Look, I sincerely apologize for my lack of Bloggage last week. My excuse (this time) is music class mania! I’m teaching like crazy right now. When all is said and done, I will have taught 14 classes of dinosaur music (our current theme). That’s nearly 10 straight hours of dino-music-madness! This is my really busy week with classes yesterday, tomorrow, Thursday and Friday. Yes, full-time teachers do this and WAY more ALL the time, but with two dino-namic offspring (and swim lessons, and getting to the gym, going for runs, writing, reading…oh talking to my husband)…I’m dino-pooped! (Well, not pooped out by dinosaurs, just dino-tired as opposed to dog-tired). Of all weeks to give up my daily, Diet Pepsi in the afternoon! What was I thinking?! (Well, here’s what I was thinking: I’ve decided that what with all the whacky chemicals and weirdness in soda – especially diet – I should switch to herbal tea which is obviously way better for you. Plus, I don’t really want to grow a third arm out of my stomach which may have happened had I continued my Diet Pepsi junkie habits. Ahhh, but Diet Pepsi – it’s good. It’s amazing. Wonderful Diet Pepsi goodness. It’s life-changing….wait. no. stop. That’s just the addict-withdrawals talking. Ignore!)

Aside from relinquishing my favorite beverage in the world (next to red wine and coffee, of course…I won’t be giving those up any time soon), I’ve had to make peace with the fact that my boys – not even close to teenagedom yet – are already planning their escape from living under our roof.

Matthew announced on the way to swimming last week, “When I’m a police officer when I grow up, I’ll live in a different country.”

First of all, I had to get over the shock that he’s moved on from being a fire fighter to another boyhood-dream occupation. Secondly, I demanded why he’s got to be all ‘I’m not only leaving you, Mom, I’m leaving the country!’

Matthew continued with his plans, “And I’ll have a wife. She’ll be my best friend.” [That’s pretty great, huh?] “And we’ll have five children – three boys and two girls.”

I’ll admit I got a little distraught that he’s already planning on not only moving away but he’ll be taking my grandchildren far away too. When I asked him what country he’d be living in he said, “One of the ones where it’s night time right now.” (As in, on the other side of the world). So, I listed off a few countries – and yes, very selfishly they were all mostly places in Europe that I’d like to visit. When I listed England, he jumped on it. “Yeah! That’s where they talk the same way we do, right? In English? I’ll live there!” Apparently, he’s opposed to learning a second language.

After I complained for a bit about how he’d be so far away and Mike and I wouldn’t get to see him, his wife/best friend and our grandchildren very much, Matthew promised that they’d come visit a lot in this way: “We’ll drive our car on to a jet – a jet that can have one car on it. And we’ll come visit.” Excellent! At least it sounds like financially our eldest may be able to take care of us in our old age. I don’t know how much police officers get paid in England, but it sounds like quite the lucrative career.

Matthew is going to be on Oprah. Seriously. If this hoarding habit of his continues, he’s heading in that direction. The boy cannot part with anything! Last night, he sobbed and yelled at me for taking down a paper Christmas wreath that had been up in his room. I explained that since the holiday was over, I was going to put it with the rest of our Christmas decorations. No. Not OK. Matthew yelled at me, “YOU BROKE THE RULE OF MY ROOM!” ‘What’s the rule,’ you ask? Yeah, I wondered the same thing but wasn’t too surprised to learn that it’s: DO NOT TAKE ANYTHING OFF OF THE WALLS. Matthew suggested that maybe we could just tape the wreath up underneath Aunt Jackie’s quilt. Hmm. Jury’s still out on that one.

In Matthew’s stocking, Santa delivered a roll of scotch tape. There must’ve been some Santa magic on that roll and/or it was JUMBO because I’m floored Matthew hasn’t used it up. I honestly thought it would be gone in a week. Matthew tapes up EVERY SINGLE little piece of paper that he has doodled on. Every piece of paper on which he’s written his name, tested his colors or drawn a robot or a John Deere or a digger…every single piece of paper gets taped up on those walls. We’re seriously starting to run out of empty wall space. And heaven forbid if I recycle a scrap of paper that had some sort of significance known only to Matthew. I’m scolded. He now digs through the recycle to make sure I’ve not pulled a fast one on him.

So, on the way home from school, I ever-so-gently broached the topic. ‘Matthew, you have a problem. And an intervention is in order. You’re tape-happy.’ Well, no, that’s what I thought but what I really said was, “Matthew, there just isn’t enough space in your room to keep every single piece of paper that you draw on. You’re going to have to start choosing your favorites. We can’t keep them all. So, either you pick some for the recycle or I will.”

A sharp intake of breath met me from the backseat. Very slowly, deliberately and with voice thick with emotion, Matthew responded, “Mom – I. Am. THE. Best. Artist. Of. The. World. I do art. That’s what I do. And my art needs to be up on my walls.”

“Yes, Matthew,” I said, “You are an amazing artist, but we just can’t keep it all.” And then, forgive me, call CPS, I did actually say, “It’s just…with all those papers up, your room is starting to look like a recycling center.”

“Mom!” Matthew gasped, “My ART is NOT recycle!!”

“No, I know, it’s not, but…um…” (what can I say that won’t land me on Dr. Phil in 12 years? OK, let’s try a different tactic). “You know, there’s another problem with keeping all those papers.”

“What?” Matthew spat.

“It’s a fire hazard. Keeping ALL those papers is dangerous.”

“Mom,” Matthew scoffed, “I know ALL about fire safety. I would PROTECT my artwork.” We talked a bit more about fire safety and then I realized that that wasn’t getting us anywhere either.

I tried a couple of other arguments that, also, brought no progress. Finally, Matthew was so exasperated, he said, “Mom. I want to be done talking about this. You’re hurting my feelings right now. I am an artist. And right now you are breaking my heart. My heart is broken by YOU, Mom.”

OK, I’m not a push-over. I’m definitely not one of those moms that looks to my children for approval, acceptance or, quite frankly, their opinion on areas of parent-type decisions, but I’m a bit stumped on this one. I did realize (especially after talking this over with a couple of people) that this is quite possibly just a phase and he’ll outgrow it a lot quicker if he doesn’t have to keep fighting it (or if WE stop fighting it). Plus, it IS true, he IS quite the artist (I’m told “the best in the world”), and I do want to support his interests and creativity. I also, however, don’t want to be Oprah because of our house being stacked wall-to-wall with scraps of paper and bits of Lego boxes and every little piece of paper that ever crossed the threshold of our home. So, for now, Matthew and I have made a deal: he can keep whatever artwork he wants but has to keep his room tidy (and I get to decide what tidy means), and if any papers are left on the dining room table or kitchen counter then I get to file them into the recycling – where they will stay! We shook on the deal.

Man, artists are hard to live with!

I have ITBS which is not to be confused with IBS. What I have pertains to the southernly body regions but, thankfully, more southern than the bowels. Iliotibial Band Syndrome is: “one of the leading causes of lateral knee pain in runners. The iliotibial tract is a superficial thickening of tissue on the outside of the thigh, extending from the outside of the pelvis, over the hip and knee, and inserting just below the knee.” (Thank you, Wikipedia). So, the best thing you can do to treat ITBS? Stop running!! Which to some may seem like a dream come true. Yeah, not to me. Running is my therapy, and I NEED therapy!

I’ve spent this week (ever since Monday morning’s pain-filled run) trying to figure out how to deal with this (i.e. how to make this ITBS situation disappear like it never existed ever). I’ve gotten two different pairs of new running shoes to try (pair #2 definitely helped, so pair #1 will get returned), I have avoided running (sadly), but since I can’t just NOT do something, I’ve been to the gym Tuesday, Wednesday and plan to go today. I can do the Spin cycling class and some other forms of cross-training but need to avoid certain things like the treadmill (obviously), the stair climber (which I do every week), and squats (which I also do every week). I’ve been icing like crazy, and I also met with a trainer yesterday at the gym. He showed me some stretches and how to use the Big Foam Roller of Torture (my name for it) to massage pulled ligaments and muscles.

What stinks most about this injury is the fact that Andrea (the best running partner friend in the world…also known as my therapist) and I were just getting back into our running routine post-snow and post-sickness. I had three weeks off from running! Why couldn’t I have nursed this injury then?! And Andrea and I need running now more than ever to undo a wee bit of weight gain damage that occurred thanks to the snow/sick-non-running and holiday-eating that occurred for those three weeks.

AND I was just ready to announce unto the world that my hope (my plan, my goal) is to train for my first road race post-Zachary’s birth. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to do a Rock ‘n Roll Marathon (a band plays at every mile!) but they only take place in far away exotic lands such as San Diego, Phoenix and San Antonio (not to mention hot lands!). Obviously, with our kids, that’s just tricky talk. But, something magical has happened, the Rock ‘n Roll chain ‘o races is coming to us!! The first ever Seattle Rock ‘n Roll Marathon will take place on June 27, 2009, and I SOOOOoooooooooooooo want to do it. The Half. Training for a Full Marathon right now would just be too draining with my kids/teaching/writing/life schedule. Plus, my mom said if I even considered running 26.2 miles again she’d have me committed.

So, the Half (13.1 miles) it is. This is actually surprisingly do-able. We already run 6 miles, 3 times a week, and I’d have plenty of time to build up my mileage gradually…if, I’m not in excruciating knee pain, that is. Yes, June is a long ways away, but I’d like to register by Feb. 28th (to get the cheaper fee) and know that I’m physically capable of committing to the training. ANYWAY, enough about my running woes.

After one of my gym workouts this week, I got Zach from the Kids’ Club (always sad to leave), and we went to pick Matthew up from preschool. I could tell, as soon as I saw him, that something was wrong. He looked ready to burst into tears. Mrs. Morris also noticed his melancholy nature and came to investigate.

We both asked him what was wrong. And trying so hard not to let the tears spill out he said, “Luke had extra brownies from his birthday treats and he wouldn’t let me have another one!”

I explained that it wouldn’t have been fair for Matthew to get two if all the kids didn’t get two and there probably weren’t enough leftovers for that…

“NO!” Matthew yelled. “I wanted the brownie for you, Mom! But he wouldn’t give it to me. I wanted to give it to you!” Yes, this is how much my children know that I love chocolate and it makes me immensely happy.

January 8th, eh? Yeah, I think I’ve already blown it on Resolutions 1-3; however, I’m doing OK on 4 (updating blog at least once a week). So, 2009 isn’t a total bust yet.

Sunday night brought on one last bit of surprise snow craziness. Right when we think everything’s getting back to ‘normal’ – it’s a school night, I’ll get to go running in the morning, we’ll FINALLY get to have preschool again…yeah. No. We ended up going to church on Sunday evening at5:30. When we went in to Mass the rain was just starting to get a wee bit on the chunky side. An hour later, our car was totally covered and there was at least an inch or so already.

I don’t know if it was because it had been raining so the roads were already wet upon the snow’s arrival, but some combination of circumstances made for disastrous driving conditions. Yes, here in Seattle we don’t have a lot of experience driving in the snow and we don’t have the equipment to successfully cope with it, but this sudden snow storm brought out a.) the worst snow drivers ever and b.) the worst snow driving conditions which c.) made for a really terrible combo.

We’d only driven for a few blocks when we saw the first car do a complete 180 fish-tail. As we approached a fairly large hill that we needed to get up, I started to worry a bit. I was just about to suggest to Mike that maybe we go a different route home, when a snow plow truck flew down said-hill. He whipped around and parked sideways blocking the street whilst honking his horn. The driver got out and started waving his arms to the car in front of us. Yeah, don’t even try this hill! There may have been an accident somewhere up the road as he was pretty insistent on the no-passing thing, but I don’t know.

So, we continued on a different route where we passed car after car that was turning around on side streets, driving with flashers on or just plain stopped in the road. It was so strange because there wasn’t that much snow on the ground but it was really coming down and, like I said, the conditions must’ve have just been perfect for disaster. It was The Perfect Storm. Hey! That’s catchy. That should be the title of a movie or book or something.

The way we ended up driving is part of the route that I take to and from my music classes. I knew the street well enough to alert Mike as to whether a hill was coming up (or going down). As we rounded a bend, I said, “OK, and up here we go down hill to a traffic light.” Mike, being the phenomenal snow-driver that he is, gave himself plenty of stopping time.

We were sitting at the red light when Mike looked in the rearview mirror and said, “That guy is going way too fast.” A moment later we heard honking from behind us and then BUMP. Dude totally ran into us. And then Dude got into the right turning lane like he was going to pretend the Bump didn’t happen and keep driving.

I opened my door and then he opened his window. And, yeah, it wasn’t the ‘Christian’ thing to do but I immediately started in on him. It’s wasn’t “yelling” per-say, it was more my loud, stern Mommy Voice, “YOU ARE DRIVING WAY TOO FAST! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

Then Spikey Hair Dude in his Little Sporty Red Car goes, “I couldn’t stop. I just kept sliding. And I was honking. What are you doing stopped? YOU CAN’T STOP LIKE THIS! I was honking so you’d go. You can’t stop!”

“WE HAD A RED LIGHT! WE CAN’T RUN A RED LIGHT! YOU WANT US TO RUN THE RED LIGHT AND GET IN AN ACCIDENT?! WE’D BE SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INTERSECTION. WE CAN’T RUN THE RED LIGHT. LOOK AT ALL THE CARS DRIVING BY!”

During my little calm and collected exchange with Spikey Hair Dude, Mike had done the smart thing and gotten out of the car, checked the back for damage and walked over to Spikey Hair Dude.

Spikey Hair Dude looked at him and (I’ll give him credit for this) said, “Is there any damage? Are you guys OK?” Mike reassured him that we were fine. Basically Spikey Hair Dude’s Little Sporty Red Car bounced off of the spare tire on the back of our Honda CRV. If there was any damage it was to him. Our Honda CRV could eat Little Sporty Red Car for lunch! And while the jolt of the bump was the tiniest bit jarring, we were fine (just a little ticked off).

So, Spikey Hair Dude is about to drive away but then says, “I tried honking…I just couldn’t stop. I kept slipping.”

“YOU HAVE TO SLOW DOWN! YOU CAN’T DRIVE THAT FAST IN WEATHER LIKE THIS AND IN A LITTLE CAR LIKE YOURS.”

“Yeah, yeah, I tried honking…” he mumbled as he whipped into the traffic.

“BE CAREFUL!” I yelled at the Little Sporty Red Car blur that sped away into the snow storm.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Matthew said calmly from the back seat. “That was a bad choice – bumping us.”

The rest of the way home, we saw car after car pulling over, slipping, sliding, getting stuck. I’ve never been so grateful to pull safely into our garage in my life!

So much for “normal.” By the end of the night we had 2-3 inches of snow. No morning run. No preschool. The rain did come and most of the white stuff was melted by mid-morning though, so I decided we NEEDED to get out of the house. The boys had been together NON-STOP for three weeks straight and were driving each other, us, themselves Ca-RAZY. So, we went to my favorite place in the world (well, one of them) – the gym. I figured that ripping around in the Kids’ Club would be good for them (and wonderful for me). It would, of course, change the serious attitudes that I’d been getting from my sweet, innocent offspring.

Somehow the Kids’ Club just wasn’t enough magic to immediately fix three weeks worth of cabin fever though. Within moments of arriving back home the boys were back to there same ‘ol shenanigans. Matthew was playing Lego’s in his room and yelling at Zach to get out. Zach was yelling at Matthew to let him into his room. A scuffle at the door started. I knew this could only end badly. So, I yelled for them to stop but, alas, the inevitable still happened – Zach’s fingers got slammed in the door. Saw that coming.

After a little while the hard crying turned into sniffling, snortling, snuffling. Zach wiped his eyes (more like smearing the tears around rather than clearing them away) and said, “I think I look like I have CRANKY EYES!” Yeah. Me too.

The only good thing that happened on Monday (OK, well the BEST thing that happened on Monday), pertains to the boys’ swim lessons. Monday was the first day back – the first day of a new session. We got there early so that I could pay and register. The Desk Chicky says, “Oh, we’re not offering Tiny Tots [the class that Zach and I take together] this session. We didn’t have enough teachers.” This doesn’t really surprise me as last session, Zach was the only kiddo in Tiny Tots, so it was great for him because he got a private lesson, and yet a bummer for me ‘cuz I was the only grown-up who had to be in a swim suit.

So, Desk Chicky says, “We could try him in PreSchool Level 1 (PS1). Wait, how old is he?” (For PS1 the kids have to be 3).

I immediately turn into One of Those, “Well, he’s 2 ½ but he’s a genius and he swims like a fish. He’s had Tasha for a few sessions now. She’s a great teacher and I’m sure she’ll tell you that he’ll be fine in PS1 without me.” (Fingers crossed. Please, please, please).

“Well, Tasha is teaching PS1 this session, so since he knows her I’m sure that’ll help. We’ll try it and see how he does. If he’s ready and does well in class and fine without you there, then he can just stay in PS1.”

Like forever?! We won’t have to do Tiny Tots again? I won’t have to wear a bathing suit in front of all the other parents and the entire high school boys’ swim team (they’re finishing up practice when we arrive). I try to not hyperventilate with excitement and glee. He still has to do well.

OK, Zach. This is what we’ve been preparing for. It’s your big moment. Keep your head in the game. We’re ready for this. You can do it!

And HE DID! He kicked Swim Lesson, PreSchool Level 1 BUTT. And I don’t have to shave my legs until like June!

Happy New Year! But on a much sadder note: we have 357 days until Christmas! This is the part that’s just rough for me. The Christmas songs are no longer playing on the radio, people are no longer holiday-harried crazy, they’re just post-holiday cranky (plus seriously sugar-highed-and-lowed). The Christmas decorations are still up but they’re kinda saggy, definitely dusty and acting as a cruel reminder that their purpose has been served and it’s time for Christmas clean-up to commence. Bah. Hum-Bug.

We had a wonderful Christmas. The look on Zachary’s face when he saw his play kitchen from Santa was pretty priceless. And Matthew’s high-pitched, “Huh?!” at getting THREE Indiana Jones Lego’s instead of his requested two was great. Apparently he was an extra very good boy this year!

The big take this year was Mike’s Christmas gift/slash upcoming 30th birthday gift. He got to pick out a blu-ray player and surround sound home theater audio/system. It can now be said that our TV set-up is officially ‘tricked out.’ He’s a happy boy.

The best quote of Christmas day happened at my parents’ place when we were there for presents and dinner. Zach opened a gift from my brother, his Uncle Chris. It was a pair of bright orange swim goggles. Zach pulled them out of the box as if they were priceless diamonds and with the utmost sincerity and respect breathed “They’re perfect.”

Mike and I had a ‘perfect’ Christmas get-away to winter wonderland Leavenworth – a Bovarian-themed village nestled in the mountains. We stayed at the same Bed and Breakfast that we stayed at three years ago (to the day!) when Mike surprised me with our first trip there. I was pregnant with Zach at the time. So, this trip had the added benefit of enjoying wine!

The B & B owners, Mike & Cindy, are phenomenal people. And Cindy is an incredible cook. On our first morning, we ate our gourmet breakfast while watching three river otters frolic along the snowy banks of the Wenatchee River. Several bald eagles soared and swooped through the falling snow. The whole place is like a magical postcard come to life.

Despite the magical and romantic get-away, after a couple of days we did manage to pull ourselves back to reality (and yes, return to our children). While there’s nothing quite like a Bed and Breakfast escape, Zach helped the transition by serving me breakfast in bed our first morning back. (You see, he’s been very into his new play kitchen and making all sorts of play-food masterpieces). I woke up to a feast of goodness being placed on my bedside table – corn on the cob, a banana and French fries. Yellow-themed and quite the breakfast of champions.

So, it is the New Year and that does mean a time of Resolutions for one and all (and especially those list-making lovers among us). I just checked back on my New Year’s-y blog from the dawn of ’08. I attempted to not actually make a list and then – a surprise to no one who knows me – I not only listed my goals but preceded to analysis each one in deep detail. In BRIEF summary they were: 1.) To get to bed earlier and therefore get up earlier and easier (for my 6am running and writing weekdays), 2.) To listen to my Mommy Gut (as in: don’t get sent away from the doctor’s office when I KNOW something is wrong with my child) and 3.) To Just Say No (to not automatically say yes to appease my People Pleasing tendencies).

That was last year’s list. I’d say it was a pretty good list. So good in fact that I’ll keep all of them and add another: 4.) To update my blog at least once a week even if it’s not the most entertaining and educational post, I should aim to keep my readers more involved in the needless details of my life. You’re welcome.

Here’s to 2009. Cheers!

We FINALLY made it out of the house today! We went all the way up to Bellevue. (woah). I was able to go to my Christmas book club lunch, and then we went with my parents to see the "drummer boys" of Snowflake Lane at Belle-Square (the big mall).

Now, please note, that in this picture it appears that I'm telling Rudolph off, "Go on. Get outta here. We don't want your kind..." My mom is standing there going, "hmmm, this is awkward. Yeah. Uh." But actually I was trying to tell him/her/it where the camera was located. He/she/it was a little slow on the uptake. Apparently reindeer aren't very bright (well, other than their noses, of course).

We've had over a foot of snow here!

Now check this out: THIS is dedication in snowman building. Please take note of the snow dog...located between the Snow Boy and Snow Girl.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!...Oh the weather outside is frightful…Walking in a Winter Wonderland….I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…these are just a few of the lines that are constantly playing on repeat in my brain these days. We’ve had so many days of snow and cold here. The boys didn’t have one day of school last week because of it. And this isn’t just Seattle cold – this is Little House on the Prairie cold! We went to the park for sledding with our neighbors on Friday in a nonstop snow storm. Linda made the comment that it was a “white out.” And I immediately said, “I remember when that happened to Pa! He was caught out in the blizzard and couldn’t even see his hand held out in front of his face! They had to string a rope from their house to the barn so that he could find his way to feed the live…stock. Um, I just remember that…from Little House on the Prairie. The books. Not the show. I don’t know if they covered that on an episode or not…it’s just...Wow! This snow is something else, huh?!”

The storm is SO something else, in fact, even the weather lady on the news said, “I predict that we’ll need a name for this one!” I think they name any storm front though. Even the not-very impressive ones. But they always come up with a name. And the longer the crazy weather continues here the more dramatic it becomes. Yesterday the report said something to the affect of: “You thought Thursday’s snow was bad? Just wait. It was nothing but a dress rehearsal for what is yet to come.” I’m not even kidding!

While the snow has cramped our social life a little bit, I’m not complaining too much. It’s so pretty, and we’ve been having lots of fun in it. Plus, Christmas break always means movies, board games and card games to me and snow definitely aids those plans. We went to our neighbors’ house for dinner and games last night. We had so much fun just eating, drinking and talking that we didn’t get to the games, so they came here for lunch and games today. I predict that should the weather continue in the next few days, The Great Game-Off of 2008 will be put into effect.

The Seattle area currently resembles The Land Before Time – The Deep Freeze. And Cabin Fever is beginning to set in. Before a brief trip to the grocery store yesterday, the boys and I hadn’t left the house in four days. We’ve got The Cold. The nasty Cold. The Cold stays for a couple of weeks and hangs on plaguing you with new and interesting symptoms every few days…just so you don’t get bored of it. So, Monday morning, I’d decided we would stay home from preschool and take a sick day before even realizing that preschool was cancelled because of icy conditions. Then, Tuesday – same thing – preschool cancelled again because the school district was more than an hour late. And then again today. And then again probably tomorrow.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the snow. I love the Winter Wonderland. My little Christmas-obsessed heart goes pitter-patter with every mention of a possible flurry. But this has turned into an obsession. I continue to check the weather forecast on-line every few minutes as if that will change what’s actually happening – or not happening – right outside my window. And as I mentioned, we’re sick, so we need to stay home any way, and this inclement winter weather makes the decision much easier for us. But that doesn’t change the fact that Cabin Fever has begun to set in. And the longer we’re home the more obsessed with the weather I become. If we’re stuck inside, at least be pretty outside! I’m even checking the forecast on-line more frequently than CNN.com!

Part of the issue with this The Cold-slash-Winter Wonderland scenario, is that this makes for a seriously anti-exercise combo. I haven’t gone for a run in a week and I haven’t been to the gym in five days. While we do have the Wii Fit and as it turns out, I’m a professional hula-hooper, it’s just not quite the same. So, what am I doing? Staying home, hibernating, and getting fatter. Feed a cold, starve a fever. ‘Tis the season. The Cold is feeding very well.

I’m pretty sure that the next time I do my Body Test on the Wii, it’s going to yell at me, “Hey Fat-Butt! What’s the deal? You been eating your weight in candy canes or something? Yeah, it’s winter, but you don’t ACTUALLY have to store up your fat reserves.”

And yes, with all this time at home, I could be productive – I could clean, get Christmas letters addressed, I could do the stuff I never do – like clean out the freezer and fridge, but no, with The Cold-slash-Winter Storm ’08 scenario, I’d so much rather sit, and be cozy, and check the forecast…and eat.

Dude. Yesterday was rough. We had some sort of crazy clumsy and chaos curse take hold on our home. The morning, started with Matthew in tears – not feeling well. I was scheduled to teach classes at the boys’ school and obviously I couldn’t take a sick Matthew with me. So, we worked out that Mike would work at home and I would take Zach with me. (With both boys here the reality of actually accomplishing any work would be total blarney). With that change thrown into the day’s plans, I was running a little late and hurriedly slapping make-on my face in the bathroom.

Enter Zach carrying a velvet box. The velvet boxes are used every year for presents (or for the guise of presents and are simply pretty props under the tree). Zachary comes in announcing that this one has a gift inside for me. (This is a game played every day here – it’s either your birthday or Christmas and you get to open a present – usually some random toy wrapped in the throw blanket or a book that we’ve had for years hidden under a pillow. They don’t usually conform to the standard definition of gift, but of course, we play along and act surprised every time. My favorite ‘gift’ was Mr. Potato Head’s arm, part of a LEGO construction crane and a broken bead necklace – or “pirate’s treasure” in this house. I thought that gift was quite thorough and thoughtful. I’m sure just like the gold, frankincense and myrrh brought to baby Jesus, my triad of gifts held all sorts of promise and meaning).

Anyway, Zach takes off the velvet lid to reveal the Nutcracker snow globe that I successfully stole and brought home from last Thursday’s preschool Christmas party and gift exchange. Matthew had just been saying how we “needed” a snow globe. (‘Cuz it’s maybe the one Christmas chotchke that our Christmas-house lacks). And this particular snow globe was perfect as it was not only the Nutcracker (he loves the Nutcracker) but he was dressed in his toy soldier garb complete with drum (Matthew has a thing for toy soldiers and drums…). So, needless-to-say, Matthew was THRILLED when he woke up Friday morning and found the Nutcracker snow globe on his bedside table.

And we were all devastated when the snow globe present slipped from Zach’s grip and shattered all over the bathroom floor. Glass. Snow globe mystery fluid. Glitter. Nutcracker dude. Everywhere. The first thing out of Matthew’s mouth was, “Well, we’ll have to get another snow globe.” How quickly he’d moved on! Granted he didn’t have much of a chance to get attached, we only had it for four days. I pointed out that, if that’s how we treat our first snow globe, chances are slim that another would be blessing us with its presence any time soon. This is maybe also why we don’t have any pets currently.

The snow globe was the snow ball, so to speak, that set off the day’s nonstop clumsiness. When Zach and I arrived at preschool I made the choice-slash-mistake of letting him “help” me carry in my instruments. Thankfully, all I entrusted in his care was my box of jingle bells – those are fairly indestructible and it’s a good thing, as the moment we walked in the front door, he face-planted and dumped the entire box. It was more loud than mess at least.

Classes went great, but Zach and I were tired and ready to get home at the end of the day. I was famished and very ready for a late lunch. I don’t know if it was my eagerness or just plain lack of coordination (or the curse), but I pulled a small bowl of pomegranate seeds out of the fridge only to have them slip, tip and dump all over the floor. Pomegranatey mess everywhere.

Then, when I went to change Zach’s diaper, post-lunch, I discovered a complete and total mess of explodified diaper crystal innards. If you’ve ever had a diaper explode, you know what I’m talking about. It was enough of a mess that it required actually bathing the kid (we don’t do that much, you know, it’s a big hassle this whole cleaning-your-kid thing) and having to pull out the vacuum to collect the diaper crystal debris from the carpet.

Later in the afternoon, I was met with two unpleasant realities – Matthew: yelling “Come wipe my bum!” from the bathroom where he’s presented himself in “down dog” Yoga pose for my wiping ease and Zach: standing stealthily in the corner of the family room, soberly and lethally filling the entire downstairs with fumes and quietly stating, “I’m poopy.” Yeah, ya think?!

At this point, I’m seriously thinking about buying a haz-mat suit or wrapping myself in tarp.

Finally, after a day filled with the chaos of our clumsiness and the clumsiness of chaos, we sit down to dinner. Lasagna. I think that the curse has at last been lifted when I super-mom save Zach’s bowl of red pasta gooeyness from plummeting to the carpeted floor below. Seriously, I caught that thing AS it was pole-vaulting off the edge of the table! I’m so proud of myself it takes me a moment to recognize what’s happening across from me. Mike and Matthew are wearily studying his bowl of lasagna – now located on the floor, under the table. Of course it is. It was only fair – the universe had to shift just a smidge to make up for my super-mom moves and Matthew’s bowl, of its own accord, slid from the table in order to make for one last mess.

Oh, but then I ran the garbage disposal not knowing that a fork was in it. Then, the day was complete.

You know how everyone needs a little ego-boost every now and then? Well, I got one last night…granted it was from a four year old, but still. I’ll take what I can get.

Last night was the preschool board and staff holiday potluck. See, I was just officially hired on as the music teacher at the boys’ preschool. In exchange for Zach’s tuition, I’ll teach my classes there two days a month. Yep, our little Zach is in school now! And la-oving it! He’s by far the youngest in the “early 3’s” class. (The rest of the kids turn 3 by December 31st. He won’t until April 28th! But because Mrs. Mac had Matthew in her class last year, she knows us and she’s seen that Zach is ready, she made an exception for him). And he’s not only the youngest; he’s also the only boy. The class is six little girls…and Zach! It’s hilarious.

Anyway, this tuition-for-music-classes swap officially started this week. Zach will be in preschool every Thursday and Friday morning, and I’ll teach one Monday and one Thursday a month. While, we’ve just officially started I have taught a couple of times already. I volunteered my musical services to the teachers – once before Halloween and once before Thanksgiving so that we could do some of the fun holiday-themed music that I’ve done in my other classes.

Back to my ego boost ‘cuz that’s what this is really about. Ever since I did the couple of classes, one of the little girls, Elizabeth, in the other 4/5yr. old class always looks at me shyly and whispers to her mom, “That’s Ms. Jenny. She’s the one who sings and does music.” This isn’t out of the ordinary. I’m occasionally accosted at the grocery store or the park by a herd of admiring 2-5 year olds chanting, “Ms. Jenny. Ms. Jenny. Ms. Jenny.” OK, not really, but I would say that the majority of people who seem to REALLY like me (and that I bump into out in public) are under the age of 5 and know me as “Ms. Jenny” and somehow I’m magical because I shake shakers and dance with scarves.

So, Elizabeth’s mom Becky was at the preschool potluck last night. It was the first chance that I’ve had to actually meet and REALLY get to talk to some of the other moms. Becky, just like her daughter, kind of watched me shyly from across the room. She smiled when we made eye contact but didn’t make an attempt to come and chat…which was fine, I was talking to other ladies. Anyway, when I went over to get a plate (to fill up with all sorts of high-calorie and very-bad-for-you holiday appetizers and desserts), she approached me.

“Hi…!” I say (still not yet knowing her name so consciously avoiding it).

“Ms. Jenny,” she says, with a piercing gaze, “My daughter is obsessed with you. She talks about you all the time.”

“Oh, hahaha (weird giggle), that’s cute,” I say. “She’s been great in class.”

“No, you don’t get it. Like she’s OBSESSED with you. You are her…,” she searches for the right word, “You are her Miley Cyrus. Her Hannah Montana. If there were Ms. Jenny bed sheets and posters, she would TOTALLY have them. A Ms. Jenny t-shirt? She would wear it all the time.” (The flash thought crosses my mind, hmmmm, is there something to this? Should I consider coming out with a bedding line? Maybe an action figure?! You know you’ve really made it if you have an action figure).

She continues, “I couldn’t tell her that you would be here tonight or there’s no way she would’ve gone to bed. I’m sure she would have waited up to hear all about it. And the times that you’ve come to do music? She has talked about you non-stop for the rest of the day. And then, thanks to your song sheet we have all the words to all the songs you do. We’re singing them ALL the time.” (Hmmm, I don’t know if this last part is a good or bad thing).

“Well, then you better not tell her, I’m coming in next Friday to do music. She might not sleep for a week!” I semi-snort-joke.

Becky looks at me seriously, “You’re right. I won’t. It would be like Christmas Eve and waiting for Santa’s arrival…EVERY night.”

Another mom comes up and Becky fills her in on just how obsessed Elizabeth is with me. Yes, apparently Elizabeth is the president of the Ms. Jenny fan club. I tell the women, that I definitely don’t mind the obsessed fans. Oh no, I can handle it. We continue chatting and eventually move on to less Ms. Jenny-themed topics.

While Elizabeth is maybe a bit over the top and if she starts staking out my house, I will consider beefing up security; fame is just part of the game. And I must push through. Plus, I need all the ego-boosting I can get. All I have to do is sing a couple of words and people shout at me. Both Zach and Matthew, yell, “MOMMY! NO SINGING!...STOP SINGING! … only BOYS are allowed to sing!” I’m sure it’s kind of like the preacher’s kid being the one who rebels. Or the doctor’s kid getting so sick and tired of hearing about washing his hands, exercising and eating right that he’s just plain nasty. You get the idea. I’m the music teacher, therefore I get scolded and mocked for anything musical done in my home. It is the cross that I must bare. And since my own kids don’t think I rock, I’ll get my admiring fans elsewhere! Quite frankly, I may go out of my way to talk to little Elizabeth not to make her day, but to make mine!

Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you’re thankful for a whole lotta stuff. We had a mellow Thanksgiving Day. We actually had the full meal deal last Saturday. Tim, my big bro, came up for the weekend. My mom just had a pretty major surgery a couple of weeks ago, so Mike and I made all the food and brought it up to parents’ place.

Yeah, so Mom had surgery. They went through her abdomen to the backside and did some colon work. I won’t get into the details, but essentially they did some nip and tuck and tidying up and it was a major pain in the ass. Now, she’s home and on the long road to recovery. If you know me and are familiar with this Blog, then you’re aware, that I’m not necessarily dedicated to the keeping you abreast of important current events – just recounting the mostly fun anecdotal experiences of my life. So, my lack of reporting on the surgery in no way undermines the importance of this event. If anything, I was too busy thinking, worrying and trying to figure out how to help that I just didn’t get around to Blogging on it.

Mom had one really scary morning in the hospital. She woke up at 3 o’clock and found that she was lying in a pool of blood. The nurse(s) were good for nothing. They essentially cleaned her up, gave her nothing for the pain, no good explanation for the blood loss and didn’t show up again for another three hours. I’m sorry, but I thought the point of a hospital is to be cared for. Hmmmm. Then, around 6am, Mom was in dire need for something to help her pain. I think she gave up on the Nurse call-button since it hadn’t done much good before and she may have been a bit incoherent. She got out of bed and walked out into the hall with the intention of flagging down a nurse for help. When she stepped out, another patient walking by said something to the affect of, “Oh my gosh!” (Or something to announce major concern). Mom looked down and saw that she was standing in a puddle of blood. Quite a large puddle. That, finally, got the nurse’s attention and within moments, Mom was back in bed and surrounded by eight nurses looking like deers in headlights. Uh, yeah.

There was talk of the possibility of her needing a blood transfusion but thankfully was never needed. The doctor discovered that Mom had two fist-sized blood clots in her abdomen (a big bad side effect from the surgery). Surgery was scheduled for the next day to remove those, and in the meantime she was put on Valium for the pain.

Now, FINALLY, moving on to the fun stuff – Mom on Valium! There’s a good time! In the afternoon, she asked Dad for a cup of tea with sweetner in it. He prepared it as directed, but when he looked back a bit later, the packet of sweetner was floating in the tea. “What did you do?” He asked. Mom, in her delirium replied, “I wanted sweetner packet in it!” (She does have a point).

My personal favorite mom-on-major-pain-killers moment took place when she was saying goodbye to the boys. We’d brought them by to see her and they did a terrific job of cheering her up. Mom pulled the boys close and said, “Boys, do you have a night-night song for Grandma?” The boys looked at her like ‘uh, no.’ And then under her breath in an appropriately whimsical way she sang, “Puff the Magic Dragon…” Ahh, what an appropriate song for her (temporary) drugged situation.

Thankfully, the blood clot removal surgery went really well and Mom was able to head home the next day. She’s had a couple of really rough days at home but now, two weeks post-surgery, she was well enough to come hang out at our place for a very mellow Turkey Day. And since we’d done the whole feast last Saturday, today we kept it easy and had turkey soup! It was actually really nice to have the major cooking behind us already. We had a fun time and celebrated Thanksgiving just as the Pilgrims and Native Americans must have – with some rousing games on the Nintendo Wii!

ZACHISMS
The other morning, Matthew suddenly decided that he wanted his “hair gelled like Daddy’s.” (So, just the bangs spiked up a hair…yeah, sorry for the pun). He was thrilled with the results and declared that Zachary not only also needed gelling but required a mohawk. Zach didn’t resist, so we mohawked away. Zach’s hair is super fine and fluffy on top. As soon as I gelled it up it immediately began falling towards the front forming a big peak. Zach took one look in the mirror and in a monotone stated, “I look like a rhinoceros.” Though he sounded disappointed at first, he guarded that rhino-do for the rest of the day. When I put his hood up before leaving the gym (since we’d be walking into a November Seattley day – POURING rain), he immediately pushed his hood down and said, “NO! Mom! You’ll ruin my jello!”

Zach was so proud of his first "art" from preschool!

Fun with Uncle Timothy and Uncle Chris

Yes, nearly a month later, I'm FINALLY getting some Halloween pictures up!

Last Friday morning, arrived with yet another early Matthew wake-up call. I woke up to Matthew standing next to the bed, his face just a few inches from mine.

“Mom, mom,” he said in a stage-whisper. “Come with me, I have something to show you.” And with that he left the room.

I grunted and looked at the clock. OK, it was in fact “morning” despite it feeling and looking outside like it was the middle of the night. I groggily stumble down the hall. Matthew is in the living room, the dark living room as all lights are still off, and he’s crouched in the middle of the floor, leaning over something.

With much seriousness, he beckons me down to the floor as well. As soon as I sit down across from him, he dramatically sweeps both arms out in a Vanna Whitesque movement. He pauses for dramatic effect and then says, “My tooth. It came out.” That’s when I finally see it – this tiny little white thing just chillin’ on the living room carpet.

“Oh my gosh, Matthew! That’s so cool!” I admire his jack-o-lantern grin and then pick-up the tiny tooth. I asked him if he’d pulled it out and was informed that he was just wiggling it and it popped out…on to the floor…where it stayed until I came and picked it up. Matthew was afraid to touch it. Not me. Apparently loose teeth, while still in the mouth, give me the serious heeby-jeebies but once removed they cause no squeamishness at all.

So the Tooth Fairy found her way to the Martin household for the first time on Friday night. And holy majoly what with inflation and all, she brings a lot more than she did back in my day! A whole one dollar bill! (We informed Matthew that due to the unforeseen economic issues facing our country, she may need to cut back…it’s possible that she only brings a dollar for that special first tooth and then it’s down hill from that point on. Each tooth may only be worth $0.50 from here on out. We’ll be keeping tabs on the lost-tooth market to predict his future earnings.)

Matthew was elated when he found the dollar and he proceeded to carry it around all morning until I finally talked him into putting it into the only safe bank left in this country – the piggy bank, located in his room, on the shelf. As far as I know Piggy Bank has not been a major player in the bailout bill. Piggy Bank has been nothing but responsible. No Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008 needed here, thank you very much.

Zach is our monkey. He is a lot more physical than Matthew. He climbs on the furniture. He dances and leaps and jumps. He doesn’t walk places, he usually runs. He pulls furniture down on himself. He is very prone to injury. However, he handles injury and pain like a champ. Case in point – I took the boys in for flu shots a couple of weeks ago. I had to hold Matthew down while he wriggled and writhed in utter trepidation pre-shot and then comforted him while he sobbed post-shot. Zach, I had to hold still long enough for the needle to poke him in the arm, he glared at the nurse and said, “Hey. Ow,” got his band-aid and ran away to play.

The other evening, whilst preparing for bed, Zach had asked for one last sip of water. I was trying to hand him his sippy-cup but as per usual, he was leaping and grooving so much that I missed the mark and he got sippy-cup-spouted in the eye. This one hurt badly enough that it did warrant a big cry. He sobbed and was actually unable to open his eye for a full two minutes. In the middle of his agony, he yelled, “My eyeball is broken. I can’t see! I have a broken eyeball!!”

* * *
We’ve continued taking swim lessons on Mondays and Wednesdays. We’ve been taking swim lessons for several months now. Somehow, by an act of God alone, neither boy has slipped and fallen in the slippery and fallery locker room…until last Monday. Zach felt not once, not twice – nay my friends – he fell thrice to the floor. AND THEN for a grand finale he somehow walk/projected himself into the open door of a locker and is now sporting a nice black bruise on his cheek.

* * *
Matthew has a super-mondo wiggly loose tooth! That sucker’s gonna be outta there any day now. It’s one of the bottom, front two, and he already has the new ones coming in behind them, so unfortunately, his jack-o-lantern smile won’t last for long. Now, I consider myself not too squeamish. I mean, I don’t enjoy blood, I don’t seek out vomit and I’m not a huge fan of poo, but for the most part I’m down with the gory aspects of motherhood. Hmm, yeah, turns out I’m not too digging on the loose tooth thing. When Matthew pulls his tooth all the way down to his bottom lip so that you can see the tooth clinging to two last roots for dear life…I get all heeby-jeeby about it. It makes me shudder and say “blehblyeahbleueya.” (You must say it quickly and in one fell swoop while shuddering to get the full effect).

* * *
Zach has been a total snot about sleeping lately. I don’t know what his damage is…I think, unfortunately, he may just be waking up in the middle of the night and he just lies there…Awake…Bored. This means two things: A.) He decides to spend his awakedness yelling and crying for me to come and hang out in his room, to cuddle, to sit the chair, to ANYTHING OR he repeatedly leaves the comfort of his bed and tries climbing over me into our bed so that we have to spend HOURS doing the same melancholy and utterly fatigued, frustrated march back to his room…we’ve worn down a path in the rug. AND B.) This also means that it’s probably time for him to give up his afternoon naps. This fills me with so much distress and grief that I can’t even begin to elucidate my feelings on the matter.

So, last night was one of those torturous nights of parenting where you’ve been kept up and harassed by an offspring for two hours straight in the middle, wee hours of the night and you really wonder why you ever decided to breed in the first place. Thus, this morning, we were quite tired and had slept a little later than usual for a weekday morning. I woke up to Matthew standing next to the bed. He looked down into my sleep-crustified state and grinned. He said, “Mom, are you as fine as a hotdog in a bun?”

I thought this statement quite funny and shared it with my mom later today. Not only did she find it amusing but she ‘got it.’ I didn’t know there was something to ‘get’.

“Oh,” she said, “How cute. That was his way of saying ‘snug as a bug in a rug’.”

“Huh?” I’d never thought to analyze his statement.

“Of course, that’s what he meant,” Grandmother-oh-wise-one continues, “He was speaking in a metaphor.”

Well, whatever. Metaphorically speaking, the kid’s a freakin’ genius.

* * *

If my mommy/music-teaching/writing career(s) go(es) down the crapper, I have a back-up plan. I’m going to be a special specialist for special weather reports in the Seattle area. Today, Mike and I took my mom out to lunch. As we threw ourselves into the car to get out of the pouring rain, I summed up the weather: “Brr slash ick.” Yeah, that’s what I said. I think it really did the weather justice. I could really go somewhere with that…just where to exactly, I don’t know, but somewhere they’re in need of my weather commentary.

Happy Election Day! I try to keep this BLOG confrontational and debatable-free, so I won’t be talking politics at all. I’ll be talking more important stuff – Halloween in the Martin Household.

First of all, Zach and I went to the gym (actually on Halloween Eve). I took him into the Kids’ Club bathroom to use the potty before we left to pick Matthew up from preschool. Zach was amazed by the pint-sized, him-sized toilet. I said, “Look, Zach, it’s a potty just for you.” He started making comments about how it wasn’t his potty, but then he paused and said (yes, randomly yet ever-so impressively), “Actually, Mom, it’s attached to the wall.” Why, yes, why yes it is. He’s 2 ½!! What 2 ½ year old says, “actually” and “attached”?! I’ll tell you which one – Zachary the Wonder Genius (who is not stunted by his intellect and is still very socially-adept, well-adjusted and funny to boot…just to be clear).

Moving on to Halloween (and I will post pictures soon). We were preparing to head out for trick-or-treating with our wee Army Man Matthew and Pirate Zachary, when the first group of trick-or-treaters rang our doorbell. I said, “Matthew, open the door!” But he was suddenly freaked out by the whole process. So, I open the door just a bit and immediately block the view behind me. Three gory,oozy-goozy, blood-dripping masked preteens were in the process of raiding our candy bowl. (So why they bothered ringing the bell is beyond me). I looked at them in disgust and hissed, “Thank goodness my five year old hadn’t opened the door. You would have scarred him for life…Happy Halloween.” And I shut the door. Shortly after that another group of gories arrived. Thankfully, Matthew hadn’t actually seen either of these groups, but we did prep and remind him that we might see some scary costumes but to just remember they were all pretend. That was all it took. He plastered his body in the door frame and refused to budge, way too terrified to leave the house.

We did manage to talk him into it, promising that if we saw anything scary coming our way, he could just bury his head in Mike’s side. He did brave up over time, even asking an older gentleman, what his name was (Hal), and then informing his new best friend (Hal), that he was no longer afraid and being exceptionally brave.

When I was prepping Zach on trick-or-treating before we even left the house, I said, “OK, and what do you say when they open the door?” Zach hung his head in well-practiced shame and sheepishly said, “Sorry.” Hmm, I guess that’s what I’m usually telling him to say. He did embrace the actual appropriate, rehearsed line and would say, “Trick-or-treat. Trick-or-treat. Trick-or-treat.” UNTIL they actually opened the door, at which point he would freeze and just stare blankly at them and their bowl of candy.

With Halloween behind us, we had a big day November 1st, Mike and I had a reunion with friends from college on the UW Campus. Then, we came home; I was here for about an hour before my hot date (Larissa) picked me up for the Opera. We saw Strauss’ Elektra – not my fave but it was still super fun to get out to an opera. I don’t remember the last time I went to one. After the opera, we went to Fado, an Irish -Pub in downtown Seattle where we met up with our other party-dancy girl, Rebecca. We had a great time being the life of the party. There was a live band and a small dance floor, which I’m happy to say we stankin’ TORE UP.

Sunday, was a quiet day – church, grocery store, and then home. It started pouring and then hailing so it was definitely an inside, in cozies kind of a day. Because of the time change, we decided to have Zach skip his nap (and because it was going to be a late one and that would’ve really messed things up). So, we decided that we’d have a “floor picnic” downstairs and watch a movie. I suggested that I’d walk over to Curt & Linda’s (neighbors) to borrow some videos from their extensive collection. Mike said, “Ooh! See if they have Beauty and the Beast.” “Uh, you have a hankering for a Disney Princess movie, do ya, honey?” Anyway, I did like the suggestion, so I borrowed that and a few others. (And considering that they have two girls, they certainly had a wide variety of princess-themed movies to choose from).

When Matthew found out what we were watching, he groaned and said, “We can’t watch that! It’s a GIRL movie!” (He’s never seen Beauty and the Beast, by the way). I told him that if he was too boyly (uh, manly) to handle a girl movie, then he could just eat his dinner and then play while WE watched the girl movie. Yeah right.

He spent half of the movie hiding behind the couch (in all the mildly scary parts – like when the Beast is being quite nasty and beastish) and the other half laughing his butt off ‘cuz he thought it was hilarious (particularly chuckling at Gaston’s foolish, slap-sticky ways and those silly dancing and singing kitchen cutleries). When the movie was wrapping up and we’re lead to believe that Gaston has, indeed, finished off the Beast, I looked over and saw Matthew surreptitiously wiping tears before they could actually escape his watery eyeballs. (I think Mike may have just had something in his eye at that time as well). Anyway, when the Beast starts to change back into his manly, dreamy-prince state [I hope I’m not ruining the ending for anyone….sorry, did you think that the Beast was just going to kick it at the end? And Beauty would attend his funeral for the Disney cartoon finale?] Matthew glanced at me and asked nervously, “What’s happening?!”

When the movie was over, I asked him, “So, what was your favorite part?” Matthew sighed and said, “The ending – that they were happy.” “Yeah,” I said, “That’s nice, huh? They lived happily ever after. Did it make you sad when you thought the Beast was dying?” Matthew looked at me, slowly nodded and then burst into tears. Ahhh, my sweet, tender-hearted sensitive boy(s)!

I know, I know. My blogging negligence – my blogligence, if you will – has been totally out of hand, inappropriate, and quite frankly, offensive. I apologize. I have no real good excuse either. Busy, busy, but not really any busier than usual. I think I was just in the market for a bit of a writing vacation.

I can’t believe that October has come and nearly gone. It doesn’t seem just that time passes by so quickly. As soon as I feel mentally prepared to finally start the fall/Halloween season, it’s nearly over!

One biggish thing that’s occurred in the last couple of weeks is that Mike has been accused of a crime that he’s not guilty of committing. (Actually he’s not guilty of committing any crimes…as far as I know). We received a notice about it in the mail a while ago and proceeded to ignore it. We assumed that it was an identity confusion issue. See, Mike’s been getting calls from collection agencies claiming that he owes about $1800 on unpaid rent from one of the apartments in “downtown” Newcastle – an apartment we’ve never even set foot in. We call the collection agency people back and tell them it’s not us, you have the wrong Michael Martin, etc. but it doesn’t seem to help. (We have checked all of our credit info, etc. and do know that it’s not identity theft – just identity confusion).

So, we ignored this first notice in the mail but then got another one of those “call us back phone messages.” I call back and find out that Mike is being accused of being guilty of committing a hit and run/rear-ending incident and that he owes money, there was even a police report filed against him. They had our phone number, address, vehicle type and license plate tag.

Collection Dude asks, “Is this you?” I tell the dude, “Um, yes, that’s all of our information, but it’s not us. Neither one of us has ever rear ended anyone or hit and run…from anyone.” He SO obviously did not believe me. So Collection Dude says, “Well, this woman has even filed a police report with the Tacoma Police.” I ask Dude, “How do we prove that we didn’t do this? And when and where did this supposed accident take place?” Dude looks up info and says, “On January 24th, 2008, your husband hit a white Lexus at the Radiation Center in Tacoma, Washington.”

After telling him again, that it’s not us, we’ve never even been to “Radiation Center,” and that Mike rarely even drives our CRV, I look up the date – January 24th, 2008 on my calendar. Now, it wouldn’t be rare for there not to be anything written on our calendar. We do, believe it or not, have days where we don’t do anything worthy of writing on the calendar; however, thankfully, we DID do something that day. I can PROVE that Mike is innocent! On our calendar it says, “Play at Amy’s.” We had a play date that day, in Seattle. AND to make things even better, a few days after that play date, I wrote a blog on what went down that day right afterward our play date. When I told a couple people what I was actually doing that day, they didn’t think that my BLOG would really support our innocence…or at least my sanity. So, should we need to stand trial, my BLOG could act as evidence, but if that’s no good, I’m in the market for some character witnesses. Anyone interested?

Here it is, a description of what I did on January 24th, 2008:

January 29th, 2008

Apparently I was gaining too much of a healthy self-confidence, maybe even an ego. So, God planted this little moment just to remind me what a nerd I really am.

Last week, I met the sister-in-law of a really good friend. I won’t go into details as it’s a long and confusing story of how I connected with this woman. Anyway, I had just gotten the boys strapped into their car seats and I thought, I should go introduce myself. So, I went up to her and explained who I was and that Mike and I are good friends with Kate and Kevin.

“Oh!” she says. “From that thing?”

“Engaged Encounter! Yep.” I supply the “thing” that she is looking for.

“They’ve met some really cool people through that,” she informs me.

Then somehow my brain quits functioning and I get stuck. All I can do is grin from ear-to-ear and say, “Yep, we’re really cool peeps.”

She laughs and kind of jokingly mocks what I say, “You’re like yeah! That’s us!”

And then for some unknown reason all I can do is repeat the exact same mind-blowing line again, “Yep, we’re REALLY cool peeps.”

We say our awkward goodbyes after a terribly awkward conversation, and I get in my car. I drive up the narrow street, turn around in the intersection and head back down in order to depart the neighborhood. She’s still standing outside, so we wave (Oh wow. There go the really cool peeps again! She must be thinking). I feel like she looked at me kind of strangely as we drive by but think nothing of it because I am SO cool. Two seconds later I hear a weird sound on my car – coming from the roof. A moment later, my travel coffee mug goes rolling down the windshield, down the street and rests underneath a parked car. This is why you don’t put things on top of the car. (For the record, I don’t usually do this, but my hands were so full I didn’t have a choice).

I park my car in the middle of the road, hop out and get down on my hands and knees in search of Travel Mug. I can’t seem to find it anywhere and decide that lying on the ground in the road with my children sitting in the car in the middle of the street is probably not the best plan. So, much to Matthew’s distress, I decide to forego the coffee mug search and continue home.

At the first stop light, I decide – for whatever reason – to get a piece of gum. Before chewing it, however, I’m going to be really cool for the cars around me and check myself out in the visor mirror. Right. Two BIG BLACK poppyseeds stuck on either side of my top row of teeth. Of course I have big black objects in my teeth. As if I wasn’t making a great first impression all ready! Now I know that my “We’re really cool peeps” comment was thoroughly supported by my appearance…followed by the coffee mug rolling down my car. Reality check: we’re not cool peeps. We’re not even really cool. And I really shouldn’t be saying peeps.

[Adventure in Atanta…and then Wichita continued]. We eventually get to our hotel in Atlanta…in the hood. Maybe it was the three inches of protective glass for the cashier at the mini-mart (where we bought contact solution for Mike) or just the general mood, but the neighborhood just didn’t feel like the safest of places. We walked to a McDonald’s for dinner where we did get to catch the end of the VP debate. (Who knew that a McD’s in the hood would have such a nice flat screen mounted in the corner…and that it would be tuned into CNN?! Excellent!). After our excellent dining experience, we headed back to our hotel, where a dude approached us and said to Mike, “Hey man, do you know where I can find the liquor store?”

Knowing that we’d be up at the Seattle equivalent of 3am, we hit the hay early. I woke up at Atlanta 2am to Mike asking me what I was doing. Hmmm. I was in the hotel room bathroom attempting to make coffee…at 2am…we didn’t need to be up until 6am. I was just so very confused!! At any rate, we successfully managed to get ourselves up at 6 (our 3), caught our shuttle back to the airport, used our $14 food vouchers to buy gourmet croissanwiches at Burger King – ooh la la!, and then finally, finally got our plane to Wichita.

Once we had, at long last, arrived at the Hyatt in Wichita, we were tired and stinky and SO ready to party with our EE pEEps at the Convention. We had an amazing time – as always – with this group of people. The Convention was fantastic but made even more so by the quality time we got to spend with our friends there.

Saturday night at the EE Conventions is the time you get to let your hair down and party. After a day full of (very worthwhile) keynote speakers and workshops, everyone is ready for some fun. Thus, enters my new, ginormous laptop bag; now, known to many as the booze bag. A few people decided that spending $9-11/glass of wine just wasn’t going to cut it, so they had made the trek to a liquor store stocking up on behalf of the greater good. The question then became how we would smuggle these bottles of wine down to the Convention banquet. I casually mentioned that I had a quite-good-sized laptop bag. It was as if she had been created for the soul purpose of carrying contraband liquor. With three different zippered sections New Bag easily fit quite a few, good-sized bottles within her good-sized compartments.

Everything went splendidly until we’d left one of our bottles sitting on the table during dinner. It happened to be right in front of Mike who happened to be the one person at our table not partaking in the wine. Hotel Guy comes up and says, “Excuse me, sir. You can’t have that wine here.” Mike just sits there for a second and then says, “Oh, well, it’s not mine.” Great. He throws us under the bus! Then everyone is looking at me, so I say, “Oh! Do you need us to take it back up to our room?” (I’m thinking if I’m super nice, I won’t get in too much trouble). Hotel Guy says, “That’d be great, but you know, we can just put it over on the bar for now.” Um, OK. Bob, at our table wonders if we can go help ourselves to our wine then. Yeah, doubtful.

So, instead Bob starts a bootlegged, contraband liquor business under the table, out of my pretty New Bag. All sorts of jokes were made about the filled glasses of wine that emerged from, essentially, between his legs. You can imagine – things like: the fruit of his loins, etc. While I did enjoy the fruits of his labor, all I could say was, “You guys better not get me busted! I was never even sent to the principal’s office!”