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.

Hole N' The Rock

Today Jeremy and I are throwing all caution to the wind and our kids into the car and heading for a spur-of-the-moment road trip to the beautiful and almost always sunny Moab, Utah.

We’ll be here.


And here.


Jealous? You should be.

Oh, it won’t be all red rocks and hiking trails 24-7. There will be at least eight hours where one four-year old boy will be tortured by his baby sister as she sticks her size-four feet in his face, or when she accidentally grazes his leg with her arm, or the mother of all abuses, when she looks at him for longer than 2.5 seconds. How dare she?

But get those two children at a road-side McDonald’s with chicken mcnuggets in their bellies and within eyesight of a Play Place and that same boy must shout to everyone enjoying their Big Mac, or McRib (for a limited time only) that the little girl sitting next to him is his baby sister, Reesafee. And she’s NOT yours. (For some reason, Henry always feels the need to clarify to strangers that Reese is only his and not theirs.)

As an aside, we've been working with Henry lately to not talk to strangers, you know for safety sake. Somehow, he's added his own precautions on to that list that include: Not talking to strangers, zombies, ghosts, vampires and Josh. I have no idea who Josh is, but judging by the company he keeps, it is indeed wise to not talk to him.

So, peace out for the rest of the week. I won’t be here Monday either. I’ve finally been invited to hang with my idol and the coolest chick on the block. My hands are so sweaty just thinking about it.

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.