A Family that Sings Together...

Just as Stella was getting up from her nap, and Heath and I were busily readying ourselves to head on out to our Music Together class, we got a pleasant surprise. Mark was home from work. I was sure he was going to want to go out for a run, after all, the Grandfather Mountain marathon is in 10 days. Nope.

Instead, he opted to join us for a little family dance-and-sing-a-long. I know the kids were delighted to have him in the class with us, and I got a kick out of catching him swaying to the beat of Choo-Choo, Chugga, Choo-Choo-Choo type ditties, and feeling the beat of the boogie, wearing his construction boots and a Russo Dumpster Service shirt.

We iced our family night cake with a little vegetable plate and spaghetti dinner at Lupie's. And now, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Considering the tumultuous beginning to the week, I'd say this was a pretty swell close to the hump day.

May "Mayday" Parker

I was ready to throw in the towel and cross the day off as beyond disorganized for Heath. All activities were met with protest (or wild, purposeless over-enthusiasm). All people who crossed his path were met with yelling and pushing. But at 6:20pm, bedtime seemed out of the question. Last ditch effort, I got out the Spider-Man puzzle I'd stumbled across when I went to the Dollar Store on Sunday. The Dollar Store is a sensory-activity gold mine. This puzzle loaded with pictures of Peter Parker and friends was worth a million.

He settled in. He paid attention. He placed pieces in wrong places. Didn't get frustrated. Maneuvered them around. Clapped when he filled in the correct spots to see Spider-Girl. (Did you know there was a Spider Girl? This was news to me. And it's not Peter's girlfriend. It's his daughter. I have so much to learn.) He took his time. Other distractions (Stella banging an ambulance on the table, Mark mopping up the dinner mess the two kiddies made) didn't rev him up. He was involved. And thrilled when all 25 pieces fit together perfectly. Phew.

I had somewhere to be by 7:30, and I left a calm Heath in the bathtub, exfoliating the tub with shaving cream and a long-handled loofah brush (more Dollar store miracles). Apparently everyone went to bed without a hitch.

Okay. I can do this again tomorrow. Deep breath. Very deep breath.

Waiting for Parts

We had a lovely morning of sprayground and playground fun with a playdate, then had to hightail it on home to see a man about a dryer--and having it fixed. As much as I had wished the squawking and louder-than-norm rumble away, the dryer did not magically fix itself. So the kiddies and I went home to wait for the guy to come. Between 1 and 5. I can't find a better way to say how much I despise the between this time and that time deal. It sucks.

Both sun-and-play-zapped kids conked out at 2. (Heath, for the first time in his entire three and a half years, napped in his own bed.) And I guess I did, too, ever-so-briefly, because next thing I knew, my cell phone was vibrating. It was 3:36. Dryer man had arrived.

It took him two minutes to tell me the following. Yes. That's an obnoxious noise, and it shouldn't be doing that. No. He can't fix it today. A part must be ordered. And no. He didn't know how much it was going to be. His guesstimate was somewhere between a lot and might as well buy a new one. When I furrowed my brow, he reeled his number line back in, and settled on something much more reasonable.

What isn't reasonable is having to wait for the part to come in. Could be three days. Maybe four. Then it starts to get into the 4th of July weekend, and well, they won't be open until Tuesday. I furrowed again. Should be here by Friday. Still. That's a lot of days with no dryer. Guess I'll just have to hang my clothes outside and let the 110 degree heat dry them.

The dryer fella was gone by 3:45. When the kiddies woke up at 4:15, I gathered them quickly and tossed them in the car. Heath needed a hair trim, and the less time he had to think about it, the better. In my haste to waste no time, I left some important items at home. Their shoes. More than halfway to the haircut place, there was no way I was going to turn back around to get them. And there was no way I was going to go another day with Heath peering out from under his hair, and occasionally complaining that it is bothering him (but refusing to get it cut).

So we went on. Shoeless. Worst case scenario: they don't let us get a haircut. I decided there was no way this was going to be happen, and it really wasn't worst case scenario anyway. Worst case scenario: People look at me and my children, and judge me and my children for being the goofball mom who took her kids out without shoes. I vaguely considered running into Target and buying them shoes, then decided that was really a goofball mom thing to do.

So we went on. Heath sat in the Jeep. Got his haircut. Without wearing shoes. Stella sat on a motorcycle (shycle, as she would say). No haircut. No shoes. Then we wandered around outside, threw some pennies into a fountain, made some wishes, and went home for dinner. Heath wished for Spider-Man powers. Stella probably wished she could eat the penny. And I wished to be a little less heavy-headed and hearted about the stuff that doesn't really matter.

Bye-Bye, Cousins...Bye-Bye, Crib...

Oh, the sadness. My brother and the boys left today. 10 days just isn't enough time. Heath was bummed when it finally registered that today was the end of cousin fun. He cheered up when I told him that we would go out there for a visit. Now, to just get a little courage about flying with the two of them by myself. Yikes.

It's 10pm and Heath has been asleep in his big boy bed for an hour now. That's right. A big boy bed, at last. As adventuresome and on-the-edge as Heath may live his life, he has never made a move about climbing out of his crib. Not only has he not attempted to even throw a leg over the side, whenever the discussion popped up about changing his crib to a bed, he protested. Loudly. He was very much like a dog in his crate. It's safe. It's comfy. And it's all his.

So we didn't push it. I don't even know how the topic came up today. But it did. And he was ready. Mark removed the front of the crib, and it is now a lovely cherry sleigh day bed. When he was going to bed tonight, he was thrilled that we can now sit down in the bed with him and read his night time stories and have our what-happened-today/what's-happening-tomorrow discussion.

For a while there I was starting to suspect that Stella was going to be in a toddler bed before Heath. She is already tossing a leg over the side rail, and building elaborate step stools out of her stuffed animals.

But I wouldn't describe Heath as a late-bloomer; he just accomplishes things on his own time-frame. And despite my concern that something isn't going the way it's supposed to, it's always just right.

I do feel some sense of relief, though. Now I can stop worrying that he's going to be that freak kid who still sleeps in a crib in his college dorm.

For Shizzle

Too many late nights in a row have left the kiddies wrought with emotional sensitivities that made the day lousy with loud shrieking and constant complaints. And despite my best thoughts this morning that tonight would be different, it's 9:45 and they just went to bed. Oh well. The visit with the cousins is coming to a close, so the late night schedule has been well worth it.

Today at 2pm it was clear Heath was not going to take a nap. With a birthday party at 3pm for a preschool bud, I decided to stop trying, tossed him in the sweltering car, and took off for the Nature Museum (and a quick mommy-related pit stop at Starbucks). Before we were out of the neighborhood, Heath was asleep, so I just ended up driving around for half an hour.

He woke up from his snoring, head-bobbing car slumber at 2:45, just as we were closing in on East Blvd., where you have your pick of Starbucks or Caribou. I told him we were going to stop and get some Tea before we headed off to the party. Getting to the party ASAP was his priority, and his lack of lengthy nap, late nights, and general overheated mood brought the fight out in him. I didn't have it in me to deal with the awakened beast, so I passed on my tea and headed off to the party.

We've been to the Nature Museum before, but not for a birthday party. What a refreshing venue. The kids got to pet animal skins (o'possum, raccoon, skunk). They got to pet live animals (snake, cockroach, turtle, bunny). I declined on touching the cockroach, jumped at the chance to rub the soft rabbit, and wavered a moment on touching Duncan the snake, then decided if Heath can do it, so can I. It was surprisingly smooth. I would go so far as to say it was soft. I don't know what I was expecting. Something harder. Or at least more textured. But it wasn't.

The kids got a delicious treat of Ben and Jerry's ice cream cake. Heath, who can usually take cake, or leave it, ate his entire piece with much zeal, scraping the spoon across the paper plate, careful to not miss a single drop of yummy creaminess. They also got a great goodie bag of squishy lizard toys and tattoos and bubbles.

The blue and pink lizards (maybe they are salamanders? Heath and I kept calling them lizards) were taken out of the bag as soon as we got in the car. When we got home, Heath showed them to Stella, but was quick to let her know that they are his, not hers, and sharing was not quite an option just yet. Eventually, Heath left them on the back deck steps. When Stella stumbled across them, she looked around for Heath, who was busy helping Mark pump up tires on his bike, and jumped at the opportunity to pick them both up, shake them in her hands, and squeal, Shizzles! Shizzles!

California Rolls

Despite a late night, Heath was up before 7am requesting his fire fighter uniform and a playdate with Sam the mountain dog. Call his mom and ask her to bring him for a sleepover, too. Stella, on the other hand, has a clearer understanding that late-to-bed means late-to-wake, so she slumbered until 8:30.

My older (and only) brother has been in NJ all week working, while my nephews hung back here with us. He flew back to Charlotte last night, so Mark and I were able to have an excellent evening of sushi and post-dinner coffee with him. I don't think we've talked that much in years. Our time was so leisurely that I didn't realize it was 9pm and I nearly forgot that we had children at Papa and HeHe's ready to be picked, and very ready for bed.

My parents were brave and watched all four kiddies (and a Granny), while we had our indulgent night out. Their evening was spent eating spagehtti, slipping and sliding on a backyard water-hosed Slip 'n Slide, and having their bath. We returned to my parent's house to find all four children lined up in an adorable row on Papa and HeHe's bed, freshly bathed and pajamaed, munching on apple slices and Cheez-Its, and engrossed in the movie of the night, Benji (the original 1974 version). Turns out the mountain dog, Scruffy, looks a lot like Benji. Also, it turns out that Benji is a little creepy with kidnapped children with duct tape over their mouthes. It's also a little creepy just because anything made in the early 70s that has to do with children becomes increasingly trippy as the years roll by. Benji the dog is no exception.

Sadly, the Cali Clan heads back on Sunday. Boo-hoo, hoo.

The Lock Out

Post-morning run, Whistlestop Road wandering, and neighbor's tree climbing, Heath thought it would be hilarious to run into the house, lock all the doors, and stand at the front window snickering, while I held Stella and tried to look like I had no idea what he had done, and really tried to look like I wasn't going to completely blow a fuse. After five minutes, I gave up on the non-reactive reaction and tried some old fashioned hollering, door banging, and Open this door now with my best low-toned, jaw clenched, brow scowled mom voice. It worked.

Five minutes later, I was ready to tackle our mountain gear laundry. (In a smart moment of Heath clothing foresight, I packed six outfits for Heath for our overnight trip. He returned home in some underwear and a very dirty pajama shirt. Wallowing in mud, swimming in cricks, Papa's mountain tree tramping, and lounging on some old dogs made for multiple wardrobe changes.) I tossed the wet towels into the dryer, turned it on, and was met with a screeching, sawing, rumbling, shaking machine.

What's that noise? Heath asked, racing into the room with his tool box.

Good question. Too bad Heath couldn't fix it. Neither could Mark. We have someone coming Monday afternoon between 1 and 5. I don't have enough clothes for Heath to make it until Monday. Maybe I can let him beat his clothes on some rocks to clean them.

Gonna Sit on the Bank and Watch the Crawdads Die

If there is something between primitive-living and car camping that is exactly what we experienced yesterday. My parents have a cabin in the mountains. Close to N. Wilkesboro, West Jefferson, and round the corner from the Blue Ridge Parkway. Rustic. It might be an overstatement. It has walls. A roof. Beds. A refrigerator that does not hum, it cranks and whirrs like a chainsaw in the hands of a serial killer (that is until it bit the dust about an hour before we left). No a/c, no TV, no internet access, and no running water.

But what it lacks in what are really unnecessary amenities, it makes up for in stunning views of the Blue Ridge mountains for miles and miles, hiking trails at every turn, and the kind of you get a line, I'll get a pole, we'll go down to that crawdad hole entertainment that makes a 9, 7, 3, and 20 month old stunningly and purely full of joy.

I caravaned up with my parents yesterday, my car loaded with all the kiddies. It was a rocky start. People complaining about how loud someone else is (they are all pretty amplified), when do we get there, I don't want to get on the highway, I have to go poo-poo, don't wake up your sister, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, don't put that in your mouth, I have to pee-pee, there's the mountain, I see the mountain, why aren't we at the mountain yet when I can see the mountain. We made a pit stop, took care of potty business, got out some snacks and drinks, stretched our legs, and began the last quick leg of our trip with a renewed spirit of this is going to be fun (as soon as we get the heck out of this car).

Shortly after we arrived, we took our first hike of the day down to Laurel Creek. Along the way we encountered two golden dogs. One was a retriever. The other, I just don't know. He was pretty crusty. That was the name I gave him, but the boys settled on Scruffy. Heath named the other Sam (after a favorite friend, and a favorite fireman). Sam and Scruffy hiked along the path with us. They fished in the creek with us. They helped save Heath's shirt when he decided to take it off and throw it down stream. Heath's cousins saved his shoes. His shovel. And his shirt again. It was a good 100 degrees, so the cold water of the creek was too much to resist, so even Stella stripped down to a diaper and took a dip. Crawdads the size of my palm scooted through the water. Sam and Scruffy followed us all the way back to the house and lingered in the yard, pretty much becoming a part of the family for the duration of our stay.

Our second hike of the day was at Doughton Park. Granny hung back at a shaded picnic table, while the rest of us braved the broiling heat and steady incline of the trail that promised breathtaking views of the mountains. I only made it halfway, the allure of some rock climbing sidetracked Stella.

Needless to say, no naps and some serious outside play time made for incredibly tuckered out kids (and adults). That's why I was so surprised at 4:30am when I heard Heath say, Get on the bed, mama. Get on the bed. We were sharing a bed, and I was on it. I guess he was dreaming and talking in his sleep, until he was awake and talking about seeing Sam and Scruffy and definitely not going back to sleep.

We made an early morning trek back to the creek. Sure enough, Sam and Scruffy met us out on the path and spent the entire day with us. They even brought a third golden dog, Levi. All three pups joined Heath and my youngest nephew for our second hike up to the top of the mountain. They brought shovels and buckets. They were looking for silver, gold, emeralds, possibly diamonds. Heath also suggested dinosaur bones. Going up, everyone was very excited about their equipment, the sunshine, wearing shoes. Coming back down, people, shoes, shovels, water bottles, they all needed to be carried. Carried by me.

I was a little sad to leave today. I wanted to be back to see Mark on his birthday. And waking up at 4:30am will make you miss your bedtime routine, and your bed, and your shower, and your potty, and internet, and TV, and a/c, and...

Puddle Jumper, Or So I Thought...

After multiple trips to the pool, Stella has embraced the tee tiny pee-pee filled baby pool as a place where she can freely roam, wade, climb in and out of, toss toys, grab toys, grab hair, and generally, feel like a little mermaid who has been in water forever.

On days when I am flying the pool plane solo, one adult to two kiddies who don't know how to swim, we are confined to spending our time in the little folks pool. It is gated, so no one can go AWOL and overboard into the big pool. And fortunately it's teeming with other toddlers and preschoolers. But the days when Mark joins us, Heath can go crazy in the big pool, jumping off the side into Mark's hands, over and over and over.

The big pool has held zero allure for Stella, until yesterday. We started the pool time off in the itty bitty pool, with all the other little ones. It was adult swim. Even our 9 year old nephew waded around the 12x12 cement hole, battling ships and sharks with Heath and a few other boys. As soon as the whistle blew, kids went scurrying out of the gate to the real deal, my nephew took off for the diving boards, Heath scooted off with Mark to practice his jumping, and Stella and I were left standing in the lukewarm water, tossed aside pool toys floating in the last of the water ripples that were settling from the sudden adult-swim-over evacuation.

We've been left in that position before, and Stella usually enjoys splashing around and picking up any and every toy with absolutely no interruption. When it's empty, it IS a big pool to Stella. But Heath was gone. Cousin was gone. Daddy was gone. This time, she needed to go, too.

I opened the gate door and she took off running. No running, use your walking feet, I reminded her. She ran anyway. Right to the steps where most of the kids congregate. She climbed down like an old pro. And like a really old pro, she jumped off. Right into the water. I was right there, and pulled her up, expecting a terribly scared and upset Stella. Nope. She loved it. Her soaked face was beaming with her giant smile. And she wanted very little to do with me holding her. She kicked. She dunked her head in. She paddled her arms. (And I nearly broke mine trying to hold her.)

Then she wanted to stand on the side of pool, next to Heath, and jump into my arms. Whether I was waiting for her or not.

Needless to say, I made a trip to Target today to pick up a much needed swim vest. After a friend gave a glowing review of the Stearn Puddle Jumpers, I saw what I thought was that product and bought it. It wasn't the same thing.

She'll probably learn to swim before I can find the receipt in the trash, get it back to Target, and pick up what I was actually wanting to get her. Super.

Happy Fodder's Day

Heath immediately ratted me out this morning and told Mark about the small, not very exciting, but completely purchased with lots of love and gratitude gift I got him for Father's Day.

Happy Fodder's Day, he sang.

Part of the gift was a Spider-Man coffee mug. The deal was that they could share it. I don't think Mark has had his turn yet. Maybe tomorrow.

A completely unplanned, nevertheless, much appreciated gift was Heath taking a nap today after too many days in a row of not. I had a feeling it was coming, too, after an incredibly fun morning of playing with the nephews. What a difference a nap makes. I slept for a while, then watched a little Brazil vs. the Ivory Coast. Heath likes Ivory Coast. Their goalie's uniform looks a UPS driver. (Too bad they lost.)

After our naps we even managed a little trip to the pool, minus one nephew. The missing fella had a Bakugan emergency and needed to head to the nearest Target to replace it. If you're like me, you might be wondering what Bakugan is. And if you're really like me, you will be mispronouncing it, corrected repeatedly, then still continue to say it wrong. What is Bakugan? They told me. Multiple times. I still don't understand. Is it a toy? A game? A character? What I do understand is it is a boy/kid thing, and if it isn't Bakugan, it will be something Bakugan-ish when Heath is 7.

Back on with It's Always Sunny in PA and loving it.

Sweet Cali Boys

While Mark and the kiddies were napping today (or supposed to be napping. Heath is on Summertime Nap Break apparently), I went to see our niece and her new baby girl. Sweet little 17 hour old baby. Still snuggled into the comfy, cozy fetal position she's been in for so many months. So soft with her teeny-tiny toes and ears.

My nephews are here from San Diego, and Heath is thrilled to have a 9 and 7 year old to climb trees with, and chase and be chased, and generally follow around with glowing admiration. The nephews are sporting even longer hair than Heath, and share his affinity for not wearing shoes or being concerned with askew, januty clothing items. They brought him a diecast red double decker bus. Heath loves it.

They also brought Stella a tiny stuffed dog. She just so happened to be wearing a dress with pockets, just the right size for her new, special PupPup. A delightful feature about having 9 and 7 year old cousins around for Stella is the fact that they don't mind when she pulls their hair. As a matter of fact, not only do they not mind, they find it hilarious. She immediately warmed to them, and was charmed to discover that she had an attentive audience who finds her both cute and funny. When she dumped her macaroni and cheese on her head, and the boys heartily cracked-up, she batted her eyes, nodded her head, and gave an equally hearty chortle.

Heath, always a gracious host, was kind enough to immediately warn them of her various shortcomings. She pulls hair, guys. We don't do that. She throws food. We don't do that. She'll bite. We don't do that. She'll pinch your skin. We don't do that. He also translated for her. She says Apfee. That means Apple Juice. Uh-oh. She just tootied.

The nephews are here all week. Tonight they are spending the night at Papa and HeHe's. Tomorrow night: Whistlestop Road. I better get my sleep now.

But...I've got ice cream to eat and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia to watch.

I See a Red Door and I Want It Painted Black...

Every Friday I am completely and utterly drained, and every Friday I am completely and utterly surprised (and oddly disappointed) at how drained I am. Blah.

No nap for Heath again today. And we had a birthday party at 3pm. At 2:20 his rambunctious, exuberant ways were becoming so appalling I wondered if we were even going to be able to make it out of the house. We did, and I am glad. Sometimes you just have to get the heck out.

Another Sports Connection party for a fellow preschool mate. I made a rookie mistake and left our socks at home. Fortunately the birthday girl had some sweet little pink and purple striped socks for Heath to borrow. He put them on and bounced like a maniac for an hour, then the party-goers were shuffled off to a room, passing through a sensory overload of a game area. Heath's pupils dilated as he ambled his way by the bright and blinking lights, and dings and dongs and blips and blizzles of computerized gaming noises. He was almost a goner, but he made his way to a seat that had a juice box waiting for him. They also got cupcakes and ice cream sandwiches. Both! What a treat!

When the party was over, I'd promised him ten minutes of game playing. He still has no idea that they require money to really play. He's happy to sit and push buttons and spin steering wheels. He totally thinks he's playing. And I am totally not going to tell him otherwise.

Just as we were leaving, after a minor loss of all emotional control at a police station game, his ears pricked and his eyes roamed--something got his attention in a big way. He took off running and stopped short at what appeared to be a sight to truly behold. I rounded the back of the game and came face to face with something I'd heard about, but had never witnessed with my own two eyes. Guitar Hero.

Guitar Hero being played by a teenaged boy. This kid was good. Actually, a pro, so the screen said when he finished a delightful, guitar-along with the Rolling Stones. And not just any Rolling Stones. Paint It Black Rolling Stones. When he finished, he put his initials in the top three players spot, then moved on to the Dead Kennedys, Holiday in Cambodia. (Are the kids still listening to DK?) Heath was mesmerized. And I tried to block out my roaming worry-mind of what the future holds for Heath and his Paint It Black phase. But when he's standing there, gazing with wonder and admiration, nodding his head ever-so-slightly, it's hard to not begin a mental list of boarding and military schools in the Carolinas and Virginia.

For now, he's snuggled up in his bed with Puppy, wearing his Spider-Man pajamas, looking very forward to the arrival of his Uncle and his cousins tomorrow morning. Happy Weekend.

A Baby is Coming, A Baby is Coming

Our niece is in labor as I type this, and Mark has headed off to the hospital to cheer her on. Very exciting. He wanted to know what he should take with him, besides the camera. We were trying to remember what was a good thing to have while one is in labor. An epidural was the only thing that came to mind, and from what I understand, she's got that covered.

While Heath was on the phone with Goma this evening, he announced something that was definitely news to me. "I'm Superman, but I am also a Tree Tramper. That's my job."

I thought he was Batman. It's hard to keep up.

Our morning was a busy one at Reedy Creek Nature Explorer Zone with some preschool playmates. Despite the climbing and log pulling and bamboo building and trail wandering, then additional time in the hot sun of the Whistlestop Explorer Zone preparing a pipeline that, according to Heath, was cracked and leaking, he did not feel a nap was necessary. As a matter of fact, a storm blew rain and thunder through the area during rest time, and as cozy and sleepy as that makes me, especially after spending hours of the morning outside, Heath chose to spend his time listening to, and muttering about, the weather outside the window. The drops are banging. That was a loud one. Think that was lightening. Think that hit a tree. The power might go out. Puppy is scared.

Apparently I thought a nap was necessary, and his mumblings didn't seem to keep me from drifting off, because next thing I knew, I woke up to an odd sensation on my head, and in my hair, and Heath was now rambling about cranes and silos and cows and dragons and dinosaurs. Strands of my hair were were being used as an entire fun zone of entertainment, as Heath dramatized attacks of dragons and water towers falling over bridges and Superman saving the day. He did this for about twenty minutes, and I didn't stop him, because it didn't hurt, and I figured he was probably getting some good fine-motor skills work in there and imaginative play.

These no nap days are growing in frequency. Yikes.

Hello, Everybody

I would say that Heath, Lady Worker, and I completed at least four more squares of leaf/weed/vine/things that look like trees, but are actually more weeds--yard clear out. I would think at this pace, the yard could very well be ready for planting and structures by Fall's arrival, just in time for all the stinkin' leaves to fall off the trees and create more clean-up. At least it will only be a season's worth of work at that point, unlike the years of overgrowth we're digging through now.

But it was good to be out there this morning. The start of the day was rocky. Heath wanted to build a batcave in the driveway with some old diapers.com boxes. Not a big deal, but our heads butted over the fact that I needed five minutes to start the laundry, so batcave building could be done on the deck or in the backyard where I can see him, not in the driveway. His heels were pretty dug into the idea that it needed to be done beside the Batman Jeep, where there would be zero supervision. My compromises fell on stubborn ears. The end result left me with a gaping flesh-wound, about the size of a little boy's fingernail, on my arm when I tried to physically redirect him somewhere else in the yard.

Fortunately, we did move on from that incident. We had our first Music Together class this afternoon. And most fortunately, everyone had some decent naps before we went, so the mood was refreshed.

I wasn't sure what to expect with both of the kids in the class together. And Stella really didn't know what to do with herself and the others that were sitting on the circle rug, ready to sing and dance and clap and tap. Eventually she settled into what is expected in that circumstance, which is mainly don't hang on the locked door requesting to get out, don't pull people's hair, don't run, and don't NOT have a good time.

Surprises of all surprises, Heath thoroughly enjoyed himself. He sang, he danced, he played instruments, helped clean up the instruments. His little smile said it all. He was purely enjoying himself. And he also got to see a preschool pal in the class, too. When we were leaving he said, I'm going to dream about him in music class tonight.

So glad I took the leap and signed us up. Hopefully Stella will get the hang of keeping her hands to herself, and Heath can take a break from his construction/landscaping business, and sing a little ditty or two.

I'm Batman

Heath is no longer Spider-Man. He is Batman, and do not make the mistake of suggesting that he can be both. He can't. And that's that.

Batman's cape is an ivory with navy blue stripes pillowcase tied around his neck. It's the first thing Heath, I mean, Batman puts on in the morning, and he zooms and shhhhzzzz's around the house, saving the day, fighting dragon fires, making French Toast, and building construction sites in downtown Gotham. He has a sidekick, and it's not Robin. It's Wonder Girl. Wonder Girl zooms and shhhhzzzz's with her green blanket wrapped around her head. She always comes when Batman throws up the signal, and she always ends up crying about something.

Heath's interest in Batman has peaked due to a recent Batman book purchase that was made. I believe it's his first flight into an actual visual and better understanding of exactly who this Batman "person" is. Batman Meets the Super Heroes is a simple tale (hopefully I'm not spoiling the plot for anyone who hasn't read this particular Step One Reading book of Super Hero stories.) of Bruce Wayne visiting a museum. A dragon statue comes to life. He has to make the dragon return to the state of being a statue, and he enlists the help of Wonder Woman and Superman. They work together. They save the day.

This book came into our lives 72 hours ago and it's been read 772 times. It's gone everywhere with us: doctor appointment, in the car, to the pool, to the park, in the baby jogger, on the potty. There has been a lot of interest peaked about Bruce Wayne's job, that Bruce Wayne is actually Batman, his Batmobile, and his big work desk.

During rest time today, Heath studied the cover carefully. He finally asked, Where are her pants? referring to Wonder Woman's lack of cloth on her legs. I wasn't sure. My knowledge of Super Hero information is limited. I'm sort of learning on the job, and my previous experience is only from my Wonder Woman/Super Girl Under-Roos wearing days, and there weren't pants with those things either. So I made something up about not wanting to have loose garments getting stuck on dragon tails or falling into fires.

He seemed almost satisfied. Then he pointed to the top part of her outfit. She got her nipples under there?

Again with the nipples.

HOT Monday

Back in January when I was complaining about having to layer up the kiddies and use the weather shield on the jogger and wear gloves and a hat and multiple running long sleeved tech tees and still feel the chill deep in my bones, I dreamed of days like the one we had today. Mornings when it's already 92 at 9am, drenched in sweat before I've gone half a mile, and by 11am when I'm lugging a pool-bound wagon down the street and all three of us are soaked in sweat, and people are talking about heat advisory warnings...I love it. And I'm not kidding.

Everyone in the 'hood had the same idea today. Head to the pool and cool off in a pee-pee filled baby pool with all the other toddlers and preschoolers and their moms. It was packed. I was still burning up from the run, so I said to heck with pee-pee worries, and waded in the baby water, too.

Oddly enough, my son who thinks the world is his personal toilet, doesn't pee in the pool. I mentioned to him a week or so ago that we should use the actual potty (not the pool or nearby bush) while we are there, and sure enough, he always lets me know when he needs to go. I have also asked him to not pee on the station wagon tires, or off the back deck, or into my bunny planter on the front porch. He has yet to follow directions about any of those spots, so I'm curious why he's decided to obey when he could freely pee without anyone really knowing. Not curious enough to ask. Wouldn't want to make him think twice and add to the need for more chlorine.

Sunday Best

Still haven't watched Weeds. Still haven't made the change on the queue to get It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia again.

What I did take care of was heading back out to the Whitewater Center this morning to meet a friend and do some trail running. As I turned into the parking lot, three minutes late, and hoping she was at least three minutes late, I noticed my car said it was a brisk, chilly 89 degrees.

So I left my water bottle in the car. Took off to find my friend, who was not as late as me, but we headed to find the trail opening, and ran free through the woods. She was good with having no idea where she was going, and just followed the signs and the conversation. Hot. I mean, clothes sopping wet, hot. But, oh, so good.

Another to do I took care of was getting a few new duds. After naps (that Heath fortunately enjoyed today for at least an hour), it was still hot. And on the verge of a storm. So we headed to the downtown Target for diapers, juice boxes, and some possible new mama duds.

I found three shirts. They fit. They are not white, black, or stained. And two of the three won't be worn while running. Very exciting. No luck on the shorts, though. What I saw seemed short short. Or cuffed. Or not my size. Oh well. Maybe with new shirts no one will notice my ripped and worn over and over and over shorts. (Or. Here's an idea. I can try a different store. I don't think I should give up on the hunt. Especially since AmVet just got two more bags of too short, too cuffed, and not my size shorts.)

Big week of pooling, birthday partying, park-ing, and our music class begins on Wednesday. I better get my rest and load up on some patience. (And ice cream. And water. I'm still thirsty from that run.)

A Special H for Sit

Day 2 of Heath's latest nap hiatus. My 83 year old Granny is here with us this weekend. Let's just say she's been the easiest one to tend to.

Thank goodness for Weeds. We plan to go ahead and give that a whirl, since I failed to put it back in the mail and get restarted with It's Always Sunny. Which reminds me, I need to take care of making that queue change.

Right now I'm struggling to keep my eyes open, so we will see how much of anything I watch.

Before I close, I will tell a quick Stella ditty. As you know, she's talking like crazy, and becoming spunkier and more demanding by the day. Her latest favorites are outside (because of course she's taking after her brother and wanting to spend endless amounts of time outside) and sit (as in sit down and read this book to me. Or sit down and let me eat some of your food. Or sit down outside with me and watch me try to climb up the slide, over and over and over.)

The funny thing about her s's is the fact that at this point she pronounces them with a sh. So, outside is outshide. And sit is, well...shit.

Super cute, right?

This afternoon we went out to do a little try-to-get-mama-some-clothes-that-aren't-over-a-decade-old-and-don't-make-her-feel-like-a-complete-raggamuffin (or tramp as Granny says. Yeah.), so we went to a spot that had both an Old Navy and Marshalls. Marshalls was crowded. The kids were everywhere, and I thought I'd lost Granny for a minute, so I quickly gave up and headed on to Old Navy. Well, that was even worse. The music was loud and everything seemed not at all what I was looking for. I did manage to get a swim suit cover thingy. I've never owned one of those before, so that should be fun.

We left the store, Mark and Heath headed off to HT to pick up a few things, and I left with Granny and Stella (who had taken care of some business at the Old Navy, and it needed to be tended to, pronto). Well, I'm waiting for poor Granny to catch up, Stella is off running, wanting to sit on some outdoor chairs outside the Home Goods store. She takes a seat on a just-her-size teak Adirondack, and points furiously at the vacant red Adirondack beside her, shouting. Loudly. Shit, mama, shit.

Friday Tales

On Monday I got a delightful email from Aunt Debbie and Goma requesting a field trip with Heath some morning this week. They wanted to take him downtown on the lightrail and have some lunch. I happily said yes, and we agreed on Friday morning. It was a special day, indeed.

According to Heath they took the train downtown, went to a bookstore, met his friend Sam, went to Target, got a toy (but not Charlie Checker, because they were out of Charlie Checker), went to eat lunch at Chick-Fil-A, where a girl told him he had to have his shoes on. And a great time was had by all.

I know from Aunt Debbie and Goma that quite a bit of that is true. They did take the train. He did get a toy (Trunk Fresh Pit Crew). He ate at Chick-Fil-A. But I'm not sure about the girl and the shoes, or meeting Sam at the bookstore. His friend Sam happens to be in another country at the moment, so unless Sam and Heath are even savvier than I realized, and planned a clandestine (and lengthy and costly) trip from England to a downtown bookstore, I'm thinking there may be something different (i.e. made up) about that part of his morning adventure with his Aunt and Goma.

It was also a special morning for me and Stella. Although she seemed initially troubled by not going with the ladies and Heath, she quickly recovered and gladly hopped into the single jogger for a run. She wanted out in the usual spot where she and Heath run the rest of the way home. But she didn't run. We leisurely meandered our way down the sidewalk, and she stopped and talked about everything she saw. Her vocabulary continues to grow, repeating everything she hears. She's even started stringing words together. A car drove by with a dog hanging out of the window.

I said, Look! What's that puppy doing?

She said, Yook! Wha' da pup-pup nooning?

Of course, we're still working on clarity, so sometimes she needs a translater. This morning, just before Debbie and Goma picked Heath up, there was a bit of a toy tussle. Heath reached out and gave Stella a little shove. I said, Heath, don't push Stella.

Stella looked at Heath and said, Hee! Don' push!

Heath looked from Stella over to me, wide-eyed. No translation necessary.

The Weed Man

The weed man came today. Not that kind of weed man. The other kind; the kind that has to do with your yard.

This morning, while we were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, I noticed a man wandering around our front yard. Not wanting to get the kids all riled up (they would've wanted to go outside and see what the man was doing and I wasn't quite ready to be seen by anyone other than close family, not to mention the fact that I had a mouthful of Grape-Nuts, and you know how long it takes to get that chewed and swallowed, then out of your teeth before you can actually open your mouth and talk to someone), I decided to casually look through the front window and see what was happening. A man wandering aimlessly in our yard is slightly unnerving, so I also didn't want to seem alarmed.

That's when I saw the white car. Big green letters spelled Weed Man on the passenger side door. He was surveying our yard, taking notes, and shaking his head. And I was ready to shuffle the kids upstairs and not answer the door. Neighborhood, door-to-door solicitors. I don't like them. At all. I understand they have a job to do, but it was 8:30 in the a.m. It's not a good time. Had it been Noon, it still wouldn't have been a good time. Salesfolks who come to my door are only met by me and my half-paid attention, and two monkey children clamoring to get out of the door and run like wild banshees and do something they shouldn't do, while my attention is so very clearly averted. And my manner with the roaming sales pitch people is always the same: curt with a hint of forced kindness. At 8:30, it wasn't going to be any different.

Surprises of all surprises, the doorbell didn't ring. The Weed Man left without saying a word, and I was able to move on and get the kiddies ready for their morning Welcome to Summertime party at a friend's house.

When we returned home at 12:30, after an exciting morning of jump and slide water play and ice cream and treats and lots of fun with preschool pals, I tried to quickly shuffle the kids and our gear inside, and move in the direction of nap time. Heath had other plans and said he wanted to sit on the front porch and wait for the recycling truck. He opened the door and squealed, Mommy, it's a package!

It was a package from the Weed Man. Not that kind of package. It was the kind of package that details the type of services the Weed Man performs on yards. Heath sat down on the floor and examined the lengthy paperwork. Not only was it a list of services, it was also essentially a yard critique, a list of landscaping grievances, if you will.

I tried to be mature about it and see it for what it was, a helpful list of the invasive weeds and grass-types (clover, moss) that are taking over our healthy green lawn. But I had a silly moment of feeling somewhat judged. I wanted to call and tell the Weed Man that we are very busy and doing the best we can, and we really are working very hard on making changes to our great potential of a yard. And then I remembered that he didn't ring my doorbell and trouble me this morning. That's nice. He's just drumming up business and letting us know he could help.

So I quickly softened about the Weed Man's approach and read his plan of attack for our particular yard.

1) Hire the Weed Man.
2) Have patience--3, 5, 8 years to improve.
3) Stick to the process.

Dude, tell me something I don't know.

On a different note, we've experienced Netflix Debacle #2. I failed to change the queue order to continue on with It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. D'oh! Very disappointed. Guess what we got instead? Weeds. Yep. And it's not the yard kind of weeds. It's the other kind.

Waldkindergarten

Project What the (insert expletive here) are we going to do with this yard? has taken an exciting turn. After an incredible visit this weekend to one of the most amazing parks I've ever experienced, and the help of my friend who always gets the ole wheels-a-turning, I have decided to turn our backyard into the Whistlestop Nature Explorer Zone, complete with a hiking trail, Bamboo Fort, Messy Material areas, and the use of our many tree stumps.

The general hacking of the weeds and ivy (or I.V., as Heath says) and bushes that have grown up, over, out, and back around again has gone quite well, but I was beginning to hit a wall and feel somewhat overwhelmed and intimidated with exactly what direction to take. Fortunately, my friend put the pen to paper and began a sketch of our yard. A concrete plan, complete with a visual aid, is certainly necessary when it comes to my go-to Oh my word! I can't do it! reaction.

Today was a continuation of the clearing out project. After nearly two years of thinking I should really clean out the sandbox that was shamefully riddled with more leaves and twigs and broken crayons than actual sand, I raked and scooped and removed and pulled on vine-like roots that stretched for multiple feet at a time. The finished product made me smile. Stella spent an extraordinary amount of time in it this evening, happily scooping the now debris-free sand.

I also cleared out a tiny section of what will become a part of our Hiking Trail area. I decided to take it one square of the yard at a time. This square is now clear of all I.V. Much of the clearing required some yard work gloves, so of course, my Job Site Project Manager, Heathcliff, as he has most recently begun referring to himself, had to put on some gloves, too. His gloves are actually fleece red and black mittens, but they certainly do the trick when handling the prickliest of the prickly limbs.

Heathcliff brought along an incredible crew of hard workers. Joe, JebbyGee, Stubby (who apparently is a jack-of-all-trades), and Stella, a.k.a., Lady Worker. Out of all the workers I would have to say Lady Worker is a bit of a loafer. She sits a lot. Meanders about. Puts things in her mouth. Throws a leaf into the garbage can to make it seem like she's actually participating, then disappears up the steps of the play structure to slide down the slide on her belly, repeatedly. Heathcliff, on the other hand, sweats, takes his shirt off, lifts tree limbs with a surprising amount of little boy strength, all while shouting instructions to his crew at the top of his lungs. All in all, he really gets the job done.

One square at a time. Let's see, my outside, nature's playground should be finished by the time Heath and Stella have kids. Hopefully the grandkids will love it.

The Things You Learn from a Post-Pool Chat

As I was dragging a very heavy (despite its minus one child status) red wagon behind me in the broiling heat of noontime, heading home from our morning at the pool, Heath walked beside me in his bare feet and Spider-Man bathing suit. He suddenly made a most important, life-changing declaration.

I'm not a tree tramper anymore, mom, he said heavily, as if he'd been giving this change a lot of thought, complete with a heavy head nod to indicate that this was significant business he was relaying. I'm a sign worker.

In the moment, I was mostly concerned with the extraordinary load of pool paraphernalia toppling out of the wagon. Stella rode cozily on her side, one hand on her new and priceless (except that it only cost $1.00 at the Rite-Aid) purple and polka dot swim ring, and her other hand holding on to her precious and equally (possibly more) important bowl of Trader Joe's version of the snack of Champions: Cheetos. As soon as I piled the wet towels, life vest, and enormous bag containing a plethora of sunblocks for the kiddies back into a mountain on the other side of Stella, and began trudging the Ropko train homeward again, I finally got the full job description for Sign Worker, complete with a demonstration.

At a quick glance, it might seem that it is little more than Heath hanging from a street sign, then giving it a good shake. But it is much, much more.

It involves a survey crew who comes first to the job site and checks to see if it's loose and needs to be tightened. Then they call on their cell phone and ask for a man named Stubby to come and bring a crane to pull the post out of the dirt. Then a man, Mr. DeGreggy, gets involved and tamps down the dirt and redigs the hole. At this point, they take a break from all their hard work, call their Papa to come help them, have some juice to drink, take their shirt off, then holler, Sorry, I have to get back to work. Lastly, a fellow named Les shows up with a front loader and crane to put the street sign back into the ground. Then they all go home for lunch and a nap.

Heath has an excellent future in governmental work, should he so choose.

And Then There Were Four...

Sadly, our weekend visitors left this afternoon. The bad news is we miss them already. The good news is they will be back for the 4th of July weekend.

After two days of HUGE excitement, round the clock built-in friends, no naps, late bedtimes, and a very busy morning of playing in our backyard, the kiddies (and I) took some seriously deep, sweaty-headed, drooling and snoring up a storm naps. We roused around 4:30 and got out for a little running to the park action. I think Heath and Stella (and I) felt a little lonely without our companions in adventure. Climbing the rock wall wasn't as interesting. Swinging...eh. Our expressions said, Ho hum. *Sigh.*

Next up on our visitor roster: Granny Jen. (I just don't know if she's down for staying up til Midnight eating ice cream, cracking ourselves up about everything, or stuffing herself into Heath's Police Car Cozy Coupe and zooming down our hilly backyard. But you never know...)

To Cross Off My To Do Before I Pass On List: Ikea. Check.

I'm thinking about having my friend's 11 year old move in with us. It seems she brings out the gentleman in Heath. First thing he wanted to do this morning was go downstairs and stare at her. Then he quickly came running into our bedroom, ever-so-politely asking, Mom, I'd like to change my clothes, could you help me with that, please? If I could count the times, the screams, the agony of trying to get him to get out of his pajamas, well, there would be many. But sweet Beatrix floated down from an angelic cloud and got Heath to realize that sometimes, it's pretty nice to just go ahead and get dressed for the day.

Family and friends that run together, stay together. So after breakfast we got everyone loaded up in the strollers. Heath went in our single jogger, and Stella and Lucie teamed up in the double. My friend and Bee made it an excellent mile, and Shea came along with us for the rest of the jaunt.

If going to the zoo wasn't insane enough, we decided to go to the zoo of retail, Ikea. I've never been to an Ikea before. Our friends needed a lamp, and I figured I could get a much-needed laundry basket to replace what can only be described as disgusting current deal I was using,and I could finally see what all the fuss is about. I thought we could include a visit to Reedy Creek Park after our shopping extravaganza, as sort of a treat to the kiddies for being troopers with having to spend some time on a Sunday restlessly wandering around Scandinavian furniture and accessories.

The fuss about Ikea. Turns out it is the kind of place that sucks the thinking-ability right out of me as soon as I go through the electric doors. It's bright. It's enormous. It's loud. There are a billion people roaming. Half of those billion people have at least one child in a stroller. And there were items, everywhere. The walls were covered with frames and mirrors and sheets and towels. Rugs hung from ceilings. Fixtures were lit. It was so overwhelming, I can't even recall what I saw, because I couldn't look at any one thing for longer than a millisecond. In situations like this, I pretty much become a walking zombie. And with two children, losing keen focus is not a good thing.

After a blurry, foggy-headed twenty minutes, we wound up somewhere around a bunch of sofas with multiple unhappy children, who only wanted to bounce and jump on the couches, so we decided to throw caution to the wind and throw three of the four children down into what was called Smallville. (I don't think it was called Smallville, but that's what I kept calling it in my head. Small-land, maybe?) We figured Stella was the least of our Nordic lighting and stinky laundry holder decision-making trouble, so the men took the other three down to Smalltown, while the ladies came very close to finding a couple of dressed ASPELUND and RYKENE bed frames and taking a little snooze, while the trusty folks of Ikea watch our kids.

Turns out Bee was two inches too tall to get into Smallidelphia, but Heath and Lucie were able to come into the child's dungeon. I periodically went to check on them. Heath was engrossed in watching Chicken Little and Lucie was sitting in a pit of balls. Another quick check found Heath still engrossed in watching the movie, only this time he was sitting between a couple of girls, and Lucie was still swimming through the plastic ball wading pool.

It also turns out that Stella is quite capable of making it difficult to inch your way through the kitchen section. An innocent bounce on a BIRKELAND bed frame with a little fella wearing a monkey backpack ended with a hair pulling episode. She went AWOL multiple times. And when she pulled on my bag, saying, 'nack, 'nack, 'nack, I found myself, for the first time in her short history, completely out of snacks. (Good thing Ikea has a ginormous cafeteria available. Stella got a cookie. Not just any cookie. Swedish SWINGOLLA cookie.)

Finally, we found our laundry basket, the SKUBB, (and it is quite a fun little two compartment deal), and our friends found what they were looking for, we headed back to Smallboro and gathered up both children who were now both lying on each other, glued to Chicken Little.

As soon as we got back outside, I melted back into being able to think again. And off we went to Reedy Creek Park and I am so, so glad we did.

Little did I know, a week ago the Natural Explorer Zone opened by the Nature Center, and it was a child's dream come true. Outdoor xylophones, a playhouse shaped like a birdhouse, log balance beams, grapevine arbors. A sandbox (or American Indian dig site) full of bones and shark-teeth for archaeological digging. And the biggest hit was called the Messy Material area with bamboo poles for fort building and fabric. I think the fabric could be used to make the fort, but our kiddies wrapped the material around their necks for some cape-flying/day-saving.

The friend crew heads out tomorrow. We will be a sad Ropko bunch, missing our adventuresome pals.

Zoopalooza

One thing is for sure about the Riverbanks Zoo in Columbia, South Carolina in June: it's hot. Blazing, body is a constant puddle of sweat, clothes are not dry, hot.

And when it's hot and you're at the zoo, with all of its zooey smells...

The Ropko clan met our Charleston folks (with their two children, 11 and 3) at the zoo at 10:30am. We were there for four and a half hours, which is stunning. I didn't think we'd last for three.

We went to the potty multiple times. We chased down wayward children. We ate a picnic lunch. We rode the train. The kids got in and out of the wagons, repeatedly. The kids complained about wanting things, needing things, and not getting what we needed or wanted. And I think, I think, we saw some animals.

And really, every time I took a look at the animals, I felt incredibly sad and somewhat guilty. Don't worry, I really don't have an opinion one way or the other about zoos and their rightness or wrongness in our world, but maybe I do. The flamingos seemed lethargic. Most of them weren't even perched on one leg, they just seemed to be lying in a murky pool of water, their pink feathers diminished of any vibrancy whatsoever. The lions seemed bored. The grizzly had totally given up. And the monkeys didn't have a bit of spunk about them. (Although Mark claims to have a couple of them engage in a physical tryst, but I missed that little show.)

Riding the teeny-tiny train was a big hit for all the kiddies (and mamas), but I'm thinking the small choo-choo compartments put us over the edge in terms of being pretty well done with that sweat box of a ride.

We meandered our way through the barnyard area, where Heath milked a pretend cow. Stella gave a goat a gentle pat on the back, moved on to a hen house where she became a bit territorial and gave a child a bit of a gentle shove. The mother of the shovee grabbed Stella's arm, gave her a firm No, ma'am. And as I swooping in to hopefully salvage the exchange, Stella got out her vampire teeth and moved in for the bloody kill. I got her up before she could take a chunk out of any body part. Got an excellent What's wrong with your child? glare. We exchanged some words. (I will say I was relatively polite. She was relatively not.) But she moved on before a barnyard rumble could really take place.

And just when you think it was going to be a friendly visit to the zoo between old friends, it seems that it was much, much more for Heath. Our friend's lovely eleven year old was followed around by Heath like a love-struck puppy. She let him jabber on about the weather and front loaders and dumpsters and pottys and anything else that crossed his mind. She let him sit beside her during our picnic lunch. She let him hold her hand (I mean, hold hands. He NEVER wants to hold hands. With anyone. Ever.)

And he was thrilled that they followed behind us and came back to Whistlestop Road.

What on earth will we get into tomorrow? For now, it looks like we're getting into the ice cream.

Pintos, Park, Pool...Not Too Shabby for a Friday

The morning started with Heath and his bean project. Basically it consisted of a bag of dried pinto beans, two plastic bowls, multiple measuring spoons of varied sizes, and a cup of water. He made soup. He made breakfast for Puppy. And surprisingly, he did not make a mess. (Totally prepared and okay with one if it had happened, but nope.)

After bean time, we loaded up the baby jogger and headed out for a steamy run. You would think that pushing one of those things becomes easier. I suppose it does, in terms of the getting accustomed and adjusted and "used-to-it" department. When I began the adventure of running with children, Heath was a mere 4 months old, and long and lean fella at that. Calling it a load was a stretch. But today, I felt very much like I was pushing 100 pounds. Not because I was particularly tired. As a matter of fact, for a Friday I was feeling quite rested. But it seems that both Heath and Stella have hit a growth spurt. Longer. Heavier. And very much, a load.

At some point while we were on Sharon Road we heard a little car horn toot coming up behind us. I turned to see who it was and was met with a wildly waving Papa. Heath said, Follow Papa!

So rather than turn to go back home, we took a different route. Papa left us in the dust, but we stopped at the Harris Y for a little playtime on a play structure beside the outdoor track. We lucked out and there was a brother-sister duo (9 and 7) who were more than willing to play with Heath. Heath jabbered on about seeing his Papa and his dad and dumpsters and Stella pulls hair and he's in preschool and will be in the 4's class after summertime break and he is Spider-Man and there was thunder and lightening the other night and it hit a tree on Whistlestop Road and...And on and on he went and the two very sweet and very patient siblings attentively listened to Heath, and also stared with bewilderment at the chatty preschooler.

After some hearty lunch was eaten, and some deep naps were taken, we headed off for our first of the summer visit to the neighborhood pool. I loaded the kiddies and towels and gear and snacks into the red wagon, and this time, pulled the same heavy load to a very crowded pool. Heath insisted on wearing his new Lightening McQueen life-vest in the wagon, but as soon as we got to the water, he wouldn't wear it.

There were many, many children hanging out at the pool. Heath introduced himself, Stella, and me to each person, and they all got the same spiel about his life and his day. One little guy dared to tell Heath that he was not Spider-Man. Heath said, Mmmm, I am Spider-Man, then looked at him with a there is nothing you can say to convince me, or yourself, otherwise stare.

It will be interesting to watch Stella's pool evolution this summer. It took her a while to warm up to the idea of getting into the little pool today. (I took her in the big pool when Mark arrived. She really wanted nothing to do with that.) But eventually, she found a squishy starfish to toss a few inches in front of her, take a few tentative steps to get it, then rush back to hold onto my legs.

Riverbanks Zoo and BFF guests tomorrow. Oh my...

Suck It, Skeeters

Hallelujah for playdates! It's been over a week since we've had one and that is over a week too long.

When I got the Evite yesterday to bring the kiddies to come play in a sprinkler with some other little friends, I got shivery excited about the opportunity and sent back an immediate, Yes, thank you, thank you! And at 2:30pm, thirty minutes before the playdate, and Heath had still not fallen asleep for a nap, I was very glad we had somewhere to be. And they both had a great time. Heath enjoyed the wild spraying sprinkler, joyfully getting soaked. Stella relished her snack time, sitting in her recycled blue seersucker with red crabs bathing suit. No need to get wet. Eating blueberries on a front porch is plenty fun.

The lack of nap made for an evening riddled with screaming. Fortunately none of it was mine, and I am pleased with my have a bath/read a book/got to bed early, nonplussed reaction.

Mist-a-Pest came this afternoon. And not a moment too soon. Poor Stella has over a dozen giant-sized, red welts all over her sweet little legs. Stinkin' mosquitoes. When we were in the backyard this evening I did notice a significant decrease in the little blood-suckin' buggers. And the couple that landed on my leg seemed delightfully lethargic.

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia came in the mail today. Or as Heath says, Sunny DeeFellPhi. It is a mouthful of a city. And very The Roots.

The Catch-All Room

Nothing like upcoming house guests to get me cleaning. Our guest bedroom has pretty much been in theory only. It is currently being used to store baby items we aren't using (and haven't made their way up to the attic), clothes we aren't wearing (and haven't made it into the AmVet bags), papers we aren't using (and haven't made it into the garbage), and a giant bed covered with Mark's work clothes.

I did notice a mysteriously clear spot available on the bed, just around the headboard/pillow area, with a Roswell/the aliens have landed look and feel to it. Turns out it is a space big enough for a grown man's body curled in the fetal position when he just isn't quite ready to face the work day. (Mark confessed his little I take a five minute nap on the guest bed before I leave for work secret this evening while I was down there trying to make it presentable.)

And we actually have three weeks straight of guests visiting. My BFF and her fam are up first for a visit this weekend. Then Granny is making her way back to us for a little weekend with the Ropkos. Then my sweet nephews from Cali will be here.

Heath is very excited about the Whistlestop abode's Guest List. He has big plans to sleep and bath with each one of our visitors. Checking out the room for clean-up was also a delight for him. Remember the way too small red and blue Christmas fleece footie pajamas that he spent a day or two in March trying desperately to make them fit? Guess where they were? Yep. In a pile, not as properly hidden as I thought, in the guest room.

He was thrilled when he found them (I've been looking for these! he exclaimed), and only tried to make them fit for a minute or two. Then he decided to tie the red pair around his neck, and the blue pair around a willing, but mildly skeptical, Stella's neck.

Batman capes, he announced, pleased with his idea.

Good. That's two fewer items I have to find a space for before our first guests arrive.

A Tuesday that Felt Like a Monday

After a long night of nonstop rain and thunder and lightening, Stella was up at 7:30, and the little bear boy slept until a whopping late time of 8:30. He immediately let me know that he'd heard all the thunder, saw lots of bright lightening, and covered his face with Puppy's comforting furry body when he felt a little scared. But not too scared, he clarified.

Our backyard was a massive puddle, but I decided wet pajamas would be the lesser of the trouble to deal with, so I let them out to happily stomp about in the lake of a yard. Sopping wet, but emotionally composed after a good morning run around, they more than willing to jump into the baby jogger and head out for an already steamy run to the park. I actually had a rare moment of good noodle forethought and brought a towel with me to dry off some of the more soaked play structures.

On the way back home (a very leisurely way back home with both of them let loose from the stroller--what should take two minutes to run, took twenty minutes to walk) we met a lady walking the 'hood who is due with her second baby in two weeks. It was a friendly, but brief encounter.

Apparently, the encounter meant quite a bit to Heath. Throughout the rest of the day he talked about the lady with that baby in her belly. Why's she got that baby in her belly? Why can't she keep it there? What's she going to do with that baby?

At dinner, he grabbed one of Stella's baby dolls and insisted on feeding the baby. The baby likes salad. And milk. From a sippy cup. And from Heath's chest. He put the baby in the jogger and wanted to take the baby for a run. We decided an after dinner walk would be nice, but the baby could go in Stella's pink play stroller.

Most of the walk, Stella didn't mind Heath adopting both the stroller and the baby as his. And when we were nearly home, Heath seemed to lose steam and interest in caring for the baby, so he let the stroller go. Stella grabbed the baby out of the stroller, gave it multiple kisses on the face, then proceeded to put the baby back in the stroller, stopping occasionally to make sure the baby was okay.

'kay? she'd ask, rubbing the baby's head, then moving on with her stroll time.

When we got back to the house, Heath's interest in the baby was re-peaked, and this time, Stella was in no mood to share. Rather than take turns, or care for the baby together, Stella chucked the doll over the side of the deck, then Heath peed over the side of the deck, onto the baby.

Not sure where to go from there, I decided it was time to shuffle the two inside for much-needed baths. As I type this I am wondering if I remembered to bring baby doll back inside. I have a feeling I left poor baby outside, in a puddle of Heath pee-pee.