Long nights

When lights go out and all is well

I slip under my sheets

And drift off quickly to a land

Beyond the tallied sheep

All is calm and all is bright

As dreams o’ertake my mind

When through the silence screams resound

That scare all humankind

For ‘cross the wall there lies in bed

A small babe, blonde and sweet

By day at least, but once the night

The Mandrake’s call we meet

His cries are not quite yet matured

But vile still is his shriek

The cry of my wee Mandrake

Is slowly killing me

And once I rise and go to him

His wrinkled face relaxed

He smiles and holds his arms out

“Mom, it’s time now for a snack!”

He eats and burps and stretches long

Content with being fed

The Mandrake calmly drifting off

As I tiptoe back to bed

All is calm and all is well

And dreams are sweet and glad

‘Til 3AM, when once again

The Mandrake, just plain mad.

Repeatedly he screams and howls

An hour or more at least

I wish I might be Petrified

So I could get some sleep

Losing my marbles

I try really hard to be the type of mom who lets her children play with relative freedom. I want them to explore life, make messes (within reason), and get their hands dirty in the name of educational play. There are lots of moms who are far too high-strung and there are lots of moms who sit back with a cup of coffee and their iPhone and just let chaos unfurl. I pride myself on finding a good balance there. For instance, I would never:

Ban playdough from my house because it gets in the cracks of the table, floors, and sneaker treads of whomever is walking by.

And I would also never:

Let my kids get out all the playdough in North America as I say casually to a friend, “Just make sure Child B doesn’t eat TOO much.” (As Child B is gnawing hungrily on a blob the size of a tennis ball.)

Both of those instances are true stories, btw.

I’m kind of in the middle. I’m the kind of mom who absolutely lets her preschoolers cut out cookies, but also tries to teach them the best technique to maximize cuts per roll-out.

So our house isn’t as clean and organized as I dream, and I generally make myself stay OK with that. I wish it was cleaner, especially when anybody (and I mean ANYBODY—sorry for the mess Mr. UPS Man) stops by, but I love that the boys can be boys. I value that more.

Except in one area.

I’m just about ready to banish this thing from my house. (By “banish” I mean, “laughing maniacally as I drop-kick it out the front door.”) Roy brought it home from a thrift store yesterday and promptly dubbed it, “the Jamesest game ever.” Which is admittedly true. Mr. Order and Logic has been completely captivated. But this particular Mousetrap came from a thrift store, and it did so with good reason:

Problem A: One of the big crane-like pieces is snapped off, so the actual Goldberg process is in two acts. This bothers me. I’ve tried to tweak it myself and I only seem to exchange fixing one issue for creating another. The thing shouldn’t stop. Stop stopping!!!!

Problem B: The four year old operating the machinery forgets to set all the components before he cranks the wheel to start the marble. It kills me to sit there and watch him when I KNOW the trap at the end is already on the ground.

Problem C: We have hardwood floors. Those marbles are friggin’ heavy and, in the hands of a young child, particularly inept at staying on the table. I swear, one of them hits the hard floor and starts a gingerbread man-like escape all around the downstairs every thirty seconds.

And every time I hear a marble hit the ground my nice middle-of-the-road mom philosophy loses a little balance and I do this. (Hopefully inwardly.)

 

Notice the pursed lips, the haphazard hair, the expression of resigned exhaustion.

I don’t know what it is—I can handle two hundred blocks on my living room floor, preventing any kind of normal path across the room. I can deal with crumbs on the table and floor and half-digested food in the high chair. Tearing books? Nothing a little tape can’t fix. But. That. Marble.

I realize this is all on me. But it’s killing me, one drop at a time.

Please help.

Today’s 1%: If I really want to find a good 1% for the day I should start blogging at night. I’ve only been awake for two hours and most of that time has been trying to survive marble drops. So I’m just barely hanging on right now. But yesterday I made biscotti for the first time. (After an unfortunate biscotti experience from a local coffee shop. Biscotti should be crisp, but it shouldn’t smash into smithereens if you were to take a hammer to it. Or break your teeth.) These biscotti still need a nice partial-submersion in a bath of white chocolate, but the actual bake is AWESOME. They look professional and they taste great. Thumbs up on this one!

Three scenes

Scene A:

Owen and James are in the tub. It’s Owen’s first bubble bath and, shocker, he is pleased about it. He sits in the warm water with an expression of utter delight and reaches for an armload of soapy foam. He immediately shoves it into his mouth, wrinkles his nose for just a split second, then bursts into an enraptured smile and faceplants into the water to eat it all.

“Owen, don’t eat the soap.”

<me, trying not to laugh> “OWEN…please don’t eat the soap.”

James, “O-WEN!!! Don’t eat the SOAP!”

Owen and James splash around with bubbles and bath toys for a while. Owen eats more foam and I give up trying to make him stop, hoping that maybe it will help him poop. (Does this qualify me as a terrible mother?) Owen tries to get me to chew on a foam letter P while he shakes his head back and forth with a B hanging out of his mouth. He looks like a puppy with a white beard.

“Owen, no standing in the tub.”

“Owen, NO standing in the tub.”

James, “O-WEN!! No standing in the TUH-UB!”

Repeat twenty times.

Scene B:

Roy takes James outside to play hockey across the street. James sets George and Steven very carefully on top of the toy “cube” in the living room. Roy watches James look warily at Owen as he places them high out of reach. “Take some photos of Owen with George and Steven once we’re gone,” he whispers as they exit.

 

Two seconds later...

"At last, we meet."

Upon offering him his own George.

A little relieved that we have a clear preference.

Scene C:

James and I are on the floor reading Berenstein Bear books. It was library day so there are a dozen new ones. Owen is doing a decent job pushing around a walking toy and amusing himself. But James has no limit to his capacity for story time and Owen starts getting bored.

“So Papa and Mama made up a chore chart for taking care of the new puppy…Owen, you want your shoes on?”

 

He hid them in the bottom drawer of the oven apparently.

“Where were we James? OK, so they made a chore chart for the puppy. A few weeks passed and it was time to bring their new puppy home…Owen, stop bopping James on the head.”

“Owen, (don’t laugh Julie) please don’t whack James on the head.”

James stares at the book intently without blinking or seemingly noticing that his noggin is being used for target practice.

 

"This is my reading face."

“Owen, PLEASE don’t hit James on the head.”

“OK boys, I need to take a quick potty break. We’ll finish this book in a minute.”

Owen throws himself down on the ground dramatically and starts howling indignantly, kicking his little legs and shaking his head back and forth. I enter the bathroom, ignoring his vehement protests, which suddenly cease after about thirty seconds. I quickly wash my hands and slowly open the door, just in case he’s standing up against it.

He’s sitting on the floor, gnawing on my cell phone. Upon noticing my return he holds it up, waving it triumphantly in the air and smiles so big I think his face might split in two. “Lookie what you forgot Mom! Hah!”

"A boy's story is the best that is ever told." -Charles Dickens

Today's 1%: I chose to blog tonight, fighting our stubborn laptop computer for the right to upload pictures, when what I initially wanted to do was curl up with Harry Potter. Turns out, blogging was the better, and more entertaining, choice. 

Sadness in the lands

I now have the Lieutenant Dan of hand mixers.

It died mid-creaming.

Rest in peace, old friend. You served us well.

Today's 1%: It's hard to think about what you did to improve yourself by 1% when your country is fighting just to preserve its sanity. I have such a heavy heart for those in San Bernadino, Colorado Springs, and other places that have recently experienced such senselessness. Prayers for the spouses, parents, children, friends, neighbors...Jesus, build your kingdom here.

5 things...

1.       I, so far, am still running, even though it’s getting colder outside. I’ve discovered that having insightful podcasts makes all the difference when I’m going solo. (Also, a hat. If my ears are cold it ain’t happenin’.) Today we went as a family. The boys were bundled up and it was twice as enjoyable to chat with Roy as we loped along. Another reason to anticipate the spring of 2016.

2.       We now have a Christmas tree in our living room. And stockings hung. And a nativity set up. James GETS it this year. He remembered where every decoration went from last year, even down to the animals’ location in the nativity. He is most excited, as he was last year, about the little tree he gets to have in his own room, along with George and Steven’s stockings hung on his wall. Owen thinks the tree is great fun and, as we suspected, wants to bat down every ornament within arm’s reach. James is very worried about this and lies under the tree trying to protect the precious ornaments from breakage.

For all of his mischief and shenanigans, he is rather adorable.

3.       I’m planning the Christmas cookie extravaganza for our December. In my family growing up each member picked a certain kind, which led to five types in all. I think James most wants to make gingerbread men (he is sure one will pop out of the oven and take off), and Roy wants the traditional sugar cut-outs. I want to make Melissa’s chocolate cut-outs, and Owen will happily sample any and all that are offered (or not). This is going to mean a lot of cookie cutters, and I’m happy to have a giant bag from my mom’s house passed on for our little guys. Thanks Mom!

4.       Roy and I were going to have Date Night In next weekend, but, surprise!, he found a babysitter for that night, so we are swapping Date Night In for Date Night OUT. (Your regularly scheduled DNI will happen mid-month instead.) I’m not sure what we’ll be doing—we chatted through numerous options during our run. Part of me would love to sip hot drinks and hear live jazz. Part of me wants to go to the big mall and walk through the hustle and bustle. (Part of me thinks that’s nuts too.) It’s rare that we go out just the two of us, and I’m not very practiced in it, I’m afraid. My goal for our night out is to be able to be “out” from the get-go, and not take two hours to relax.

5.       This came to my door twenty minutes ago…

Eeeeeeeek!!!

Today’s 1%: The tree-getting was fast and uneventful (see previous posts of madness and mayhem on hubby’s blog). No screaming children, no snowstorms, no…thongs. (It’s such a long story.)