Eating us out of (gingerbread) house and home

One (pretzel) stick of wood at a time.

If it wasn't for the tarnish we might not notice the shine

Dear Ittybit and the Champ,

It has been so tense here these last few weeks.

Perhaps it's because so many corners of our lives seem to be crumbling into a fine dust.

So much tension and strife. So much worry. So much anticipation.

And then came the virus.

The one that emptied out Ittybit the night before Thanksgiving. The one that gripped me a few days later and got your father a little while after that. I was sure it had missed the Champ until the phone rang at my desk the second I sat down in the chair Monday morning.

I turned right around at went home before I even had a chance to fire up the old Dell.

Since then the crud has been playing a game of peek-a-boo.

While you recovered almost immediately, Ittybit, the Champ has been locked in battle -- occasionally vomiting between being otherwise happy, active and hungry. Monday, sick. Tuesday fine. Wednesday fine ... then sick. Thursday fine then sick ... and back to fine.

When you are parents you will understand what such uncertaintly does to a person who is suppose to have at least some of the answers.

I don't handle rollercoasters well. I don't handle illness well.

That's an admission I'm making to myself, because ordinarily I THINK I handle everything well.

But it's gotten to the point now where Ittybit is asking me if I'm "frustrated at the children or just frustrated in general."

I don't handle it well.

I am tired. I am tense. I am tied up in knots.

And one night, when Ittybit is peacefully sleeping, your father is sick and in bed, little Champ (after seemingly getting over it) starts to vomit. ... and then won't settle. There is no sleep. There is no consolation. There is only Nickjr at night and an incontinent dog for company. My own stomach turns with the smell of my surroundings.

I am not at my best. I just want you to stop whining and sleep, I want you to stop asking for water I can't give you. I want to sleep.

I am not comforting. I am on the edge of the cliff I cut out myself from solid rock.

But I am there, turning the channel, cleaning up vomit, wrestling you into fresh clothes when needed. And cleaning up dog pee and troubleshooting her needs: Water? Out? Leftovers? Please stop barking, It's 4 a.m.

It wasn't one of my shining moments.

In the morning I try to get ready for work -- a day I can't really miss because there is a special deadline and not enough people to meet it.

I break down instead as I hear the sick, mad boy bleating plaintively from the sick couch for his mommy.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

I haven't slept. I feel sick again. I can't do this.

Your father tells me "Just Go" and "It's like ripping off a Band-Aid. ... He only wants you when you're here."

The words sting.

You sit on my lap and calm down, but peace doesn't last for long.

"Waffles," you tell me.

"Dad will have to make waffles."

"No, you make waffles ... you help me."

"I can't help you. We have no waffle mix. I haven't slept. I'm going to be sick ...."

"YOU HELP ME!"

I can't help. Daddy can help"

"I want my Daddy."

I was crushed. And yet, I know I would not have been hurt by it had it not been deserved.

This evening, in the car, after I picked you up from the sitter's house, you both argued most of the way home.

Champ, you told your sister you were bigger than her. Ittybit, you asked me to tell him the truth. I tried. He wouldn't hear of it.

Bicker, bicker, bicker.

Despite the arguing, I smiled and thought this is normal. This is good. This is healthy. It was the first time I can remember smiling in more than two weeks.

And then Champ, you started to sing: "I am sleep, sleep, sleeping ... I am waking up."

I laugh. ... You have as good a voice as your sister's (even if you are smaller).

I will get sleep. Things will be better, I'm telling myself.


Love, Mommy

It's that time of year again

I know I haven't been able to GIVE these things away let alone sell them, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

I have got to muster the holiday spirit somehow. I've still got faith in holiday swag.

So ... here's the deal: You comment, delurk, tell me something you've always wanted to tell me (but just didn't have the patience to deal with the all the login names and toggle buttons). Talk about whatever you like: traditions, photography, family, navel lint. I don't care what it is.

And sometime around mid-December I will take all the names, put them in a hat and pick one (so long as you leave an email address in the sign-in menu, not to be shared with the Internets, so I can contact you if you win) and that person will get a mug filled with something sweet and homemade. Probably this (if I can manage not to burn it, that is).

How 'EASY' crafts look when made by the not-so-crafty

Well, from this distance they look pretty good, actually.

I got the idea for these felt letters at Better Homes and Gardens. I thought they'd look nice on the tree.

It took the whole family (and Silas, who uneventfully found three missing tapestry needles) and one afternoon to complete seven letters.

I just printed Helvetica letters at a 600-point font size for use as a template. We used regular embroidery floss for the stitches.

Stuffing them was a little more difficult. First I tried stuffing them in increments, and then I tried finishing most of the sewing before attempting to stuff in the batting. It was kind of a draw as to which was better. I found the stick end of a paintbrush was instrumental in getting the stuffing in the right places.

We're going to attempt a few more for teacher gifts.

Potty Mouth

There's nothing worse than refering to a bench in one's dinning room as "The OUTHOUSE."

Well, maybe the fact that the children think it's fun to play in the "Outhouse" is worse.

Although, what do I know? I seem to have no trouble "doing business" under a photograph of "The Fall 2003 PROBABLE Champions" of Chatham's Over-30 Soccer Team.

Good days, bad days and holidays

We might not be sitting around a table this Thanksgiving day, sharing a meal and a laughing with our families, though that was the plan.

Early this morning, just as I was getting to sleep, Ittybit woke up, sick. Every 20 minutes since she's been up wretching some small amount of stomach acid almost into the toilet. Almost.

As soon as the time softens the fright of the phone, we'll be making some calls to tell people that maybe they should not come to the house of ill repuke after all.

We'll add the disappointment to a growing list of concerns.

We know life isn't always roses, often it is thorny.

But we'll still be thankful ...

Even if we're eating Cheerios and milk come dinner time.

We know we are blessed with Works-To-Hard Dad, and Little Sick Miss, and Mad Boy Bites Occasionally.

We wouldn't trade our incontinent, geriatric mongrel for any other pedigreed pooch.

And though I call her Stupid Cat, she's Lovable, too.

I'm thankful every time I look at my kids, when they're screaming or running around like banshees. They are people I'd never imagined I'd ever meet, and now can't imagine life without.

I'm thankful for you folks, who have spoken up. And for those who just read silently.

I'm thankful for time and space and hope.

I'm thankful for this joyful mess.

Bucking the norm since 2003

Losing her two front teeth was more in line with what she wanted this Christmas.

Mission accomplished!

Plus, as and added bonus ...

Two days later a lateral incisor wriggled its way out of her mouth and under her pillow.

For those keeping score, five baby teeth have made Ittybit $25 richer.

Throwing the book at holiday shopping

I know it’s not too early to be thinking of holiday shopping …

*Looks, behind her … to the left … pretty much all around …*

I just feel a little weird about writing "Holiday" and "Shopping" in the same sentence BEFORE Thanksgiving.

But I feel I must, since the nice folks at Simon and Schuster sent me a few books for review and my kids ripped the packages out of my Mom-Fu-GripTM, demanded I read them every night since their arrival, and made me retool my disclosure statement.*

OK?

OK!

Ittybit took one look at David Carter’s latest book and started jumping up and down. "It’s the Peek-A-Boo Bugs! It’s the Peek-A-Boo Bugs!" she screamed.

She’s loved Carter’s "Peekaboo Bugs: A Hide-and-Seek Book" since she was barely a year old. So his "Snow Bugs," with its familiar bug-eyed characters and its beautiful metallic sheen, was a welcome addition to her collection despite the fact that’s she’s starting to read on her own.

Her reaction to "Snow Bugs," however, paled in comparison to her enthusiasm for "White Noise," his simultaneously released pop-up book, modeled it seems after the mid-20th century Modern art movement hallmarked by such masters as Alexander Calder and Paul Klee. The book, which is meant to be touched, is beautiful in its clean-edge simplicity but also riveting for its playability. Readers will notice the tiny tinkle of dangly paper bits, the crinkle of folded papers and the whimsical ricochet of a paper xylophone right off, but word of warning: once your kidlets learn they can use the book to amplify their voices … look out. You might want to start bedtime a full hour earlier. White Noise, $23 Snow Bugs $12, both published by Little Simon.



Similarly fond of the "David" series by David Shannon, Silas has been glued to the illustrator’s latest picture book: "Robot Zot!" Written by Jon Scieszka, The slightly skewed figures of the tiny but destructive alien Robot Zot, who finds foes in the kitchen of a middle class household (such as the blender and the coffee pot) easily conquered. Robot Zot also makes light work of destroying the toothpaste-shilling television foe only to find his circuitry slightly rewired has he finds a damsel in need of saving -- a toddler toy. The illustrations are breathtaking and carry the story forcefully from page to page, even though the story could lose a few lines for simplicity’s sake.

Spoiler alert: Silas was a little worried Robot Zot would bring harm to the family’s curious little black lab, but relieved when the pup was lifted to safety by the gigantic Dad.

The dog, however, does not seemed to be saved for long as the wordless end page shows the forlorn looking canine surrounded by the appliance detritus as an angry Dad looms overhead.

As the boy is breathing a sigh of relief, I am laughing my fool head off: Everyone blames the dog. Published by Simon and Schuster, $18.

OTHER BOOKS WE LOVE:

"A Child’s Book of Faeries," Celtic tales from the British Isles are retold by Tanya Robyn Batt and illustrated by Gail Newey. Children of all ages will be introduced to the enchanting, if not dark mischief, of old-world faeries. The book, published by Barefoot Books, features an audio CD that is perfect for long car rides. Hardcover, 64 pages. $20.

"The Best Pet Of All," elegantly written by David LaRochelle, and with retro-styled illustrations by Hanako Wakiyama, is a seemingly straight-forward story of a little boy who wants a dog, but, when his mom says ‘NO!,’ settles for a dragon. How bad could a dragon be? Find out as the charmingly simple tale of a childhood rite of passage takes you down an unfamiliar path. Dutton Juvenile, 32 pages. $17.

What little girl doesn’t love Fancy Nancy? Not mine, that’s for sure. I picked up "Fancy Nancy: Explorer Extraordinaire," last summer, and in addition to the introduction of new vocabulary words, the book is packed with information about flora and fauna. It was even helpful in calming the heebie-jeebies Ittybit gets from garden-variety creepy crawlies. Even a trashcan full of flies didn’t turn our new reader’s stomach. Published by Harper-Collins, 32 pages. $13.

THE UN-BOOK
Yoga Pretzels: This 50-card pack has been a staple at our house for mother-daughter yoga sessions. It offers a complete yoga practice from warm up through relaxation, and it helps Ittybit run the class. She picks the poses and off we go. At $15, the set is a bargain for any yoga enthusiast in your life.

*****

*Disclosure: I had planned to donate all new books received for review from publishing houses to the Pajama Program. Since my kids have fallen in hot, germy love with them, however, I have arranged with one of my favorite independent book sellers, Politics and Prose, to send equivalent books to the organization. As luck and timing would have it, my favorite bookshop hosted David Carter earlier this month and the books will be signed by the author.

Since it’s not only the Christmas season but also the danger season, I urge you to support this wonderful organization, which provides new pajamas and books to kids in homeless shelters and who are new to foster care.

I've never seen this smile before

No doubt, this is what happens when she's NOT ignoring the photographer.