Living a charmed life

I don't know how I got so lucky. I have two gorgeous children, the nicest, most hilarious husband in the world, a beautiful house (that could stand to be cleaner), healthy animals, a greenhouse full of greens. And now a book deal. Something many, many excellent writers face years of rejection to accomplish. What did I do to deserve all of this? With so many people in the world struggling, it makes me a little squirmy to have so much good fortune, and some part of me wonders when the other shoe will drop.

So I try to justify it: I've worked hard on my book for many years. I go out of my way to be generous and kind to people--even those I've never met. I try not to take the things I have for granted, though I sometimes don't appreciate my life as much as I should. But no matter how I justify my good luck, I feel like I'm just asking to be walloped by the Universe one of these days.

So I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, and keep trying to do my part to make everyone else's life as charmed as mine.

Now, some recent funnies. :D

Funny words:

Fintan: Macnin (napkin)

Coen: Apkin (napkin)

Fintan: Venomen (venom)

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Coen: (says this a lot at 5 a.m.) "Downsteers? No get back in bed! Downsteers? No rocking! Downsteers? No bites! (pacifiers) Downsteers? Yay! (He claps and smiles and gives a big hug to whomever he's suckered). Eat cupcakes?"

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Fintan (yelling from the bathroom): "Mommy, are you still in there?"

Me: "Nope, I escaped!"

Fintan: "Well, after you wipe my bottom I'm getting my rope and taking you right back to jail."

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Pat (to Fintan last night at bedtime): "Tomorrow afternoon you get to go with me to see where I work and then we'll meet Papa and Nini and go to a basketball game! And we're going to eat dinner at Steak n' Shake. Do you know what they have there? Teeny tiny french fries!

Fintan: "and shrimp?!"

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Pat: "There's something sticky on the floor over here."

Me: "I have no idea what it could be."

Pat: "I'm guessing candied drool."

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I love my boys. :)

When I grow up...

Do I want to be a farmer? Apparently. I have 26 chickens, 19 guineas, 3 turkeys, 2 ducks, 2 dogs, 1 giant rabbit, and 1 cat who lives on the neighbor's front porch. I also have 1 large, unhappy garden with a few large, happy watermelons and two dozen tomato plants that boast tomatoes only above the level to which a chicken can jump--and a chicken can jump surprisingly high as it turns out.

Do I want to be a writer? Certainly. Will I ever manage to finish my novel? Yes. In approximately 5-6 more years at the current rate.

Do I want to be a mom? Wait, do I have a choice? Oh, right, made that choice. And who wouldn't want to be a mom to these two little nuggets of nuggety goodness:

Do I want to be a housekeeper? Not even sort of.

A blogger? Of course. Can't you tell?

I just need a few more hours in the day and I can be all of it. If I ever actually grow up, that is.

Counting with Coen

This morning Coen was counting my fingers and apparently I have eleventeen of them. It's a number that comes after dooteen and booteen...

My hero

This evening a minivan got stuck in a snowdrift right at the end of our driveway.

I called Pat and he was still 30 minutes away. He lamented missing the opportunity to be a "hero".

When he got home he examined the depth of the drift and told me it was fairly likely someone else would get stuck in it so he still might get his chance. He said maybe he should go ahead and get his snowpants on to be ready when it happened. Or better still he could get them on and wait down there for a car to come by then jump out and wave his arms madly at the driver to warn them of the approaching drift. He'd wear a ski mask for warmth, a hockey mask for protection and wield an axe to use on stubborn ice just in case they dismissed his warning and got stuck anyway. The chainsaw in his the other hand would be for possible downed tree branches or whole trees (this cold makes trees brittle and we do have lots of trees down there) and the shovel waiting nearby would be to...well...clean up the mess.

Talk about good Samaritan, huh? His mama raised him right...

A Bumblebee and a Snowman

I love listening to Fintan playing with his daddy. It usually sounds something like this:

"Daddy, will you play with me?"

"Of course. I'd love to! What do you want to play?"

"I'll be a bumble bee and you be the Abominable Snow Man. Okay, Daddy?."

"Okay."

"And you chase me."

"Okay!"

(Stomp, stomp, stomp, squeal!)

"I'm gonna get you! Gnowrlll!"

"No you're not!"

"Yes I am. I almost got y--!"

"STING!"

"Oooeee! Aw man, I almost had you, too. Grrnowgl! Now I'm gonna get--."

"STING!"

"Ooh, Yeeowwy!"

*laughter*

"Daddy, now you be the daddy bumblebee and I'll be the baby bumblebee, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now you say, 'Hey, baby bumblebee!'".

"Hey, baby bumblebee!"

"What?"

Levels of brightness

I actually had this conversation this weekend with a close friend who is going through a divorce:

Her: "We're dividing up weekends so they stay with him one night and all the next day and me the other night and day."
Me: "Ah. So, when they stay with him on Sunday nights do they then just stay with your in-laws all day on Monday while you work?"
Her: "Alina...they come to your house on Mondays."
Me: "Oh yeah!"

I laughed about it on the way home and said, "boy I am not very bright, huh?"
Pat said, "You're bright... just bright more like a strobe light."
I laughed and agreed.
But I'd say I'm bright more like a motion detector.

Blogger doesn't know "pulmonology" is a word

I know I can't stop talking about the things my boys like to eat, and this post will be no different. Fair warning.

Today was a rough one. No lie. We spent the morning at the Pediatric Pulmonology office to have them checked out regarding their long-term "smokers" coughs. There were two things that made this visit difficult--not even counting the bitterly cold weather we had today. 1. The appointment was 2 1/2 hours long. and 2. NO SNACKS IN THE EXAM ROOMS (this was for the safety of food allergic patients--something I totally respect.)! Now the second difficulty wouldn't have been so bad had I known beforehand, but I didn't so I'd loaded a small tote up to the gills with snacks--and in that tiny room I had no way to hide them. No way at all. And I learned, in no uncertain terms, that the most effective way to torture a 17 month old, is simply to refuse him access to snacks he can see...and see again...and then see SOME MORE!

At one point I was holding a bag of snacks out of toddler-reach, holding the door closed with one foot so Coen couldn't escape the exam room, and signing consent forms while explaining to my tearful 3 year old why we were actually going to get the H1N1 booster shot I'd promised him that morning we weren't going to get.

After the appointment I took the boys down to the cafeteria for a well deserved lunch. Coen's little onsie flaps were unsnapped and outside of his pants, his face was streaked with tears and he was doing that sad little huff that babies do when they've been denied snacks that they can see. People felt sorry for us and were kind. Thank goodness for kind people.

I got the boy's the lunch special: beef stroganoff with mushrooms and then loaded a to-go container from the salad bar. Fintan kept saying things like "Yummy, tomatoes!" and "Oooh, fruit! Can we get more olives than that?" Our helpful helpers got a big kick out of his excitement over the salad bar selection. Then I let Fintan pick out his "special treat" for being such a good boy for the doctor. He picked out a gigantic tub of chocolate pudding with cookie crumbles and whipped cream on top. The boys ate a great lunch. They demolished the beef stroganoff and made short work of the salad bar selection (Mommy unfortunately didn't get enough hard-boiled eggs to suit their taste). Finally it was time for dessert. Fintan got the chocolate pudding and Coen got the coveted 100 calorie pack of cookies he'd so desperately wanted in the exam room. Fintan loved his pudding, but he made me laugh out loud when he paused between spoonfuls of chocolaty goodness to pick up, and eat, the three remaining slices of cucumber from his salad dish.