when things aren't ok...

...I tend not to blog about them, because who wants to hear hopelessly depressing things! Plus, it's a widely known fact that there's enough pain to go around, and almost everyone has at least as much as they wanted, if not a little more :). However, having said that, this weekend was just an exercise in perseverance and pain, and there wouldn't be much to write about if I didn't include it.

So, with hopefully not too much drama, because the Queen rightfully calls me the real (drama) queen in the family-- don't worry, no dresses for me, thanks-- here's a few of the tales of the weekend.

Our sweet older madman (that'd be the LJ) has had a fun "nondescript noncontagious rash" for what's going on two weeks now. At first, it didn't worry me at all and the Queen very little, especially as we were both quite busy with other mad goings-on, but little by little he got itchier and we got somewhat more worried. It's always funny; I feel like we are relatively laid-back parents as far as most things go, but almost everyone thinks that. It's a bit like thinking your kid is cute when they are born. I don't know if this makes me the only parent in the universe to think this, but ours weren't. In fact, they were appallingly purple and angry. I think both Rachel and I were a little taken aback by it, especially with LJ. Anyway, the kids get cuter with time; it's just the way of the world.

Hopefully, our attitude towards our kids is actually laid-back, and not blindly restrictive or controlling, but feel free to let me know if it's not. (Actually, honesty is incredibly hard to come by; I spent my entire adult life thinking I wasn't as wound-up as most first-borns only to have a relative from 3,000 miles away snort when I told him just that-- now I know that I'm compulsive like every other perfectionist; it's actually helped a lot in knowing my own parenting style.) All that to say that I feel pretty laid-back about the kids, EXCEPT when it comes to breathing/ respiratory stuff. It all stems from day 2 of Elijah's life when he was having a rough go of it to the point where I actually slept for nights 2 and 3 of his life on the nursery floor with him, and I was really glad I did, because night 2 he stopped breathing while (thank God)I was awake. Telling myself not to panic I gave him ten seconds to start breathing on his own; he didn't, so at fifteen seconds I flipped him over and started gently whacking him on the back. Medically, I'm sure that didn't do anything, but after ten seconds or so, he gave a gasp and started breathing again. Since then I've been incredibly paranoid about breathing.

Right, so that was a long way to explain why my attitude about his rash was pretty laissez-faire until the Queen could take him scratching it no longer and got some Benedryl for him, which did nothing, so they prescribed a steroid. Quick side effects of steroids: lack of sleep, general irritability, and wild mood swings. Hmmm... sounds like Elijah before steroids. The effects were somewhat exponential because steroids also suppress your immune system, and thus three days in he got sick.

Which leads us to last night. We were spent, totally spent. Things weren't ok, and we had been praying all weekend. We had spent most of Saturday dealing with random pre-Halloween scary things like me drinking waaay too much caffeine and getting a funny heartbeat because of it (I'm not drinking caffeine for a week to see if that mellows me out) and the Queen had an 'ocular migraine' which apparently isn't that big of a deal (though we will consult with her doctor, all you concerned medical people) in the long-term but does involve fifteen minutes of partial vision loss (how's that for a terrifying side effect? -- If it wasn't happening in real life but in a movie it would be pretty funny... Rachel was looking at me saying "I can only see half of your face" and I was trying to cope by being witty and saying "Well, at least I look better"-- as a sidebar, in real crises humor isn't a great coping mechanism, but it's the only one I've got) so we were both freaked out and clinging to promises found in Matthew 28:20 that "I am with you always" and Deuteronomy 31:6 that "the Lord your God will never leave you or forsake you." But the honest truth?? When your heart won't beat right, your wife looks at you but can't see you anymore, and your oldest son, one of your two bundles of joy, is struggling for breath, it doesn't feel like God's there with you... at all. I think sometimes you simply have to trust and wait.

"I wait for the Lord," says the writer of the psalms, "more than watchmen wait for the morning." So there I was, at 8:30 at night, kneeling next to a fitful Elijah, who was exhausted beyond belief but couldn't sleep for more than fifteen minutes without waking up in a panicked scream, coughing and crying, and I was waiting for something. Praying... waiting for anything.

And then-- I think it happened. At least this has never happened to me before. Elijah coughed, his little body shuddered a little bit, and he sat bolt upright. I waited for the scream, but it didn't come. "Daddy," he said, looking at me with big, watery brown eyes, "pray for me?"

So I did. I didn't know what to pray exactly and I don't remember even exactly what I prayed for. After we were done pouring out all the crap that had happened over the past days to God, I felt peaceful. Elijah must have felt that way, too, because he turned over, still coughing, and held my hand as he drifted in and out of sleep. He wouldn't let me leave the bedroom. I had to hold his hand until he drifted off again.

It's not like prayer is a magic bullet. I feel like the magic bullet (at least the kind of magic bullet I dream of) would avoid Elijah waking up every ninety minutes over the course of the night. But, see, he wasn't waking up screaming in pain any more. He was waking up trying to convince me to play with him. It was almost music to my ears-- almost. After all, isn't it any daddy's dream to awake at 2:45am to the cuddling of his little one (who has switched beds just to be with me-- grrr) saying, "it's morning, Daddy. Time to play?" To which my response was, "Go to sleep, LJ. In your own bed."

He tried again at 4:00am by singing to me... I guess there will always be tomorrow night to sleep. Even amidst the sleeplessness, though, I can see hope-- and that's far more than I could see last night.

Tomorrow's thoughts will be a little less deathly serious-- after all, when you've got a normally hyperactive 2-year-old running around on 'roids, he'll say things that are just off the charts. Blessings to you all on this Halloween night!

P.S. I almost forgot-- he also tore up his face tripping on the curb at church... it's been that kind of weekend!

it's been ten years...

...since there was a Game 7 of a World Series! (and this household is excited!!!) The regular edition will return tomorrow, but I just thought if there are any casual sports fans out there, now is a pretty good time to watch the LAST baseball game of the year-- guaranteed.

If you tuned in for stories from around here, they'll be back tomorrow in full force but I do leave you with this picture from 6:00pm today: While on the phone with a good friend, I hear an ungodly caterwauling. This is generally Judah angry that he's not being fed... but not today. Today it's Judah, hanging precariously on our baby gate, which is stretched across the second stair heading up, being slowly peeled off by Elijah, who sits smugly on the third step waiting for his little brother to bounce down a step and out of 'his' space. But does Judah? No! He clings tenaciously to his gate with one hand, alternating which one as Elijah pries his fingers back, screaming for help but hanging in until the cavalry (me) arrived. I don't think it did much for his tiny ego that I had to stop howling with laughter before I helped him, but my estimation of him went up about 500%. Judah, you rock!!

And with that, I'm off to watch the game. I don't think it can be as epic as the 11-inning instant classic that was last night, but here's hoping!!

Elijah and Charles Barkley...

.... really don't have that much in common. One is a hulking, handsome former basketball player with a big mouth and a bigger gambling problem, and the other-- man, they have more in common than I thought. Elijah lost his shirt to Judah the other day playing craps. Sorry... insert potty humor here.

Anyway, tonight's little vignette makes this parent proud because, unlike Barkley who famously declared in a mid-90s deodorant commercial (hawking that, of all things) that he was "NOT a role model." Good advice to parents, in his case at least.

Today, however, the Queen came home beaming from ear to ear because Miss Connie, one of the fine ladies who runs the library group in our fine little enclave, had pulled her aside and declared to her that "Elijah was such a good role model for the rest of our kids." I'm pretty sure that the Queen's silence spoke volumes, as Elijah is many things to us (beautiful, disruptive,violent, musical, compassionate, loud, VERY high-energy... none of which are necessarily 'role model' material to 2-year-olds) so Miss Connie clarified: "verbally. We just love how he talks so much and so well."

High praise indeed from a library lady, and we are really proud of him. Now we'd be even prouder of ourselves if we could just get him to stop talking.

Thank God for Curious George...

... and the other books that keep Elijah (and Judah, and subsequently us) sane on grey days!

Here Elijah's listening to his Great-Grandma Dale read him a good book!

Since the most exciting thing that happened to me today was having a garage door panel drop on my head, and I know you all want to hear some good contusion stories (or not!), I figured that I would write and invite some feedback on what books that you're currently reading to your kids (if you have some), read to your kids (if they're grown up), or loved as a child (if you have done the sane thing and kept the kids out of your house). As the sign on my parents' fridge says, " We child proofed the house-- but they keep getting back in somehow."

Without further ado, here are ten books that we're loving at this point (although I'd especially love suggestions for future reading):

10) Curious George Flies a Kite/ Curious George Gets a Job by H.A. Rey ... Elijah LOVES Curious George and actually might imitate him too much, if that's possible. One day we found him holding onto balloons saying, "Fly like George?" Um, no.

9) Two by Two (which is the story of Noah's Ark) by Marilyn Lashbrook... Elijah loves making all the animal sounds as they parade into the ark-- good fun.

8) Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs by Judi and Ron Barrett-- have you ever thought about what would happen if food rained down for breakfast, lunch and dinner? No, neither had I. But's it makes a pretty cool book.

7) Adventures of Robin Hood (Usborne edited version) -- Elijah loves saying "what's that? about everything in this book, although for a young knight-in-training I still don't think he understands about dungeons and moats just yet.

6) The Little Red Hen by Paul Galdone-- A classic, in which industry triumphs over laziness. Political correctness, you can stick it!

The Fab Five:

5) Mr. Brown can Moo! Can You! by Dr. Seuss-- More crazy noises than you can shake a stick at! Our little madmen love it.

4) A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, edited by Barbara McClintock-- Another classic, but really well done for kids 2-7. Elijah always gets excited when the tide begins to turn for Sara.

3) Love You Forever by Robert Munsch -- Elijah loves reading this book mainly because I don't think he realizes how poignant it is. Rachel and I don't read it to him very often because we (especially me) can't handle it.

2) Corduroy by Don Freeman-- What's cuter than a self-conscious little bear who's lost his button? Nothing. Elijah can recite it almost page for page.

1) Curious George by H.A. Rey-- the original and best. Did I mention that Elijah is OBSESSED with Curious George?

Anyways, if you have the time, send me in a few that you've loved over the years....

and as a bonus, I leave you with the LJ showing off more things he's seen George do-- popping up out of a box!

good morning!

.... is rarely, if ever, what I say to the poor Queen who tries to gently wake me up at 5:30 in the morning to let me know that Judah is hungry. Because I know that as soon as I get up, something like this will occur for the next two hours:

5:30 Bring Judah downstairs, where he will drink two ounces in one minute and then spend the next ten minutes screeching at me that he's not hungry.

5:40 Judah angrily gulps the rest of the bottle with a look that when translated, clearly says, "why didn't you feed me earlier?" When done, he gives me a big six-toothed grin, then spits up on my face.

5:45 Judah starts playing independently, lost in his own world... victory! Time to make the coffee. As I sneak out of the room, guided by a sixth sense that the LJ never had, he starts crying while machine-gun crawling at me. (Seriously, this is a crazy trait of his-- he will play independently as long as there is a parent in the room, but he WON'T play unsupervised. It drives Rachel absolutely batty.)

5:47 Drag Judah into kitchen, forget what I came for, and settle in to start reading Galatians.

5:48 Judah crawls halfway up stairs and screeches, waking the LJ, who shoots downstairs talking a mile a minute. and bowling Judah over, which sets off more screeching... I have a headache already... maybe we'll go to the basement, except it looks like a three man hurricane hit it...

5:55 Which reminds me that I forgot to make the coffee. I enlist Elijah's help (he LOVES to push the button to brew it) and hallelujah! it's coffee time.

6:10 Elijah is hungry and is getting unavoidable in his pursuit of "Life cereal! Life cereal! Life cereal!" To which I say, "Do we get what we want when we yell?" In reply, he whispers, "Life cereal please! Life cereal please!" A small triumph for parenting.

6:25 After our "eating cereal together," and about a quart of milk spilled on the table between us, it's shower time.

6:30 Is there anything more enjoyable than taking a shower with a) Elijah running in every half second to inform me that he's "eatin' cucumber!" b) Judah knocking shaving cream cans on my foot in his attempt to join me in the shower, and c) intermittent screaming as Elijah clips Judah every so often as he does laps around the bathroom... no, I didn't think so.

6:31 I remember that "cucumber" is code for "jalapeno" and scream "You're not allowed to eat that!" Crisis averted. (Throwing spouse under the bus alert: I have no idea why Rachel lets him play with the old jalapenos, although to her credit he's been totally able to handle it so far.)

6:32 To both our great surprise, Judah actually does join me in the shower! Poor little fellow, I think it freaked him out a little to just somersault over the edge. Anyway, this shower's done two minutes after it started. At least I work construction-- and keep an emergency can of Axe in the truck for the days I really need to smell decent.

6:40 Ah! I'm dressed, about to take my first sip of coffee-- and it's really quiet.

6:42 Finally found where the boys had sneaked off to... good news and bad news. The good news-- Elijah is becoming more and more obedient and a good listener and he really took to heart the instruction to not eat his jalapenos. Bad news-- he's getting craftier in his old age. He decided that if he couldn't eat the jalapenos, maybe his brother could. Intercepted that one just in time.

6:55 Decide that going to work sounds like a very good use of my day... wake up the slumbering Queen and bolt through the doors like a prisoner just granted his release. When I tell them all that I love them and can't wait to see them at 5:00, I mean it. But those ten hours of sanity in between... I love them too.

surprise!

Yup-- Today was going to be the day that I enthralled you all with my ten favorite books that I have been reading with/ to Elijah, BUT... this little story was just too good to pass up.

It's been a (completely my own fault) relatively rough day for a soft, whiny American like myself-- a REAL knight wouldn't have even been fazed by any of the stupid stuff I did, but between eating WAAAY too much food from Dunkin' Donuts that I wasn't even supposed to get for myself in the first place and tending to a sick/ allergic little Elijah while trying to keep a whining Judah (it's his new thing) from gnawing on us both, it wasn't my favorite day of all time. Thankfully, both boys were tired and dropped off on the shorter side of the day than normal-- Judah at 6:15 at Elijah about 7:15, which is surprisingly early, especially for Elijah.

Still feeling ill myself, I wandered around decluttering the house and doing the dishes when I remembered that I needed to take the comforter for our bed upstairs from the dryer. (This story is shockingly interesting so far, isn't it?) I stuck my head in the boys rooms to make sure they weren't too hot before heading into our room. An inventory of the boys revealed that Judah was sleeping sweetly in his crib, butt pointing straight up to heaven like always. Elijah....

... well, let's just say I found Elijah like this.

Only he wasn't on the stairs-- he was in his bed. The laundry basket covered his entire body and the dirty clothes previously inhabiting said bucket were strewn over the entire room. I also noticed as I tried not to giggle hysterically that the pillows that normally resided on the bed across the room had been commandeered and were piled high behind him, looking like a lopsided fort. "LJ," I bellowed. "What happened?"

"Dad," he said through the mesh, as if seeing me for the first time, "I'm not tired. Can I come play for awhile?"

At that point, he seemed to have made a pretty good case-- don't you think? We've been playing happily together for almost an hour now waiting expectantly for the Queen to return from work. Here's hoping your night has as many little blessings as mine has!

O What A (Thursday) Night!

"Late December back in '63-- what a very special time for me!" (Ahem... apparently I was singing too loud!)

This little update is due to the perseverance of the Queen, who walked up to me a little while ago and informed me that I had fans (which I think unlikely) and that they were waiting for an update or they'd leave. While I find it unlikely that more than ten people read my incoherent ramblings on a daily basis, it does make sense that if I didn't write anything, they'd assume I was dead and fill their time with worthwhile things to do, like watching I Love Lucy reruns or eating pumpkin pie. So for the ten of you, I promise to have a post every day for the next two weeks, which means they'll actually be even more ADHD than normal. Without further ado, here's something that touched me recently:

It's been a crazy weekend here around the tiny castle here-- we've had friends grace us with their presence, grandparents come visiting, and a trip was made to the Essex Clam Chowda Festival, to name only a few. Thankfully, I was allowed to work during that last one considering I don't eat seafood and am known statewide to friends and family alike as a killjoy (my wife actually prefers going to weddings with our good friend Ina instead of me-- I think the sad part is I might like it better that way too).

Anyway, the moment that sticks in my head more than any other this past blur of a weekend is a snapshot that could have been taken anywhere in the 7 o'clock hour this past Thursday. It had been a crazy day for me (I had been working about 11 hours straight by the time I got home) and a last-minute change of plans that allowed my in-laws to come up and see us a day sooner had made it possible for us to host not only a good friend and her daughter but my in-laws as well, so our house would be crowded and noisy, just the way I normally like it.

I will throw in my confessional caveat at this point-- and not anything new to anyone who has known me for more than five minutes: I deal awfully with change. When an itinerary changes, I freak out. In this case, the itinerary was changing for the better: I got to see MORE people that I liked. Still, I freaked out. Secondly, I deal awfully when my social circles mix. I blame this on the time in high school that I got over this paranoia and invited two of my three best friends from when I was growing up to meet my new out-of-town sophisticated high school friends and one of my old best friend ended up making out in a Friendly's parking lot with one of my new friends for two hours-- and he was my ride home. Ever since then, whenever we mix social circles, I inwardly cringe. All sorts of things run through my head, and I turn into an inward puddle. (Oh... and we were then meeting Ina and our friend Mary, who we know from yet another place, for after-dinner marshmallows... at this point my head generally explodes and everyone has a better time now that the killjoy is dead.) And my in-laws brought a puppy to add to the general insanity, which leads to tonight's random question of the day: What exactly is the LJ doing here?

If you guessed baiting the puppy into scratching his back, you're right! (I'm not kidding-- he approached poor Gabby (my in-laws' puppy) as if to pet her, then when she jumped up to play, he swiveled in and let her scratch his back for a good fifteen seconds. This happened two or three times, and the second time I got it on camera.

Anyways, I had all sorts of anxiety going on, so I decided to pray about it on the way home, which did wonders. Also very helpful: getting home and starting a puzzle with the two children (LJ and Paloma) who promptly left in the middle, leaving Christa (friend and Paloma's mom), myself, and my father-in-law Wes to put it together. I think at that point I realized that everyone there but me was a grown-up and could handle themselves just fine.... I should just play with the kids because that's about my maturity level. It worked out great. The adults had a blast; the kids and I had a blast, and when Ina knocked on the window and we headed out for marshmallows, we were all having a splendid time. But moments are funny; most of the time they just sneak up on you, and this one was no exception. We were outside on the deck alternately chatting away and trying to keep Elijah from lighting the marshmallow sticks on fire or poking out Judah's eye. Being thwarted at every turn, Elijah finally ran to the corner of our deck and dug out (drum roll please) his wading pool.

This is truly one of Elijah's best multi-purpose toys: it has been used as everything from a spaceship to a terrifyingly effective hiding spot (I gave him five seconds to hide and ran onto the deck... he wasn't there so I tore into the street to find him only to hear the Queen laughing hysterically... he had flipped the pool over and hidden underneath it) to a boat, and even occasionally as its intended purpose as a pool. Today he climbed in and demanded that Grammy and Pa (Rachel's parents) get in with him. To their great credit, they did. It looked about as comfortable as pulling your own nose hair. Then Paloma climbed in with them, and for awhile we played pirates, with the kids whooping and hollering. Finally, the grandparents extricated themselves, and Elijah bellowed to 'spin like a fan.' So I did.

It was magic. I don't know how else to think of it. The world blurred (possibly due to the fact that I was running full speed in a tight circle, but I like to think of it as magic) and all I could see were two little cherubs (one that even belonged to me) in a little boat floating in a sea of mahogany, laughing and giggling with no cares to weigh on them. When I finally stopped for air, they begged for more. "One more time," I said... and then did it four more times. The two little blond angels were simply mesmerizing. I still think that when we get to heaven, what we will hear louder than anything else before the throne of God is the laughter of children-- that seems like one of the highest forms of praise I know. It made my night at least.

God's mirror

My own kids terrify me more than almost anything I can think of, and one of the biggest reasons is just how clearly they allow you to peer into your own soul. Everyone says that your eyes are the windows into the murky depths of your character (well, mine's murky-- I won't speak for you), but I think you see a lot in the expressions of your offspring:

For example, this would be Judah at three months old-- but in our example, it's really a very good look into the beautiful character of my lovely wife. This is what Rachel looks like when she wakes up in the morning: slightly dazed, with the hint of a smile behind dewy eyes, curly hair, and an innocence that still takes me wonderfully by surprise at times. I love the both of them for it. (In a small sidebar, we have actually put the Pack 'n' Play away completely, as Judah will no longer sleep or play in it; instead, he baas piteously like a sheep until you release him) On a slightly different plane, this is what Elijah and I look like in the morning:

I'm just kidding!

In a (slightly) more serious vein, I have realized that almost everything that I get frustrated with Elijah for doing is actually a shortcoming of my own... it's weird just how close it slices to home. The other day I was trying to defuse him before he swatted his little toy kitchen halfway across the kitchen (EPIC FAIL), and then was helping him pick up all fifty little pieces of food that were scattered to the four winds. "Jeez," I muttered at him, "Would it be possible to just relax and ask for help? I'm right around the corner."

Within the hour, Elijah and Judah were going nuts and I couldn't get either of them to stop swatting his little brother (LJ) or continuing to egg his big brother on (Judah), so I walked upstairs to try and relieve the tension. Within seconds, the Queen mysteriously appeared and made an 'impassioned and helpful speech' (nagging would be reading far too much into it) on my lack of dishwashing in the past hour. What happened next? You betcha. BANG! into the stairwell went a couple of stuffed animals, courtesy of yours truly. That's when the light went on. How could he possibly be expected, to quote one of my dad's favorite sayings, to "do what I mean, not what I say?"

Because I'm sure I did this a lot when I was a kid. (look closer)

On days like that, I'm just thankful he's like me in the way he says "I'm sorry" a lot and smiles like he really means it. Elijah is nothing if not a wonderful little knight-in-training (and a budding artist to boot!) and a fantastic big brother. I can't wait to see what's in store for he and Judah. Because I know what's in store for us.

tired tuesday...

Really, it's just my version of Wordless Wednesday.... I love my job, but after battling ants for pretty much sunup to sundown (and I'm not an exterminator), I'm ready for some running therapy-- but these things made me smile in the past 24 hours :)

1) U2's Magnificent ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi52HjJbwVQ

2) Elijah alongside of one of his soon-to-be-married aunties :)

3) Judah Hood -- he's ready to go medieval on you in his Sherlock Forest greens :)

4) The fact that my in-laws are coming to town this weekend (and on a Patriots bye week, no less)

5) Coffee-- each and every cup of the 5 I had today ! ! !

6) Finally, the fact that I get to come home at night to these smiling faces (although truth be told, if these two and the Queen were ALL smiling when I got home, I'd be suspicious... generally, when I get home, LJ bellows at me to "go away!")

See (figuratively speaking) you all tomorrow!!

the times they are a-changin'

I was looking over some of the pictures from last weekend (like this one above where the boys and I were hanging out in the park killing time waiting for Rachel to come home, not very far away from the resident potheads-- it was pretty funny, although I was REALLY hoping Elijah wouldn't ask me what they were doing that 'smelled like Christmas tree') and realizing how true it is that time stops for no man. I'm glad for the time that I got to spend with Elijah the first year he was born when I was "under-employed" (I think that's the new euphemism for draining your savings slowly while you look for very elusive work) and all the memories that I have with him that I would have missed if I was working 50+ hours a week like normal. Like this one...

It's funny now to look back and see how Elijah and Judah are starting to look more alike, and yet the eyes-- Elijah is clearly my child, for better and worse (I'm not sure the lovely and gentle Queen even has a look exactly like this, and Elijah's not quite EIGHT months old in the picture). We would love tossing him in the air and then sticking him in the leaves, because he couldn't crawl around very well just yet... ah, I'm getting nostalgic just thinking about it...

Then he got his first taste of 'siblinghood' when Rachel watched our good friend's son for a few months over the winter....

I do want to note one thing about this photograph-- if you know Elijah well at all, that smile hasn't changed in two years... it still says the same thing, namely "I've been a little rogue, Dad! What might you do now to stop me?" Why would he possibly have that look in this particular photograph? That's right-- because the pacifier in his face isn't HIS? It's Isaac's!! Ah, my son; the things we should have seen coming :)

And there are so many more; these will do for our illustration. I realized today that the LJ is starting to turn a corner. He's reaching the brink where I am not only a father but a limit to measure himself against; a time where dates with daddy will be enjoyed some weeks and rejected on others; and where his mother might be (by his own choice) his go-to parent, a role that was completely reversed the first year of his life. I can remember assuring Rachel that whole first year as she patiently brought him through all his trials and difficulties that someday he would prefer her to me-- but now that the time is upon us it's a bittersweet reality (for me, at least). I think I have to thank God for the wonderful times that I've had with him and know that this season, too, will pass. Plus, it's not like it's all downers and snuffles around here-- heck, Judah and I got in and out of Market Basket in 25 minutes today. Funny how much faster you go when you're not chasing a lightning-quick rogue knight.

oh good heavens!!

(I might have even posted this picture before-- sorry! -- but some days you just have to remind yourself that they look that cute sometimes!) BECAUSE...

Today's title comes from a video that we would watch as young high school athletes.. it comes from "The Agony of Defeat" from Wide World of Sports. Anyways, the YouTube clip here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVNDBluxIv8 is a little overdramatized, but the basic point is 1) it's funny if it doesn't kill you; 2) some weeks are a little bit like that.

So if you've seen the video, you may gather that today didn't necessarily turn out according to plan. My grown-up head has been spinning recently between trying not to worry about work, figuring out if I'm a 99% / 53% / 1% or some combination thereof (my favorite thought on this was one of our friends who posted...might have been on her blog-- that she was in the 0.2 awesome %) and simultaneously trying to recuperate from watching the kids for 2.5 straight days. Without whining any further, I will simply say that if you are a single parent, GOD BLESS YOU! and to all the working moms/ stay at home moms who are the primary caregivers of their kids-- I had a lot of respect for you before and to this respect I now add amazement. 2.5 days with the young gentlemen by myself was pushing it for me. When the Queen got back from vacation I told her that I hope she wouldn't be offended if in the horrible case she ever passed away before me I got remarried within three weeks of her demise, mainly so someone besides me was able to take care of our two precious little men so their teeth wouldn't rot out of their head and I wouldn't keep them up all night. Clearly, my head has been everywhere.

Amidst all this. however, has been a sense that what I have to offer most people is a listening ear and some hope, generally in the form of lighthearted stories that resonate with truth. If you count yourself among the friends of this household :), I hope I have listened to you well lately, because today's story hopefully has no deeper meaning.

This morning I was running a little late for work and Rachel was still trying to wake up. Generally, I get up with Judah at 5:30 and then Elijah joins us around 6ish and we let the Queen get her beauty rest -- every woman wants it-- until 7 or so. I had eaten breakfast, let Elijah eat his, which could generally be subtitled 'Accidents with Milk,' changed Judah, packed my lunch, chased Elijah round the house, and still felt like a was running a mile behind because I had dishes and bottles to wash... I am a horrible domestic. (If anyone ever asks why this column is entitled Life on King Arthur's Court, it's because secretly I wish I was a knight... outside of the raging diseases and cold, filthy living conditions and no TV, they had it pretty good... no dishes to watch, damsels to save, and a freaking big sword to wave around at evil people!) We have been seeing over the past few weeks if Elijah is ready at all to begin potty training, and the answer so far has been a resounding NO. We figured this out for good when we watched him pee down his leg in the tub one night. When we asked him what he was doing, he said quizzically, "Nothing." Two seconds later, he jumped back and said, shocked, "Water runnin' down leg!" Yeah, we postponed potty training for awhile.

My father has a good perspective on this: whenever I tell him anything about our minor trials with the LJ, he laughs and brings out a story about how much worse I was. When Elijah had colic for three months, he reminded me that I had it for six. When we worried about his defiant attitude at 14 months, he told me that I was silently sassing them at a year. When I told them about Elijah's early potty training failures, he reminded me of the time that he had fed me a 10-oz.bottle of prune juice as a baby instead of apple juice. I feel like the end result of that (use your imagination-- or don't) wasn't my fault. But he had no response for what I am about to tell you. Just saying.

We decided to let Elijah (who has been showing small signs of interest in the potty) to run around 'freely' in the kitchen for awhile, and asked him to tell us if he needed to use the potty. I continued watching him while I did my dishes, talked to him while I finished the bottles, and even played with him a little in between. Sidebar: there's something a little unnerving about playing with an undiapered little man. Sorta like hanging out too close to Old Faithful. Anyway, after all that buildup, nothing happened. He didn't need to go, and without incident I was even able to put Judah down for his nap while Rachel grabbed a diaper and started to rediaper him. Right before we did, though, I noticed that (of course) he had pee streaming down his leg. One of Elijah's oddest characteristics is his unwillingness to let nature change anything he is doing. He has let out the most awful 'natural gases' (stuff that we could run our dryer for months on) without changing expression or even pausing, and so it was now. W e rushed him to the potty, and Rachel went to grab the cleaning supplies while I went for the paper towels. Thankfully, he helped us clean it up and we dressed him without further incident.

(Disclaimer: "OH GOOD HEAVENS! coming up )

Elijah was safely in the living room watching his good-morning "Curious George" and I was just giving Rachel her good-bye kisses when I just heard her gasp, "Oh no!" She's not really a gasper, and it takes a decent bit to rile her up. "What's wrong, love?" I asked. She was literally mute; she merely pointed behind me near the trash can.

"What the hell!" I burst out. I had been outside briefly to throw the trash away earlier that morning, and I had clearly tracked in some mud near the sink. "I'll clean the mud up."

"No, no..." she said, clearly still in mild shock.

My eyes followed the tracks backward.

"OH GOOD HEAVENS!" That would have been me... no one knows exactly how he could have done it, but in a millisecond somewhere Elijah had ducked behind a chair and used the linoleum for a potty. I threw the shoes away-- it just wasn't worth it. We disinfected the entire kitchen (thank God, I guess, that it was on vinyl flooring), but the memory still is a little painful. I don't think that we'll be trying potty training anytime soon.

If I must be a glass half-full person, I did need some new running shoes... and there's nothing like stepping in piles of winnie-the-poo! to rationalize throwing them away. Still, I feel like this will be one of the stories I save up for any grandkids I may someday have: "Back when your father was a little kid, you'll never guess what he did..." And everyone needs an "OH GOOD HEAVENS!" every once in a while.

our illustrated day

Disclaimer: This is a bit of a blow-by-blow of what's going on in our little family while Rachel is 1000 miles away... so some of it may be a little earthy or irrelevant-- just so you know...

11am-- dropped Rachel off at the airport; was subjected to Elijah helpfully pointing out that we "were going wrong way" and "left Mama at airport" pretty much all the way home, with Judah screaming accompaniment. Got Elijah to be quiet by bribing him with Dunkin Donuts; unfortunately, that doesn't work with Judah yet.

1:30PM -- Judah wakes up first from his nap in as foul a mood as he fell asleep in; this is him trying to gnaw my shoe off

2:30 pm-- after some lunch, we decided to wear our bomber jackets to Market Basket...

5pm-- Survived Market Basket; food put away; Judah is actually smiling! (he had just uncorked a 3-day clog...)

6:15 pm-- LJ in timeout; he was here a lot today, mostly because he kept knocking Judah over because it was 'funny'

7pm-- The boys nuzzling... this is about the nicest they played all day... on OUR bed of all places... go find your own room to play in!!

8pm: The day concludes with ice cream... what better way could a day end?

Well, that's about it... tune in tomorrow for more!

a weekend in photos

So the madness begins... this weekend will be a little different for all of us. The Queen has left the castle for Atlanta, leaving the three of us here to defend it. Now here's the problem. We're very good at attacking (as you'll see when this evening's post goes up about what we did today), but we tend to leave things in piles of shredded rubble... a little bit like Sherman's march to the sea or Barney Frank's campaign speeches after he wins re-election. By 9:30 this morning, before Rachel had left, Elijah had colored most of the walls in the kitchen, as well as the appliances, with WASHABLE (thank God!) marker. I think it's going to be a long weekend.

So that Rachel can see what's going on, I'm going to try and show her what's happening here hour-by-hour in a photo collage at the end of the day. If that's your cup of tea, feel free to be informed as to the manaical monotony that goes on around here; ELSE, the regular ranting and ravings will come back on Monday :)

The Story of The Castle (Part THE END)

(The facade of our little wooden castle-- I think it's cute)

Well, the early moral of our story here is that moving is a real pain-- actually, our move was really easy, thanks to twenty very amazing friends... but getting to that part--agh!! (Once again, getting a little ahead of the story...)

We left off with my parents deciding to play the part of the wet blankets in the story right as we thought we might be putting in an offer to buy the house. I was hopping mad. What I haven't told you so far is that they were planning on giving us a 'gift' towards our down payment so that we could completely avoid paying mortgage insurance that we would then 'gift' back to them over the next year. While completely legal, it did mean that their concerns were more than frustrating, they could potentially grind the process to a complete halt. That and the house we really wanted already had an offer into its realtor and we had to place our own offer by 1:00 to be in the bidding -- and it was 12:15. I don't even remember what I said anymore, but the basic gist was that now wasn't a time for lodging frustrations-- it was time to go. That argument hadn't worked on my mom in the twenty-five years I had been alive then, and now that I'm almost thirty it still hasn't worked on her. For better or worse, my mom sticks to her principles. I still think that the biggest miracle in the process may have been that we were able to have a conversation with them, assuage my mom's concerns, and get to our realtor's office by 12:40. With five minutes to go, we had to put down a price-- and we couldn't agree on what to put down. Finally, I caved to the wisdom of Rachel and her father (I still think that this may be the first and only time that Rachel has wanted to spend $2500 more than me on anything, and the fact that I listened may have been a first too. Miracles all around on this day.

Then, like everything else in life, the fun was over and the waiting began. We moped around all day, watching TV or looking halfheartedly at ads for tiny apartments, when finally my phone rang. It was our realtor, and he didn't sound particularly happy. "Hey, two things," he said. "The first is that you weren't the high bidder for the property." I felt myself deflate just a pinch. "Ok," I said. "The second?"

"Well," he said, "I tell you the first because this is the first time I've had it happen personally to me, but they want to sell you the property anyway."

"Wow." I was in a state of shock-- partially because I couldn't believe it, and partially because fifteen seconds ago I hadn't owed $300,000. "Thanks."

We talked a little further, and the incredible coincidences continued to pile up. They hadn't taken the higher offer because we wanted to keep the tenants on the other side of the house, who had been living there for almost twenty years. We had put in our clauses to buy the house that they had to stay, and no one else bidding on the house would have. For us, it was an economic decision. For the sellers, it meant that two people that they had spent ten years living next door to would get to stay in the house that for all intents and purposes was their home. (Beyond the financial aspect, we picked up through incredibly good luck not tenants, but wonderful neighbors and friends who are wonderful adopted grandparents to Elijah and Judah-- Ina and Dick mean more to us than this small note can express). For the realtors, it was aided by the fact that our realtor found out that the highest bidder was represented by the listing agent's son, a fact she hadn't told anyone... our realtor kindly suggested that if they gave the house to them, he might be a little apt to file a conflict-of-interest complaint. For us, it was incredible. We had gone from homeless to a castle, complete with off-street parking and a dry basement (in a funny note, today 10/4/11 is the first time in five years we have had more than a hint of water of water in it). Truly, we are grateful for it.

And that's the story of our little castle...

Story of the Castle (Part 2)

(The castle with a new floor-- I mean deck.. circa 2009. No better way to test out a deck than to have 30 people doing karaoke on it!)

In the days before kids-- honestly, in the days before most of our friends were even married-- we were in rough shape. We were about to be homeless; we didn't have any place to go that was even close to the size of our apartment at the time for the $700 it was costing us (for $700 we could get a large box with a toilet-shaped hole in the back), and we were in generally poor spirits. The only home we liked was about $30,000 out of our price range, and while Rachel's parents had suggested that we see it with them when they visited in a couple days, it didn't seem like much of an option; all the other homes we were looking at were four-families in 'developing' neighborhoods, which generally meant there wasn't much developing except addictions in the alleys of said properties. Not really a great scene.

So we prayed-- and though I suck at praying, this would be one of those times that the answer to prayer was so obvious even I saw it. We had one week left before we gave up and rented one of those $700 studio-type boxes referenced above, and we were going to look at three last properties before we called it quits. One of the three we had seen before-- it was the only one we had liked so far, and like most property virgins, it was also the one that we couldn't afford at all-- we might have had 15% of the down payment tops. So off we trudged-- not one but two sets of parents in tow, for my dad had decided to lend his building expertise to our little party. First we hit the one we liked-- a charming duplex with an asphalt yard (welcome to the city) and a neighbor who sat on the porch drinking beer and belching out of control-- it was a little crazy. (We were later to find out why he did this-- funny story.) It was still very cool and still out of our price range. As we were leaving, however, the Queen's parents subtly pulled us aside. "You know, we'd be willing to give you a loan to add to your down payment if you really want this house," they said. "Something like an advance on your inheritance." I think I actually twitched. First of all, advances on inheritances seem like a bad idea to me (what if they changed their mind and decided that you weren't worthy of an inheritance after all?) and secondly, completely overriding the first, was "Yes!" I tried to keep a straight face and said, "I think that would be a great idea, but let's at least look at the next two houses."

On the way to the second house I had really mixed emotions. Even with some upfront help, the house was still more than I wanted to owe; "on the other hand," as Tevye would say, it was hard to put a price on not being homeless. Plus, the second home that we were looking at was the one I had real hopes for. It was a three-family (read: we could basically live there for free off the other rents) in a neighborhood quite close to where I had grown up-- a much better fit in my book. Once we got there, it looked even better than it had on paper. Even upon further review, it had only three small things working against it. A) Strike one was that there was no off-street parking... a small hurdle, but not insurmountable. B) Strike two was that when we went into the unrented unit that we were hoping would be ours, the smell of methane was so strong that even our fearless realtor looked a little uneasy. "No one here smokes, right?" was the comment as we walked through. "The basement's this way." That comment set up C) STRIKE THREE! YOU'RE OUT! Did I mention that the basement came standard with a torture room? I honestly don't know what the actual function of the room was, but it was a subground basement room lit with one dingy light bulb, a small sink hanging gingerly off the wall in one corner, and bloodstained sheets draped over an egg-crate mattress. Pretty much sealed the deal on that one.

The third house was even more nondescript, except for the sleeping teenager in the bedroom that we all walked into. "Hey!" It was like a surprise birthday party, with about twenty times the awkwardness. At least it was just one teenager.

With those incredibly fun experiences under our belt, we were buzzing about the possibility of putting an offer in on the first house... until my parents walked up. "We have some strong concerns," they said, killing the party before it even began. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Tomorrow-- the stunning conclusion! (Well, honestly, if you haven't figured it out by now... you'll figure it out tomorrow!)

The Story of the Castle (Part I)

At different times in these tales I have referenced our tiny castle, which looks much like the

one pictured above save for slightly less stonework, but I don't believe that the true story of its origins has ever been told in this space. Today we will change that...

Once upon a time, a handsome couple madly in love found a cheap apartment in the quiet hamlet of Danvers, a town without an overdose of personality save its town motto, which is A+ awesome: Danvers: A town founded in 1777-- The King Unwilling. Coming back to the story now, this particular couple lived in relatively peaceful bliss for a year before tragedy struck.

We had lived for cheap money in an excellent little apartment cozily tucked into one of the ugliest houses in the entire town of Danvers. No, really... I'm not exaggerating (I never exaggerate). It had broken windows -- one courtesy of moi... it's a long story that involves panicking while being trapped inside the apartment with smoke billowing out of the kitchen-- and wavy old school asbestos siding. To top it off, there was a life-sized wooden silhouette of a man that stood next to the mailbox on the front steps. We were pretty sure it was there to scare anyone from actually using the front entrance, because the stairs sagged so bad when you walked on them that I was pretty sure that one day we were just going to come home and find someone trapped half-through the deck boards. To our knowledge, the only person that used that entrance with any regularity was the realtor that would later break into our apartment to show it because she forgot to give us notice, but that postdates this part of our story.

The house was owned by the parents of our upstairs neighbors-- or more accurately, the husband of the husband-and-wife who lived there, a detail that is only important to our little tale because he unexpectedly passed away at work one morning with no health warnings whatsoever. Without taking away from the incredible shock that that was, within two days the parents put the house for sale, revealing that they had never really cared for their daughter-in-law (and apparently, grandchildren) and were not going to take anything less than full value for the house. That was a strange day in many ways. First, if any of my family is reading this, a big thank you for taking the time and emotional energy to create healthy family dynamics to grow up in. The idea that twenty-five years AFTER your son married a woman and had raised grown grandchildren for you for you to love and enjoy, you would then repay her with evil on the eve of his death-- all that was a little startling. Second, within a matter of three days, we went from being settled and content with our place to knowing an eviction notice was coming as soon as a suitable buyer could be found. Third, we were subjected to the realtor from hell.

Supposedly this realtor had listed the property because she was a personal friend of our landlords, because some of the liberties she took with the property were those I think only a friend would take. Any of you who have sold property or been living in a dwelling that was for sale can let me know, but I had never before heard or been subjected to:

a) being called up on the first day that the realtor was showing our apartment just to 'let us know she was coming by...' This would have been irritating enough except that it was ten in the morning, and (strangely enough) we were both at work, so no one could let her in! I said that if she gave us a day's notice, we would have the place ready for her! That appointment got moved to ...

b) two days later, when she once again called to say that the apartment was locked... another shocking behavior of ours, apparently... and the landlord had lost his key. Could we come open it up for her, please? I think I may have been a little sarcastic and said something along the line that I would love to as long as she compensated me personally for the hour round-trip that I would have to take off from work to do her job. She hung up rather abruptly, but turned out to be a resourceful woman. Remember the porch I referenced earlier? She not only had the gumption to walk up it, but then to jimmy our bedroom window that abutted said porch and let herself into our apartment. Unfortunately, she forgot to close it, thus tipping us off to her presence. I believe the conversation with our landlord later that day was something about silly breaking-and-entering statutes. She didn't do that again.

c) midway through this process, we got a somewhat pitiful call from our landlord wanting us to give our blessing to the process of evicting us all and the realtor's methods... I wasn't exactly sure what to say: "Of course it's fine-- we don't mind at all that we have to look for a new home, your daughter-in-law has to start a new life, and an unknown woman is poking through our personal belongings." I think that Oscars might be coming my way if I could deliver that with a straight face.

d) The final straw for us, at least, was the day almost at the end of this process that Rachel came down with some sort of stomach bug. While she was bowing to the porcelain throne, she heard water dripping overhead. That wasn't all that odd, except then I heard it in the living room over the TV-- then I felt it on my head. Apparently the upstairs shower had become the downstairs shower. Before we could call our landlord, the realtor called to remind us she was showing our apartment in an hour. While this one was at least a scheduled appointment, we gently begged off, saying that between the water dripping through the ceiling and the Queen's condition, she might want to show it another time. Her response was classic: "Well, she could just leave for the fifteen minutes or so we'd be in there, right?"

So there we were -- homeless-to-be, feeling like we needed to stand firm for the new widow who was also being evicted, not knowing what to do. Clearly it was beyond our control at this point... and we began to pray, not knowing what else to do.

(Without giving too much away, Elijah and I enjoy a little construction break in our castle yard... circa summer 2009.)