It's late. Tomorrow is Evil (Em's) eighth birthday.

K walks out the door for work; I dash out before he takes off to grab some stuff out of the van.
He picks up some bottled water for me from the back. (I'm freezing this so we can have cold water at our zoo picnic tomorrow.)
I pick up the grocery bag I forgot in the van earlier. There are marshmallows and extra powdered sugar in the bag.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. I hear giggles from the top of the stairs.

I think for only seconds before smiling.

"Who wants to bake a birthday cake?!?" I yell towards the stairs.

Little feet come running.

"Me! Me!" Em and A chorus.

I just shake my head. They're so predictable. It's ten-thirty at night and they're too excited about tomorrow to sleep. Well, I was too at their age.

The kids help me mix and measure, pour and stir. We get a full sheet pan filled with batter and into the oven to bake.

They keep opening the door to peek in.

I side track them by giving them eggs, cream, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla. I promised French Toast for breakfast tomorrow. The custard tastes better the longer it sits. So, they made the French Toast custard.

They still try to peek in the oven. The cake smells great, but isn't done yet.

I hand them a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and two butter knives. I put them to work making sandwiches for the picnic.

I send them upstairs to brush their teeth again.

They troop back down stairs grinning and smelling minty fresh.

I pull the cake from the oven, top with parchment and set it to cool.

I look around and they're munching something else. Back upstairs to brush teeth.

Oh to be that young again and able to be excited about birthdays. This year will be my *shudder* 30th. It's safe to say I'm not taking aging too gracefully. Where did the time go?

I can remember being 21 and wild and free. I can remember 25, when I thought I was so wise and responsible. And now at 29, I just feel tired. Tired but very, very, very loved and full of love. I can safely say I've been there. I've done that. But I like where I am now: with two giggly kids plotting to sneak into the kitchen and eat cake before it's frosted... as soon as Mommy's asleep.

So, I'm in the bathroom and I hear Em and Captain Chaos playing in their room.

Em: Sir, you're going to have to take that off.

Me: Em, what are y'all playing?

Em: Doctor!

Me: Oh. Okay.

Huh? Take what off?

I creep down the hall and look into the room. On the exam bed is Captain Chaos. Em's taking off his socks and examining his feet.

Em: Look Mommy, I'm a podiatrist!

On Grocery Shopping

Ever since this pregnancy started, I've had moments of Mommy-fog quite unlike anything I've met before.

Usually this phenomena of "huh?-ness" happens in relation to a question from one of the kids.

Today's winner had to be Em and her response to grocery shopping.

Em: Mommy, where's the milk?
Me: *huh? Is she saying it's missing?* It's in the fridge.
Em: The fridge?
Me: You know, to keep it cold?!?
Em: Oh, yeah. Ok.

Me: *confused*

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I love that the grocery stores in NE Ohio have free children's daycare centers in the stores. It helps cut down on the whole "Mommy-can-we-get-THAT?" issues that tend to arise when I let the children go with me through the store. I walk into the store, the kids head straight to the play center, I check them in, and I'm off to shop. I can use coupons without having a kid attempting to rearrange a display.

Grocery trips used to be nightmarish events.
My children, who can do no wrong in the eyes of passerby, would swoop into the produce section, remove the bottom melon from the display, and watch in fascination as Mommy would move with Superhuman speed to catch the remaining melons.
They would attempt to drive the cart and invariably run over a little old woman in a motorized cart. She'd smile and wave at them.
They'd even have the gall to open the box of cereal and freak out over the lack of a prize.

No punishment, no torture, and no lecture would make them stop the shenanigans.
But the childcare centers- to shop child free! Oh my!

Suddenly the trips are peaceful. There are no more screams of aggravation when I refuse to buy them ice cream or candy coated cereal. I can use coupons and save money by sticking to a list.

Captain Chaos has discovered girls. Or, to be more specific, he's discovered one girl: his sister, Em.

(The long delay in posting was due to a sudden extended trip to Texas to pick Em up... and a complete lack of internet.)

Em is his new hero. Em is seven (soon to be eight) so she's "older". She can play video games. She can READ. She can take a shower without assistance. She can brush her own hair and teeth. She eats all her dinner and gets dessert. She is, as he puts it, "SO COOL!"

Captain Chaos doesn't quite know if he should compete with her or idolize her. He follows her every step. He repeats everything she says. If she wants to color, they color. If she wants to watch a certain girly cartoon, he's all for it. I can't get the boy to take a single bite of steak. She cajoles him into eating an entire serving plus all his veggies!

It's as if someone replaced my chaotic little monster of a boy that I was used to having about with a charming, polite little man. It's a bit disturbing to think that the summer will be over in less than two months and I should enjoy his captivation while it lasts.

The House the WTF?!? Built...

This has been an insane week for me.

The Hubby and I have been trying for a bit to have another baby. After two losses last year, we pretty much were ready to stop trying. With all my health issues, though, it'd become standard procedure to take a test bi-weekly.

Imagine my great surprise when I finally tested positive.
Terror! Hope! Joy! Fear!

So, another babe's on the way. So far, things look pretty good. We're crossing our fingers (and toes) that this baby will be born healthy.

I've been asked frequently, "What do you want more? A boy or a girl?" Until you've had a miscarriage you can't really understand my answer: "A baby."

Captain Chaos has taken this opportunity to ask all sorts of interesting questions. His usual science curriculum has been postponed and he has been self-guiding on anatomy and health. It's funny to have my four year old remind me to take a walk "for the baby."

He's also been a bit more chaotic than normal. But those are posts for different times.
Tonight, it's time to rest the baby. : )

I am of the firm belief that the same people who design the McDonald's Play Places also design torture chambers at Guantanamo Bay.

The shrieking, the heart palpitations as you struggle to keep an eye on your child, the jumping in mid-air as an employee suddenly appears from no where to clean up a puddle of lemonade (or what you seriously hope is lemonade), even the costs of the food are designed to bring any parent with an indomitable spirit to tears.

Within minutes of arriving at a Play Land, I KNOW I'm moved to confess my inner-most secrets.
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I can see it now, some strange masked bad guy threatening me with a ketchup-covered four year old:

"Confess, evil do-er!"

"Never!"

"Confess!"

"No!"

"Very well then... BWAHAAHAHA!!! To the Play Place with you!!!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo. All right, all right, I admit it! I took the last piece of chocolate from Captain Chao's Halloween stash."

"...AAAAannnndddd?"

"And I hide a clean bath towel for my own personal use!"

"Any thing else you want to confess?"

"Noooooo!"

"Captain Chaos--- take her to the slides!"

"Wait! I... uh... I... wait until the kids are asleep and then I eat ice cream! With syrup! And Marshmallows!"

"I think she has been broken now... hehehehehe!"

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Another scenario I can imagine easily is a random terrorist being interrogated:

"Do you know what we do with your kind?"

"Torture us to make us talk?"

"Worse- we send you to the ball pit!"

"I suppose you call it a ball pit because it crushes my "jewels"?"

"No--- it's a pit. Filled with balls. And FOUR AND FIVE YEAR OLDS!!!!"

"Dude... that's against the Geneva Convention's policy on cruel and unusual punishment."
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Clumsiness is just in our genes...

From an early age, I've always been one to get a case of the "Whoopsies!" daily.

It's not that I try to whack my knees on every object in the house, or that I have a deep desire to fall UP a flight of stairs--- it just happens. Often.

My children also have inherited this amazing gene.

Captain Chaos has the ability to knock anything over with his bottom from six inches away. Emi-loo can trip over a dust mote. Even Brie, from reports, manages to sneeze and have her pants fall off.

So, when I hit my knee on the door of the mini-van today and managed to dislocate the knee cap (a thing that happens so often I have a set protocol for it) my husband didn't even blink twice. He just kind of sighed, got the pillow, an icepack (aka pack of frozen peas), and spent a good ten minutes manipulating my kneecap back into place.

I'm glad the man loves me. Otherwise he'd get pretty exasperated at the injury list and the fact that the doctor's office is on speed dial.