Point Taken

An e-mail from Feb. 15, 2008.
It seems that you are trying to make a point to me. You have left your shoes in the dining room for the last few days. At first I thought that this was just that you were tired from work. Second I thought that you were just being lazy. Both very valid but not it. It finally hit me what your point is. You are trying to tell me to get my golf clubs out of the dining room, aren't you? Personally I think that they lend themselves to the decor. I keep them clean, and the bag is colorful. I was going for the golf/traditional home look. Hey, this is thought for a magazine. We could get the cover story. The reason I leave them there is that the kids leave their stuff everywhere and I am sick of fighting it, so I am joining them. Just remember that it is clean under the clutter. The more stuff we leave in the floor, the less we have to sweep the floor.
Also, it helps me because when I clean this crap off the floor, the kids are always yelling that they can't find their stuff.

Milestone not reached yet

Over the last 11 years, we have seen may milestones in our children's lives. Learning to sleep through the night, walk, talk (a little overrated), use the potty, run, get dressed on their own (very underrated), read, write and various other things. One that is very important to me is learning to swing without being pushed. There is nothing that drives me more nuts than the pushing of the swing. This boy can ride a scooter, hit a baseball, punt a football, climb a tree and jump off the countertop. Conner has not mastered swinging yet. He will, but in the meantime the girls and I have tried everything. Maggie has tried swinging next to him to visually teach him. He just sits there and stares and then calls me to push. Abbey, being the smart one, has tried to explain it to him by using scientific terms. This didn't work. Hell, I didn't even understand it, but it sounded very intelligent. I am pretty sure he is just lazy about this. Once they learn to swing, there is a whole world of things that open up for the parent. I have seen other parents at the playground talking to each other while their kids swing on their own. I'm not real sure I want to talk to them, but the option would be nice. You can mow more than 30 feet of the yard at one time. For God's sake, I could actually sit down. It wouldn't happen, but I have a goal.

Conner's trip

An e-mail from Pat from Nov. 5, 2007 (Conner had just turned 3):
Your son decided that he needed a little adventure trip today. On this trip he experienced new friends, obstacles, darkness and danger. He traveled under our bed.
The new friends that he met are the dust bunnies, and there were a whole colony. Bunnies multiply quickly even if they are dust bunnies. He found several golf balls and, a few pairs of winter gloves that belong to someone outside this house 'cause I have never seen them before.
He got to travel around all the forgotten shoes you and I have. I think I had 1 pair and you, of course, had 15. He obviously experienced darkness because I could hear his head hitting the box springs 10 or 15 times. No one said that he was going to be bright.
Finally he got to meet danger head on because somehow he got in a sitting position that only a yoga master could do and got stuck. His head was inside the box spring and he was very calmly yelling at the top of his lungs, " I AM STUCK DADDY, HELP ME NOW!"
I had to get under the bed and make sure that his head was not next to a spring or if he was already hurt. I am sure that I looked like the witch in the "Wizard of Oz."
After I got a picture of the situation underneath I lifted the bed up and he came out pretty easily. He then decreeded to all that "I not going to do that again."
In the words of the oldest child, Conner learned yet another life lesson. Time will tell if he has much of a long-term memory.

Dad's helper

I have the great fortune to be at home most of the day with Conner. He and I do a lot of stuff in and out of the house. This afternoon, he and I cleaned the gutters. Usually it's just me, the ladder and him talking to me. Today was a little different. I was on the roof, in the back of the house, cleaning the gutters and sweeping off the shingles. This section of the roof is easily walked on, and I can see the whole backyard while he plays. It takes about 10 minutes. After I finished, I turned around and Conner was on the roof. It seems that a 4-year-old can scale a ladder without much noise. In order to not scare him, I just said "Hi." Make no mistake, I was scared enough for both of us. He replied, "I'm here to help." I told him that I was finished, but he was not having it. He wanted to help, and I was not interested in a blue-balled hissy-fit 15 feet off the ground. I told him he had to sit on his butt to clean out the gutter, and I held on to his pants with all I had. We cleaned a leaf or two out of the gutters. It seemed to pacify him, and he was ready to get down. I went first, and he very effortlessly got on the ladder and climbed down in front of me. When we got on the ground, I told him not to do that again. He replied, "It's not a problem. I got up and I got down." From this day forward, cleaning the gutters will have to involve at least two adults on site.

Conner is "Calvin"

This is what it's like trying to get Conner to go to bed every night. Just repeat four or five times.

http://www.gocomics.com/calvinandhobbes/2008/10/08/

All soccer, all the time

The girls had three games, plus we went to the UNC-Wake women's game. It was a good weekend - the girls won all of their games, and so did UNC. I'm exhausted.

The estrogen ocean

This e-mail is from Aug. 22, 2008. In addition to our kids, our 9-year-old niece, Emma, was here, and so was Abbey's best friend, Elisabeth, who's 11.

Thank God we can’t have any more kids. There are several reasons. I just cooked 3 packs of hot dogs and 2 boxes of mac and cheese. I swear to you it was like a pack of wolves attacking an antelope. They are talking and shoveling food at the same time. I am not getting into the dishes that were used.
The next reason is that if we had more kids they would be girls. Here comes the soapbox section.
I am in a house with 4 pre-teen girls and the boy; two of these are not ours, but they are here. I have listened to fashion, which Jonas Brother is cutest, and something about it seems that Miley Cyrus is a little trashy these days. Conner is packing his stuff as we speak. The level of female hormones in this house is critically high. A truck just arrived with people in spacesuits to rope off the house. It’s like a scene from "ET." Duke Energy just called and would like to harness the hormones as alternative power for the city. I was just notified that our house is restricted airspace because of hormone glow. It is causing problems for Air Care and commuter flights.
Girls are nuts. They will run and play rough, and when someone gets hurt they are soft and compassionate. Boys will knock you on your butt and stand over you waiting for the next opportunity to knock you on your butt.
These girls don’t want to called kids; they’re pre-teens. Also, make sure that you say pre-teen with the exact amount of attitude. I liked it better when there were only two categories of people: adult and children. Now you can be an infant, baby, toddler, preschooler, pre-k, child, pre-teen, teenager, young adult, almost adult, adult, DINK, middle age, over the hill, retired, senior and finally old as an apostle. From this day forward you are a kid or an adult in this house. I realize that this mandate carries no weight, but I like the sound of my own voice sometimes.
I need to go. I just heard Conner yell for help. Mind you, I am not helping him. I am just going to watch them torture him. It’s his own damn fault. He put his head into the lion's mouth by getting too close. Typical pre-k mistake.

Tough as nails

Just for the record, our children are 50% tough and 50% drama queens and king. On this day, Maggie is 100% tough. She has been complaining that her front tooth is loose and it hurts. Today she just couldn't take it anymore. Being the sensitive one of the house, I suggested that she lie on the ground and I would take a 3-wood and remove it for her. When that was nixed, I came up with letting Conner take it out with his shovel. She was not impressed with my ideas. She was not amused at all. All I got was, "Dad. Fine, I'll just do it." She sat in the living room and placed her finger in her mouth, and with one jerk she removed it. She didn't cry at all. She went to the kitchen, got a paper towel and stopped the bleeding. Maggie placed it in our room and went back to playing in the yard. When she told Abbey that she pulled her tooth, Abbey just said, "Cool." She is not as impressed with this display as I am. Abbey is in one of her "pissed off at the world" moods today. Forunately for the world, it is all directed at me.

"Oh, waiter ..."

Here's an e-mail that Pat sent me on Feb. 27, 2008:

Your son just came into the kitchen and announced that he is ready to order his lunch. Yes, he literally walked into the kitchen and said, "I want to order my lunch." So I proceeded like any good server and asked what he would like. His order was clear and precise. "I would like peanut butter sandwich, no peanut butter, chips and fruit loops. Apple juice in a cup with a blue straw." He sat down at the table and waited for his order to be filled. Let's just add that this is nicest he has been since school ended this morning.

I made his order to his exact specs and brought it to the table. He sat quietly and ate his lunch. He finished and walked up to me and reached into his pocket and gave me a quarter. He said," This is for you." After I got my day's wages, I asked him to clean up the table, and he reached into his pocket and gave me a penny and said, "You do it." We really have to stop eating out so much.

Target practice

Conner is in the living room practicing to become a quarterback. It is not going well at all. He went into Abbey's room and got 7 golf clubs. (Entering her room is something he will pay for later. I won't have to tell her; she'll know.) He jammed them between the seat cushions on the couch and loveseat and placed his miniature football helmets on top of the golf clubs. He has all of his footballs in a pile (4 of them), says " Set, GO!" and starts throwing them at his targets. The targets, the TV and the windows are safe. On the other hand, 2 lamps, 3 picture frames, 6 magazines and a bottle of water were hit. Maybe the golf club/football helmets were fans. Either way, his quarterback rating is a touch low for now, but it's a long season.

Looking for a beach with snow

Conner walked into the living room with this outfit on (he dressed himself, as you might have guessed) and said, "I'm ready to play in the snow!" The funny thing is, I have no doubt he would go outside like this if there were snow on the ground right now.

"Not"

Here's another "archive" e-mail that Pat sent me on Dec. 19, 2007:
Your son is disgusting. The entire ride home from getting the girls from school he kept saying he has "not." He repeated it over and over. Neither the girls nor I could figure it out. After we got home we got it. I unbuckled him from his carseat and he proceeded to run his nasty running nose across the front of my sweater. He then told me that I have "not." The Rugrats have not been on Nick much so I am not up on Chuckie lingo these days. I have introduced him to the tissues. I suggest wearing an apron when you arrive this evening because who knows if he will use the tissues.
By the way, Abbey is not feeling good, and I am sure that we will all pay for this at some point. Conner has already been subjected to the wrath of the sick one. Maggie and I have flipped a coin to see who has to talk to her next. She lost, so I am hiding.

Ryder Cup Addiction

Nothing from me this weekend. I am completely involved in the Ryder Cup. You gotta love 11 straight hours of golf for 3 days. Boo Weekley is completely addictive. As for the kids, I am paying Abbey to watch them. Maybe she will have something to post.

The best what?

"Mom, can I help you make brownies?"
"Not today, Conner."
"But I want some private time with you."

There's just no saying no to that. The next exchange:

"I'm the best stirrer."
"Yes you are, Conner."
"And you're the best dumper, Mom."

I'm not so sure I want that title. (For the record, that's because I dumped all the ingredients into the bowl.)

Hide and Seek

Conner is fixing things around the house this afternoon. He has his hard hat on, his toolbox open and tools in his pockets. He doesn't have a toolbelt mostly because I have seen the butt crack for 4 years and he doesn't need help displaying it. He has been outside fixing things as well. Only moments ago he presented me with 8 screws. As I am sure anyone else would be, I was a touch concerned. I asked him where they came from and he told me, "I don't know." (The "I don't know" is also followed by a shoulder shrug. This is a stock answer and act that has been passed down from Abbey to the other two kids.) I searched the house for anything that could be missing screws and found nothing. I decided that they must have been in his toolbox. I asked him again, and he told me they came from outside. Now I am in an advanced game of hide and seek. We looked the lawnmower over, the picnic table, the storm door and the grill. I asked him about a few more things, and he would either say "No" or "I don't know." I found out as I sat down in disgust. They came from the bench in the front yard. Sitting on it and having the left side collapse as I crashed to the ground was a whole heap of fun. Conner is still laughing in the front yard.