Holla-ween!

Holla-ween!
Here's my little elephant and peanut troop! (Or should it be "troupe"? Hmmm...) Of course I had to go with a theme. Oh yes, they will hate me for this later.

"Orphaned" (poetry)

"Orphaned"

I'm busy with the business of becoming me,
But your eyes have a tangible pain that slices through.
I surface and stumble with my mediocrity
While your cries echo through hearts entombed.
You just want a reason to simply rejoice,
They have achievements, crowns, and no gratitude.
I desperately can't be numb to your voice,
But it's hard to fight the "Me" attitude.
I see you in pictures eyes swollen with fear,
So I turn the TV, the page, or the thought.
Hungry, aborted, beaten, enslaved to tears,
There's a myriad of evils this world has wrought.
They're too busy to care about those with your face.
They probably have never even heard of your country.
Living our own life is our saving grace.
There's no time to make yours a priority.
I pray to stay sharp to not blend in with "them",
Theirs is a club I can't compromise to join.
While they plunder away at each worldly gem,
They exchange their soul for man's coin.
I'll leave you with this promise: I won't be blind.
I won't go deaf to your pain.
I'll do everything I can to leave my "Me-ness" behind,
Not just my prayers, but my efforts, will not wane.

"The Gucci Purse"

"Notes To My Future Self: The Gucci Purse"

There she was...intoxicating in her fresh leather scent--wondrous in her sparkling pewter buckle--playful in her organic fiber weave. Oh, but YES, she had handles. Oh, her HANDLES! They were a feast for the eyes in their perfectly polished coffee bean brown leather. Zippers? She had two. One mere zipper could not hold all her beauty. They were sure to match in their other-worldly pewter sparkle. Could she stand? Oh, COULD SHE stand! She stood on her own, boldly proclaiming her name, and defying gravity to do its best. This was no ordinary purse! This was a GUCCI hand bag! Only a few times in a woman's life, will her fingers dance across the fibers of perfection of a true fashion masterpiece, and those same fingers actually carry it home. Yes, this perfect Gucci purse was mine. Oh, I made sure to carry her with her irresistible buckle label on the outside, for all to silently pause in her Gucci glory. Her power was tangible. I swear I saw women bow their heads to her in admiration and respect, when she silently sparkled by, as if carried on angel's wings. No, indeed this was no ordinary purse. I had reserved a special closet to house Her Majesty, when not in use. (Only because my husband was under the delusion that she didn't need her own vault.) Sure, she saw the light of day. I made sure to strike the delicate balance of flaunt and want. I couldn't over tire her, but of course, she was created to stand in the spotlight. So, as I lay on my bed, my mind runs across the short life of my dear friend, The Gucci Purse. She was the most beautiful and magical of all. When did her life meet such a tragic end? Was it when my three year old grabbed her, forcefully stuffing crackers and small toys into her? The unruly saltines certainly chuckled as they disrespected her perfectly lint-free seams. Was it when one of my one year olds got her, and put her on over their shoe, stomping around like she was some mundane boot? Did she silently shed a tear inside her pristine inner linings? Perhaps it was the day my daughter's sunscreen exploded in the car, and the cruel hand of fate steered the venomous leaking serum onto her luminous outer pocket. It's possible it was when trying in vain to remove the horrific white sunscreen from her perfect pocket, I succeeded in smearing the white ooze all over lovely handles. Oh, that was certainly a crime scene! Sure, I may have looked a bit neurotic putting up the police tape for others to not dare go near her until she had been restored. One could only glance at the horrors of smeared white banana boat dripping slowly with the stench of "coconut breeze" DECAY from her tattered frame. She lay there in shock and shame as the cruel sunscreen desecrated her once glorious frame. Although, it could have been when she was humiliated to become a "grocery bag" for the children to play "store" with. She had so many plastic items entangled inside, that she tore her remaining lining. My daughter actually handed her to me to pretend to be the "bag lady" at the store. Certainly, that stripped away the last of her frail remaining dignity. So, I sit here, and I wonder. Lily is here next to me. Lily is silently opening The Gucci Purse, and closing it. She chuckles as she finds lost treasures inside. Her skin and hair are intoxicating in their fresh-just-washed-baby scent. Her eyes are wondrous to me, as they sparkle, holding the bag just high enough to peak into. Her playful laugh holds my thoughts so often. Her hands? Oh, her HANDS! Chubby, round, being softer than the finest silk, are a feast just to touch, they enthusiastically grip each handle. Every little finger excitedly digs into each crevice for whatever joy they can excavate. Tiny feet? She has two. One mere foot could not hold all her curiosity. Her little piggies ("pippies") wiggle and kick with each giggle she happily emits. Can she stand? Oh, CAN SHE! She jumps to her round little feet, and squeals over her "new" purse!! She is so elated to show it to me. She is finding an infinite amount of pleasure from this one tattered item. This is no ordinary child. This can't be, because she is simply MY child. So, that makes this no ordinary child's toy. This is my child's beloved toy. This is my Lily Belle's "new" purse. It has never looked more beautiful to anyone, than it looks right now. It has never been more wanted. It has never brought so much joy, than it is currently bringing. Watching it through her tiny, perfect hazel eyes, this silly purse has never been more lovely, than it is now--simply because it's in Lily Belle's tiny, perfect hands.

"Bath Time Vocation"

(written in June)

"Notes To My Future Self: Bath Time Vocation"

The other day, I was giving Macrae a bath and we were just having a conversation. At some point, I said to her, "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"She didn't even think about it for a SECOND. She immediately jumped up out of the bathtub, startling me, (and probably the linoleum floor which I don't think was expecting to suddenly get covered in bubbly water), clasped her hands together, and with the biggest grin on her face, said,"I want to be a FIREMAN!"I was a little taken aback, because she'd never talked about this before, and well, she did say fireMAN. So, I grinned at her and said in "happy voice" which I use to mask my launch of 21 questions when I know I'm about to unleash it,"You mean a fireFIGHTER."She thought about that for a minute, and I could almost see in her face, the wheels turning as she had a big decision to make: "does 'firefighter' sound as cool as 'fireman'?" It was tough, and the consequences of that decision would be very widespread. She was deciding about her future career, here. So, apparently, she decided "firefighter" was just as good as a "fireman". She told me very matter-of-factly,"Okay, I want to be a fireFIGHTER."Not sure what it was that peaked her curiosity about being a firefighter, I sat her back down, gave up trying to keep my knees off of the bubbly, plastic toy covered, sloshy floor, and started back trying to convince her that the "No More Tears" shampoo people WEREN'T lying. (We all know they were, but some lying to your child is necessary for family harmony, and temporary sanity.) So, after a minute, I very casually asked a question. (Cause, if I probe too much about something, she tends to get annoyed at me and gives me this,"quit playing Grand Inquisitor" look, so I had to make sure I didn't seem overly interested.) I half asked,"Well, that's a good job! Why do you want to be a firefighter?"Again, she jumped right up out of the water, yes, splashing everywhere. This time I decided there was no need to bother washing myself, or the clothes I was wearing,because clearly, everything was overly saturated and smelled like the clean scent of "No More Tears" anyway. She eagerly answered my question, and illustrated her point,"Cause they get to unroll the ladder, up, and up, and up, and up, and up!"Well, that was interesting. She likes the ladder motion. Okay. At this point I was trying to figure out why I hadn't just bought her a ladder or two for Christmas and forgone any toys. It would probably have been cheaper. She was very pleased with her ladder miming motion, and sat back down in the water. I was still a little curious, and asked,"...Yes, they do get to do that...but then, what do firefighters DO?"
She immediately gave me this, "I'm sorry, are you now retarded? When did I miss this?" look, and answered,"They get kitties out of trees."
I was actually stunned into silence for a moment. To shatter a child's illusion of a perfect world, or not? Tell her, "Kitties in trees?! Hardly! That's only in television worlds where everything is made by the 'Acme Company'." Or say, "YEP! I myself, always thought it WAS stupid to put big water hoses on the truck, when everybody KNOWS kitties are afraid of water." So, I decided to let fairies, secret clubhouses, talking stuffed animals, and magical doors live for another day, and I asked,"Oh, that's great!--But, what else do firefighters do? Do they JUST get kitties out of trees?"
This time she had to think for a moment. I had thrown her for a loop, and she wanted to make sure she was having her A game. She proudly looked up and said,
"WELL...sometimes dogs."
When I told my husband this, he simply said, "Ummm...I'd like to see those dogs."
So, again, I had a quandary. I sat there for a moment. I thought about telling her how they use those big, neat water hoses, to splash water on fires, to make the fire go out. Much like the soapy bubbles splashed onto our bathroom floor--but actually, that had just turned the floor temporarily into a pool, so bad analogy. As I wondered what to say, I watched her talking to all her little plastic animals. They were having so much fun playing with each other, and escaping into their secret world. There, the lion does not eat the bunny, and the turtle is the duck's mommy. It was so sweet, so innocent, so perfect. I had my mouth open to say the "perfect mommy" answer to her career of choice, about how I thought it would be wonderful, and all the kitties would love her, when she said,
"Or maybe a hairstylist. They put a braid in your hair."

"Notes To My Future Self:"

(written in March)

"Notes To My Future Self:"

ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR THE YEAR: Macrae is FINALLY going on the potty. I had asked her a few weeks ago,
"Why do you go in your pull-ups? Why won't you go on the potty?" She answered...
"Because you change me."
Oh. WOW. Outsmarted by a toddler. I felt incredibly stupid. She is doing well now. It would be a WHOLE lot more exciting if I could tell you that she NEVER has accidents.....BUT, she does. *sigh* At least she's FINALLY starting telling us SOMETIMES when she needs to go. At first we had to set a timer every 30 MINUTES! AHHHHHHHHHH! IT WAS AWFUL! Between the three of them, I was attending to someones behind every few seconds. But, now we can set it every hour and a half. I'm trying to explain to her about telling me when she "feels" it. She usually will just pick these random times to tell me, no doubt when I'm up to my elbows in something else, and she'll walk up,
"MOMMA! I NEED TO GO TO THE POTTY!"
And I'll squeal, drop what I'm doing, (or who I'm doing it to), pick her up, and RUN to the bathroom. When I put her on it...............nothing. So, I'll ask her,
"I thought you have to go potty?" And she'll say,
"I do, but it's not ready to come out now."
TRANSLATION: "I DON'T, BUT YOU TOLD ME TO TELL YOU, so I'M TELLING YOU. I don't quite grasp the WHEN part of telling you. It's your stupid suggestion, it CLEARLY makes NO sense."
So, now I say, "Is it about to come out?"
That works SOMETIMES. But it doesn't always.
DEFLATING THE ACCOMPLISHMENT: I'm just not sure how much headway we're making, since she looked at me and said,
"So, when can I go back to wearing pull-ups again?" I am SOOO not looking forward to potty training the twins. Ahhh, the twins. They are another story entirely. Actually, right now, Reid and Lily Belle are sitting in their high chairs eating cheerios. Really, I should say that they're sitting in their high chairs eating a third of the cheerios, and flinging the other two thirds onto the kitchen floor. Oh, and of course, they are also stealing each others cheerios. Each thinks I secretly gave the other one the BETTER tasting cheerios. Some days, when one has worn me out more than another one, I think if I HAD better tasting cheerios, I probably would. Now that there's a buffet on the floor, I SHOULD be cleaning...the house is a TOTAL DISASTER.
RE-ITERATE POINT: There is only ONE clean room in this house...SERIOUSLY. That room, is the playroom. Does that make sense to you? Doesn't logic say THAT should be the MESSY room? The room where one PLAYS? NO. Of course not. All mothers know, the playroom is simply a warehouse to keep the toys in, so the kids can go in, select a toy, or two, or a thousand, and DRAG THEM into the REST of the house. You also have to make sure to leave a trail of little toys to whatever room you're going to. How else will you find your way back? After all, we did use to have a pet...I'm sure we'll locate it eventually. EVERY OTHER ROOM IS DISGUSTING. *sigh* It's just so annoying, because cleaning when you still have three preschoolers, is like trying to keep your yard neat during a tornado--it just ain't gonna happen. That is, however, another tirade.
HOW DID NOAH PULL IT OFF?: Was there originally a whole village full of people on the ark? With all the sets of two-somes, and in such close quarters, did the other people lose their minds and fling themselves off the ark? So, anyway, back to the twins. They're currently into one-upping. Lily Belle LOVES to pull everything off the bookshelves. It doesn't matter that I bought baskets, filled them with their toys, and placed them on the bottom shelves.
STUPID HGTV PEOPLE DIDN'T HAVE THREE KIDS IN TWO YEARS: Their organization ideas suck. Dumping out baskets is only slightly fun. Reid and Lily figured out ways to weasel all of Macrae's books off the SECOND shelves--taking a page out here and there. Now that they can pull up, they're working on the third to the bottom shelves.
SOLUTION: give them their OWN board books to demolish
FLAW IN PLAN/IGNORANT ASSUMPTION: thinking it was the books that they wanted
REAL DESIRE: to simply pull and fling things
REAL SOLUTION: get annoyed, and then still pick up books 234953537573 times a day.
If one doesn't think of it, the other one does. Now Reid has figured out that under the area rug, is a sticky foam thing that keeps the rug anchored to the floor. If you pull on the foam thing with all your little baby-super-human-strength, you can tear little pieces off and make them into SNACKS. They have their own little fiesta with the rug. Lily already discovered that under chairs or couches, you can rake your hand underneath, and find lots of dust, lint, and crumb snacks. She made sure to clue in Reid on this discovery. No, I know what you're thinking, and vaccuming does NOT solve that problem. My mother told me the same thing. All it does, is take them a little bit longer in finding the hoursdevores. They simply resort to pulling pieces off of the carpet. Supposedly our hardwood floors are going to be installed in two weeks. That cannot come soon enough. By then, they will probably have eaten the baseboards.
OUTCOME: Using living room fuzzies, now they fix their own lunches, and I'm trying to decide if this is really THAT bad...or just helpful. Reid found out recently that if you push hard enough, and at the right angle, again with your inhuman-baby-strength, you can knock down the baby gate.
NEW GAME: THEN if one crawls one way, and the other crawls the other way, and VERY quietly, they can not only escape, but play a fun trick on Mom. Now Lily Belle runs point, and looks out for me, while he pushes his head into the "weak" spot on the baby gate. Chris says this is payback for putting Reid in pink, fluffy, ribbon and lace pajamas that had little hot pink unicorns on it. HEY, HE'S JUST SLEEPING IN IT. If HE wants to always wear "MANLY PAJAMAS" to bed, then HE needs to not destroy the ones with "Testosterone Rules" written across the chest. (Okay, that was an exaggeration, but Carters could save a lot of effort and just print that on boy's pjs. People try to buy the most "boyish" clothes possible.)
PAINFUL DISCOVERY: Unfortunately for Reid, Lily has discovered that Reid will drop whatever toy he has, and give it to her immediately, if she pulls on his eye lid. This also works with clawing his eyes, nose, ears, mouth, any exposed skin. We can't feel too sorry for Reid, because this was a discovery Lily Belle was forced to make. With his He-man powers, he's so much stronger than her, he figured out he could just lay or sit on her, and she's bound to drop her toy. It has taken her a few weeks to launch her counter attack, but it has proved pretty effective. We try to let her get one good smack in before we go rescue Reid. It's called payback for all the sitting on her that he does.
CONCLUSION: I'm tired, the house is a mess, the kids are fussing, everyone probably has an issue with their bottoms right now, and I forgot to eat again.
FINAL THOUGHTS: I read somewhere, and I completely agree, that,
"In having children, I have LOST MY MIND, but FOUND MY SOUL."

My Beach Babes

Could They BE Any Cuter?
There is a chance I may be slightly bias. Oh, and YES. To answer your question, Lily Belle DOES hate sand.