Happy Halloween From a Galaxy Far, Far Away

9:39 a.m.
Boys wake up and find candy bucket within minutes.




9:42 a.m.
Costumes are on and the wait begins.



10:14 a.m.
Can't wait anymore, must duel.



10:28 a.m.
Friends show up for the inaugural trick-or-treat.



10:46 a.m.
Face stuffing begins.


11:11 a.m.
We're so bored! Please give us something to do.



1:50 p.m.
Can we play with the headlamps you bought us for tonight?



6 p.m.
Mason falls asleep just as we prepare to go trick-or-treating.


6:05 p.m.
Mason starts to realize something is going on and he should probably wake up.


6:26 p.m.
Around the block are Mason is generally terrified the entire time. Cooper is racing ahead and finding neighbor kids to troll with.



6:30 p.m.
Decide it's easier to fill your bucket from mom's stash.


7:44 p.m.
Decline another bit of candy for avocado slices and taco soup.

Pumpkin, Pumpkin, Who's Got the Eggplant?

I tend to believe people when they choose to tell me things about themselves. Like, "I'm going crazy!" or "I gained so much weight over the holiday." In my opinion, it's just silly not to. So pay attention. I like to procrastinate. I try not to. But I do. I really do. Often and for lengthy -- almost dangerously so -- periods of time.


That, my friends, is how I found myself in a mad dash to find a pumpkin on Oct. 30th at 5 p.m. Oh and let me throw this juicy bit in, I was ON MY WAY to a pumpkin carving party. So, two kids in tow, I'm surfing all the local grocers for three pumpkins. Not an orange spherical squash or gourd to be found. Lots of empty corrals constructed from hay bales, lonely dried corn stalks, but no pumpkins.


Here's another truth about me. Sometimes in an effort to play off my procrastination as "really cool mom that let's you pick anything you want" I opened up the creative decision to Coop. I waved my arm enticingly in the general direction of all the produce and said, "You can pick anything you want. You'll have the most unique Jack-O-Lantern at the party."


Coop's wise (a well known fact about him) and he took about 4.3 seconds to mull over his decision. Then pointed directly at the eggplants and screamed, "I want the purple one!"

Fishy

Coop has started lessons at a new swim school. We are thrilled and he is improving with every session. Let's just say he's taking to water in ways he never took to the field (soccer).

(If you can't see him in this photo... I am really sorry.) Coop's all by himself -- that's right no one else in his class -- with the teacher on the far side of the pool.

PS -- Something was wrong with blogger last night and it dumped the entire contents of this post and then I was locked out -- for lack of a better description -- and was unable to update or edit.

Grass Ain't Always Greener

On the recent trip we took to our favorite park, Mason found himself in grass that was as tall -- if not taller -- than he. He hated it. And when Mason hates something it's high time to take a picture.

Where Did Summer Go?

I expect that some will read this and think, "It's nearly Halloween, get over it." But it was so warm this week that it was hard to remember which season we are in. A trip to one of our favorite parks reminded us of the good times we had in 100-degree heat just a few months ago. Now the fountains are turned off, the crowds have waned, and the leaves are falling off all the trees. Harumph! It's gone.



Which means... Autumn is here. No need to despair. But seriously, where did Summer go?

I'll Have Fries With That

Hot fries with a sprinkle of salt taste the best when dipped in... a Wendy's frosty. All 850 calories of that treat is SO worth it (combined total of fries and frosty). And that is why I threw caution to the wind and painted my master bedroom the same color as a Wendy's frosty.

I'm thinking that my state of exhaustion had something to do with it. Most people would take a day to rest, but OH NO I had to forge ahead and paint something. MMMMMmmmmmm, just hungry thinking about it.

A Little Help
After
Before (Yes, it was that bad.)

Follow Me

Boys have an uncanny ability to find mud, secret forests, and paths to freedom. It's a personal delight to clandestinely follow my own boys as they discover these things. Never mind the playground equipment on the other side of the retaining wall, the dried up (well, almost dried up) irrigation ditch is much more fun.

I especially enjoy eavesdropping on their conversations.

Cooper: Look Mas, that's a secret forest.
Mas: Eewwww, Toop!
Cooper: We need to go this way, to get away from the bad guys.
Mas: *heavy breathing*
Cooper: Oh Awesome! Mud.
Mas: Whoa! Sssshhhh!

Just Another 5 Minutes...

My children (and I) sleep rather late. It's not uncommon for the three of us to start rolling out of bed around 8 or 9. I'm not kidding. So, it's a bit ridiculous that on Saturday evening I suggested to Cooper that he should sleep in.

He looked at me rather wild eyed and said with incredulous charm, "Sleep in what?"

People, it takes a 3 year old to point out how useless our idioms are.

PHOTO NOTE: Cooper and his friends having a sleepover (his first!).

Daddy, I Leaf You

Why might you need all this protective gear?


To participate in sick, twisted game involving yards of leaves, a leaf blower, and a creative dad/son team. I'm sure you get the idea. Cooper would run in the leaves while Steve blew more leaves toward him with the leaf blower. Don't turn us into the child protective services, he really enjoyed it.

Kiss My What?

Chores. Chores. Chores.

I've accepted my mediocre standing in the "mother who teaches kids how to help out around the house" category. Cooper rarely has the motivation to brush his own teeth on a daily basis let alone make his bed or pick up his dirty laundry.

So, I bought a chore chart. One of the chores is making the bed. This is ironic because I rarely make my own bed. I'll admit that I subscribe to the "why make it I'm just going to sleep in it, again" method of bed making. But there's something about raising a child to become an adult that begs for you to teach them to make a bed.

Though inexperienced at cracking the whip I have learned something. Making your kids do chores is far more exhausting to the parent than the child. So in many a mindless moment I accidentally take over and do what I've asked Cooper or Mason to do. During a mindless moment I finished (where Cooper had started) making Cooper's bed. He walked into his room and gasped with obvious appreciation at this favor I had extended him (even if by lazy mistake).

So, without thinking I said what I might have said to any of my brothers, "Yeah, so you better kiss my butt." Next thing I know, Cooper kissed my butt. Actually kissed it. We giggled hysterically. So, though I acknowledge that "kiss my butt" is not amongst my shining parenting moments, it lead to a rather awesome one.

PHOTO NOTE: Cooper on the field during the last game of the soccer season.

The Other Mommy

While I find the portable DVD players that we bought for our car a blessing on roadtrips, I have mixed feelings about them for day-to-day travel. For starters our DVD players are not top of the line so they restart the DVD every time you restart the car. I've heard the previews on the Monsters Inc. DVD no less than 360 times. I'm certain.

Moreover when the movies are playing, my kids are not talking. When they talk it's a real gut buster. Recently I got on Coop and Mason's case for running away from me in public places. I said something about it really scared me when they ran away because I was afraid someone would take them away. This ruminated for a few days and came out like this...

Coop: If I run away and someone steals me, you won't be my mommy anymore.

Mom: *thinking to self, please don't say you want to get stolen because you don't like me*

Coop: That would be bad because her won't know how to drive me around...

Mom: That's right. You remember that.

Coop:And her won't bake bread for me...

Mom: *melting heart* That's right. Should we make bread today?

Coop: And her won't come looking for me like you do.

Mom: *thinking, where's a pen, this is the funniest thing I've ever heard*

Do You Have To?

If you haven't noticed, I complain about the clothes my children wear. But that's dumb. Because guess who buys their clothes? Yeah, me. In my defense we wear a lot -- and I do mean a lot -- of hand-me-downs, so not all of the clothes they wear are purchased by me. But I can say that almost all the clothes they wear are picked by them.


Every morning it's the ritual of fighting about taking off the beloved PJs that have Batman, or Superman, or Incredibles, or something on them. Usually the only thing that entices them out of PJs is an article of clothing that has Cars, or Batman, or Superman, or Spiderman on it.


You may be thinking this only applies to Cooper, but OH NO. Mason has an opinion about his clothes, too. In fact, I would say his opinion is more difficult to sway because he doesn't listen to reason like, "Ewwww, you can't wear that again it smells like urine." Cooper understands this logic and will sometimes permit me to slip in a t-shirt from JCREW. Mason does not.


You may also be thinking that this only applies to clothes you can see. Nope. Underwear, diapers, socks, backpacks, lunchboxes, hats, scarves, toothbrushes, plates, water bottles, and even coats need a little MARVEL. I'm drawing the line with shoes because the last pair of shoes I let Cooper pick out (at the store) were Spiderman Sandals. They were categorically the worst shoes I have ever paid money for and they smell like dried vomit. I'm hoping he grows like crazy this winter so I can throw them away. I might throw them away anyway.

And let's not forget their acute ability to throw things together and accessorize. Batman's utility belt with street clothes. Bug wellies, with every thing, every day, everywhere. Too small dump truck turtleneck in the middle of summer. Need I say more?