Post script

Jordan took my car this morning, so all the errands I talked about last night... didn't happen.  Instead I spent 4 hours on the phone coordinating between everyone needing uniforms, delivering banners and missing keys.  Now I'm sitting here listening to Mitch scream like the witch king of agmar (he's still got a fever) and wishing I was at soccer.  I'm stressed wondering if it's going okay, and if I forgot to do something vital.  There's not enough chocolate in the world right now, and I just realized that I've eaten half an apple pie today all by myself without my being fully cognizant of it.   Great.

Fevers, drama, headaches and other good times.

Trying to get everything ready for tomorrow's opening ceremony for AYSO is going to send me into an early retirement.  Jordan's going to have to put me into a home, where I can play bingo with the help of someone in a white coat while I drool on myself and laugh at nothing.  I get a call this afternoon: "Hey, Callie?  It's me, Bambo.  You know, from soccer?".  Right.  Thanks for clarifying.  I have so many Bambo's in my life, it sometimes gets hard to keep them all straight.  Once we established his identity we got down to the business of soccer, or at least the behind the scenes of soccer.  Apparently, Angelina's uniform finally came in (cutting it kind of close for tomorrow's activity) and erring on the side of caution, the company sent 13 uniforms for her.  Better safe than sorry, right?  What they lack in quality and timeliness, they make up for in sheer numbers.  You want uniforms?  Here's a case.  I need to pick one of the uniform's up and get it to Angelina before noon.  They sent my coach's shirt in the wrong color, and in a child's size medium.  Yeah, I wish- try again, funny guy.  We had a game scheduled for tomorrow, but no one knew what time it was supposed to be, since it was listed as TBA on the schedule.  Well, no one announced it, so we canceled it.  I'm actually really proud of this decision, it's one of the first rational things they've come up with this season.  The banner that I was told to order was finished this afternoon but, for reasons that I will list later, I was unable to pick it up.  Then Bambo informed me that I really don't HAVE to have the banner, but it would be nice.  Thanks, buddy.  You tell me after I fork over the money for it.  Oh well, it's done and after I track it down in the morning we are going to display it with pride.  Then I find out that the games that I was informed would all be on Saturday mornings are mostly on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.  Thank you for letting me schedule things in my week before you tell me this.  All the parents on my team are feeling the same way.  I feel like such an idiot when I have to get hold of them all to say, "Oops!  Sorry, they changed it again.".  And the photographer who has a contract with AYSO was rude to me on the phone, so I complained and am using Tara Huish Photography instead, with Bambo's blessing.  Except, when the other guy heard he lost business, he freaked out somewhat and started a voicemail stalking campaign asking me to please call him back to set up a time to take my team's picture.  No thank you.  You should have been nicer to me.  This guy is apparently a big shot in the community, and knows EVERYONE.  If he doesn't take your picture, you don't get it in the newspaper etc., and AYSO has been trying to figure out a way to get away from him for awhile now.  The problem is, that he's so in touch with who's who in town, that he doesn't even need to bid on the AYSO contract anymore.  They just hand it to him while grinding their teeth.  And I've ticked him off.  When I step on toes, I go for the biggest feet around.
All of this needs to be straightened out by noon tomorrow, and the boys have chosen today to get sicker than sick.  Jack's chest makes a death rattle when he coughs, and Mitch has a fever of 102 with Tylenol. He's laying on my lap right now, just whimpering.  After I failed at apple butter, I got caught up with the kids as they got worse and I didn't go pick up the banner in time, so I've got to go in the morning after I get the uniform.  Jordan has to work tomorrow until 2, so I have no one to watch the boys during the opening ceremony and I'll have to ask for an assistant coach.  I really hate that.  I hate the idea of dumping this historic mess on someone in the eleventh hour, and just saying "Good luck, let me know how it goes!"  Heather is fabulous, though and volunteered before I really had to ask.  Since she's the one I've been venting to about the day to day screw ups, she's already apprised of the situation and is still game to cover for me.  That's friendship, right there.

Wasted time, apples and lotion

The apple butter was an epic failure.  I've very rarely made anything so tragically awful that I immediately throw it in the garbage, but that's what happened.  The recipe seemed like it should have been good, I just don't understand what went wrong.  Or maybe this recipe was for apple butter that tasted like you had a mouthful of cinnamon sticks and cloves.  My tongue went numb with the first bite, and no amount of apples and sugar added made any kind of a difference.  I pretty much doubled the recipe trying to get the spices to mellow out, and it's still gross.  Everyone told me "Oh!  Apple butter is so easy!  You'll love it."  It's not easy, and I don't love it.  I feel lied to.

The apple pie is sitting on the counter, cooling and waiting until after dinner, and I keep looking at it with nervousness whenever I go in the kitchen.  That's the problem with making something horrible, you start second guessing yourself.  Did I remember to put sugar in the pie?  Did I accidentally add to much salt?  Should I just go to McDonald's and order 4 for $2?

Since I spent 6 hours in the kitchen this morning, the rest of the house was left as the kid zone and I'm paying for it now.  There are crushed graham crackers in the carpet, cinnamon toast crunch under the couch and apple cores in the toy box.  That last one makes me anxious.  Jack collected the apple cores this morning from the counter as I was peeling and chopping, and I thought he threw them away (I even remember praising him, but distractedly. 'Oh what a good boy you are to help me!  Thank you!'  I'm such a sucker).  I look back now and wonder why in the world would I think that he'd not see them as treasure to hoard?  What if that's not the only place he hid them?  A week from now I'll be blogging about the wretched stink coming from the air intake vents in the bedroom.

Mitch was supposed to be napping, but I heard clinking noises coming from my room.  Clinking is never a good sound when Mitch is involved, so I ran in there to find that he had moisturized my dresser and everything on it.  Jewelry box, perfume bottles, framed photos, etc.  His face is glowing with a youthful radiance that can only be had for $20 a bottle and 2 year old pores.  Trying to wrestle him back into the pac n play was like trying to catch a greased pig at the fair, only without the judges ( I like to believe I would've got a high score if it had been judged.  He's still alive, after all).  I tried to salvage as much as I could by rubbing my face on his leg and arms that were thick with lotion, but it wasn't worth it because he smelled like an old apple and wet dog.  An hour later and I'm sitting at the computer getting wiffs of Ivan, and thinking that it's been days since he was even in the house- how can the baby smell like him?  Are boys really made of puppy dog tails?  I thought it was just a cute poem, but Mitch is proving it a scientific possibility.


I think I'm going to pretend that today didn't happen.  I'm going to clean up all evidence of it's disasters, and start again tomorrow with a fresh attitude, a new recipe and a baby with unbelievably baby-soft skin.    Unless the pie is fantastic.  Then I'll eat pie and call it good.  I can always BUY apple butter, right?

An apple a day

After Jack used his cold, wet fingers to pry open my eyelid this morning at 6:30, it was kind of difficult to get back to sleep.  So I pondered the question he had asked upon my waking.  What are we going to do today?  Jordan and I decided that a trip to Apple Annie's was in order, and off we went.  I've been wanting to try my hand at apple butter, so we went to the orchard side of the complex and had a fantastic time picking our own apples.  Jack was all about riding in the wagon as long as we were willing to pull it, while Mitch used the apple picker as a lacrosse stick.  He'd pick up an old, rotten apple from the ground and put it into the basket, then turn and hurl it onto Jack, who would put it in the bucket.  Then Jordan or I would take it out of the bucket when they weren't looking.  Teamwork.  The morning went by so quickly but obviously we worked up an appetite, because guess who ate his very first apple today?  Jack picked a Rome Beauty right off the tree and ate it without me begging, bribing or coercing him!  This is the first time he has ate fruit willingly and with full knowledge.  I've been pureeing fruit and sneaking it into foods for over a year now just so he can get the vitamins, and I had almost given up on his ever coming around.  I took a thousand pictures, thinking that it was probably a one time deal and we'd never see this moment again but he surprised me by asking Jordan if he could have another to eat in the car for the drive home.  Mitch also discovered how great apples were, and after Jordan gave him a ripe apple and took the brown, squishy one away (Jord gagged the entire time), he was a very happy kid and he ate the entire apple.  Do you understand that I mean he ate the core, seeds and stem?  The entire apple.  Down the hatch.  And another one in the car on the way home.  I looked back in time to see him push the last bite of core into his mouth and when I told Jordan, he gagged again.  Sometimes it's fun to see how many times the kids can gross their dad out in a single outing.  Speaking of which, here's a friendly tip to those of you thinking of getting your kids to eat apples for the first time:  Do not give them carte blanche with a bushel of apples before a long car ride.  And for heaven's sake, don't feed them cheese curds during said car ride.  Not unless you like riding with the windows down. I think Jack started to get a belly ache, because he didn't finish one of his apples, and after I threw it out the window he tried to spit the bite he had in his mouth out the window too.  He realized immediately that Jim Croce knew what he was talking about when it came right back into his face and all over the inside of the door.   He's heard the song, but some things you just have to find out for yourself.  He hadn't spit all of it into the wind however, so I had the distinct pleasure of having chewed up apple drooled into my hand.   When I showed it to Jordan, you'll never guess what he did.

I know now that I am not cut out for a life of crime.  I just don't have the physical endurance it takes to live on that kind of edge.  I made a snake wreath the other day, using spray paint for the finishing touch and my pointer finger hasn't been the same since.  I've got tagger's finger (I think it's a cousin to tennis elbow).  If my finger can't handle a single can of spray paint, there's no way I could work my way down the side of a train in a night.  How do they do it?

Because I am currently engaged in an activity that makes watching the children turn into just keeping an eye on the children, Mitch has recognized an opportunity and has stolen another apple.  He's standing here next to me with obvious and extreme gas, and lets everyone know to hold their breath by yelling "EEWWWWWW!"  There are no words for this moment in motherhood.  I was so happy they were eating fruit...

Three going on insane

I feel as though Jack and my relationship would be so much stronger if I were just made aware of the rules of engagement.  There are so many situations that go awry because I've done something incorrectly for his three year old sensibility.  Case in point: Yesterday, on the way to to school, Jack asked me "Where da cool bus?".  That's 'where is the school bus' for all you non preschooler speakers.  We usually pass a few on our hour long commutes, and he looks forward to the sightings.  He didn't just ask it once or twice, however.  No, he asked it continuously for 23 miles with hardly a breath in all that time.  I can honestly tell you that I've never been so relieved to see a blasted school bus when one came into view and I exclaimed with delight, "JACK!  There's a school bus!"  Apparently there was a protocol that I didn't follow because he started to cry and said "Mommy, NOOOOO!"  What?  What in heaven's name did I do wrong?  If he didn't want me to point it out, why, why, WHY did he ask me where it was for 23 MILES????  After I apologized and he calmed himself down, there was this awkward silence in the car that was broken only by Kenny Chesney boasting of his farm equipment's sex appeal.  We ended up passing another school bus a few minutes later, and it caused my heart rate to speed up and my mind to race.  Do I point out the obvious, or should I act like I don't see it?  I decided to play it safe and go with the ignorance is bliss plan,  and I didn't say anything at all.  I knew within seconds of it's passing that this was the wrong coarse of action, because Jack said "MOOOOM!  Da cool bus!".  I chanced a look in the rearview mirror and saw his huge brown eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.  They seemed to ask so much- how could I NOT have seen the school bus?  Didn't I love him in the least?  These are the moments in motherhood that really need a manual.  What are the rules, and how can I get a copy?  Is it too much to ask for them to be consistent in their insanity, or do I have to wait until he is five for that?

Today he has discovered that he has a hangy-down thing in the back of his throat, and he's certain he's only got moments left to live.  All day, every half hour, he comes running and yelling with panic in his voice for me to check for mutations.  After I reassure him that all is normal, he looks at me as though I've done nothing but lie to him his entire life and goes to the bathroom to look for himself.  A few times I've heard the sound of a cat with a hair ball caught in it's throat, followed by the sound of Mitch's laughter.   Since we don't have a cat, I can only assume he's trying to remove said hangy-down thing in the operating amphitheater of the bathroom. And why should I be concerned?  If I were to remove a hangy-down thing, there's no better O.R. nurse I'd rather have than Mitch.  Cool under pressure, that's Mitch.

Good ideas... maybe.

Note: The bed is REALLY high after you put it on risers.  I know this because I fell out of bed last night for the second time since I put them in.  Have you ever stepped off a curb or step that you weren't expecting?  You know the feeling you get that makes your mouth go dry and drops your stomach into your knees to turn them to rubber all in the time it takes you to think "Oh sh*t"?  Try that at two in the morning when you are half asleep, but literally rolling out of bed to go to the bathroom.  I'm not used to the floor being so far away and by the time my body remembers, I'm crumpled in heap trying to figure out what happened.  This is one of the times that I'm grateful that Jordan is such a sound sleeper, because I think that casual would be a little hard to pull off at this point.  I'm hoping that I'll get used to it eventually and that my body will learn how to repel with my eyes closed.

Jack had a really hard day today.  I feel for him, because I've been there, but I'm also jealous because he got to cry all day when he felt like it, but on my worst days I feel as though I have to try to be brave and hold it in.  It might be healthier his way, however.  I mean, he cries and moves on to the next thing that doesn't go his way, while I get upset, internalize it and add it and the next disappointment to the pile of things I'm still trying to process emotionally.  I'll end up crying eventually, but by then I'm not really sure what it is that I'm crying over since I'm officially distraught and overwhelmed.  Maybe we all would be less stressed and happier if everyone had mini tantrums as things happen, rather than holding onto them for a "more appropriate time".  Or maybe I just want a get out jail free card if ever I do find myself rolling on the ground kicking and wailing with a snotty face because someone told me I had to get dressed.  I think I'll play it by ear.

And the drama continues on the field.  Today was our first scrimmage against another team and no fewer than four people cried, myself included.  We were against five year olds, which normally wouldn't be such a difference, but these kids have been playing for YEARS, literally.  They are two years ahead of my little three year olds, and our team had a very hard time dealing emotionally with other people taking the ball away from them.  Darling Angelina was all lined up for a sweet goal, and someone helped her kick the ball into the net.  Despair, grief, anguish- all crossed her little face because she didn't get do it herself, someone stole her moment and she ran off the field in tears to be consoled by mom.  At least she was on the field.  Jack spent the entire practice standing on the sidelines shaking with emotion and nonstop tears because I made him come to practice.  To be fair, he also cried because we didn't drive in the Mater (Jordan's truck), because I dropped him at school, I picked him up from school, I drove him home and made him take a nap.  The entire day was just too much for the guy, and he tapped out of participating in life right there and then.  After practice we drove to the head coach's house so I could pick up our team's uniforms.  I have five small people on my team, and they gave me four uniforms, no one else noticed the math thing didn't add up on this?  I failed math (not going to say how many times), and I figured it out right away.  Apparently, Angelina's uniform is missing and hopefully if we order it now, it'll be here in time for the first game.  Bambo (yes, his name really is Bambo) also said that they never got a size for Jack.  They didn't know what to order, so they ordered the largest small they had for him, which is two sizes too big.  I wonder why I drove to the park in July and had Jack try on uniforms then if they weren't going to write it down.  I also found out that one of the dates for a fundraiser that I have a major role in (this wasn't in the original job description), is on the day that I scheduled Jack's birthday party.  I have seventeen kids under the age of three planning on being at my house the same time that I'm supposed to be at the park raising money for things I didn't know I need.  People told me that I'd be great at this coaching thing, that I'd love it and have a blast.  I don't feel like I'm doing all that great, but I do look forward to getting on the field, running and cheering with the kids, and I think that as the Warriors (we finally agreed on a name), we are certainly living up to our name.  Against all odds, we are having fun.

Karate Kid

I have a baby ninja.  Not everyone can say that, but then again not everyone has a two year old that climbs things just to jump off yelling "Hiya!".  He also has some pretty amazing kicks that he's perfecting as well as dancing by wiggling his bum and doing straight arm karate chops, all while yelling "Hiya!" of course.  I want to look into the place here that teaches karate and see what they say about age limits.  He's obviously a natural.  We all know how much Mitch loves villains of any kind, but now when he sees them I can't tell wether he thinks he is one, or he's fighting them off.  Either way, it's equal parts nerve wracking and adorable, which leaves me worried and delighted at the same time.  He's also ninja fast.  When I'm coaching Jack's team at soccer practice I'll look around and he's right beside me, two minutes later I'll look again and he is all the way across the field taking some other kid's ball.  Does he come back when I call him?  No.  He does not.  He makes me run to him.   I had no idea that I ran funny, but apparently I do since it's all he can do to stand up straight because he's laughing so hard watching me.   It's pretty bad when a two year old can make you worried that you run like a duck.  I don't though.  Do I?

The neighbor's chihuahua was strangely silent last night, but I still had trouble sleeping.  At first I woke up because it was quiet.  Too quiet.  I found myself a teensy bit concerned for the little freak, which led to getting angry with myself for not being strong with the whole idea of peticide.  I'm so weak.  After I'm awake, it takes a long time for me to get back to sleep because I'm unable to turn my brain off.  I start thinking things like "When I wake up I need to remember to ___" or "Tomorrow I need to call ___" and it snowballs from there.  By 3:15 I was pondering the differences in the words Caribbean and  carabiner, and thought I was being completely rational when I got the idea to lift the bed onto risers today while Jordan was at work.  Let me just take a moment to assure everyone that I am fine.  I will eventually regain the use of my left arm and someday I hope to be able speak without stuttering.  The bed looks awesome however, and I have a lot more storage space underneath with the added benefit of the kids not being able to climb up by themselves anymore.  No more monkeys jumping on the bed with soccer cleats.

Pre-School for Jack is going splendidly, and he is still thrilled to go.  I hope he never loses that love of learning, and we are doing everything possible to ensure he keeps it.  His teacher says that he hugs her all the time and calls her honey, which is the highest praise from him.  She'll correct him and he will say "Okay, honey.".  I love it that he loves her, it tells me that he's comfortable there and will listen to her.  During picture day, while they were doing the class pictures he kept checking on her to make sure she was having fun, it was very sweet.  He gave me a thumbs up, then smiled at her to see if she saw his mom.  He did really well with following direction, but he had issues with keeping his hands down for the picture.  Have you seen Talladega Nights?  The part when Will Ferrell is in the interview and he doesn't know what to do with his hands right now... Jack was having the same problem.  Miss Gloria kept reaching over and gently pulling his arms down to his sides, and very slowly Jack would bring them back up and just hold them next to his face with a deer in the headlights look.  The individual pictures were a lot more successful, and they even took Mitch's picture so that we could have them match.  That was an exercise in futility if ever there was one.  Half of the pictures that the photographer took were of Mitch barely in the frame.  I stood next to his chair and would grab him as he tried to make his escape and plop him back down.  Just that quickly the guy would snap a picture, only to have an image of a laughing, running baby.  We finally got one that has him relatively stationary and everyone agreed that that was the best we could ask for.  I'm anxious to get them back, I kind of think we should've asked the photographer to choose the best one of Mitch barely in the frame, since that is how we normally see him.  He is so not the sit still on a chair kind of kid, and it's false advertising to put up a picture displaying that of him.  People are going to get the wrong idea.

We are stuck at home today, which I'd not mind normally, but I had plans for a fun afternoon with the boys.  They are showing the movie Rio at the recreation center here, and having kids crafts as well as lunch and snacks.  I thought it would be a fun diversion and a way to get out of the house, but still stay in Douglas.  But Jordan's truck wouldn't start this morning and he had to take my car to work since I wasn't about to get the kids up at 4:30 am to drive him myself.  Call me crazy, but I had just fallen back to sleep at four and wasn't willing to give that up.  Then I tried to let my friend know that I wasn't going to be joining her, only to find out that she's in the hospital having kidney stones and won't be going either.  I have another friend who is getting ready to have a liver transplant, another friend whose husband was in an accident at work and had to have surgery on his leg to put it back together, and my sister Cindi is waiting to find out if she needs surgery on her heart.  Was it a full moon last week?  It feels like an overwhelming rash of medical emergencies.  My heart and thoughts are with them all, and I wish there was more I could do to help them.  For now, if I can remember what day it is and take people their meals on time, I will consider myself helpful.