Hibernate

We live in the best neighborhood out there. In the spring, summer and fall months it's not uncommon to hear the laughter and squeals of a handful of kids on our cul-de-sac. Games of "army" being organized by the boys, the girls with their silver scooters and pink helmets pretending to be either war wives or Hannah Montana (is there a difference?). People are washing their cars, the moms are camped out on my front lawn on my big rainbow quilt enjoying a beverage or three.... Popsicles, fruit leathers, and Capri Suns are passed around. Kids with dirty hands and equally dirty of face run through sprinklers and exclaim, "see I don't need a bath tonight!". Those months are amazing. They make me so grateful for where we live and who we live by.

November- February is rough 'round these parts. We live on the edge of the urban growth boundary in our county. What is peaceful and beautiful in the fair weathered months can be isolating come what winter. Garage doors are down, curtains are drawn and if one listens closely enough, the theme song from Mario Kart can be heard from behind most locked doors. The neighbors wave to one another as we pass each other's cars on the ice lined streets or when we hurriedly drag our garbage pails down to the curb each week for pick up. However that sense of intimacy among friends is frozen during those months - much like the branches of the sweet gum trees that flank our sidewalks.

It's coming right? That thing called spring? I'm encouraged by the longer days and the crocus buds coming up through the hard soil. It's not far off...right? Here's a little tease and encouragement until the real thing comes.

Maintenance

People always ask me, being the mom of two boys if I am going to, "go for that girl?"
The answer simply is, "no". Usually I give a more colorful reply but since this is a public site I will keep it clean. Before I begin my little rant I have to say that I love my husband and children dearly. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for them. In fact....I do everything for them.
The reality is, I have three boys ;ages 6, 3 and 35. The three year old boy I don't mind doing things for. He can't tie his shoes yet, he has a hard time picking up his room and cutting his own meat. I get that. These things I can help with. The six year old I also don't mind assisting in tasks. Putting away his laundry, running his bath for him at night and packing his lunch is my pleasure. He's a kid.
The 35 year old boy on the other hand is much harder to do things for and feel good about it. Stinky running shoes and socks left in the living room since Thursday morning irk the hell out of me. The peanut butter knife left on the counter next to the crumbs from his toast this morning? Annoying. This isn't a new concept, the husband agitating the wife. For years men have been tracking mud into the cave or leaving their muskets and knives where the children could get to them.
Today I am leaving my boys. Not for good but for a good eight hours at least. Retail therapy, lunch with friends and discussing the aforementioned will revive this lady. Mama needs maintenance too.

The Bo Show

Bo likes wrestling. I mean he really likes wrestling. He's not a novice to organized sports either. He's played T-ball, soccer, dabbled in rock wall climbing but wrestling is his thing. I should have known that my first born would be pretty good at such a sport when at the tender age of two he could do elevated push ups off of the couch in the double digits. He's an Adonis of sorts - the genetics gods blessed this child with the carbon copy DNA of his father. In fact, some good friends of ours nicknamed him "Thunder" when he was just a wee infant after spotting his developing deltoid muscles, bulging underneath his duckie onesie.

Wrestling seemed like such a primordial sport to me at first. Testosterone nation at its finest, or worst depending which eye you were looking through. I have to admit though, I'm hooked. There is something about the intensity of the actions that are involved during a match that get even this pacifist mom's blood flowing. Without further adieu, I give you...The Bo Show.

Honest mistake

The other night Jake and I were watching a special on The Vatican on OPB. I was explaining to him that mommy and daddy had been there on their honeymoon years ago. "Oh Italy!" he exclaimed (thanks Little Einsteins!).

"Yes! Italy" I retorted. Both proud and admittedly a little smug that my three year old knew that The Vatican was in Italy.

"But mommy, I thought that Santa lived at the North Pole. Not Italy." he then questioned.

I couldn't figure out what he was talking about until he pointed to the t.v. screen.

"See look! It's the Polar Express! In Italy!"

So yeah, St. Peter's Square does look a little similar to the North Pole in our Pixar obsessed preschooler's eyes. Through my proud parent lens it does too.

Time flies....

Last night the fam and I watched home movies for the first time. For whatever reason we've just never done it. I have hours of taped memories collecting dust in a box and inspired by another lost tooth from Bo, we busted out the tapes. How can almost seven years fly by in the blink of an eye? Watching Bo laughing as an infant, learning to crawl, then walk is surreal;that same baby in the video is now my capable 1st grader. Watching Jake drool all over a bib in cinematic form is less shocking because he still calls me, "mama". I don't embarrass him yet, he still holds my hand in public and he still (barely) fits in my lap. It's passing us by, their childhoods and honestly it's caused me to tear up a few times today realizing that. Don't get me wrong, I am glad to be done with the middle of the night feedings, diapers, bottles and the rest of the baby paraphernalia, but there is something to be said for those sweet babies in these photos. *sigh*