Children

Last night, I watched a TV show about a family in Arkansas with 16 children. The mom and dad are about my age, but they married when the dad was 19 and the mom was 17.

They've had two sets of twins, so there have been 14 pregnancies, but the mom has still been pregnant for an entire decade. They're the Duggars, if you're interested in Googling.

Tonight, Allie and Julia were well-behaved at a book fair at Allie's school, OK at a restaurant, and naughty after that because they wouldn't stop fighting over a stuffed mouse that Allie got in a school kit today.

In their bath later, Allie and Julia were completely annoying. They fought over a new bar of soap. They complained about who got to get out of the bathtub first. Julia cried about having her hair partially blow-dried. Allie was scared to go in her room to get her pajamas because the light wasn't on.

They kept complaining about the mouse, asking for it repeatedly even after Greg put the mouse in timeout, and frankly, making noise by either asking for it or yelling at their sibling about it while I was trying to listen to my favorite current show, House.

Last night, I felt sorry for the Duggar kids, because they're never going to have the opportunity for the kind of one-on-one attention and love that I can give my two kids.

Tonight, I'm glad I just have two. Grr.

Interlude

I'm sitting on the couch with my work laptop because in a minute, I'm going to work on some interview questions I need for tomorrow.

Greg went downstairs with the girls to play with his new GameCube, but just now, Julia came back up. She sat down next to me and asked if I would get Elmo on my computer.

I told her I was sorry, but that Mommy has to do some work, so I can't get Elmo right now. I asked her if she wanted to watch TV and she said, no, I want to watch you work.

So she's sitting snuggled up next to me, with her head on my shoulder, watching me type.

She's a sweetie.

I give it three minutes, max.

Tick, tick, tick.

OK, she lasted about 1 1/2 minutes. It was still sweet.

'Tis the season

It was a gloomy, gray, initially foggy day today. Damp, unpleasant, but pretty dang warm--almost 60 degrees.

I did a little shopping this afternoon (not for Christmas presents, though) and as I drove home, I saw three different people putting out their Christmas lights.

For probably the last five years, our Christmas lights have been put out, either by me or by Greg, in a cold wind (with freezing hands trying to bend stiff wiring) because we waited too long into December.

It's obligatory in our neighborhood to do something Christmas-light-wise. We normally do the minimum of something on the railings of our porch and decline to compete with the obsessive people on every other block.

But today I decided, OK, we don't have to turn the lights on yet (since it's still November), but hey, I'm going to put out the Christmas lights.

And the kind of Christmas lights I like, not the ones we've been doing the last few years that Greg likes--he likes big, globby glass bulbs like we used to have on our Christmas trees 30 years ago.

So Allie and I went outside with little white lights and did part of the porch railing. Then we came in and got some little multi-colored lights and added those too. Both light strands are programmable, so they flash and sparkle and travel like crazy.

I was informed by Allie that the lights look awesomely cool and I think they look great. Much flashier than normal, with minimal work and in warm weather. As Jaime Oliver, the Naked Chef, would say, Easy peasy.

Except that Greg hates them. He thinks we threw them up in a mess and he doesn't like the small lights. I think Greg is a scrooge. He should be grateful he isn't going to be outside freezing his ass off in three weeks.

I'm full of righteous indignation. If I knew how to do it, I'd post a picture and take votes on how people think our lights look. Will my husband take up this challenge?

I want, I want

Since August, Julia has been a coveting machine. As soon as her July 30 birthday was over, it seemed, she began saying that she wanted every single toy shown on television commercials for her birthday.

We would mostly ignore her, or we'd tell her that her birthday was over. At some point, we told her that if she wanted something, it would have to be for Christmas.

So for the last three months already, every single time there's any kind of toy commercial on (and especially if it's for something pink and plastic), Julia says, "I'm getting that for Christmas."

Do you have any idea how many toy commercials are on every day? Even on the channels that aren't aimed at kids, there are a lot. I'm guessing about six per hour, and it's ramping up now that Christmas actually is coming.

I've taken to telling her, "No, Julia, you're not getting that." She completely ignores me.

Yesterday Allie held a toy out of her reach and told Julia she could have it if she would stop saying, "T'm getting that for Christmas." It didn't work, needless to say.

Before too long, Christmas will be over, Allie's birthday will pass, and Julia can adjust her mantra to, "I'm getting that for my birthday." I, personally, can wait. This has to be a phase, right?

Thank god for Tupperware

Well, the Thanksgiving holiday is over and my refrigerator may never be the same.

It's been stuffed to the gills for so many days that it's tough to see any of the shelves, even after the big meals are over. We have a plethora of plastic leftover containers stacked up and up.

The only item on the menu that didn't really turn out was the stuffing. It baked a little too long and got dry.

But the turkey and the ham and the carrots and the pies, etcetera etcetera were very good. The company was lovely, even though my husband lost $12 or so playing cards. You're welcome, Dad. Enjoy your newfound wealth.

And the best part is that even though it really, really seems like Sunday, it's only Friday night. Yay!

Happy extended weekend.

Ready, set . . .

It's almost Thanksgiving--the eating holiday!

Greg and I both took the afternoon off today, me to prepare baked goods and Greg to get in another ride on his motorcycle. We're having unseasonably warm temperatures, so he's getting his ass out there before the snow flies again.

I made homemade pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and Bavarian apple torte. Mmmmmmmm.

I love pumpkin pie with whipped cream and I love the apple torte, which is just a butter crust, cream cheese with sugar/vanilla/egg, and then cinnamon apples on top.

They aren't family recipes, so I'm not going to add them to Dan's contest, but they are good.

My parents are already here for the holiday and my sister Claudette and brother-in-law Mike are coming this evening and that's all we're having for guests. I asked my mom if she thought it would be OK if I had a little slice of pie, since it's just us family.

Pardon my french, but we're going to have a shitload of food left over. Besides the baked goods, Greg is planning:

deviled eggs
deep-fried turkey
ham
mashed potatoes
sweet potatoes with bananas (that's a new recipe, we'll see how it comes out)
stuffing
scalloped corn
glazed carrots
coleslaw
baked beans
rolls

We're planning to eat tomorrow about 1 p.m. If you don't have anywhere to be, feel free to stop by for the gorging. If we run short of pie, I'll arm-wrestle you for the last piece.

He's the man

I've written before about how I love James Bond movies, so it was really cool that Greg and I (like other people that Greg links to) were able to see the new Bond movie (for us, on Sunday night).

It was excellent. Long! Things kept moving, though, so it was very good. We were OK that we didn't get home to put the girls to bed as we had thought, because we were off having an adult mini-adventure, thank you very much. We very rarely get to go to adult movies.

I loved the first chase sequence. I liked it when he got the best of M. I liked it when he actually deferred jumping into bed with a woman to chase a clue, instead of forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. The airport scenes were cool.

OK, I really liked it. Greg did too, though it certainly showed Daniel Craig's torso more than it did any half-naked women.

Other than Sean Connery, I have a new favorite Bond. Not that any of the others were really a competition to Sean, but Daniel is. I can't wait for the next one!

Paying my dues

When I first graduated from college, I was meticulous about paying bills. Actually, I've always been meticulous about money.

I remember getting my first savings account when I was 9 and then most Fridays, when my parents did their banking (remember when you went to the bank every Friday to do your banking for the week?), I would make $1 and $3 deposits.

I always saved more than I spent and when I started working at 16, I saved even more. Later, my parents paid my tuition for college, but I had a work-study job and I never asked them for any additional money for living expenses.

By the time I graduated, I had a rather large chunk of student loans to pay off and I steadily worked away at them until I was debt free. Then I bought my first new car and my condo.

So, you can see, pretty fiscally responsible.

So now I'm 41 and I put off paying bills like nobody's business. I'm lucky if I can make myself sit down and do it twice per month.

Oh, I'm never late on anything. I make sure I check due dates and write the checks I need to write (no, I don't do online banking), but balancing all those direct deposits, ATM withdrawals, and grocery store checks written just seems like such a chore.

And it is. Tonight, I sorted through a huge stack of mail, threw out a ton of papers that Allie produced at school, opened some bills, sorted about six or seven EFT direct deposit forms, recorded two and a half pages of checks written earlier, and paid about five bills. It took me about an hour and a half.

Who wants to do that. Do you have a bad financial habit? Are you one of those people who just believes the balance the bank gives you?

Do you think the bank could just be screwing us all? That is, in addition to the remarkable fees they charge nowadays . . .

Stocking Up

Greg has been slowly purchasing the ingredients for our Thanksgiving feast next week. We don't have an especially huge refrigerator, so one thing he's delayed buying so far is the actual star of the show, Mr. Turkey.

In the past, my husband has baked turkeys, brined and baked turkeys, and deep-fried turkeys. This year, just to change things up, he's going to brine and deep-fry.

I guess the latest trend is actually to smoke a turkey or make one on the grill (which has the advantage of freeing up oven space), but we're going to stick with something more tried and true.

We're only having four additional people for dinner. Since he also bought a ham, you had better all bring your appetites.

Next week, I'm starting on the pies!

Questioning

In the mail today, we got a questionnaire to complete from the local school district. Julia is now eligible for early childhood education, if she isn't meeting certain developmental goals.

Among many other things, we had to figure out if Julia knew how to count to three or five, for example (Julia counted to eleven, then said firteen [13] then sisteen [16]). We had to see if she knew her colors. We asked her to jump with both feet. We asked questions about whether something was over or under. We asked "what do you do with an apple" and "are you a boy or a girl" and "what's your name" and "how old are you"?

She did great. I don't think, based on our responses, that we'll be getting a call from the school district. Julia's pretty normal, and that's a wonderful thing.

About three weeks ago, we went to Allie's school for a parent-teacher conference. She's doing just fine too. She's having a little trouble with reversing the order of her letters and numbers occasionally, which I think is at least partially due to being a lefty. Her teacher says it's not necessarily that and that it's perfectly normal.

I remember when my parents went to parent-teacher conferences for me. Even though I was a good student, it was always a little nerve-wracking knowing they were talking to my teacher. I can't imagine what those conferences were like for the parents of the "BAD KIDS."

Let's hope I never have to find out!

New worries

Every work day, Julia goes to a small family daycare just up the hill from our house. Allie gets off the bus after school and walks to the same daycare. Then Daddy comes by about an hour and a half later and picks them both up at once. We know they get wonderful care there and it's wonderfully convenient.

Our daycare provider, who we love and needless to say our children love, is pregnant. She's been having complications for awhile (though you wouldn't have know it to see her or talk to her) and things worsened last week. She went to her OB/GYN for a check and boom, they admitted her to the hospital for observation.

We thought it was going to be overnight, then it was going to be two nights, and we found out at the end of last week that she's likely going to be hospitalized until she has the baby. She's only at 26 weeks, so she would normally have 14 weeks to go yet.

We're scared and nervous for her, for her unborn child, her husband, her other two kids, the rest of her family, and, of course, for ourselves. Our family isn't religious, but hers is, so for her sake I'm saying a prayer that she, her baby, and everyone else in her family is going to come through this OK.

Us, well . . . It's so absolutely godawful to be thinking about ourselves in this situation, but of course we can't help it. We're worried about how well things are going to work out with the daycare staying open (right now, the plan is for various relatives of hers to help out at least through the end of the year).

We're worried about Julia adjusting to not seeing her (though of course, her own children will have things so much worse that it seems petty to mention it), and about Julia adjusting to her new caretakers (though I'm sure they're all wonderful people and we already know some of them).

We're worried about where Allie will go if the daycare has to close, since we can find all-day daycare for Julia somewhere if necessary, but figuring out where Allie goes when she gets off the bus is a little more complicated.

And I'm concerned most of all about how she's going to make it through this period. Laying in a bed in a hospital, alone for a good part of the time, worrying about everything and everyone. And unable to make things change.

We have options to handle our fears. She doesn't have a whole lot. So please, say a prayer for her and her family to get through this OK.

Overload

There are three people on three different computers in our house right now.

Greg is on his laptop on the couch. Allie is on our desktop in her room. I'm on our other desktop in our bedroom.

Greg is playing a word game. Allie is playing a drawing game. I was cruising the internet.

Julia is napping, like a good three-year-old. If she wakes up, however, she can have this computer to play with Elmo.

I have my work laptop home, so I can keep cruising the net if I want to. I don't think I want to.

Winter wonderland

We're in the midst of our first snowstorm of the autumn. All over the state (and region, really), cars are sliding into ditches and some people are getting hurt. As an adult, snowstorms cause me to (at least mildly) worry about my family and friends.

It got me thinking about being a kid. When I was little, it seemed to snow a lot more and a lot more often.

I remember the snowbanks in the front yard of the house we lived in at the time and how they were always enormous. Dad and my sister Pam would get out there and shovel (Pam still likes to shovel, for some strange reason) and they'd throw the snow up higher and higher.

Then my sisters and I and all the kids of the neighborhood would build elaborate snow forts, complete the piles of snowballs for the next snowball fight, and places to sit, and windows, if we could manage it. I hated getting a snowball in the face more than anything.

I remember going ice skating at the rink next to my grade school. We couldn't wait for the city to brush the new snow off the rink with a big circular brush attached to the front of a jeep.

I also remember being on the rink one night when they were brushing it and having to leap for our lives into a snowbank to avoid getting run over. We were way too close, considering he wouldn't have been able to stop on the ice.

The city would turn the back entrance of my school (the entrance we used every morning and for recess) into a warming house for the rink, so there'd be thick black mats protecting the floors for months at a time.

I remember going out to play with rough wool snow pants on, and coming in with the cuffs and knees so crusted with snow that they would hardly bend. My pants and my sisters' pants would drip and be soaked for ages, drying in the back hallway, next to our mittens and hats.

I started wearing glasses in the third grade, and I remember being outside for so long that when I came in, it didn't seem like my glasses were ever going to thaw out so I could see again.

And since we didn't have money for a snowblower, I remember being resentful of people who did. They had perfect edges where they'd cleared their sidewalks, so we'd walk along to school and purposely kick our feet to knock down the edges. Not enough so they'd have to shovel or anything, but enough so their sidewalk didn't look nicer than my family's.

And then we'd wait for the next snowstorm. With anticipation, instead of worry. But my kids have inherited that mood of anticipation from me. Tomorrow, maybe we'll make a snowman together. And enjoy the beginning of winter.

Paul Harvey

And now, the rest of the story of last Saturday.

Greg's alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. I tried (unsuccessfully) to go back to sleep until he left the house at 5:15. He kissed the girls before he left, so at 5:20, Allie called me to her room, sobbing because she was sad that Daddy left.

At 5:25, after I got her calmed down, Greg called to say he was on the highway with a flat tire and needed us to come with the other car. I woke up Julia from a sound sleep, told Allie to put on some pants, and started downstairs, only to realize that I'd forgotten to put pants on.

After a brief delay, we got on our winter coats and buckled up and drove out to where Greg was stuck. Greg and I scooped up the girls and put them in their carseats in the other car (at least his car was warm) and Greg had to leave to catch his flight. He was scheduled to leave at 6:50 and it was already 5:45 (and he had a good 20 minutes more to drive to the airport).

The three of us girls sat on the side of the state highway until 6:05 or so, talking about why we were awake and what was going to happen when the tow truck driver Daddy had called showed up. It's still dark at that time on cloudy mornings and Greg doesn't have a flashlight in his car. I asked the tow truck driver if he could just put on our spare tire (or as the girls took to calling it, the baby tire), rather than tow us. Thank goodness, in a five-year-old car, it wasn't flat too.

Another 15 minutes and $52.50 later, we drove home. Naturally, at this point, having the girls go back to sleep, as I would gladly have done, was out of the question. So we stayed awake and mid-morning, I started trying to find a place to get four new tires put on (we should have replaced these tires months ago).

Two places said they were first come, first served for appointments and one said they were already backed up four hours. Then I called Tires Plus and asked if they made appointments and the guy said, sure, come in at noon. I confirmed that putting on the tires would take about an hour. Perfect!

We drove up to Madison, a trip of about 20-25 minutes normally, most of which is on a two-lane highway. The tow truck driver had warned me not to drive on the compact spare tire at any faster than 50 miles per hour, so we drove just a little under 50. Considering weekends are supposed to be relaxing for most people, there are a lot of really pissed off people on the roads on Saturday mornings. I kept looking in the rear view mirror to see how many cars were lined up behind me. When a bunch finally passed, I even got honked at and motioned to. Loads of fun.

So we showed up at noon at Tires Plus and registered. Then we walked a block and a half to a restaurant for lunch (in the cold wind). Then we walked back and Julia fell and skinned her knee. Then she wouldn't walk anymore. Did I mention that she weighs 30 lbs. now and she feels like more in a winter coat, hat, and shoes that light up?

We got back to Tires Plus and our car was back in the same stall in the parking lot. Correction, it was in the same stall in the parking lot, and hadn't been moved, because the baby tire was still on the front wheel.

I asked at the desk if they were going to start on our car anytime soon and the desk person said, I don't know what you were told but our computer shows we expect to finish your car about 2:15. It was about 1:10. I said, are you going to bring it into a service bay anytime soon. He said, yours will be the next car serviced, as soon as a bay becomes available.

I said, are you close to being finished on any of the cars currently in the bays. He said, we'll get to it as soon as possible (in other words, no). I said, we're leaving. He apologized. I said, we're leaving. He had to take the charge off my credit card and we were on our way.

I was not going to drive home with that tire. I was not going to try to go somewhere else. Julia and Allie were both wiped out at this point from waking so early and it's not fun to sit in a stinky (rubber scented) dirty tire shop for hours with a football game on the TV and try to entertain two crabby, tired girls.

We drove to the airport, which was conveniently only about two miles away. When we got there, I realized that though I'd spoken to Greg during his layover, I hadn't asked where he'd parked my car. There's a pretty good sized ramp at this airport, plus long-term surface parking.

Assuming that Greg would go for the more expensive ramp parking because his company is paying for it, we headed in there. I immediately realized that we were going to be very lucky to find our car quickly. And our luck finally changed. We found it in just a couple of minutes and a couple of levels (nice spot, honey!).

I pulled the car out, parked the other car in the same spot, transferred the girls, transferred his intake ticket for the ramp, wrote a quick welcome home note, and we left.

And we managed to do it within 15 minutes, so there was no charge for being in the long-term parking ramp (shades of Fargo, averted).

Greg will be home on Thursday and he'll have to drive my car to work on Friday while I take one more trip to my work with the compact spare. Then Saturday, when we have two cars and can leave one and GO AWAY, SO WHO CARES HOW LONG IT TAKES YOU TO FIX IT, we'll get it fixed.

I am quite convinced we should have done this ages ago. Consider me reformed when it comes to tire maintenance.

The day ended well. The girls both took naps in the afternoon, Julia a long one and Allie a short one. We went to a McDonald's playland in the evening and they both had a blast. And at the end of the day, I have a car with four good tires (at least at the moment).

How was your weekend?

324

That's how many trick-or-treaters (or as my family calls them, halloweenies) that we had visit our house last night in two hours.

That's a pretty good year. I don't think it's a record. The second year we lived in our house, the weather was warm and kids were out for a long time, even young ones. That year I think we topped 350.

Most people I've talked to say that they get anywhere from 30-50 kids. Why do we get so many more? We live on the corner of a pretty busy street and we live on a cul de sac.

Plus Greg puts some effort into our decorations. This year, we had the traditional full-size mummy man, fog machines, black lightbulbs, and strobe lights. Yes, plural strobe lights. I now have epilepsy.

Trick-or-treating started at 6:00 and Greg started off around the neighborhood with the girls. I sat in a lawn chair on the new front porch and waited (we never bother to sit inside or you'd just have the front door open all night).

I had two kids come up. The little ones are pretty freaked out by the mummy, so I'd call, "It's OK. We're nice! It's just pretend." Then I waited and looked down the street to see who else was coming.

There was a group of kids coming out of the house across the street and some came around the corner and some appeared from up the hill and within 3 minutes, I had 25 or so kids. Then in another 5 minutes, I was already up to 50 kids. Yes, we keep track. It's a tradition in my family.

We made it most of the way through the 2 hours before we ran out of candy, until about 7:40. That's pretty good--the first year we lived here, we had no idea of what to expect and we ran out of candy in 20 minutes. Greg ran back to the store twice before we gave up and turned out the light.

We're cash-poor now because we spent all of our money on candy (literally about $50), but at least we had fun. Happy belated Halloween to you!