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building inertia. I'm really enjoying it. 

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I'm busy...

What The Girls Got

Yesterdays post was incomplete. I told you what they wanted, but left out what they got.

• Hannah got my vote when she runs for President.
  
• Grace got a conversation about our vacation to the Bahamas with an agreement to go back some day.
  
• Maggie got her grape tomatoes.
  
• Mary got her wine.
  

It was a good day.

What The Girls Got

What The Girls Want

Hannah came home from school today letting me know that when she is elected President of the United States of America she will pass a law that all drinking fountains will serve lemonade.

Grace came home with a paper kite and a note in the shape of a puffy white cloud that said "I will fly my kite in the Bahamas."

Maggie wanted more grape tomatoes.

Mary wanted a class of wine.

I just took note.

What The Girls Want

Guess What?

Yesterday I shared with Mary a story about Maggie and how much she understands. She's not quite eighteen months old and doesn't say a word yet, but she can understand complex directions.

It happened when I was in Maggie's room and had just finished changing her diaper. I looked around for her socks and realized that she had taken them off earlier when we were downstairs in the playroom. I told her that I needed her to go get her socks and a pair of shoes so that we could put them on her and then go for a car ride to pick her sister up from school. With that she ran off and returned a minute later with both socks and a pair of her shoes. She dropped them in front of me and then turned and headed to the closet to get her coat. I thought that was pretty impressive and told Mary as much.

Upon hearing this Mary made a quip about how smart all our kids were and that she had heard about a recent study that explained that kids get their intelligence from their mother. I don't think she really believes this. I think it's more along the lines of saying to your spouse that "your son/daughter/dog/cat did something gross/not smart/not to my liking" when they've done something gross/not smart or not to their liking. The flipside is that this same spouse is also likely to claim that "my son/daughter/dog/cat/fish did something brilliant or fantastic" when they've done something they want to brag about. That she used a "recent study" to back up her claim doesn't really convince me. I'm more convinced that they do get their intelligence from her when I pick up the girls from school and hear their conversations with each other from my spot in the front seat. To wit, here's the car ride conversation Mary's daughters held yesterday:

"Daddy?"
"Yes Grace?"
"Guess what?"
"I don't know Grace. What?"
"Chicken butt!"

"Hey daddy!"
"Yes, Hannah?"
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Chicken butt!"

"Hey Hannah, guess what?"
"What?"
"Chicken butt!"

"Hey Grace, guess what?"
"What?"
"Chicken butt!"

And on and on this went until they started changing it little by little:

"Hey Daddy, guess why?"
"I don't know. Why?" I said playing along.
"Chicken thigh!"

"Hey Daddy, guess what?"
"What?" I asked hoping it was a different answer than the previous times.
"Chicken butt!"

"Okay." I said. This is funny. I get it. But..."
"You just said butt!" They said in unison.
"I didn't mean your gluteus maximus." I said.
"Did you mean my gluteus minimus?' asked Hannah giggling.

And then the conversation, if you could call it that, degraded even further:

"Hey Daddy, guess what?" asked Grace.
"I give up. What?" I replied.
"I have a chicken in my butt!"

I have a feeling that when she reads this Mary is going to say "You need to teach your children not to say 'butt' in public."

Guess What?

TCBY/OBGYN

On December 20th, 2007 we loaded up the minivan and moved to Springfield, Missouri; Ozark country. Since then each weekend has been filled up either with entertaining friends and family coming to see us in our new digs or our adventures taking the girls on field trips to explore our new community.

This past weekend we expanded our exploration of our new area when the family took a road trip to Branson, Missouri; an easy thirty minute drive from Springfield due south on I-65. For those unfamiliar with Branson, just think of Las Vegas... now make it family friendly and about 1/16th the size... now picture it located it in Southern Missouri... in the Ozarks. Did I mention we moved to the Ozarks? Sprinkle in a few family acts like the Haygoods (could you have a more family friendly sounding act?) the Oakridge Boys, Andy Williams, Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede, Shoji Tabuchi (whose lobby bathrooms are apparently "fabulous" and "not to be missed" attractions in and of themselves), Yakov Smirnoff and you've got Branson, Missouri.

Our main goal this day was really to get the girls out of the house for a few hours and maybe, just maybe tire them out enough so that they'd go to bed early. Maggie and I had been sick all week and Mary was now starting to catch what we had.

After spotting a billboard earlier in the week the girls asked if we could go to The Titanic Museum. And that's what we did.

It was a surprisingly fun museum. The girls loved getting to meet "Rose" as she strolled through the "ship" and seeing the vintage clothing and rescued items. After dipping our hands in the pool of 28 degree water we all agreed we'd be goners if we were cast into the sea on that fateful voyage. The museum guides handed out cards at the beginning of the tour with names and brief bios of actual passengers on the trip. At the end of the tour you find out if your person made it or not. All three girls and Mary had people who survived. Mine, a third class passenger, was not so fortunate. If you are in Branson and have the time I'd give a thumb's up to checking out the Titanic.

As we were leaving Mary promised the girls that if they were able to get buckled quickly we'd find some place to get a quick treat to eat. They did and off we went. As we drove down Main Street we decided to spend a few extra minutes to tour the town. This being my first visit to Branson, I was driving slowly so we could look around.

We passed the Hollywood Wax Museum, Celebration City, the Baldknobbers Theatre and Andy Williams place. Mary wanted to find some outlet stores so we took a detour off the main road.

As we drove down a side street Gracie commented from the back.

"Did we just pass OB/GYN?"

"What was that sweetie?" asked Mary from the front passenger seat.

"OB/GYN. Did we go past it."

"Um. What do you mean honey?"

Mary and I exchanged confused looks with one another. Neither of us had any idea where this comment came from or what it was related to. Why was our five year old asking about an OB/GYN?

Then Hannah piped up from the back, very matter-of-factly "She means TCBY."

Mary and I did our best not to burst out laughing. I'm fairly certain I have never heard anyone confuse TCBY with OB/GYN. Mary says I'm to stop here and not make any more comments. I think she fears that I might say something in bad taste.

:)

TCBY/OBGYN

The Carnage Continues

I haven't posted in a while. Aside from all that goes with moving to a new agency I've been spending my free time keeping the back porch clean. It's a battleground and the cats are still winning.

Here's the latest tally:



As Hannah would say... "That's a lot of dead mickey's Dad!"

The Carnage Continues

Take Time To Enjoy The Finer Things... Like Lunch

"My, you are a slow eater" Said Grandma.

"I'm not slow" said Hannah "I just like to savor each bite."

Take Time To Enjoy The Finer Things... Like Lunch

Do As I Say, Not As I Karate Kick

Hannah and I had a little father to daughter chat today about manners. I decided we needed to discuss the polite way to ask for something after she shouted at me "Dad, get that and give it to me". There were two issues to discuss. First, she shouted at me. I don't like to be shouted at. Second, she forgot to say please.

I stopped what I was doing and paused to think for a second about how to handle this situation. Instead of scolding her, I decided that this would be a good chance to calmly remind her to use polite manners. I thought that if I shared with her that I sometimes forget to say please that we might bond over our omission of manners and the point would sink in. I told her "Hannah, aside from yelling at me, you also forgot to say 'please'. If you want some help, all you have to do is say please and I'm sure I'd be happy to help you with whatever it is you need."

And then I added "You know, sometimes even I forget to say please. I'll make a deal with you. If you will work on trying to say please, I will too. We can work on improving our manners together. Sound good?"

But instead of answering "Yes Daddy. I will work on my manners", she switched topics. The next thing she said was "You know Dad, Gracie and I wouldn't fight so much, but we see you and Mommy fighting all the time, so we learn from you."

What? Where did that come from? I started to chuckle as I thought about this. Hannah, based on our conversation about manners, grasped that I suggested that kids learn from watching their parents. I admitted as much when I told her that I don't always say "please" and told her that we should work on it together. As part of an effort to bond with her I intoned that maybe her forgetting to say "please" was due to my lack of manners. I was only trying to bond after all. But the fighting? I thought she went a little to far with that one. I told her so.

"Hannah, you and Gracie don't fight because you see me and Mommy fighting. Mommy and I don't fight, and we certainly don't bite each other or give each other karate kicks like you gave Gracie this morning, do we?"

That stumped her. "Okay Daddy, but you and your sister and brothers must have had fights when you were a kid."

And that caused me to think. Did I have lots of fights with my siblings growing up? Maybe we did, but I couldn't really recall any. My sister was in high school when I was born and I know we never duked it out. Brother Brian is about ten years older than me and if we had fought he would have had a seriously unfair advantage, so I don't think that happened. Rod is five years older and I know we used to wrestle in the living room, but that was more for me to show off and prove that I could pin him to the floor (a fact that he denies to this day) and my brother Kevin who is three years older was one of my best friends to play with.

Mary has remarked about me and my siblings being odd. To clarify she's said it's odd that we get along so well. She asked if there was any sibling rivalries growing up. I couldn't remember any. Maybe that's due to being the youngest, but we all seemed to get along fairly well. That would be odd. Five kids and no rivalries? I may need to give Ma a call and get the scoop. We're all over thirty now, so I should be able to get the scoop from her without her feeling like she would be hurting anyone's feelings.

And the talk with Hannah? I got her to admit that Mommy and I don't pull each others hair or steal barbies from one another.

Do As I Say, Not As I Karate Kick

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

This morning as I was walking from the bedroom to the kitchen I passed by the hall bathroom and saw this sign:



I heard Hannah in the kitchen and called for her to come join me over by the bathroom door. She complied quickly.

"What's up?" She said.

"Not much. What's this sign all about?" I inquired.

"That? That's for Gracie. It's a sign I made."

"Can you tell me what it says?"

"Sure. Well, first of all that is a potty. I put the letter 'P' on it so you could tell. And those are hair clippies and bows. At the top is an arrow pointing down toward the potty. And that is a red line going diagonally across everything. That means no putting hair clippies or bows in the toilet. And that is meant for Grace."

"Right. Got it. No clippies or bows in the toilet. That's a good sign. I'll make sure that one stays up. Now scoot on back to the kitchen table and finish your breakfast."

What cracked me up most about that exchange is that "The Crumpler" made the sign about not clogging the toilet. I guess you could always dissolve toilet paper with some industrial strength Drano. Clippies and bows might be a bit trickier.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

We Should Tell The Priest

Prior to moving to our new parish we had been members of St. Agnes Church. It is a very small, but beautiful church. If you arrive late you most likely will have to spend mass back in the vestibule with all the other late comers. Seats in the main part of the church are hard to come by unless you arrive right on time. As parents of a two year old and 3 month old we rarely made it to mass on time. Thus we often spent mass in the back with the other late comers. Most of them had little children too.

On one particular Sunday Hannah had to go potty during the Homily. Mary stayed with Grace while I took Hannah to find the bathroom.

The bathrooms at St. Agnes are located downstairs just off the big common room where we get the donuts after mass. Since she was still little I took her to the men's bathroom. What is the cut off age for girls to stop going to men's rooms and boys to stop going to the ladies room with their parents? Anyway, the men's room is very small. It has one urinal and one toilet.

Someone was using the toilet at the time, so we waited.

And waited.

Finally he opened the stall door. He skipped washing his hands and headed to the bathroom door to leave and head back upstairs to mass. Just as he was exiting the bathroom Hannah burst out "Daddy! Look! Why did that man use sooo much toilet paper?!?!?"

I tried to hush her, in order not to have a confrontation with the excessive toilet paper using, non-handwashing, fellow church goer. But she was right. That man had used far too much paper and clogged the toilet. And he didn't even try to flush! Apparently he either did not hear her or chose to ignore her comments - much like he chose not to wash his hands.

Hannah was complaining that she really needed to go badly so I had no choice but to take her to the ladies room. There was no way I was going to set her down on that toilet and that nasty mess.

While she sat on the impeccably clean potty in the ladies room she started grilling me on why that man had behaved he way he did. She was clearly fascinated by this and would not let it go. Why did that man use so much toilet paper? Why did he clog the toilet? Why didn't he flush and why didn't he wash his hands? I told her I didn't know why. Maybe his mommy and daddy never taught him proper bathroom etiquette when he was a little boy.

When we got back upstairs we joined Mary and Grace in the back of the church. Hannah immediately began to relay her latest bathroom experience to Mary. She said, in a voice that at the time I was sure everyone within twenty yards could hear, "Mommy, there was a man who used way too much toilet paper and clogged the potty! He didn't even wash his hands!"

And then she saw him. He was in the back of chuch with his family. Hannah pointed right at him and said "Mommy! Daddy! There he is! Do you think we should tell the priest!?!?!" I was mortified.

Thankfully, I do not think he heard her. Or maybe, again, he chose not to hear her. Either way now that we are at a new church we have a new rule. Everyone goes potty before leaving for mass.

We Should Tell The Priest

You Can Do It Daddy!

When Hannah was little and was learning to walk up stairs I used to stand behind her and tell her "you can do it. Just take one step at a time."

Just before Grace was born we moved Hannah out of the crib and into a big girl bed. We set the crib up on the landing area going up to the master bedroom. We had converted our office on the first floor into a room for Hannah. Now that she was in a big girl bed we had a gate in the doorway to keep her from wandering about at night.

One particular Saturday morning when Mary was at the hospital and Grace had not arrived yet, I thought I might be able to get some extra winks in before starting the day. As a new two year old Hannah was pretty good about waking up and playing by herself for a while until it was time for breakfast. But not on this particular morning.

While I tried to slumber on, Hannah stood at the gate in her bedroom doorway and kept calling for me to come play with her. I begged for a few more minutes of sleep. "I'll be right there honey. I promise." We went on like that for about five to ten minutes. Then she said it.

"C'mon Daddy! You can do it. Just take one...step...at...a...time!"

I never had better motivation to start my day.

You Can Do It Daddy!