Four Stars for the Fourth

Before my husband I had the boys, we used to go to the same festival each year and discuss our wishes and dreams on a blanket under the stars and fireworks. Inevitably, our conversations eventually led to having children. We usually ended up giggling and hugging when we thought of starting a family. But I remember both of us saying that it would probably be a long time 'til we were able to experience fireworks with little children. We had a feeling our kids might be the type who detest loud booms. And we were right. For the most part.

But we know now that our kids do love....

...dancing to their Pop Pop's band...


...playing fun games with fun prizes...


...making themselves comfortable when the mood hits...




...eating yummy treats at dusk (even if some is left on their faces)...

...celebrating our great country...

...and snuggling with their parents while anticipating their first real fireworks!

Besides the insane traffic leaving the event, we had an unbelievably successful day. In fact, Eric and I marveled at how well it went. When we were leaving, Peanut even said, "Mommy and Daddy, thank you for taking us here." Surprisingly, Pumpkin only shuddered a bit at the first few loud booms, but he was so impressed with the sight of the fireworks that he "ooohed and aahed" with the best of them. And -- unlike many days of late -- no one shed a tear. Unless, of course, you count the happy ones from me.

Thanks, but no thanks

I remember sitting at the kitchen table as a girl in elementary school, grudgingly writing out thank you note after thank you note for birthdays and Christmases. My parents instilled the importance of a thank you note pretty early. I admit; I have never enjoyed writing them. Not because I don't want to say thank you; quite the opposite, actually. I always worry I will forget some detail that was important to me or that I won't express my gratitude as sincerely as I hope. Let's face it; a thank you note can easily sound cliche' and boring. Think back to your wedding thank you notes. I know that mine certainly weren't sent as punctually as I had wished; I needed some time off or else I worried they would all sound exactly the same. I figured out later that it really matters more that the gift was acknowledged than that the thank you note was terribly original or special. But I still try to achieve that in the notes I write, regardless of how punctual (or not) I am in sending them.

I was recently reading an article in one of my parenting magazines in which a mom was stressing to her teenage daughter that she should write a thank you note for a recent interview she had for a summer job. The teenager said, "But Mom, no one does that anymore." And the mom countered, "That's precisely why you should."

But the teenager is right. No one does that anymore. At a graduation party I attended this year, one of the parents so profusely thanked me for writing his son's college recommendation letter every time he saw me that he left me at a literal loss for words. But it was certainly nice to hear. And I started to think: I write dozens of recommendation letters every single year. How often had I received a thank you note?!? I can tell you this: In over a decade of teaching at my current high school, I can count on one hand. I'm not saying that for a sympathetic response; I just find it sort of a sad truth of my chosen profession. But honestly, I doubt it is much different in other work environments.

Peanut had a wonderful experience in kindergarten this year. He was assigned a teacher who quickly understood how his mind and heart work and the best ways to help him to excel. We were so impressed with her! I wanted to thank her in a meaningful way, but how do you express that in one end-of-the-year gift from a six-year-old?!? I thought about what I would find touching as a teacher. And I thought about what Peanut likes to do.

And here is what we did: We bought a photo album with pretty pressed flowers on the cover.

Inside, I wrote:

Dear Mrs. S, We are so grateful for all you did to make Peanut's kindergarten experience so special. Thank you for everything! Love, Peanut's Family

Then, we used a stack of plain index cards and inserted them into the photo slots. On the first one, I wrote:

Peanut wants to thank you in his own words. Thank you for...

Here are some of the pages that followed (in Peanut's own words!):

The last page is a picture of Peanut's teacher with him at their end-of-the-year ice cream social. On the next page, I inserted a gift card to Borders. Because, well...teachers love meaningful mushy stuff. But we also like gift cards. :)

I hoped that this gift would not only express our gratitude to an exceptional teacher but that it would teach Peanut a valuable lesson in saying "thank you." He worked very hard on this project for two nights before dinner, and I think he was surprised when Mrs. S was unable to look at the whole book because she "didn't want to cry so early in the morning" on their last day.

And guess what? Mrs. S sent Peanut a thank you note for his thank you gift. See? Told you she was a keeper.

And now I thank you for indulging me, my kind readers. Every time any of you leaves a comment or chooses to follow my blog and lets me know I am not writing just for myself, I thank you in my head. And now I thank you out loud. Well, in writing at least. Thank you, readers!

Birthday Portraits

I promise that my blogging will not always be this boring, but for now, here are the boys' newest portraits taken in April after their respective birthdays. Let me know your favorites!

Flashback Friday: Daddy's Little Girl

Dad and me at three weeks old

Since Father's Day is right around the corner, I thought this would be an appropriate Flashback Friday. I have and always will be a daddy's girl. I think most girls are -- I know that even my mom, my stepmom, and my mother-in-law were all daddy's girls, too. There's just some kind of unspoken code between a daddy and his daughter. My dad chose his words carefully and could scare the dickens out of me with just a stern look. He could also alert the entire neighborhood with his powerful whistle that we could all hear blocks away to indicate that it was dinnertime. We had a ritual when I was little of watching Fat Albert together on Saturday while eating grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup that he made. And he always gave me the sandwich with the most cheese drizzle, even though I know he liked them that way just as much as I did. But the most powerful of all things he has given me through the years is his unconditional love that has never wavered, regardless of some of my idiotic decisions or my immature perspective. While my dad's glares and whistles were strong, his hugs were even stronger. And he still is the best hugger ever.

At my Senior Voice Recital, December 1991

One of the funniest stories my dad tells is how I would not talk to him after he grew a moustache when I was three. I was scared of men with facial hair. If you think back to the seventies, you can see why; all men with facial hair were "bad guys" with the exception of Santa Claus (although I was not a fan of his facial hair, either). So, imagine my surprise when recently my dad arrived at my house, and I saw his upper lip for the first time in 36 years!

May 2009 -- My Now-Moustacheless Dad!

I know I am blessed to have such a wonderful bond with my dad and to have also had such other amazing fathers in my life: my Pop Pop who was my heart, my grandpa, my father-in-law, and now my own husband. (It is no wonder with such strong father figures in my life that I chose someone to love whose second job is being SuperDad.)

So, Happy Early Father's Day to my dad and all of the other dads who have influenced my life. And Dad, thanks for always letting me be Daddy's little girl, even though I'm not so little anymore.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation (2009 Edition)

Hello? Hello? Do I hear an echo? Is anyone out there?!?

Well, I can't say I would blame you if you have cited me for reckless blog neglect and thrown me and my blog address to the wayside. But I have a reason (read: not an excuse!); I promise.

"How I Spent My Summer Vacation" by

special arrangement with the State Police.

Okay, so at least I didn't get arrested.

Anyone remember this beauty of a post? You know, it's the one where I got into a fight with the corner of a wall in my house on the very first day of summer vacation. If you've been reading my blog that long, I have a feeling that you'll remember. Does a purplish-black pinky toe ring any bells?!?

So, I am an overachiever for those of you who don't know. I have calmed down in my old age, but I used to be pretty bad. Evidently, I needed to surpass my own record from last June.

Last Friday was my first official day off from work for the summer. Woo-Hoo, right?!? Not so fast.

I woke up in the middle of the night with 87 little knives in my throat. Okay, maybe they weren't actual knives. But if you would have told me that then, I may have gotten a knife out to show you how it felt. Anyway, I couldn't swallow, and unless you really think about it, most of us probably don't realize how often we must swallow to do anything -- including sleeping. It hurt to drink water if that helps you understand. The only thing I could do without making it worse was cry.

So, after a trip to see a doctor first thing in the morning, it turned out that I had strep. Now, I have had strep before, but it never felt like this. In fact, the doctor I saw said he would have bet me a case of beer that it was not strep because of all of the blistering (Kristin speak = little knives) all over my throat (don't worry; no visual aides for this one). No problem...a quick visit to the pharmacy to get my medication, and I figured I'd be good as new in no time.

Or not.

Two days later, the little knives had set up camp and were toasting marshmallows in my throat with no intent to leave. Eric called the doctor since I had no voice nor senses left, and the doc wanted me to go back to the ER and get an IV of stronger (!!!) pain medication (I dare not tell you what he had already prescribed!) and perhaps get what he thought was a throat abscess drained (no visual for that, either; you're welcome). Upon hearing that, my blankets all of the sudden felt way better and I didn't want to trade them for any hospital bed. He did say that the abscess could drain on its own with continued use of antibiotics, so I hoped for option number two. And I am happy to say that the little knives have finally left and traveled...to my gallbladder.

Well, not exactly. I was actually dealing with the gallbladder pain before the throat pain, but I just found out yesterday from my surgeon that he definitely advises in my case that I have the gallbladder removed. I have gallstones (no visuals here, either), and the pain has been constant for over ten days (minus the days I was on the pain meds for my throat -- at least it helped something!). I was worried after reading so much about it that the weight loss could be the culprit, but I have done it sensibly, not rapidly at all. And I have never been a fried/fatty/spicy food fan. I am a carb girl. But actually, the doctor said that -- in his experience -- gallstones are very typical a few years after pregnancy if the patient is close to...well...that number looming ahead at my next birthday.

So, now I have to add a surgery to my summer plans. Think strep, a throat abscess, and gallbladder surgery trump a broken toe?!? Please say yes. I told you I'm an overachiever! I guess I'd better work on changing that for next summer.

The Please [Don't] Touch [My Kid] Museum

I admit it. I have had very few incidences so far in my little boys' lives where I had to go into Mama Bear Mode. You mommies all know what I'm talking about -- you see your child in a threatening situation, and you do whatever it takes to protect him or her. I had been pretty lucky, and Mama Bear had been hibernating.

Until recently.

We received a wonderful gift of four tickets to the Please Touch Museum in Philadelphia from one of Eric's lovely aunts, and we were all very excited to go. The museum is designed specifically for little kids and is an amazing combination of play, experimentation, and education. The boys loved each exhibit better than the last, and they were truly in kid heaven.

Statue of Liberty Torch made out of toys
(above)

Drs. Peanut and Pumpkin, at your service

Playing, exploring, learning...

Peanut using a pulley to raise his plane creation

to the ceiling in order to watch it fly

Pumpkin's favorite part hands down: the pretend grocery store. Watching my little man with such determination in his eyes as soon as we got him his own cart was both unbelievably sweet and hilarious at the same time. He was in the zone!


Both boys really enjoyed the water area. We saved this part for last. The kids could experiment with the water toys, and they had all types of contraptions the kids could maneuver to experiment with water energy. Peanut was a pro in no time!

I had to pull out all of the mommy tricks I know to get Pumpkin to leave the special three and under play area. He loved this tree slide and the lilypads that made frog noises when he jumped on them to hop across the pretend pond.



Looks like the best day ever, right? I mean, nothing could put a damper on this day!

Oh. Except maybe this:



So, both boys were completely excited to play in the McDonald's area. Most of the kids were lined up along the back wall, busy using various assortments of play food to make all types of hamburgers and Happy Meals. Then, this sweet little girl walked up to the counter and just stood there, looking around. So, compassionate mommy that I am, I asked Peanut to be the cashier and ring up her order. Why can't I learn to just leave well enough alone?!?

Peanut happily obliged, and he skipped over to take the little girl's order. He was announcing each item into the microphone as he pressed the buttons on the register to announce her total. It was so cute that I had to take a picture. The above shot is now known as Exhibit A.

See the bigger brunette boy to the left of Peanut who was easily at least a year older? Yeah, the one in the green jacket. Well, he may or may not be the kid I am referring to in this story. If that was the same kid, I would know his name since I did hear it; however, since I am certainly not saying that was the kid, we will just call him "B.B." (for "Bully Boy").

B.B. was playing nicely beside Peanut for a few minutes until he decided that he had to have the microphone. Unfortunately, Peanut was still wrapping up the little girl's order, and he told B.B., "Hey! It's still my turn." But B.B. wasn't really interested in the whole taking turns concept. No, instead, he put all of his weight into pulling that microphone away from my son while -- compassionate mommy that I am -- I tried to intervene from my booth a few feet away and tell Peanut to allow Bully Boy to have a turn for a minute.

Too late.

Bully Boy -- and I am not using that name lightly -- decided he had a better solution.

After he pulled the microphone completely away from Peanut, he then focused all of his force on my son (who, by the way, morphed into my firstborn helpless infant in my brain), and Bully Boy pushed Peanut to the floor. Please congratulate me right now for resisting my motherly urge to demonstrate what happens to bullies who dare to touch my children. It was not easy to suppress the Mama Bear in me who wanted so desperately to give him my own Quarter Pounder. Anyway, Peanut was wailing at this point, and when I flew over to him, he said, "Mommy, he's so mean!" to which B.B. responded, "And you're so dumb!"

No, I am actually not writing this post from a prison cell, so please offer me congratulations yet again. First you dare to harm my child, and now you insult his intelligence?!? This kid had a guardian angel looking over him, for sure. I quickly swept up Peanut in my arms and consoled him in the booth. I felt guilty doing it, but I told Peanut that unfortunately there are a few mean people in the world, and that I was sorry that he had to meet one.

What? You are wondering where B.B.'s parent was in this equation? Yeah, me, too. A few minutes after "the incident," a mousy man brought B.B. over "to apologize."

Yeah, I put that in quotes. Because this is the masterpiece of an apology he offered my son:
"Sorry, piggy eye."

Yes, I did have to remind myself to breathe in and out repeatedly.

But B.B. had some audacity calling Peanut "dumb," because when he went back over to his dad, his father obviously sensed my disapproval and asked what he said in his apology. And then B.B. told his dad exactly what he said. Good job, Genius.

So, Mousy Dad begrudgingly brought B.B. back over to us. Again. At this point, I had seen enough of this kid's face to last a lifetime, and his presence was making Peanut's state of mind worse with every encounter. He finally mumbled something that sounded like "sar-RAY" with an attitude that somehow pleased his father enough. Thank goodness; they were finally gone.

It really took a while, but Peanut eventually got over it.



Mama Bear, on the other hand? She had nightmares for weeks about people hurting her children. Retelling the experience still brings tears to my eyes. And I cannot with any sincerity guarantee that any future children with a penchant for bullying will get off so easily.

But for now, Mama Bear is going back into hibernation. And I hope she doesn't have to awaken that growl again for many, many winters to come.

Grrrr....

Flashback Friday: Left Foot, Right Foot...

...Feet, Feet, Feet!

Oh, how many

Feet you meet!

These are Pumpkin's piggies when he was about four months old. I had recently purchased a new digital camera and wanted to try out the zoom. I haven't used the zoom very much since!

One of Pumpkin's current favorite books is Dr. Seuss's The Foot Book, so I thought this was appropriate (in case you were wondering, he always laughs at "sick feet" and "fuzzy fur feet"). Now I am gonna go put my tired, achy, seriously-needin'-a-pedicure feet up on the couch and grade some more papers.

I heart kitties

Since I have been so neglectful of my blog lately, I thought I would entertain you with a delightful video my husband found. Maybe this will get your minds off the fact that I haven't added anything new or exciting here lately. Enjoy! :)

Happy Mother's Day!

My own mom sent me this poem, and I thought it was worth sharing with all of you moms who can so readily relate. Thanks, Mom! And may you all feel especially appreciated on this day set aside to honor the hardest yet most wonderful job known to [wo]mankind.

Before I Was a Mom

Before I was a Mom
I made and ate hot meals,
I had unstained clothing,
I brushed my hair every day,
I had quiet conversations on the phone,
I slept as late as I wanted and I slept all night long.

Before I was a Mom
I cleaned my house each day,
I never tripped over toys or forgot lullabies,
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous,
I had never been puked on,
pooped on,
spit on,
chewed on,
peed on,
or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom
I never thought about immunizations,
I never held a screaming child so the doctors could give shots,
I never looked into teary eyes and cried,
I never felt my heart break into pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt,
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.

Before I was a Mom
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put him down,
I never sat up late hours of the night watching a baby sleep,
I never got up in the middle of the night to make sure everything was okay,
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.

Before I was a Mom
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts,
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside of my body,
I didn't know that having something so small could make me feel so important,
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment,
or the satisfaction of being a mom.

Before I was a Mom
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much,
I never knew that I could love someone so much,
I never knew I would love being a Mom,
I didn't know the bond between a Mother and her child,
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much.

~ Author Unknown

Flashback Friday: Pumpkin and Great Nana

This was Pumpkin and my maternal grandmother, Nana, at her 93rd birthday party when Pumpkin was only four months old. Sadly, she passed away the following year, right before Mother's Day. She will always be the quintessential grandmother to me; the smell of her home always made me smile, and I have sweet memories of playing restaurant in her basement, spending nights at Nana's by myself, and eating Pepperidge Farm Ginger Man cookies with her at the kitchen table that overlooked her bird bath and the beautiful garden on her hill. She was the most gentle and most God-loving woman I have ever had the honor to know. I hope some day that I will have the privilege of being the kind of grandmother she was to me. I still miss you, Nana.

Birthday Party Highlights

Please sing this in your head as you read: It's the most...hor-ri-ble time...of the year....

I have two words for you: research papers. Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!! Run away while you can before I try to accost you with my red pen!

I really do enjoy my job, but I wish my job did not include grading over one hundred eleventh grade research papers. It takes forever. I have often thought of the old teacher joke of throwing them down the stairs; the ones that fall to the bottom get Fs and the ones that land on the highest steps are awarded As. Unfortunately, I have a conscience. Drat!

Anyway, here are some pictures from the boys' birthday party last month. They had a wonderful day with very generous friends and family.

Mommy and Peanut on our actual birthday

At the party play place:

Even Eric and I had a great time because we didn't have to clean anything up afterwards. (And I even ignored the pizza and cake who were trying to call my name as well. Yay, me!)