The Doctor Will See You Now

Doctor's offices are not a place of fear for me.  Well, perhaps they are.  But not because I'm afraid of whatever needles or germs may be coming my way.  Rather, I stress just a little as three little people run rampant through the waiting room.

A few days ago I took my youngest in for a routine check up with our family doctor.  The doctor's office requests that you arrive 15 minutes early for your appointment.  Being the conscientious individual I am, we showed 20 minutes early.  Why this is necessary is beyond me as we spent those 20 minutes cooling our heels.  We then logged an additional 20 minutes while my daughter scattered books, did laps around the chairs, checked out the contents of the water cooler and threw a fit because I wouldn't let her pull the magazine rack down from the wall.  Mean Mama.  Finally, the nurse called us back. 

First thing the nurse did was to place my daughter on the scale.  Then she took her back to the exam room where she took her temperature with a rectal thermometer.  At this juncture, the nurse looks at me and says "is she in a cranky mood?  in need of a nap?  food?"  Mind you, my daughter is laying politely on her back, holding her little feet while something hard and gooey has been shoved up ... Well, I'll avoid getting graphic at this stage of the game.  Just to recap, my one year old has just sat for 40 minutes in the waiting room, been put on the scale and then put on the table for some vitals.  Any one of these, least of all someone weighing me, is enough to put me in a cranky mood.  In my opinion, my daughter is being downright serene.  What exactly they expect from a one year old is outside my realm of comprehension.

The nurse finishes her three minutes of checking vitals, assures us the doctor will be along soon and leaves the office.  We now wait for another half an hour for the physician.  Thirty minutes.  If this seems like a long time to you, imagine how it feels to a one year old.  I'm quickly going through my bag of tricks here while she looks forward to being poked and prodded some more.  We've had a snack.  Found the cap to an old syringe on the floor.  Probably better not to ask.  Stole a tongue depressor from the doctor.  Made a balloon out of a rubber glove.  Good news is that she has three shots at the end of her yellow brick road.  Good times for all. And they want to ask if my child is cranky?

In this doctor's defense, once you finally get your moment in the sun, he is willing to take all the time you need.  If you have questions he answers them, not once pushing you out the door.  More than can be said for the doctor I saw the other day.

There was myself and one other patient in the office.  Early morning appointment, so not too crowded.  After 30 minutes of waiting to see the doctor I was rushed along like a product through an assembly line.  Not quite sure where the doctor was rushing to as there was no one else waiting after us.  I can assure you, though, that I still had lingering questions when I left.  Not the least of which was how I ended up in that office.  Fortunately, he had a very kind staff, so they were able to clear a few things up for me.

Mind you, I am not so much of a snob that I mind waiting my turn.  I appreciate the fact that quality takes time.  I understand that doctors are overbooked.  (Yes, I have seen the check in list.  At one appointment, there were three other patients with the exact same appointment time as I with the exact same doctor.)  At the same time, I get frustrated with the concept that my time is not as important.  During one visit, I was ten minutes late walking in the door due to a series of unfortunate events.  I was actually told that they would not see me that day due to the fact that I was running late.  In as calm a voice as I could I mentioned to the nurse that I had driven an hour to be there for that appointment and that the last time I was there I had waited 1.5 hours to see the doctor.  Surely they could spare me ten minutes of their time.  Not to mention the fact that it costs me 300 dollars for the few minutes that we actually spend with the doctor while we are there.  To put that in perspective, my husband makes just over ten dollars an hour.  That means, it takes him almost one week of work to pay for that visit.  The doctor saw me.

I'm grateful we have good doctors.  I'm grateful that we have access to care when we need it.  All I ask in return is to put the same value on my time as you do on your own.  And if you're going to make my daughter wait an extended period for her shots, at least don't act surprised if she's a little out of sorts.

I'm a Little Engine

Not one to let the ignominy of my gym experience get me down, I was back at the track this week.  Weather is hot and muggy, I'm feeling a little lethargic and trying hard to find some new source of motivation.  In the meantime, I consider getting my running shoes on and being there a major victory.

Maybe in the interim, someone can help explain a few things for me.  The lack of results is really a downer.  Don't get me wrong.  I get the fact that there is more I could be doing.  I could definitely be going to the gym more days during the week.  I'm not right now, but I could.  There are places my diet could be cleaned up.  It's not horrible, but it's not all bran and tofu either.  Still, I've cut out fast food almost completely.  (Although this isn't so much for dietary reasons as it is because of the fact that I've found I just don't feel very good afterwards.)  We rarely have sodas or juice in the house.  Unless we're having a get together, we are a milk and water family.  Like I said, I'm not going to be the next Dr. Oz or anything, but I'm not terrible. 

All of that, to some extent, is beyond the point.  The real point is this: I started out at ground zero.  Or maybe we should consider it negative ground zero.  I mean, previously, pretty much anything was okay to eat.  I was not getting to the gym at all.  Which leads me to believe that anything in the positive direction has got to yield some positive results, right?  Apparently not the case, but I am failing to find the flaw in my logic.  I was not expecting some tabloid cover results where I lost 25 pounds in five weeks, I was just expecting progress.  My pants are a little looser, the scale is a little happier, something.Unfortunately, nada, zip, zero.

As I said in my last post, I am happier with how my energy level is going.  And the fact that I don't have to stop to catch my breath when I'm running after my son.  And the fact that I want to run after my son and play more with my children.  All good things.  So I'm still going for my workout.

The other morning I had started my laps around the track.  I'm puffing along, literally (you can already see the little engine comparison, huh?).  As I'm running I'm enjoying the quiet and the lovely people who are out there taking their morning constitutional.  There is one older gentleman who is out there walking around the track.  He's got one leg in a brace and is moving quite stiffly.  And he would smile at me and give me a thumbs up every time we passed.  Bolstered by his good example, I decided to add an extra half mile to my run that morning.  After all, it was only one more lap.  I could do that.  Still puffing along.  Still watching the people.  And that gentleman lapped me.  At least twice.  Not a joke.  He's at least 20 years older than me, has his leg in a brace and he lapped me.  Talk about embarrassing.  There was a part of me that wanted to throw in the towel in utter shame.  However, I just kept telling myself, if he could do it then surely I could finish this little run.  "I think I can, I think I can ..."  It wasn't pretty, it wasn't fast, but I did it.

I'm not sure if I'm ever going to see results from this.  I'm not sure if I'll ever hit my goals outside of better health.  And that Boston Marathon is probably never going to happen.  But it's nice to know that little by little I'm moving forward.

It's Not Perfect, But It's Better

We have moved.  A lot.  And every move has been into a smaller domicile.  Not a complaint, mind you, just a statement of fact.  Ironically, with each move, the size of our family has grown.  To sum up, we have more people, more stuff, less space.  Those of you who read my post on stuff know how much I would like to halt the possession spread.  However, when you're talking about five people this can definitely be a challenge.  Just because I no longer want my husband's Bitty Basketball trophy, does not mean that he is finished with it.  And that rock collection of my son's, which I think would be happier in the garden, has found a permanent home in his room.

Point being that I feel like I am on a constant quest to clean out, reorganize and make life run a little bit more smoothly.  I keep reading all these organizational books, find more space books and the how-to books.  None of them tell me anything earth shattering, but they all seem to be pointing in the same direction -- stream line and organize.  The one I was reading the other day pointed out the benefit of taking things one small bite at a time.  Sounded good.

My small bite for this week was looking at some closets.  It was only meant to be the bathroom closet, which incidentally I have still not touched, but it kind of snow balled.  Before I knew it, I had the contents of my closet, the bathroom cabinets, my daughter's closet and my son's closet all dumped.  Not to mention the holes in the bathroom wall I had created.  Which perhaps I shouldn't mention that part of the story.  As my son pointed out, I created a disaster.  Thanks son.  And the real challenge was getting it all back to sanity before my husband came home and saw the disaster I had created. 

There are definitely things I would like to do with this house.  We could use some more book shelves, some closet organizers and more storage in general.  Hence, why I keep trying to get rid of things.  Once I have gone through the editing process yet again, the trick is finding a place for what is left.  By moving things around in the two bathrooms I have managed to make everything easier to access. No longer do I have to pull everything out from under the sink to find the bath toys or towels.  I also moved two pieces of furniture in the house.  Doesn't sound like much, but I managed to make sense out of three closets with those two moves.  Amazing.  Even more amazing, everything found a place.  Good start. 

There are still quite a few things I'd like to do.  And quite a few things which I think could be much more efficient.  In the interim, I am making small steps to bring order to the chaos.  Not to regulate life so much, but to make life a little more fun and a lot less work for everyone who lives here.  At present I'm going by this lovely motto; "it's not perfect, but it's better."

One Month Later

As some of you may recall, I have been making a concerted effort to go to the gym.  Attempting to get in better shape has been quite the interesting venture.  There's my son who tells me that I look great already.  (That boy is so getting that puppy dog for Christmas.)  Then there's the scale which was not nearly so complimentary.  Those of you who do not recall, I started this mission approximately two months ago.  After one month I was disheartened to see that I had gained five pounds.  At this point, one of the women at the gym encouraged me to tuck away my scale for a month and continue on with what I was doing.

One month later, I am here to report.  (Drum roll please.)  To date, I have ... gained an additional three pounds.  That's right.  A grand total of eight pounds have found their way to my posterior region since the onset of this endeavor.  Now the kind lady at the gym is busy trying to convince me that muscle weighs more than fat.  While her theory may be sound, I'm going to say hogwash.  I want to see some downward progress on that scale.  Her next effort to lift my spirits consisted of asking me how my clothes were fitting.  In all honesty, my pants have gotten quite a bit tighter.  I look forward to putting my jeans on a day or two after they have come out of the dryer.  (Come on, I know there's a couple of women out there who know of what I speak.)

There was a brief moment at this realization when I really wondered why I was continuing.  What exactly am I gaining?  (Besides weight, that is.)  Could I gauge any progress?  (Not including the progress of my gluteus maximus as it continues to spread.) 

Here's the good news.  I'm consistently doing some form of exercise two or three days per week.  Perhaps not always at the gym, but exercise.  Maybe not a major victory, but better than doing nothing two or three days a week.  After two months I can run an entire mile without stopping.  Those of you who are avid workout folks are probably laughing at your computer screen right now.  That's okay.  I consider this an accomplishment.  Point two for me.  I'm slowly working my way up to 100 crunches.  To date, I have made 80.  Again, perhaps not a major accomplishment for some, but I'm feeling pretty good about that also.  Most importantly, I am not as tired anymore.  Each day, I have a little more energy and a little more to give back to my children.  Perhaps on the bottom of the list for some, but at the end of the day this is the real goal for me.  Being in shape, as defined by the Diann Rickert dictionary, means being healthy enough to live a good life.  Point and game.

Just for a Laugh

This happened several months back, but it's one of those moments that still make me laugh.  Thought I would share as I know everyone can use a good giggle once in a while.

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We have had a couple of exciting things happen around our household recently.  One, my boy is potty training.  (YES!)  Two, baby is sleeping through the night.  And when I say through the night, I don't mean five or six hours.  I mean, she closes her eyes at 6:30 and we don't hear from her again until 7:30 or 8:00 the next morning.  You'll find out shortly why these two items are relevant to my day.

Got home today and got everyone down for nap a little bit late.  Baby is already a bit off schedule because of the fact that she's sleeping through the night now.  We're still trying to work out her new eating/napping schedule.  Our middle child, for whatever reason, was fighting her nap for the second day in a row.  By the time she finally went to sleep, baby was waking up.  I sat down on the couch to nurse the baby and it all of a sudden hit me like a ton of bricks that I was tired.  Ended up laying down to nurse her and the two of us dozed off to sleep.  Rather a sweet idyllic moment waking up with my darling baby.  I cherish those moments.  It was close to 4:30 at that time, so I changed her diaper and went in to see if my son was still sleeping.  He was just waking up and still a little sleepy, so we sat and talked about what we were going to do this afternoon. 

Because of the fact that he is potty training, he is still a little leaky at night.  Not bad at all, but enough that the sheets and blankets needed a washing.  Decided to strip his bed and our bed today to deal with the linens.  During their nap time I had set up a little project for them to work on.  Figured we could have a relaxing afternoon, they could have some arts and crafts time and I could get all the beds made so everyone could go to sleep some time tonight.  I was telling him about the project and decided to go check on his sister.

When I walked into my little girl's room I could smell the poop as she lay curled up on her bed.  My first thought was "oh, she has a dirty diaper."  Until I looked closer.  She was out of her clothes; poop was everywhere.  And when I say everywhere, I mean that quite literally.  On the bed, on the covers, on her stuffed animals, on her toy kitchen, on the windows, on the walls.  What had possessed my darling daughter to finger paint with her feces is beyond me.  But that's what it looked like she did.  Of course, in the meantime, I had a load of laundry in the washer and one in the dryer.  I ran out to transfer everything over while I got a bath running.  Dunked little girl into a bubble bath and went back to her room to start cleaning.  My son was playing with baby on her playmat in the living room while I tried to clean this mess up.  Eventually he got bored with playing with her and she started screaming and he started asking me "Mommy, when are we doing our project?"

He comes in while I'm still cleaning his sister's room and says he needs to use the potty.  He doesn't want to use the one in his bathroom because his sister is in the tub, so he decides to use my bathroom instead.  Go for it.  And instead of the seat which goes on the potty, he wants to use the little potty chair.  Whatever.  Knock yourself out.  Still cleaning my daughter's room, baby is screaming by now, daughter is getting antsy in the tub.  My son comes in and says "Mommy, the other day when I was using the potty chair, the potty tipped while I was moving it and it spilled."  "Which means there's pee on the floor in my bathroom?"  Nod from him.  Great.

Finally getting to the bottom of the poop parade.  Wash up my hands and go to tend to the baby for a moment.  She's had a cold for a few days so her nose has been running to begin with.  After 10 minutes of screaming, it is really running.  Not to mention the fact that she has turned herself onto her stomach and scooted herself across the living room floor.  So she now has snot on her and the living room rug.  Get both of those cleaned up, flip the baby, put her back on the playmat.

Grab the cleaning spray and more rags and go to tackle my bathroom.  "Mommy, are we doing our project now?"  "Really, son?"  Clean up my bathroom.  Wash up again.  Feeling like I need to soak in bleach at this point.  Grab clean clothes for my daughter, get her washed up and out of the tub.  Finally have her dressed, grab the baby and get everyone settled at the kitchen table to do their project.  Call my husband up and tell him we're doing carry out for dinner tonight.

All this to say, when I tell people I've had a crappy day, I can do so without a hint of facetiousness.

Culinary Delights

Since the arrival of my children in my life, I have drastically changed my opinion of what is and is not considered edible material.  I was prepared for the fact that children put everything in their mouth.  Therefore, with a mind towards impending motherhood, I started clearing things out of reachable level, putting the office supplies safely into drawers and thinking of a safe spot for the litter box.

With my first born, I was going through the usual amount of germ phobia that comes with the birth of a first baby.  This quickly went out the window one day during an encounter with a neighbor's dog.  Our neighbor at the time had a huge dog.  Friendly dog.  Great with babies.  Huge.  Every time my boy saw this dog he lit up like it was Christmas morning.  One day we're standing in the street chatting and my boy is drooling over the dog yet again.  (This may have been literally as he was cutting some teeth at the time.)  The dog, being just as glad to see baby, starts licking him all over the face and hands.  I couldn't help but cringe inwardly ever-so-slightly, but in the back of my mind I was thinking "that's okay.  I'll clean him up once we get into the house."  This was not to be.  Next thing I see is my son popping hands into mouth.  Ugh.  However, the fun doesn't stop there.  At this point, my boy spits up all over the ground.  Which prompts the dog to lean over, lick up the ground and go back to licking my child.  After that display, I lost a lot of my germ phobia.

During subsequent growth moments (more my husband and I versus our child, mind you) we saw him stick any number of questionable objects in his mouth.  One day it was an old popsicle stick, which I could not help thinking how long it had been there and how many dogs had peed on it in the interim.  There was the usual selection of rocks, leaves and sticks that are part of a young boy's life.  And, the crowning touch in our humble opinion, was the day he stuck a snail in his mouth.  Yes, the French may consider this a delicacy, but I believe they usually consume theirs cooked with some butter and garlic sauce.  Vive la escargot!

Subsequent children have broadened the spectrum even further.  Eventually someone did discover the litter box.  There have been some not so grand moments while trying to change a diaper.  French fries dug out of the car seat from ghosts of fast food meals past.  Not to mention the actual kiddie's meal which I will spare you all my opinion on consuming one in the first place.  Fresh or not.  We will skip discussing the surprises they dig out of their noses.  Just because that finger fits perfectly in that nostril does not mean it belongs there.

The tolerance level for what is considered okay and what is not has broadened with each child.  Although I don't think I will ever consider the kitty box okay nor the search through the diaper.  But I'm a little less freaked out when other organic matter finds its way into my child's mouth.  For example, we went to the falls yesterday and my daughter insisted on picking up handfuls of dirt and putting them in her mouth.  She would spit it out, I would wash out her mouth with water and she would repeat the process.  Realistically, the water probably had more germs than the dirt she was putting in her mouth.  In the end, I just shrugged my shoulders, then moved her to a new patch of ground.

You're probably wondering where my husband and I are during these moments of youthful exploration.  Sometimes we're there and don't move fast enough.  Sometimes we've turned our back for that critical split second.  Sometimes we are occupied with another child.  Sometimes we've decided that this is just not the battle we're going to fight.  I'm sure somewhere in there they're building up their immune system.  Hopefully we're catching the critical ones.

A couple of days ago, our family decided to visit a local fast food joint.  (See previous comment about fast food fare.)  While we were there, my son dropped his corn dog on the ground.  My husband confiscated the corn dog, insisting it had to go in the trash.  All I could think was "really?  This you're worried about?"  Go figure.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

AKA - Worse?  How Can it Get Any Worse?

I have an attitude problem.  For those of you who know me, this is not going to come as a huge surprise.  For those of you who do not, stop laughing.  I'm trying to make a point here.  Recently I've decided that my attitude needs adjusting.  My children are probably tired of my crabby outlook on life, I'm sure my husband is and, to be honest, I get on my own nerves.  To that end, I have decided to start trying to find the silver lining in a few clouds.

One of the small steps on my path to a brighter outlook is the reward chart hanging in our kitchen.  This may seem like a small thing, but it's doing wonders for my children and I.  They get a sticker for helping out around the house, doing something nice, etc.  Once a row fills up, they get a small reward.  Once the chart fills up, they get a big reward.  The big payoff for me has been the change in outlook on our days.  It seemed for the longest time all I could see was everything that had gone wrong that day.  Handing out the stickers has helped me start looking at all the sweet, darling and funny things they did during the day.  Score one for Mommy.

Thanks to my sister-in-law, and her inspiring blog at Nice Gets Fit, I have been attempting to take off a few leftover baby pounds.  Now, in all fairness, I am not sure it can still be considered baby weight after the baby's first birthday.  For the present, I am holding tightly to that pretense.  Whether reality or pretense, I decided to actually start using our gym membership and be a little more conscientious about what I'm shoving in my mouth.  Now, before someone points out the obvious, I fully realize that weight loss goals are not met in three weeks.  This has definitely been the case for me.  After three weeks of effort, I am tired, I am hungry and (drum roll, please) I have gained five pounds.  Five pounds?!  How does that happen.  But this too has a silver lining, right?

Well, here is my silver lining.  The other night I was watching my baby daughter in the bathtub.  The girl's head is too big for her body.  She's got cankles and honest-to-goodness Fred Flintstone feet.  Her thighs have got fat rolls.  How can babies make fat rolls look so cute?  And the girl has a belly that is round as round can be.  And she doesn't care.  She's absolutely darling, mind you, but either way, she doesn't care.  She is playing in the tub, spilling water all over the floor and having a grand time.  No matter what she looks like, she's thinking about having fun and she's certainly not concerned about that buddha belly when she goes to eat her next meal.  All I  kept thinking is "that is how life should be lived."  Not worrying about whether I fit my pants or what that number on the scale says.  Just enjoying every last morsel of life.

Here's a bonus thought for the day ... even if I never get past those extra pounds, I have this amazing little person in my life.  And she's worth every single one of those pounds, isn't she?

Art of Cinematography

We don't have television in our house.  Let me clarify.  We own a television.  We just don't have cable or a satellite dish or any other main stream programming coming into our house.  I believe we tried the concept once about a dozen years ago.  After one month of paying an exorbitant cost for the privilege of flipping through 100 channels worth of nothing, we decided to dump our service.  Win win.

This doesn't mean that we don't enjoy some mindless entertainment on occasion.  Or a popcorn night on the couch.  It just means that we watch a lot of movies instead.  There's a great little video store down the street from us which we patronize often.  (I know! who knew they were still around?!)  My husband and I are still working our way through a Redbox gift.  There's always recommendations and loans from friends/family.  For the most part, we dip into our modest little library at home.

Every now and then my husband and I do manage to sneak in a movie we want to watch.  The majority of the time, however, the "G" rated crowd is choosing the entertainment.  This means my life has become full of an eclectic blend of cartoons covering various animated series and just about every Disney flick to hit the big screen.  I have absolutely no idea what is hitting it big in the box office these days.  Ask me for a recommendation for the toddler crowd, however, and I'm your girl.  Here's what's been hitting it big around our household lately ...

For that one person out there who has not seen this movie yet, I will attempt to avoid spoilers.  Although we do not own it, Frozen has been seen multiple times now in our household.  I did make the mistake of downloading a few of the songs onto my iPod, so I have become intimately familiar with the lyrics.  Admittedly, they really are catchy.  In my opinion, Disney knew what it was doing this time around.  The story moves along, the characters are fun and everyone in our household enjoyed watching.  Well done.  Last night my husband introduced me to Frozen, the horror movie.  Now I like it that much more.

Another big hit around our house is Scooby Doo, Mystery Inc.  The original Scooby Doo offers its own brand of zany laughs.  Mystery Inc. takes it to a whole new level.  There is still plenty of zoinkies, traps and, of course, Scooby Doo.  The new gang offers an ongoing story line as well as some multi-level humor.  The whole family has tuned in for the entire season one.  Yes, we're looking forward to season two.

When we're not delving into new viewing experiences, we fall back on the classics like Thomas the Train.  The only Thomas we had for the longest time was Misty Island Rescue.  As  the only representative of the train entertainment in our household, it got quite a bit of use.  So much so that my better half finally asked me to find some new Thomas movies.  These days we are circulating three or four through the player.  They might still be getting too much use considering we're now critiquing the episodes.

Popcorn and movie nights are probably going to remain a staple around here for a few years to come.  If anyone has new suggestions for us, we're always open.  In the meantime, I need to get back to Sheriff Bronson Stone.

The Simple Joys

There's a park near us.  Right downtown.  If you park on the far side of said park you walk past a little river before you arrive at the playground area.  One of the things I like about this is that we rarely end up at the playground area.  Don't get me wrong.  I like the swings and monkey bars as much as the next person.  What's even better is the small adventure I get to take with my children when we're not on the swings.

Every time we get near that river we stop to find rocks.  We can spend 45 minutes or an hour just standing there, looking for rocks and seeing who can make the biggest splash.  None of us have quite figured out how to skip rocks like Daddy does.  The baby spends most of her time trying to figure out what she can get away with putting in her mouth.  Usually, everyone comes home muddy and wet.  But we all have an amazing time. 

People believe that children reintroduce us to all the really fun things in life.  In my opinion, my children are someone to share all those fun moments.  To add their own little unique twist.  Here's a few of our favorites.

* We, as a family, received a large basket of craft supplies for Christmas.  My son decided we all needed to make trees.  You would be surprised at what animals live in trees these days, but they made a pretty cool forest.

* Legos.  Everyone got Legos this year.  One day, my husband and I waited for the children to take a nap just so we could have a turn.

* Having a picnic on the front lawn.  Don't worry if the neighbors think you're strange or the baby is eating the grass again.  Think of it as not having to clean the table.

* Playing in the mud puddles.  Yep, it's messy.  Yep, some days I don't feel like dealing with the laundry.  There's nothing better than the feeling of mud oozing between your toes and the happy look of little people as they splash in the rain water.

* There is no end to the combinations you can devise from Thomas' train tracks.

* Having a sleep over in the living room.  Make sure there's plenty of snack food.

* Running through the sprinklers.  Even better if you have an ice pop.

* Coloring is still a classic.

* Collecting sticks.  If you're really feeling adventurous, save them for later and burn some marshmallows.

* Have you ever built a house for a slug in the front garden?

* Watching the planter in the front yard to see if anything is growing yet.

* Finding out what's hiding back in our woods.

* Playing hide and go seek in our house.  Not many places to hide here, but we still manage to play.

* Chasing each other in circles from the kitchen to the baby's room to the living room to the kitchen to the baby's room to the living room ...

* Watching the same movie so many times that you can fill in the blanks on the dialogue.

* Picking every stray piece of clover or dandelion in the yard because they make a pretty bouquet.

* Wishing on a dandelion.

* Waiting until dark so you can lay on the grass and look at the stars.

I just realized that I could probably sit and add to this list all day.  I may even go back and sneak a few extras in after I post this.  However long the list gets, though, it's a good reminder to stop taking life so seriously and get back to the simple joys.  What are your favorites?

White Truffle Salt and Batteries

Batteries.  It's one of the reasons I absolutely despise moving.  Before you ask what batteries possibly have to do with the price of ice cream in Bulgaria, allow me to clarify.  Whenever we move we remove the batteries from our toys and other electronics so they don't break down inside the toy.  Of course, after we move, we are then forced to match up batteries to electronics again.  I'm sure the quick-witted amongst you have seen the obvious solution which is to pack away the batteries with their corresponding item.  Fabulous solution if you are moving from point a to point b and immediately unpacking your possessions.  Not so grand if you are not going to be occupying your new domicile in an expedient fashion nor unpacking all your worldly possessions in one fell swoop.  In fact, by the time we get around to unpacking everything, most of the batteries are now expired.  Which means getting new batteries for everything.

Batteries aren't like they were years ago.  There were a few standard sizes -- AAA, AA, C, D, 9 volt.  Now there is a plethora of different batteries.  Which is why batteries are like white truffle salt.  Bet you were wondering by now when I was getting back around to this.  Anyone who loves to cook can totally relate to this analogy.  Cooking used to be a fairly simple process.  You found food, you combined it together in an appetizing manner and then consumed said product.  With gourmet restaurants, cookbooks and cooking shows running rampant, exotic is no longer cooking Mom's Christmas ham.  Before you know it, you're trying to make a meatloaf which consists of 20 mysterious ingredients.  You are now out there hunting for white truffle salt at 11 o'clock at night just so you can make a meatloaf.  What happened to combining meat and bread and tossing some ketchup on top?

Same thing with the batteries.  Seems like everyone is going to these miniscule batteries that have their own unique numbers and sizes.  So hopping by the local Dollar General, picking up a pack of triple A's and loading up is no longer an option.  And of course, since the toys have now been in storage for seven months, I have a three-year-old boy wanting me to find batteries so he can play with his super powered construction digger (might have made that one up, but am I too far off?) which he "never got to play with in a really long time" (his words, not mine).  And it's not good enough to play with the truck minus the battery powered options.  Oh no.  We have to have the bells and whistles and the darling song concerning "that's what dump truck's all about".  Which means that here goes Mama to the store at 11 o'clock at night to track down a CR347.  Meatloaf anyone?

Chocolate Mocha Peppermint What??

I'll admit to enjoying a fancy coffee on occasion.  Yes, I've been known to haunt the hallowed halls of the local coffee bar hoping to get my decaf fix for the day.  I can say "hand over the grande decaf caffe latte skim, please" with the best of them.  Unfortunately, where we currently live, there is no such option located within a convenient distance.  Besides, sometimes I want to settle in with a cappucino while curling up with a good novel at around nine o'clock at night.  I'm really not motivated to climb out of my jammies and bunny slippers to venture into the cold, dark night.  Nor do I feel like hiring a sitter for my three sleeping children just so I can fetch said beverage.  The obvious answer is the home brewing system.

Here's where the confession comes in.  When I'm looking for that nine o'clock fix, I quite frankly don't care if the espresso beans have been freshly ground seconds before pulling my beverage.  If I am not standing there frothing the perfect container of milk I will somehow manage to sleep with myself at night.  Perhaps this makes me a rube in the coffee annals, but I just want my drink so I can get back to my book already.  This leads me to the lazy man's version of the cafe latte -- the home brewing system.

Now I know there is a very popular system that is making the rounds of every Walmart, Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond out there.  At the time I was looking to buy however, there was no milk frothing option on this machine.  Plus, as my brother is wont to say, I'm not looking for anything fancy like "Midnight Romance in Vienna" I just want the cup of coffee.  As a result, I ended up going with a less popular brand. 

To be honest, I am completely thrilled with my machine.  Both performance wise and product wise, it has lived up to my expectations.  Problem is, I feel like I was on the Beta side of the VHS showdown.  For the sake of simplicity, we shall refer to my machine as Beta and the other machine as VHS.  At this point, you could probably walk into the hardware store and pick up coffee for the VHS model.  Perhaps a slight exaggeration but not by much.  And there are any number of popular brands that are churning out beverage options for the VHS machine.  I, on the other hand, am forced to go online to order coffee for my Beta.  Which means when I've discovered the coffee carousel is empty, I don't even have the option of running out for a quick box.  To add insult to injury, I can only drink decaf.  The limited selection available online has fewer and fewer decaf options.  Maybe I should save the decaf bias rant for another day, but it seems to me that those of us not wanting to pump stimulants into our systems should still be able to enjoy a cup of fine roasted goodness.

Now, folks, I'm not some out of touch snob who thinks the lack of foam-topped beverages in my life is the end of western civilization as we know it.  Sometimes, though, it sure would be nice to have the small luxury of settling in with a frothy delight and the latest Janet Evanovich without having a 40 minute round trip or trying to remember which is the larger size, grande or venti?  Not wanting to invest additional coinage for another piece of machinery, I guess I shall have to wallow in my quixotic little coffee dream of a skinny decaf latte whenever the whim should strike.

The Third Look

Recently my brother wrote a review of The Prestige on his blog The Choked Blowhole.  Reading his review made me feel like perhaps I had missed the mark on this movie.  I wanted to like this movie.  I really did.  And yet, the first time I watched it, I found it wanting.  Second time I watched it, strangely disappointed.  Sadly, it got filed into the growing pile of disappointing movies not to be brought out again.  Until I read this review.

Let it be said at the very beginning that I am just a tad intransigent at times.  That being the case, there are not many individuals who could make me take a third look at a film.  Not wanting to be completely intractable, however, I decided to take one more spin in the magic box.  Needless to say, this is not an easy thing to do with this particular movie.  "Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled."  Unfortunately, once you know what the secret is, you can never really watch the trick the same again.

With mind as open as I could get it, freshly popped bowl of corn in front of me, I curled up on my couch with my newly rented copy of The Prestige. 

What first drew me to this movie was the undeniably stellar cast.  This movie has an incredible ensemble of individuals including the incomparable David Bowie and the fabulous Andy Serkis.  Then we go into the cast of main characters.  You can never go wrong with Michael Caine.  The man always delivers a stellar performance whether he's playing a butler or singing and dancing with the Muppet cast.  I first saw Hugh Jackman in X-Men and have been an avid follower ever since.   Somehow he manages to bring something different to every part he plays and I definitely felt like this was a new twist for him.  Finally, Christian Bale shows up as Alfred Borden.  What can I say?  Christian Bale could breathe for two hours and I would watch.  So far, I'm completely along for the ride.

The question then becomes, when did they lose me?  This is where I have trouble separating myself from my initial impressions.  Mostly because what turned me off the first time around was that I felt the movie was predictable.  I knew what was coming down the pike.  This time I really did know what was coming down the pike.  Instead, I tried to watch the movie from the perspective of what wasn't working for me.  Cast definitely delivered.  I could see how the story line developed as action led to counter-action. The characters were all believable.  And I really enjoyed the build up of action during the movie.  Which still begged the question what left me wanting.

Ultimately, I think I was stuck on two major points.  One was that feeling of predictability.  Perhaps if I had not seen The Illusionist first, I would not have been suffering from that overwhelming sense of deja vu.  Alas, just as I couldn't really go back with a blank slate perspective, I couldn't reverse the order in which I viewed these flicks.  Be that as it may, it's hard to buy into the magic when you know how the trick is done.  My other major hang up was the end of the movie.  I know they gave you a run through on how everything happened at the end, but I still walked away with questions.  Where did Cutter fit into the story?  Whose side was he on the whole time?  Perhaps it was just recognizing the ultimate body count in this movie.  There really is a lot of death.  It seems like it hints at much darker undertones that aren't fully explored.

Even with all the negatives, I will admit to enjoying the movie more this time around than in previous viewings.  My expectations were lower, which perhaps helped in the long run.  At the same time, I found quite a bit to recommend this movie which I think I overlooked last time around.  I'm not sure I'll be running out to add to this my personal collection, but I have a much more open mind.

Keeper of the Stuff

Some mothers claim that their title lies somewhere along the lines of "chauffeur" or "maid" or "cook."  While all of these may seem apt on one level or another, I courteously disagree.  My official title is "Keeper of the Stuff." 

It is a rare day in our little kingdom when I don't spend at least 20 minutes of my time hunting for some item that has made a mysterious disappearance.  Mind you, the closer it is to bed time, the more value this item has to the child in question.  Alas, in some instances, it is an item that I just can't argue with.  "Mom, where's my blanks?!"  Blanks being the blanket that my son absolutely will not sleep without.  That thing is tattered, stained beyond reason, truly well loved and still going to bed with my son four years after he received it.  Mind you, had we known at the time what great status this blanket was going to have in my son's life, we would have stocked up.  Unfortunately, we were too short sighted to make that call and now spend inordinate quantities of time hunting for aforesaid piece of material.  Once the item has been safely retrieved from the car, the back of the trike, under the couch cushions and once inside Jaba's bed (no, folks, you can't make this stuff up), I am able to finally tuck my son into bed.  Then ponder whether it is possible to attach a tracking device for next time.

The really mind boggling part about this title is that it's not just related to my child.  Some part of my brain can almost justify their dependence as they are too small to reach some of the shelves in the house, have a very short attention span and usually are not the ones reorganizing things within our home.  With the exception that my husband is almost a foot taller than I am, apparently all the above rules apply to him also. 

It is with frightening regularity that my husband asks me "where did the piece of paper go that was sitting on my night table?"  Friends, let me assure you, although I may be a little more organizationally conscientious (did you like that euphemism?) I rarely take it upon myself to reorganize his night table.  It's sort of like poking through my husband's drawers ... some space should just be his.  None of this, however, matters to my husband who is sure that I have moved the item in question with the sole goal in mind of making him search for it.  With a distinct lack of patience I holler back, "did you look on the night table?"  "Yeah, it was there.  Can't find it now."  Which means one of two things.  It has been moved by my husband, myself or one of our children.  Possible, but not usually the case.  The second option being that it is still there and has been buried under the mound of stuff that has accumulated on the furniture.  Usually, within two minutes of shifting the items around on the night table I am able to locate the desired piece of paper.  And don't ask me how I know which piece of paper it actually is; I am going to attribute it to some sixth sense that kicks in when you become a Mom.  All I do know is that every once in a while it would be nice if one member of my family actually made an effort to look instead of automatically bouncing the job to the Keeper of the Stuff.

My son is also infamous for this behavior.  "Mom, do you know where my truck is?"  "Which truck would that be?  You have about 20 of them."  "You know, the one with the really big tires."  While this does narrow the list down by about half, I'm still not sure to which one he is referring.  With increasing impatience he says, "you know, the one with the really big tires that looks like a monster truck!"  Obviously this is supposed to jog my memory, but I guess I forgot to catalogue that item.  Now he's really hopping mad at me and says "the one I got at the playground that time!"  Still with no clue what he's talking about, we go look in the pile of trucks which has been scattered throughout the living room, and find the missing item.  Don't ask me why he managed to overlook this particular treasure when he dumped them hither and yon, but it seems that only the Keeper of the Stuff could ascertain its true location.  Current crisis diverted, I go back to dealing with everyone else's stuff.

Presently, I find myself in the unenviable position of packing for five people to go on vacation.  There was a time in my life when I could leave on vacation for a week and take no more than a backpack.  True story.  Having just begun my task today, I already have two bags packed with snacks and baby food for the trip; one bag just for diapers, pull ups and swimmers; and now a fourth bag going with bathing attire and toiletries.  (Oh yeah, note to self, don't forget the floaties.)  Before taking off on this restful interlude I still need to gather together clothing for my entourage, outerwear in case of inclement weather, blow up mattresses, a pack and play for the baby, high chair and an untold number of blankets, stuffed animals and electronic paraphernalia.  Despite the lack of assistance from other members of the household, I hope to have us packed and out the door early on the morning of departure.  Somehow, though, I'm sure it won't be long before I hear "Mom, did you remember to pack my ..."  If it's missing, blame it on the Keeper of the Stuff.

The Communications Era

A few weeks ago I attempted to contact a company with questions about their product.  I'm not going to mention which company because 1) it's not really relevant to this rant and 2) you could interchange it with just about any company out there these days and the end result would be the same.  First I had to get through the obligatory phone tree.  I would be absolutely astounded if I called a business these days and a live human being picked up the phone.  After going through 32 possible combinations, none of which met my specific need, I began punching the "zero" button repetitively hoping to connect with an operator.  The recorded lady kept insisting that if I followed their phone tree she would be better able to direct my call.  She just didn't seem to understand that this option just wasn't working for me.  Reluctantly, she eventually gave in and redirected my call to "the first available operator."

It has long been a theory of mine that if companies redirected all of the personnel they have working in telemarketing to the customer service department, customer relations would improve by a hundred fold.  Think about it.  How many of you have seriously decided to change your insurance carrier because someone was kind enough to interrupt you during the one night a week you get to have dinner with your family?  Never mind the fact that you did careful research on all your options and have been a loyal customer with this company for years.  Persistent telemarketer calls and now I've changed my mind.  With dogged determination, though, they keep on calling.  And that flood of customer service reps is still an elusive entity.  I will continue to get 15 phone calls a day for Ernest Rice and I will continue to hold for 45 minutes waiting for the next available representative.  Yes, folks, 45 minutes.  I understand that my call will be answered in the order it was received, but 45 minutes?  How many people are answering the phone, two?

Unfortunately, the above scenario is just another evidence of what I consider to be the ongoing problems with the age we live in.  Now, mind you, I am fully cognizant of the irony of posting this thought process on a blog.  Allow me this moment anyhow as I mention my total astonishment at the fact that we now have more ways than ever to keep in touch with each other, yet no one seems to be building relationships anymore.  Seriously.  Think about this. 

People text, they twitter, they facebook, they leave messages and access a few other modern gizmos that I'm not familiar with while never actually connecting with a live person.  I wish I had a nickel for every time someone has said to me "oh, you missed that moment?  Well, I posted it on facebook!"  Lovely.  What ever happened to picking up a phone and calling?  Or even an email?  Something that says, "I was personally thinking of you and wanted you to be a part of this moment in my life."  Instead I, and the other 357 individuals who are lucky enough to be friends with them on facebook, can all find out simultaneously.  At the same time we discover that Becky just ate a sandwich.  And Trish is no longer talking to Tanya because of that thing that happened at the prom.  It's all public fodder. 

Maybe I should use the 45 minutes I'm on hold for company Z to catch up on everyone's facebook page.  Except I'm too busy using that time to chase children around the house, fold laundry, cook dinner and catch up with all the other minutiae of real life.  Which brings me back to the lack of live people.  Even outside of company Z, it seems that real people are hard to find.  There are individuals of my acquaintance who I have no less than eight ways to contact them.  Not a lie, folks.  Do you think you can ever actually reach them.  Why do we own all these modern gadgets if we're never able to get in touch with one another?  Which is astounding to me that I can never reach people on their phones because it seems like the majority of individuals have them glued to their ears.  Have you ever been to dinner with someone and they spent the entire meal taking phone calls from other people?  Guess my company wasn't stimulating enough?  Let's do this again soon!  And if you do actually connect with someone it's worse than trying to schedule an appointment with the doctor.  "Ooooh, the next few weeks are looking really bad, how about we look at getting together next month?"  Maybe they're trying to catch up on all their facebook posting.

A short while before Christmas I attended a parade with my children.  There was a lady sitting next to me and she made a comment about the parade or my children or some other friendly rejoinder.  I embarked upon a conversation with her.  Only to discover that I was standing next to the one crazy person at the parade.  In between talking to me, this woman was having a conversation with herself.  I briefly thought about backing away, but didn't want to insult her if she was really off her rocker.  I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when I finally figured out she was talking on a blue tooth.  (Still say they remind me of those guys in the Cloud City in Empire Strikes Back, but that's just me.)  On the one hand, she wasn't the raving loon I thought she was.  On the other hand, here I thought I was connecting with someone and it turns out that she was talking to her friend Beth several states away.  Maybe I should just give her credit.  At least she was personally connecting.

It's the Little Things

We had a fruitcake in our family.  No, I'm not talking about my Great Aunt Jean.  Although, remind me to tell you that story some day ... I mean an actual fruitcake.  Now if you're like most families, you do one of two things when you receive a fruitcake.  Either you consume said fruitcake, (If this is you, please let me know.  We've been curious about who that individual is who actually eats said delicacy.) or you do what the majority of us do.  You paste a very practiced and very fake smile on your face while exclaiming "fruitcake!" as if you've just hit the mother lode of Yuletide blessings.  Our family, never being one for the expected approach, started our own tradition. 

One year my sister gave my brother a fruitcake for Christmas.  Or perhaps it was one of her children in a heartfelt effort to personally pick out a present for Uncle Dan.  Not sure really.  A little fuzzy on the details.  End result was that Dan ended up with a fruitcake.  Not feeling a need to consume this brick of fruit packed preservatives, he threw it on his dresser.  Where it sat until the next Christmas.  At this point in time, Dan proceeded to regift the fruitcake to my sister.  Not being one to be outdone, the fruitcake began to make the rounds to various family members.  Somewhere along its travels it added a t-shirt and a card to its entourage.  Both were appropriate to the fruitcake theme.  I'll skip the actual content to avoid impinging on any copyrite.  Let's just say they still bring a small chuckle after all these years.

Don't quote me on this, as I'm not sure exactly how the confusion came about, but one year there was some general question about who exactly was in possession of the fruitcake.  A quick replacement was thrown in the mix and now there were two fruitcakes making the rounds.  The mail system was burning up as the fruitcakes were mailed, traded and foisted upon unsuspecting relatives until the stroke of midnight on Christmas Day.  If you think we haven't already carried this joke too far, you're wrong.  One year, due to some unfortunate circumstances with a decomposing fruitcake (who knew they would actually decompose?!), a sponge fruitcake entered the picture.  Definitely the gift that keeps on giving.

Just to conclude this saga for those of you who haven't fallen asleep by now, the remaining fruitcake came to a sad and final end this past year.  Thinking that I was being organized, I packed the fruitcake away with the Christmas decorations in the attic.  Thus, I reasoned, I will remember to pass the fruitcake along come the holiday season.  Unfortunately for the fruitcake and our enduring family tradition there turned out to be some hungry furry occupants in our attic.  Just to make sure this piece of baked perfection comes to a fitting end, I am now in the process of writing an obituary, placing it in a sympathy card and passing it along with my condolences to my brother, Dan.  'Tis a sad day indeed.

Silly Emmet ... Legos are for Kids

It's not often that I actually get the opportunity to see a movie while it's still in the theaters.  It makes perfect sense that when I do it turns out to be a children's movie.  This weekend, I had the opportunity to take my son on a date.  Which, if you never have the chance to do this with your child, I highly recommend it.  There are all sorts of things going on in my boy's head I never get the chance to hear.  Ask Uncle Dan who is now on the hook for a Robot Car and a Batman Car.  But I digress.

Date for us was dinner and a movie.  Not bad in the grand scheme of things.  Question was, which movie to see.  There is not a great variety of children's movies to see right now.  One of them he had already seen, the other one didn't really grab my interest, so we went for what was behind curtain number three.  To be honest, one of the big selling points for this movie was the time it was available for viewing.  After nap time with a good shot at getting into bed at a decent hour.  Don't you love my filtering process?  It could be Friday the 13th Part 27 and I'd be thinking "yeah, we can grab a dog at the theater and still hit bed by 8:30.  Let's do it."  Again, I digress.

You're probably wondering by now what we actually did see.  For those of you still in the dark, it was the Lego Movie.  Let me start out by saying, this movie was fun!  The guy at the popcorn line said it was a blast.  I'm not saying that he's God's reincarnation of Siskel and Ebert or anything, but I figure if you're working at a theater, you've probably seen quite a few films.  Hence, you're entitled to your two cents.  I must say, I agree with the popcorn guy. 

First of all, how can you go wrong with an entire movie about Legos?  Anyone who has watched the Camelot short on Monty Python knows that Lego films are just good clean fun.  I couldn't stop laughing as they simultaneously capitalized on Lego humor, pulled out every movie stereotype available and managed to wiggle in a message about creative thinking.  With all the motion picture characters they managed to squeeze in there, I can assure you that you will not miss the one or two they left out.  Not wanting to ruin all the surprise appearances, I will type no more now.  Except to say that Batman is better than ever.

Casting for this movie was well done.  Can't say that any one Lego stood out in my mind, but then again, you're just supposed to be having fun watching Legos, right?  In my humble opinion, I should not be sitting there thinking "hey, that's Morgan Freeman!".  I just want to watch Vitruvius dispensing his bits of Lego wisdom.  Definitely a success for the little yellow guys; I mean, nicely done to the voices behind the plastic faces.  One special nod to Anthony Daniels who I was pleased to hear reprise his role -- way to keep it going! 

My only criticism of this movie isn't even so much a criticism as a note for other parents.  While I enjoyed the movie, I really don't think it's geared towards children.  And I don't mean that in the sense that there was a lot of off-color humor or violence in the movie.  There's a bit of violence, but it's Lego violence.  Nothing bloody.  There's perhaps a few objectionable words, but again, these are four-year-old objectionable (i.e. "stupid") and not cringing in my seat because my child is walking out of the movie with a new vocab.  My real objection is that a lot of the humor is right over my son's head.  While he definitely enjoyed the movie, and got sucked along by the action, he missed a lot of the humor that had me rolling in my seat.  Perhaps that's a nod to the movie makers that we could both enjoy it on our own level, but a shame that he doesn't get why the Kragle was such a menace. 

Overall, I have to agree with popcorn guy.  This movie was a blast.  Maybe next week, I can give you a review on 3 Days to Kill.  Looks like there's a good showing right between nap time and bed time ...

In the Blink of an Eye

It has been exactly three years to the day since I last posted on this site.  Outside of moving five times, giving birth to two children, buying a new house and starting a new career, I seriously can't fathom what we've been doing to fritter our time away.  This was a venue which, for multiple reasons, I never saw myself returning.  Recently, however, my brother started a blog called the Choked Blowhole.  I find his writing to be amusing and highly entertaining.  For those of you interested you can find him at http://thechokedblowhole.wordpress.com/  Additionally, he revived in me the desire to express myself. 

Perhaps it is the lull of communications between myself and anyone over the age of four.  Perhaps it is a desire to download some of the thoughts pinging around in my brain at two a.m.  Or maybe it is the inflated ego needing a voice when people tell me that I really should write.  If you'll notice, there has been a change in name since my last postings.  One that I think much better reflects the new style of my blog.  Everything you find here really reflects a series of conversations.  Not necessarily coherent at all times.  Perhaps no main theme.  And probably digressing all over God's green earth.  I'm not billing this blog as prophetic or brilliant or even semi-coherent.  It's really just a reflection on some of the moments in life that strike me as funny.  A need to pontificate about the world at large.  There may, on occasion, be a post of some actual use regarding life as a military spouse, decorating conundrums or how to practically expand your family while moving into smaller quarters.  I wouldn't count on it, though.  I won't even promise to post on any sort of regular basis, although I am optimistically shooting for once a week.  For the most part I hope to find some threads of commonality in the everyday life while hopefully entertaining a few hardy folks.  Those of you still wishing to follow along, strap in, because Mr. Toad's Wild Ride is about to depart.

Vendicari

Now that we're getting ready to leave, Ben and I are finding great new things to do here in Sicily. Things that we're thinking, why didn't someone tell us about this sooner?

Our most recent adventure was to Vendicari. Ben and I don't own a GPS, and the person who was supposed to come through with directions well, didn't. Armed with a rough idea of where we were heading, we set out in the old Fiat Marea Weekender. It wasn't too hard to get there as we managed it in one try. Although, admittedly, we did feel as if we might be lost for a short while. After winding down several roads that looked like they were going no where, we started seeing signs for the nature reserve.

What a wonderful place to spend an afternoon. It is really not like anything else I've seen in Sicily. There were lovely little lakes, birds flying around, some lovely little ruins, a small stretch of beach ... I could go on, but you get the idea. The really nice part was that there were some great paths which made it easy for both stroller and baby to get around.

Or sometimes, baby with stroller. One of Gabriel's great joys in life is trash collecting. It's nice to know that my son is prepping for his future career in the janitorial arts. Personally, I'll encourage this goal. I figure he'll be making the world a prettier place, pursuing gainful employment and getting into a field that is always in demand. What more could you want for your child? His latest brain storm is to push around the stroller
while he collects his treasures. This way he's got the basket in the back to catch everything for him along the way.

Amongst his new treasures was his very first sea shells. We had taken him to the beach during our time here in Sicily, but it was rather densely populated. Not a lot to be found in the sea shell lines. Ben and I felt that we really needed to hold onto them. He really seemed intrigued by the waves and the sand. He especially enjoyed running up and down the little ramps that led to the beach area. I really enjoyed looking at the view with him, but I loved watching him and his Papa walk down the path together towards the sand.

Our last stop for the day was the visitor's center. Which it turns out was not opened. Not sure if it was closed for the weekend or just at that hour of the day. Either way, it was just as lovely looking at the buildings as the sun was setting in the back ground. The one building used to be a fishery. Now I know this has something to do with the fish that were caught in the area, but I would have to read the sign again to say exactly what. In the interim, I won't pretend to be an expert.

Gabriel had a grand time running around, climbing up the steps and, I'm not sure he was supposed to be doing this, but running through the fences. After all, they were perfect Gabriel size! The last picture shows this block that Gabriel was bound and determined to get on top. The
block is actually a little bit bigger than it looks in the picture and he had a brief moment where his little legs were just flailing wildly in the air behind him as he struggled to pull himself up. As you can see, he managed the feat. Once he made it to the top of his hard earned perch, he really liked taking in the view. I couldn't help thinking of Tattoo as he looked up in the sky and pointed to show us the passing plane. I guess if janitor falls through he can always try out for television?

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy

I'm only two months late on this. However, my pledge for the New Year is to stop feeling guilty about what I'm not doing. So here's my positive spin. I'm so glad I had a little extra time today to post this. Here's Gabriel's birthday day:


An early morning walk around the neighborhood. Weather is still nice in October.

Playing with toys at a friend's house.

Naptime is very important.
Figuring out how to open presents. Thanks for the blocks, Grandpa!
Opening his second present (foam letters from Grandma) and tasting the blocks. Yummmm.
A firetruck of my very own!
Taking the new ride for a spin.
One of his favorite foods. Pizza for lunch.
Rearranging the furniture at the mall.
Not everyone likes people singing to them while burning pies are put in their face.
Trying on Malvina's shoes.
Peek-a-boo!
Birthday bath.

Don't forget story time before bed.

Night, night, Gabriel. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.