JJ came home a mere few days into his venture in Kindergarten: “Mama, Mama! I’m going to be a dashing dolphin to raise money for my school! And there’s prizes and I need to earn them!”

Flashbacks zoomed before my very eyes of grade-school me pouring over prize booklets, calculating how many doors I had to knock on to earn that walkman, with my mama sighing in the background, muttering something about “fundraisers” and “prize-oriented frenzy” and “brainwashing” and “easier just to write a check”.

And so it comes full-circle.

Fortunately JJ understands that he’s earning money for his school to help purchase important things like “food and computers and telephones for my teachers” (and field trips and technology improvements for the kids, although I’m sure the teachers would appreciate subsidized snacks). AND fortunately the Parent Club advocates talking with friends and family rather than going door-to-door due to STRANGERDANGER!!! So we’re tapping into our online neighborhood.

October 15th is the ‘Dee Dolphin Dash in which JJ will be running laps to raise money (and awareness) for his school. People can sponsor JJ per lap or an overall pledge for the event. Feel free to leave a comment or contact me if you’d like more info. Here’s a demonstration of JJ’s Dashing abilities (and Boo’s peeking/crawling abilities. I didn’t realize until after the video that she got down the stairs by herself: those Dashing Dolphins are too distracting ).

Dolphin Dash Demonstration

JJ Jawings, Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

Today is the eldest’s first day of Kindergarten.  In the documentation, I noticed a number of pictures on the camera.  LOTS of pictures.  What are they of?  Oh, that’s right:  SUMMER.

Boo was dedicated:  Aw.

JJ graduated:  Aw.

Teacher L, we’ll miss you!  Thank goodness for Book Nook on Saturdays:  phew!

Abe had Day of Birth 3.0:

We slept in odd positions (we don’t ask anymore):

We picked strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries:  yum!

Well, some picked.

We *all* went to high school camp for a week at the beach.  I realized I’ve given birth to at least one high schooler in terms of energy (guess which one ).

Wave jumping at the camp beach day:

Can’t you see this same picture ten years down the road?  Crazy.

VBS (twice), Yearly Meeting, trips to Kansas (in which we survived, and maybe thrived, at a rollercoaster park with five kids five and under for 8ish hours).

Feeding goats in Kansas, because how can you not feed goats in Kansas:

Sittin’ pretty at the rollercoaster park:

JJ’s garden:

Abe’s garden:

Follow-through not so great:  eh, there’s always next year (thank goodness for our CSA which does follow through ).

Fun, fellowship, and flying candy:

And TENLEY:

And now school starts off with a smile:

Summer:  we’ll miss you!  Come play again next year!

Boo Blatherings, Holiday Hoopla, JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 6 Comments »

Scene:  After Naptime

JJ enters room, wearing a green long-sleeved shirt from the morning and shorts just a few shades bluer than the green shirt, close enough that the eyes naturally squint.  He’s holding a kleenex to his chin.

Mama:  “JJ, you’re wearing shorts.”

JJ:  “Yep.”

Mama:  “Why?”

JJ:  “Cause it was quiet time.”

Abe comes trundling in the room, wearing his swimming trunks and lacking a shirt, carrying a kleenex.

Mama:  “Abe, you’re wearing your swimming trunks.”

Abe:  “Mama, owie!  I gotta scratchie!”

Mama:  “You have a little scratch?”

Abe, trying to stand on one foot while holding the other up to show it off:  “SCRATCHIE!”

JJ:  “No, Mama, it’s a BIG scratch!”

Abe, smiling:  “I BLEEDING!!!”

JJ:  “He’s bleeding a lot!”

Abe:  “Yep!”  Puts both feet firmly on the floor and trundles off.

JJ’s kleenex was never explained.

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures | 1 Comment »

The other night Hubby and I wondered:

How

Are these kids

Related?

Seriously.

Boo Blatherings, JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures | 1 Comment »

My eldest sings Christmas songs by repeating one phrase … over and over and over.

“Feliz Navidad” is simply “I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas” – he sung that phrase for 20 minutes straight.

“Santa Claus is coming to Town” is “You better watch out … you better watch out … you better watch out.”  It’s like a skipping record, or perhaps he’s grasping the most important part of the song. 

Abe simply sings the last words of songs.  He even anticipates his father’s prayers, thanking God for ‘foo’ (food).  And even when Hubby changed up the words, Abe continued to pray for ‘pay’ (patience  ).

Boo just coos and coos.

The Jackson 5, we are not:  but they certainly like “singing” along to it.  Just wait til they figure out how to sing along to Manheim Steamroller (my brother does a mean beat box to ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’:  it just embodies the Christmas spirit).

Mama Musings, Random Remarks | 1 Comment »

So Abe was looking at a Santa scene the other day.  Santa sat with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk (as he should).

“Muk!  Meema, Muk!”  (aka “Milk, mama, milk”)

Then,

“Cookies!  Cookies!” (a word he has NO problem pronouncing – not so shocking)

Then, my oh so efficient boy,

“Mookies!”

Why say them separately when they’re meant to be together?

I think he’s on to something. 

Little A Adventures | No Comments »

JJ bounded into the car after school yesterday.

“Mama, we played upstairs today!  Teacher L did ‘eeny meeny miny mo …. and …. you get to go!’  So M, she was my puzzle partner, I picked her to go because my row got to go, and M and K and I went upstairs!  And we played mommy and daddy and I was the daddy and M was the mommy and K was the doggy and A was the cat.  And I was driving really fast in a truck and I went ‘wrhhhrhr CRASH!’ and banged myself and had to go in the ambulance to the doctor!  And the doctor gave me a bangaid and I felt better, and M drew me a picture and so did K, and A brought me a blanket and M brought me stickers and A turned on a movie and they took care of me and made me feel better because I was the daddy.”

I swear it’s genetic.

JJ Jawings | No Comments »

It’s nice to know that I’m not the only person who can’t control my children.

Case in point:  today while sitting in the sanctuary during Bible Study worship time, a friend came up and whispered in my ear:  “Guess who I found downstairs looking for a snack?”  Honestly, my first thought was one of the grounds caretakers that we both know:  I mean, who wouldn’t want to raid all the yummy treats that inhabit the Fellowship Hall on Thursday mornings?  Yes, we come to worship, but we also come for the food … and the drinks … and the adult time (ah, adult time, where there should always be food and drink).

I laughed at my friend and turned around.  Then she whispered, “I asked him if he was supposed to be down there and what he was doing.  He looked at me and yelled, ‘NO!’”  This behavior didn’t seem typical of an adult, and it sounded familiar, so I started to wonder …

She continued, “I asked him if I could take him back to his room.  He took off running, in the right direction like he knew exactly where he was and how he wasn’t supposed to be there.  The childcare workers were looking for him and said they had even checked the doors because he’d been trying out the locks earlier.”

Yes, yes, that would be my second born son.  And those locks on the doors that he got around?  They were installed because of his older brother, who busted out of two nurseries three times in two weeks.  Awesome:  totally the legacy I dreamed my family being known for.

So when I feel like I’m a bad mom because my oldest seems to think of the boundaries of the front porch (as in, you can wait on the front porch for your father to come home) to include any cement coming in contact with our front porch so he’s running up and down the street yelling at every car going by like he’s a bizerko puppy; because I’m helping the eldest upstairs and come down the first flight of stairs to find the littlest person laying right there on the floor when I had left her in on a playmat in the room at the bottom of the next flight of stairs; when the middle child won’t choose to wear either his Bob the Builder or dinosaur pajamas so he spends most of the night without any pants;  when the husband has no socks because the load of whites has been sitting the dryer since we don’t know when; when I spend twenty minutes looking for the library Elmo DVD the boys were *just* watching, thinking I’ve lost my mind, finally finding it shoved underneath the 1/8th inch space between the entertainment center and the pedestal holding up the tv (along with a Tiger Woods Wii game which I’d given up being bothered to find) …

I can say, at least I’m not the only one who can’t keep track of it all. 

Boo’s new happy place

An Abe boy in Dad’s shoes

Oh, he looks like his dad.

Ready for the holidays … or college.

Happy times on the couch (although someone seems to be keeping her eyes on the heavens – either out of praise, or petitions for safety ).

Hope this satisfies the picture requests. 

Daily Drivel, Mama Musings | 3 Comments »

Dearest Boo~

Look!  I forgot to write to you on the completion of your second month into your first trip around the sun.  I would apologize, offer excuses, but babe:  this is just the way it is.  Today at the doctor’s office, I noticed a little skid mark in your diaper while she was examining you.  I almost went to change it, but the doctor said, “You’re not really going to do that, are you?  I  mean, she *is* your third one:  it’s gonna take a lot more than that to necessitate a change.”

Which, apparently, you were either offended by, or realized the lengths it took to get you out of that diaper, because a few moments later you unloaded into that size one huggies in a way that makes your brothers and three generations of Gerick men that I’ve been blessed to know proud.  God bless “flex with you” tabs.

Dear little one, I’m sorry that you’re the third one, and I’m not.  I’m sorry that you may sit in your diaper longer; I’m not sorry that we’re the fastest and most efficient in changing yours having changed two previous bums in the years beforehand.  I’m sorry that the more mobile and louder children take away from our potential alone time; I’m not sorry that you have two older brothers who adore you and ask to talk to you very first thing in the morning, saving their smiles for you and their grumpies for the old people stumbling around the house.  I’m sorry that you’ve got a mama who is quite ready to be done sharing body parts with little people; I’m not sorry that you will get to taste delicious home cooking as the Mama has had more years under her belt to figure out the answer to the eternal question:  “What’s to eat?”  I’m sorry that not all your clothes/toys/books/parents will be new; I’m not sorry that your hand-me-downs have been worn by people who like you, your toys tested and broken in and found pleasing, your books to be so ingrained into you because you’ve heard them before you were born, and your parents (hopefully) to be a little more mellow and a lot more loving.

To quote “A Knight’s Tale” (again, that movie Mama was going to watch before having you, except you had a more pressing schedule in mind):  “You have been weighed, you have been measured …”, but you have not “been found wanting.”  I thought for *certain* you were around the 12lb mark:  I mean, look at those cheeks!  Apparently they are hollow cheeks, to go along with your hollow legs, and your hollow arms, and your hollow bum (which you did *after* your measurements:  goober).   You have one head that is 15 inches; one body that is 21.5 inches, and one weight that is … 9.7lb.  You seem to take your nickname of “Little Miss” very seriously.  Percentile ranges:  25th/10th/10th.  Beloved Dr. Tami’s comment:  “Well, she’s certainly well-proportioned.”  I had the same feeling when boys would say I was “so funny” or “a great listener” or “someone they could really talk to” – generally about the girl they were pining after.

I have a friend who births children who haven’t regularly registered on the percentile scales.  The doctors have sent my friend’s kids through countless tests, worried that something is wrong with them, rather than recognizing their true nature:  that of Pocket People.  So, worried that our doctor would start using phrases like “supplement” and “sweat test” and “feeding tubes are just like the latest rage in body adornment”, I got *that* *look* on my face:  that “I have two boys I chase around all day, I haven’t slept in months, and if you tell me I have to drive up to Portland to have people poke and prod at my precious little bundle just because she’s precious and little and a bundle, well let me tell you:  NO.”

Dr. Tami is perceptive, because instead of mentioning those phrases and endangering her pleasantly impending lunch hour, she spent the time reassuring me that everything is fine, that you are on the scale, that you’re just a precious little bundle, and the next step if there’s concern is to see a lactation consultant (I’m “sure” she wasn’t trying to dump the crazy sleep-deprived mother-of-two-boys-one-of-which-was-madly-twirling-on-a-chair-while-the-other-consumed-3/4s-of-a-bag-0f-veggie-booty-by-himself-during-the-waiting-time off on the lactation consultants, right? ….).

And darling, I’m sorry that I don’t have time to sit with you and make you the roly poly baby of my dreams.  But honestly, in the long run, being little and quick will probably get you farther … hiding from brothers, sneaking around unnoticed, stealing your dad’s clothes (not that daughters ever like to “borrow” their dad’s big shirts … or sweatshirts … or super warm and fuzzy hiking socks …), sitting with your bros in the back seat, sitting on dad’s lap, getting up on the counter to help me bake cookies, getting thrown in the air long after your brothers have heard, “You’re too big!”

Be who you were created to be, Little One, and I’ll try to do the same.

Love, Ma

Boo Blatherings, Mama Musings | 2 Comments »

Funny how questions change over time.

When I had one baby, people would ask me, “How’s it going?”  “Isn’t it a change?”  “Don’t you just love being a mother?”

When I had another baby, people would question, “How’s it going?” – a bit more concern – “It’s different with two kids, huh?”  “How do you get anything done?”

And now that I have yet another baby, I get about one question.  “How are you doing?”  Mostly said with a great deal of concern coming from the furrowed brows of the asker.  It’s like there’s a secret club for people who have more kids than there are adults in the household, but they don’t tell you what it’s really like until you’re initiated, and then there’s no going back.

I have two responses:  “It’s okay – crazy, but good, you know … ” for the folks who don’t really want to know.

The others get the more honest:  “Three kids is a lot of kids.”

The nice thing is that it comes in degrees (for me, at least:  no multiple births around here).  When I had the first baby, I heard the typical:

– sleep when the baby sleeps (uh: we have no sleeping babies in this house.  Still)

– don’t try to get things done

– just be happy being in bed with the baby

– rest and take care of yourself

Yeah.  Whatever.  I could still get things done:  that was the problem.  When he slept, I could bustle about and be productive — just like I used to be.  When the second little man came, I could still pretend to get things done, but the list had slowly started to change.  Working from home?  Tried that:  no go.  Planning meetings in the evening?  Why do that when I could meet with a book in bed?

And now my list of Things I’d Like To Do has been so whittled down that a productive day looks like:

• wake before children or at least try to keep them from waking each other up (I’m looking at you, Mr. 5am riser Abe)
• figure out something to throw into the mouths of the baby birds (which are WIDE open – minemineminemine)
• corral people into clothes that they won’t throw tantrums over
• change diapers
• replace diapers and wipes (which disappear faster than candy around here.  Really:  we still have candy from a parade in July – ugh)
• figure out some activity that we can all do when one wants to play slap jack, the other is very obviously placing a book in my lap, and the third wants to eat/cuddle/sleep in my arms/be anywhere except the bouncy seat/high chair/rocking chair/cradle/any sort of contraption meant to entertain her so a human doesn’t have to
• lather.rinse.repeat.  Throw in a quiet time that no one takes, and that’s the day’s activities.

Wow.  Very different from the single life, or the dating life, or the young married life, or even the mother of one life.

I told the Hubby tonight, “I’m not intending to complain.  Really.  I know this is just a phase of life.  But man:  I’m tired, and I haven’t done anything.”

It’s 8:52.  And quiet.  Three hair cuts have been given in the last hour, four people have been bathed, and I’m feeling like I actually got something done.  But the boys would say we got lots done:  we read Truckery Rhymes and Millie’s Magnificent Hat  and the Magic School Bus Blows Its Top multiple times, we listened to a Dan Zane’s cd over and over, we ate pear chips and homemade granola bars, we examined the latest Lego Club magazine, and we spent time sitting with Boo trying to make her smile.  In the Type A world, it’s hard to put those things on the Productive List, but fortunately I’m too tired and floopy to be Type A … much.

Mama Musings | 3 Comments »