Monday

I had a lovely blog all composed in my head. It sounded great in the shower, but when I sat down to try to write it, well, it just wasn’t meant to be today.

It might be the caffeine withdrawal. I’m giving up my morning cappuccino cold turkey. I just started Beth Moore’s Bible study on the book of Daniel, and she challenged us to give up an indulgence for the duration of the study. Something that isn’t necessarily wrong or bad, but just unnecessary. So this Baptist chick, who’s never given up anything for Lent, is having her own private Lent in the middle of the summer and giving up coffee and pop.

This better be a stinking good Bible study, that’s all I have to say.

So I’m blaming my lack of bloggy creativity on my lack of caffeinated goodness.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Happy Monday everyone.

 

In Which We Reclaim the Fourth of July Just to Spite the Weather

I don’t know if it came across in yesterday’s post, but I was a teensy bit grumpy about the weather situation and the fact that Iowa dared to rain on my parade. It’s possible I was actually a big pouty whiner about it, and it’s also possible that the fact that today is gorgeous and sunny and everything, in fact, that Independence Day should be is making me a little crazy. But oh well.

Last night, after the rain stopped, we went to a free Fourth of July concert by the Artisans in Brass. This is a very talented group of five men who brought out their horns to play some awesome American music. The deal was that if the boys behaved themselves reasonably well we would reward them by taking them to the fireworks. Their behavior wasn’t perfect, in fact, I’m pretty sure that the people around us were getting a little tired of seeing Sam’s Beanie Baby chihuahua (named, aptly enough, Chihuahua, or sometimes Chi-woo-woo), flying through the air. But it was an outdoor concert and we sat apart from everyone for a reason.Honestly, the people who set up their chairs near us probably could have figured out for themselves that we weren’t going to be channeling the artsy symphony crowd if they had been paying any sort of attention at all. I mean, the presence of two young boys clearly hopped up on sugar should have given it away, don’t you think?

Wow. What a long and pointless paragraph.

Anyway, my lovely sons remembered my dire threats regarding the fireworks for about ten minutes of the hour-long concert, which means that for ten minutes they sat on the blanket, looked cute, and listened to the music. Then they spent about ten minutes dancing around and tossing Chihuahua in time to the music, and the remaining forty minutes making me twitch by means of throwing grass, playing with their gum, rolling around on the ground, seeing how far they could throw Chihuahua, clapping at inappropriate times, asking (loud) cringe-worthy questions, and climbing on their parents. Add this to the fact that Gracie loves brass music, but only if she’s sleeping through it or being bounced to it, and life on our patchwork quilt was, um, less than peaceful.

Believe it or not, this is actually what we in the Together household consider a “successful” outing. As one of the people we were talking to last night said, this is a busy age. And he should know. He has six kids between the ages of eleven and six. His wife is a candidate for sainthood, I’m sure of it.

These pictures are from the first ten minutes, while the boys were still on their best behavior, before our little family outing devolved into monkey-house chaos.

Here’s Gracie rocking the layers. It was pretty chilly last night, and cloudy of course, so I dug out an old too-small white sleeper of Sam’s and put it under her fab Fourth of July outfit. The layered look is a style that truly transcends age boundaries, don’t you think?

You can tell Ryan really wanted to go to the fireworks by the fact that he cooperated when I wanted to take his picture. Sure, he looks a little smug, but that’s better than the psycho-wild-eyed crazy child look he was sporting earlier in the day.

Listening to the music, possibly for the last time during the entire concert.

The boys even willingly posed for a couple of pictures together. Mom, I posted this one just for you. I thought you’d like the wad of gum in the corner of Ryan’s mouth. He is my kid, can you tell?

Oh, yeah, and there was music too. I’m pretty sure that Artisans in Brass won’t be using this as their new publicity shot.

We were there too, Art and I, in spite of the small amount of photographic evidence.

If this picture gives you the impression that the boys are about to lose all their inhibitions and morph from cute munchkins to demon monkey children, you are very right.

Yeah, she’s cute. And heavy. As I can attest to thanks to the fact that I spent half the concert bouncing her to keep her from screaming.

Anyway, somehow the children (and their parents) made it through a whole bunch of songs, plus some patriotic readings, and the very last song they played was “Stars and Stripes Forever.” And just so you can really feel what it was like to spend time on that quilt with our family, I am proud to present  Together Family Home Movies, Independence Day Concert Edition.

A few disclaimers first, though.

By this point the boys had been warned that if they strayed away from the blanket again they would be in Big Going-to-Bed-without-Fireworks Trouble, so you really don’t get to see some of the most outrageous of their antics. Second, while at times it may look like I am about to bounce the life right out of poor Gracie, please blame at least 50% of the shaking on my husband’s amazing videography (apparently I just made that word up; I’m okay with that) skills. Third, I apologize in advance for my singing. I can’t help  myself.

We did go to the fireworks, and didn’t take a single picture. But that’s a post for another day.

It was a good, albeit hyperactive and twitch-inducing, end to a bummer day.

Love this crazy family.

 

In Which I Prove My Love for America by Taking Terrible Pictures of my Children

This morning the Together family loaded up our redneck minivan (seriously, that’s a post for another day) and headed north to Small Town, Iowa, for that great and sacred Fourth of July establishment, the parade. The boys were in fine form, what with the climbing on furniture and breaking rules and doing exactly what they had just been told not to do. Iowa has apparently decided to celebrate our nation’s Independence by following up a week of gorgeous, mild, sunny weather with a cold, rainy, generally icky holiday weekend.

Thank you, Iowa. Oh how we love thee.

The rain had stopped this morning, so we decided to risk it and head up to the parade, which of course guaranteed that the rain would return. Just as we pulled into Small Town, Iowa, the drops started splattering against the windshield.

Being that we had no jackets, no umbrellas, and no chairs, and that we did have a baby dressed in an outfit that I bought before I realized that Iowa was in the mood for April this Fourth of July, we had no choice but to turn around and return to the Together residence.

But the children were just oh, so adorable and patriotic in their red, white, and blue that I had no choice but to drag out the camera and try to get some pictures.

BWUAHAHAHAHAHA.

And now I’m going to share them with you, because bad pictures of kids dressed in the colors of the flag really say “God bless America,” don’t you agree?

Beware the wild-eyed six-year-old, for he shall boss you to death if you are not on your guard.

A perfectly good shot, ruined by the pooping face.

Let’s see. In this one we have lots of special features, including distracting shadows, bad hair, a child looking over his glasses, and, of course, the fact that you can actually only see the top of the baby’s head.

Four-year-old: cute. Baby: Acceptable. Six-year-old: weird. Photographer’s big toe: In the picture.

Changing camera angles really helped a lot, don’t you think?

New plan. Get rid of hyperactive boys and take pictures of cute baby.

Ah, yes. Much better.

Much, much better.

Hey, it takes skill to blur out the baby and focus on the background like this.

Good concept. Poor execution.

Well, at least her ear is in focus.

A lovely shot of the entertainment center drawer. Too bad the baby got in the way.

For once in my life, words fail me.

Hey sweetie, hold her up in the air. Then I’ll get  a good shot. Like this one.

Focus is highly overrated.

See what I mean?

Hmmm. Maybe if I change the white balance on the camera, that will help.

Oh, yes. That certainly made all the difference.

If Gracie could talk, she’d be saying, “We’re done now, Mom. Time to give up.”

I did get a few shots that weren’t horrible. And because I’m pretty sure that the 400 pictures I’ve already posted really weren’t enough, here’s more!!!

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

 

My Big Girl

My child is huge, which we knew, bless her little chunky self.

Both her length and weight are well above the top line of the growth chart.

She has grown four inches in nine weeks.

And she has gained four pounds.

And also she is cute.

See?

Poor little baby has had a rough afternoon and evening, but we are praying that she will sleep well tonight and recover from the trauma of three shots so we can have fun this weekend.

Her weight is fourteen pounds, two ounces.

And the winner is my sister, Laura!!!

The funny thing is that she thought she guessed thirteen pounds, two ounces.

So, sis, if it’s okay with you, I’ll treat you to a blizzard in Omaha next month.

Thank you to all of you who participated in the big guessing game. Maybe we’ll have another one in September, when she’s four months old.

Gracie likes hosting giveaways.

That’s just how she rolls.

 

Sweet Baby Goodness and a Giveaway

This little bundle of chunky infant deliciousness turned two months old on Saturday.

Tomorrow she has her two month checkup.

These oh-so-edible little thighs will provide a pincushion for the nurse’s immunization needles.

And in honor of this most epic and momentous occasion, Her Royal Adorableness is proud to announce a giveaway here at Together for Good.

No, you can’t have those. Although they are just shockingly delightful, are they not?

The person who comes closest to guessing Miss Chub’s weight will win a $5 gift card to Dairy Queen. Put your guess in the comment section, and I will post a winner on Thursday evening.

For reference, at birth she weighed 9 lb., 10 oz.

 

Starring Ryan

So yesterday I was sitting here procrastinating putting the laundry away and listening to the joyful sounds of merriment coming from outside, where my sons were playing machines. Machines is a game they play where they find the biggest patch of dirt they can and then run their trucks and construction vehicles and clothing through it. Machines, along with every other game my boys play, usually lasts about ten minutes before Ryan and Sam reach an Impasse, which results in Much Crying and Screaming, and often ends in Two Boys on the Couch. Yesterday, though, before things could go from happy dirt hauling to angry mud slinging, Ryan came inside.

“Mommy, my eye feels tickly and it’s making me blink a lot.”

Now, I don’t know about you but “tickly” and “blink a lot” don’t really throw me into a panic. I looked at the offensive eye, which looked a bit reddish, possibly because Ryan was digging at it. With his fingers. Which had two minutes previously been digging in the dirt.

“I think you should go wash your hands, Buddy,” I suggested. “You have dirt on your fingers and you’re going to get it in your eye and it won’t feel very good.”

“Well, okay,” my son said, though clearly he thought that Mommy was crazy for suggesting that washing his hands could fix his eye. He went dutifully off to the bathroom, and I continued emailing my sister.

Soon, however, it became obvious that soap and water and a fluffy towel were not going to fix this problem. The sounds coming from the bathroom escalated from running water to wimpering, which soon became a full-on Ryan howl.

“Washing my hands didn’t HELP!!!” he wept.

“Well, does your eye hurt?” I asked, confused. Remember, he told me it was tickly. Not hurty.

“It just feels all TICKLY!” he cried.

“Well, maybe you got something in it. Try to blink a lot, honey. And keep your fingers out of it. Here, let me look.” I held his eyelids open and he rolled his eyeball around hysterically. It was redder now, but I couldn’t see anything in it. “You need to blink. Blinking makes tears, and tears will help wash something out if you got something in your eye.”

“I DIDN’T GET ANYTHING IN MY EYE!!!”

“Ryan. Calm down. What were you doing when your eye started to feel tickly?”

“PLAYING IN THE DIRT!!!”

“Yeah. You probably got dirt in your eye. But I don’t see anything in there so I think it’s gone. Blink, Buddy. That will help it feel better.”

My son looked at me with one last look of tear-streaked, six-going-on-sixteen loathing, and marched down to the basement, where he continued weeping like his eye was about to fall out.

I think you’d better come home for a minute, I IM’ed my husband.

Why?

Because Ryan got something in his eye and I need you to hold him down so I can flush it out.

Oh, Goody. I’ll be right there.

It is times like these that I am very thankful my husband works so close. By the time he got here, Ryan was nearly in full-on hysterics.

“Come here, Ryan. We need to do something with your eye.”

“NOT EYEDROPS!!! I WILL NOT HAVE EYEDROPS”

Oh, buddy, if only you knew.

A moment later, we were ready. Ryan was shirtless, laying back on the mat from Gracie’s changing table on his bed, screaming that he was not a baby. I had a hand towel soaked in water so that I could drip it in his eye. And Art was ready to use his mad security skills and hold the flailing boy down.

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO DO THIS!!!”

“I’m sorry, bud, but if there’s something in your eye we need to get it out. It’s either this or you lay under the faucet with your eye open.” I spoke in my best soothing voice, which is probably pretty crummy actually because I have little patience for the dramatics of injured children, as Art held Ryan’s eye open and I squeezed warm water into it.

“AAAAHHHHH!!! YOU GUYS NEED TO STOP RIGHT NOW! I DO NOT LIKE THIS! THIS IS NOT GOOD! STOP IT YOU GUYS!”

Again with the water, again with the screaming.

“YOU GUYS NEED TO STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!! YOU HAVE TO STOP!”

And again.

“I JUST HATE DIRT! WHY DID THE DIRT COME IN MY EYE? I DO NOT LIKE DIRT AT ALL!”

Eventually we stopped. I gave him a towel to dry his face with. He was still a wreck, however.

“I DO NOT LIKE SATAN!!”

What?

“SATAN MAKES BAD THINGS HAPPEN AND HE MADE THAT DIRT GO IN MY EYE! I HATE SATAN!”

“Buddy, I don’t think you can blame Satan that dirt got in your eye. Stuff like that just happens sometimes.”

“BECAUSE OF SATAN!!!”

Whatever. I decided that maybe while my son was in hysterics would not be the best time to delve into the deeps of demonology.

“Are you going to get up? You can. We’re all done.”

“No. Gracie’s changing pad is comfortable.”

“Okay, then. I’m going to go downstairs. We’ll see how it’s feeling in a bit.”

A moment later he followed me downstairs, where he curled up on the couch with his pillow and the towel he had been drying his face on. And within half an hour he was willing to admit his eye was maybe feeling a little bit better.

Maybe.

A little.

********

On Sunday, Ryan’s Sunday School take-home paper had a spot where he could fill in the faces of the members of his family. It’s hilarious so I’m sharing it with you.

Be thankful. Your day is about to get a little happier.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pride that I present to you

The Noseless Together Family, by Ryan

Daddy (I love that he used our names instead of Mom and Dad)

Mommy

The artist himself, apparently after applying Miracle Grow to his hair

Little brother, who must have done something naughty to warrant the use of his full name

Baby sister, whose name he hasn’t learned to spell yet, I guess

And, of course, since we only have five people in our family, it is only natural that he would fill that sixth face with . . .

the dog. Complete with big floppy ears, a dog tongue, and a pig dog nose.

I told you it would make your day happier.

Have a great one, y’all.

 

Worth It

They were covered in ketchup.

Dripping from the pump.

Gooey from melty marshmallows.

They were loud, and hyperactive, and up too late.

Their clothes were dirty, their shoes wet, their fingers sticky.

And it was good.

 

The Thing about Sam

Is that the boy knows how to have fun. He just throws himself into it, with no reservations, just pure joy.

This is him “dancing” while he waited in line to go in the bounce house at a music festival thing we went to on Saturday.

The people in the line around him were not nearly as entertained as we were, but when your kid is just reveling in the music and being alive and having fun, well, that’s something you don’t interrupt if you can help it.

I wish we had had the video camera with us, because he danced like no one was watching for probably five minutes.

And then he was a teensy bit hot, sweaty, and thirsty.

I wish I knew how to throw myself into joy the way this little boy does– no holds barred, no self-consciousness, just a celebration of happiness.

Of course, the flip side of this coin is that when Sam is upset, it is quite the dramatic production of grief, sorrow, tears, and general failing.

I guess he just feels deeply.

It’s one of the things that makes him Sam.

 

Playing Tag the Bloggy Way

Since playing Tag the normal way involves running and therefore is not high on my “fun list of things for Erin to do,” I am pleased to be involved in a game of bloggy tag, thanks to Kazzy. So I guess what I have to do is tell you seven things about myself and then tag a few more people to do the same thing. Which I’m pretty sure I can do without even breaking a sweat.

One– I obsessively do the speed limit. People kind of hate to drive behind me, but I’ve never had a speeding ticket so I guess it pays off. (Mom and Dad, you can just pretend that I’ve been religiously following this rule since I first got my license, mmmkay?)

Two– I always dress my kids for holidays. In fact, I just returned from a shopping trip where I bought a very cute little red,white, and blue outfit for Miss Gracie at Kohl’s for only $2.76. I had a coupon. We also dress in green for St. Patrick’s, in red and pink for Valentine’s Day, and wear our Santa hats pretty much wherever we go for the entire month of December.

Three– I have issues when it comes to organization. As in, I am completely and utterly disorganized. I even drive myself crazy.

Four– I’m pretty convinced that the only thing stopping my husband from being the ultimate perfect man is that he can’t sing like Michael Buble. I love Michael Buble. It’s probably good that Art doesn’t sound like him, though, because if he did I’d be in a swoon pretty much all the time, and then how would I  blog?

Five– The only thing I can draw is penguins and the occasional elephant, thanks to my hubby, who taught me to draw them as part of our courtship. I draw a penguin on my closing checklist every night at work to make the girl who checks my classroom smile. This is one of the many ways I entertain myself.

Six– I really, really love ice cream. We have a very unhealthy relationship.

Seven– Somewhere I have a file of all the poetry I wrote in high school. It was very full of angst and drama and if I ever find the file I promise to share it with you so we can all have a good laugh at the expense of my poor woe-filled 16-year-old self. Seriously. It’s hilarious.

And since we’re playing tag here, I will say “you’re it” to Jo, Carrie, Maria, and my sister Laura.

 

Stories in my Pocket: An Old Favorite

A month or so ago I discovered Jo’s blog, and soon realized that I had discovered a kindred spirit. Right now our friendship is limited to email, blog comments, and facebook stalking, but if God ever writes in the sky and tells me to move to Maine and become a lobster fisherwoman, I’ll be okay with it as long as I can live near Jo. (They do do lobster fishing in Maine, right?)

I’ve been planning to join in her “Stories in my Pocket” series ever since I first read it, but kept putting it off because I haven’t felt like I had any appropriate topics that were inspiring me to write. However, today she specifically asked for funny stories, and, well, if there’s one thing I am, it’s funny. At least in my own head.

She said I could link up with my blog entry from last night, but I’ve been meaning for some time to re-publish some of my older writing from when I was blogging over at scrapbook.com. So today I am bringing the shorts-on-the-head story to Together for Good, straight from the historical annals of the Together Family. I originally posted this in June 2006.

********

To the Really Hot Guy Who Passed Me on 2nd Avenue This Afternoon:

Yes, I was wearing a pair of royal blue toddler-sized swimming trunks on my head. At least they were dry.

I can explain. I have toddlers. One of them was falling asleep. That was not good.

In this situation a mother must do whatever she can to keep the boy awake until reaching home. Otherwise he will think that the five-minute snooze he had in the car is an acceptable substitute for his normal 2 1/2 hour nap. He will refuse to sleep on his big boy bed. He will therefore be exhausted by 4:30 and cry for 3 1/2 hours till it’s time for him to go to bed.

So I was driving with swimming trunks on my head. My children, for some reason, think that the sight of their mother swerving all over the road with blue toddler-sized shorts pulled down nearly to her eyes is funny. Laughter keeps them awake.

If you had passed us a few minutes earlier, you would have seen that same pair of swimming trunks flying all over the car. My 3-year-old and I were playing catch with them, to the perpetual enjoyment of the sleepy child.

If you had passed us a few minutes later, you would have noticed that I had exchanged the swimming trunks for a Tigger hat with earflaps. I had it on backwards. Winter hats are endlessly entertaining to small children, especially when worn backwards in the car by a grown woman whose too-large head causes the earflaps to stick straight out. In an emergency, one can pretend to sneeze and cause the hat to fall off her head. This generally causes giggles and a certain sleepless feeling.

I did want to thank you for not calling our friendly neighborhood policeman and having him run a breathalizer test. Although I’m sure that would have kept the children entertained and quite awake, it would have made them even later for their nap. And since I know you’ve probably been worrying about me and my sanity all day long, I wanted to let you know that the excercise was not in vain. Both children stayed awake and at least one took a successful nap this afternoon.

I plan to follow the same routine next Thursday, only I thought I’d wear my underwear on my head. Anything for a laugh.

********

You can click on the picture at the top to read more stories from our pockets.

Oh, and also, I was tagged by Kazzy so I’m planning to post that later– maybe during Gracie’s noon feeding. I like to live my Saturdays a little crazy around here. Right now, though, I must make breakfast for a couple hungry boys and then plunge into the abyss of housework that awaits me.