I love to draw on my kids

Doesn't that sound like the most loving thing a mother can do? I actually discouraged drawing on one's self with a marker for quite a long time. That is, until my friend let her boys draw a mustache and beard on her face and I didn't even see a trace of it anywhere. I was flabbergasted! I always thought of her as normal. If she could do something so outrageous and....(gulp)...fun, with her kids, who was I to deprave my children of such a creative outlet? It was at that point I decided to join the ranks of 'fun moms' all over the world and indulge myself in a little body art - only on my children, of course. You will NEVER see me with a purple mustache and a beard (at least I pray). If you do, you know I've gone completely senile and have done it to myself because in a normal frame of mind, I just don't find that too fun.

Anyways, back to the point of the story. The fact that my boys love to be superheroes should be ingrained into everyone's brains by now. Therefore, what, might you guess, do they want me to draw on them? You got it....superhero logos. They LOVE logos. I have actually found a hidden talent I didn't know I possessed....drawing logos on children's chests. They are quite picky, so I must practice my art with great detail and precision. We cannot be confused for a fake superhero. Oh no - that is not acceptable. The logos I can pull out of my sleeve at any given moment with any type of drawing medium would include (but not limited to): flash, batman, superman, green lantern, supergavin and superbennett.

I began to draw on my children using your average tempera paints. We soon found out that once dried, they crack and cause a rather large rash with tiny bumps over the "logo area" for a few days. The boys said it didn't matter, that they could deal with the pain and side effects. But, being the contientious mother that I am, I did not want to accidently poison my children while coloroing on them. It only took about 6 times on intense scientific experimentation to deduce that this may not be the correct medium for us.

Next, I began using your typical Crayola marker. Note: make sure the marker says "washable" on it. Not that I have any experience with permanent markers or anything. Our medium of choice is now the small point crayola marker. The small tip is of utmost importance if you are attempting to do detail work.

I even went so far as to draw on other people's children. The boys' best friends came to spend the night, saw the amazing logos on my children and literally begged on bended knee for me to decorate their bare chests with the latest superhero fashion. How could I say no? After all, their mom is my best friend, I knew she would understand the duress I was under. However, I did not anticipate one of the little boys deciding he would try to out-do my logo masterpiece by adding his own rendition onto his tummy, below the work of art I just bestowed on his chest. This caused mass chaos among the troops and now they all decided they would rather draw on their own chests.

Thus ends my days of drawing on my children...that is until Chloe comes of age and requests my logo rendering skills. I might want to start practicing Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, and Fire Star logo variations.

A Little Swimming Companion

We had nothing else to do today, so, why not go to the pool...again! I think we're trying to set some sort of record to see if someone can actually go to the pool every single day throughout the summer. I think we're leading in the polls. The Home Owners' Association is going to rue the day they let us move in. Unbeknownst to them, they built the community pool just for us and our daily swimming pleasure. :) So, we take advantage of that fact as often as possible. We even went 3 times in one day just recently. Do you know how hard it is to scrub suntan lotion off of children when they have been immersed in it 3 times in one day? They still have a rather oily hue to them.

Anyways, it seems that we're always the only ones up there (at least at 9 o'clock in the morning). Last night we had a horrible thunderstorm that produced alot of wind. Evidently, that wind blew most of the chairs into the pool. The boys were terribly excited about getting each and every chair out all by themselves - this way they would really be able to prove their true superhero identities/superpowers. With so much muscle around me, I only needed to stand at the edge of the pool and help hoist the chairs onto the deck once I was given the appropriate 'signal'. Well, that and keep Chloe from trying to take a running jump into the pool to help her bigger brothers. She was mistaken and thought that the 'signal' was her cue to jump in.

After successfully saving the pool from all unwanted intruders (lawn chairs) we were finally free to play. We were having a grand old time trying to jump through the inner-tube. Rather, the boys were having fun watching mommy attempt to fit her 'motherly' body through a child-sized inner-tube without getting stuck and needing to deflate the entire tube in order to wriggle free. When all of the sudden we see something else in the water with us.

Forgetting the 1st commandment of motherhood (thou shalt not scream or panic when thou seest a bug), I belted out, "QUICK - EVERYONE, OUT - NOW!!! - AND I'M NOT JOKING!". I believe they reacted to my earnestness with appropriate speed. The hibbie-jibbies are coming on strong now and I shiver as I try to regain clarity of mind. There are no rules I've every read anywhere on what to do if you see a little critter swimming in a pool. So, since my husband wasn't here and I couldn't pass the unwanted task off to him or anyone else (since we were the only ones there), I had to think of a plan - quick!

Thankfully, the boys started thinking of one for me. Their curiosty was much greater than mine. They started walking over toward 'it', whereas I was trying to walk backwards away from 'it'. I start assuming the worst, it must be a snake. The little creature is actually swimming (ughh! gross!!!). Once I start inching a little closer I realize that it's too short to be a snake, so it must be a salamander (still gross). But the boys don't seem to agree with me. Bennett makes the all important deduction that he believes it is poopie. Thank God that wasn't it!!! So, what else swims, is short, a little hairy, has little paws.... oh my gosh... IT'S A MOUSE - YUCK!!!!

That's when I put my foot down and declared, "Well, that's all the swimming for us today!" I thought my children would thank me from just rescuing them from imminent danger. Instead, the response I get is close to a full blown temper tantrum. What?? I'm totally confused. You are not happy with your mother for keeping you out of the same contaminated water that a gross mouse has been in? Obviously not since their faces are starting to contort in all strange types of ways as they try to find the right pose that will release the most amount of forlorn tears. Do they really think that that will make me change my mind? I look at them and laugh and say, "You guys can't be serious! We are NOT swimming with a mouse". To that Bennett responds with utmost seriousness, "But I like mouses. They are my pet.".

Instead of high tailing it out of there as was my original plan, I let them stay and search for our little swimming companion (out of the water - of course). I had tucked Chloe safely away in her stroller with a large enough supply of pretzels, so she was oblivious to the entire escapade. She only cried when her food ran out. Oh, how I yearn for the 'simple life' again!

Not Again

Anyone who has been an avid reader of this blog since its inception a year ago would immediately know what this title means. That's right...its another poopie story. I just can't seem to get away from them.

We were having a beautiful, hot, sunny afternoon here in Texas. My friend invited us over to swim at her Dad's pool. Wow! Great idea! So, its just us two moms (my friend is six months pregnant). Two 6 year old boys (fish). One 4 year old boy who is very anxious about the water and therefore wears as much gear as he can find to go into the pool with (1 inner-tube, 2 flippers, 1 pair of goggles, 1 snorkle) yet never gets his head wet. One 3 year old wearing a wet-suit like thing with floaties all around it because he thinks he can swim, but really, he can't - so, we are just fostering his belief by allowing him to swim, unassisted with his precious Spiderman swim helper (obviously, this my son, Bennett). And lastly, on this beautiful day, we have two little toddlers who cannot swim and are always in the mommy's arms or sitting on the steps, ready at any moment, to vicariously fall into the pool. My friend's Dad has also come out to join us and play with the older two boys. He is Capture Man and loves to capture superheroes (which our sons believe they are). There, the back drop is set...now the story begins....

Everything is perfect, therefore, in my world, that means that something is about to go wrong. Right on cue, Bennett calls over to me, "Mommy, I need to go poo-ie". I hand Chloe off to my friend and run over to the bathroom with Bennett. Thankfully, there is an entrance to the bathroom right off the patio, so we don't have to worry about getting his nice floors all wet. One thing about Bennett, when he gets the urge to go - he has to go immediately. That being said...I am hurridly trying to peel this wet suit off my son when he tells me "Mommy, please don't take it off inside out." Oh, now we're suddenly conscience of our clothes being inside out?, I think to myself. Yet, with all the motherly affection I can muster I tell him, "Don't worry honey, Mommy is doing her best to keep it the right way." With that assurance, he allows me to pull his legs out of this silly contraption that is stuck to him like glue with the pant holes inside out. He even waited to get on the potty until his suit was in 'proper order'. He's not even on the potty for 5 seconds before he tells me "I don't have any poo-ies mommy." I'm like, "Yes you do and you will sit there a little longer. I'm still wiping the sweat off my brow from trying to take your Spiderman suit off." So he obediently complies, while I try to stall and pray his 'urge' returns.

Sadly, it does not and we go thru the whole rigor-ma-roll of trying to get the suit back on. In hindsight, I should never have left that bathroom. Never let him convince me he really didn't have to go anymore. Maybe never even accepted the swimming invitation. But life is about learning lessons and evidently, I have many, many more to learn.

I am now completely dry since that whole escapade took about 20 minutes. Both of us hop back into the pool and commence the fun yet again. We are not in the pool 2 minutes when I hear Bennett say (rather quietly), " I have poo-ies mommy". I thought I heard him say he had to go again. But after further investigation, I noticed he was telling me that he had already gone poopie. Last time I checked, there was not a large bump sticking out from the back of the Spiderman wet-suit, yet there was now. A wave of nausea hits me as I try to reach him on the other side of the pool. Thankfully, I didn't throw up in the pool. Poopie and throw-up in the pool all in one day would definately not get us invited back ever again.

At this point, everything is slow motion. All the other poopie episodes flash before me and I think to myself "I thought we were past this" and "well, I guess I've got the material for my next blog". Bennett and I finally make it to the bathroom once again. This time I'm not quite as cheery and optimistic as the last time. I really could care less if his suit gets inside out. I ask him to stand there momentarily while I take a deep breath and try to analyze the situation to determine what needs to be done. The first thing I think is that I'm glad it was this pool and not the public pool - that would really cause a scene. They would have to blow those loud whistles, get everyone out and decontaminate the pool, all while everyone is staring at us. That sceanrio sent shivers down my spine. I could deal with this one. My second thought was, "I'm going to have to get this mass out of his suit - ughhh!!!". And, if I can remember correctly, my last thought was "will Bennett ever be potty-trained?"

Here is where God stepped in and gave me grace for the moment. Because all I wanted to do was yell at him about how he was old enough and how this should never happen and how he should have gone the first time. Thankfully, He gently reminded me that Bennett is still only three, is still learning, and that he needs my love and understanding in this moment, not my judgement and condemnation (that could make this whole potty-training adventure that much longer). It was at this point Bennett told me that he didn't know it happened, it just did. I told him that mistakes happen and that I forgive him and am not mad at him. Evidently, he was very mad at himself and embarassed and really needed the assurance from me that he was still loved and accepted.

Thankfully, it was one solid mass and I was able to dispose of it without too much fan fair. I ripped the suit off of Bennett and told him that Daddy would have to clean it - I wasn't even going to go there. I'm so glad that I had the presence of mind to bring a dry change of clothes for the children. We quietly left the bathroom while I retrieved the rest of my children and told them it was time to leave even though we had only been there for 20 minutes (and most of that, Bennett & I had spent in the bathroom). Gavin was a little puzzled by our sudden need to leave and was putting up a little fight. I was trying to be discreet because I didn't want Bennett to be even further embarassed. I whispered to him to please do as I say, Bennett had a little accident and we need to leave now. He was semi-satisfied with that and went to get changed. As we were preparing to leave and saying our good-byes, Bennett laments, rather loudly, that he doesn't want to leave. And Gavin, always ready with an answer, replies, "Well, if you hadn't poopied in the ..... " (the rest is garbled because my hand was over his mouth). I asked him to be considerate of his brother and not tell everyone about what he did (because evidently, not everyone saw the large protrusion extending from Bennett's butt).

Lessons learned:
1. bring my own hazerdous materials waste disposal kit everywhere I go
2. grace is a gift, give it freely
3. my children are a gift, enjoy every moment - even the poopie ones

Wisdom of Little Ones

We were having a wonderful conversation during dinner tonight. Gavin was sharing what he had learned in Sunday school with us. He was explaining something about the Tower of Babel and different languages. He seemed to understand it for the most part. He then picked up a bunch of grapes and started eating them off the vine. That prompted me to ask him, "Gavin, did you know that Jesus told a story of us being like the grapes and he is like the vine?" Of course this was a new idea to him and he and Bennett enjoyed hearing the analogy. The whole thing kinda fizzled out like a dead balloon since it had nothing to do with superheroes.

But just when you think your kids haven't heard a word you said, they say something that astounds you. Evidently, Gavin had really been listening and had actually understood when I explained what an analogy was. So, about 5 minutes after we had the grape/vine analogy, he busts out with, "Mom, Jesus is kinda like a cat and we're kinda like the mice, right?". Since he just threw an analogy at us, it took us off gaurd for a minute. We then realized he was being very serious and had to quickly wipe the smirks off our faces and regain a 'serious' composure.

I asked him if he could tell us how Jesus was like a cat. Bennett felt like he knew the answer, so he pipes in with, "Vuh-vuh (brother), is it because Jesus mells (smells) like a tat (cat)?" We all busted a gut laughing at that one. Of course Bennett said it with dead seriousness. He concluded, all on his own, that that must not have been the correct answer. So, he tries again with, "Vuh-vuh (brother), den (then) does he mell (smell) like a dog?" Again, we couldn't stop laughing.

I could see the wheels turning in Gavin's head, but he was having a hard time articulating how his analogy worked. He then came out with, "Jesus is like the cat cuz he's bigger than us." I just love our dinner time conversations! The faith of a child is so sweet and innocent.

But of course Bennett, never wanting to be outdone, decides to give us an update on heaven. He tells me, "Mommy, before I was born, I was in heaven." I asked him if he could remember what it was like and he shook his head yes. Then I asked him to tell me what heaven is like. Big news flash for anyone wondering what heaven is like...according to Bennett, it is like Gotham City. :) But that was all the insight he was able to share at this time. I'm fairly certain he will continue to spill more information whenever he deems we are spiritually mature enough to handle it.

The End of an Era

Quite a momentous event just occurred in this very house last week. It is not that our precious, little 13 month old little baby girl just started walking. And it's not that we went to the pool three times in one day and its only May. And, no, it's also not about sweet little Chloe figuring out that if she sticks her chubby little finger up her nose, it illicits much laughter from her brothers. No, even though all those things are huge in their own right, they are not as huge as this....drum roll, please:

Chloe no longer sleeps in our closet!!!

Now, I understand that that particular statement might bring a multitude of questions to the minds of most 'normal' people. Questions regarding our 'normalcy', our ability to parent, maybe, or even the welfare of our poor children might be at the top of the list. Let me assure everyone, I've never qualified myself, or any of my family members as 'normal' - I'm the first to admit that we are totally weird! But that's also what makes this family so much fun - you NEVER know what to expect next.

Maybe it would be helpful to qualify why Chloe was actually sleeping in our closet. When, we first moved into the house, my mother-in-law came for a visit and we gave her Chloe's room to sleep in. We didn't want Chloe to wake her up in the middle of the night, so for just a short little week, we let her sleep in her pack-n-play in our ample master closet. Who knew she'd love it?! She loves to sleep in the pitch dark. Every time we tried to reorient her to her bedroom, she'd throw the biggest fit. These fits were not pretty, they were not quiet, they did not end. It appeared to be in everyone's best interest that we pick up the crying baby and put her in a nice, dark, quiet place where she will immediately fall asleep every time. It made perfect sense to us.

If I've learned anything in my few short years of parenthood, I've learned that once you think you've got a kid figured out - everything changes. Change is inevitable - it will happen, you just don't know when. That's the fun of it. So, we knew that Chloe wouldn't live in our closet forever. Just like Bennett actually was able to be potty trained before he turned 4 (my hugest accomplishment to date). So, every time we tried to put her to bed in her own room, it just happened to not be the right time yet, and we just happened to be the last ones to know it.

Well, after only 3 months - she is out of the closet. We couldn't be more happy for her! :) And us too. Because she slept in our closet which is in our master bathroom, Chuck would have to get his clothes out every night before we put her to bed at 7pm. Of course he would never remember to do this, since he pretty much just got home from work only an hour ago. So, every morning, at around 4:30 or 5, he would have to accomplish quite an impossible mission. With stealth precision he would have to open the closet door, reach in grab the right color shirt to match the right colored pants as well as dress shoes. If you've never tried it, I recommend you don't. It's the ultimate in stress. The lighting has to be 'just so'. The door can't creak. No one can make a sound. If the child awakes, it could be hours before anyone gets back to sleep.

Life just got so much easier for us. Way to go Chloe!

The Adventures of Chloe

Hmmm...where to begin....there are just so many that come to mind. Like the 3 1/2 hour road trip we recently took to Oklahoma where she 'yelled' at us the entire way. If I wasn't appeasing her with food offerings or constantly turning around to pick up the book she threw on the floor for the 16th time, she would be showing us her disapproval with this whole trip idea using her voice, only with no words attached. But then I realize that she is only 13 months old, cannot communicate via 'normal' words like the rest of us and needs to be able to get her point across somehow. However, after about the 2nd hour of me being twisted around in the front seat facing Chloe in the back seat all the while singing such lovely traveling songs as "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "ABC's", I really didn't care about her communication problem as much as I cared about the crick in my neck and the cramp in my back. The minute I turned to sit in my seat the proper way, I was quickly reprimanded with an ear piercing cry that reminded me that life, right now, is not about my comfort, but hers - and hers only. Lesson learned - forgo any and all car rides that exceed the distance of 30 miles and or 30 minutes.

This next one is rather fun, but gets old after a while....Everyday, multiple times a day at that, Chloe goes into my closet, finds a pair of shoes she would like for me to wear and brings one out and insists I put it on my foot, right then. She is quite insistent - she will not be ignored. She holds the shoe up to me and says, "Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh.......ad nausium" until I relent and put it on. The entire sequence repeats itself with the second shoe. I'm very thankful that she always gives me matching shoes though, it could be worse. I never experienced this with my boys. They could have (and still do) really care less about what I am or am not wearing. Lesson learned - put shoes on at the beginning of the day and never, ever take them off - comfort is not the important thing - consistency and style is. I especially look good wearing my pajamas with my sneakers in the morning.

A more recent 'adventure' occurred last night....I could possibly be receiving the 'bad mother of the year' award for this one. I need to preface this with...Chloe just learned to walk, unassisted, this past week. She feels she has mastered the art of walking and really has no use for my constant supervision anymore. The scene begins like this...Chuck just arrived home from work and is back in our bedroom changing into his 'play clothes', the boys are upstairs playing 'super cat' (yet another superhero invention), I am sitting at the computer (right next to the stairway and Chloe- key point) checking emails and our lovely little star (Chloe) is 'supposedly' behind me playing. At least she was 10 seconds ago.

Chuck comes walking out to the front room where I and my little daughter were supposed to be and asks "Where's Chloe?" A very innocent question that should not produce terror in the heart of a mother. We run around the entire bottom level of the house searching for our suspiciously quiet daughter who was not to be found anywhere. We both look at the stairs simultaneously and in disbelief shake our heads no, as if to say "she couldn't have". How naive we were. Independent doesn't even begin to describe Chloe.

Our stairway is very open and large. There are 8 stairs before you reach a landing, then 8 more bring you successfully up to the second floor. We climb the stairs three at a time. My mind is already producing ghastly images of my poor daughter. We reach the top in record time and ask the boys "Have you seen Chloe?" Very nonchalantly, Gavin answered, "Yeah, she went that way." Okay, first of all I wanted to go off on Gavin....like, is this a common occurrence, do you always see your sister climb the steps and walk around the corner by herself, this didn't set off any alarms in your developing brain that would trigger you to yell with all your might for your mother or father? None of those thoughts left my mind, however, because she is my responsibility, but you've got to wonder what was going through his mind.

Anyways, we look in her room, she's not there. Then we look in the bathroom. Finally, we find her leaning against the wall next to the tub like this is her regular hangout. To top it off, she has a purple marker in her hand that she is busily chewing on. My heart stops pounding once we find her safe and sound. Then the reality of what she's done sets in and I give her a very stern "no, no, Chloe". For a second, she looked at me as if she might cry, wetness even entered her eyes, but then her mighty resolve set in and she sucked it up and just stared at me. Ooooh, the battle of wills - this is fun.

I would love to say we solved the problem by just erecting a nice little gate at the bottom of our stairway, but that would be impossible because of it's architecture. So, for the time being, Chloe and I are permanently attached. Lesson learned - don't check emails unless I put her in the crib or some other securely enclosed area.

My Brother, My Teacher

Evidently, Gavin feels he has much wisdom to impart to his younger brother and the sooner he gets started, the better. He holds strong and fast to my philosophy of not wasting any time.
Therefore, what better time than the 1/2 hour car ride home from church yesterday to start teaching his 3 year old brother how to draw his letters - properly, mind you. They each have a mini Magnadoodle in the back seat and were using those for this particular activity (for those of you not familiar with all the new gadgets children have these days, this is comparable to the old write-n-wipes we used to have back in the day).

Chuck & I were enjoying a nice little conversation, when suddenly we realized we hadn't been interupted in the past 3 minutes and quickly turned around to make sure everyone was still breathing. We hardly ever have the luxury of voicing one complete thought out loud to each other before we hear "Mommy....." or some sort of yelling/crying/screaming....take your pick. Anyways, when we turned around to check on them you can imagine our surprise when we didn't see anyone in a head lock with the other's hand around their mouth. They were actually participating in a normal activity. "What has gotten into these children?" we questioned under our breath.

As we sat quietly listening to their precious conversation, we decided we didn't need to talk. The moment was more enjoyable by listening to them talk. Gavin was explaining in great detail how to draw each and every letter and making sure Bennett did it the exact way he instructed. He would even say "No, Bennett, I said, two straight lines". Here's an example of what we witnessed:

Gavin: Okay Bennett, now I'm going to teach you to draw a F. First draw one line down.
Bennett: Like dis? Vuh-vuh (brother)?
Gavin: No. From the top all the way to the bottom.
Bennett: Oh
Gavin: Next, draw a small line at the top that goes all the way to the side.
Bennett: Oh
Gavin: Then, draw another small line right under that. Good job Bennett. Now we'll do G

Then Bennett would beam with pride at the encouragement just lavished upon him.

It was a beautiful sight to behold (and listen to). I keep telling Gavin that he's going to end up being the one to teach Bennett to read because Bennett looks up to him so much and just copies him to no end and desparately desires his brother's approval and praise (much like Gavin does to us). I love moments like these! It shows me what a difference we can make in someone's life if we choose kindness over selfishness. They end up teaching me something everday.

My Husband

None of these "comical or adventurous episodes" could be possible if it wasn't for my wonderful, sweet, supportive husband. I live my dream because of him. Ever since I was little, all I ever wanted to be was a wife and mommy. I have my dream job and couldn't imagine life any other way. Thank you, Baby!

Sure, financially we could have so much more if I worked outside of our home. But I don't really want more things. I'm afraid I would be spending all my time looking at my things and not enjoying what matters most to me. My Husband. My Children. I might not get paid with money for my job. What I get is worth more than money...the trust of my children, the peace in my home, the joy in my heart and the knowing that my family's needs are met and I was able to be there to meet them.

Not a day goes by that my husband doesn't affirm me. He doesn't place any expectations on me. All he wants is for me and the kids to have fun each day. That is not too lofty an expectation for me to acheive. He never complains if the house is dirty or dinner isn't ready (or not even thought of) when he gets home or if he has no clean undershirts. And he's already accepted the fact that he has superior ironing skills and that he is the 'all-time ironer' in this house. He is the most wonderful Daddy, too. He cherishes his children! He's never too busy for them or never puts his own wants (a new computer) over their needs (karate classes). I love watching him 'daddy'. We are such a team when it comes to this whole parenting thing.

Since he is a designer, he often gives me the most AWESOME screen-savers, web-pages or Power Points as little thank you's or love notes. I find that terribly romantic and thoughtful. That he would take all that time to design something so special just for me. I get flowers when least expected and little post-it notes around the house. Could I be more loved? I think not!

I don't know what he really sees when he looks at me...but I still feel like the same little 16 year old who fell 'in-like' and then in-love with him. I feel like I'm still 16, just playing 'grow-up' and 'house'. I don't feel like I thought grown-ups were supposed to feel. I still feel like a kid and I KNOW my husband does too. Maybe that's why life is so, so fun.

He's taught me so much! How to make the most of every moment (Carpe Diem), how not to take life and myself so seriously, how to accept and give love. He's taught me that life is simple and that it's fun to play and okay not to be efficient all the time. He's taught me humility and what it means to remain teachable. He's shown me what the definition of self-sacrificing means. Just so that he can spend more time with his family, he will go in to work at 4 in the morning to put in his over-time. He's shown me that giving forgiveness is better than having to be right all the time.

My heart is bursting at the seams right now with thankfulness for him and this is my way of 'shouting it from the roof-tops'. Thank you Baby! I love you perfect!!

Our Batcave

You may not be aware of this fact, but we have a Batcave in our house. Don't all normal, suburban families who have little superheroes living with them?

It sits hidden behind the sofa. Our sofa sits about 3 feet away from the wall, leaving a small little walkway to and from the patio. Also, along that wall are situated two bookcases. Those bookcases, I have been informed (from the upperlevels of superhero management in our house - meaning "SuperGavin") house all the pertinent information necessary to catching criminals. Personally, I remember putting all my old, collectible, harbacked books on those shelves.

The back of the sofa morphs into the computer mainframe where they work tirelessly on all their superhero computer stuff (so I've been told). If you continue on a little farther down the corridor behind the sofa that leads to the patio door, you will soon stumble upon their "workout room". Don't superheroes need to be strong? Therefore, there is a designated place for doing sit-ups and push-ups.

If you were thinking of attempting to sit on the chair in the corner of the living room, caddiy-cornered to the sofa, you would be mistaken in your assumption that it is just an ordinary chair. For when it is being used under the guise of a Batcave, the chair becomes the all important laboratory. I saw my young superheroes over in that vicinty a time or two and asked what they were up to -but you know, it's super secret crime fighting stuff and can't be trusted in the hands of mere mortal parents. Do you think we take this superhero stuff to an extreme or what?

Lastly, before entering the Batcave, you are greeted with 3 little orange sticky notes written in "SuperGavin's" handwriting (therefore, it's only phonetically correct and takes a PhD to decifer). One note warns: "No Grls Alloud". The next note cautions: "Onle Super Heros Alloud". And finally, because of the sensitive nature of the Batcave we are told: "No Gronups Alloud".

Did you know my little superheroes' alter egos? When Gavin is not busy fighting crime is the nonchalant "Gavin Eddie" (Very original being that his given name is "Gavin Edward Mallott"). Even funnier yet is "SuperBennett". He's alias is "Bennett Eddie". He refuses to go by his given middle name and would rather copy brother any day of the week.

I'm so thankful for my little superheroes!!! I just love their imagination!!

Mother/Daughter Issues

I expected to have these with my little, precious daughter in about 12 more years...I didn't expect our first 'encounter' to be at 13 months old instead. Here is the scenario:

We go up to her room to dress for the day's lively events. Since its quite warm already, I chose a stylish (in my humble opinion) little onesie. It's sweet, mostly white, with a large water-color looking pinkish flower off to one side. It has a little 60's flair to it. If we are to be seen today, we would definately elicit several favorable nods.

However, my adorable, already quite opinionated 1 year old, emphatically shakes her head no at me and the precious little frock I am holding. So, I try coaxing. "Look Chloe, doesn't this look cute?" I say with all the charm I can muster. Again, another emphatic head shaking ensues. I decide to test her. To see if she really knows what she's saying "no" to. Maybe she just likes how it feels to shake her head back and forth and is not really saying "no" to my wonderful outfit selection.

I then proceed to select another onesie from her drawer. This one is a small calico, mostly in pink, on a white backround with spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice. I proceed to hold one in each hand and ask her, "Honey, which one would you like to wear? This one (my choice, hence the right choice) or this one (the other, secondary choice)?" She crawls toward me, grabs the 'secondary choice' out of my hand and begins to smile enthusiastically and hold the item up to her as if to say "Doesn't this look cute?"

I am flabbergasted that we are already clashing wills in regards to clothes. I have already planned my new 'modus operendi'. I will simply show her my choice as the second choice from now on and she will think she is choosing the one I don't really want, but, ahh, she would be wrong. :) Two can play at this game.

Insane, Efficient or a Freak of Nature?

It's 2am. I can't sleep. I went to bed nursing a horrible migraine. Therefore, I took 3 Excedrin migraine pills right before bed. Does anyone know just how much caffiene they put in those things? I think I fell asleep just long enough to knock out my headache, but it was a very fitfull sleep. My eyes pop open at 1:59, like this is when I always wake up. I toss and turn and try to squeeze my eyes shut to no avail. Being the ever efficient person that I am, I begin to think of all the things I'd like to get done in the morning before the kids wake up. Then I think to myself, "technically, it is morning right now - what's wrong with getting up and doing a few things?". Most people will get up and read or channel surf on the boob tube at 2 o'clock in the morning. Not me. Do you know what insane activity I chose to do? Mop. Who in their right mind gets up at 2:30 in the morning and starts to mop? To be fair, I must blame the caffiene coursing thru my veins. It makes me do strange things. Hey, but at least I don't have a migraine anymore and now I've got clean floors to boot. One less thing I have to do in the morning.

UPDATE: It is now 4:37am and I am still awake. I tried in vain, yet again, to go back to bed, but my body would have none of that. What is normal for most at this wee time of the morning is imposible for me. I know I will be paying dearly for this at about 3pm today when my children are begging me to play and I can no longer hold my eyelids open. So, what, you might ask, could I possibly be doing now since I've already mopped. Well, I am sitting with pen and paper in hand, busily writing down my thoughts - the old fashioned way.

Teachable Moments

What type of teacher would I be if I didn't continue to be teachable. I bequethed this lesson on my young subjects this very past week. You see, we went for a little outing to a retired battleship. It was amazing, huge, big, massive, old, and full of any and all types of cannons and guns you could imagine...did I mention how big it was? Anyways, we were practically the only people touring the ship this particular day. I was extremely grateful for this due to my large mouth that had my foot inserted into it most of the day.

I kept asking the boys if they could imagine how big the bullets must be in order to fit into such a huge cannon. Little did I know until the unveiling of the video of our field trip to the grandparents that the correct terminology would be 'shell casing' - not bullet. That would be my first teachable moment. I ever so humbly explained that I was just trying to use terminology my children might understand. I don't think anyone bought it.

I then saw it fitting to announce, rather loudly, "Isn't this ship great for protection?" Here, I thought, was another great teachable moment for my children. That guns are best used to protect us not harm others. I was aghast to see and hear Chuck laughing at me as I was teaching such a profound thought. What in the world could have been so funny about this lesson I was trying to instill into my vulnerable children's heads? Apparently, Chuck feels battleships are for attacking, not protecting. I guess its a 'guy thing'.

As we were transcending the depths of this massive ship we came upon a long row of what appeared to be more large 'bullets'. I told the boys that these were even bigger than the last ones we saw, so in all my wisdom, I deduced for everyone that they must fit into even bigger cannons. The boys seemed to be spell bound by my infinite wisdom. That was until, Chuck, who was our videographer for the day's event, ever so subtly (while the film was rolling, mind you) tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a very small sign right above these alleged 'big bullets'. The sign, to my shigrin, informed us that what we were looking at was in fact oxygen and acetylene tanks, not 'bullets' (I couldn't even pronounce the second one properly, I had to resort to my phonetic training).

Well, well, how do I wiggle out of this one? I'm beginning to question why in the world I chose to homeschool. My children are going to grow up thinking that all oxygen tanks are really 'large bullets' you put in cannons on really old battleships. Great, I'm ruining them for life and they're only 6 and 3 - thankfully, Chloe wasn't paying attention so I don't think I ruined her concept of bullets vs. shells vs. oxygen tanks.

But that's not all, it gets worse. Now, I decide to explain to my eager audience how these "chemicals" work. Where in the world I got the word "chemicals" from is beyond me. I explained that they attach these tanks to this really big welder thingy and it fixes the metal on the boat if the boat gets hit from an enemy attack. This spawned a new thought in Gavin's ever deductive reasoning mind. He then asked me, "What if the ship got hit underwater?" Well, I'm already in too deep and don't see any harm in just going all the way, so I draw on all my experience in fixing broken boats from all the wartime material I've read over the course of my life and inform him that they just put on diving gear and do it under water. That answer seemed to suffice for the time being.

I know all this WILL come back to haunt me in the future being that we have it on tape for all posterity to witness. Next time, I'll let Chuck be our 'tour guide' and I'll volunteer to hold the camera and keep my mouth shut. Ahhh, teachable moments, you've gotta love 'em.