9:00 am, the first day of summer vacation. The school bell would be ringing right now, but alas, it is Spongebob that is nourishing their minds. They had leftover Father's Day cherry pie for breakfast and I'm making them stay in their pj's all day. That means I get to stay in my pj's all day. Yay for summer!

Yesterday the girls went over to play at our neighbor's house. They have a 3 year-old daughter. She's an only child. When I went to pick them up, the mom said Grace kept walking around saying, "where is everybody?"

Olivia: "Mommy, I found my doggy purse. Now I have enough purses and I don't need to buy any new ones."

Grace: "Don't let Aunt Kimmy hear you say that."

Yesterday was Jack's elementary school "Moving on Ceremony". Middle school next year! The rest of this post is for the grandparents, because it's strictly a proud mom bragging. The first surprise was when Jack walked up to the podium and delivered a essay he'd written about "Why his parents are awesome." I've barely understood a word Jack's said in the past two years because of the mumbling he inherited from his dad, but lo and behold, apparently he also inherited his dad's public speaking ability, because not only could I understand him, his speech was well-written and funny, even if it ended with the line, "although my parents are often embarrassing, they're always funny." Then all the kids got awards for various character traits. Jack's was for 'integrity'. They apparently didn't have the category, 'Most in Need of a Haircut'. Finally they handed out a handful of Presidential Silver awards for academic excellence. Jack didn't get one. That's because he got the Presidential Gold award for being in the top 1% in the country (ironically it was partially based on WASL scores, which Jack's mother lobbied against the kids being required to take). I glanced at Mitch, and the big baby had tears in his eyes. Wuss! In the morning, before the ceremony, Mitch was even complaining about kids getting too many accolades for something as stupid as finishing the fifth grade, and "hell no, we're not getting Jack a gift for it." Then, after he got home from work (after the ceremony), he brought Jack the air-soft pistol and rifle he's been dying for but his mean mom wouldn't let him have (Nana, it's lighter than a BB gun, and yes, it comes with all kinds of safety gear and the little kids aren't allowed out of the house when he's using it.) I'm not quite sure what the logic is in rewarding academic success with a weapon, but the wow factor just wouldn't have been there if Mitch had bought Jack a dictionary, I guess.

While I'm reporting on my kids' successes this week, I'll add that Henry won an award at school for reading the most books (70!) in kindergarten, Grace learned to write her name, and Olivia finally can wipe her own butt when she poops. YEAH, BABY!

I went to the boys' school for Field Day, and this was the scene as I walked onto the field. Our local fire department brought their trucks and gave the fourth and fifth graders their fire hoses for an ultimate water fight. It looked like some kind of Lord of the Flies liability nightmare, but the screams from the kids were pretty ecstatic. Soooo wet. Henry's kindergarten class was even soaked from the off-spray. Ya gotta love Coupeville.

Yaaawn. I'm tired because I didn't get to bed until 1:30 am. Last night was Pete's high school graduation ceremony. He was five months old when I became his nanny, now look at him! He's taller than me and wearing a Big Boy Suit. The ceremony was a good four hours long. They had each kid sit in a hot seat while they talked about their achievements and future plans. Since it was private school, it was 'national merit scholar' this, and 'Harvard' that. I was extremely disappointed that no one was going to be a waitress at Denny's or live in their parents' basement and become XBox champion of the neighborhood. All the kids were poised, talented, and very smart. Whatever. Since I was his nanny for all those years, I know how Peter got that way, but where did all these kids come from? At my PUBLIC high school graduation, most of the kids couldn't even make it through the ceremony with their eyes open, let alone perform and look gorgeous. We didn't need all that fancy book lernin'. All my parents' money would have been wasted if they'd sent me to an expensive private school, only to have me end up as a professional (now I just do it as a hobby) ass-wiper. And no expensive education can teach you how to wipe another person's ass as well as I can....

As the kids and I were coming into the driveway today, we saw a newborn fawn coming out of the woods with it's mama. Wobbly first steps and all. For the first time in recorded history, all four kids were completely silent for several minutes while we watched the fawn try out it's new legs. What's a bigger miracle? Simultaneous silence by my children or a newborn deer?

It was a pretty uneventful weekend around here. Henry was devastated by the mysterious death of Hansa, the 'baby' elephant at the Woodland Park Zoo. They shared a birthday and he spent Friday morning in tears about it. The girls and I went to the Honey Bear in Coupeville and picked out a soft, cuddly elephant to try and cheer him up. It didn't really make him feel better, but it hasn't left his side. Mitch got sucked in to Hen's Sad Clown Oil-Painting face and promised to take him to the zoo to say goodbye. We drove down on Sunday and actually had a great time at the zoo. There was a hilarious/sickening fracas between two Siamang monkeys and a squirrel that snuck into their exhibit. Let's just say we tore our eyes away about the time part of the squirrell's tail became separated from it's body. Finally, a zookeeper intervened.

Jack had the great idea to go to Chinook's for lunch. He didn't want to order off the kid's menu, insisted he was starving and wanted a lot of food, so he ordered off the regular menu. As the food was being set in front of him, he was slammed with a migraine and had to go rest on the patio outside while his meds kicked in, and he fell asleep and hit his head on the table. His siblings happily ate most of his food. As we were getting in the car to leave, he said, "I feel so much better now, where's my food?" Yes, we suck. We got Jack something to eat and headed home.

Four more days of school!!!!

Yesterday was the girls' four year-old check-up. All was going supremely well as Olivia impressed the doctor with her physical agility and Grace impressed him with her verbal ability. Then, at the end, the doctor said they would need three vaccinations today. Before the word "vaccination" was even out of his mouth they both began wailing at the top of their lungs, each trying to outdo each other in the volume department. The doc left, and while we waited for the nurse to come in with the dreaded shots, I plied the girls with M&Ms to try and get them to relax. As soon as the nurse walked in, they started screaming again and didn't stop until the shots were over. It took two nurses and myself to hold them down. When Olivia saw a tiny pinprick of blood on her thigh, she vomited all over herself. Chocolatey, boogery barf. Then, Grace, smelling the vomit, also barfed. At this point it was 3:15 and Henry was due to get off the bus at 3:40 down in Coupeville, so my only option was to throw the vomit-splattered girls in their carseats and hit the road. They were still crying, and I had to pee. The smell of vomit combined with my need to pee and my stress about not meeting the bus was a really swell combination. At 3:42 I pulled onto my road at the same time as the bus. I almost peed my pants with relief.

I picked Jack up from soccer last night and he was very upset. Apparently he had gotten into some serious trouble at school. A kid wiped yogurt on him at lunch, so Jack picked up his spoon to fling some yogurt back at the kid (according to Jack, this was all in fun). Well, the kid ducked and the yogurt hit the wall. The lunch lady went nuts and made a big deal out of it, calling Jack's teacher over. So, today, Jack has to have lunch in the office. Mitch and I couldn't get too upset over it, but we did act concerned and gave him a lecture, while secretly laughing about the Yogurt Incident of 2007.

Anyway, as luck would have it, I had ordered 'Jesus Camp' from Netflix. Let me just say, that if you want to watch a horrifyingly scary documentary that makes 'Inconvenient Truth' look like an episode of Dora the Explorer, this is the film for you. It's about an Evangelical/Pentacostal Christian Camp for kids where they're training their kids to little soldiers for Christ so they can take over America with their messages of hate and intolerance. I'm not exaggerating. They use those words in the film. So, for fun, I told Jack that Dad and I had paid a deposit on a new camp for him, since he seemed to getting into trouble a lot at school, what with walking home in the middle of kindergarten, causing his third grade teacher to go insane, and the abovementioned yogurt incident, and they sent us this 'informational dvd' about it. After a minute of watching, he started laughing, getting the joke, but he couldn't stop watching it like it was a particularly gruesome trainwreck. Unfortunately, I think it gave him nightmares. I guess my job is done as far as the Yogurt Incident of 2007 goes.

Olivia and Grace have really been fighting lately, mostly over ownership of their new birthday toys. Today I broke up a particularly nasty fight.

Olivia: "I don't like Gracie."

Me: "Well, I know sometimes you feel like that, but the nice thing about being sisters is that deep down, you always love each other. "

Grace: "Yeah. Really, really, really deep down."

Mitch was home with the virus this week, but hopefully we've kicked that bitch to the curb. My routine was all messed up by having Daddy stay home. The girls were delighted to watch dick flicks* with him and take naps when the mood struck them, insuring that they'd be up late into the night while he retired early. Inappropriate tv, dragging all their toys around to be in whatever room he was befouling with his germs, and ignoring my attempts to give them wholesome snacks or play outside. Glad you're feeling better and back at work, darling.

*I got this term from my new favorite website: http://www.urbandictionary.com/ where I learned that while he was sick, Mitch probably felt like a 'bag of smashed assholes'.

Grace: "Mommy, what will I do when I'm as big as Jack and none of my cute clothes fit me anymore?"

Me: "Well, I guess we'll have to buy you some new ones."

Grace: "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Last night's soccer game was against a select team from Anacortes. Our team arrived, some wearing red shirts, others wearing red pinneys, all wearing a variety of cargo shorts, sweatpants, and soccer shorts, and all tried to outdo each other with wacky soccer socks. Anacortes arrived wearing complete matching green and white oufits from head to toe, each carrying a matching sports bag. Even their shin guards were all the same. Their parents popped up shelters to sit under. We huddled under blankets in our little chairs or stood. Coupeville got the first two goals and Anacortes' coaches freaked out. They were screaming at the top of their lungs at the kids. Our parents moved as far away as we could because their coaches were screaming so loud. Even when their team got a goal, they got screamed at for doing it wrong. Towards the end of the game, one of their kids took a ball in the face and he dropped to the ground in pain. His teammates hesitated, but their coach screamed, "DON'T LOOK AT HIM, KEEP PLAYING!" At this point the Coupeville parents began to boo their coach. And then, the game was over. We lost by one goal. It was a lame-ass game.

Saturday the girls and I went to the farmer's market for our weekly produce run. We were coming home along Parker Road, in which the speed limit near town is 25mph and turns to 40mph as you get about a mile down the road. You can probably see where I'm going with this story. Driving for 20 years in Seattle, I am not accustomed to going 25 on an open road. It seems interminably slow. Going 5mph in I-5? Sure, because there's all these other cars in your way. Whatever. Anyway, for the first time in my life I get pulled over (except that one time when I was 18 and visiting friends in a bad neighborhood--they thought I was buying drugs based on my appearance), and I wasn't sure if I should feign ignorance, make an excuse, or cry. I decided on a lark to own up to my mistake.

Me: "I am really sorry. I know it's a 25mph zone and I was probably going too fast."

Officer: "You were going 40. License and registration please?"

He goes back to his squad car for a few minutes and the girls are beyond excited by this turn of events. He comes back.

Officer: "Do you live on the island?"

Me: "Yes, actually I live down this road, which is all the more reason I should have been aware of the speed limit. Again, I'm really sorry."

Officer: "I never let people off with a warning that try to make excuses, but since you owned up to it, it's your lucky day, ma'am. You just saved $140."

So we get home and I tell the girls let's try and keep this little event to ourselves. I've never seen them scramble out of their carseats so fast to run and tell on mommy.

"Daddy! Mommy got stopped by the police!"

I walked into the house and Henry was writhing on the couch, holding his ear. Because my children only get ear infections on the weekends so I have to take them to the ER where my copay is $150. After the doc gave Henry some medicine to make his ear feel better, Hen said, "can we go down to the cafe and see if they have any of that chicken rice soup and one of those ice cream bombs they have in their cooler?" There's something wrong when your kid knows the daily special at Whidbey General.

So, by my calculations, I only came out $10 behind today, since I didn't get the ticket I deserved, but did have an ER copay. Also today, Mitch chainsawed down a tree that was blocking sun from our vegetable garden and Jack and Dylan built a cool fort on the beach that only the sons of two architects could make. It had a special "total destruction stick" that you could pull out to make the entire thing collapse at once.

Jack had a hard time separating 'stuff' from things he likes to do, because there isn't a lot of stuff he has to have. Here's his list:

Jack's favorite stuff

my fleece jacket
my roll of money
mussels

Henry wants in on the favorite stuff action:

Henry's favorite stuff:

Legos
Disneyland
your cooking, mom (I swear I didn't pay him to say that)
George Lucas
money for free
my skeleton t-shirt
my skull backpack
Tobasco with chipotle on my eggs
potatoes cooked any way (that's my boy!)
'Fudge' books
'Harry Potter' books
all my action figures

So I'm watching the Sound of Music with the girls yesterday while the sun shone outside. We pulled the heavy draperies closed so we wouldn't be bothered by that pesky beautiful weather. Of course they loved it, although Grace was concerned with Maria's ugly short hair. I told her maybe she cut it herself, and you can bet that shut her up. I'm such a mean mom. Anyway, they loved the 'Favorite Things' song and it got them talking about their favorite things.

Grace's favorite things:

unicorns
my new pink sparkly purse
lip gloss
my makeup kit from Mackenzie
glitter
scissors
all my pet 'wormies' in the garden
my fancy bed but I still don't like going to bed
riding a pony
chicken nuggets

Olivia's favorite things:

horsies
Daddy but not when he goes to work
swimming
opening presents
dogs
cats
bunnies
my princess kitty
rice krispies with chocolate milk in it
my pink high top tie-up shoes

After they spent a good amount of time discussing their favorite things, they noticed I was sitting there and asked me what mine were. They were so bored with my answers of a healthy family, polite children, etc. and they made me make a list of my favorite "stuff--you know, not manners and clean kids, but stuff you like, mommy,".

Kate's list of 'stuff I like' (not stuff like my family, because, duh, they're my favorite)

Tobasco with chipotles
TV for the kids in the car (when we're on a trip)
my KitchenAid mixer
tylenol pm
pjs
dry champagne
bunnies in the yard
lattes at 1pm
pretzels dipped in fat free yogurt with curry
sharp kitchen knives
l'occitane hand lotion

That's it. I mean, I like a lot of stuff, but in the course of a day this is my favorite stuff that I wouldn't want to not have. I guess I could take 'bunnies in the yard' off my list, but I like them a lot, so...

What's your favorite stuff? List it in the comments.

F.U., virus!

For the past week, three of the kids have had little coughs, followed by asthma from Henry and Olivia. Just when I thought we were through the worst of it, I mean, they were all great over the weekend, for crying out loud, but then, last night. All four went to bed with fevers and Grace woke up vomiting. They're getting so good at catching their own barf in the bowls which I strategically place around the house. Unfortunately, Grace couldn't find her designated bowl in the dark, so by the time I reached her room, there she was, holding her shirt out at the bottom like she was collecting apples and spewing into it. I couldn't have been more proud. Not a drop on her bedding. Her mullet was plastered to the side of her head with sweat, though, so I brought her into my bed for the remainder of the night.

This morning, I went into Jack's room to wake him for school and stuck the thermometer into his sleeping ear.

"Do I have a fever?" He mumbled with his eyes still closed.

"Yes." I said, sympathetically.

"Sweet!" and he rolled over and buried his head back in the pillow.

Grace and the Scissors

Dear Grace,
I appreciate that a good portion of your day involves cutting, but I'm getting a little concerned. Last week when you cut a hole right in the middle of Olivia's dollhouse rug so you could make a skirt for your Barbie, I originally thought it was inspired, and half expected Heidi Klum to pop in and say, "It looks very expensive. I would wear that. I really would, " while Nina nods in agreement. However. It caused a lot of trauma around here, and so I felt I must punish you by not letting you have any scissors for TWO WHOLE DAYS. That would mean two whole days for me of not vacuuming up teeny, tiny pieces of paper all over the carpet, or 'cutting room floor', as it were. By hour twelve of the TWO WHOLE DAYS of scissor banishment, you were lying on the floor, tears streaming down your face, with a large pile of papers in your hands. They were drawings you had made and they all needed to be CUT! By hour 20, your three siblings were begging me to let you cut again, because they couldn't handle your incessant begging for scissors. So, I gave in and gave you the scissors, with VERY STERN warnings about what you were allowed to cut. For a day or two, all was well, you cut a million tiny pieces of paper, you cut the grass, you cut some felt that I offered you. You cut playdoh and a broken Barbie's hair. But then.

Why?

Why would you give yourself a mullet?

Love, mom

Well, the party is over, and I think it was a success. The girls loved it, anyway. Grace loved the combination of being atop a horse named "Gracie" and the audience of people watching her ride. She got the rodeo princess wave down immediately. Olivia liked riding, but the audience was her least favorite part. No rodeo wave or even eye contact for her. Most of the kids had fun riding ponies and the older kids even rode them, despite it being against "the code" of the 10-year-old (according to Jack). The only way I even got Jack to ride was by telling him I wanted to get my money's worth. My poor little miser son was 'cursed' with a generous monetary gift from his nana, but with one caveat: it must be spent on something frivolous. He was literally writhing on the ground in agony and finally just wanted to mail the money back, because he couldn't bring himself to blow it. I have no idea how much money he has at this point, but it was a roll with a 3-inch diameter that he wrapped his bill around. Nana got wind of Jack's dilemma, however, and said he didn't have to spend it if he didn't want to. "Nan's so nice," Jack said, "that if she got robbed, I bet she'd give the robbers a tip and make them a sandwich." She probably would, and also get them to enroll in anti-robber classes or something.

Anyway, Mitch's hammock probably won't recover from my and my two sisters' fat asses all trying to sit on it at once. Luckily, we didn't spill any wine as we lay flat on our backs when it collapsed. Somehow, I couldn't believe it was our weight that caused it to collapse, I thought the hammock must have been on some kind of slope, so I suggested we go around to the other side and try it again. Again, flat on our backs. Crappy workmanship, I say.

The girls got many lovely gifts, and it seems we're ushering in the Era of the Tiny Things with Many Parts. Grace is obsessed with her new sparkly purse from Aunt Kimmie (big surprise) which she has filled with a Sleeping Beauty cell phone she bought with some birthday money, lip gloss, and a make-up compact from Mackenzie. Olivia has been busy making sure all her Tiny Things with Many Parts don't get mixed up with Grace's TTWMPs.

As for Henry, he's been moping around missing his cousins and generally whining and pining for them, especially his soul-brother Anthony. The Combustible Twosome.

Four Years Old Today!!!!

Sharing a bed.
First Birthday
Their second birthday was in the Happiest Place on Earth.

Turning 3

Four Years Ago.

Olivia: " Hi mommy, what are you doing? Oh, you're scrubbing the toilet."

She quietly watches me scrub away for a minute or so.

Olivia: "I don't know why Grace wants to be a mommy!" (runs away)

All shiny and clean, walking on the wharf.

Last night was the girls' end-of-the-year party at preschool. This is a lame picture, but I couldn't get the flash to work. Anyway, they're dancing on stage with the class to 'YMCA'. Each child got up onstage individually and told the audience what they want to be when they grow up. Lots of princesses, firefighters, astronauts, and one pro baseball catcher. Grace gets up there, walks to the edge of the stage and makes herself as tall as possible. With a booming voice, she seeks me out and yells, "MOMMY!!! I'M SHY!!!!!!" Oh, and you in the back row, in case you didn't hear me, "I'M SHY!!" Then she whispers into the teacher's ear what she wants to be when she grows up: 'a mommy with a baby coming out of her tummy.' When Olivia went up, she just went right to the teacher to whisper in her ear: 'a pet doctor'.

Jack had a friend there, an older sibling of another preschooler, and it was interesting to see him interacting in a way that I wasn't used to (sullen, and just sooo over his uncool parents). He was animated, and even got up onstage with the preschoolers and danced to 'YMCA'! Ah, thank you God, he really is flesh of my flesh, not 100% Mitch.

I like the kids to be able to do most things for themselves. Velcro shoes until they learn to tie, easy-to-reach clothes, step-stools in the bathrooms for washing hands. So I badgered Mitch into hanging coat hooks the girls could reach for weeks and weeks, and finally he did it. And they looked great! Until I told Grace to hang the coat up that she was wearing on her new hook. And she did. While she was wearing it. And the entire hook came out of the wall and made a big hole. Another week goes by and we've patched and painted the wall. Now, there is only one hook left, but starting today, whenever anyone takes a shower, water sprays out of the screw holes on the coat hook.

And now that damn Costco-sized box of Oreos is calling me into the kitchen.

The tragedy of Daddy going to work every day is escalating for Olivia. Now, she starts crying as soon as the shower turns off in the morning and she has to follow him out to the car, crying, and if he doesn't wave to her as he's driving away she has to cry some more. Then, after about 15 seconds, she has to call him on his cell and tell him she'll miss him, just in case he hasn't figured that out yet. Today, after the call, she said, "I wish we didn't need money for food and Daddy could stay home every day."

Henry replied, "What, are you crazy? Then I wouldn't get any allowance and the new Fantastic Four action figures are coming out soon. Jeez, Olivia, think of someone besides yourself for a change."

Grace has been sick the past few days. Cough, fever. I always have the kids sleep with me if they have a fever so I can just reach out to see if they're burning up, but sleeping with Grace is a nightmare (ha! pun!). She woke me up so many times, my dreams were of me falling asleep and being woken up by her. I knew this was a dream because she would wake me up from it.

Anyway, Olivia was ticked that because Grace was sick, they were going to miss preschool that day. She stuck her tongue out at Grace and Grace leaned in and LICKED OLIVIA'S TONGUE.

"Now you're sick too!" She screams.

Olivia screams, they're both screaming, I'm screaming. On the inside.

My girls are turning four next week. When I asked them what they wanted for their birthday (besides a pony party), Grace said she wanted her room to be "FANCY AND BEAUTIFUL LIKE A PRINCESS GARDEN!" Just like that, with the caps lock on and everything. Olivia agreed, but also added, "With horsies on the walls." No caps, but she's not a caps-lock kind of a girl. At top is their boring old room, minus the toys (you can see why they wanted it FANCY). These are the pics of their new FANCY room. Click on the picture to make it big. Note the chandelier with pink roses on it that I tracked down. When Jack came home from a sleepover yesterday, he took one look, and said, "yuck." God, I love boys. I can't even imagine a four year-old boy asking for a room makeover for their birthday. Not when there are so many action figures to be had. The full-length mirror was Grace's idea. After I showed them their room, she said, "you know what would look perfect in here, mommy? Your beautiful FANCY mirror in your closet."

"But that's my mirror, Grace."

"Oh mommy, you don't even use it."

Because one look at me and you can tell I don't use a mirror.

Tonight at dinner:

Mitch: "I like this house."

Henry: "Yeah, it's better than our old house because here we have Comcast OnDemand."

Beach Day at last....

Walking past a church on the way down to the beach:

Kid 1: "I go to church every Sunday!"

Kid 2: "I go to church every Sunday too!"

Kid 3: "So do I!"

Henry: "We don't go to church anymore, but we have pancakes every Sunday, which is better!"

Mitch agrees.

Yes, I am putting names back in the blog. It's a pain because I keep forgetting to use only initials, but mainly, since I deleted the post about a certain notorious feline Whidbey resident, I haven't gotten hits from freaky F*urries. What's a f*urry? Google it....

Poor Henry. He woke up at the crack of dawn yesterday, put on his sunblock and packed his backpack with a waterbottle and sunglasses. His kindergarten class was supposed to go on a field trip to the beach, but it was cancelled due to lack of parent volunteers. His teacher said he was the only one who cried about it and he had the saddest face she'd ever seen. Mitch and I call Henry's sad face the "Sad Clown Oil Painting Face", because it's so sad and soulful, but funny at the same time because you can't believe it's real. And it's not like we don't go to the beach, because we do it all the time, but Henry's disappointment was because Jack and the girls' classes are always going on field trips, and Hen really wanted to go on one too. The girls and I were waiting for his class at the beach when we got the call that they weren't coming. Here, they are playing with dead crabs (I KNOW! Even Grace is touching them...) . Anyway, the teacher said we could try it today, but they were still short one volunteer, and what do you know, Mitch cancelled his trip down to Seattle and is going to go. Henry must have picked up that crying-to-get-what-you-want trick from me.
Jack's soccer team wins their first game. This picture doesn't illustrate very well the beauty of the soccer fields. They are surrounded by rolling hills, farms, beach, and woods. While I watch the game, the girls keep themselves entertained by playing with a cow that is more a pet than livestock. She follows the girls up and down the length of the fence and eats grass from their hands. If they walk away, she moos very loudly after them. She also impresses the children by peeing and pooping.

"Has anyone seen my coffee?" Olivia found it two days later, on her dresser behind a pile of clean laundry. She thoughtfully picked it up and carried it all the way downstairs for me. It started out full, but was nearly empty by the time she got to the kitchen. So I broke out the carpet shampooer I bought in November but haven't used yet. Because that's the kind of housekeeper I am. I like the idea of a clean house more than I like cleaning said house. And what do you know, it actually worked pretty well, not just on the coffee drips, but also on older, more ominous stains as well. Like the time Seamus peed in the hall. Or the time he peed on the stairs. Or the time he peed in the tv room. Or the time Henry found my old coffee on his dresser and thoughtfully carried it downstairs for me. Anyway, I'm slaving away shampooing the carpets upstairs and I hear the tv go on downstairs. Normally, the girls don't watch tv during the day unless I have a migraine or need to make dinner fast, without "help". Since I was preoccupied with shampooing, I decided to ignore it. I got downstairs about half an hour later. The girls are sitting on the couch, transfixed, each munching away on a bag of goldfish they had helped themselves to. They were watching "Days of Our Lives". Soaps have never been on in this house, except for the summer after Jack was born and nursed constantly and we didn't have cable, but that was nearly 11 years ago.

Me: "What are you two doing?"

Grace: "Watching this show. Sammi and Lucas got married!"

Olivia: "And Stefano Demira is back!"

Me: "I'm sorry, but you girls aren't allowed to watch this. It's not a kids' show."

I turn it off and they start sobbing like I shot their puppy or something.

Olivia: "(sob) But I loved that show!"

Grace: "This is the best show! It's better than Dragon Tales and Angelina Ballerina!"

I get them calmed down and sent off to do some painting, go upstairs to get the carpet cleaner, and turn on the tv in my room. Stefano Demira is back? This I gotta see...

I picked up these hoppity poppity things for the kids because I thought it might keep them occupied while I took the day off. They were on them all day. Hilarious. Note the girls are still in their pj's and it's 5 pm. Of course, they did bring me the requisite beautiful handprints and poems, flowers and cards.
This is what we had for Mother's Day dinner.

-

So, I woke up and kicked Mitch out of bed so he could start brewing coffee and walk down the road to get the paper ('dirty hoe' in hand to ward off coyotes). Breakfast in bed accompanied by a vase of lilacs which were promptly spilled all over me and the bed by Grace. She used this opportunity to eat my bacon. Watched the kids hop around all day while I sipped champagne, the greatest beverage ever created. All in all, not a bad day for Kate.

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Yesterday we went to the Penn Cove Water Festival. Henry has become kind of a junior mayor, it would seem. Every where we went, he knew somebody. "Henry!" was all I heard every where I went. Since these greetings weren't accompanied by torches and pitchforks, I felt I had no reason to be concerned. We stopped by a local painter's booth at the Coupeville Farmer's Market and bought some watercolors Mitch and I both really liked. As we were walking away, however, Olivia shrieked, "WHAT ABOUT MY HORSIE PAINTING!!!!!" To make a very long story short, a smiling Olivia walked out with her horsie painting and a grimacing Mitch walked out with an empty wallet.

This has been a crazy week. M got back from CA on Monday and we have yet to have a family dinner, and probably won't until Saturday, between soccer games and t-ball. I don't know what we're going to do when we have four kids doing sports. Maybe by then J will have his driver's license. I love to drive him crazy by talking about how cool he'll look driving my minivan. If someone spills something in it, I like to remind them to be neater in Jack's car. He claims he'd rather ride the bus then be seen driving a minivan. We'll see how that one pans out.

Also this week, J and I went to his middle school orientation. They will have lockers and dances, and ride the bus with high school students. I am so not excited, but he is really looking forward to it. Well, he was until he found out that middle schoolers actually have real homework, not just the crumbled piece of paper he occasionally pulls from the bottom of his back pack and writes on for 10 minutes once a week. Also, he will have to catch the bus at the time he's usually just getting out of bed. Poor, poor J.

Mother's day is coming up and I am planning on getting breakfast in bed, then locking my door and reading all morning. By myself. And I'm not cooking or cleaning for anyone all day. Or finding a single Barbie shoe or getting a new roll of tape for the tape dispenser. Or fixing anyone's hair with "a pink bow on top, a yellow bow just off to the side, and a purple bow next to that, no, that's not how I want it, I told you how I want it, and that's not right!" Also, I won't be washing anyone's Spiderman shirt while they sit around shirtless asking me if it's dry yet. Also, I won't be finding any soccer uniforms or baseball hats or making anyone's lunch. Or wiping ANYONE'S poopy butt. Or explaining that, no, you can't play outside in nothing but your underwear when it's only 50 degrees out. But I'm not making a list or anything.

M has been in California this past week, but he's coming home today. Even the kids are getting tired of eating breakfast for dinner. We had Hunter, Celia, and Beth up for the weekend and had a fun time with them. Beth and I kicked some 10 year-old-boy butt at badminton, and I even made a fire in the firepit without the help of a big, strapping, man. I may break out the DeWalt today and drill some holes in the walls. Or maybe I'll scratch my balls and watch a war show on the History Channel.

H's teacher told me of a funny exchange last week. Apparently, there is a kid at his school who goes into the bathroom and poops on the floor rather frequently. The teacher was telling the kindergarteners to be on the lookout and to come find a teacher so they can stop the perpetrator. H raised his hand.

"Don't you mean to poop-etrator?"

M and I are thinking about taking a trip for his 40th birthday in October. I kind of mentioned it in passing at the dinner table tonight. M wasn't home. I told the kids they would get to have Nana stay with them for a week while Daddy and I went on a little trip. O hung her head and started crying, then looked pointedly at me and said,

"But I would really miss Daddy."

Yeah, all those clean clothes and well-balanced meals she will miss out on while Daddy isn't here.

Our last swimming session was today. It was no surprise that G didn't pass to the next level, but both G and H did. G doesn't know she didn't pass. I just told her she is going to have a different teacher than O next time.

"But I still get to wear my cute swimsuits and I get a lollipop at the end, right mommy?"

Her priorities are intact...

After all the flea killing, we still had fleas. As there is only one exterminator on the island, we had to wait a few days for an appointment. My beloved offered to take us all to Seattle to get out of the house. He was tired of seeing his drooling wife in the corner, batting at the air and scratching and screaming every time she saw a piece of lint. The boys played hooky from school and we went to the zoo. Ironically, the kids favorite part was the bug exhibit, which only caused my phantom itching to get worse (see above). Our flea guy came and (hopefully) introduced all living creatures in our house to the Insect Apocolypse (yes, we got our four-legged pets out of the house). I am sitting here, typing bare-ankled, daring those little MF'ers with my delicious blood. M thinks I'm off my rocker. So far, though, no signs of life....

In other news, at least two very LOUD frogs have taken up residence in our pond. When I say loud, I mean you can hear them all night long from any room in the house. I did some research, and since they devour mosquitos, aphids, and probably fleas, I am going to learn to live with their lovely croaking. M is teaching J to mow the lawn (see below), and poor J is at odds with his love for driving the tractor and the pollution it causes, so he can't really enjoy himself. We never should have let him watch 'An Inconvenient Truth'.

O and G's teacher said the girls got in a knock-down drag-out fight at preschool yesterday. It seems G stated that Daniel was her boyfriend and Jake was O's boyfriend. O got ticked off and said that Daniel was her boyfriend. I was talking with the girls about this, and O said, "I don't even want a dumb old boyfriend. I just don't want G to tell me who my boyfriend is." So, boyfriends are banned in our house now. They can only have "friends that are boys."

Only in Coupeville

In which a field trip to the fire station involves piling all the kids up on the hoses and taking them for a ride through town, dropping them back off at preschool. Imagine the liability, and we didn't even fill out one form....

Excuse me, Mr. Cute Fireman, could you give me a hand getting down?

I couldn't get anyone to face the camera--they were too excited.

Last night at dinner:

H: "G was screaming and kicking the swimming teacher today."

G: "I wasn't kicking the teacher! I was just kicking and my feet were accidentally landing on him."

So yesterday I went to bed with a terrible migraine as soon as M got home. I could hear the kids laughing and shrieking at the dinner table through my drug-induced haze. This morning, I asked H what they had been laughing about. It seems H had acquired a nice pile of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Abby's party. For those not familiar with Harry Potter, they're jelly beans with yummy flavors mixed in with flavors like Vomit, Booger, and Ear Wax.

H: "We were playing Bertie Bott's roulette. Dad taught us it, but the girls dropped out when O got a rotten egg flavored one and spit it all over the table."

Me: "Is that why you were shrieking so loud?"

H: "No. After the girls dropped out, there were a bunch of Soap-flavored beans left, so Dad said we could say bad words like the 'F-word' if we washed out our mouth with a soap jelly bean after. I didn't know the 'F-word' was F-U-C-K, I always thought it was fart!"

Now that's some good parenting.

I'm tired and kind of cranky today. We had a busy weekend. Saturday, Mitch worked on the treehouse and in the yard while I had to get five of us ready for a wedding in Snohomish, and keep all the kids clean and hair-do's intact. H got to go to Abby's Harry Potter birthday party in Shoreline while we were at the wedding, much to J's protests of unfairness. At one point during the wedding, all the kids were playing outside and G fell in the mud. Total destruction of ivory dress and tights. After a collective intake of breath by all adults present, she looked down at her ruined outfit, shrugged, and ran off to keep playing. I like to think it's my excellent parenting skills which led to such a healthy reaction from the same girl who freaked out over a misplaced hair barrett just months before, but most likely it's just some kind of burp in the alignment of the stars or something. We didn't get home until 11pm, but that didn't stop the children from waking at 6am. "IT'S PANCAKE DAY!" Right in my sound-asleep ear.

After pancakes, M and I finished painting our Pumpkin Butter room, then we finished the flea blitz. We poisoned an acre of lawn surrounding the house, the carpets, the animals (again), and what unholy thing we did to Seamus I can't bring myself to talk about. I will post a picture of him as soon as he comes out from under J's bed. We tried all the natural remedies first to rid ourselves of fleas, but now we're bringing out the big guns. No one would have known we had fleas if they didn't love ME so much. M thinks it's because I'm so sour. Because I had a raving fit over an email a preschool mom sent out!!!! In which she used 26 exclamation!!!! points!!!! In one!!!! paragraph!!!!!!!!! Which is one of my biggest!!!!! pet!!!!! peeves!!!!!!!!! No amount of "Island Kate" will ever erase my disdain for the overuse of exclamation points. On the other hand, maybe if I used more exclamation points the fleas wouldn't like me so much. Also, while I'm complaining, I'm going to take a minute to whine about the phrase, "Live. Love. Laugh." These signs are all over every shop on Whidbey, and I'm just really tired of seeing them. Not that there is anything wrong with living, or loving, or laughing, for that matter, they're important things you do every day. Like peeing and pooping. So I got a nice, flat piece of driftwood from the beach, and I am painting my own sign, to hang in my kitchen: "Burp. Fart. Laugh." Oh, wait, I mean: "Burp!!!!!!!! Fart!!!!!!!!! Laugh!!!!!!!"

Trying out our new paint color. It's called Pumpkin Butter.

Sigh. Another tough day at swimmin' lessons for G. It was safety day, but she refused to try on her life vest because then no one would be able to see her cute new two-piece swim-suit. H figured out that if he held his arms straight up in the air and jumped off the diving board, he could slide right out of his life vest. Awesome! He did that about 3 times before he got "corrected" about proper life vest usage.

Would you want to go up against this girl? This is my darling G, just before she told the swim teacher in no uncertain terms was she going to do anything but play in the kiddie pool. At the end of the lesson, he finally got her to agree to try a back float. "I have to go potty first," she says, and hops out of the pool, giving him the death glance over her shoulder, taking just long enough for the lesson to be over. O, on the other hand, is making great strides. Here she is doing the back float with no help. Note that both girls are wearing the goggles they made me buy them. On their foreheads, not they're eyes. Just to complete the "look", not for anything useful like actually protecting their eyes from chlorine. H is doing so well in swim class that I couldn't get a good picture of him--he was going too fast for my camera. I wanted a new camera, but we've spent too much money lately on things like a chainsaw, a riding lawn mower, a trailer for M's truck, a new gas grill, and lumber to build a treehouse. Note the absence of anything for a deserving 30something yo girl on that list. Like lip gloss or a camera.

Today, the girls and I went down to the organic farmers' market in Greenbank, but all I got was some sandy leeks--too early for produce! We spent a lot of time watching the ever-popular alpacas. We got home to find the boys hard at work on a treehouse. O joined in on the hard labor part and G tried to collect butterflies and flowers to make it pretty.

"I saw a butterfly a few days ago over by the shed, mommy. Can you help me find it?"

When J was about 6, he was really into reading the "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" series by Judy Blume. I remember picking one up that he had been reading and getting sucked into it. It's funny! However, there was one chapter in which Fudge finds out there is no S-A-N-T-A. I asked J if he had read that particular chapter yet. "Yes," he very sheepishly replied. And that is how he found out there was no you-know-who. Five years later, M is reading said book to H, but was able to stop himself and change the story a bit. Here you might be wondering, "Why the hell do six year-olds still believe in Santa?" I'll tell you why. We do everything in our power to keep the story alive because it affords us an entire month of threats and briberies come Christmas time, when our children are apt to act their worst.

So, I'm a little annoyed that Judy Blume almost cost us this valuable parenting tool yet again, when I'm pretty sure we could've eked out at least one more year with H, who, let's be honest, could use a little more help than anybody when it comes to good behavior. I googled her website, and sent her an email, complaining about this one little thing, but then I began to remember reading "Are You There God, it's Me Margaret" among many other awesome books she has written, so I kind of rambled a bit in my email to her, gushing and admonishing her at the same time. Within hours, she personally emailed me back, and this is what she said:

Hi Kate,

Thank you for your email. I'm sorry your sons had to hear about Santa from Fudge. (Aren't you lucky to have such terrific little readers in your house. Only six and already reading chapter books!) Santa Who? can spark the inevitable discussion in a natural and loving way, and of course no-one is saying that Santa isn't a magical, wonderful idea that can and will continue to live in your family.

Very best, Judy Blume

_

_

Whatever.

What are these cars doing parked in the middle of a field? This is how you get to J's soccer practice. That's right, there's nothing as prosaic as a road, you have to drive accross a bumpy field to get to practice. My minivan doesn't even make it. That's Coupeville! Below is a photo of the girls playing on a pile of manure and dirt during J's practice.

Me: "G! O! You're getting filthy!"

Both girls, in unison: "So?"

Not much I can say to that, really. J doesn't really care for his new soccer coaches, because they're "just too nice, mom. I'm not sure I'll be able to learn as much if they're not yelling at me like my old coach." Not much I can say to that, either, I guess.

Today I volunteered in J's classroom, and it was fifth grade math. The teacher gave the kids some problems, then said, "If you have any trouble, raise your hand, and J's mom will help you." Crap! I was in trouble. Luckily, J helped me. I would secretly look on his paper for the answers and the way to do the problem, then act like I knew exactly what I was doing. I kept looking longingly at H's kindergarten class, happily planting seeds in their garden outside J's window.

Speaking of dirt, the girls' preschool teacher filled the sensory table with dirt and dozens of earthworms today. The kids had a blast digging and playing with worms. Gross, but cool. Guess who the only two kids were who refused to touch the worms with their bare hands. To this day, not one of my children has ever enjoyed worms. Even H doesn't like worms. What's up with that?

Today H, O, and G began swimming lessons. While H is a good swimmer, the girls have had their share of troubles. The last time we tried it, O spent exactly 3 seconds in the water for the entire 2 months of lessons. G got in the water, but was more interested in chatting with the other kids than in actually getting wet above the waist. Things were looking hopefull as H's teacher came out. Young, pretty, and physically fit. H was the only student and they got right to serious work. All the other classes got in the water, but our teacher was last to come out. He must have been busy eating a twinkie, but out he finally came, all 300 pounds of him. With back hair. And a long goatee. I groaned inwardly, certain there was no way O was going into the water with him. But before he said a word, O jumped in the water and got right down to business. The other 3 kids huddled nervously on the stairs. O did everything she was told, but as soon as the teacher's attention was turned to the other kids, she and G were gone to the other side of the pool, having a blast with each other and totally oblivious of the teacher. I scolded them to listen to the teacher a few times, but then I gave up. I figure it's his job to get the kids to do what he wants. At this stage, all I care about is that they are having fun in the water, and were they ever. Soon they got the other 2 kids involved in their little game, and the lame teacher just spent the rest of the time watching the clock. I do feel a little sorry for the teacher, because those two can be a force of nature when they gang up together. So basically I'm paying for a half-hour of water babysitting for the twins, and I'm completely fine with that. H is getting private lessons for the price of group lessons and he's already getting better, so it all evens out. The only thing that sucks is that with preschool Mondays and Wednesdays, and swimming Tues. and Thurs., I have to get dressed FOUR DAYS IN A ROW. H made me promise not to wear pj's out in public.

This was the lead story on the front page of the Whidbey News-Times on Saturday. Yes, it's the year 2007.

CAT MIA

By NATHAN WHALEN
Staff reporter
For 17 years, Shotzie had a pretty good deal. The black and white kitty would show up at county offices in Coupeville, get fed, and then sleep for most of the day.
That is until he turned up missing. Now, workers are anxious to know where the county mascot is.
County staff last noticed him in mid-March, since then — nothing.
“He’d have a little snack and a treat and then he’d sleep for most of the day,” said Diana Vaughan, who works for the county’s central services.
Shotzie is well-known around Coupeville and local residents look out for the feline. He would often wander around town between the county campus and the hospital.
“He thinks he’s the mayor of Coupeville,” said Marion Sasso, who owns Shotzie. Regardless of where he went, he would always head home at the end of the day.
Vaughan was one of the last people to see Shotzie in the county building. She fed him on March 15 and then he disappeared.
He has been known to disappear before. Years ago, he stowed away on a pickup truck and ended up in Oak Harbor. After a well-placed story in the Whidbey News-Times, he was quickly found and returned to the county offices.
“He does have a habit of getting into other people’s cars,” Sasso said.
Worried that Shotzie is getting older, she said staff would like to know the fate of the feline. Sasso is concerned about Shotzie’s health because he ate some of the recalled pet food before he was discovered missing.
If anyone sees Shotzie, please call 678-9167 or 360-320-1721.
© Copyright 2007 Whidbey News Times

Home again. Where the knives are nice and sharp, the bed is firm, and the country silence at night is deafening. We just returned from a whirlwind Easter trip to Spokane. My mom is retiring and has put her house on the market, which she just decided to do a few weeks ago. She's already got her new apartment and has given away most of her stuff. If you happen to walk through her home, you won't leave empty handed. "Oh, do you like this? It's yours, and you must take this, too." Easy come, easier to go. On the other end of the spectrum is M's mom. Her kids have been wanting her to sell her home and make the move to M's sister's house in Everett. It has been much harder for her to let go of a lifetime of possessions. Except for one thing. While visiting on Friday, she started talking about how progressive and modern her OB was when M was born, all the while rummaging through her jewelry box. I'm starting to quiver with anticipation, because I have an idea what she's looking for. TA-DAAA!!! Yep, it was the foreskin from his circumcision.

Seamus had a great time playing with all his dog cousins, and my favorite memory from the trip was watching him sniff the butt of a dog statue at Kim's house. Just checking, I guess. All in all we had a good time and we're very happy to be home. Except J, who had to go back to school today after nearly two weeks off. H and the girls are very happy with all their new toys from Nana's daycare and their cousin Mackenzie, and I'm very happy with my new necklace. The one that I'm going to make out of that little item from my mother-in-law's jewelry box.

Seamus retires every night with J. On his bed. With his head on the pillow. J makes a big production of removing Seamus' offensive electronic collar, and fluffs up a pillow for him. At around 10 this morning, I went into J's room to retrieve the dog so he wouldn't pee on the carpet. Both were soundly sleeping on their backs, Seamus' feet straight in the air. I snapped Seamus' collar on him and sent him outside. About 20 minutes later, J came downstairs, but before even saying hello to me, the person that gives him food, clean laundry, and unconditional love, he spends 10 minutes petting the dog and scratching his belly. Because 14 hours of breathing in dog breath isn't enough.

"What about greeting your mother, J?"

"Oh, yeah. Good morning. You know, I think I could use a bigger bed. And Seamus kind of steals the covers, so I should probably get some more blankets. What's for breakfast?"

Spiderman symbiote

String of mussels

Forts Rule!

Mussel Beach

"Kids! Go get dressed, we're going hiking and to the beach." As I'm getting myself ready, I hear the kids rushing around getting dressed. I am thinking to myself how great it is that they are all old enough to pick out their own clothes and get themselves ready for the day. This is what they picked out to wear: J was dressed fine, in the 10yo boys' uniform of cargo pants, t-shirt, and fleece jacket. H was wearing not one, but TWO Spiderman costumes, only one was kind of half-hanging off him and twisted around his arms, and the other one was his black shiny "symbiote" costume. "I'm Spiderman when the symbiote is taking him over, mom." Oh, of course. That's what I thought. O is in sturdy blue pants she got from H's drawer, 3 sizes too big, white flowered sandals 2 sizes too small, purple shirt, on backwards. G comes floating down the stairs in a full princess gown, Cinderella purse, and backpack with an Etch-a-Sketch in it. "I'm wearing my boots, mom!" She lifts the hem of her floor-length dress to show me.

We finally got into appropriate getting-dirty clothes and hit the road. This beach is walking distance from our house, but we've never gone when the tide was so low. The kids had a total blast hunting for shells, crabs, rocks, sand dollars, and all kinds of cool things. Even G got filthy and didn't even mind. As a reward for getting dirty, we went down to the Coupeville Ice Cream shop and got cones with sprinkles (nobody ordered praline this time). Went to the library for some new books, and back home for some much needed (for me) rest. H said, as we were going into the house, "I can't believe we live here, it's like a vacation. Only you don't let us get sugar cereal like when we're on vacation."

Because sometimes having a twin just isn't enough companionship.

Not long ago, M and I were having a conversation with some former Seattleites, now W. Islanders, about the cost of living here. We made a little mental list of everyday things and compared their cost. I've decided to write them down, because somebody broke my computer Scrabble game, nobody wants to play Barbies with me right now, and this may just be the incentive you need to move to good ole' Whidbey Island.

Things that are cheaper here than Seattle:
Property (duh), women's haircuts (about half!) auto and homeowner's insurance, electricity, garbage, auto taxes, mussels, babysitters, kids' sports fees, preschool, veterinary care, ice cream cones, good restaurants, organic food (if you get it from the farmer's market), and swimming lessons.

Things that are exactly the same:
Men's haircuts from the barber shop (although here all the haircuts seem to be the military special, which is why M probably gets such sympathy when he limps around with his scar and buzz cut), lattes, and pedicures.

Things that are more expensive here than Seattle:
Gasoline, drycleaning (almost $4 per shirt!), specialty foods.

That took half an hour, now it's time to make dinner.

What's cuter than two ten year-old boys spending the weekend building a fort? Hunter and J found a naturally formed cave under some trees in the woods behind our house. They worked their tails off building an entryway, and H helped by collecting golf balls in a pile for ammunition against intruders. They hauled a table and chairs in there, board games, and food. Occasionally they would even let the girls have "temporary membership", although G felt the place could have been spruced up a bit with pretty things. Forts RULE!