(More than) Fourinarow.net

Luke turned 7 yesterday.  Which means my oldest three are 7, 8 and 9 now.  Holy shit, you’re thinking.  Yeah, so am I.

Since Lego is his life right now, it’s all Luke asked for.  Oh, and Nerf.  Because, you know, we NEED more Lego and guns around here.  Since we are absolutely SWIMMING in both, I tried to temper things.  Dan and I stayed away from Lego and bought him a hockey jersey.  It was a hit (or should I say ‘check’?)

He did get his fix from Grandma with a new gazillion-piece Alien Conquest Copter set (which kept him and Jack busy for hours last night).  And, his West Coast aunts sent him a Star Wars Lego alarm clock – also a huge hit (at least until it starts waking him on school days.)

And then there was the cake:

This definitely makes up for the Firetruck, don’tcha think?

Last weekend I ran away from home.  Literally.

I left Dan with the kiddos and flew to Dallas to join my very best girl friends.  Where we all participated in a half-marathon.

Several ran her first half.  One her last half.  One her second half.  And, two spectated (which, in the weather we had, was harder than running!)

We also managed to fit in some Tex-Mex, good beer, pasta, margaritas, more Tex-Mex and some wine.

Despite the very crappy, cold, wet weather, I could not have had a better time!

Thanks, girls!

Maria:  What’s for dinner?

Me:  Hamburgers.  Will you check the pantry for some buns?

Maria (looking in the pantry):  We don’t have any.

Me:  Shoot.  Call Dad, then, and ask him to pick some up.  He went to get the car (from the repair place).

Maria (taking my phone and walking into my bedroom for privacy):  Okay!

~Minutes Later~

Maria:  Dad left his phone here.  (She heard it ring when she tried to call.)  But, I left a message…  Oh!  Hahahaha.  I guess that was dumb…

Me:  …

Maria:  By the way, he got a call.

Me: …

Maria:  Oh!  (Doubling over in laughter) I guess that was me!  Hahahahahahahahaha.

Sheesh.  And?  Turns out we did have buns in the pantry.

Kids.

I saw this adorable onesie on Pinterest and thought, “I could do that!”

How cute would Andrew look?!?

But then, I forgot all about it.  Until I came across it again, only it was a version in which someone had made a t-shirt rather than a onsie and used felt instead of paint.

Well, this morning was ugly and dreary and I felt like doing a project.  So, Andrew and I headed over to Hobby Lobby for a few supplies.  I found everything I needed except for a brown shirt.  I needed a brown shirt.  Turkeys are brown.  Not black or white or orange or blue.  Or, heaven forbid, pink.

We tried JoAnn’s.  No dice.  Michael’s.  No again.  I called several screen printers in the area, thinking they might sell blanks.  Nope.  Finally, doubtful but desperate, we headed over to Wal-Mart at my sister’s advice.  And I was able to find a brown turtleneck.  While I’m not a big fan of the turtleneck, a) it is cold here; and b) I won’t be the one wearing it.

Now, I know pride is one of the seven deadly sins… but, ISN’T IT CUTE?!?!?!?

Isn’t even cuter with him in it?

On Saturday, Sam, Andrew, Luke and I hung around the YMCA ice rink while Jack and Maria had skate school.  Bored with watching the lesson, the boys chose to entertain themselves:

I’ve heard that the brain cannot remember pain.  Although I’ve never researched it, it’s believable.  I mean, women go through pregnancy and child-birthing multiple times (some of us more than others).  And there are people who have run more than one marathon.  Painful, right?  And, yet, people repeat those experiences.

I believe, however, that my brain is special.  It DOES remember pain.

How, for instance, could my brain possibly forget this experience? (With this as the follow up.)  Or this one?  How about this one?  Maybe this one? Here’s another (am I a glutton for punishment or what?)  Oh!  Here’s another.

I didn’t forget.  Not one painful second.  So, I must just be incredibly stupid to have made an appointment with the local photographer to have family pictures done.

During last year’s online school auction, I bid on and won a session and portrait with a local photography studio.  (I must have been drinking heavily at the computer that night and found myself in a bidding war or something.)  I later collected my prize (in the form of a gift certificate) and set it aside.  Every once in a while, I’d come across it, think about the nightmare it would be, and set it aside again.  The last time I came across it, however, I noticed the expiration date.  December 31, 2011.  Less than two months away, and it’s holiday-picture-taking season.  It could be hard to get an appointment.  Shit.

So, I called, but they weren’t open.  Whew!  I set it aside for another week.  But, I’d be damned if I was going to waste the money I spent last February.  So, I called again.  And set an appointment.  I set it for Saturday morning at 10 a.m.  The best possible time.  No one had to get up early.  There was plenty of time to get ready.  No one should be hungry.  Things should go swimmingly.

On Friday afternoon, with less than 24 hours until our appointment, I realized that Luke had his first hockey practice on Saturday morning.  At 10 a.m.  Damn.

I called the studio and asked to reschedule.  But, I said, I really needed a Saturday.  Sure!  The lady said.  Come in at 4.  Stupidly, I agreed.

And so it started.

At 2:50 p.m., Dan took the oldest boys to distribute fliers for Good Turn Sunday.  I gave Dan strict instructions to sign in with the scout leader, grab some fliers, get them out and get back home.  Once home, they would all need to change their shirts, comb their hair and we’d all have to get to the studio.

At 3:17 p.m., while they were still gone, Andrew woke from his nap.  With flushed cheeks and a 103° temperature.

At 3:32 p.m., Maria kicked Sam in the mouth and gave him a bloody lip.

At 3:45 p.m., I’m panicking because the boys are not home.  I poured myself a glass of wine.

At 3:52 p.m., Dan and the boys are STILL NOT HOME.  I take another swig of my wine.

Minutes later, Dan pulls up.  I grab the bloodied Sam, the feverish Andrew, the kick boxer, the boys’ shirts and my f-ing gift certificate and head out the door.

Unbelievably, Dan is in a jovial mood.  (Clearly, men cannot remember pain.)

We pulled up to the place 7 minutes late.  Bad, but not too bad.

After introductions, the photographer ushered us through her storefront, passed her office and into her studio.

It was – predictably – a complete disaster.  The photographer was very nice, and had some great, silly tricks for getting Andrew to look toward the camera and smile.  The other kids, however, all thought the silliness was for them, too.  Instead of staying put, looking forward and smiling at the camera while the photographer worked with Andrew, Jack, Maria, Luke and Sam all laughed (with very wide-open mouths) at her antics, cracked up at Andrew, and grabbed for him when he attempted multiple escapes.  We tried sitting, kneeling and standing.  We tried sitting on stools and on the floor.  We put Andrew on a stump, on his brothers’ backs and in a toy car.

It got to the point where we were threatening the older kids.  I told Jack he would have to pay me a dollar for every bad take (and there were LOTS of them) if he didn’t shape up.  I told Maria she could never wear a dress again, as she kept flashing the camera.  Andrew would NOT stay put no matter what.  Luke was good, but wouldn’t smile (it’s not cool).  And, Sam began to stomp his feet and wield his fists because it was all taking SO LONG!!!

At 4:53 we gave up.  The photographer said she had one “good” family picture and one “good” picture of the children.  (Good being defined as all looking in the general direction of the camera.)

Dan scooped up the baby (but not before he could knock something down) and herded everyone to the van.  I stayed behind to schedule an appointment to go over the proofs.

As soon as we got home, we sent all the kids to their rooms for hard labor (they couldn’t come out until their rooms were sparkling) and cracked open a couple of beers.

We couldn’t get them down fast enough.

While the baby cried, the dog begged, the children yelled and the TV blared, I prepared a new meal tonight.  Inspired by something I saw on Pinterest (my latest time-sucking obsession), I made this:

Pretty cool!

Yum?  Maybe.

It was fun to try, but I doubt I’ll go through the trouble again.  Maria pulled hers apart and only ate the spaghetti.  Sam ate two small “pieces” and Luke about the same.  Andrew played with his and then shared with the dog.  Jack devoured his (nice to see that skinny boy eat) but, again, it was probably not worth the effort.

I think Sarah had MUCH more success.l

Despite the riskiness of putting swords into the hands of my children, our family chose a pirate theme for Halloween this year:  five pirates and a parrot.  (It’s too hard to take pictures with an eye patch, so I forwent.)

Scenes from the event:

P.S. Be sure to check my Flickr page (click the little Flickr pics on the left of this page) for more Halloween takes and pumpkin carving!

Today marked the last day of Fall soccer.

It also marked Dan’s Monster Dash Half Marathon in Chicago.  Which meant he wasn’t here to help me with soccer.  Five kids, four games.

Things started fabulously:  Since Luke and Sam both had games scheduled for the same time, but different parks, some friends picked Luke up for his game.  He and his teammate were going to watch a game and then play their game.  The rest of us hung around and then headed over to Sam’s game.

Although it was not our scheduled snack day, we brought (at Sam’s request) celebratory cake pops to mark the end of the season.  Sam and I made them earlier in the week and then wrapped them up yesterday, eating a few along the way.  Mmmmmmm!  Sam could not wait to give out those cake pops!!!

Sam’s coach was out of town, so another parent (not me!) stepped up to coach our boys, none of whom acted as if they had ever played soccer.  The other team was almost as disorganized, but they, at least, managed to kick the ball a few times and score several goals.  Sam sat out during the third quarter, during which we discussed the cake pops.  We had made enough for each boy to get two, but there was a no-show.  Maria asked Sam if she and Jack could have that boy’s cake pops.  “Sure!” was Sam’s happy reply.

“But, then, poor Lukie doesn’t get one.  Why don’t you give him one of yours?” I suggested to Sam, who promptly replied in the (very loud) negative.

“But we got to eat a bunch of them when we were packaging them yesterday,” I reminded him.

“I want TWO cake pops!” He said, and started to cry angrily.  I didn’t respond, and about that time, his coach called him in to play.

Sam stomped onto the field, fists clenched.  His coach asked what was wrong and he told her, “Everyone is supposed to get two cake pops, but my mom wants me to give one of mine to Luke!”

Not having a clue as to what he was talking about, she said, “Well, right now let’s just play soccer.”  Mad Sam refused to engage.  If the ball came his way, he ignored it.  He turned to me and screamed from mid-field, “I WANT TWO CAKE POPS!!!”

I hung my head in embarrassment.  “They must be really good,” one mom said to me.

Finally, the “game” was over and we were able to hand out our cake pops and get the heck outta there.  Carrying the baby and the chairs and a backpack, I headed to the van with Maria and Jack running alongside me.  Sam was still screaming nastiness.

Two more games to go.  Ugh!

We piled into the car and Sam started in on his after-game chips and Gatorade supplied by the snack mom.  He continued to complain on and off during the ride, while Jack started to panic about getting to his game on time.

I clenched my teeth and kept driving.  And, as I turned the corner, I heard it.  First the clunk and then the scream.  Sam’s open Gatorade fell out of the cup holder and onto his lap.  (Of course, it was all MY fault for making a turn.)

How was I going to survive the rest of the morning?!?

Thankfully, a playground and a puppy on the sidelines got us through Jack’s game, and then we were off to Maria’s – the last one.

Jack and Luke played in the dirt.  Sam sat on the lap of Maria’s teammate’s mom, and Andrew found a fascinating little girl to play with.  I actually got to watch most of the game… and see Maria score TWO goals!!!  Wow!  I couldn’t believe how well she played.  She has really, really improved this year.

Just as the girls were shaking hands with the other team, Dan showed up.  He ran his half marathon in 1:45:50 – a new personal record.

I wonder?  Who had the more challenging morning?

Last weekend, I had the chance to attend a 3-day retreat.  The stars must have been aligned just right, because I managed to leave behind my family on Thursday evening, not returning until Sunday evening, and everyone survived.  Even the dog.

Not only did they all survive, but there was no mud, no blood and no trips to the ER (that I was told about, anyway).  It sounds like the worst things that happened were:  1)Maria taking a soccer ball to the face; and 2) Jack spilling chicken juice all over the back of the van.  (Don’t ask.)

When I returned on Sunday evening, the kids were all thrilled to see me (and I, them) and Dan did a fabulous job of pretending not to be the least bit crabby.  (He was, however, a little eager to get out the door on Monday morning…)

I guess you can only ask for so much, though.

Last night, the sister of a friend was giving a presentation on NFP.  It was her first time giving it and I had told her earlier in the week that I would try to be there to support her.  I received Dan’s blessing and so sent her a message confirming that I’d be there.

I picked up the kids from school, got a doctor’s appointment out of the way, helped with homework and fixed dinner for everyone.  When the kids were finished eating, we cleaned up, I put one in the shower, put one to bed and sent the others off to entertain themselves.

I kissed everyone good-bye and headed off to the presentation, thinking that Dan should have pretty easy time of it.

When the presentation was over, I called Dan to let him know I was heading home.  He told me that it turned out to be a fairly hectic evening, but that everyone was finally in bed.  Whew!

A few minutes later, Dan called me back.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he told me.

“The dog got skunked AGAIN?!?” I guessed.

“No.  It’s not that.  I was cleaning up my dinner (he had eaten later) when I heard someone moving around upstairs and went to investigate…”

“And the dog ate the chili!!!” I guessed again.

“No, no,” he said.  “I went upstairs and I heard someone in the bathroom, so I called out ‘Who goes there?’  But, I didn’t get any response.  So, I peeked through the crack in the door and I saw Fred* peeing… IN THE TRASH CAN!”

“WHAT?!?” I said.

“Yep,” he said.  “He was still asleep.  So, I redirected him, but it was still a mess,” Dan told me.

The crazy thing is, is that the trash can in that bathroom (which is right next to the toilet) is one that you have to step on to raise the lid!!!

Dan thought it was amusing when he was talking to me, but by the time I got home, he was pretty crabby about the mess.  Not that I blame him.

He did, however, feel validated in his theory about the Smoke Detector.

*The name of the child has been changed to protect his identity (and my life one day when the kids start reading this stuff!)