Living in a fantasy

Today, I am a dragon.

There are lots of reasons why I might be a bit dragonish just now. Before Andy stumbled off to work at the unearthly hour of 4 am., he poked his head into the boys' room to kiss his sleeping sons. And found his firstborn sleeping peacefully in a puddle of vomit.

Delightful way to start off the day, it was not.

Factor in the unauthorized color-fest, and the diarrhea, and I can't believe I was at Walmart last night and didn't even pick up wipes... well, you can see why I might be a dragon today.

But that's not why I am a dragon today.

Somehow, in spite of it all, today has been one of those bright glowing days that filled my virginal dreams of motherhood. Those dreams that never really took account of the messes and the frustrations and the lost sleep--I vaguely knew that they were a part of motherhood, but in the dreams, they never mattered, covered as they were in a hazy mist of tenderness.

And that is how today has been.

Today, I am a dragon, because that is the game of choice. I am a great fire-breathing dragon, and my sons are valiant knights with shining swords. And when, grins ablazing, they are through slaying me, they are my own precious dragon babies, fresh hatched from great dragon eggs, and I cover them with kisses.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just go shred some potatoes with my enormous claws, and cook them with my firey breath.


I'm very jealous...

...of mama octapi.

That is all.


Tembo and I were reading together this morning. Sometimes it's hard to carve out time to read together, just her and me... her bubbas always want in on the action. So it wasn't as quiet and tranquil as we might have liked, but we shared a few special moments, and she babbled happily about the pictures in her bok as I warded off Nathan's pounces, and as Isaiah crowded close, looking over our shoulders and repeatedly asking when it would be his turn.

Tembo was earnestly attempting to wrap her little mind around the concept of a dandelion, and even more earnestly trying to wrap her little tongue around the word.





Like a little school-boy bouncing up and down with his hand raised as high as it could possibly reach, Nathan had the answer, and there came a point where he just couldn't hold it in any longer.


Wherein I conclude that three in diapers might not be such a bad thing, after all

Don't get me wrong, I'm still very much looking forward to the completion of potty training. We're working on it... slowly... We got a little derailed by wisdom teeth and holidays, but we're still working on it, and I have high hopes for getting the boys out of diapers once and for all---sometime after Christmas, and my last remaining wisdom tooth, and their birthday.

In the mean time, though, I have a lot of diapers to change, and I've found a way to make it a moderately pleasant experience for everyone.

See, all of my wuggies have always liked sticking their hands inside their dirty diapers as I change them. (Or, for that matter, when I dress them in elastic-waisted pants without onesies, but that's another story for another day...) Anyway, when they were smaller, it wasn't such a big deal. I can easily overpower a 7 lb. infant. I can also overpower a big, strapping toddler, but with a little less ease, and a LOT more mess. And avoiding a mess was the whole point.

Anyway, now diaper changes in Wuggyville are a family affair. While I change each child's diaper, the other two wuggies stand on either side of the changee, and hold his or her hands. Everyone smiles tenderly at one another, it's all very sweet and touching... and by the time the changee realizes what's going on and reaches down to wreak havoc, whoops, the dirty diaper's all gone, and we're done.

Works like a dream.



Why, yes, as a matter of fact!

"What that?"

"That's a skunk."



Making Do

Cleaning is the wuggies' obsession of the month. More exciting even than trains and trash trucks, although not quite as exciting as talking about Jesus and the cross and his owies and how now he's alive again. If offered the choice between going to the zoo to visit the monkeys or cleaning the house, I quite honestly don't know which itinerary they would choose for the day.

This passion of theirs is a wonderful thing, and greatly to be encouraged. So very developmentally appropriate, and the foundation for a lifetime of good habits, and a sign of little hearts desirous of general helpfulness and all things amicable.

And they actually would be very helpful, and come very close to offsetting their next greatest passion--making messes--but for two things. A) we keep the cleaning supplies locked up out of reach, and B) our wuggies are very resourceful indeed.


Does anyone know how in the world to get honey off of windows?



Planning out the weeks menu and shopping list, I surveyed the food remaining in my refrigerator, and contemplated I could incorporate it into upcoming meals before it spoiled. I wondered to myself what on earth had possessed me to buy such an enormous ginger root. I always do that... I get a little carried away with things like that.

There was no chance of using it up, but a ginger-honey glazed chicken would be a start.

I stirred the honey and white wine together, resigned myself to the fact that they would never really mix, and added a little salt. The recipe didn't call for salt, but surely a little salt is in order. This is chicken, after all.

Then I went to grate the ginger.

It wasn't ginger.

It was a sweet potato.

Which would have been a very nice addition to the Thanksgiving yams, had I remembered, but which won't really add much flavor to my chicken.

But you know what? I'm kind of glad, actually. I was only using the ginger out of guilt tonight.