Double Trouble

The boys have figured out that if they work in a tag team fashion they can have twice the destruction with half the beatings.  For example: Jack dumped water on my night stand.  The night stand is full of books that are in queue for next week's reading, and the paperbacks took the worst of it.  After he got in trouble and helped clean the water up, I spread the books out on the floor on towels to air dry.  My mistake was in leaving the room, because Mitch moved in and immediately started making confetti out of them.  See?  Double whammy and only one spanking each.  The bad part is that I used what was left of one of the wet-torn books to smack Mitch's behind once.  I instantly felt guilty and had images of interrogators using phone books on prisoners, and wondered if he would have life long trauma going back the the wet book incident.  The guilt (and worry) didn't last long however, because five minutes later I found he had pushed the stool up to the counter to rub a stick of butter onto a pineapple.  Obviously I hadn't made as much of an impression on him as I had thought, so I tried again (not really, please don't call social services).

As I'm typing this, Mitch is standing next to me in his diaper with his baby laptop, frantically hitting the buttons with his little sticky fingers trying to be like mommy.  He is angelic and adorable and I wonder how he knows exactly how far to push me before I run away screaming.  The rolling around on the bathroom floor in Wal-Mart moment was a close one.  Also, stabbing his brother with a fork over a dinosaur (that we have 3 of), unrolling an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet, and smearing ketchup on the tv screen are all prime examples of pushing to the limit situations.  Then he throws on the charm long enough for my blood pressure to return to normal, wraps skinny little arms around my neck for a kiss and runs off to start the process again.   He's got great survival instincts, and I count down every night until bedtime so I can breathe again.  I make sure to go in after he's asleep however, to gaze adoringly down on his cherubic form and take that image to bed with me so that I don't wake the next morning still thinking of how much butter we go through at our house.

It's curtains for me

I have a friend who told me I was awesome and something she aspired to, when in the course of texting I told her that I was ironing my curtains.  What she didn't realize was how traumatic the course of events leading up to my having to iron them were.   Here is what happened:  My little cherubs were jumping on the couch, and after I freaked out for the 100th time that week over them hanging onto the curtains for balance (thus bending the rod), they got a spanking each and sent to their room.  Thirty minutes after they were allowed to join life again, they found themselves drawn to the couch against their will.  I know that my angels wouldn't willingly go against my wishes, they were answering the siren like call of the pure bliss of curtain hanging joy.  Well, just when I was to the point of snapping completely, the curtain rod beat me to it.  Off to Wal-Mart we go, since I don't want the neighbors to see my bits parading in jammies after dark.  When we got home I tried to install the new rod, and while I was balanced between the handrail of the treadmill and the back of the couch I realized that the rod was exactly the length of the window, with none to spare.  If I twitched the curtains, the middle fell down and dropped to the floor.  The boys took this as their cue to start dragging the downed curtains all over the house while hitting each other with the jagged pieces of the broken rod (that survival of the fittest saying didn't factor in two and three year olds).  Naturally I needed to wash them before I hung them again, so I threw them in the laundry.  By this time it's dark and I'm in my jammies giving the neighbors a show, so a return trip to Wal-Mart will have to wait until the following day.  Now, I followed the care instructions on the labels to the letter and everything turned out fine, except the black thread.  The black thread in the fabric's design shrunk, so the curtains were puckered and misshapen, a bit like my sanity at this point.  I spent that night pulling them into rectangles again and making plans to spend an entire day starching and ironing to see if they'd be worth saving.  However, the next day was another setback when I found out that the store in town didn't carry a curtain rod that long, and I'd have to wait another day to drive the two and a half hours round trip to get a replacement.  So I ironed like crazy and displayed my wares another night with a headache and a sore jaw from teeth grinding.  Today, I am pleased to announce, we have curtains shaped like curtains and they are hanging on a rod at the window, I am comfortable in my nightwear, and the people that have been camped in our front yard have moved elsewhere.  One more night and I was going to start charging.  So you see, I am not an overachiever or a super organized June Cleaver.   I am just struggling to stay even.  As I typed the last sentence, both boys ran and jumped on the couch and my blood pressure spiked into the danger zone.  When people start wondering why I talk with my teeth clenched and nostrils flared- this is a contributing factor.

To help or not to help

Help/ v. 1. provide (a person, etc.) with the means toward what is needed or sought.  This is the word that Jack keeps using when he's following me around the house while I'm trying to clean.  I don't think he's familiar with this definition however.   What he is doing is closer to the definition of hinderance and Mitch is just plain endangerment.  There I was, balanced on the top rung of the ladder, trying to clean the fans on our 12 foot ceilings.  There Mitch was, lurking just out of sight, waiting until I was cleaning the bulbs to turn on the light.  When I was blinded, he turned on the fan and ran away giggling when I screamed.  Meanwhile, Jack was jumping on the bed and said "careful" in a bored, told-you-so tone of voice.  So I went down the ladder with stars in my eyes to turn everything off and when I turned around Mitch was all the way up the ladder and getting ready to jump onto the bed 3 feet away.  I guess I should be relieved that he's just an opportunist, and it's nothing personal.  He's the guy that completely takes advantage of "wrong place, wrong time", and makes it work for him.  Whenever I try to imagine his future I break out in a cold sweat and get shaky hands.  If he doesn't end up in prison we'll be grateful.

Jack's First Love

Tonight we went to a new restaurant here in town that is run by our old librarian Curtis and his son.  Let me just do a little advertising here first.  Amigos was really a great experience; to have that excellent of service, great food and a CLEAN building is almost unheard of in our neck of the woods.  The bathroom was sparkling, which is a selling point in and of itself.  And just as you may have guessed, the evening's entertainment was provided by our children as usual.  Mitch immediately pushed his hand through the curly cues of metal on the back of his chair, getting stuck like a baby raccoon.  I was thinking of flagging down someone to ask for butter when he finally came free.  Jack had chosen the table that was in direct line of sight to the TV which put us in the bar section of the restaurant, but as soon as he saw our server the TV was entirely forgotten.  He never had a chance once she smiled at him with her braces reflecting the neon glow from the BudLight sign in the window.  Her name was Jennifer and she had a certain flair that was unique, cheerful and incredibly endearing.  Jack started chatting her up almost immediately, laying on the charm just as thick as he could.  I think he even batted his eyelashes at her, giving me gray hair at the same time.  Even after we had ordered and she left to serve other customers, he couldn't take his eyes off her, she was like a siren .  Just as I took a bite of my appetizer, she walked past and he sighed saying in an awed-hushed voice "Wow. You're beautiful."  I did the only rational thing you can do when your four year old son hits on a woman in a bar, I choked on my deep fried dill pickle.  Jordan was so floored by the moment that he just watched me struggle for breath with big round eyes.  When he could speak again he asked Jack to repeat what he had just said, which Jack did- saying "she's beautiful" in a tone that also asked "She's an angel with a platter of hot wings, how do you not see it?".  So Jordan asked him if he wanted to tell her and Jack nodded solemnly while still murmuring "beautiful".  Right then she came to our table, almost as if this moment was meant to be for our blossoming young son, and with his heart on his sleeve and love in his eyes he opened his mouth and stuttered out the first thing that came to him- "Thank you very much. I eat chicken...."  Whew!  That was close.  I almost freaked out for a minute there, but since he has no game what-so-ever I felt like I could possibly relax and enjoy the rest of my meal without having to restrain Casanova.  But then it hit me.  My little boy had just had his first love.  HE'S GROWING UP!  That's when I lost it and started to bawl.  I mean sobbing into my pickle, bawling.  It came out of nowhere with no way to control it, I just had to ride out the storm of emotions in the middle of the dinner rush.  Jordan asked me how I think I'm going to handle it the first time Jack brings a girl home for us to meet.  I told him I had planned on hiding in the bathroom that day, or going to the dentist.  He can tell me all about it afterwards when there are no witnesses to my mini-breakdown.  But just thinking about  it makes my throat close up and my bottom lip quiver.  I'm years away from that particularly brutal experience, but I'm sitting here at my computer wiping my eyes and sniffling into a tissue while I think about my sweet boy being old enough to hold a girl's hand.  I'm not going any farther than that, even in my head, because if I imagine him kissing a girl I'll wind up going to bed early to weep into my pillow.

Moving quickly

Why is it that after four years of motherhood I still have ridiculously naive thoughts like "I'll quickly change the sheets on the bed, and I'll still have time to get to the kitchen to put away the milk before it gets warm."  Why did I think that?  What is it about the last four years that hasn't gotten through to me yet that there is no "quickly" anymore?  When was the last time I was able to move quickly?  When I was by myself at the grocery store last week while Jordan watched the boys, that's when.  You should have seen me, I was a virtual speed demon.  I was organized and moved gracefully and efficiently throughout the store.  I didn't stumble over anyone who had suddenly stopped 6 inches in front of my feet.  Nor did I forget anything on the list because I was distracted by sticky, wet hands grabbing random things off the shelf.  I didn't have to chase anyone down or try to find a time out location in a busy store.  I think I actually heard angels singing, and at the very least  I know I was humming 'The Jefferson's' theme song under my breath.  It took 20 minutes to do an activity that normally takes me over an hour and I left the store grinning from ear to ear.
Pre-Kid Callie could change the sheets in under five minutes.  Today felt like a victory when at the 45 minute mark I emerged from the bedroom with only a sore jaw from clenching my teeth and a headache.   The setbacks were random and many.  I had to pause to console the child I had backed into and sent flying head first into the wall.  Then take one of the pillows away from the other child and put the case back on the pillow.  I turned around to see that the first child had unpacked his dad's hunting backpack and was attempting to wear the minor's head light as a belt. After I repacked the backpack I had to stop to get someone a drink, open a pudding (I used this opportunity to put the milk away- so that's something) turn Optimus back into a truck and change a diaper.  Then someone got his car stuck in the spider web covering the piano as part of the Halloween decorations and pulled everything onto the floor trying to get the car untangled.  Every time I walked into my bedroom I was surprised all over again that the bed still wasn't made.  It didn't make any sense, how did the morning get away from me like that?  Imagine my dismay when I realized that I still had 2 more beds to go...

The Haunting

For those of you who don't know, we live in a hundred year old house.  It's beautiful and charming with original wood trim, two fireplaces, french doors in the kitchen, hardwood floors, picture windows and a ghost.  Not to worry, she is very kind with a great sense of humor.  She adores the boys and plays games with them when they are supposed to be napping.  Some days she's in Jack's room and I can hear him  over the baby monitor say "Boo!"  and then squeal with laughter.  When she's with Mitch you don't need the monitor to hear him laughing.  These are the days that I'm less than happy with having a house guest because if the boys don't get a nap, the rest of my day is just plain chaos.  Any other time we really don't mind having her here.  She is never really scary or even threatening.  Sometimes you catch glimpses from the corner of your eye and your heart will kind of skip a beat, your lungs will stop functioning and you make a garbled sound in the back of your throat that might have been an expletive if you hadn't have been caught off guard.  But when you regain your faculties, you can almost hear her laughing at you.  I like her.   Her name is Tracey and she only has one arm because of a tragic farming accident in her childhood.  I know this, not because we've had seances but because during a baby shower held here for my friend, I met an older woman who told me about the previous resident and how she had visited this house when her friend was still among the living.  She also informed me that Tracey had died here, so we are pretty sure  the person she described is our ghost.  Jordan and I were actually thrilled with this information because having a name for her changed everything.  She is now an honorary member of the family who gets addressed by name on certain occasions.  Apparently Halloween is her favorite time of year because she is out in full force lately.  I guess it's her moment to shine.  We have a doormat that screams when someone steps on it that is her new favorite toy.  It is activated only with pressure on the weight sensor, but at times I've stood in the foyer and looked out the window at an empty porch while the doormat is screaming every 15 to 30 seconds.  A few times the door has even slowly swung open after the doormat goes off.  That's a special kind of spooky, let me tell you.  It's like she's saying "Honey, I'm home!"  I know she's reading over my shoulder right now because the 'activity' during my writing this has escalated.  The doormat has been going nonstop, the broom fell out of the CLOSED pantry cupboard and we had a mini brown out.  I think she's excited that I'm talking about her.  The hard part is trying to figure out if she is flattered excited or upset excited.  I'm wondering if I should even bother posting this....  I'm going to go with the logic that if she wanted to lay low, she would have.  I think she likes the attention.  Am I right Tracey?

Rage

My husband works crazy hours with his job, and as a result he goes to bed most nights around 7 p.m..  He usually turns on some music to drown out the sounds of me wrestling the children into baths, pajamas and bed because if he hears us the guilt kicks in and he feels like he needs to come rescue me.  Since he's grumpy when he's sleep deprived, I try very hard to dissuade him from getting out of bed to assist in the mayhem and I encourage the music.  That being said, I cannot believe some of the music he can fall asleep to!  Nine Inch Nails, Tool, Queens of Stone Age, Mastadon...  this is what he listens to when he wants to fall peacefully into slumber.  And because the boys always seem surprised that they need to wear pajamas to bed (regardless of a lifetime of the same ritual every night), Jordan ends up having to turn the music up rather loud to mask the sounds of our negotiations.  Last night when I entered our bedroom after getting the kids down for the night, I walked into a wall of Rage Against The Machine.  It was so loud and so chaotic that I can only imagine he had passed out in self defense rather than actually falling gently asleep.  Don't get me wrong- I like Rage Against The Machine, but its just not calming enough for me to relax to.  I'm a classical at night kind of person with some exceptions.  Bjork I could fall asleep to, mostly because the lyrics are only five words repeated for three minutes so it's basically hypnotism.  However, RATM makes me want to run five miles and eat raw meat and since I know that Jordan listens to it when he's in a similar frame of mind, I have no clue how it can also be relaxing to him.  I was so curious about it that instead of my usual routine of turning Pandora off before getting into bed, I decided to try his version.  Half an hour later I had a mosh pit of thoughts inside my head, where one wild idea slammed into another and they both went careening through a crowd of similarly crazed and random ideas.  I eventually got up to fold laundry and read something soothing by Jeffery Deaver before I could attempt sleep again.  Should I be worried for him, or impressed?  I'm not sure.

Pioneer Family

We recently had the opportunity to travel to St. George, Utah to visit Jordan’s family and to walk in the parade that honored the founding fathers of the community.  One of Jord’s ancestors was one of the brave few who piled his family into a wagon and set off to settle a new land.  How harrowing and exhausting that must have been for everyone involved.  I’m grateful to know what they went through in order to establish such a beautiful place and the fact that that knowledge and all the stories that go along with it will be passed down to our children warms my heart and makes me smile.  That being said, it’s a freakin’ wonder they arrived at all.  We had fourteen people in our branch of the family that we were in charge of coordinating and we almost didn’t make it to the parade, let alone across the country.  First off, the costumes (you heard me- costumes!) were a week unto themselves.  We were asked to dress in pioneer clothes to re-enact the trek into the valley and all I can say is that it’s a good thing we were in a mormon community, where the odds are 1 in 3 that the nearest closet has pioneer costumes for every man, woman and child.  My mother in law raided those closets as well as begged, borrowed and pillaged for a week to find us appropriate attire, so I tried not to show how distressing the concept was for me.  I’m not sure why Utah cannot have a parade without pioneers in it, I guess it’s like October Fest without the chicken dance.  You know it’s coming and you even somewhat look forward to it, but when it happens you’re just embarrassed for everyone involved.  That was my initial reaction when it came time to pick out my costume for the parade.  After I let the embarrassment go however, I ended up having fun trying on full skirts and shawls.  I drew the line at bonnets however. 

Getting everyone to the designated places at the appointed times was the next major hurdle.  The morning of the parade was slightly chaotic and filled with comments like “We need to pack food for everyone.” “I’m bringing a change of clothes with us.” “Put everything on the handcart and we can pull it along with us.”  I was waiting for someone to ask if anyone knew where the 100 lb. bags of sugar were, or for Nana to say “You kids put down those bolts of cotton and get over here!”  I wanted to ask if they all remembered that this wasn’t an actual trek.  The original Everett’s had already settled this area, and today’s descendants have the benefits of cashing in on the luxury of a home in town with plumbing and a fridge.  We were walking twelve blocks in mild 80 degree weather and then coming right back to the house, but we still felt unprepared without pockets full of hardtack and gunpowder.  Once the parade actually was underway, it was a really good time and the kids absolutely loved the entire experience.  I think they ate more candy than they threw because Mitch was sticky from head to toe and his tummy was gurgling when I got him down from the wagon, but he was one very happy little boy. 

The rest of the trip was relaxing and rejuvenating for me since I wasn’t under any pressure to get Jack to school, coach a soccer game or plan a birthday party.  I just sort of sat around in between buying shoes, which is exactly what a vacation should be to my way of thinking.  Today was my first day back to the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and I was completely unprepared.  I’m still dragging my feet at returning to reality, and as a result I found myself forgetting important things like picking up my dog from my friend’s house where he’s been on doggy vacation playing with his buddy.  I also forgot to put my kids down for naps and to give them baths before bed.  But, I am unpacked and in the midst of house cleaning to get ready for Jack’s birthday party here on Saturday.  Tomorrow will be full of even more of life’s responsibilities as well as the chores I didn’t get done today.  In my head however, I’m already planning my next vacation. 

Soccer Treats

Today was a crazy, busy day in the midst of many.  School, endocrinologist, Christmas errands, car washed and vacuumed and detailed.  I was so wrapped up in checking things off my to-do list that I lost track of time. When I snapped out of it it was five o'clock and we had a soccer game that started at 5:15.  I yelled to Jordan to wake the boys and get shoes while I ran to the pantry to see if we had anything to bring for snacks.  I consoled myself all the way across town that no one besides our team is ever on time to any of the games, but isn't it the way of things that the ONLY time I am late, the other team is present and accounted for?  For all my accomplishments today, I felt like such a failure seeing my team standing around because of me.  Maybe I should start setting timers?  It could be like that game that you can only do a certain activity for a set amount of time and no matter where you are in completing it, when the timer dings, you start the next activity.  Oh, the chaos!
While it is undeniable that we will never be league champions, we ARE improving with every game.  Angelina made an awesome goal today, Evan kept up with the group and went after the ball several times. Logan got in the middle of things and stole the ball away once, Shane was on fire and listening to me, and Jack played the ENTIRE game.  Do you understand the level of dedication that takes for him?  It's never happened before!  He even kicked a penalty kick at the end of the game (I let everyone kick one so they all feel like they scored).  He has virtually no patience for the other players or rules, and if you think I can get him to wait for the whistle you are out of your mind.  But he stayed on the field and played for the entire 45 minutes which is outstanding and completely unlike him.  I think even he was impressed because all the way home he kept saying "I kick a ball."  I'm so proud of my little Warriors.  Angelina just might be my favorite female soccer player ever.  She got kicked in the head twice by a hyperactive and somewhat mean kid from the other team and she didn't cry, but she did remember.  The next time that kid got aggressive next to her, Angelina strong armed him to the ground and kicked the ball away from him.  Everyone saw it, but no one called it.  You could tell that she's got two older brothers and can handle herself.  She rocks.
Her mom brought the A-game for treats today too.  She handed out these little gift wrapped packages of lunchables, drink boxes and fruit snacks and for the second time today I felt like a loser.  My usual M.O. is to grab something off the shelves and throw it in the gym bag on the way out the door.  "I got a can of pinto beans."  "I got a bag of noodles."  "I got a rock."  No way around it, Coach Callie is not like regular Callie and there are no fresh baked goods at half time.  The one time I was organized, I brought orange slices for the kids and little Daniel Trujillo (Shane's 2 year old brother) has never let me live it down.  At the end of every game he now asks me with his sweet voice, "Coach Callie? Oranges???" and I have to look into those big pleading eyes and admit that today he's not getting oranges.  He may never again get oranges because I can't seem to pull myself together.   No, today he's getting crackers.  Mmmm.  Just what every kid wants after running around in 90 degree heat for an hour.  Not my best culinary moment.  Then again, it's not my worst either.

Vacation Checklist

Packing with small children in the house is an exercise in futility.  They keep using that word that doesn't mean what they think it means.  Helping, as in "I helping, mommy.  See?  I helping." does not mean that it's a good idea to re-sort (and thereby unfold) all the clothes that I had just piled on the bed.  It also does not mean you should jump on the bed while I am re-re-sorting the clothes you just wadded up.  And under no circumstances does helping mean you should tip the suitcase over the edge of the bed onto the floor so you have more jumping room.  I'm pretty sure I blew a blood vessel when I walked back into the room and saw that little gem of help.  Actually, Jack is the sorter and re-folder.  Mitch wants to try on every article of clothing available, whether it's his, mine or Jordan's... it doesn't matter, he'll look fabulous.  I don't know what gets into them, but when the boys see suitcases they turn into little berserkers, running around causing grief and misery where ever they go.  If I'm going through clothes in their room, they go into mine and throw all the pillows off the bed, rummage through the books in the night stands and empty my jewelry box onto the floor.  My job is to not lose it completely and clean up as they go, while still somehow packing for all of us.  It's a battle of wills where the stakes are my sanity and their very lives.  Whoever wins ultimately loses, because if I go crazy they lose their ticket to the golden life and if I ground them for eternity I'll go crazy and they lose their ticket to the golden life.  Either way, I'm not holding out a lot of hope that I'll make it to retirement age with all of my cognitive powers intact.

Learning Process

Everyday is an education for me, I'm learning new things all the time.  For instance, last night I learned that I am incapable of controlling the noises I make when I'm stalking a bug.  I also learned that Jordan is incapable of controlling his laughter as he listens to me stalk a bug.  The big jerk laid in bed and laughed his fool head off while I killed a spider in the bathroom last night.  It's a good thing he wasn't awake a few nights before when I had to chase and kill a cockroach.  It was late at night (when did 9:00 p.m. become late at night, anyway?) and I was reading, when a monstrously huge cockroach ran out from under the couch and across the room into the shadows.  By the time I found my weapon of choice (a shoe), I'd lost track of it and had to go hunting under furniture.  When I finally found the hideous thing after a fraught few minutes, I jumped and squealed because I caught sight of him in the corner looking at me like he had been watching my adrenalin crazed search and found me no match for his superiority.  Super creepy and very intimidating.  We had ourselves an old fashioned Mexican standoff just like at the end of The Good, Bad and the Ugly (he was the bad and ugly) and I expected the room to start spinning and theme music to begin, but he flinched and set off my natural killer instincts (stop laughing Jordan), so I attacked.  Unfortunately he was devilishly quick and I missed the first seven times I aimed but just as in the movie, good perseveres and I eventually squished the little monster.  The part that separates me from the stone cold killers was the fact that the entire time I was chasing down my enemy, I was continuously yelping like a small dog that's been stepped on.  I remembered thinking: "I sound just like Grandpa's poodles", but could I stop?  I could not.  I also had the thought to tone it down a bit so that I wouldn't wake Jordan up, but even the thought of him mocking me couldn't keep the animal noises in check.  I'm not sure why I was worried about waking Jordan though.  He went to Iraq while he was in the Army and doesn't say much about what went on there, he says it's because he doesn't like to talk about it.  I suspect he slept through most of it and doesn't want to fess up.  I was right outside the bedroom door scrambling around on my hands and knees, slamming a sneaker repeatedly onto the hardwood floor, barking like a madwoman and he didn't stir?  That's not right.  Convenient, but not right.  For now I'm grateful he's a sound sleeper because I only yelped once when killing the spider last night and he laughed so hard he had a coughing fit, can you imagine his hilarity over the cockroach?  I can, and it's not flattering for either of us.  It's probably better for our marriage that he's unconscious through the humiliating parts of my life and only hears of them secondhand.  Then again, he's got a really great laugh.

Apple Annie's Part Deux

It's October, which means Halloween is in progress at our house, but we didn't have any pumpkins!  Time for another trip to Apple Annie's to pick our own.  It's an hour and 20 minute drive from our house and the entire drive was filled with three year old chatter because Jack is physically unable to withstand the sound of silence.  His fall back question while waiting for inspiration on the next topic is to ask "So!  What we gonna do?"  It did not matter how many times we told him we are going to pick apples and pumpkins and pumpkins and apples, he would inevitably come back to this question within the next 10 minutes.  His mind races from topic to topic, and only half of it is recognizable to the rest of the world.  Jordan and I could randomly pick up only bits and pieces from everything tripping off Jack's tongue and all of it either amazed, frightened or embarrassed us.  There was one particular phrase that had us laughing and cringing at the same time.  We didn't have a clue what the poor little guy was trying to tell us, but it sounded exactly like "f*@% a turtle".  The more we tried to divert his attention from saying it, the more insistent he was in repeating it, increasing in volume and exasperation as the miles sped by.   His sighs seemed to say "I cannot be more clear about how crystal clear I am being, and these fools still don't get it." We were able to change the subject only if we saw a school bus, a mater (which consists of anything construction related.  He loves the movie Gnomeo and Juliet, and the machine that causes all the destruction at the end is called a Terrafirminator.  Thus- maters), or a large animal, i.e horses, cows and goats.  A few minutes after we finished singing a song related to the bus/mater/animal sighting we were back to the disturbing issue of turtles, which caused me to giggle into my purse while I pretended to look for something vital, and Jordan to turn up the radio while trying to convince himself that Jack was attempting to inform us about a flock of turtles.  This led to a lengthy  debate of what a large group of turtles are called, since herd seems too fast and school too fishy.  We never came to a decision, but that wasn't why we were so willing to natter on about it.  We were only concerned with talking over the sound of our son's voice.  It was completely by accident that we learned a few hours into our day at Apple Annie's what he was truly saying.  We were in the corn maze and Jordan spotted a tiny toad hopping through the corn stalks.  He called for the boys to come look, and when Jack saw it he yelled in victory "F*@% a turtle!".  You should have heard us (and I'm sure that everyone on the farm did) yell in return "Oh!  A FROG and turtle!"  Our new goal is to work on the letter R.  And G.

Mitch ate more apples than we could keep track of today.  Every time I looked at him he had a different one in his hand.  I'd ask Jord, "Hey honey, did you give him the Roman Beauty?"  "No.  I gave him the Granny."  "Okay, well I gave him the Golden Delicious so I have no idea where he got this one."  And so it went throughout the afternoon.  At one point he had a Roman Beauty and a Granny Smith, one in each hand and would alternate bites from left to right and back again.  When we got home I called 1-2-3 NOT IT for diaper duty because I've been dreading the consequences of letting the baby loose in the apple orchard.  When will we learn?