That's Why We Call Her Yellie

Ellie yells. She always has. She's not an angry child, in fact, the volume of her voice usually increases with her excitement and happiness levels. As I sit here "working" on my computer (shhhh....) she and Owen are having a tea party on the sunroom floor. I keep pausing, thinking I need to break up a fight, but she's simply being a good hostess. And a loud one. "OWEN - do you want some SUGAR for your TEEEEEEE?" Last night when Mike walked in, Ellie immediately started telling him about the park. "And NONE of Owen's FRIENDS were THERE!!!!" Mike looked up like, is this somehow my fault? But she wasn't accusing him, simply providing him with some very important information.

Now, Owen has decided he is the catch of his preschool class. When we left Siena's yesterday, she burst into tears because Owen was leaving. We were walking down the driveway and Owen said to me, "jeez, Mom, you were right. I guess the girls DO love me". Of course I found this to be ridiculously funny, although that may have been due in part to my little one-beer buzz. (You gotta love a playdate that involves alcohol. But please don't tell Mike that my friend and I sit on the deck and drink beer, while the kids entertain themselves in the backyard; he might think this stay-at-home-parent thing is easier than it is).

Painfully Hot

Two words that sum up this year's Groton Road Race. The kids did great, but let's face it, they had to go half-way around the track. Try a 5K in sunny, 90-degree weather and you'll say what I said. I can't actually repeat what I said, while I was desperately trying to get into a groove with two enormous concrete blocks strapped to my running shoes, but you get the picture. (That was my attempt at a metaphor; I didn't really have concrete blocks strapped to my shoes). So it was hot, hot, hot. And I hated just about all of it. But the kids had a blast burying themselves in sand at the long-jump pit and cheering on the 10K finishers, like Uncle David (great job, Dave). I also have to say Kudos to my husband, who hasn't run since his last 5K (November); my friend LeeAnn, who ran her first 5K ever; Kristina, who placed second in her (our) division; and that 85 year-old guy who finished the 10K looking better than I did after finishing the 5.

Bag Lady

Ever wonder what's in the purse that Ellie MUST bring with her everywhere we go?

1) her plastic high-heeled princess slippers
2) Owen's sandals ("in case his feet get hot")
3) a purple headband
4) her Hello Kitty doodle-pad

Is she a girl, or is she a girl?

There Are Good Days...

... and let's just leave it at that.

Happy Birthday, Owen

So Owen is five. Crazy how that happened. One minute he's this chubby little toddler, and the next he's so tall that I barely have to bend over to wipe his breakfast off his face (hey, I'll always be his mother). I love how he's so willing to try new things now. Not only does he jump right into a new season of town soccer, after five minutes he's goofing around trying to get a laugh out of his teammates. (Successfully, by the way. That 'ball under the shirt' routine does it every time). I love how he's not the least bit exclusionary. He doesn't claim every other kid is his "BEST" friend (that revolving honor is reserved for a special few), but he's happy to include just about anyone who comes along. And he's thoughtful. I still remember being pregnant with Ellie, and every once in a while Owen would say, "Mom, how are you feeling?" (which, let's be honest, is really ALL a pregnant woman needs to be asked). Now if I could just get the kid to clean up after going to the bathroom (this has gone on long enough...), he'd be just about perfect.

I think I'll sign off now, before the bickering starts. Plus, Ellie is about elbow-deep in finger paint. (It really should be called "Hand, Elbow, Shirt and Hair Paint", but then I guess we'd never buy it).

Happy birthday, buddy.

She Plays, We Pay

So it turns out that you can't eat six large butter cookies decorated with various kinds of Easter candy... at least not if you're a 9 year-old Chocolate Lab. Don't panic, she's still with us (phew... don't know what I would do if I didn't have to vacuum up dog hair three times a day), but she does apparently have a case of pancreatitis. Basically this translates to a fairly large vet bill, brought on by the over-indulgence of a high-fat food (I'm no genius, but I'm guessing that's where the cookies come into the story). Oh Molly, when do you learn? Has a binging episode ever had a happy ending...? (Does anyone recall the deer poop fiasco? Sorry... I shouldn't have gone there).

By the way, Molly will be fine.

And I just spent $12.99 on Pepcid AC.

For a dog.

Cookie Caper

When we walked into the house today after church, and saw the empty cookie plate on the floor surrounded by tell-tale signs of cookie thievery, I immediately thought that Harley must have paid us a visit. But no, it was our friend Molly. She ate half a dozen egg-shaped butter cookies decorated with jelly beans, gum drops and frosting. In her defense, she had given up sweets for lent.

Ellie-Palooza

What can I say..? Some people just like having their pictures taken. Click here to see some recent pics of my favorite (most days) 2 and 1/2 year old.

Hello, Owen? This is Your Adolescence Calling...

Owen and Siena have discovered that his walkie-talkies can be used between our house and hers. So now a couple times a day (and starting at about 7 AM this morning) we hear,"Owen, are you there?" and Owen runs over to take his call. Sometimes Ellie wants in on the action, which frustrates Owen to no end ("MOM! Can you tell Ellie that I'm TRYING to talk to Siena???") At times I detect a hint of frustration from Siena, too (although I'm really trying not to eavesdrop). She'll say something like, "Owen, are you there? Because you're not really talking to me much" to which Owen will respond, "well, I'm just busy playing with my Legos right now..."

As I said yesterday, boys will be boys.

Boys Will Be Boys

Imagine this magical scene of parental bliss... The four of us snuggled in bed last night reading stories. It's cold and windy outside, but we're warm and content. Suddenly I say, "Owen, did you just pick a booger out of your nose and wipe it on my face?" He had indeed.

Nice, huh?

Here's My 3 Cents...

Owen and I did a little shopping the other day after Connor's birthday party. I figured I had some time, since Owen's sugar high would likely last for another 45 minutes or so. So we went to look for new running shoes. I was oh so disappointed when my physical therapist told me I needed new ones; you know how I hate to shop for shoes.

Anyway, I found a couple that I liked so I asked Owen for his opinion. He says, "well, these have pink on them, and you do love pink". I cannot argue with that kind of logic. Nor can I ignore the obvious fact that someday this boy will make an outstanding husband.

So I decided to go with his recommendation, and boxed them up to head for the register. Owen asked me how much they were, and when I told him he said, "Mom, I want to help pay for your new shoes" and he fishes 3 pennies out of his pocket. I guess he found them in my car and was holding onto them until he found a worthy purchase. Gotta love that kid. So much so that I might inform him to look even harder for "buried treasure" in my car. He could probably do a lot better than 3 cents.