Monday, July 20, 2009


Last night, we went to California Pizza Kitchen, after opening the fridge to discover some water, lettuce, condiments… maybe some salsa? You get the picture. Maybe your fridge looks the same? Or, maybe not and you’re perfect, in which case we can’t be friends anymore.

We parked on the roof and walked down four flights of parking garage stairs. Graham pointed out that someone left their beer on the stairs. We pretended not to notice the urine smell. I was horrified that Graham was using the handrail as he bounded down each step.

“Stop touching that! Don’t hold the handrail!” I blurted.

His safety-first conscious (the part that mysteriously turns off right before he steps out into oncoming traffic) put a look of confusion on his face. “But mom, I’m supposed to hold the handrail so I don’t fall down. Do you WANT me to fall down? WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?” I imagined him interrogating me. We washed hands inside the restaurant after I took the chill pill my husband offered and decided that washing away germs was the lesser evil when compared to falling down stairs.

Nothing like urine smell to kick the appetite into gear.

Sitting in restaurants waiting for food is not a kid-friendly activity. Thus we carry around the bag of tricks. It also holds diapers and wipes. Snacks. Matchbox cars.

These are the things that used to preoccupy the Hawklets. Not anymore.

(They do preoccupy Hubby Hawks, though. He showed me the hairstyle he gave to Wooly Willy. He was so proud.)

So with a table littered with matchbox cars, we shifted focus to the kids menu and crayons. The menu offered tic-tac-toe. So I decided it could become a teaching moment.

When did I become my mother?

Graham was interested at first. “Okay, I’m going to be ‘X’ and I’ll put an ‘X’ right here!” I demonstrated. “Where do you want to put your ‘O’?” I asked excitedly.

He saw right through. “I just want to put a ‘K’ there.”

While I’ve never actually read the rules to tic-tac-toe, something just didn’t feel right about that.

Today when putting books back on his shelf he noticed his “Baby’s First Bible” and decided it looked interesting. He wanted to take it in the car. But remembered as we were pulling out of the driveway.

“Wait! I forgot my God book! I forgot MY GOD BOOK!” he wailed.

“You can love Jesus even if you don’t read the Bible,” Hubby reassured him.

I guess we’ve been on a kick around here lately, because Reid now adds an “Amen” to the end of the ABCs. Sometimes he claps for himself and cheers, “Yay!” and other times, just a succinct “Amen.” It really adds some umph to an unexpected moment so now I’m thinking about adding “Amen” to the end of conference calls or emails.

Or blog posts.


Sunday, July 12, 2009

What Happens When Dad's Away

Apparently, this week the Hawklets learned a new word: “Toyota.” So now there’s an ongoing discussion between them as to what is and is not a Toyota.

“Is that a Toyota?”

“Hey, there’s our car. It’s not a Toyota.”

“No, Reid, our car’s not a Toyota, it’s gray!!”

Hubby has been away this weekend. I am a golf tournament widow. My intellect took a little weekend off as well. So the Hawklets and I have been enjoying eating whatever we want for dinner. Tonight, that meant McDonald’s drive thru for them. For me, it meant some mozzarella and then a bowl of Raisin Bran when the mozzarella wasn’t enough to tide me over. Graham was willing to give up his Happy Meal to help me with the Raisin Bran. As much as I appreciate help, I just couldn’t bear to allow him to give up his nutritious McDonald’s dinner to eat some cereal.

Last night, it was peanut butter. They only wanted one piece of bread though, so I can’t say they ate peanut butter sandwiches per se. Sort of open-faced peanut butter. I think I had some cherries.

I hope Hubby comes back soon so we can start eating normally again.

We had to make a Target run because mommy needed some nail polish and the Hawklets needed some milk. (Wow, I just re-read that sentence and pictured us all barefoot. I promise we were all wearing shoes.)

Reid decided he wanted to walk. Graham obliged my direction to ride in the cart. A couple of elderly women made conversation with them. They pointed out that Reid was such a big boy to walk by the cart.

Graham couldn’t let that one go.

“I’m a big boy, too! I go pee on the potty!” he assured them.

I spent most of yesterday convincing them that cleaning and playing are essentially one in the same. “Who wants to get the vacuum out of the closet?!” I asked excitedly. “I do! I do!” Graham called, running towards the door.

I had to force them to take turns with the Swiffer Wet Jet. It was just too much fun. I probably expended as much energy managing the turn taking as I would have just swiffering by myself.

I actually hate that thing, but Hubby insisted on it. So I’ve tried to convince myself that the film it leaves on our floors is a film of cleanliness. Perhaps a G-force barrier, keeping germs from penetrating. Still, the whole time I’m pushing it around, I can’t help but think I’m cleaning the floors with a giant maxi pad on a stick.

This morning they explored all the treasures we keep hidden in the basement while I did laundry. They found several old garage sale leftovers. First up, a pair of 5-lb. dumbbells. “Look, mom, we’re gyming!” Graham demonstrated.

Next, an old barbeque brush. Graham needed to brush my hair with it. “Well, mom, it’s not working. Your hair’s not getting pretty,” he sighed. “You should cry now.”

But it was actually the two of them crying after they had each hit each other over the head with the “barbeque broom” as Graham called it and I had to re-banish it to the basement.

Is Hubby home yet?

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Yes, Virginia, there is a Thomas

"He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy...

...Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Bathroom Humor

Breaking the silence following a rather noisy bout of 3 year-old flatulence on the potty: "Sounds just like a motorcycle!" (um, his quote, not mine)

I suppose this might be one of those moments only a mother finds amusing...

...a mother, Howard Stern, and a pre-pubescent Boy Scout troop.

The Look

This just in: Mom of six gets highlights!! (That b*tch! She must not care anything for her children if she chooses to coif herself! )

Remember mom jeans? Not cute. Why are they called mom jeans? Because women without children don’t wear them? Well… do they? Or is it because moms are naturally supposed to have upside-down-heart-shaped tushes and thus need the appropriate pants to compensate for the new morphed shape? A side effect of pregnancy and pushing, maybe? A mom stamp?

Naturally, moms are supposed to be frumpy and flabby. They are supposed to be dowdy with a pooch. They are supposed to be … oh sorry, I temporarily slipped into an alternate universe!

Is it news now that moms get manicures? Get their teeth whitened? Should Kate Gosselin be ridiculed for wanting a tummy tuck after housing six human beings inside there? I think not. There are far better reasons to ridicule Kate Gosselin that don’t include the fact that she got a tan, highlights and a manicure and thus no longer “looks like a mom.” The fact that she has changed her ‘mom look’ is not a news story. Come on, tabloids, I expect more from you!

I didn’t look so hot after giving birth to one baby. I can’t imagine what gross creature I would look like after giving birth to six.

I am a mom but I can also attempt to be the woman I was before being a mom (poor Hubby would probably appreciate that attempt). I have pushed two human beings out of my body after all. The least you can afford me is a mani/pedi/highlight/teeth whitening without ridicule.

Hey, I’m a mom – I have superhuman powers! I can certainly pull off both mom and woman simultaneously. Oh yes, hear me roar.