Love Hang-Over

Just before Valentine’s Day, the Steenky Haus was hit with a monsoon of sickness. Both Henry and Reese caught nasty colds, complete with explosive sneezing and gusts of non-stop whining. Once they hit the road to recovery, they insisted that with all-day cartoon marathons in mom and dad’s room, and unlimited access to their left over Valentine’s candy, they would recover quickly.

A couple of times I heard Henry upstairs coaching his little sister on what to say when summoning me and the exact tone to use when requesting a shot of juice with a side of Sweet Tarts. In Henry’s mind this elaborate drill was necessary if the kids were to avoid the pediatrician’s office, an unfortunate lesson he learned a year ago when he pressed the issue of a stomach pain with me when, in fact, he was just trying to avoid cleaning his playroom.

Nice try little boy. I think the doctor diagnosed him with pretendanitis and told him not to play tricks on mommy.

Although, half of me is giving my son a silent high-five, because, really? He has developed deceptive organizational skills at such an early age? We have managed to raise a truly gifted child. I can’t wait to collaborate with him in the future on projects like What did daddy get mommy for Christmas? or the ever popular When did the toothless lady down the street start raising goats in her back yard? After all, I am growing very tired on being the mastermind on all these fact-finding missions. I could really use a partner.

So back to the kids…

Ten minutes has passed and I still hear Henry helping Reese go over her lines and just what to say when it becomes her turn to beg for candy. They are using her room for rehearsal since it is the only suitable area upstairs for such an activity. Reese’s area has all the princess dress up clothes and the lighting concept in that room? Is. To. Die. For.

A few minutes later, Henry and Reese emerge. (slowly, very slowly with blankets in tow - Henry has now incorporated props! I am so proud!) They come downstairs (still very slowly) to hit me with their plan. But before Henry, who is clearly leading this thing, even gets a chance to begin, Reese interrupts and excitedly shouts, SUCKER! SUCKER! over and over again.

I can only assume she was referring to the candy stash and she hasn’t picked up name-calling at such a young age. Although…if Henry and I ever find ourselves in a situation where we need a third man to get the job done, we could use Reese to run interference.

Young Love...No, Really, Really Young Love.

Henry has a girlfriend. It’s true. At the tender, young age of four, he claims he’s found the girl he wants to marry. Jeremy and I have laughed this off for a few months now telling him that he’s nowhere near ready to get married. “Give it until you’re eight,” I tell him. “If you’re still in love with this girl, then I’ll start looking at dates and venues for your wedding.”

The girl who has stolen his heart goes by the name Keely. She’s four. She likes playing dolls, the color pink, sunsets and long walks near the playground. Her turn-offs include spiders, boys who are pushy in the lunch line and vegetables. Apparently, this Keely is sweet on Henry too. Jeremy and I have talked with the preschool teacher to make sure their relationship is cruising at a G-level rating only. We can’t have anything moving too quickly. Everyone knows you wait until Kindergarten to really settle down, don't they?

Thankfully, according to their teacher, Henry and Keely occasionally eat lunch together and hug each other hello and goodbye. At four, I guess that’s the extent of a torrid love affair.

Today, I was at the pre-school picking up the kiddos. Have I ever told you how much I love picking the kids up at their school? All the children instantly recognize me when I enter the building and shout at the top of their lungs, “It’s Henry’s mom! It’s Reesie’s mom!” They all come a runnin’, circle around me and yell whatever is on their little minds at that moment.

“Henry didn’t share with me!” a blonde girl shouts. “Today we ate watermelon!” a boy named Josh announces. One time, I swear I heard Cade, one of the smaller boys in class shout, “Those shoes really clash with your handbag, lady!”

Tsk, tsk. What does a four-year old know about fashion?

Today I was standing outside Henry’s classroom door. Not wanting to draw any attention my way I hugged the doorframe and signaled to Henry that it was time for him to go. Normally, I walk right in the class but my pants weren’t fully pressed and I’m sure Cade couldn’t resist pointing out my pants faux pas.

As I waited for Henry to grab his backpack I noticed a woman inside the classroom standing next to Keely and thought to myself that this must be her mother. The pair eventually made their way out into the hall I introduced myself as the woman who fights with Henry every morning to make sure he brushes his teeth and wears clean underwear. Debbie, as her name turned out to be, let out a loud gasp and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “It’s about TIME we meet, don’t you think?” as she hugged me tight. “I think our children love each other!”

Debbie and I then held a twenty-minute conversation, sharing what little details we knew about the kids’ ongoing “relationship”. I knew immediately Debbie was my kind of gal. She could she talk and talk and talk (like I do) and she was genuine and warm and thrilled that our children were close friends.

I allowed myself a silent sigh of relief when it was confirmed that Keely is equally as smitten with Henry as he is with her. I just couldn’t bear to nurse the broken heart of my little boy if Keely decided not to be his friend. Honestly, I have my own issues to deal with at the moment. Monday it’s my turn to be “Class Mom” at school and I'm completely stressed out. It's imperative that I sport a snappy outfit that ABSOLUTELY KILLS in order to keep Chase, the tiny fashion Nazi, where he belongs - quiet and stuffed in the back of the classroom so he doesn't just how long overdue for a pedicure I am.

I've Been Lazy. My Husband's Been Pantless.

Aw, hell. I’ve gone missing again haven’t I? What’s my deal? I don’t know. I wish I could say that I’ve been traveling and keeping myself busy, but the truth of the matter is the furthest I’ve traveled is my 35-mile commute to and from work. Up hill, both ways.

Busy? Pfft. As if.

I mean, work has been crazy, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been so happy to see that our marketing department is thriving and busy during the downturn in the economy. Recessions are not kind to architects, people. They are even less kind for the support staff responsible for finding the work for architects. Everyone is nervous. Everyone is excited. Everyone is wondering why I haven’t washed my hair in three days. (Including my husband.)

But other than work, have I been busy? Nope. I have sat my a** down on the sofa almost every night and tried to teach my four year old, Henry, the art of a soothing foot rub. So far he’s not getting it at all. Not even close. My advice to you people is not expect perfection from a four-year old when you’re trying to explain to him how to “apply firm, but gentle pressure to mommy’s arches”. Even Reese, his 18-month old sister is grasping the fundamentals of a foot rub better than him. She bends down, smells our feet and then exclaims, “Pew!” as she toddles off. This will go on for a good hour. Reese also has no issue of pretending to smell the feet of complete strangers and proclaiming them stinky. I found one out the hard way at Noodles & Company, ya’ll.

For now, my tired feet and I have settled for Henry just running his little monster trucks up and down on the bottoms of my feet for about 30 seconds until he loses focus and decides he’d rather organize the shoes in his closet. I kid you not. The kid has more shoes than I do and he insists on lining them up next to each other in random formations. It’s not unusual to walk into his room and see his shoes situated in to form the letter “H” in the middle of the floor in his room. Last week, he asked me if I would go buy him some Iron Man shoes and some more Spiderman shoes so he could finish spelling out his name with all of them. So far, when he combines all his shoes together, he can get H-E-N-R before he runs out to complete the "Y". Yes, my child has THAT many shoes. At least he’s using them to learn something. He’s sort of a modern day Charlotte’s Web, wouldn’t you say?

I now feel the need to run right out and pick up a few cheap pairs of sandals for him. I fear that if I don’t, the next thing I’ll find on his floor a giant “F” and “U” out of his little size 7 Sketchers.

Jeremy blew out his pants last week. This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I just had to hurry and write it down before I forgot to tell you all. Those sad looking khakis ripped a good seven inches right down the middle of the seat of his pants while he was engaged in floor play with me and the kids. (Eww, if you read that too fast, it sounds like “foreplay” doesn’t it? Maybe that’s what he had in mind? Rip-away pants anyone?) Lucky for him, he was in the comfort of his own home when the wardrobe failure happened. Not so lucky for the rest of us, he wasn’t wearing any underwear at the time.

Well, until next time, (which could very well be tomorrow, or next month according to my erratic posting schedule) peace out, people. May you live long and prosper, and may your pants never, ever self destruct in front of small, inquisitive children or a spouse with a blog.

A Life Lesson For Henry

Sometimes you're three years old. And sometimes your dad is an architect and you think he is the coolest guy in the world. You want to be just like him. You decide that you will build tall buildings just like your dad does.

But first you need a backer with some financial resources.



Enter your little sister. She's sunk everything she has into Cheerios. Fortunately for you and your project, Cheerios is the only market not affected by the recent "adjustment" on Wall Street. Your financier seems eager to get the project rolling.



So you start to design and build...



...and build some more.



Excellent work. You are within your budget. The design is breathtaking.

Oh no! Structurally unsound! Your building comes tumbling down.

Your client is not pleased.


You are distraught. This will definitely cost you some serious change orders.

But you're only three. You don't know what change orders are. So you throw caution (and a few jam packets) to the wind. You start rebuilding.

The client keeps a close eye on you.

Frank Lloyd Wright would be so proud.

You get side tracked. Just for a minute.

Your client is not amused.



But you soon regain your momentum. You finish your work. You take a moment of pause to reflect on your masterpiece.

It's not only visually stunning, but it's functional as well.

The client is very pleased.

But, her financial backing has fallen through because her money is all tied up in a legal trust. Also, she never obtained to proper permits for the site. Besides the zoning ordinance states that you can't build a structure over three stories tall on this property. Your design clearly does not meet this criteria. You put a lien on the property and you're now held up in a legal battle that wages on for years. Your practice is suffering and your business partner ran off with the secretary. Things just aren't panning out. You're left in shambles with only the memories of your jelly-filled skyscraper.

Sweet Pee (Not Sweet Pea)

Yesterday, my son, Henry, did the sweetest thing ever. It was with urine. That's right. (Notice how I didn't put "sweet" and "urine" together in the same sentence? I don't think you're supposed to do that.) (Also, how many people will stumble across this post by Googling "sweet urine"?) (Another also, why so many parenthesis so early in this post?)

Anyway, back to the urine. If I had a dime for every time I've said that before...

Henry, like many males, enjoys peeing outdoors. More importantly, he likes to pee outdoors ON objects. His favorites right now are tires, rocks, off bridges and into a big flower pot in our yard. His peeing on the stray shrub or tree phase passed so quickly.

Those few moments right before Henry has to pee are the wildest. He'll stop whatever he's doing and exclaim, "I have to pee in the pot!" From then, it's a dash out the door, into the yard so he can relieve himself. At first, he was a straight shooter. He'd just aim for the center of the pot and go. Lately, this doesn't give him much satisfaction. He's had to change it up.

Yesterday morning, he grabbed me with excitement and yelped that he had to pee in the pot. We did our thing, running outside, finding his favorite mark. As I stood behind him and watched him go, I noticed his little hips had kind of a swing to them. He was moving back and forth and kind of talking to himself. When he was all finished, Henry called me in closer. "Look, Mommy, I made an 'H' for you."

Although there wasn't a definite "H" scrawled in the dirt, I give the kid props for trying. I teared up a little as I looked at that pot full of pee. I give him high artistic marks, but he still needs work on the execution. I'm so proud of my little man. Him and and his peeing prowess.

P.S. Peeing Prowess would be an awesome album name.

P.P.S. Yes, I took a picture of pee. If Captain Dumbass can snap a picture of a guy riding a toilet, I see no problem with urine.

P.P.P.S. Blissfully Caffeinated has peeing on her agenda lately too.

I Will Push The Sword And The Sun Will Come Up

Somewhere along the way, Henry has been trained to believe that our Swiffer Sweeper is a sword. Maybe it was me? Probably not. This sounds like something his father would coax him into believing. Whatever. If it gets the kid to clean, then I'm all for it.

So a few nights ago Henry stands in our kitchen with the Swiffer (fun word to say) repeating over and over, "I will push the sword and the sun will come up." He concentrates as he sweeps back and forth. He sounds surprisingly insightful as he says this. He's so serious right now. Maybe there's deeper meaning to his ramblings. Has my son somehow tapped into another level of enlightenment? I begin to think that maybe he's wiser than I give him credit for. After all, he's three and he's already using metaphors. Hello. Sword? Sun? My boy is brilliant.

He glances in my direction and catches me watching him. "What?" he says.

"Nothing, " I reply, smiling at him.

I see him thinking for a brief moment. "Momma, I got something to tell you," he says.

Here it is, I think to myself. My little man is about to drop some sort of, higher level truth bomb my way. He throws down his Swiffer sword and walks over to the kitchen table. He sticks his little chubby finger up his nose, hands the contents over to me and asks, "Can I have chocolate, Momma?"

Not exactly the truth bomb I was hoping for, but it will do for now.

Helpy Helperson

Sometimes, Grandma Jo and Grandpa Brent let time slip away from them. Sometimes, before they know it, Christmas is gone and summer is upon them. Their house wouldn't know it though. Take a look at the sweet Christmas lights still atop their roof.


Sometimes these same Grandparents call you up and their all, "Henry and Reese, can your parents come up to help us take down our Christmas lights? We're just not feeling that festive anymore. That, and it is almost July, you know."

And Henry's all, "Uh huh."

So your son has signed you up to do some hard, manual labor over Father's Day weekend without any prior consultation. Here, Hennners thinks he's only been recruited to supervise.


Um, I don't think so. Little man, grab a handful of lights and get to steppin'.


Apparently, Henry isn't into the whole 'Christmas Spirit' thing. He's all, "That was so, like six months ago."

He'd rather bust some serious dance moves.


More constructive dancing.


Reesie is a fan. She eggs him on.


After all the dancing and singing Christmas songs, (he sort of got the gist of the exercise), Henners and Dad decided to cool off in Grandpa's creek.


This is waaaay better than forced manual labor.


And surprises. Look! An electronic keyboard. Sometimes fortune just smiles upon you, my friends. If we'd only known about this earlier, Grandma could have played back up for Henry's musical show.


The boys keep heading up the creek. Grandpa keeps a close watch on them.


Once they get out of the creek, Henners announces that he needs to take care of some other business. What could it be?


It's pee business! Look how proud The Manster is as he wizzes off Grandpa's bridge.


Yay! He may not excel in assisting in the long overdue taking down of holiday cheer, but Henry does master the peeing off a bridge category.

Domestic Violence

Readers: Judging from my last few posts, it looks like all the Glass family does is stand around and pretend to fight. This post only furthers that misconception.

Friday, I treated Henry to Kung Fu Panda. It was amazing. I highly recommend it to anyone, with the obvious exception of Ju-Lee. After the matinee, Henry was all hopped up on buttered popcorn and Reese's Pieces so he decided he would challenge me to a battle of strength and agility using only the techniques he picked up in the movie and a large cardboard box.

Here the Dragon Master salutes me before opening his tiny can of whoop-a**.


He then squares up and gives me his best "Are you ready for this?" face.


Dragon Master starts off aggressively with the Pushing Monkey move. Hi-ya.

Next it's The Crow. That. Just. Happened.

Then Crouching Tiger.

Looks like the Manster has a case of The Hidden Dragons.

I taunt him by saying that I bet he can't fight his way out of a cardboard box.

This angers The Chosen One.

More anger.

Still more anger.

Now some confusion.

Now it's fear. Oh what is wrong Little Warrior?

The Dragon Master whispers to me that he has a secret surprise for me.


As I step in closer, The Warrior prepares himself.


I steady my gaze on him now. What trickery does Tiny One have up his sleeve?

Suddenly, he breaks into familiar song..."Popcorn popping on the apricot tree!"

Everybody together now..."It wasn't really so, but it seemed to me, popcorn popping on the apricot tree!"

I never saw that coming. You know what they say...Kill 'em with kindness and confuse 'em with Primary songs. Peace Out.

Stalking

So this weekend I begged Jeremy and Henry to go to the Dinosaur Park with me on Friday. Henry was a push over and was easy to convince with it being his favorite place and all. I sealed the deal with Jeremy when I mentioned there would be a cheap barbecue there with other people hanging out to visit with. Reese was up for anything and on my side from the start.

What I didn't tell the rest of my family was that I was secretly fulfilling my need to stalk my favorite morning show DJs and that they were hosting a "Family Mixer" at the Ogden Dinosaur Park. Technically it was a single parent mixer so I offered to have Jeremy and me act estranged and distant while there. They assured me that 75% of those responding to the offer were married couples so I felt better. When I told Jeremy this he then asked me if it would be a "swingers" party. No chance of that.

Here's one of my favorite radio personalities, Bill, as he cooked up some hot dogs and hamburgers for all the families and the few disappointed single parents actually hoping to meet someone.


That photo was taken from so far away. I'm not really a good stalker.

Henners was so preoccupied by the short bus that the radio people drove to the park.


He insisted over and over that he get to ride the short bus. Oh, those words!

I did muster up enough courage to go talk to Gina, another one of the DJs but I didn't get photographic evidence. It would be kind of weird to ask for a picture of us together while we're talking and while she's feeding her infant. I may be a stalker, but I'm a polite one. She did comment on how cute our children were and she was especially taken with Henry even before she knew he was mine. Gina and I talked for a good ten minutes and she was impressed/scared by all of my Radio From Hell knowledge. Oh, yes, Gina, I DO know where you live, I DO see you at lunch all the time and I DO recall the name of your first gig on that radio station almost 16 years ago. (cue crazy psycho music....now!)

After I had accomplished my goal of becoming BFFs with Gina, the rest of my family decided it was time to view the Dinosaur Park for the third time that month. THIRD time, people! That's amazing considering it was only the 7th of June, don't you think?

Here's Henry's favorite thing at the park this month. It's a prehistoric crocodile. We always pretend we don't know where it is and that we need his help to find it. He loves showing us the way. He might also think we're a little bit daft.

Here's Henry gloating to himself about once again successfully finding the croc. He's also hoping he doesn't inherit our poor memory skills.


Stopping to look at the pond now.

Now we're digging for dino bones.


Still digging. But something just to the right has caught the Manster's eye. What could it be?

Bunnies! When you think dinosaurs, you think bunnies, right?

Henry loves to visit and feed the bunnies.

After Henry successfully fed the bunnies and I had somewhat successfully stalked my DJs, we decided it was time to leave. Actually, the rain decided it was time to leave. On our way out, Henry discovered revolving doors.


He also discovered they only revolve one way.


And no matter how hard he pulled, they wouldn't turn the other way.

More trying.

Even more revolving.

You may have won this time, door. But Henry will be back. In about two days, or so if we stay on this record pace of visiting the park. And we'll have the last laugh. Or not.