Perhaps it took us too long to get our lawn cut after we moved in, because I’m starting to wonder if one of the neighbors put a hex on us or something. Let me share the evidence - all of this, with the exception of my trip down the stairs, has occurred in the past 76 hours.

Exhibit A

See that butt-ugly medieval torture device-styled chandelier? I swear, I don’t know what the previous owners of this house were thinking sometimes. Nothing quite like sitting down to dinner and immediately being reminded of people on the rack or hanging from the dungeon ceiling by their toenails. Anyway, see the nice looking prongs protruding from the bottom? Yeah. Banged my head on that after having to stand and reach across the table for something.

Exhibit B

See my butt-ugly, bloody toe? Yeah, did that pulling a new stroller out of a box.

Exhibit C

I was called 2 hours after dropping Sam off at his new summer camp program because he was so upset that he couldn’t calm himself down. Nothing like that has EVER happened with him before. I’ve pulled him out of the program. And now I get to have both kids with me…all day…every day…for every moment…of every day…for the rest of the summer… not to mention the fact that it was emotionally exhausting and very hard on both of us.

Exhibit D

Remember when I was all excited about us finally getting life insurance? Yeah, well turns out I was DENIED a policy based on something that happened with my heart after Sam was born, something that I have no symptoms for, don’t need medication for, and have been told repeatedly by cardiologists that it is perfectly under control and that I am healthy. Yeah, denied. In addition, the bloodwork we had done for our application showed that Hubby had some sort of liver problem. So he scrambled around trying to get a doctor appointment and in the meantime did a bunch of research that led him to believe he had liver cancer or gall stones. And then when he met with our doctor learned that it was most likely a false test based on the rest of the bloodwork results and considering the fact that the tech who came to our house was TOTALLY INCOMPETENT. Still, not something you want to wonder about for 24 hours. And did I mention I was denied?

Exhibit E

My slippage on the stairs. And I realize this bruise is not impressive at all, but bear in mind that this photo was taken 11 DAYS later. This is what it looks like now. And also bear in mind that you are not seeing a photo of my butt-ugly butt…heh heh…

Exhibit F

Then there’s the Maki incident, of course. And he is home now, by the way, and thank you all for your kind words. He is actually much more lively than I’d expected him to ever be again. We’ve been told a year would be great, but it could be days, weeks, or months. Here he is enjoying and contemplating life.

So what do you think? Hexed or what? What is UP, Dude?!

Labels: House, Pictures, Tales

My cat, Maki,  is in the hospital tonight with congestive heart failure.  He has advanced heart disease and we are going to take it “day by day,” according to the cardiologist.

All I can think about is how neglected he has been since the kids were born, not that he was actually neglected and we could have stopped this from happening, but just less loved from when he was my only little guy.  Once I became a mom I always just felt like I was giving affection all the time, and at the end of the day I typically just didn’t have more to give.  I told myself I would be better about it later, when the kids were older, tomorrow, when I wasn’t so tired, etc.  Now I wish he was pawing at me as I try to type this.

Labels: Learn More Every Day

He’s on the move, ya’ll. Baby Robby is officially crawling. So take a nice, long look, because I’m thinking pictures like this

and this

and this

are going to be few and far between once the toppling of towers and wreckage of train tracks really get going. Ah, the sound of Sam’s shrieks escape through our windows on an hourly basis - “No, Wobby! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

But really, what can you do with a face like this?

Labels: Brothers, Pictures, The Little One

Since Sam started school in January he has told me that he only plays with “Jack” while there. I pick him up and ask him about his time on our drive home - “What did you have for snack, what songs did you sing at circle time, who did you play with?” To the last he always has said, “Jack. Just Jack.” And I proceed to ask him why he only plays with Jack and no one else.  He has yet to answer the last one.

He brought home his class picture this week. There he sits, right smack in the middle, my little cutie with the rumpled hair. I sat down with him to look at it and asked him to tell me everyone’s names, which he did: “Me, Sammy … Jack … Jack … Jack … Jack . . . and Gwacie.” Oh.

According to him, every boy in his class is named Jack, and this is a class of eight boys and one girl (Gracie). In reality there is one Jack and one Jackson, which I guess is sort of confusing to a kid just learning this many names. So yes, I suppose if you see it that way it wouldn’t seem that odd to always be playing with “Jack.”

Labels: The Big One

Next time you, say, fall down half a flight of stairs, you may find yourself sitting at the bottom letting it all pour out, so to speak. The tears may begin - the bruised and skinned elbow, the other jammed elbow, the already swelling back bruise, and the sore ass - but they may not stop there, with the surprise and physical pain of slipping down your new stairs. They may keep coming. And then you may find, sitting there at the bottom with your husband trying to determine if something is broken, that you just have to cry. You may find yourself saying to him, using the words of another blogger and friend because they just felt so right, “It’s just too much.”

The move has been hard on all of us. As well as it went for a move, it was still a move. And that still involves packing and upheaval and so forth. And well, I have a three year old. So let me tell you, two doesn’t hold a CANDLE to three. Nuh-uh. At least not in this house. Terrible twos? Pashah! Living with a three year old is like being screamed at all damn day. He starts screaming about something, we spend half an hour with me trying to help him use kind words and voice so that I can do whatever he is asking me to do, since I won’t do it if he screams at me, then he finally asks kindly, I do it, and thirty seconds later the cycle starts again. And that’s what we do all day long. It’s like constantly living in fear that whatever you do will set him off on another tirade.

So you may find yourself sitting there blubbering and asking what you did that ruined your child and talking about what a horrible mother you must be to have everyone so unhappy. It may launch a little cry-fest that lasts late into the night. Then you find yourself writing about it the next morning when you hear the little footsteps above your head. You think oh no! He’s up and he’s going to start screaming because no one was upstairs when he woke up - it’s going to start already, like a continuation of the fit he was having at bedtime… So you try and get it together and run as fast as you can to try and deter the tantrum, and as you approach the hallway where he is standing he smiles at you and says, “I feel better.” He walks toward you and says good morning. You tell him to be extra careful on the stairs because you fell down them last night. He wants to see your boo boos. Then he says, “I’m sowy you fell. I will kiss your boo boos,” which he does, gently planting a little kiss on each elbow, your back, and blowing one to the big bruise on your ass. You wonder what  you’ve been talking about. You must be doing something right at some point in time to have such a sweet boy. And there you’ll sit, at the bottom of the stairs, telling him that now you feel much better.

Labels: Bloggy Stuff - Memes/Links/Business, The Big One

We have so much unpacking to do.  Thankfully the boys have been really helpful…

Labels: House, Pictures, The Big One, The Little One

So . . . Sam just lied to me for the first time. I went upstairs, leaving him and Robby playing happily on the rug. I was gone for about 30 seconds when I heard a thwack and Robby screaming. When I ran down, Sam was hiding behind the ottoman and crouching, the way he does when he knows he has done something wrong. I asked him repeatedly what had happened and he kept telling me he didn’t know. I kept questioning and eventually he told me he had “given Robby a toy” and gone to sit on the window sill. He said he didn’t know how Robby got hurt. At this point a big red and blue bruise started to appear on Robby’s forehead. I told Sam I needed to know what had happened so that I could help Robby and that I was not asking him because he was in trouble.

It was at this point that Sam reenacted the manner in which he had “given Robby the toy,” the hard, wooden toy, I might add. And it involved him holding it up high and a slamming down kind of motion, in the direction of, I can only assume, Robby’s head.

I’ve read before that when kids this age lie they are not really doing what we adults think of as lying; they are really trying to tell what they wish had happened instead of the way it actually played out. I would buy that, except for the fact that he changed his story. Once I told him he wasn’t in trouble, the truth flowed out, and I think that is the most upsetting to me. It indicates a much more aware state on his part and it is much more purposeful. I have to admit this has taken me by surprise. I wasn’t quite ready for this to start yet - he seems awfully young, just turned three - and that coupled with the fact that I had just told him he was not in trouble made the whole thing very difficult to deal with. So soon? How do you deal with young children being untruthful? Especially after you’ve just told them they are not in trouble in order to get the true story out of them? (Let me just say I was not intentionally trying to be manipulative. When he originally told me he had not hurt his brother I believed him, so I was not actually expecting find out that he’d caused the problem and that I may have to backtrack.)

When I told Hubby about the incident he tried to reassure me that we have two boys and these things will happen sometimes. He was really responding to the hitting part and trying to tell me it was ok that I had left them alone for a minute. He went on to say that eventually Robby would be able to “fight back.” Jeez, that’s comforting! Now I envision running in to find my two boys strangling each other on the floor while I try to do the laundry. And Hubby has a brother who is just as close in age, so I’m afraid he may know what he’s talking about here. Is that what I have to look forward to?

Boys . . . what am I going to do with all these little penies running around? For those of you that have boys, there was recently a nice Wondertime article about raising boys. I particularly like the part where the writer describes one of her sons heading toward her daughter’s ponytail with a pair of scissors while the younger one cheers, “Go! Go!”

Labels: Bloggy Stuff - Memes/Links/Business, Brothers, The Big One