Is this troubling?

This conversation really happened yesterday in my kitchen.

It's a little, um, sensitive. I'll handle it with as much tact as possible.

So. Let's just jump right in, then. Jensen rarely has questions about the proverbial facts of life-- he is 96% un-curious about such matters. But questions do surface now and then. Like yesterday.

The gist of the whole thing was that he was unclear about what "sex" meant. Okay. I can handle this. I think I answered pretty age-appropriately and he seemed okay with the information.

Then he said: "Wow, I wouldn't want to do that with a box of Wheat Thins."

Me: "..."

Me again: "Hmmmm. What made you think of that?" At least that's what I think I said. I'm a little unclear, actually, because something in my brain exploded thinking about my 7-year old and snack crackers and intimacy in one sentence.

Him: "Well. I really love Wheat Thins. But I wouldn't want to do that with them."

Me: "No.... No, I suppose not."

And then he was off chattering about the relative merits of different kinds of crackers and that was basically the end of the discussion.

I will never, ever be able to look a box of Wheat Thins in the eye again.

Heaven in a parking lot

Football? Check.
Chips and salsa? Check.
Brats? Check.
MGD (beer of record)? Check.
Kids? Check.
Tickets? Check.

We're tailgatin' today, folks! Does life get any better?...

Becoming a biped and other horrors

I'm working on a theory. Call it a family-systems theory. Not quite sure where it's going yet, but here's the premise: the kids are on a sort of "give me the most attention" rotation. I don't know if they've had clandestine meetings to plan their schedule, or if it's more organic than that. Maybe their individual needs for parental attention somehow internally adjust to the needs of the larger family group. I'm not sure about this yet. Something's definitely up.

But a couple of weeks ago, Jensen was the headline kid. Pinkeye, starting football, starting school. Then last week, it was all-Evan, all the time: getting lost, birthday, preschool. Now? Yep, it's Caleb. He's running me ragged.

At the beginning of the week, I kind of thought he was getting another ear infection. He wanted to be carried all the time, was up every three hours, was cranky.... He needed me constantly. We kind of watched. Turns out he was getting a nasty cold. I think he got it from sucking on the handles of shopping carts. (I'm not a germophobe, but that's just disgusting.) Anyway, he is a snotty yucky mess and can't breathe through his nose.

Oh. And teeth. He also chose this week to get two more teeth. I swear he must have 53 of them by now. Jeff and I have the bite marks to prove it. Add the drool to the snot and he's just lovely. Between the cold and the teeth, we're keeping the makers of infant pain relievers in business.

And. He's also decided to go vertical this week. He's pulling up on everything he sees. And has quickly moved into that stage where I can't turn my back on him for a single second, or he's trying to self-inflict a closed cranial trauma. He has three bruises on his little noggin right now. He pulls up, and is stable for quite a while... but pretty soon the weight of that enormous baby head gives in to gravity and he cracks his forehead on something and he cries for a few minutes. Then I put him down and he immediately starts the process again. Fortunately he's not trying to walk yet, but he's definitely intrigued by the process.

He's exhausting me. I would pay him cold, hard cash to take a long nap. But between the teeth and the cold and the excitement of standing up, he's not sleeping well. He drifts off for half an hour or so, and one of those three things wakes him up. I would love nothing more than an hour of not having a baby hollering at me.

Anyway, it's Caleb's week to be needy. The other two are having to get by on autopilot, to some degree. They're good, though.

So, back to my theory. I'm not sure what happens next week. Will the rotation start over? Personally, I'm hoping they'll make it a four-week rotation and give me a week off, but I doubt it. I'll keep you posted.

Ode to the Gridiron. And my dad.

It's a rainy, cold, gray day (courtesy Gustav). And it is not dampening my spirits at all. I woke up this morning with a vague sense that something was righter with the world.... It's Football Season, people!!!

I'm not joking.

Here's the deal: football is my family's love language. I repeat: not joking. We are not a lovey-dovey, kissy-huggy, emotive kind of family. But I'd be hard-pressed to find a closer family. We are tight. And somehow we transmit a lot of our feelings for each other through sports. I don't call my parents and get all mushy.... I call my parents and ask them how the Cubs did last night. (They lost, by the way, but they're still up five.) And football is the ultimate expression of affection. Maybe it's the time of year, the smell of autumn, the marching bands... I don't know. But we are nuts about football in my clan.

Don't believe me? Go to a football game with my dad. He might utter only a few sentences during the entire course of the game. Don't expect any small-talk. Don't expect him to do The Wave. Don't even expect him to necessarily respond to most of what you say. But go to a game with him. I guarantee you will come away feeling a bit safer, a bit more solid, and-- maybe-- a bit more loved. (Oh, man, he's gonna hate it that I'm going all psycho-babble on his football. But I can't help it.)

Oh, and because he's a former junior high football coach, you'll also come away knowing a whole lot more about the game of football. He's a football genius. Going to a game with him is like having your own personal John Madden, except he's not obnoxious.

I've spent a lifetime watching football games with Dad. Sitting next to him, listening to all the comments about The Fundamentals Of The Game, enduring the elements (he doesn't leave games just because it's 15 degrees or sleeting or pouring rain!), and absolutely loving it. Even when I was a teenager, even when I hated football, I still loved going to the games. I'd watch the crowd, the band, the cheerleaders... didn't much matter, because I was always just happy to be there with him.

Dad watches football pretty much the way he lives the rest of his life. Deeply observant, not a lot of fanfare, appreciative of feats great and small. I was thinking of writing a post called, "Everything I Needed to Know About Life I Learned from Watching Football with My Dad." There's definitely a lot of truth to that statement. Like:

• Master the basics: You can't be good at the fancy stuff until you're good at the fundamentals.


• It's not whether you win or lose.... You know the rest. But he really believes it. A win is great, but if you win cheaply you don't have much to be proud of.


• Keep your eye on the ball. 'Nuff said.


• Never, ever boo the other team or the officials: Respect and common decency are pretty important.


• Do your job the best you can and keep your mouth shut: He doesn't really have a lot of time for Terrell Owens-like demonstrations of perceived personal greatness.

You get the idea.

If I had a nickel for every time one of his former players tells me how much Dad taught them about football and life and doing things right.... Somehow he took the game, and his love for it, and his love for teaching, and rolled it all together into this amazing life lesson for 13-year-old boys. He made quite an impression on lots of them.

Jensen's getting in on the action, now, too. He's in a flag football league. The happiest moment I've had recently is when Dad visited and played some ball with him, teaching him how to cut and post and catch. Jensen adores football. We're passing it on to the next generation....

Anyway, I think the rest of my family agrees with me on this. We're all equally enamored with the game. Jeff thought I was nuts at first (he doesn't come from quite the same football tradition), but we've won him over. And we're always willing to adopt more family, so let me know if you want in on this gridiron circle of love.

The devil made me do it

Oh my god. Jeff is gonna kill me for this. But it's too funny not to share. I hope you all realize how privileged you are-- almost nobody gets to see him without his glasses. Here he is in 1954:


This 60's weren't so good for him. The styles just didn't suit him. But here's a gem from 1960:


This guy totally rocked the 70's, though. Check it:

And here he is in the early 80's:

Wait a second... that really was Jeff.... Damn, must have opened the wrong picture file.

Anyway, here he is during my high school years. I would have dated him even then.... Mullets were hot. (ish)

I guess he cleaned up a bit in the 90's. I didn't know he could get his hair this straight:

Okay, I have to publish this before he figures out what I'm doing.He's such a sweetie for allowing me to do this to his photo (even if he doesn't know). And thanks a million to So...There...Then Gal for sharing this jewel of a website-- you can go here to do your own.

The day Evan was born

Indulge me for just a few minutes. It's Evan's birthday (he's four!!!).... I'm feeling a little mommy-ish and am thinking a lot about the day he was born. Cliche alert: I cannot believe that four years ago I was holding a brand-new Evan in my arms.... On the other hand, it seems like about 75 years ago....

Anyway, at about 10:30 in the morning on September 1, my midwife called me and told me to get into the hospital. The labs they had drawn from me that morning were not good, and they needed to deliver me ASAP. Believe me, it didn't take me long to get there.... It doesn't take many days of being terminally pregnant in 90-degree heat to motivate me. I moved pretty fast for being the size of a whale.

So they induced me. Long induction, but not as long as Jensen's. I hemorrhaged twice (once during, once after). It lasted 34 hours (yes, you read that correctly). He had the cord wrapped around his neck not once, not twice, but three times-- he had a freakishly long umbilical cord. George Bush was delivering the State of the Union address, and my husband had the nerve to actually be watching it-- no way was my kid coming into the world to that. In summary, it was a really long labor.

Our beautiful little boy was quiet for a few hours after he was born. And then. He wouldn't stop screaming. It went on for hours. He was inconsolable. Jeff and I were inconsolable. Finally we had one of the nursery nurses come in and she tried everything she knew. And after about an hour of being unable to make him stop, she handed him back and said, "Yeah, good luck with this one." She actually said that, about our sweet little baby!

She was right.

He was colicky. He had terrible gastric reflux. He cried day and night for the first four months of his life. It was hell, and I don't feel guilty saying that. We had moments where we wondered how we would ever be able to live with him. And even today, when he's mad, we remember how his life started.

Oh, little Evan. He is all about raw emotion. He's downright crazy when he's angry. And he is also the happiest, most loving member of our family. He is absolutely effervescent. I think we learn something special from each of our kids. He is the kid who taught me that as a parent, love goes deeper than any amount of exasperation or sleeplessness. He's the one who reminded me how rewarding it is to overcome hurdles that seem unmanageable. And most of all, he's the one who showed the adult me how to experience pure, unbridled joy.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Pea. Thanks for everything, you little monster!

Pre-birthday fun!

This is how I spent my Sunday:


We've established Evan's dinosaur hang-up. So for his fourth birthday (which is actually tomorrow) we went to the T-Rex Cafe with all the grandparents. It's exactly like the Rainforest Cafe (how many of you have been lucky enough to eat there?), except with dinosaurs instead of jungle animals. It's a little embarrassing to eat there as an adult, and we didn't have quite enough children with us to look entirely legitimate. But he loved it! (In contrast, all the adults were entirely overstimulated by the experience. The place needs some kind of disclaimer for heart patients and pregnant women.) And, yeah, they brought him a birthday sundae. He ate the cherry and the whipped cream off the top. That was it.

Conveniently, they have a Build-A-Dino workshop located inside the restaurant. (Marketing is amazing.) So he got to build a (you guessed it) dino for his birthday. He chose a t-rex (what self-respecting boy wouldn't?). And named it T Cal, for reasons not understood to me. He's taken it everywhere with him since he acquired it.

Then we came home for presents from grandparents and cake and ice cream. How happy does he look?!

By the way, this cake is single-handedly responsible for me not posting one single time this weekend. It took a good part of three days to complete. Will somebody please tell me to just get a Better Crocker mix next time?!

Anyway, I hope everyone had a lovely Labor Day weekend. Evan certainly did.