Circus of the Absurd

I am not much of a betting woman, but I would ante up my first born child on this one.  Okay, I would even see you my first born and raise you my second born on the wager that you have never said either of these two phrases while at your job.  I could probably just stop at "these two phrases.":

Phrase #1:  "Whatcha got there?  Oh...hmmmm...well, put that pickled baby shark in a jar under your desk and turn to page 63 in your math book.  And don't even think about taking the cover off during the next 45 minutes.  I'll take your word for it that his eyelids open and close."

Phrase #2:  "Whoa!  You look different today, did you get a haircut?  Ah, I see...how embarrassing...well, I have never worn a weave before but I'll do my best to get yours back attached securely to your scalp."

True story, I said both today.

I love my job.

Looks like my kids are my own for another hand.

Practice Makes Perfect

Necessary background information:  Courtney has been asking me for a sister, preferably one named Lainie who is 4.5 years old, quite often lately.

Last evening, after returning from work/piano lessons/soccer and while I was preparing dinner/monitoring Christopher completing his homework/emptying lunch boxes/signing permission slips for after school activities/writing checks for after school activities/drinking a cup of tea/listening to Courtney read her Word Wall Words 600 times/cleaning out 3 week old sludge from a fridge drawer that wouldn't open due to the rotten glaze that had been pears and that had leaked and settled in the drawer slides/trying to train the dog to run the microwave (okay, I may be embellishing the scene a bit...it was NOT tea, unless like me, you call your carbonated barley and hops beverage of choice "tea" to make yourself feel more centered and Eastern Asian), Courtney asked,

 "Mom, someday soon can we have a whole day called a Practice Day?"  

To this question I gave my most readily used and automated response to my children's requests, "Maybe someday."

In between sips Word Wall Words, I replayed what she had asked me in my head and decided it was worth digging a bit deeper into.  

"What is a 'Practice Day' Courts?"

"It's a day, like a Sunday, where we practice all day.  I would practice piano.  And tying my shoes.  And spelling.  Christopher would practice being a nice brother.  And sharing.  And talking nicely.  And you and Daddy would practice making me a baby sister, named Lainie who is four and a half."

"Sorry Courts, Practice Day is a definite no-go." 

Top 10 Reasons The First Ever Renaud Family Camping Trip Was A Success:

10.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

       campground.

9.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

8.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

7.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground. 

6.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground. 

5.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

4.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

3.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

2.  No cell coverage or Wifi access at campsite or anywhere on the

      campground.

And the #1 reason we will be going camping there again...

1.  (clean) Flush toilets.  

Summer Reading

A recent trip to Barnes & Nobles...

Can't believe someone wrote MY book before me.  And an autographed copy at that.  

Because I laughed (really obnoxiously for the quiet "Parenting/Family" aisle of the store) through the first chapter of the above book and wondered out loud, "Is that REALLY all you've got???", I decided that purchasing the book below probably couldn't hurt.  


Here I am reading poolside.
My kids are no where to be found.
No power struggle here.
Obviously I DO NOT need this book, I have it all figured out...  

Ouch!

Quote of the night from Courtney:
Clunk.  
Short pause followed by, "Owwwww.  I think I just broke my head knuckle."

Not all "fruit" is created equally

While driving to the lake recently, I listened to the kids in the back seat negotiate through a package of Runts candy ("I'll give you two oranges and a lime for one banana.")  I finally decided that they had had enough candy for the moment. 


Me:  "That is enough candy you two, hand the package forward."
Courtney:  "Noooooooo...I was living the dream!"  

Two Peas In A Pod

I have used many a cliche phrase to describe my two children as a pair; Ying and Yang, Sugar & Spice, Frick and Frack, Tweedle Do and Tweedle Sit and Watch Her Do All The Work.  But last night, while putting her to bed, Courtney reminded me of just how she feels about her brother.

From under her snuggly covers:  

"I love having play dates, but I am lucky because I live with my bestest friend ever."

 Recent summer dinner

Summer reading

See Courtney Read. Read Courtney Read.

As Kindergarten winds down for my bitty one, I have really been enjoying the process of listening to Courtney learn to read.  She seems to have a slower, more methodical approach to the whole process than Christopher ever did (shocker, I know...not sure I can use "slow" OR "methodical" in many sentences when describing Christopher!), which has provided more opportunities for me to hear her trying to make sense of printed language.  As I listen to her develop her decoding skills, I am reminded of just how complex and inconsistent written language can be.  Here is tonight's example:

Courtney found a church bulletin from a few weeks back in the back seat of the van and attempted to read it while we were driving along.  The front read:

April 8th

St. Paul's Church

10:00 a.m.

She read:

"April Eight-ith

Street Paul-Tall-Comma-Ssss Church

One Thousand A period M period"

The way I figure it, she'll be through, To Kill A Mockingbird by the end of the summer.  

A mom by any other name...

This evening Mark came in from outside and, assuming I was upstairs, stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up, "Hey Honey, You ready to eat?"

Courtney came up beside him and knowingly stated, "Daddy, 'Honey' is in the downstairs bathroom."

Eastern Dinner

Christopher:    Mom, what is this called that we are having for dinner because I LOVE it and I am going to share at Morning Meeting tomorrow that last night my mom made the best dinner?


Me:   In Morning Meeting circles this dish is called, Fine Asian Cuisine.


You say: Toe-May-Toe, I say: Toe-Mah-Toe.
You say: Poe-Tay-Toe, I say: Poe-Tah-Toe.


You say: Ramon Noodles, I say: Fine Asian Cuisine.

Shamagic Shwords

Just overheard...

Christopher: Courtney, can I have that pen in your hand?

Courtney: What's the magic words?

Christopher: Please.

Courtney: Nope, I said magic wordS.

Christopher: Ummm...Open Sesame?

Courtney: Nope.

Christopher: I DON'T KNOW THE MAGIC WORDS, can I just have the pen?!?!

Courtney: I'll give you a hint. The magic wordS rhyme with "Shmourtney is Shamawesome."

Easter 2012

Saturday morning: Dyeing eggs with Frank and Marie Barone (formally of Everybody Loves Raymond fame, now airing as Grandma and Papa Renaud)

One must have the proper accessories to dye eggs. Bunny ears required.

Easter Morning: Evidence of the trail of confetti left by the Easter Bunny that led the children to their baskets (this seemed like a really cute idea about 5 years ago when the trail of confetti went from their bedside to the next room over, totaling approximately 20 pieces of confetti, but now with older and more savvy basket finderers, we find the flippin' 6,000ish pieces still on the floor in July. But, in our household, a tradition is a tradition...)

Egg Huntin'. EB left a note explaining that he left each child a baker's dozen of eggs, 8 hidden inside and the rest outside (feel free to have fun with the image of Mark running around our property wearing a headlamp and dodging skunks at 10:30 the night before, I know I did.) Christopher's eggs were the shape of carrots and Courtney's were the shape of frogs.

Discovering that the notes from the EB did not stop with ones written to children. A note on the dining room table thanking Cupcake for not barking while he hid the eggs and a special Easter bandana for her to add to her ever growing wardrobe of holiday attire.

Just after I took this shot, Christopher poked his head up and proclaimed, "Nothing back there but dust bunnies!" and then proceeded to point at me and laugh at his own joke for a good 6 minutes. Really cracked himself up. Absolutely NO DOUBT that he IS his father's son.

On to the outside eggs...

"I'm Freezing!"

"Then stand still and smile so I can get a good picture."

"But my teeth are chattering."

"Pretty soon you'll be frozen solid and then I will

FINALLY be able to get a decent picture, so for now just stay put and smile."

After all 13 eggs were found by both kids, there were basket contents to check

out. A fan favorite shown here.

Off to church (without Dad in case anyone was wondering, he bailed the night before which, had I been taking bets, the over/under would have been blown out of the water.)

"It's too bright."

"Then stand still so I can get a good picture and then you can get out of the sun."

"My eyeballs are burning."

"Pretty soon you'll burst into flames and then I will FINALLY be able to get a decent picture of your sister alone, so for now just stay put and smile."

Easter Egg Hunt on the State House lawn following the 9:00 a.m. Easter Service. There were over 1,000 eggs "hidden" - I think it is safe to say that the kids hunting eggs AND the elderly church-goers watching the whole scene had equally as much fun.

Isn't she darling hunting eggs in her pink dress and pink parka? Strangely, the cute factor gets replaced by the sheer panic factor when she is plowed over by a sprinting 8 year old. Good grief. At a church sponsored egg hunt to boot...who allows there child to be so brutish?!?! Clearly only a grieving widow.

Sunday After Church: Pick up Raymond and head to Grandma & Papa's house for Easter Dinner. Here is part of the gang listening to Papa explain his well planned out egg hunt for his 5 grandkids of varying ages. One egg per floor of the house (three total for each child) and each grandchild had a specific color of eggs. He worked really hard on hiding the eggs according to difficulty depending on the age of the child. It was so cute to listen to him explain it...for 20 minutes...and to then watch the kids find their eggs. A special memory made with Papa.

And to round out a fun, family-filled holiday of memory making...Courtney came bounding through Grandma's back door, sprinting into the living room where everyone was napping and yelled, "CHRISTOPHER IS STUCK!" You cant tell from the picture, but he was successfully entangled in the equivalent of kite strings on a windy day of "picky bushes." When discovered, he looked at all of us looking at him and sadly said, "I can't get out." As if on cue, came a choir of, "Well, how the hell did you get in?"s. Nothing says Easter fun like grown men yanking and tugging a child through a mass of mini razor blades.

Easter Night: The true miracle of Easter is upon us. Both kids asleep in the car, successful transfers from the back seat to their beds, and all is quite at the Renaud household by 6:45 p.m.

Although we desperately missed Grammy & Grandpa this holiday (the kids were relieved to hear that the Easter Bunny found them among the sun and surf in the Sunshine State), and it wasn't the same without their favorite druncles, us church folk (and the Dad) managed to have a really nice Easter weekend. Good times had by all.

Completely Unaffiliated Spring Celebration in Kindergarten

We kicked off the Easter Weekend with a traditional Non-Easter Party in Kindergarten, complete with bunny ears, bunny face painting, and egg hunting.

Courtney and her BFF, Maddie NOT celebrating Easter at school.

Courtney being silly with the craft supplies used to create completely random eggs, chicks, and bunnies. No funny holiday goings-on in this classroom...

I love this picture. In my humble opinion, it completely captures who Courtney is. It tells a complicated, bittersweet story of simplicity all in one single frame.

You need some background information: The young man in the red is a second grader with extreme emotional issues. From what I have gathered (probably WAY more than I should know, but every time I am in the classroom the adults that work with this boy, and there are MANY, make a point to seek me out as "Courtney's Mom." The first time I was there when he came to "visit" their classroom, Courtney's teacher yelled from across the room to the accompanying adult, "HEY, MRS. _______, COURTNEY"S MOM IS HERE TODAY" and then Mrs. _______ was instantly by my side most certainly breaking all kinds of confidentiality with the best intentions at heart.) Seems this boy has been, in the words of Mrs. _______, "abused and mistreated in ways that make up your nightmares." Apparently part of his daily program is to "earn" time to visit the Kindergarten classroom, where Courtney's teacher (an angel!) has agreed to welcome him in and provide a safe atmosphere for him for short amounts of "reward" time. Some Fridays when I help out in the classroom, he doesn't show, and then on those days I usually see him in the fetal position on the floor in the office as I walk out of the building. Other days he comes in with an adult. Most recently I have noticed that he comes unaccompanied more often (although if you look closely you will always see an adult lurking outside the classroom door, peeking in with a walkie talkie in hand ready to radio for help if needed.) Lately he seems to stay longer and he seems more at ease. I have interacted with him a few times and although sweet, I couldn't help but notice the obvious "emptiness" in his eyes when I talked with him. This does not seem to be the case when Courtney talks/plays/works with him. I've had the pleasure of watching the two of them many a Friday morning. If he enters the room during circle time, he always squishes his bottom in between others onto the rug next to Courtney. Sometimes he doesn't make it 5 minutes and off he has to go, escorted out of the room by an adult. Other times, if the children are already engaged in their "stations" he wanders around the room, but he usually ends up at Courtney's station playing next to her and along side the others. Courtney mentioned his name at dinner once, and since Christopher is a second grader, he knew of him and immediately said, "He has A LOT of problems." Courtney looked at her brother with a puzzled look and said, "Not to me. And besides, he tries hard not to have them." When I watch the two of them interact I find it fascinating. She doesn't "mother hen" him as I think many a young girl might take on as a role with a troubled boy. She doesn't let him get his way, I witnessed her take a shovel right out of his hands at the sand table one time and I was ready to leap in had it gone bad, but nope, they just kept on playing. She doesn't seek him out or even talk non-stop to him, she just seems to play and learn along side him. And he along side her. In this picture you see them working together to get a twist tie fastened to the top of his non-Easter treat bag. What you don't see is the few minutes before I snapped the shot. You don't see him struggling with it for a minute or two or the adult making a b-line to try to help him before frustration sets in. You don't see her stopping dead in her tracks a few feet behind him when she hears him grumble, "Courtney, can you please help me with this?" You just see two kids working together.

She is gentle that way, and by the sounds of it, he could use a whole lot of gentle that way. I can't help but think of the line from the Martina McBride song when I look at this picture, "I see who I want to be, in my daughter's eyes..."

You might THINK you are looking at 16 Easter bunnies, but you are mistaken. These are actually 16 Pink-Eared Cottontails, a rare form of rabbit found only in the deepest boroughs of Kindergarten classrooms, er...I mean Canadian forests.

Getting ready to go home for the weekend sporting an APRIL Bonnet and whiskers.

Happy 2nd Sunday of April to you and your family!

Bake me up a plate full of sweet memories, that she could do.

My mom was not a good cook.

Pitch endless strikes in a row so you could get in some serious batting practice, that she could do. Bike a hundred miles, get off to pee, then bike 100 more, that she could do. Give signs from the third base coach box like a major league manager, that she could do. Be the first one to plunge into freezing water on a chilly May day and the last one to pull herself out of the pool that same evening, that she could do. Give a look to a naughty child that would have made Hitler confess his wrongdoings, that she could do. Make building a retaining wall, one cement block at a time, such enjoyable family time that no one wanted to put the last stone on, that she could do. Convincing us that a road trip to deliver an old washer to a HS friend in Vermont was a glamourous Girls Getaway, that she could do.

Rounding out her mealtime repertoire of 4 dishes (spagetti and meat sauce, Shake & Bake, grilled cheese, and an unnamed casserole with a Bisquick base) with "Ordering Pizza" as the fifth option, that she could do.

The one thing my mom did bake from scratch was her chocolate chip cookies. She didn't have a recipe, she knew exactly what she needed and how much of each ingredient by memory. She baked them for any activity or occasion that we needed to bring something to share. She became known for her chocolate chip cookies at athletic banquets. Kids used to ask me if she would bring them to school for their birthdays. She sent them out in countless care packages, including the "mother lode" I received while away for two weeks at sleep away camp. We always walked away with an empty plate when "Kris' cookies" were brought to a school function.

I have some wonderful memories of baking these cookies with her. I can not be sure if these memories are "wonderful" because I have no other memories of making anything else in the kitchen with her (except unwrapping the plastic from around a frozen pot pie), but since memories of her are all I've got, I'll take them any way I can get them.

As a teenager I had finally memorized the recipe after being by her side so many times while she made them. I remember a hot summer day when I whipped up a batch with the intention of baking them and then sharing them with some girlfriends later that afternoon while we lazed by the pool. How positively sophisticated we would feel, munching on cookies and soaking up rays. Instead, the three of us hovered around the bowl and ate the entire batch of raw batter with soup spoons. Even the batter is beyond delicious.

My kids now love them as much as I did at their age. On special occasions, they ask with anticipation, "Are you going to make Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies?" (they have added the "Famous" and I think it fits just right.) Then they wait to hear my answer as if they are gauging JUST how special of an occasion it is by whether the cookies will be made or not. When Courtney turned six in January, she insisted on not bringing cupcakes to Kindergarten to share with her classmates to celebrate, but instead, she asked for Grammy Kristal's cookies.

Because it takes longer (just slightly longer) to make and bake these cookies from scratch than it does to say, cut off the end of a pre-made tube of Pillsbury cookie dough, we don't always have the time to invest in making them. On Tuesday evening, Courtney reminded me that this Friday is her Kindergarten Spring Fling (read: an Easter celebration without the politically incorrect Christian terminology.) She asked me if "Please, pretty pretty please with chocolate chips on top, can we make Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies to bring to the fling?" I am not a big believer in fate, so let's just call it coincidence so that I don't have to re-think my whole There Is No Such Thing As Fate Theory at this time, that Tuesday just so happened to be my mom's birthday. She would have been 58 this year. In the moment it took me to connect those two thoughts, I instantaneously agreed that we would bake them Thursday night so that she could bring them to the non-denominational school celebration on Friday where the Spring Chicken hides orb-like treats around the kindergarten classroom.

There are two things I would sell my soul for...A plate of my mom's chocolate chip cookies and just one more afternoon to bake a batch with her.

Courtney making Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies tonight.

Church Update....You taking notes, Nana?

So I have come to referring to myself and my children as "church folk." The way I figure it, we've earned the title...we HAVE gone to church for 5 straight weeks in a row. That, and it sends my husband into a tailspin every time I state, "HEY! WATCH YOUR MOUTH, you are now in the presence of church folk." I try to mutter that statement at least twice a day for my pure enjoyment.

Week #1: Our first week at church was going okay until three-fourths of the way through the service (post sermon, I might add) a pack of elephants strangely appeared at the back of the church. The herd, pretzels and gluey tissue papered popsicle stick crosses in hand, bolted down the center aisle to join their parents for the (short!) remainder of the service. My two children looked up at me (from lying on the kneeler, it had been a long sermon) the way Caesar must have looked at Brutus just before taking his last breath.

Also, received many quizzical looks when I introduced myself, my son and my daughter with no mention of a husband. What better a place to leave them with the unexplained, right?

Week #2: Enrolled in Sunday School.

Wrote only my name on the line after "Names of parents that will be in service while child(ren) are participating in Sunday School" Hey, I want the credit for bringing them. Because someone, somewhere IS keeping score...I CERTAINLY am not, that would be petty, but I surely wouldn't want to botch up the tallies.

Pretty sure I saw the very nice teacher lady bring that paper a tad bit closer to her eyes, squint confusedly, and then sigh sympathetically while reviewing that part of the form before graciously welcoming my kids into Godly Play.

Week #3: Upon the completion of Sunday service, we were making our way back to the sanctuary to collect our coats (read: bribable donut) when both kids stopped to stare at the man playing the large, full organ. He looked up from his sheet music and motioned them to cross the alter and join him on the organ bench. I figured what's the harm in sitting thigh to thigh with a grown man while in a church, right? While playing the hymn, he directed them both to push keys on the organ to accompany the song. When they finished playing the recessional music, he commented on how "steady of a note" they could both play.

Then came the breaking of the 11th Commandment: Thou Shall Not Indicate That Thou Are Interested In Anything That Could Result In Another Commitment For Thy Mother To Cart Thou Around To.

"We both play the piano."

"WHAT?!?! WHY ARE YOU TWO NOT IN MY CHILDREN'S CHOIR?!?!? Mom, have these two here on Mondays from 4:00 - 5:00 pm." For handbells. And chimes. And hymns, oh my.

Week #3, Day #2: Children's Choir Rehearsal, Monday 4:00 - 5:00 pm

That night after choir, the kids ask their dad over dinner if he is going to come to Palm Sunday to watch them sing in the choir. He drills them on what exactly is Palm Sunday? They are stumped. I say, Jesus Christ, they have only been going for three weeks. He says, then if someone at this table can at least give me a good explanation about what happened on Easter, then maybe I'll come. I try to stop the madness by standing up, fork still in hand, and making like I am dying on the cross with my arms outstretched, my head bowed, and my tongue hanging out. He rolls his eyes at my charade-like hint and tells them the "real" story of how Easter is the day Jesus delivers the chocolate eggs. I slam down my hand and glare at him. SERIOUSLY?!?! I yell, AFTER I JUST DIED ON AN IMAGINARY CROSS?!?! He says, THIS is why I don't do religion, you church folk can't take a joke. I mutter that he is the biggest joke I know and take my plate to the kitchen.


Week #4: The dyeing of Easter Eggs in Sunday School and then the herd carrying said eggs to the alter to be blessed. It is announced that the bright, colorful eggs will be donated to the food pantry. For some unexplainable reason, the idea of distributing sparkly pink tye-dyed eggs to Concord's homeless sends me into a convulsive attack of laughter that won't quit and results in me faking a coughing fit to be able to get up mid-service and collect myself. Kids remained in the pew while I tried to employ labor breathing techniques to end my uncontrollable guffawing in the restroom at the bottom of the stairs.

Oh, and pretty sure I felt some glances, heavy and filled with concern, directed my way when the gospel reading from Luke mentioned the persistent widow.

Week #4, Day #2: In case you didn't believe me.

Wondering if maybe widows with young children are the recipients of a church casserole brigade...

Week #5: Also known as Palm Sunday. Grammy & Grandpa attend 10:00 service to see Christopher and Courtney proudly waving palms and singing, 'Oh Glory, Laud, and Honor' (or "Oh Laurie, Lard, and Longer" as practiced in the van on the way in that morning) with the Children's Choir. Thinking their presence next to me in the pew could only have helped my chances of a homemade Mac & Cheese showing up on my front porch real soon.

Week #5, Day #2: Went to the hospital to visit a friend and after circling the full parking lot twice, parked in (one of the five) "Reserved for Clergy" spaces. I mean, we've been FIVE weeks in a row and that pretty much means I could be ordained, right?

Week #6: This Sunday is Easter. Easter service begins at 9:00. Easter Egg Hunt for Sunday-schoolers at 10:00. Kids again asked their dad if he would be coming to church on Easter. He paused, smirked my way and then said, "Yeah, I just might go, that is, if it is okay with all you Church Folk?"

Great, there goes my Mac & Cheese before it even arrived. Do you think I could pass him off as my ever-so-faithful brother?

Like sand through the hourglass, so are the Days of our Lives

Courtney and I recently took a special "Girls Only" trip to TJ Maxx in search of desk accessories to outfit her "new" Big Girl Desk passed on to her from a dear friend. I envisioned the two of us picking out Vera Bradley-like printed pencil cups, dainty wooden boxes embellished with eyelet cut outs for important papers, cutesy paper clips in the shapes of butterflies...WRONG. Here is what happens when I "envision".

Within a minute of stepping through the store's automatic doors, she set her eyes on a giant "hour glass" filled with neon pink sand. She stood in front of the shelf that displayed 15-20 tacky hour glasses, each a different shape and each filled with different neon colored sand, mesmerized by the falling granules and the designs they made as they landed on the pile.

"This is EXACTLY what I need for my desk."

I tried to sway her. "Look at these super cute notepads in floral tins..."

"The sand is SO pink."

She didn't flinch. I browsed the surrounding aisles and came back with ammunition. "You can have TWO packages of these file folders with Batik designs..."

"The glass is SO smooth."

She still had not moved, fixated on the bottom half where the sand collected. I dug deep...it was time for the big guns. "That looks like it would break easily and then you would be very, very sad."

(read in a trance-like voice of a 6 year old) "I will take SUCH good care of it."

I pulled out all the stops. "That is a very expensive hour glass. With the money you would spend to buy that, you could get this ENTIRE set of fabric covered trays with individual compartments to hold pretty pink paper clips and other shiny desk 'must haves' that I can not name right now BECAUSE I AM SO FLUSTERED BY YOUR UNINTERRUPTED STARE AT THAT DAMN DUST COLLECTOR."

"Every morning I could flip it over and watch to see if the sand makes a different design. I bet the sand is just like people...there are a lot of them and they can sorta look the same, but they are all really different if you look REALLY close."

SOLD.

The past few mornings I have peeked in her room bright and early and this is what I've watched her doing.

I am almost positive, unless a bus-load of 6 year olds girls arrived at the store since we left, that there are still 14 of these gems remaining on that same shelf. If you look closely, they are all just a little bit different.

I am DEFINITELY the misled one

I know that as a parent you are not supposed to attach labels to your kids like "the good one" or "the smart one", but as long as you don't say them out loud (too many times in a 24 hour period) AND you change them up frequently (remember, February 29th comes around "frequently"), I choose not to beat myself up when I take the parental liberty to smack a hypothetical sticky note label right in the hypothetical dead center of one of my children's foreheads. It is always JUST AFTER I make a comment to my husband like, "Christopher is DEFINITELY the athletic one" that the child comes through the back door with a bloody nose, gum stuck to his elbow, and screaming, "THEY SHOULD MAKE IT EASIER TO CHEW GUM WHILE A PERSON IS WALKING!"

Tonight at dinner Courtney made a few ever-so-endearing compliments to her brother and even made a point to say how yummy a truly not so yummy dinner was. After she left the table, I casually (CRITICAL ERROR) made the comment to Mark, "She is DEFINITELY the sweet one." Not more than ten minutes later, her father sat down at the piano with her to help her practice through a new and tricky piece of music when I hear:

Mark: Courtney, start the piece over from the beginning and try to keep a steady

beat this time.

Courtney: I am not in the mood, Dude.

She is DEFINITELY the fresh one.

A tutu the ballerina does not make

Heard being yelled from the top of the stairs:

"HEY GUYS! HERE COMES THE ONE WEARING THE TUTU DOWN THE STAIRS!"

(pause for 2 seconds)

THUMP. BUMP. SLAM.

(pause for 5 seconds, some deep breaths and some knee brushing off)

"HEY GUYS! HERE COMES THE ONE WEARING THE TUTU DOWN HALF THE STAIRS!"

Apparently even the power of the tutu is no match for your mother's ungraceful DNA. Sorry Courts.

Same Page, Two Different Books

Every once in a great while, my husband still amazes me. Just when I think I have heard it all, along comes something that tops the previous "I Can't Make This Stuff Up" conversation winner.

We have recently been kicking around the idea of taking our kids to Dante's 10th (and final) Circle of Hell. You know, the place where everyone whistles while they work (at not clawing their eyes out while in line for 2 hours) and seeing a "hidden Mickey" in the puddle of barf outside Space Mountain is all part of The Magic. Not wanting to get their hopes up, we have not mentioned the possibility of an upcoming trip to either child, unless you count the time I slipped up in desperation by screaming, "YA KNOW, WALT DISNEY WATCHES KIDS JUST LIKE SANTA, SO I GUESS WE ALL KNOW WHY WE HAVE NEVER BEEN TO THE MOST MAGICAL PLACE ON EARTH!"

While on school vacation last week, the four of us packed up the van and started off on an overnight road trip. Here is the conversation that ensued (about 10 miles into the 200 mile trip) between Mark and I while both kids were just approximately 2 feet behind us in the middle row.

Me (while driving): Hey co-pilot, keep your eyes open for a Barnes & Nobles.

Co-pilot: What? Why? I thought we were on a road trip, not a shopping expedition.

Me: If we pass a Barnes & Nobles, I just want to quickly stop in so I can get a book about the...eh...um...(whispered softly)...The BIG D.

Him: On vacation?!?! REALLY???

Me: I will be quick, I'll just run in. I know exactly where they are in the store.

Him: YOU'VE LOOKED AT THEM BEFORE???

Me (whispered): Shhhh....big ears in the back seat. And yes, I've spent a lot of time in that section of the bookstore looking through them.

Him: And you REALLY think that this is good timing, while on vacation together?

Me: Sure. What's wrong with planning for the next step?

Him: WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT???? WHERE DO I START?!?!?!

Me (whispered): JESUS, lower your voice, BIG EARS IN THE BACK SEAT. Anyway, it's going to come before we know it and I would just like to be prepared.

Him (through gritted teeth): Oh, you'll NEVER be prepared.

Me: Which is why I want to stop at Barnes & Nobles and get the book.

Him: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! WHILE WE'RE ON VACATION AS A FAMILY?!?!

Me: Calm down. You know I am a planner. I like to make a plan just to make a plan. How long are we going to be married before you figure that out.

Him: Apparently not long enough.

Me: Huh?

Him (in hushed tones): If you REALLY HAVE TO HAVE a book about 'The Big D' this very day, then fine. We'll stop and you can get your book and you can plan away.

Me: Thanks. That's all I am asking for.

Him (in lower hushed tones): Pffft. Yeah, right. I am sure you'll be asking for much more than just a book.

Me: Maybe a coffee too.

Him: And three-fourths of everything.

Me: Huh?

Him (from up on his high horse looking down): Buying a book and planning your divorce while on a road trip with your family is not what I would exactly call a "good idea", Tracy.

Me: Hmmm. Now that makes TWO books I need at Barnes & Nobles.

I tell ya, he still amazes me. I can't make this stuff up.

Tradition, Tradition! (must sing title)

In our household if you do something once, it is officially a "tradition". My kids love their traditions and these traditions somehow never seem to slip through their steel trap memories. There are good ones, as in, "We HAVE to decorate a bush with edible ornaments for the woodlawn creatures TODAY. It's our Christmas tradition. We ALWAYS do it 6 days after we hang the wreath and one day before the first snow" (this being said the year after we did this for the first time.) There are not so good ones, as in, "Augh Mom, you always seem to get really sick the day you say you will bring us to the Traveling Tetanus Fair that comes to town and sets up in the big parking lot. It's a bad tradition."

There is a tradition for every holiday, birthday, and third Thursday in our house. And then there is the Grand Supreme of all traditions. The Open Heart Surgery Performed With A Dull Scalpel and No Anesthesia of traditions.

School Vacation Craft Day.

It has become a tradition that we reserve one day of every school break for Vacation Craft Day.

In theory the day goes like this:

"Kids, go get all those fun, educational, creative Make Your Own kits you were given for Christmas/your birthday/sweet revenge for your mother being a not so nice sister growing up and we'll spend the entire day crafting. We'll weave. We'll paint. We'll make memories of togetherness and joy while creating a birdhouse from pipe cleaners and googley eyes."

"Okay Mommy. I love how you are so patient and kind on Vacation Craft Day and to think, we get a new set of pot holders out of the day too. This is the best tradition ever."

In my nightmares it goes like this:

"Step #652 of How To Make Your Own Paper Dolls Out Of Recycled Paper Plates says to TEAR the tabs, not to CUT the tabs. STOP CUTTING! PUT THE SCISSORS DOWN! TEAR, DON'T CUT! SCISSORS. DOWN. 1, 2...JESUS CHRIST ARE YOU KIDDING ME? GO FIND THE TAPE."

In reality, it is somewhere in between.

Vacation Craft Day usually starts out quite well. Then I wake up and it takes an immediate turn for the worse. This vacation's traditional day did not disappoint.

I will admit that I did not think that we could top last Vacation's Craft Day, the day we made paper...FROM FRIGGIN' SCRATCH. Yes, you read that correctly. We took perfectly good paper (lots of it), spent 4+ hours ripping it to tiny shreds, burnt out the motor in our blender turning it into pulp, and then built, FROM FRIGGIN' SCRATCH, a mold of wood and fiberglass screening. Prisoners of war would have opted for any other inhumane torture technique rather than endure a second Paper Making Vacation Craft Day with us. And by hour #7, I was fantasizing about Guantanamo Bay. The only upside to that day was that, with making paper being such a monumental task, it was the only task on the docket.

(In case the validity of this post was starting to be questioned,

here is evidence from last Vacation Craft Day.)

This time I couldn't be so lucky. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good craft. Maybe even two. I find it relaxing to create a sweet card or to dream up a DIY party favor and then make it from scratch. It is not the crafting that does us all in on these days. And it is definitely not the company either. There is just something in the design of the day, something that I can't put my finger on, that makes it the perfect storm of Crafting Hell. Ask any of the participants, "How was Vacation Craft Day?" and I'm sure you'll get the same answer. "It was okay, but it's a tradition."

Here is a photo recap of 2012 February Vacation Craft Day.

A little painting.

A little building.

A little attempt at time lapse photography of the science behind baking.

A little butcher knife in the background.

A little homemade pretzel making.

A little attempt at passing off "matching socks" as a craft. They didn't buy it.

A little bit proud of herself. Love those lips, Sleeping Beauty.

A little Lego satisfaction.

A little bit of digital shoplifting. (Is it really THAT wrong to take a picture of the one and only recipe you want from the book instead of buying the entire cookbook?) Doesn't the (stolen) picture make those super cute Band-Aid Cookies look easy?!?!

A little karma for not buying the cookbook.

A little tradition of my own to wrap up another successful Vacation Craft Day.