Is it Monday yet?

Hi, there.

No time to chat for the following reasons:

1. The kids are home from school today.

2. I have 1,873 things to do, but will not get to any of them. See number one for questions on this.

3. High School Musical opens today and I have a six-year-old girl who cannot stop talking about Troy, Gabriella, and Sharpay. She is literally clinging to my legs, begging to see it RIGHT. NOW. (the child is clinging to my legs, not Sharpay, in case you were wondering).

4. I have two boys pouting in the basement, praying to be left home from the movie in which the characters sing and dance spontaneously, which, apparently, is a fate worse than death, according to them.

5. I have a child with virtually no long pants, and cold weather is now upon us.

6. I have another child who had outgrown his church pants and cannot fake button them another Sunday.

7. I have no milk in the house.

8. I am in dire need of a McDonald's diet coke. See all of the above for reasons on this one.

9. I have foolishly promised the children some pumpkin carving today. Oh, how I hate that sticky, gooey mess that lives inside the pumpkins. I can just feel it squishing in my fingers right now and I'm already grossed out.

10. I will soon have a gigantic mess of pumpkin innards to mop up off my floor.

Happy Friday, all.

A little photo mishap that he will live to regret

Let's say you are taking family photos in your backyard. You get a wild hair and decide to take a few shots of just you and your Husband. You know, because you don't have many of those.

You have the camera ready to go on the tripod, and the remote in your hand.

You both smile, and the shutter clicks.

Well, what happens when your middle child, unbeknownst to you, decides to sneak himself into the picture?

This, my friends, is what happens:

Looks like it's cropping for this photo. Unless we want to commemorate the dive Chase took?

No, I don't think so.
But I'm a fair minded person. And I've always thought that the punishment should fit the crime.

So here's a little shot of him that I'm sure he'd rather have buried in the archives for all eternity: I know. I'm such a mean mom.

Uh-oh, Spaghettios

Here's an interesting tidbit I bet you didn't know: Some of the greatest contributions to mankind have been accidents of science.

Yes, that's right.

Important accidents, like Penicillin and x-rays, that changed life as we knew it forever.

And there were also some less-important things like Silly Putty, potato chips, and Viagra - all brought to us by accident.

Today, another accidental discovery was made, right here in my house.

It will never cure cancer. It will never redefine medical science. It will definitely never bring life back to any men suffering from E.D.

It will, however, cause me to develop a brain aneurysm.

Our scientist? She, the one I so glowingly sang the praises of a few days ago.

Her experiment?

How far spaghettios will travel when accidentally dropped from the kitchen table:

The answer, in case you were wondering?

About 12 feet in all directions.

And if that weren't enough, the spaghettios somehow defied gravity, and climbed UP THE BACK OF THE CHAIR, as though trying to return to the table from whence they came.

How many seconds before my head exploded, you ask?

About eight seconds. (I was a little shell shocked and had a delayed reaction.)

As a result of our accidental discovery, we now know that all it takes to turn me into a manic, mumbling fool is to cover half of my kitchen with tiny, little O's and sticky tomato sauce.

Please, internets, we're professionals here.

Do not try this at home.

Mars versus Venus

A simple illustration of one of the fundamental differences between boys and girls.

When a girl wants to look nice, it goes a little something like this:

A boy cannot comprehend any reason to look nice. It simply doesn't compute. Let's be honest, even hygiene can be a bit tricky for the average young male to grasp, let alone style.

But dressing up? This is their version:
Any questions?

A sign they're returning to life

Look what I found on the kitchen table this morning:

It leads me to wonder just what the poor little thing could have done to make the soldiers so angry? Probably had the audacity to exist, that's what. You know how princesses are always flagrantly committing that crime.

Luckily, I dismantled the firing squad before Hannah was aware of the harm being done to her beloved Princess Polly Pocket.

I am considering showing her the picture and then helping her dress all their toy soldiers up in Barbie clothes.

Think it's too much for a Monday morning?

Loving Hannah

Last night, I got an email from a good friend we knew in Boston (hi, Kathy F!). This dear, sweet woman and her husband were huge fans of our kids. So much so, that her husband (on his way to work) was one of the first people to come see me in the hospital after I delivered Hannah. I've never forgotten their many kindnesses, and getting back in touch with her took me back about seven years in time.

We moved to Boston in September of 2000. It was the peak of everything - economy, dot-coms, housing, jobs, technology - the world seemed so boundless then, didn't it? So full of promise?

Then about a year into our time there, on a crisp September morning, the world forever changed. I have written in the past about my experiences on that awful morning, which you can read again here.

Let's just say that September of 2001 rocked our family personally, as well. I had found out a few weeks prior to 9-11 that I was expecting another baby. I wish I could say that every part of me rejoiced at the opportunity to be a mother again, but I didn't. This was a major surprise. A surprise that neither one of us could find the energy to get excited about.

At the time, we were overwhelmed with the daily exhaustion that came with raising two wild and energetic boys. McKay was three, and Chase was not yet two. We felt insane with just the two kids we had. We were living in an apartment, and in light of the newly-shaken economy, had just downgraded to an even smaller apartment until we could be sure our job was viable long-term. And the thought of even one day with the boys and a newborn in a two-bedroom apartment did little to cheer me up. We just weren't ready for a third. The timing seemed all wrong.

We told no one about this pregnancy, and that included our extended family, parents, and friends. I felt that until I could be happy when I shared the news, it was better to keep it to myself. So we did what every American did in those months following 9-11. We watched the news for hours on end. We flew our flag. We drove to and from work. And we tried to remember to count our blessings.

Several months went by, and the news was no longer concealable, as my growing belly announced our situation for us. Thanksgiving came, and we drove down to spend it with Gabi and her family, figuring it was time to announce this baby to those we loved. Gabi's husband, Brad, was the first to greet us that weekend and said nothing - thinking I had simply gained some weight (thanks, Brad). Gabi could tell right away, and gave shrieks of excitement and joy. I tried hard to catch some of her enthusiasm, while feeling very guilty for not being more happy. A surprise visit from Opa that weekend, and the cat was definitely let out of the bag.

A few weeks after we got home, I had my first ultrasound. I remember laying on the paper-covered table, in the darkened room, waiting for it to begin. Laying there, staring up at the white ceiling tiles, I was not sure what to hope for. Another boy? Could we handle one more? And a girl? I don't know how to take care of a girl (forget the fact that I am one). As all these thoughts ran through my head, the cool shock of the jelly on my largely protruding stomach brought me back to the present.

And as the technician began to probe and measure, this little, flickering heartbeat caught my eye. I could make out tiny, perfect toes.

And fingers.

Arms and legs, and hands and feet, moving to a rhythm I already knew well.

And then something happened. A rush of emotion came over me and tears filled my eyes as I saw the first glimpses of this baby. Not just an inconvenient thing that seemed to have come so unexpectedly without our consent, but my baby. A sweet, little person that we would get to know soon.

"It's a girl," the technician told me with a smile.

A girl. We were having a girl. In an instant, I felt as though everything came into focus. As I lay there on the table, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of happiness. I knew then that it would be okay. It was going to be more than okay.

It was going to be fantastic.

And you know something? It has been. Every single day spent with this sweet angel in our family has been filled with bliss.

Silly, pink, fluffy, girly bliss.

And I wouldn't trade it for all the riches in the world.

I love you, baby.

God sure knows what he's doing with those big surprises.