BOGS

history lesson

The pilgrims, according to Owen:

There was a country called HOLLAND and it had a KING and the king was MEAN and didn't let people go to school where they wanted.  So all the people packed up their stuff and took a ship called the MAYFLOWER to America where they called land ho!  Then they all lived here and they could go to school wherever they wanted and that's why we get to go to our school! 

And one more little Owen moment from the weekend:

Kevin and Owen were going up to a psychologist's office/apartment for school testing on Sunday and Kevin said to the doorman, "tell her Kevin Wallace is here."  Owen promptly popped his head up and whispered "and Owen, tell her Kevin and Owen."  Kevin complied and then, after a brief pause, Owen added, "Owen BRANSFIELD."  I suppose any city kid worth his salt certainly knows how to properly announce himself to a doorman so I shouldn't be so surprised... 

trick or treat

Our Halloween pirates - "nice pirates" if you ask Brendan - hauled in some serious loot over the weekend, between their school party on Friday and the main event on Saturday.  Brendan commemorated the school party by throwing up an unholy mess of chicken fingers flecked with day-glo turquoise twizzler bits approximately one minute after getting in a cab to head home from our day of school-lunch-playground.  As an aside, between weak-stomached tots and drunken revelers, that kind of thing must happen ALL the time, since our driver didn't bat an eye but just very calmly handed back a roll of paper towels.  

In front of school:

Pre-puking playground visit:

Upon reflection, there may have been subtle signs that B wasn't doing too well:

On Saturday afternoon, Kevin and Owen headed off to the kids' costume parade in Riverside Park, which consisted of barely controlled chaos, a one-block "march" (hee!), bagpipes, and cider and donuts, because what kid doesn't need to start off a night of candy with a few donuts.  

B and I met up with them at their friend's place afterwards for kiddie dinner and grownup cocktails. The boys and their three besties then hit the mean streets for some serious candy collection (and by streets, I mean their friend's building, such are the oddities of Manhattan trick or treating).  All five boys were quite beside themselves at the chance to ring so many doorbells although it took them a few doors to get the hang of it, as initially they would all simultaneously knock, ring, and yell out "TRICK OR TREAT!" long before anyone opened the door.  Since the doorbell ringing is still more exciting for them at this point than the actual candy, they were all a little perplexed about how to handle those apartments with bowls of honor-system candy out front.  And at two apartments, the door-opener jumped out with an enthusiastic "BOO!" and the boys just about fainted (one of the "scary" homes also handed out loose skittles, shudder).  But they quickly parried with their best "trick," which consisted of telling the candy giver, "there's a sea serpent on your head!"  I suspect we've got a ways to go before they're ready for toilet paper and rotten eggs...

fortifying themselves for the night:

ready to hit the elevators:

ummm, you knock, no you knock:

hey, i know, let's all knock:

 

i can't believe this actually works, must remember strangers = candy: 

success! (suckers):

     

day in the life

Yesterday morning, Owen and Brendan came sprinting into our room to perform their usual parental wake-up routine.  Usually, this involves them both jumping on me but this time, Owen leaped up on the bed and began tickling me and saying “wakey wakey, time to get up sleepyhead” while Brendan literally ran around in circles laughing himself silly.  When I asked B what he was doing, he said, reasonably enough, “running and laughing.”  He then ran through all his favorite jokes (example – while slightly wiggling your fingers, ask “what’s this?” “a micro-wave”).  The boys then threw on their pirate costumes over their pjs to show Kevin, and after a demonstration of their ferocity and lots of“aargghhhs” and “ahoy mateys,” all three of them did the boys’ new favorite “butt-shake dance” (unfortunately, exactly what it sounds like) out of the bedroom and into the living room to start the day.

The butt-shake dance in action:

When I got home that night, the boys somehow STILL were completely hopped up on goofballs.  In less than an hour, they proceeded to (a) demonstrate their understanding of the rules of football, (b) practice their "championship racing" (as far as I can tell, this entails sprinting the length of the playroom and flinging themselves face-first on the couch, if this ever becomes an actual competitive event, Brendan will clearly dominate), (c) re-enact the Lion King, and (d) put on their winter coats, hats, and mittens to pretend they were drinking hot chocolate in the snow.  Just watching them made me exhausted.

As you can see, their grasp of the nuances of football is a little shaky:

And here they are, suited up for the winter storm that's no doubt a-brewing somewhere:

p.s. for any tech-nerd readers out there (darren, i'm thinking of you here) who noticed the videos are in vimeo and youtube, i'm just experimenting to see which takes less time to download.      

fishing for compliments

I'm fairly certain that when Cathy leaves the three of us alone for the weekend, half the reason is to hear stories like this, which inevitably follow.  

On Friday night, after Cathy left for a "Baby Sprinkle" in DC, Brendan stubs his toe.  Weeping, gnashing of teeth  and rending of garments ensue.  Brendan begs for Mommy.  I tell him that she's gone, but I'm here.  I foolishly ask why that isn't enough.  He then wails: "Because I love Mommy sooooo much."  Nice.

At that moment, Owen bounds in the room with his bedtime book and announces, "Speaking of wanting mommies, I want to read Owl Babies.  Bill wants his Mommy on every page."

Brendan looks up sadly and says, "Sniff. Like me?  Sniff."

culture vultures

This weekend was chock full of culture, between rubbing shoulders with the literati at the school book fair and the boys' broadway (audience) debut.  At the book fair on Saturday, B&O and their cronies had a grand old time, 

going bonkers over the tattoos: 

pretending to be lions during a reading of "library lion" (during the dramatic scene - spoiler alert - when the librarian falls off her stepstool and hurts her arm, Owen also kept yelling out "why can't she get up?  why can't she get up?") :

scoring an autographed copy from the esteemed author herself:

and of course, spending a good chunk of time with their shirts pulled over their heads:

Brendan dominated the lollipop ring toss with a record-breaking THREE winning throws, which almost sent Owen into a despair spiral (as you can see below) until Brendan very sweetly offered him one of his hard-won lollipops, 

Owen made elaborate Halloween artwork at the crafts table, an activity Brendan inexplicably rejected, a decision he (exactly as I predicted, but does anyone whose name rhymes with Shmendan listen to me, nooooo) deeply regretted approximately three minutes we got home.  He then proceeded to stomp around declaring “I AM SO MAD!!! because I didn’t do CRAAAAAFFFTS!!”  Admittedly, this was very self-aware of him and an excellent demonstration of "using his words" but it still took everything I had not to break into an I-told-you-so dance.     

On Sunday, Kevin's parents had incredibly generously bought tickets to a Lion King matinee for the whole extended clan, an idea which I believe originated from the boys' deep love (obsession?) of the hakuna matata song last summer.  I must confess, I was fairly skeptical that this would be a successful outing, considering the terror caused by this summer's pirate adventure and the fact that Brendan actually hides his face in fear whenever the grumpy old cartoon troll makes an appearance on Dora the Explorer.  But we hyped it up well in advance and hoped for the best.  

Things started off great, as B&O were both super high-energy outside the theatre as they ran around doing their best lion imitations.

However, as soon as we made it up to the orchestra level, before even getting to our seats, Brendan started looking terrified, to the point where he initially refused to even enter the theatre.  The first five minutes of the play were seriously touch and go – Brendan immediately began crying quietly, buried his head in my shoulder, and pressed my hand over his ear to block out the horror, while Owen just whimpered over and over, “I want to leave, I want to leave now.”  I exchanged meaningful looks with Kevin and regretted our amazing seats smack dab in the middle of an extremely long row, effectively trapping us. 

About halfway through the first act, Brendan started peeking up at the stage and saying, “that’s not so scary.”  He gradually even faced fully forward and actually seemed to genuinely enjoy the hakuna matata number and the antics of zazu the hornbill/royal advisor.  Owen watched pretty much the whole first act with a somewhat dazed expression while reclining on Kevin's lap.  They both wanted to leave at intermission, but then willingly came back for more, although Brendan did begin asking, “can we go now?” several songs into the second act.

Unfortunately, Kevin made the well-intentioned but ultimately fatal mistake of previewing for Owen that there would be a fight between Simba and Scar but that Simba would win.  During the second act, Owen must have asked Kevin at least fifty times, "Where's the fight?  Is that the fight?  Are they fighting now?  Is that Scar?  Why does Scar want to fight?  Can I close my eyes at the fight?  Who's Scar?"  And when Scar ultimately falls from Pride Rock to be dragged off (I mean tenderly nursed back to health) by the hyenas, Owen piped up, loud enough for the neighboring rows to hear, "Is Scar DEAD?!?"  Of course at the end, when asked their favorite part, both boys cheered “THE FIGHT!!!” 

As we left the theatre, Brendan was singing something to himself and when I leaned in closer to make out what it was, I realized he was chanting, “I am a very brave Brendan, I am a very brave Brendan.”  At dinner that night, they talked incessantly about Simba and Scar "taking turns" being king, what "surprise" Scar planned for Simba (spoiler alert, it wasn't a good one), and puzzled over how Simba's dad could fall to the ground (and get trampled to death by stampeding wildebeests, although I'm not sure that really sank in) and then be up in the stars.  The whole experience was very similar to how after crying through almost all of our Cape Cod pirate adventure, both boys went around playing pirate for weeks afterwards, yelling out "Aaarrgghh" and "Ahoy matey" and "Man the water cannons!" and chasing the bad pirate Slash away.  Which in my book, is the sure sign of an unqualified success.  

world's greatest picture

Now I don't want to oversell it, but I'm pretty sure this is the Greatest Picture Ever Taken:

 

Why yes, that indeed is a shirtless, tattooed Brendan (double Diegos for double toughness) lounging on a (faux) polar bear rug.  And yes, he struck that pose completely of his own accord (gathering the strength to put his shirt on I believe) while I urgently whisper-yelled to Kevin to get the camera.   

life with browen

A quick round-up of some recent entertaining and/or random boy goings-on:    

    1)  They’ve taken to playing a bizarre new game where they deliberately fall on the floor and roll around yelling, “I’m kilt (killed), I’m kilt, I’m really really kilt!  And I've got my best buddy.”  Apparently they picked this up from some of the unsavory kids who hang out at the playground and they think it’s beyond hee-larious.  They both also really enjoy the “lightning” game, which starts with “mommy don’t see me, okay?” and then they sprint past me giggling madly while I say incredulously, “oh my goodness, something just shot past me, it must be lightning in my house.”  This game can last a looong time.

    2)  We had a playdate this Friday and Brendan was feeling a little grumpy so at one point, he wandered off to his bedroom.  When I went in to check on him, he had squeezed himself into his bin of stuffed animals and solemnly informed me, “I need some quiet time.” 

    3)  Owen has started introducing topics with, "Mommy, I HATE to tell you this but..."  He also has the audacity to wail, when not getting his way, "I never get to do ANNNNYTHING!!!"      

    4)  Last night I heard some louder-than-usual chatter coming from their bedroom.  When I stuck my head in to ask what was going on, Owen told me, “nothing, I’m just talking to Brendan.”  Brendan then piped up that “Owen was scared, so I told him to have some good dreams.  Like a horse show, or going fishing, or up in space.” 

    5)  After an action-packed morning consisting of a playdate and lunch at the diner on Monday, Brendan actually asked me, "when we get home, can we please take a nap?"     

    6)  At dinner one night, Owen slyly told me he wanted to show me something.  After fumbling around for a bit underneath the table, it became clear that he had succeeded in exposing his boy bits out the leg of his shorts.  When I told him we didn’t do that, he beamed and yelled out “TABLE MANNERS!!!”

birthday extravaganza(s)

As I may have suggested in previous posts, Brendan and Owen's fourth birthday was THOROUGHLY, possibly exhaustively, celebrated this year.  All told, there were FOUR separate celebrations in a ten-day period.  Like I said, excessive.  But hey, you're only four once, right?  And I'm pretty sure it's a major milestone birthday.  Or something like that. 

Celebration the first was a big blowout gymnastics party at Chelsea Piers which I (brilliantly, and frugally) suggested doing jointly with their friend from school.  Four is still an age where you invite not only the entire class, but all parents, siblings, and general hangers-on, so there were at least 20 kids there plus assorted grown-ups.  Total mayhem seemed inevitable, but the whole thing went shockingly smoothly.  The kids were divided up into groups with "coaches" and basically had the run of the entire gymnastics studio in the Field House (inspiring considerable adult jealousy, particularly over the rope swing and giant trampolines).  Since grownups weren't allowed down on the floor, we all actually got to enjoy a semi-civilized adult party punctuated only by occasional shouted encouragement to our offspring down below.  Happily, none of my worst fears (specifically, Brendan refusing to participate, thereby setting off a chain reaction whereby Owen also sat the whole party out) were realized, and the boys had a blast.  So much so that on our way home that night, they both insisted that they wanted their party there next year and to take gymnastics "for regular."  Am heroic and a truly masterful party-planner, even if all I had to do was show up.  Surprising probably no one, the amount of loot from an all-class party - more than TWO stuffed-full garbage bags! - is truly appalling.  B&O were beside themselves, while I imagined our apartment being overrun by all this new-found treasure and grappled with pangs of guilt about unbridled consumerism and "values." 

Celebrations the second and third took place at school, where Owen celebrated his special day on Wed Sept. 30 and Brendan partied on Thurs Oct. 1.  The school was very keen on them each getting their own celebration, which I initially viewed with considerable skepticism, to put it politely, out of concern that they would find the whole thing troubling and/or confusing.  But I agreed to put the decision to the boys who eagerly agreed immediately upon grasping that it would mean two separate days of cupcakes.  Other than the whole baking-and-icing-60-mini-cupcakes aspect and a brief bout of tears from Owen on Thursday when he realized Brendan's party was on their actual birthday, the back-to-back treats were a hit.  They each started their special days by designing their own birthday crowns, which they seemingly wore all through class.  And then everyone got a cupcake with a candle at snack time, followed by enthusiastic singing for the birthday boy.  What's not to like about that?

And finally, celebration the fourth was a low-key party at our place for the grandparents and aunts and uncles and a few of the non-school friends, which ended up being FOUR sets of twins after the two singletons realized they'd be outnumbered and wisely canceled.  Unfortunately, no one agreed with my party entertainment plan of locking them all in the playroom thunderdome style and seeing which twins emerged victorious.  So we settled for crafts and trashing the apartment instead. 

If the boys weren't rampant materialists before all this birthday hoopla, they certainly are now.  For example, when Auntie Shan called to wish them a happy birthday, Brendan slyly noted, "Aunt Shannon hasn't given us a birthday present yet," and shortly after tearing through their final round of presents, Brendan was poring over the playmobil "magazine" and Owen was asking for the rock mover truck pictured prominently on the back of the box for his new firetruck.  I can only imagine what Christmas will be like...

the birthday boys:

 

rope swing with perilous drop into ball pit:

 

giant trampoline:

birthday exuberance:

"I am FOUR":

cake time (Brendan was not a fan, and refused to blow out his candles):

special school celebration part one:

special school celebration part two:

 

celebration the fourth:

 

 

already hard at work picking out items for his Christmas list from playmobil magazine:

 

birthday boys

It’s hard to believe, but these little monkeys turned FOUR today.  There’s just no getting around the fact that they’re no longer babies or even toddlers, they’re full-fledged KIDS with actual thoughts and personalities and everything.  They’re hilarious and sweet and constantly surprise me with the way their minds work and the things they say.  They fall all over themselves to tell me about their days when I get home, and one of Owen’s favorite phrases is, “Mommy, mommy, can I tell you something?”  They still call each other “bruther”, as in Brendan’s “Bruther, make up your MIND!” in bed last night when Owen was continuing to dither over the frosting color for his school birthday cupcakes.  They come home from school bursting with information about ladybug wings and deciduous trees and the fact that "symbiotic means work together!" (okay, that last one was from Diego, but I was still impressed).  They want to do absolutely everything themselves, from putting their own toothpaste on the brush to climbing up the stepladder by the sink to pour their own glass of water.  And they may still be somewhat confused about the days of the week, but their memories of random long-ago events astound me - the playground we went to last summer, the fact that their friend refused to try avocado three months ago.  They fight with each other, but they also chatter away in bed every night, "read" each other stories, make each other laugh like no other, and have frequent outbursts of spontaneous hugging.  Despite their instant protests of “I’m not a baby, I’m a BIG BOY” whenever I call them my babies, they always will be…

See, they're getting so big they're even starting to grow facial hair:

 

And need reading glasses:

 

But at least they're still small enough to share the same beach towel:

 

And hug like crazy:

weekend update

Sooo, despite my children's general fabulousness, this past weekend just about killed me.  I was off on Friday, and as my free Fridays typically involve either monsoon-like weather or some sort of trauma, this one was no exception.  The day started at 5am with a frightened Brendan, and after coaxing B back to bed, Owen popped by at 6am to announce that "Brendan just threw up his face in his bed." 

Once we all recovered from that auspicious start to the day, we took a fun family trip to the post office to submit the boys’ passport applications.  Next stop was the dentist, where Brendan almost threw up in the cab and then collapsed upon himself and wailed (weakly), "I have noooo energy."  Either the fluoride treatment or the subsequent strawberry-banana smoothie somehow must have given him the strength to keep going since by the time we got to school, both boys sprinted down the block chasing after one of their BFFs and headed up the steps to the classroom with nary a backwards glance.  After school, we sloooowwly made our way to the bus stop with their friend Benjamin and his mom and headed down to the children’s museum (possibly the most boring place on earth if you're over the age of five, and conversely the most exciting destination imaginable for the under-five set).  I have no idea what goes on at school, but I can only assume docility is ensured by threat of caning since they are ALL kinds of hyper when they get out.  We got off the bus and the one and a half block walk to the museum literally took TWENTY MINUTES, people.  There was frog-hopping, and then a stop to check out a school playground, followed by intense inspection of the fire station and the mail truck, followed by I don’t even know what.  At one point, Brendan actually had the audacity to say "it’s so faaaar, this is taking for-EV-er."  After a long slog at the museum, the boys and I headed for home where we made our own pizza for dinner (is there anything Whole Foods doesn't offer?).  At 6:58pm as I was hustling to put the boys to bed before going out at 7pm, in rapid succession (a) I realized Brendan’s bed was somehow soaking wet and had to be changed, (b) our babysitter arrived and (c) an unexpected visitor stopped by to say a slightly awkward goodbye, all while Brendan debated pitching a fit that I was dumping him with a babysitter and Owen peppered me with questions about our unexpected visitor. 

Oh, and while we were out and about on Friday, total strangers on two separate occasions commented (favorably?) about how inquisitive the boys were, meaning they Never. Stop. Talking. It’s adorable and hilarious and a sure sign of genius but woo, can it wear a person out.

On Saturday we headed out for our annual bucolic apple picking outing, followed by decidedly less picturesque trips to the grocery store and Ikea and the library, where we actually were shushed by an overly zealous security guard.  Considering there were kids drag-racing on scooters inside the library the last time we were there, I found this somewhat excessive.

And then on Sunday, there was the fun project of Ikea kitchen cabinet installation (thankfully assisted, well, let’s be honest, almost single-handedly orchestrated, by Kevin's heroic father) and laundry to be done and last-minute party prep for the boys' mega-blowout birthday party at Chelsea Piers that afternoon (more to come on that, as the boys' weeklong birthday celebrations really require their own post).  And then I collapsed in a heap whimpering, "I have noooo energy!"