Halloween

The little monsters are out trick or treating. I am the designated Candy-Giver-Outer, a job I don't mind in the least. Brian offered to let me be the Trick or Treat chaperone, but I quickly pointed out to him and the kids that it wouldn't really be fair for me to go Trick or Treating with them when I get to do so many other things with them during the Halloween season. Like make sure they all have a costume--including going to several craft stores in search of something that would look like panda ears and a panda tail and then giving up and pilfering through the past costumes the night before the Halloween parade at school to find some semblence of a costume for our youngest.

I mean, would it be right to go Trick or Treating with them and leave Brian home when I am the one who got to string 200+ donuts for the Family Fun Night at school, and then got to take all four of them to FFN by myself while poor Brian was stuck in Chicago eating out with guys from work?

And let's not forget that I got to organize the room party for Apollo's kindergarden class, including driving to 3 farm stands to find the right size pumpkins for them to decorate, come up with games, and host the party.

I mean, it's just not fair for me to have all the fun. I'll sit here in the quiet, boring house, handing out the occasional treat, and let Brian have the fun of running from house to house to house-- (they are determined to fill up a whole pillowcase, at least). After all, sharing is what marriage is all about. Love ya, honey!

Tritan is an Astronaunt Businessman

(his variation on Space Cowboy)

Athena--the only way she could be a devil

Paris is the grim reaper

Apollo was a good sport and went as Flash, even though he really wanted to be a panda bear.

Trying to grab donuts hanging from a string at FFN.

Decorating pumpkins at FFN. Those are Mr. Potato Head pieces. Isn't that a good idea?

Invest in ear plugs

If you happen by our house in the afternoon, it might sound like we are strangling Canadian geese. And while I have thought about it, especially when they poop on the running trails and refuse to move as you run by, I assure you there is no "fowl" play--(oh, I crack myself up).

It is only Paris, at long last blasting away on his blasted trombone. He was one of the last kids at school to get his instrument. Apparently, the rental company thought the demand for music lessons would be down with the economy tanked and all that. What they fail to realize is that music lessons through the school is one of the cheapest extra curricular activites there is. Everyday Paris would come home, crushed, as if his heart was just broken, or his pet had just died. No trombone today. He would be on the verge of tears. And everyday they would tell him, tomorrow. But tomorrow would come and he would drag in, frustrated and dejected, trombone-less.

Finally it arrived and I am trying to be very strict with the 20 min. daily practice. Although he only knows enough to do a scale. So he practices his scale for a good 5 min. and then alternates between blasting the horn, and trying to beat box on the trombone, until he gets tired of that and spends the rest of the time cleaning out his spit.

Still, watching him shoulder that shiny brass instrument, his arms barely long enough to operate the slide, his little cheeks puffing in and out--I can't help but think he'll make a great musician someday, though there's very little evidence at present. We'll keep you posted.

New family tradtion

When Paris scored his goal, the rest of the kids were home, doing homework and avoiding the chill of the night. So Brian rounded the kids up and they created a Victory Bridge for him to walk under when he got home. Apollo scored the next Saturday at his game. Tritan was at a service project, Paris was at the 100 year celebration of Scouts, and I was running Athena to dance, so only Brian was there to witness it. So that night, we rounded everyone up again, and did another Victory Bridge for him. Then Tritan got his Second Class in Scouts at a Court of Honor, so we did it once again. Brian is the best for coming up with these small gestures that are easy to do but mean so much to the kids.

The Scouts showing off the Squirrel Song they learned at camp.

How we wake up

The alarm goes off at 6:09, but I lay in bed until it goes off at 6:15, collecting my thoughts, and gearing up for the day. Who just jumps out of bed the first time the alarm goes off? Brian usually turns off the alarm and rolls over while I get out of bed. He will usually lay there for a good half hour more. I would resent him for this if he didn't have to regularly wake at 4am to catch flights. Then I feel completely justified in rolling over while he gets ready to travel.
I wake Tritan carefully. He always jumps out of bed in full flight mode, as if I've just told him there is a fire or aliens are after him. He immediately exits the room and goes downstairs to make himself breakfast--which consists of 4 waffles or 4 packets of oatmeal (that kid can eat!). I am usually still sitting on his bed, a little dazed by his hasty exit and fighting not to lay down in his warm bed and go back to sleep.
I make his lunch while he eats and then send him on his way by 6:55.
I eat breakfast, usually while watching the news, and then spend some time reading scriptures or church magazines. I do a few yoga stretches and then I am finally awake enough to face the Tyrant.
I wake Athena first, who usually blinks with wide eyes, like she's not quite sure who I am or why I am there. As the realization hits that she has to get up, she rolls over and scrunches under her covers. Then I wake Paris, who usually just gets up, rubs his eyes, and puts on his robe (since he sleeps exclusively in boxers) and heads down to breakfast.
Finally, I must wake the Tyrant. He requires a good deal of shaking and prodding before he will even stir. Then he will complain that his eyes won't open. Forcing him out of bed is a huge mistake, so cuddling him or helping him stretch his arms and legs is a good alternative. Usually getting him out of bed will require actually carrying him downstairs. "Will I have to carry you when you are 16?" I always ask. "I'm not 16. I'm 5." He tells me. By the time we have made it downstairs, the others are already eating cereal.
Heaven forbid if you have just finished off the cereal the Tyrant was going to eat. Or are just pouring a bowl. Or if you are just looking at the box. The Tyrant hates to share. He usually finds something he is not happy about--the bowl is wrong, the spoon has something on it, why can't he have sugar on Frosted Flakes? But he finally digs in when I remind him that the bus won't wait, and it is almost time to go, and he will just have to go hungry.
About this time he will shout in an accusing tone: "I feel horrible", like I am responsible for this sudden illness. I always suggest he eat something and see how he feels; so he does, and he always feels better.
The Tyrant refuses to dress himself and usually hates what you've picked out for him to wear. But left to his own devices he will dress himself in shorts on a 42* day or wear the same clothes from yesterday.
Somehow the kids make it to the car by 8:35 (by somehow, I mean some shouting, some cajoling, and in some cases carrying) and we fly to the bus stop. There, the kids get out to play with the rest of the neighborhood kids. The Tyrant is soon giggling and racing around.
When the bus arrives, he doesn't even wave good bye.

Paris scores!

Last night Paris scored his first goal of the season! He is so exciting to watch play now. It makes up for the years of watching "the herd" run after the ball. It is exciting to watch the kids develop their talents. Paris is a great play-maker--he can take the ball and get it downfield, and then pass it to someone who is open so they can score. It's a great talent, but the person who scores usually gets the kudos, so it was nice that he had his turn.

P.S. Tritan is writing a blog now--Final Oblivion on the list to the right. Check it out if you want.