BOGS

no justice

So my children's lives are officially way better than mine (as if there was ever any doubt).  Last week, Owen's friend invited him to the Knicks-Hornets game, where they sat THREE(!) rows from the court, surrounded by such luminaries as Paul McCartney, Jerry Rice, and Giants WR Mario Manningham (Owen only cared about that last one).  Naturally, given Owen's track record attending professional sporting events, it was one of the few games the Knicks have lost since the onset of Lin-sanity.  And the mother of one of Brendan's friends just called me to invite Brendan to the Rangers game on Saturday.  Front row seats!  Whereas I will be staying home catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.  I clearly need fancier friends. 

   

things that are awesome

Uncle Dave gave Hank these phenomenal white Air Jordans with black patent accents for his birthday.  And Dave's special ladyfriend got Henry his very own Amare Stoudemire Knicks jersey, and Aunt Erin showered him with awesome sporty/superheroes attire.  Do these people know their nephew or what?  Naturally Henry insisted on putting it all on immediately, and ran around the playroom like a crazy person playing basketball and football.  The next morning, the first words out of his mouth were "back on! shirt back on!" right before he hustled off to find his new sneakers.  

The jersey looks particularly good accessorized with penguin pjs:

Naturally, his big brothers donned their Knicks pjs and insisted on posing for basketball trading card pictures:

Go Knicks!  Please let the Lin-sanity continue!

craft nerds

A while ago, I came home from a typical weekend afternoon of carefree waltzing about town to find a cottage industry had sprung up in my absence.  B&O were industriously working away at their little table, and excitedly told me they were making Popsicle stick men - "It's so easy!  All you need are popsicle sticks, markers, and elmer's glue.  Seriously, that's it!!" 

They then decided their men needed a popsicle stick house to call home.  So they created the frame and we glued it together, and then colored it with markers.  Then we decided to add colored paper, and some green construction paper grass.  They were seriously ecstatic at this point, beside themselves with the complete and utter awesomeness of their project.  We added some 3D pipecleaner flowers out front and they each drew bikes and scooters and skateboards (and B drew a pair of Geox shoes, what a brand snob) in the front yard, and Owen constructed a ramp up to the house with a sign "Walk Go Slow."  They played with their popsicle stick men until bedtime, at which point they hastily constructed beds for them all so they could go to sleep too.  Maximum adorableness achieved. 

saturdays with hank

Have I mentioned how awesome my Saturdays alone with Henry typically are?  B&O, along with one of their best friends, are on a "pre-racing" ski team called the Super Stars or something equally empowering, so they head off with Kevin at dawn to Mountain Creek.  More often than not, I wake up at 8am(!!) to the sounds of Henry contentedly singing to himself in his crib.  We have a leisurely breakfast, read the Times together (he takes the sports pages, I get to start with real estate since Kevin isn't here to snatch it), then head out for an "adventure" before he goes down for a three plus hour afternoon nap.  Nothing against B&O, but it's pretty glorious.  Of course, the Saturdays when we both get up at 6am when the boys leave are a different story, with approximately 1000% more crabbiness from both of us. 

This weekend, we read about Jeremy Lin's continuing awesomeness (Henry was very impressed if his insightful "baskeyball!" commentary is any indication), built some train tracks and then went to a free "get up and dance" class.  Henry was a tad skeptical of the salsa and merengue moves, but very keen on waving the neon scarves, admiring himself in the full-length mirrors, hugging the teacher, and cleaning up.  That plus lunch out with his dance partner carried us straight through till nap time.      

A few weekends ago, though, I got a little more ambitious and decided to try a run in the park with a friend.  Nothing like pushing 50+ pounds of toddler plus stroller up and down hills to get your heart rate up.  He happily paged through Sports Illustrated as we set off, and commented enthusiastically on all the dogs! bikes! and occasional trucks! we came across.  Alas, about halfway into the run, his mood soured, presumably because his mittenless hands were freezing (in my defense, it was at least 50 degrees out, and it is next to impossible to read a magazine with mittens on, especially if you are incapable of putting your thumbs properly in the thumb holes).  After my efforts to wrap his hands up in his hat, my windbreaker, and his coat pockets failed, I spent the second half of the run half-walking, half-jogging while holding his hands in mine and pushing the stroller with my elbows.  Lesson learned.  Next on the day's agenda - the Natural History Museum to meet up with his pal Felicity.  Cue gleeful scampering, exclamations of "dino bones!  in the floor!  look!" and, most adorably, hand-holding.  Worn out from his action-packed morning, Hank completely passed out in my arms one block away from our lunch destination, and slept soundly through the cab ride, elevator, key finagling, coat/shoe removal, and crib depositing process.  

and now we are two

All of a sudden, Henry just up and turned two on Wednesday.  TWO!  He is officially a proper boy.  I have no idea how that happened.  Naturally, I completely forgot it was his birthday until I got to work that morning, at which point I called Kevin seeking confirmation that we were both horrible, neglectful parents.  Apparently, no, just me.  In my defense, we had thrown him a little party on Sunday that even included a home-made cake.  Clearly still miffed at the slight, however, Henry got his revenge by behaving like a complete jackass that night.  Meltdowns galore.  He tried to slap me when I put away the crayons.  He bizarrely went into the kitchen and pulled down a sweet potato off the counter just so he could throw it.  He screamed in rage when I removed his (loudly) singing football from his crib, and in even more rage (with undertones of despair) when he threw his beloved bunny out of bed.  

A quick aside - Henry's bunny-induced fit turned Brendan all wide-eyed and lip-quavering and shaky.  He required more hugs and kisses, extra tucks, and a little story about sleepiness spreading all the way up from his toes to his forehead.  Owen, on the other hand, only wanted to discuss his planned basketball playoffs (he just finished creating an elaborately detailed bracket by conference).  "So I'm thinking the playoffs will be two games in New York, then two games in Dallas, then one game back in New York, and then the last two in Dallas!  What do you think of that, mama?"  A truly perfect example of their vastly differing personalities.    

But back to Hank and his many colored moods.  True, he was/is a bit under the weather, but I fear we're about to be crushed by a serious case of the terrible twos, right on schedule.  Yesterday, en route to the doctors (wheee, do we know how to celebrate!), we passed by the place he takes soccer.  Freakout city when we kept rolling on ("SOCCER! SOCCCCEEERRRR!  NOOOOOOO!!" and so on for five long blocks).  And again at the doctors when he couldn't bring the waiting room dump truck into the exam room with him.  Seriously, the shot was the least of our troubles.  Happily, a 3+ hour nap and he was back to his charming, adorable self again.  FOR NOW.    

PS - As for vital stats, my man Hank weighs in at 32 pounds and is 36.5 inches tall, 90% and 95% respectively.  His head size continues to be off the charts, but in a tasteful way rather than a point-and-stare-in-horror sort of way.  

The chair pose (perhaps for the last time, this can't keep going indefinitely, right?):

And los dos - B in safari chic, O preparing for the rodeo circuit:

banner day

Sunday was a momentous day for our household in a bunch of ways.  First, the boys skiied their first black diamond in the morning.  They excitedly told me that the sign said "for experts only!!!" and that they "beat the ski patrol down!!!"  Next, and possibly even more thrilling, for the first time ever, Owen got to watch the entire Super Bowl and see the Giants beat his grandmother's beloved Patriots.  We packed them both off to bed at halftime, but when Owen was still wide awake an hour later, he was granted a reprieve.  He watched the rest of the game snuggled up next to Kevin and the father-son bonding was over-the-top adorable.  

In the more dubious milestone category, Brendan casually busted out with a "DAMMIT!" while playing a game (this from a kid who says "s word" instead of "stupid").  And Henry seems to have devised a new way of expressing his displeasure, repeatedly trying to cram an entire felt football field into his mouth when he couldn't get the football players to stay standing up.  Nothing weird about that whatsoever, nope.   

 

the dailies

I decided to try a little experiment a few weeks ago, where I wrote down a little something every day about our evening routine.  For posterity, and to help me remember what this stage was really like once the boys have all gone off and left us (sniff).  I don't know why I've been so wordy lately, I promise to go back to throwing up a few cute pictures and calling it a post very soon.      

Monday

I get home from work, and the four of us sit around the table eating snacks and talking about their days.  B excitedly tells me all about his "structures" project - they are working from photos to draw "huge" pictures of their apartment buildings.  He tells me that they worked on it in social studies AND choice, he didn't start using sharpies yet to outline his pencil drawing because he "had a LOT of air conditioners and windows to draw," and he "can't WAIT for my next social studies!"  Owen tells me about his first day of after-school basketball.  He matter-of-factly states that he is "probably the best one there" and when I ask if he learned anything new, he says, "welll, other kids maybe did, I didn't really."  That kid certainly doesn't lack for confidence.  Post-snack, all three boys pull out echo microphones and stage an impromptu song and dance number in the kitchen.  Shortly thereafter, Henry and I head off to his room for stories and songs (where I first learn he can sing "we will rock you").  By the time I put him down and return to the playroom, B&O are wearing their ski helmets and have festooned their arms with slap bracelets.  They're playing a pretend football game between the Eagles and the Cheetahs.  I'm called on to serve as ref, and instructed to throw a flag repeatedly on slo-mo staged plays in which one player knocks the other's helmet off.  Brendan's player is "injured" and requires medical attention, consisting of lots of slap bracelets applied "above the bendy part" of his arm, yet winds up the player of the game.  The Cheetahs win handily, despite the Eagles' dirty play.   

Tuesday

I abandon my family to work late, so Kevin is at the nighttime helm.  He reports that after a full-blown wrestling match, Brendan starts flipping through ski magazines and inquiring about ski resorts.  They get out the globe to locate Idaho and Colorado until Henry busts in and makes a play for the globe, exclaiming "Ball! Ball!  Balloon!"  Then they do some google-earthing to map out our upcoming Vermont ski trip.  Tensions flare as all three boys try to sit on Kevin's lap, and Hank gets worked up (and very pushy) about sharing HIS space.  During Henry's bedtime stories, he spies B listening at the bedroom door, bustles over, peeks through the crack, happily exclaims "bye bye!" and closes the door on B.  They're still awake when I get home, so I'm greeted by delighted cries of MOMMY! and B and O leaping into my arms for hugs (this doesn't seem to happen as much when I come home at my regular time) and Henry loudly calling "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYYYYY!!!" from the crib.  In the continuing "structures" saga, B sadly tells me his class ran out of time so his windows won't be outlined in sharpies after all.  Owen obsesses over who will make it to the Super Bowl and wants to discuss in exhaustive detail our favorite teams, what I think about a Saints-Patriots matchup, and who we least want to win.  He then throws me a curveball and asks about my favorite animals, and is bizarrely dejected when I don't list his favorite, the jaguar (apparently "big cats" was too vague for his liking).  

Wednesday

Tuckered boys means we spend our evening mostly laying about in various states of exhaustion.  We snuggle on the couch to watch Kung Fu Panda ("big bear!  big bear!" Hank excitedly exclaims, interspersed with brief bouts of panic).  Big school news is ultimately shared with me - Brendan got to outline his structure in sharpie after all, huzzah ("I can't WAIT till social studies when we paint it!!").  Owen is upset because in gym, everyone got to dribble "with their favorite hand" except him since their teacher (supposedly) made them all use their right hands.  I tell him it's good practice since he'll need to dribble with both hands if he wants to go pro and he perks up.  B&O join us for Henry's stories tonight, which distresses HRH somewhat, as evidenced by his efforts to push B off my back where he was draped like a tired tree monkey and to push B's hands off our book while screeching "OFF!  OFF!"  You really have to be a mother in order to pick up on these kinds of subtle clues.  Owen spends Henry's storytime sprawled out on the bedroom floor reading his new library book "authored" by football greats Tiki and Ronde Barber about their pee wee football league triumphs.  Henry insists on reading a book about Darth Vader.  And on touching and identifying all 26 animal decals on the closet door before breaking out into "twinkle twinkle little star."  In the bathroom before bed, Owen idly wonders what would happen if the toilet seat hit his penis and appears inclined to find out.  In bed, Owen again engages me in a lengthy super-bowl-focused football discussion.  He is obsessed, I tell you.  B pouts because O gets two separate tuck-in chats, and insists on more hugs and conversation.  Five minutes post-tuck-ins, Owen silently appears out of nowhere all ninja-style and proudly announces that he was in fact trying to sneak up on me (mission accomplished).  Naturally, Brendan comes out to see why Owen is out of bed, then Henry gets agitated for being left behind, and we go through another (considerably more abbreviated) tuck-in process.  Ten minutes later, the bedroom door creeeakks open and Owen emerges, claiming he can't sleep.  When that doesn't work, he tries to pretend he had a bad dream.  I am less than sympathetic.     

Thursday

Emotions are running high this evening.  B & O both try to crawl into my lap and get a little whiny/weepy when there's not enough room for both of them.  Owen collapses in a mildly despairing heap on the floor, which Henry naturally takes as an invitation to wrestle (he views anyone lying on the floor as fair game).  When Owen doesn't wrestle him back, Henry leans over and apparently BITES him on the forehead.  Cue tears.  Brendan then decides this is a good time to lose his sh*t about being hungry.  More tears, general despair, until I set out a snack and everyone perks up dramatically.  B starts bopping around singing, "tomorrow is going to be so AWESOME!  I get to paint my structure!  Ooh yeah, ba-by!"  Yet again, O wants to discuss my "favorite team in the NFL, not just in the playoffs, the NFL!" and then actually boos me when I say the Bills.  Tanked up on cottage cheese and cashews, Henry bustles off to get his headlamp.  In relatively short order, the three of them are parked up on the top bunk, pretending the red glowing headlamp is a campfire and they are looking up at the stars.  When I tell them it's time to come down, they pretend it's morning and Brendan cheerfully advises his fellow campers, "time to get a move on it, before the bears get here."  Before stories, we sloooowwly pick out clothes for our weekend skip trip, while Henry helps by scooping up big armfuls of the carefully selected clothes and throwing them in the hamper.  Brief pause for a wildly inappropriate fit by Brendan about a missing pj top, who then somehow manages to hit his eye on the medicine cabinet during teeth brushing.  Buckets of Brendan tears while Hank pitches his own mini-fit about the indignities of being asked to brush his teeth.  Bedtimes like this are why mommy drinks.     

Friday

Brendan wakes me up at 5:30am soaking wet and shivering in pee-soaked pajamas.  He takes them off (why does he need me to suggest this to him?) and crawls into bed with me.  He chats away merrily about how today is "the best day ever!  I get to paint my structure and then go SKIING!" somehow ignoring my vehement stance that it is in fact still night time, not chatty mcchatterson time.  A little before 7am, he starts clamoring for me to get up, and the chorus swells with Henry's cheerful bellowing from his crib "GET UP NOW! GET UP NOW!" (ok, that was actually kind of awesome).  We have banana bread for a special breakfast treat and Henry begins to collapse in despair about being served an actual banana until he finally realizes that right beside it is a delicious hunk of "nana bread."  Crisis narrowly averted.  We all kiss Henry goodbye and head out the door for school, with him none the wiser that we're ditching him for three days of skiing and me suppressing (very mild) pangs of guilt over it.