Signing Off

Touching and memorable, is that what I said? Jeez, I know how to set myself up.

Well first, let me say that it's been a blast sharing our little adventures with you. My intent was to offer an honest portrayal, and sometimes it was probably painfully honest. Yes, I yell at my kids sometimes. Yes, I've admitted to the entire world (or to all 7 of you that read this blog) that they've driven me absolutely, positively crazy at times. But I hope you've also noticed, and I hope they will someday too, that we have a heck of a lot of fun. In my unbiased opinion, Owen and Ellie are about the best kids a tired, overwhelmed and inexperienced mom could ask for. Owen has always been such sensitive kid - I remember being pregnant with Ellie and every once in a while he'd look at me and say, "how are you feeling Mom?" That hasn't changed at all. And then there's Ellie - from the day she was born she's been such a funny, happy, joyful kid.

I hope Owen stays true to his sensitive side. Even when it's not cool. And I hope Ellie continues to see the "happy" in life (and reminds me to look for it). And I hope they rely on each other like I rely on my siblings when they're older; I hope Owen comes over and helps Ellie with an insane amount of yard work just before a family party at her house. And I hope they ask to babysit each other's kids because they consider it just about the best way to spend a Saturday night. I hope they're confident, and realize how great they are. And most of all, I hope they realize that (although it's been really, really, really hard at times) I've always loved being their mom.

So I called Larry David for advice on a witty ending to this chronicle, but he never called me back. Instead I'll end with this from the ever-dependable Dr. Seuss:

Today is gone. Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one.
Every day,
from here to there,
funny things are everywhere.

1 Year Older, 2 Minutes Slower

I ran my butt off at this year's Harvard 4th of July 5-Miler. Honest, I did. And yet my time was 2 minutes slower than last year. It's come to my attention lately that I may be getting older. No, really.

Owen and Ellie ran the 1-miler, and I use the term "ran" loosely. Owen did a lot of shoe-scuffing, talking, complaining about the heat, bending over with alleged cramps, and skipping. It wasn't pretty, I'm not gonna lie to you, but he didn't come in last. (Ellie did). Owen recovered from the trauma of his race just in time for the pie-eating contest. Ellie tried to compete in this event as well, but became rather overwhelmed at the last minute and had to leave the designated pie-eating area in tears. You can't win 'em all. (Or any of 'em, on this particular day).

The rest of our 4th of July holiday weekend was spent eating lobster, drinking beer (and yes, Mike, you did drink some tequila), relaxing on the beach, and watching the kids play with their cousins. It was gluttonous and most enjoyable.

Back to "reality" on Tuesday meant that I got to go to work, while Mike took a day off to spend with the kids. I tried unsuccessfully to squelch my enthusiasm as I dove into my car at 8:30, peeled out of the driveway, and left Mike to engage in conversations that started with such startling observations as, "Dad, Chiquita bananas are so weird, you know why?" (Newsflash: apparently 6 year-olds think absolutely everything is weird).

As Ann Curry would say, "on a more serious note", tomorrow marks the 2-year anniversary of the beginning of "Our Adventures". I have loved your comments and your readership. Hell, I just love the attention, we all know that. But I think I'll be taking a break after tomorrow. This blogging stuff is getting harder and harder. I'm not short on material (God, no), but definitely short on time. And energy. (Did I mention the aging thing?) So I'll see if I can come up with something more touching and memorable than the Seinfeld finale (the first one) to end this run.

Stay tuned.

View from the Couch

I'm sitting down for the first time in about 6 weeks. At least it feels that way. One child is playing Legos happily at the kitchen counter, having just returned from an impromptu sleepover at Jack's; the other informed me yesterday that she was having a "3-day sleepover at Nanny's and Papa's", and jumped into their car to head for VT (that one was actually pre-planned). Our house has been scrubbed from top to bottom in anticipation of the hordes of home buyers who never showed up to our open house. There's not much to do right now other than sit down, enjoy the silence and recap my readers (assuming I still have any given my sporadic writing schedule) of the comings and goings of the Apigian family. Here goes:

The other day I heard Ellie say, "Owen, your bedspread doesn't smell very good, but I do love you". So cute. (Note to self: clean the bedspreads). Our house has been on the market for exactly 2 1/2 days and I'm already frustrated by the lack of interest. Our half-marathon came and went, and we both survived without any permanent damage (although Mike is definitely going to lose a toenail); from my perspective it went sort of like this:

Rain again?? What is it with me and half-marathons??
Hmmm... actually not so bad while I'm running.
Race is over, I'm not running anymore, and I am cold and wet.
Now I'm shivering.
Now I can't feel my thumbs.
Now I'm barfing.
No more half-marathons.
6 hours later over burgers and beer: I think I'm ready for another half-marathon.

Owen is going through a major growth spurt. None of his long pants fit him anymore, and he is always hungry. I have to teach that kid how to make his own PB&J. One of his little girl friends ("girl friends" not "girlfriends") sent him an e-mail this morning; it went like this:

Dear Owen, I have been you friend for a long time. I love you. I can't wait to see you on Monday.

First thought: awwwwww
Next thought: slow down, sister, he's not even out of kindergarten yet.

I think quiet time is over. Owen's hungry again.

This and That

I know, it's been a while. For a few days I could blame my silence on the chemical burn on my eyeball, but I have completely recovered. And, to answer your inevitable question, too darn tired to haul Hello Kitty into court. She won that battle.

I feel like things have been crazy busy lately. I commented today to another mom that it was amazing that I hadn't forgotten a child somewhere, or dropped someone off at the wrong place. Or on the wrong day. She looked at me like I was insane. Which I just may be. I find that, by the time I'm finished putting all the clean laundry away, it's time to start the cycle all over again. And the sink is always full of dishes. (Am I the only one around here who knows what that strange square-shaped appliance full of clean dishes is all about?) And, suddenly, everyone wants to cram playdates and teacher conferences and end-of-the-year parties into the same two weeks. And that half-marathon isn't going away... tick tock, Mike.

But, looking on the bright side, the school year is almost over. And our landscaping project begins on Monday. And, for whatever reason, my hair is really working for me these days. And, speaking of hair, Ellie's bangs have finally grown out and she's looking even more adorable. IMHO.

That's all for now. Those dishes aren't going to clean themselves.

* Sap Alert *

Last night was the Groton Prom. When I heard that, I was instantly struck by (and grateful for) just how young and innocent the kids are right now. Sure, they're growing up quickly. They say weird things that they heard on SpongeBob or iCarly (or the school bus), and I look at them like, "who are you"? But they still call me Mommy (love that). And come into our bed in the morning to snuggle. And until very recently, Ellie thought she was from the state of "Cheez-Its", not "Massachusetts". (They do sound alike, no?) Ellie performs her little dance routines (remember Elaine from Seinfeld?) without an ounce of embarrassment and, when Owen lost his tee-ball glove the other night, and was forced to borrow his sister's pink one for his game, it didn't dawn on him to be self-conscious. Whenever I feel like I'm losing them, I wait for the Ice Cream Man to make his rounds; the look of pure and untarnished GLEE at the prospect of buying a two-dollar Popsicle from a man in a truck reminds me that they're not gone yet. They may act like teenagers sometimes (when exactly do kids learn to roll their eyes?), but for now they're still my babies.

Road Race

Ellie's pretty sure she won the 2010 Groton Road Race. She didn't, but she did ditch her dad after about 5 yards and run her little heart out to the finish line.

Owen and I ran the 2K with Johnny Cash, uh, I mean Uncle Jay. Owen did great, and finished with a big smile on his face. After we crossed the finish line I said, "Great job, Owen - what'd you think"? His reply: "where are the goody bags"?

Domestic Diva

Ellie is sweeping the kitchen floor in pink fuzzy slippers, a sparkly headband, and pearls.

(And clothes).

Proud Moments

Last week Owen was the Mystery Reader at Ellie's school. Although she remained expressionless the entire time, I personally was nearly bursting with pride. It was a short book, but he read every word, and even remembered to show the pictures.

I brought the kids to Friendly's the other night for dinner. (Ewwww...... Something about that place just makes me feel... I don't know.... unhealthy). My Ellie ordered rice, broccoli and corn for dinner. She is most definitely my child.

Speaking of which, before she and I went to Owen's classroom for a visit last week, Ellie spent a good 10 minutes "doing her hair". I'm talking headbands, barrettes, the whole deal... Yup, my child indeed.

The other night at dinner, Owen asked Uncle Jay if he was going to run the Groton Road Race this year. Jay replied that he wasn't sure; he was worried about getting his butt whooped by his older sister. Owen said to him, "Uncle Jay, that's not what it's about". (Maybe they really DO listen???)

Owen and I were watching a movie on the couch the other day when he suddenly disappeared. He returned a minute later with a blanket from his room, which he tucked all around me. Funny, I don't remember saying that I was cold (but I was).

Owen's birthday party was today, and Ellie was dressed for it (picture Easter dress, striped tights and a bathing suit cover-up) at about 7 AM. The party started at noon.

Although work has been crazy busy for Mike lately, he took the entire day off for Owen's party. This turned out to be a tremendous blessing for me; it was a Lego party and I don't know how to do Legos. (Those kits are hard).

I turned 37 last week, and celebrated with a (HILLY) 9.5 mile run. I'm pretty Biden sure I couldn't have done that when I was 25. (Hey, it was the "carbs are good for you" era).

When Will We Learn?

Last year it was the plate of Easter sugar cookies... This year Molly ransacked Ellie's basket and polished off about half a dozen chocolate eggs sometime in the middle of the night. They weren't the cheap ones, either, this year the Easter Bunny made a stop at the Lindt store and stocked up on the real deal. Molly seemed appreciative, but not so much remorseful. Ellie pretended not to notice that the contents of her basket were strewn around the sunroom. What a kid.

In related news, Mike later commented to Owen that one of the treasures found in his Easter basket was, and I quote (in case the quotation marks don't tip you off), "it was the last one in the store!"

Oops.

All's Well That Ends With a Flying Toaster

Thought I'd add a positive post script to yesterday's drama...

Last night as I was heading back to work, Owen game me an envelope on which he'd written, "To Mom. Love, Owen". Inside was a picture of the two of us (from back when he had those chubby two year old cheeks... Sigh...) and some money. Five quarters to be exact. He thought I might get hungry during my event, and wanted me to be able to get something to eat. I turned out to be crazy busy at work that night (as opposed to just plain crazy, as I was that morning), but when I got hungry I just reached into my envelope and bought myself a bag of animal crackers from the vending machine.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

To Sum it Up...

... I threw a toaster. And Mike threw a pump. Two separate incidents; each appliance malfunctioning in its own extremely inconvenient way. And all this before 8 AM.

Let me back up...

Our basement is under water. Again. That beautiful Pergo floor is warped and buckling. And it just keeps raining. I'd love to stay home and vacuum up water again (well, not really) but I'm working until 9:00 tonight. As Mike tried taking apart and repairing our defective pump, Ellie rolled around on the floor sobbing about a hangnail. And Owen announced that he didn't want to go to daycare. And both kids refused to get dressed when I asked them to. And then the broken pump started leaking oil all over my kitchen counter top and floor. And all I wanted was an English muffin. With peanut butter. But when I pressed down that little lever on our ridiculously cheap toaster, nothing. I pressed again. Nothing. I rattled the thing, and shook it a bit. Nada. So I yanked the cord out of the socket (kids, do as I say, not as I do) and I tossed it.

Sadly, it made me feel better. (Much better than one of those crying sessions that you have without real tears, for fear of smearing your make-up right before work.) And even made that dumb toaster start working again. I should feel guilty, but honestly, I think every parent is entitled to throw a household appliance once a year. Hell, maybe even twice.

I told you it was a rough morning.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Boys will be boys:













And boys will be girls:

Observations

• I never thought I'd let my kids eat Froot Loops. Or eat in front of the TV. Right now they're eating Froot Loops in front of the TV. (Turns out, if a manufacturer puts the word "fiber", "protein" and/or "whole grain" on a box, I will buy it).

• Mike was Mr. Mom the other night when I had to work late. He did well, aside from letting Owen's backpack catch on fire. (Child puts backpack down on counter; parent lights gas stove to make dinner; backpack begins to smoke).

• Yesterday at Target I noticed a bottle of Coke Classic with a "new item" sticker on it. That didn't make much sense to me.

• Last night, Ellie asked for a protein bar for dessert. I was so proud, until I realized she meant "Klondike Bar".

• After several days away from the gym, I logged seven miles on the treadmill the other day. Feeling proud, I said to Owen later, "guess how many miles I ran on the treadmill today?" He said, "I don't know... sixty?" I didn't feel proud anymore.

• Owen used to be able to identify all the trains on "Thomas"; now he talks about black diamonds and "pow pow" (as in "really, really fluffy snow").

• While scrolling through the TV guide the other night, I noticed "The Real World XXIII" on MTV. Am I really that old, or do I just not know my Roman numerals???

A Friend Is...

... Someone who shows up to your dog's 10th birthday party. With a gift. In a gift bag. And actually joins in when everyone sings "Happy Birthday Dear Molly" (using a rare instance of good sense, I blew out the candle on top of the cake for Molly). As far as dog parties go, I have to admit that this one was a big success. Even if Uncle Jay was still so traumatized from last year's shindig that he had to come up with a lame, last minute excuse. We're onto you, Jay... we drove past your house several times... never saw V's mom.

Today is the last day of February vacation, and all I can say is "Ahhhhhh". Don't get me wrong, I loved our outings, but I can't wait to go to work tomorrow and complete a couple of thoughts. Yup, I'm talking from start to finish. Maybe engage in some adult conversation. Perhaps even accomplish something. And get paid for it all. As I said, "Ahhhhhh".

No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

Sorry, Jay, but it's true. As I contemplated hitting the line for a highly-illegal second round during "Kids Eat Free" day at IKEA, I distractedly continued to shovel pasta into Ellie's mouth. "Come on, kids, EAT. It's FREE".

Not for long.

Suddenly, up came Ellie's lunch, all over that beautiful Scandinavian cafeteria table. Truth is, if you spend $205 on a desk and shelf in the kids' section, the lunch really isn't free to begin with. Ah, but I got caught up in the gimmick; thought I could really get away with something. Ellie's unusually sensitive gag reflex brought me right back down to Earth. Nothing's free.

The good news is that the new IKEA desk (for $205, I prefer to call it a "Lego work table") and shelf (for $205, I prefer to call it a "Lego display system") look great in Owen's new and improved bedroom.

And Ellie recovered as soon as we stopped forcing pre-made cafeteria pasta down her throat.

Lesson learned.

In Other News...

I feel like all I report on is sickness. So sad. And so typical of February; not gonna lie to you, it's pretty much all we've got going on around here. But let me see if I can come up with anything noteworthy that doesn't involve phlegm, vomit, or doctor visits...

Well, Ellie is turning into quite a little girly-girl. Last night I caught her rubbing my Neutrogena deep-wrinkle cream all over her face. The stuff isn't cheap, so I can't say I was thrilled, but it was kind of cute. She also insists on doing her hair before we go somewhere, which usually means putting on as many headbands as she can. And, of course, she must pick out her own outfits; today she went to school wearing a total of THREE shirts. Fortunately it was very cold this morning... I'll have to break her of this habit before summer. She might also be going through a bit of an identity crisis - the other day she mentioned that she was going to change her name... this is a family show, so I'll spell it for you: V-A-G-I-N-A. I'll told her no; we were sticking with "Ellie".

Owen is Owen. This morning he called me "Old Lady", as in "how ya doin' Old Lady?" (Hmmm... maybe he wouldn't have if his sister hadn't used up all of my deep-wrinkle cream...)

New Plot... Same Cast

Owen's cold has developed into pneumonia, which wouldn't be too awful if I hadn't given him the "suck it up" speech a bunch of times over the weekend. When the doctor asked me today about his energy level, I said, "well, when we went to Jump On In yesterday, he didn't jump". She gave me a look like, "Ahhhh.... that says it all". Or maybe it was, "Ahhhh, nice. Drag your kid to an indoor playground when he clearly can't breathe". I couldn't really tell, but I'll assume it was the former. I decided not to mention the black diamond skiing he did on Friday.

Anyway, tomorrow starts a new week. And I'm determined to make it a healthy one. It also marks the beginning of my half-marathon training program, so I'm sure it will be anything but. Oh, don't listen to me, that's just the hot cocoa and Bailey's talking (hey, it's Superbowl Sunday and we don't have any beer... we're improvising.)

Same Plot... New Cast

Ellie has been tough this week. I'm keeping in mind that she has this upper-respiratory-tantrum-inducing-infection. I'm trying to be sympathetic, really. But, come on. Last night as I tucked her into bed I said, "Ellie, I just want you to know that I love you". (This seemed necessary after the series of face-offs we'd engaged in all evening). She looked back at me and said, "well, I don't like you". Nice, kid. Nice.

When I picked her up at school today, she seemed better. The glare was gone, and she seemed almost sweet again. (Almost). But now it seems to be Owen's turn. With his cough has come an inability to cope with even the smallest problem. You know, like the Spaghettio's taking a grand total of 5 and 1/2 minutes to cook. Major meltdown at the prospect of having to wait that long. The poor child.

So do I get to fall apart when I come down with this wretched virus??

Sometimes I really miss my sick days.

A Puke is a Puke

...Or is it? I mean, shouldn't there be some sort of quantity guideline when it comes to keeping a kid home sick? There's throw-up (definitely stay home) and then there's spit-up (not so clear on this one), which could simply be the result of eating breakfast too quickly or some weird kind of burping phenomenon. Do you really miss a day of work because of one giant out-of-control burp? I say no. But let's cut the hypothetical BS because, as you've concluded by now, I am the desperate parent who sent her "sick" child to daycare today so that I could sneak off to work. This child is now singing and painting in her toyroom, which should make me feel less guilty. And yet I've still come to this judgement-free zone (right??) to confess.

At least I never brought the kids to the gym with the flu or anything. Oh, wait...

Wake Me in June...

I need more caffeine. Or a nap. I could go either way. Here's the thing: it's 15 degrees outside. That kind of bone-chilling temperature makes me tired.

Yesterday I bought a light-weight reflective running vest. Serious ventilation in that sucker. And nice and bright, so I can start avoiding those loving (read: annoying) lectures I get from my dear husband before every outdoor run on the topic of avoiding on-coming traffic. When do you think I'll get to use it? No time soon. I mean, ventilation? What was I thinking?

Yup, this is the time of year that I begin to seriously wonder if I'm cut out to be a New Englander. I watch International House Hunters during "Tropical Escapes" week and cry into my wine. (No, not really. That would just be sad). But I do check with Mike every few days to see if there are any EMC openings in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Or San Diego. I'm not picky.

Where's the Innocence??

Yesterday was another half-day for Owen, so the three of us went to the movies. Alvin & the Chipmunks: the Squeakquel. Seen it? Don't worry, you're not missing a whole heck of a lot, although I have to admit, I got a kick out of Ellie doing her little bum-bum dance in the isle and Owen laughing hysterically at every single thing that bordered on inappropriate. Like this: at one point, the "villain" received a seemingly painful attack to the, you know, privates. Not only did Owen burst into 5-year-old-boy-type-laughter, he shouted out, "Ooohhhh - right in the wiener!"

"Wiener"? Where's the innocence? (It's that damn school bus, I know it is).

Well, I'm not letting him go without a fight. Which explains why, at this exact moment, he's wearing giant red penguin sleeper pajamas. It was the biggest size I could find at Target this Christmas. And he will wear them until his giant feet burst through that cozy fleece fabric. He's still my baby, damn it.

Anyway, gotta go. Owen's asking if he can get on the computer. (I think he needs to update his Facebook status: "Owen is... feeling suffocated by his lunatic mother and being forced into wearing feetie pajamas".)

My Helper

Ellie is truly the second mommy around here. If she even suspects that Owen might need something, she sneaks away and returns moments later, holding the needed object triumphantly. For some reason this seems to annoy Owen, although that could be due in part to the appreciation that I ooze all over Ellie (and boy, does she soak it up). If we're getting ready to go out, she'll often run off and select a pair of shoes for me (unfortunately she tends to gravitate towards my black leather boots which, while very cute, are also pretty impractical). She also likes to bring Owen his toothbrush right before he leaves for school, which is usually dripping with sparkly blue toothpaste (hopefully this explains why most things around here are accented with blue sparkles). If I ask the two of them to clean up, a fight will usually erupt when Ellie starts by picking up Owen's things instead of her own... regardless of the purpose, the kid can't stand having his baby sister touching his things (can't say I blame him there).

Owen is usually pretty helpful, too. His helpfulness tends to come in the form of really trying to behave, like this: "Mom? Can I watch iCarly? If you say no, it's really okay". (Turns out, it's not always as "okay" as you'd think when I actually do say no). And I can tell that he really (usually) tries to be polite. When I picked him up from a playdate the other day, the mom said, "he hardly ate a thing the whole time he was here"; I asked him about it later, and he confirmed that he was just trying to be a polite guest. (Jeez... guess I overdid it with the manners talk).

Anyway it will be interesting to see how these qualities evolve over the years. I've already heard them discussing their futures and, from what I can tell, Owen's counting on his sister to provide his food and shelter. Let's hope that Doctor career pans out.

Here's What I Know

Jack Bauer is still hot. Man-purse and all. (European carry-all, whatever...)

Chloe still whines more than D.W. (If you don't know who D.W. is, you can be forgiven. If you don't know who Jack Bauer is, you can't).

Renee is still exclusively a nose-breather (I wonder if she breathes through her mouth when she runs?)

President Taylor still speaks way too slowly for someone who's in such a constant and urgent state of crisis.

And finally, I know that things will get much, much worse for our friend Jack before they get better. I seriously considered shutting the TV off after he and Kim solidified their happy plans to move to L.A. as a family, and imagine that the story ended there. But I'm hooked on this ridiculous series and, sadly, it looks like I'll be tuning in for another 20 hours to watch the rest of the misery and drama unfold. Maybe after that I'll find a hobby.

Sometimes They Even Like Each Other

I don't know what's up lately, but the kids have actually been really nice to each other. They have a secret handshake; need I say more? Well, I would, but I've just noticed that Owen is eating TWO string cheeses at once, which is something that probably requires my supervision. (This kid's appetite is out of control).

Nice Try, Mom

I was pretty proud of myself (and Mike) for getting up on New Years Day and running a 5K. Okay, so I didn't drive down to South Boston and jump into the ocean (can you say, "crazy??") but it was still on the ambitious side, and surely nothing that my 20-year-old self would have envisioned for my future.

That night I told Ellie about the race as I was putting her to bed, mentioning that I felt proud of myself because it was really hard (well, cold anyway), but I tried my very best. She said, "did you win?" "Well, no", I said. "Then it didn't work, Mom".

Ouch.

Note to self: do not invite Ellie to come watch me run my next half-marathon.

Silly Santa

Santa might be getting old and senile. Or perhaps he/she should have skipped that night-cap before filling the stockings at 201 Flavell Road on Christmas Eve. Either way, Santa made a couple of mistakes this year. It became evident when Owen ran over to Molly's stocking, grabbed it off the hook, looked expectantly inside and said, "Santa left Molly...... a thumbtack?" (I'm not sure how that thumbtack wound up in the stocking... it really did add insult to injury, didn't it?) Mike and I looked across the room at each other with an "oh, crap" expression. But we moved on, laughed nervously and said, "silly Santa" a couple of times. The kids didn't seem too affected by the oversight; Molly missed it entirely.

When the stockings had been thoroughly explored, Owen looked less than impressed with his loot. I asked him what was up, and he replied that Santa didn't bring him what he really wanted: Lego's. That's when I remembered the additional Target bag, buried deep in the downstairs closet, filled with (among other things) Lego's.

So after a frantic (yet unnoticed) display of ingenuity and quick thinking, plus a couple of record-setting trips down and up the stairs, I led the kids to a second pile of goodies in the sunroom which even included some Milkbones for Molly.

Come on, Santa, get it together.