What would happen if...

The four of us were at In-N-Out Burger a few weeks ago, enjoying a little dinner out. Benjamin, Noah and I were sitting in our booth while Tim waited for our food. He brought my cup of water to the table, and like all fast food restaurants it came in a small plastic cup which didn't have a corresponding lid. I took a drink and put my cup back on the table, unfortunately within arms reach of my darling, 2 1/2 year old son. [I'm seeing the fault in my actions here. I blame the sleep-deprivation.] Not five seconds later, Benjamin had his hand on my water cup. I thought he might be about to have a drink too, so I started to say "Be careful, it's really full," but before one syllable of that thought escaped my lips I had a cup full of ice water on my lap. Now, in the child's defense, the majority of his experience with cups is that they have lids and that nothing happens when you turn them upside-down. Not so with this one, however. Of course, I was wearing khaki capri pants, which became rather translucent when soaked. There was a large puddle on the floor, which I thankfully did not slip on when we left. The best part of the evening: my son had managed to splash a bit of the water on his shirt, which upset him so much that I removed the article of clothing so he would settle down enough to eat his grilled cheese. Do you have a mental picture yet? Mom with soaking, freezing, somewhat see-through pants, 2 1/2 year old with no shirt, baby asleep in his carseat, and husband soaking up the water on the table with some napkins after getting me a new cup of water and trying not to laugh at the whole situation. Of course, I had to laugh - it's that or cry sometimes, right?

Falling For It

There's a lot people don't tell you about becoming a mom. And for many good reasons. Like childbirth hurts more than you could ever imagine (they don't tell you that one because of that whole selective memory thing, I think; if they didn't forget, how could they ever have more kids?), like nursing is not easy (because who would be so excited to do it if they knew how hard it was? Right, Susie?)..and that's just the first day. It goes on and on.

But why doesn't anyone warn us about daylight savings time?

Remember how dreamy it used to be? An extra hour of sleep! On Sunday morning! The perfect frosting on the cake of yet another gloriously restful weekend. And so much easier to get up on Monday morning.

And then we had kids. They didn't get the memo. Sun's up. Been in bed a whole bunch of hours (if we're lucky). Hungry. Restless. Ready to go.

And the clock says?

This morning, when I was up with almost-three-year-old Eliza at 5:42, I heard five-year-old Luke singing. Singing. Already.

I woke Dad up: "Luke's singing already."
Grunting as he rolled over to look at the clock: "What?!?"
"Daylight savings time, remember?" (Dads have selective memories, too, I guess.)

He sang patiently until about 6:30, then ran out of patience. Dad went in, and apparently (from what I gathered from overheard snippets and Dad's report), the conversation started something like this:

Luke: "Dad, I was wondering what the clock in your room says 'cause I think mine is broken. 'Cause the sun is shining in my window but my clock doesn't even say it's seven o'clock yet."

Smartie pants.

So Dad explained that we had changed his clock while he was sleeping. (I could hear Luke's exasperated exclamation from across the hall: "Why did you do that?!?"). He could not believe that his parents would violate his trust in such a totally awful way. (He also expressed surprise later on that the clock could be changed...hmmm.)

Dad explained some more. And told him he had to stay in bed. But it wasn't too long before I heard his operatic conclusion: "6:59! Just one minute 'til the time I've been wai-ai-ai-aiting for!"

Why didn't anyone tell us this? Why didn't anyone warn us that, for the next who-knows-how-many years, we'll be longing to spring forward while everyone else celebrates falling back?

And seriously, if anyone needs an extra hour of sleep, isn't it us?

Monkey Business

My mother is an amazing seamstress. I cannot imagine how many Halloween costumes she sewed over years of raising four children. Needless to say, she made it look very easy.

Her effortlessness made me think that I could sew a homemade costume for my little boy this year. Oh, I thought this would be a fabulous project. I'd have a chance to learn to sew (yes, learn -- I really have sewed very little in my life beyond reattaching an occasional button) and Evan would have a lovingly made and adorable get-up to don come Halloween.

I started early. I picked out the pattern back in August. Right away, I should have known this whole thing was going to be trouble. I pulled the pattern out of it's paper envelope and realized that I had no idea how to read it. Who knew that sewing patterns don't come with instructions? There is no forgiveness for beginnerhood in the sewing world; a level of skill and knowledge is preassumed.

I called my mom in a panic. And, she talked me through what to do first. Several days later, she talked me through what to do next. And so on...

I had envisioned myself cozily sewing away on crisp fall evenings after Evan was tucked away in bed. Instead, most often, I was staying up way too late trying to decipher how to set my sewing machine to make a zigzag stich, or how to thread elastic properly through a seam. My fingers were riddled with pin pricks, my poor sewing machine suffered several broken needles and mis-threaded bobbins. My husband steered very clear of the dining room, where I had my little sewing factory set up, for fear that he might be the brunt of my ongoing frustration.

And October 31st loomed ever closer. I was beginning to fear that at the last minute, we might be headed for the costume aisle at Target after all. I worked frantically, fabric scraps falling everywhere, my mother on permanent speed dial. And, two nights ago, I finished the last stitch.

My husband hopefully asked, "So, I guess you won't be trying this again next year?" And I -- with all the satisfaction and good will of a finished project -- said, "Oh, I definitely will. It was fun."

On close inspection, this costume is pretty poorly constructed. Any veteran seamstress (anyone who buys a pattern apparently!) would look at it and see multiple errors and short cuts. But, to me, it is a major accomplishment. I tried it on Evan for the first time last evening. He seemed unimpressed and looked at me as if to say, "Mom, I am not your show monkey!"

Ah, but for tonight, just for tonight, he is.

Copy Cat

So, eleven month old Evan is going through two stages simultaneously:

1) He does not enjoy being more than four feet from Mommy.
2) He wants to do, or mimic, everything that Mommy does.

This leads to some very amusing moments throughout the day. The latest and most entertaining came yesterday, on cleaning day. I looked down to see Evan wiping his hand vigorously back and forth across the table I was dusting, in just the motion I was using. In a flash of inspiration, I gave him his own dust rag, and, voila! He dusted intently for several minutes. Who needs a cleaning person when child labor is available?

Now, if we can just work on that attention span.

Out of the Mouths of Kindergarteners

(Conversation with Nana, overheard thanks to speakerphone)

Luke: My dad's going out of town this weekend.
Nana: Oh, that's too bad. But you'll have fun with your mom, right?
Luke: Yeah, my mom is fun. But not as fun as school.

Oh, that these school-loving days could last forever...

(Wait, my days do seem to last forever. Nix that last bit.)

Saturday Soccer

It was not raining when we left home for the soccer game. It had been sprinkling on and off all morning, but it most definitely was not raining as we loaded up the minivan with all the requisite chairs, strollers, snacks, jackets, water bottles, soccer balls, and children it takes for a family of 5 to enjoy a 45 minute U5 soccer game.

I have to admit that part of the reason we signed D up for U5 soccer is that it's cheap entertainment. We have such fond memories of watching the son of our dear friends "play" soccer when he was three, which at the time meant zooming around the field like a superhero, only to be interrupted periodically by a black and white ball whizzing by. Mac is now a respectable athlete, I understand. But there's nothing like watching a group (gaggle? herd? pride?) of four year olds in their first experience with team sports.

Today did not disappoint.

As we reached the field, it began to rain. Rain, not sprinkle or mist or fall lightly. It was really raining, and blowing sideways. Alex and I looked at each other, knowing that we probably should take the girls back home rather than subjecting them to watch soccer in the rain, but neither of us really wanted to be the one to miss the game. Some kind people lent us umbrellas to hold over the girls, and they had jackets and covers on their double stroller. (It was a warm day, Mom, really, they were OK!)

At first, D and his fellow Silver Streaks kept looking at the parents incredulously, as if to say, "Do you know it's raining? And we're out here? With no jackets? Is this really OK?" But then they got into the spirit of it, led by ever-cheerful and dripping wet Coach Huong. It wasn't the crispest play I've ever seen by the Streaks, but some soccer was happening.

And then they saw it. The water was running in a rushing stream down a little concrete culvert at the end of the field. Oh, the joy of running water! It is time for a throw-in, but where are the Silver Streaks? Two of them were wading in the brook, happily splashing and kicking a ball with gusto. From then on, the game depended more on how many children could be coaxed out of the stream and back to the field. At one point, the normally 4-on-4 match-up was 5-on-2. I think those Orange Tigers were definitely trying to take advantage of the situation.

Suddenly, it was just like in the movies...cue the music...the rain stopped, the sun came out, the world was fresh and dripping wet. The umbrellas came down, jackets were stripped off, everyone was so glad they had not run for the minivan after all. Time for the second half. Time for some soccer.

Well, it's hardly fair to expect a bunch of four year olds to concentrate on a silly game when a pair of fighter jets appears from behind the trees, roaring overhead. The game was halted for a moment to allow the entranced children to watch. The whistle blew. Now we're ready. But wait, here come the jets again, circling the field. There goes the ball...where are the players? Two have wandered back to the stream, three more are completely oblivious to anything but the powerful aircraft in the sky. The jets continued to circle the field for the remainder of the second half. Some soccer was played intermittently. Coach Huong's whistle blew to end the game, but that second half was a suspiciously shorter than the first.

Another game in the books for the U5 Silver Streaks. See you next Saturday!

Very brave

All moms have to go through the dreaded shots with their kids. It's a necessary evil, really. We got flu shots for ourselves and our 2 1/2 year old the other day. The parents went first, one at a time so the other could distract our son so he wouldn't know what we were up to. Then it was Benjamin's turn. I sat in a chair holding him (and keeping his arm still) while he held onto his dearest friend (a very well-loved stuffed turtle). I was armed with treats in my pocket. The nurse quickly stuck a needle in my precious boy's arm, making him jump, but no tears. She put a band aid on, and Benjamin's little face crumbled and he cried. I opened the package holding the treats and hugged my baby. Before we left the clinic he had stopped crying and I told him he was very brave. He proceeded to talk about his band aid and ate his snack all the way to the car. I blinked away tears behind my sunglasses. We both were very brave.