Lovelovelovelove

My name is Seamus, and I like Valentine's day because I didn't get my anal glands expressed.

A lot of people hate Valentine's day. I don't mind it. We don't make a big deal out of it, but try to make it fun for the kids. I do require a really good piece of chocolate from my mate, but that's about it. I spent the day watching a bunch of 12 and 13 year-old boys making a zombie movie in the woods. Hi-larious. They spent the night last night, and I really can't believe they voluntarily kept going back into Jack's room to edit the movie. P. and. U.

We had a tasty seafood stew and chocolatey dessert. Yum!

Mitch spent the day with his true love: power tools. Olivia tested out the new deep basin sink. She sort of fits.

Love

The sugar is flowing here with all the school parties. The girls' party was yesterday. The morning started with Grace, after trying on seven different outfits, emerged from her room, piggy bank in hand, saying we HAD to go to the store before school to buy chocolates for a particular boy in her class. I was pleased her father had already left for work, and we reached a compromise. She could buy him a candy gram from the PTA fundraiser and sign it as a "Secret Admirer", which had just enough mystery and romance to appeal to her and saved me having to deal with too much drama. Their eyes were glazed in a sugary film by noon.

Last night after dinner, Henry handed me a recipe, titled, "Bruno's Cake", and he told me all about a story his class had read about a bear who had made this fabulous cake.

"I told the class you would make it and bring it to my Valentine party tomorrow!" says my little helper.

Since I can't say no to Henry, because of those damned sad clown oil painting eyes, I resigned myself to do it. I had no butter, so Mitch went to the little store after dinner for a million dollars' worth of butter. I made the cake this morning and it tasted like a brick, but I made it look pretty with powdered sugar and strawberries. Besides, there were cookies, candy, rice crispies treats, and cupcakes to tempt the little second graders with. Henry ate so much crap that he barfed a little into a garbage can, but was stuffing M&M's in his mouth before he got back into his seat. He brought one of his sugared-up comrades home for the afternoon, and Jack also has a few buddies over until tomorrow. I can hear them upstairs, snickering and snorting over the anonymous love notes they got at school.

My husband brought home a garden tiller last week, and mentioned that is was my Valentine's present. Also, as part of the present, he tilled all the chicken shit into the dirt for me. Love means never having to till your own chicken shit, I guess.

Honesty

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Grace?"

"When you lay on the pillow like that, I can't tell which chin is your real chin."

Olivia comes to my rescue:

"Grace! I can't believe you said that. It's always the chin on top that is mommy's real chin."

Chickin's

Yesterday the whole family went over to the mainland to see a chicken breeder. I thought it would be something like a chicken zoo, with all kinds of funky chickens (see what I did there? funky chickens?) to look at, and also I didn't want the boys to buy a bunch of damn chickens, so the girls and I tagged along.

It was nothing like a chicken zoo. Basically, it was a guy with a handful of chickens talking about how to check for the multitude of parasites and diseases chickens can get. I kept slathering the Purell on everyone, but when the dude started talking about how chickens attract rats, I pretty much checked out and went to my happy place. The day was a bust.

Today was spent cleaning in tiaras and eating bananas:

Coopville

We spent the morning moving the chickens from the winter home to their spring/summer home, meaning, out of my garden, where they've been conditioning the soil, to their smaller pen, where they can condition the, uh, moss.

Look at the size of that cock!

As you can see from these photos, two of my children and their father love animals and don't mind getting covered in dirt and poop. Since I hold the important position of family chronicler, and I can't risk getting poop on the camera, I stay way back. Henry shoots at things with his slingshot, trying to look too busy to help. He also makes several long trips into the house to "use the bathroom". Grace flutters about, pretending to help, but being careful not to get anything on her beautiful green and pink dress with red leggings, purple coat, and blue ruffled and sequined shirt.

Hope

My daylilies are straining through the muck and mud of winter. The cold and dreary weather we've had of late has made everyone a little grumpy, but the bright little sprouts are going a long way to cheer me up. The other afternoon I was shushing Olivia while I watched President Obama on CNN. She's not used to the attention I've been paying to politics lately.

"What's the big deal about Barack Obama? Don't we always have a president? When he's done, it'll be someone else's turn," she said.

I love that my kids don't think it's any big deal that a guy who's father was a black immigrant is the President. They will grow up and really believe that any American citizen can be president, or anything they want to be, for that matter.


In unrelated news, we have finished the art room. The walls are clean, but within a month or two I suspect they will be covered with tape and paintings and recycled bits of trash beautiful artifacts. And really, we never were the formal dining room type of family.
Everyone had a hand in the transformation. And yes, we paint in our underwear. It eliminates the need for special painting clothes, duh. Who wrote that word on the wall? Tsk. Tsk.

Tidbits

I haven't had a computer for the past week while we're doing a little house project, so I'm reduced to short evenings with Mitch's laptop while surfing the tv for glimpses of my new bf, Barack. Also, there's not a lot to report here. The kids stayed home from school on Tuesday to watch their babydaddy take the oath of office (haha, just kidding, Mitch!).

Grace thought the only thing that could have made Aretha Franklin's inauguration hat more beautiful was if it had been purple.

Jack broke his last pair of glasses because he was fiddling with them out of boredom in math class. Not because he really wants contacts, he assured me.

Henry came home from school and had written "Tony Stark" (Ironman for you non-geeks) on his math papers instead of his own name. When questioned, he said, "Aw mom, math is boring. This makes it more fun."

Olivia seems to be following in my math footsteps, however. Today she wrote all her numbers backwards and began at the right hand corner. Also, she told me was going to move away because we don't treat her right in this family.

Absence makes the heart appreciate thy brother

Grace: Hey Mommy, are you and Daddy going out again tonight?

Poor Grace, I think to myself. We've spent too much time going out lately, and now she's feeling it.

Me: No, Grace, we're going to stay home and spend the evening with you kids tonight.

Grace: (disappointment in her voice) Oh. Well, maybe you should go out on a date with Daddy!

Me: I'm surprised! Why do you want us to go out again?

Grace: Well, Jack is a really good babysitter when you're gone, and he makes us popcorn and let's us play Animal Crossing on the Wii. Also, we get to stay up late.

Me: Are you saying you would prefer to have Jack take care of you instead of Dad and me?

Grace: Wellllll, I would say that, but it wouldn't be very nice, so I've decided I won't say it.

The tooth is out there

Last week, Olivia came shrieking into the room. "I HAVE TO GO TO THE DENTIST! THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY TOOTH!" Sob, sob, cry, boogers, sob.

Turns out she had her first loose tooth. What kind of a freak show has never heard of a loose tooth, you ask? Well, in our family, with our, um, retentive personalities, no one wiggles their teeth, so the orthodontist orders them to be yanked by the dentist, which is what dear little Olivia was afraid of. Olivia is cut of a different cloth than the rest of us, though, so we have our first naturally lost tooth. Behold!:

Fairies eating strawberry shortcake

One of the things I love about having girls is that the simple act of walking through a room can bring all sorts of cuteness. Like these fairies, sitting at the art table, having some dessert. Or dolls wrapped in socks, and tucked into my slippers. Or teeny tiny hearts cut out of construction paper and taped all over the kitchen cabinets. These things are way cuter than what I would find, say, walking through a twelve year-old boy's room. I'm just sayin'.

A Poem. By Henry.

My mom is funny
My mom is nice
My mom is loving
My mom is caring

She has good jokes
She is a good gardener
She cleans a lot
She makes the best mac & cheese and mashed potatoes
She brought me soup in a thermos at school when I had my tooth pulled

I love her a lot
---------------------------------------------

Somebody's getting mac & cheese with a side of potatoes for dinner tonight.

Some of what he said is true enough. The part about bringing him soup in a Thermos, anyway. A more brutally realistic poem would read:

My mom is funny. Not funny ha-ha, but funny strange.
My mom is nice after a few glasses of wine
My mom is loving, unless you've tracked chicken/dog shit into the house
My mom is caring. She really cares about bedtimes and chicken/dog shit in the house

She is the worst joke-teller in the world
She is a mediocre gardener at best (if it wasn't for all the bugs and dirt, she could be good)
She makes good mac & cheese and mashed potatoes (but not as good as Aunt Kimmy's)

She brought me soup in a thermos because she didn't want me whining about how hungry I was all day.

I love her a lot (that's my favorite part, and it's way true)

Karma, probably

My family members will love this. My lovely, blonde daughter Grace has been begging for purple hair for the past month or so. I know! I had purple hair once, and it stained and took forever to grow out. Also, bright red, orange, and pink. But no black, that was too trendy for me. Also, I was an angst-ridden teen then, and she's a kindergartener. Anywho, I got her this little fake hair extension kit with pink and purple hair extensions for Christmas. She wasn't too impressed, but has been dutifully wearing the purple hair pieces around the house. I'd be all for her getting a streak of purple in her hair, but I have no idea where to get something like that done. I suppose we'll have to head accross the water to the big city or something. She just informed me that she wants to take her Christmas money from Grandpa and Grandma to pay for it. Thanks, Dad!

Resolutions 2009

I always like going back and reading what our New Year's Resolutions were the year before, to see if anyone kept them. We never do, of course. However, I was thrilled to see that I did keep last year's resolution (to plant and maintain a garden). Yay for me! I'm not going to mess with success, so I'm going to keep the same resolution this year. Oh, and I'm also going to start dusting my treadmill more often. You should see how filthy it is. Also, I will continue to cuss like a sailor.

Mitch: Keep in better touch with friends and family (I made him join Facebook yesterday).

Jack: Learn to play guitar even better.

Henry: Spend more time reading (I swear I didn't feed that one to him).

Olivia: Ride my new bike without training wheels. Start first grade with a different teacher than Grace.

Grace: Put training wheels on my new bike, and learn to be a good reader. Stay in the same class as Olivia in first grade.

Winter break is ending, and it's a good thing, too, because my ass can barely fit in my jeans and we've been moving happy hour up a half hour every day, so now we're practically tossing 'em back after breakfast. 2009 is looking good. We'll have a new presidentthankyoujesus, all the kids will be going to school full time in the fallthankyoujesus, and I finally have floorsthankyoumitch. I hope the coming year brings you peace, health, happiness, and awesome shoes.

Snowshoes

This is how far the boys got on the igloo before it collapsed under the melting snow, and by the next day you could see the grass. We took off yesterday for Mt. Baker so the kids could try out their new snowshoes. It was a fun day, once we got over the arguing over wrong turns and best places to hike (but it was all done with love and stuff. Whatever, my road would have gotten us there faster.)

Here we are on the right road.

Olivia, Henry, and Jack are waiting for Grace to figure out how to walk. They're way ahead of us on the trail.
She finally masters it, but lasts about 10 minutes before Dad plopped her in the sled and kept on trekking.

The Shoecracker Ballet

There was a little bartering by the boys against wearing ties, and as you can see, they won.

The orchestra pit

I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas. I am bloated from too much food and champagne, but in a good way. The kids had a very happy Christmas, despite five packages not making it through the snow and ice. When (if?) they finally do arrive, I'm probably just going to stick them in a closet for awhile. I mean, does any of us need Grace to have a real Hannah Montana microphone? Christmas Eve rocked with a trip over to America to see PNB's The Nutcracker. Everyone loved it.

Well, Jack did say, "It didn't suck as much as I thought it would", but I'm pretty sure that meant he loved it.

Here we are on the ferry.

We had to walk through a little snow and slush to get to the theater.

We arrived early, so we walked to the Seattle Center so the kids could operate the Christmas train. Don't they look so cute?

Mitch scored fab front row seats, which was great, because you could see a LOT of detail. In fact, I felt the seats shaking every time the male ballet dancers came out from Henry trying to stifle his giggles.

Snowbound

We're sitting here waiting for the next big storm. It's below freezing outside and the kids have deemed it too cold to play out there, except for briefly yesterday when their brother trapped them in the chicken yard, as you can see below. Don't worry, I washed their snowsuits in 130 degree water. I also let them paint ornaments with acrylic, non-washable paint, AND glitter glue. I know! But the glitter is trapped in the glue, see, and it can't spread like an unstoppable disease when it's trapped in the glue. Also, notice that my girls haven't gotten dressed or combed their hair in three days. Mother of the year!
So, we've stocked up on batteries and booze in anticipation of losing power (high winds expected). I also let the kids make Christmas cookies without any of my control-freak interventions. 'Tis the season and hohoho and all that. I just gave them each a ball of dough and a rolling pin and threw a pile of cookie cutters out. And yes, I have four rolling pins. Kitchen gadgets are one of my many sicknesses. There are no updates on the igloo, since the only progress made has been of the dog pissing all over the entry way. It's too cold-the snow doesn't stick.


Dear Santa, these cookies can be yours for the price of a small belt (this photo is blurry because I was shaking, trying to keep from reacting to the kids spraying frosting and sprinkles all over the kitchen).

White

Since I snapped this at 8am, we've gotten five more inches. Everyone stayed home today and worked on building an igloo. This is layer one. I'll update as it gets higher, or Mitch and Jack kill each other, which ever comes first.

Catching snowflakes. Perhaps Seamus loves the snow most of all:

List of my dorkitude. Part 1.

Anyone who doesn't have an adolescent at home should really run right out and get one. Having one is more fun that sliding down a rusty razor into a pool of battery acid. Here is a small sampling of the reasons I am a big dork in the eyes of an adolescent:

1. I listen to Christmas music in December

2. I use punctuation when texting, not to mention that I JUST learned to text after my adolescent figured out what was wrong with my cell phone.

3. I don't abbreviate when texting.

4. I'm always asking where he's going, and saying hello to his friends. Parents should not be seen or heard.

5. I think wearing a coat when it's 20 degrees outside is a good idea.

6. I tidy up when people are coming to visit. Don't I want them to know the "real me"?

7. I have lame music on my lame mp3 player.

8. I made my adolescent sit on Santa's lap for a picture this year.

This is not a comprehensive list. In fact, in looking it over, I think there's a lot of room for improvement. I hope to quadruple this list by the time my adolescent returns to school in January.

At last!

Snow day.

Bah Humbug, but in a good way. Really.

Dear friends and family. Look at the calendar! It's December 11. Now, look up to the top of your screen. There's your Chrismas card from us this year. What do you mean, that's the card we used last year? Haven't you heard? Recycling is the new black. We're just doing our part. Oh, I suppose I could have made some fabulous and quirky Christmas card over the past two weeks while we were busy installing floors. The truth is, I was far to busy sitting in a corner, banging my head against the wall and wiping drool on my sleeve. Also, I bought two premade gingerbread houses for the kids to decorate this year. I know! No slaving away for two days in the kitchen, cutting Mitch's blueprints out of gingerbread dough, melting candies into stained glass windows. I'm cutting back on things I don't think the kids really care about in favor of actually spending time hanging out with them.

SERENITY NOW!

The goose is getting fat

Look! It's our very own toy soldier. Jack was in the big Christmas parade on Saturday, marching with the high school band. I know he's not in high school, but he's a warm body, and in Coupeville, that's pretty much all you need. Also, when I said "big" Christmas parade, I meant it lasted about 20 minutes, but a good time was had by all, thanks to copious amounts of candy being passed out.

We also got our tree this weekend. Doesn't it look like a wholesome family outing? Picture the opinions of five, um, opinionated people and one sullen adolescent all trying to agree on which tree was "the one". Henry wanted it to be huge, Grace wanted to to be pretty, Olivia wanted it to not be touching any other trees, Mitch wanted it to be architecturally relevant (my words, but that's what I think he meant when describing his opinion of a good tree), and I wanted it to not be a Douglas fir so I wouldn't be vacuuming up needles every day. Jack was cold and wanted to go home, because he's way too cool to wear a real coat. In the end, we got a lovely noble fir, and went home to watch Mitch tinker with our ancient, but architecturally relevant tree stand long enough for the tree to actually fall over on my head. Under the threat of divorce, he finally conceded and bought a new, ugly but sturdy tree stand. Happy Holidays, baby.

All that glitters

Henry's second grade teacher informed me today that she usually only gets the glitter out once a year. Today was my volunteer day. Guess what I got to be in charge of?

Fantasy shoes

I still don't have any floors. I'm trying to be relaxed about having all my furniture piled in one room and walking on subfloors, and as long as I keep taking my beta blocker, it's not too bad. Yesterday, I left Mitch with the kids for twelve hours while I went shopping over in America with Jessica. I'm pretty good like that. He even was able to get some flooring done, which means twelve hours of dvds he is pretty awesome.

Part of my quest yesterday included searching for some cute but sturdy shoes for winter. Shut up. I really do need some practical shoes. Whatever. I found nothing that fit the bill, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I spied these beauties. Of course, having the feet of a transvestite, the saleswoman said they didn't have the red ones in my size, just the black. AND she said they didn't even make the red ones in my size. I felt very, very, sad, like I was six and Santa had brought me a shiny new bike, only to take it away and poop on it and throw it in a fire.

I dropped Jessica off at home, did some more city errands, and hit the ferry. Jessica called me when I was almost home to say she'd spent a lot of time searching the internet, and indeed, the saleswoman was correct. No red shoes in my size. Ever. Anywhere. This morning, I still felt empty inside, so I checked Amazon, just as a last ditch effort, and............................ THEY HAD THE SHOES OF MY DREAMS IN TRANSVESTITE 11!!!!!!!! They'll be here on Wednesday. I'm wearing them to the Nutcracker on Christmas Eve with the family. They'll probably hurt, but they'll be so cute that it will be worth it. And I'm forty, for crying out loud. I need to kick it up a notch. And that concludes three paragraphs about a pair of shoes none of you has any interest in, but, OMG!

Next stop, Depends.

Dear internet,





Yesterday, Grace came home from school and said, "Mommy! Today I asked all the kids in the class how old their moms were and guess what?"

*crickets*

"You're the winner!"

At least I'm pretty certain I'm the least mature mom in the class.

Chicken feed for nightclubs

If we'd never moved to the country, and I'd never agreed to let the kids get chickens, then I'd never know about this product:



You know, it may surprise you to know that I go for weeks at a time without even looking at the chickens, because it does seem I do most of my writing about them. I actually don't give them much of a thought, save for Hef, the rooster. And that thought is that he belongs in a pot of boiling water.

"But you always wake up before him!" exclaim my family when I complain or sigh every time he crows. It isn't that I hate him now, it's that I'm hating him in advance of this summer when I don't have to get out of bed in the dark to make five lunches and breakfasts...

Free range and organic, too!

My kids have all grown to love the eggs they collect from the chicken coop every day. When I give them their breakfast choices in the morning, and if eggs are on the list, they all ask,

"Are they fresh out of the butt?"

Because nothing beats eating an egg that is still warm from a chicken's butt. Or so I'm told.

Lego mania

Henry's Lego birthday party on Saturday, in which a blue cake in the vague form of a Lego was served. No reports on blue poop the next day. The pinata was spray-painted, then stuffed with toys and candy. Later, I had to call all the parents to tell them the candy tasted like spray paint and to throw it out. God, I'm awesome at throwing parties.






Henry was beyond thrilled to have both friends from his old house and his new house attend. Sunday, I was in a funk the likes of which could only be cured by viewing Colin Firth movies in which he's wearing tight Victorian era pants or a sweater of some sort. Mitch obliged me by taking all the children to launch a rocket over at the football field.

The Principal's Office.

Mitch and I were called in to the middle school principal's office to meet with both the principal AND the school counselor today. They even made us wait for three terrifying minutes on the chairs I'm sure are reserved for troublemakers. This was my first trip ever to the principal's office (since I'm so good), so I asked Mitch for some pointers (ha, ha, hi honey!) on what to expect.

It turns out Jack isn't getting kicked out of school, but has had some behavior issues related to being bored in school, especially math. Generally, conduct unbecoming a class president. Also, he's been challenging authority and being obnoxious in class. I don't know how on earth he ended up with those two character traits. Why couldn't he have inherited an unnatural love of shoes or extreme skill with a miter saw (I don't really know what a miter saw is, or if it even is a real tool, but I'm sure you get my point.)?

We kicked around ideas after I squelched my urge to scream, "You must have the wrong child! I breastfed him! He's an angel from heaven! I feed him whole grains and have a firm but loving hand in discipline!" Meanwhile, I'm sure my husband was all, "Yes!!! Question authority! Fight the Power!" We talked about moving him up a grade, but first the school is going to try and give him more challenging work. He doesn't want his friends to know he's smart, so we're going to work on How To Not Act Like an Asshole to Prove You're Not Smart at home.

Now I've got to go take three boxes of cake mix and turn them into a Lego brick.

The end of Fists of Fury?

Jack's favorite pastime is pestering Olivia until she flies at him in a rage, all hair and fists and feet. He thinks it's hilarious, and it actually is, but I told him it has to stop. Olivia is enjoying her reputation for being a brute too much. Jack ignored me until this week, when I decided that every time he provokes Olivia, he has to pay her one dollar. Harmony!

That is, until Henry offered to pay the dollar for Jack.

Dear America,

I hate glitter, because it's the Devil's craft supply. But today, I pink puffy heart you with glitter and ribbons and rainbows.

Love, Kate

Vote (and not just for the free Starbucks).

Go vote! Here in Washington, voting is so civilized. No waiting in long lines, you can just pop your ballot in the mailbox. It's heartening, though, to see Americans standing in line for something other than a raincheck for $500 off on a plasma tv. I can't take the suspense. Tomorrow, my day is so full, I will only be home between 4:30 and 5:30, barely enough time to shove food in the kids before we go to Jack's Middle School Band Concert. It's capitalized so you know that it can't be skipped to watch CNN. I'm sure I won't be the only parent with ear buds plugged in to NPR. Well, I probably will, but the rest will be plugged in to some conservative station...

Seven words that annoy me

"I just need to beat this level."

Pop!

Birthday Bubble Wrap from Kate on Vimeo.

We spread bubble wrap on the floor to greet Henry on his eighth year of life. Pay no attention to my messy kitchen.

Eight

Breakfast in bed with Dad, who was busy installing flooring on his birthday. He still sleeps with his stuffed animals tied together with his bathrobe tie, so they don't get lost in the night. I've been told by parents and teachers that when he walks the girls to their kindergarten class, he kisses them both on the forehead. His favorite food is homemade mac & cheese, favorite reads are Tin Tin, Harry Potter, and Captain Underpants. He loves to collect eggs from the chickens, play with Legos, hang out playing video games with his brother, collect the mail, and go on errands with mom or dad (but no siblings). He hates to take showers, unload the dishwasher, collect the newspaper, and ride the school bus. Seven has been a good year, and I think eight will be great.

Give me something good to eat. Please.

"Trick or Treat!"

I have a houseful of cranky, under-rested, over-sugared kids, but who doesn't? I have no pictures of Jack's Halloween costume. He went as a "Cereal" killer, which involved a lot of boxes of cereal in which the characters had their eyes "X"-d out and little plastic knives and arrows. It was clever, but he recycled it before I got a picture. Henry went with a buddy, our first time without him for Trick-or-Treating, and I didn't like it, but he had a blast, and so did the girls, who attended three parties in one day.


Bacon and Eggs, and his best friend, Toast


Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore



A sweet flower fairy


The Sorting Ceremony


Trying to make a candy angel.