he's hungry.
  Manny: How 'bout some milk?
  Sid: Ooh, I'd love some!
  Diego: Not you. The baby.
  Sid: Well, I ain't exactly lactating right now, pal.
  Diego: You're a little low on the food chain to be mouthing off, aren't you?...
  Manny: Enough!
• Manfred: Hey, buddy, want a lift?
  Diego: No, thanks. I'm saving what little dignity I've got left.
  Sid: You're hanging out with us now, pal. Dignity has nothing to do with it.
• Traffic Vulture: Parents: Please do not leave your children unattended. All unattended children will be eaten.
• Manfred: Okay. Thanks to Sid, we're now traveling together, and, like it or not, we're gonna be one big, happy family. I'll be the daddy, Ellie will be the mommy, and Diego will be the uncle who eats the kids who get on my nerves.
• Sid: I'm gonna be the first one to jump off the Eviscerator, and then you guys are gonna have to start showing me some respect.
  Manfred: You jump off this, the only respect you're gonna get is respect for the dead.
  Diego: Come on, Manny. He's not that stupid.But I've been wrong before.

Day Two

    Life happens. It's fluid and the best way I've found in dealing with the daily occurrences is to go with it. Don't fight it. It is what it is. Yesterday felt like a battle ground. Today was no where near that. Yet here I sit, my two older children still awake, waiting for Daddy to get home. It doesn't matter if I've gently told them that won't be happening for a while. Sitting straight up in their dimly lit rooms, they are waiting. More than a year's worth of months has he been gone in the past and in all that time, they have never been affected as much as they are this time.
    This is only day two. The girls have been in bed (well, since the first time I tucked them in) for two hours. Caelan refuses to go to sleep. A pile of books lie beside her. I've read a few of them to her, but she's waiting on Daddy to read to her. Evelynn has her own pile of books. She didn't want to pray about Daddy tonight. I did it for her. Then she tells me, "Daddy will be home soon. Then he will hug me and kiss me. I saw him go away on the plane. I can't see it anymore. Can you see Daddy's plane? Is he coming back soon? I want to see him." I don't think I can go with the flow right now. "It is what it is" seems a dirty, discouraging phrase in the midst of my children aching for their Daddy.
    The lights are still on. Caelan has finally dropped off to sleep. Evelynn is still holding out. Her pile of books is growing and she has a picture of me and Keith in bed with her. I peek in on her every once in a while and sometimes the picture is on her chest. Life might be fluid, but the emotional needs are not.

Butt Paste

    For three days I have looked at the thick, chalky white smears gracing the pillows and cushions on my couch. I would love to do something about it now or even on Monday night when my children were inspired to impress me with their butt paste/couch art. I don't know why, but I cringe inwardly at the term 'butt paste.' I even had a hard time typing it into the title, but there have been a few of you begging for the story. So, butt paste. I've used Boudreaux's Butt Paste since I had Evelynn. (You're welcome, Boudreaux, for the brand plug.) It's smooth and thick and does a great job in healing little bottoms.

    Monday evening was busy, the kind that's running around like a chicken with its head cut off busy, and I know, I've seen plenty of chickens in that state. It ain't pretty. We got home from Williamsburg, VA around 6:30pm and Keith still had to pack for his world travels. He packed, but a few things still needed to be done-- like the laundry from the weekend so that he could take some of those items with him. I took over at that point and let him sit down with the girls to watch a movie. All of them on the couch together was so sweet to see. They were watching Harry Potter. Evelynn and Caelan sitting next to each other toward one end and Keith at the other with McKenna sitting on his chest. I could see the backs of their heads as I ran around getting things done.

    I finally chose to pick up some toys that were between the TV and the couch. The sweet, picturesque view I had in my mind was anything but. Keith is asleep. McKenna is in LaLa Land, and my two darling oldest children are still sitting next to each other, smeared with butt paste. Thickly smeared. The whole tube. I was immediately thankful that it was the small tube and not the vat of the stuff with the screw on lid. Just the tube. Two cushions and three pillows. Caelan's entire face and half her hair. If it weren't an off white color, the stuff would make a great hair gel. Her hair was sticking straight up on top. It's on her arms and legs, too. Apparently, she thought it was lotion. Once Evelynn saw that my reaction was not a good one, she immediately said, "Caelan did it." Which prompted the question, "Then why is it on your hands and arms?" She didn't really have an answer, but quickly volunteered to go wash off in the sink.

    Caelan was not so happy a little later. That stuff is murder to wash out of hair. Oh, yeah, and Keith woke up the moment he heard my "Are you crazy/I can't believe you did this" voice. He decided to make sure McKenna was okay. Smooth. Just like the butt paste across the couch. It's so thick, it doesn't wipe off. It smears even more. Fun. So there it has stayed. Why? Because ten minutes of fun will now cost me at least three hours of labor. The covers have to be removed and washed. As if the green marker geometric shapes weren't enough... they had to add the butt paste.

Day One

• Children up by 7:30am. "Where's Daddy?"
• Breakfast: "I want cereal." Done. "I changed my mind, I want soup." No soup, cereal only half eaten, Goldfish demolished while I search the house for dirty laundry.
• Weekend trip recovery: laundry, clean house. Plan is to start in living room. Then the kids have an impromptu tea party in the kitchen. I was not invited. Until the Kool-Aid was spilled all over the floor. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• I'm a top/down kind of cleaner. Start at the top, all debris falls to the floor which is the last to be cleaned. It efficiently takes care of the cobwebs and crumbs on the countertops and promises a fresh floor. Score: Mom, 1 point.
• Kids playing happy. Start laundry. Start on the kitchen. Cleaned and mopped. It's beautiful. I feel at peace. Score: Mom, 1 point.
• McKenna is ready for naptime. Sweet. Not so the other two. Lunchtime for them. "I don't like that kind of cheese. I don't want a sandwich." Too bad.
• Laundry is cycling through at an even keel. Definitely wait until later to put the clean clothes away.
• Phone call. A five minute conversation with Keith. All is well. Caelan paints the bathroom with purple foaming soap. All walls must now be cleaned from the bottom to about four feet up. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• Can't clean it now. Caelan is without any remnant of clothing. Laughing, she tells me "I pottied in the floor." Fantastic. Reclothe her and clean up the puddle. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• McKenna is awake. The stench coming from her room precedes opening the door. Diaper on the floor. Poop everywhere. Shower kid and strip bed. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• Sweet. Washer ready for bedding. Score: Mom, 1 point.
• "Mom! Caelan is eating all your gum!!" Gum on face, shirt and couch. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• Clean up gum. Send Caelan to bed. Score: Mom, 1 poi...... "What are you doing??" Caelan is naked again, trying to put on a swimsuit. Not in bed, obviously.
• Time for family meeting. Explain importance of helping mom while dad is gone. See a glimpse of acceptance in Evelynn's face. Caelan laughs and goes back to bed. She stays in bed for a while, but no nap. I let her get up after about thirty minutes. Score: Mom, 1 point.
• McKenna is hungry. Fed. Cycled laundry. Sit down and take a break. Score: Mom, 1 point.
• "Mom! I need your help!!" Caelan decided to #2 in the portapotty and then dump it into the big potty. #2 EVERYWHERE. Lord, I think you hate me. Score: Kids, 2 points.
• Recovery mode: bathroom with #2, more laundry, movie time? Absolutely. WW3 over what movie to watch. Evelynn sent to bed for disrepectful behavior. Much is desired of the oldest. Not fair, but she leads the way. I was the oldest. It's a bummer. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• Pick up living room. Pillows back on couch. Oh, the butt paste. Right. Not happening today. Score: Mom, 1/2 point.
• McKenna happily playing. Caelan watching a movie. Perfect! The bedding can go back on the crib. First, have a talk with Evelynn. I reached her heart. I saw it in her eyes. She can watch the movie now. Score: Mom, 4 points.
• Clean and remake McKenna's bed. Go back downstairs. There are three go-gurt tubes squirted in the living room floor. Caelan. Another talk. Supervise her cleaning it up. Remind myself that she's two and not only that she's my precocious middle child. Score: Kids, 1 point. Mom, 1 point.
• Walk into kitchen. Are you freakin' kidding me??? Count to ten. She's two and not only that she's my precocious middle child. Lo Mein all over the kitchen floor. New Plan: Be in same room at all times or sit on her. Score: Kids, 1 point.
• In same room, she sneaks Play-Doh. Not happening. Jumps from the coffee table to the couch. Not happening. How about we color? Rips Evelynn's paper and draws more on the couch. How about we dance? Turn music on. Makes her want to jump on the couch. Falls over the pillows and hits her face on the console record player. Score: Kids, 2 points.
• Dinnertime: Soup, the Princess variety. "All right!!" but then "I don't want it."
• Evelynn tells me, "Mom, I want to be your big helper. What can I do for you?" Score: Mom, 5 points.
• I take the trash out. Caelan meets me at the door, running and yelling "Daddy's home!" Remind myself that she's two, my precocious middle child and doesn't know how to deal with daddy being gone.
• Bedtime: Bundle my babies in their blankets and listen to their prayers. "Thank you for Mama and Daddy. Keep Daddy safe. Help me to listen to Mama and be her helper." All previous Mom and Kid scores are obsolete. The good Lord is in this home. Tomorrow is a new day.

The Joys of Being Home

“Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.” - Phyllis Diller

    I think I appreciate this quote more because of my experiences living where it snows a lot more frequently and heavily than what I grew up with. The effort of shoveling snow or cleaning the house is something I consider at some times to be pointless. When it snows here, I always have a mental debate with myself, trying to decide at what point I should actually go out and shovel that white stuff. Wait until it's done snowing? Get a head start? Shovel a path now? Shovel the whole walk? It is definitely the same quandary I have over cleaning house with three little ones constantly in motion.
    We have taken quite a few trips this summer, and I've decided to just laugh at how my kids settle back into home. I try my hardest to leave a clean house. Toys put away, laundry done, floors clean, etc., but it never fails that once we get back home all that work will be completely undone in a matter of minutes. I'm not kidding. It's like Christmas and birthdays all wrapped up into one moment-- the moment they walk through the door. Toys, dressup, cars, clothes, bedding, it's like they've never seen them before and it's  all new and wonderful. At one point, I used to feel that my time cleaning was wasted. Now it's just funny. It is more joyful to see them excited to be home and enjoying the blessings of our home. It will be clean again. I'm just not sure when.

Caelan loves to take all the clothes out of the dress up bins and her dresser.

Oh, Barbie... why do you come with so much stuff?

One car for each of my cuties. Notice even the curtains at the window in the back have been tampered with. The couch has green marker and Boudreaux's Butt paste on it (another very good story).

And the floor is sticky.

The Dragon and the Frog responsible for the fun. ;)

Oh, and it appears that I need to finish painting. Hmmm, maybe after I get it all put back together?

Figuring it all out

    Shopping with three small children is always an adventure. More so now that they are talking. My girls are very inquisitive and highly observant. We had quite a bit to accomplish yesterday, and we had a great time. Like most young kids, mine tend to say things that can range from funny to just down right embarrassing. So, here are a few snippets.

• At one store our cashier had a nose ring. Caelan repeatedly asked the girl "What's on your nose?" So many times that it got a little embarrassing. The girl told her a nose ring, but I guess that didn't answer the question for Caelan.
• At every store, my kids asked everyone that was nearby, "What's your name?" and before an answer could be given they continued to say, "My name is Caelan Naomi Brannon." Or "My name is Evelynn Carmine Brannon." Full names are a must, apparently.
• "Mom, this is not chocolate," said Evelynn pointing to the fruit snacks in the basket. Didn't realize chocolate was on our list or to be in place of the fruit snacks.
• "They are so pretty (flower headbands)," said Caelan. "Can we have them?" I answered no. "Awwwww, but I like them..."
• "Don't touch that," I said in while we were in Ross. Evelynn said, "I'm just looking at it... really close."
• Evelynn said, "Uh, oh-- where's my gum?" That's a good question, one that needs an answer. So I asked, "Did you swallow it?" Her answer, "No, my chicken did." Had to think about this one for a minute. Apparently we had forgotten to tell her to take the gum out of her mouth when she eats. The chicken that she was eating was swallowed with the gum.
• The burping contest in Target. Caelan can do this on command. Evelynn nearly falls out of her seat in a fit of giggles before fake burping. It's great fun-- for them.
• The announcement in Target from both the girls, "I have to go potty," said in really loud voices repeatedly until we manage to get to the bathroom-- across the store.

I have to laugh no matter what is said. It's my nature to laugh at the silliness of my kids. Where do they come up with some of this?

“We find a delight in the beauty and happiness of children, that makes the heart too big for the body”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Wretched Dog

    If anyone were to ask me what my feelings are about sleep, the sure answer would be "I LOVE IT." I prefer late, late nights and late mornings. This, however, is NOT compatible with three young children. For a year I have balked against waking up before 7am and even that seemed a travesty some mornings. I have spent the majority of the last four years in various stages of pregnancy and many sleepless months of newborns. There have been innumerous time in those years, where the best sleep I could get happened between the hours of 7am and 10am, obviously the 10am sleep was when I had one child.

    I'm not big on a set routine or schedule. I take each day as it comes. I do set goals for my days and weeks, thinking I want to get X done today or by the end of the week. It's worked fairly well. Life is changing a bit from the toddler years of family life to something that I've known for years would require me to be a little more routine and yes, wake up early. There are many new things taking place this year with the girls and also with having three, I have more than enough to do. So where to get the extra hours of 'no kid' time to accomplish my lists? Yep, before 7am. Bleh.

    Now, I get up at 4:30 (the idea still sends shocks through my body which only two cups of coffee can help). Bleary eyed and confused about why 4:30 came so soon, I head to the YMCA. It's getting better. The older gentleman at the desk now greets me by name, and now I know that his name is Ray. He always makes me smile, this man that is Clarence Oddbody reincarnated (think 'It's a Wonderful Life angel). I make it back to the house by 5:45 and start the coffee before Keith is headed out the door. It's at this point, I hope to make use of at least two hours before my darlings wake up and hit the house full-force.

    This sounds great, but for the dog. What on earth is wrong with our dog? He wakes up about the time Keith is ready to leave. He believes in his mind that once he's awake, everyone else should be, too. He knows that the sure fire way of getting the household up and moving is to wake Caelan. His collar, complete with rabi and license tags, jingle ridiculously loud. All he has to do is shake. But he takes the whole 'waking' Caelan up a bit further and jumps on her bed to shake. Wretched dog! Once Caelan is up, it's over. The morning is shot. So, he is not sleeping with her anymore and her door stays closed overnight to keep him out.

    I have even shut him behind the doors of the kitchen and dining room downstairs to keep him from waking the kids. This calm, well-behaved dog became demon-possessed, wailing and carrying on and throwing his body at the doors. No kidding. It's insane. I thought the problem was fixed with shutting Caelan's door, but this dog is a smart one. He goes into McKenna's room, through my bedroom, and shakes to wake this kid up. He never tries to wake Evelynn who has inherited her mother's love of sleep. A train could hit the house and she would never know it. He knows that Caelan and McKenna are his best bets.

    Now, as soon as I hear him shake, he's in big trouble. And he knows it. I catch his eye and he is plainly communicating his intentions. The basement is the next place he will end up if this continues. I don't willingly get up at 4:30am so the dog can get my day started with the kids by 6 or 7am. No way. It goes against every reason I have for getting up that early. Well, except for maybe going to the Y. But if the kids are going to get up that early, something has to give. I'm at war with this dog. He has no reason for them to be awake because once they are awake, he ignores them. I think he has a personal vendetta against me. Wretched, wretched dog.

   

The agony and the ecstasy, four year old style

    The wails of agony echoed off the tile clad walls, grating on my nerves. Writhing and sobbing, the world was coming to end fast for my Evelynn. Her pain had rendered her incapable of coherent thought; nothing but her affliction filled her mind and consequently her actions. I begged, pleaded and became irritable. You have not experienced true torture until you have tried to brush a four year old's hair. I don't know who was in greater anguish, me or Evelynn. Nothing could satiate her. Nothing.
    Fine, I was not going to brush her long hair or braid ('twist' as she calls it) her hair any more. This was ridiculous. I couldn't braid it because it needed to be brushed. I couldn't brush it because it had not been braided. And that child has the tenderest scalp I have ever come across, not to mention that she also has the finest hair. She will get at least four tangles before a half hour has past since I brushed it. I decided to cut it off. All of it. I cut five inches off her little head of hair. I was shooting for four inches, but a well timed interruption from Caelan resulted in the extra inch. A younger sister can always cause mischief just in teasing and taking what isn't hers, including the hair brush that Evelynn was holding for me.
    But now the cut has been done. She loves it. No tangles. No promise of tangles in her now short, fine hair. She is very pleased with the outcome. I'm not. She looks too grown up. Where is the precious face of my LITTLE girl? It's now shrowded in a cute, older hair cut. My eyes burn when I look at her. Her long hair was not good for her. The short hair is. Her long hair was not good for me, but neither is the short hair. I feel I've been cheated from this experience. I'm supposed to be happy. Right?