Working late

If I wasn't already in desperate need of vacation, the last two weeks of work would most certainly have pushed me to that point. It's been insanely busy. I've been staying late some nights, and bringing work home the others, trying to get everything done that needed to be done.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option one evening earlier this week. Jeff was working his usual shift, and I needed to be at the office to proofread some documents and give immediate feedback so that my art director could make necessary changes in order for it to be ready for a big meeting the next morning.

Jeff graciously agreed to pick up the kids from daycare and bring them to my office on his way to work so that I wouldn't have to make the hour-long round trip to get them and return. I suggested he grab some movies, so the kids would have something to do while I worked.

A little before 5 p.m., Jeff dropped off the kids and the portable DVD player.

The broken, portable DVD player.

Not a big problem because we have a DVD player in our conference room. However, that DVD player became useless when I discovered the Scooby Doo case Jeff had grabbed was empty.

What to do? As quickly as I could while the kids scavenged through my office, I finished proofing a couple things and gave them back to my art director. Knowing it would take him at least a half hour to make the revisions and print out another draft, I headed out with the kids to grab some dinner and to find a Red Box.

On the way, we passed what looked like some sort of accident. The cross street was blocked off by multiple fire trucks and police cars. "We need to call Dad and tell him about this," AJ suggested from the back seat.

"I'm pretty sure he already knows about it," I answered, noting the number of squads on the scene.
As we inched our way passed the accident scene, which happened to be right next to a construction site, AJ announced confidently, "I bet I know what happened."

"What's that?"

"It was a hand grenade."

That must have been it!

We finished our tasks, renting a movie and going through the Taco John's drive thru. At last we made it back to work. On the way in the door, AJ noted a feather on the ground. (Thankfully he'd missed the bird's entire wing that was lying a few feet away. Bet that was an ugly way to go!) Lookng at the feather, AJ sighed. "I wish it was clean and I had ink. Then I could write a constitution."

Sydney, making a pretty impressive history connection for a four-year-old, responded, "I wish I could meet George Washington."

Without missing a beat, AJ told her, "You will, Sydney. Someday in Heaven."

I love how their minds work!

Back in the office, the kids happily watched their movie and ate their tacos and potato ole's. And then they watched the movie a second time as I continued my work. Finally I got to a point where I felt comfortable leaving. Or maybe I just recognized I couldn't expect my kids to sit quietly any longer. (The fact that I felt like my brain was shutting down for the night was just added motivation.)

It was a little before 8 p.m. when we finally headed out the door. Feeling like the worst parent ever for making my children sit at work for so long, I decided to be impulsive. I asked the kids if they were in a rush to get home. Slightly confused by the question, they answered no (as I knew they would.) And so we headed to Canal Park and made a stop at Dairy Queen.

With ice cream cones in hand, we headed for the Lakewalk.

(I so wish I'd had my regular camera with a flash with me. With a little fill light on their faces, the above shot would have been spectacular!)

Once the ice cream was gone, we threw rocks into Lake Superior.

And then we threw some more.

And some more. (I love Sydney's never-give-up enthusiasm.)

Jeff was able to stop down for a few minutes and see us. Shortly after that we headed home. During the drive, the kids were already asking when we could go back to the Lake and do it again.

How I love my kids! They'd just spent almost three hours at my office. And a simple side trip for ice cream and rock throwing was all it took to totally turn our evening into what AJ proclaimed was "a good, good night."

Gustav the Golden

The original plan was to get two puppies at once - a girl and a boy - Molly and Gus. We were advised against that because of the level of work needed to train two puppies at the same time. And so we decided to start with a female now, and add a male puppy next year.

A month ago, we made a down payment on our Molly. Two weeks ago, we heard of a puppy named Molly Rose. We liked the name, and decided to copy it, so our future puppy became Molly Rose.

And then today happened.

Today we discovered just how non-detail-oriented our breeder is. (As in, she apparently can't count to four. That's how many female puppies are in the litter. We were the fifth to give her a down payment, and it wasn't until today she informed us she didn't have enough females.)

And so, meet our new puppy: Gus.

His full name will be Gustav the Golden, though I suspect we'll call him that as often as we called our previous dog Maggie Mae Morgan. Which was pretty much never.

Gus is a pretty mellow pup. (At least he was this evening following a visit - and round of shots - from the vet.) Or maybe he's just strategic. Because while his siblings were mauling the kids... 

... Gus wandered over and cozied up to one of the key decision-makers.

... and then contentedly snuggled with another key decision-maker.

We gave all the puppies a chance. (At least I think we did. To be honest, with the exception of one that had a sort of white spot on his forehead, I couldn't tell any of the others apart.) They were sweet. They were fun. And they were far more likely to nip our ears, bite our toes or lose interest in us.

But not Gus.

He patiently cuddled with each of the kids, despite their well-meaning, but not particularly comfortable, styles of holding him.

Despite the screw up by the breeder, as we played with each puppy I commented to Jeff that I didn't think we could make a bad selection.They were all so sweet and adorable. But Gus - he just stood apart somehow.

Eleven more days until he's ours. Molly Rose can come later. I do believe Gus is going to fit into our family just fine.

Interior decorating - princess style

We're not just princesses, we're artistists! That's what Sydney declared as she helped decorate her bedroom walls with new easy-to-peel-off Disney Princess stickers.

This was something Sydney took very seriously. Dressed in her "beautiful gown", she must have felt inspired to add the royal decor. Sydney
knew exactly where she wanted each piece (i.e. wherever the whim struck), and insisted on helping.

I'd left the room at one point to see what AJ was up to, when suddenly I heard her call, "Mommy, I did it myself!"

Did I mention the stickers are easy to peel off and reposition? Thank goodness!

Sydney once again demonstrated her objection to the style philosophy of less is more. And so slowly but surely, so as not to be noticeable, Mommy has been peeling and shifting the stickers so that they're now more spread out across her wall.

Looking around the room at the multiple decorating themes, I realize I'm in no position to criticize. We seem to be adding decor on an almost annual basis. When she was a baby, I decorated with gerber daisies. Next up were star stickers on the headboard of her bed, followed closely by Dora, and now it's princesses.

The star stickers were the first to go. Such sacrifices we make as artistists!

Alex for an afternoon

We've always called him AJ. And with the exception of about a two-day period when he complained he wanted a name with more letters (he suggested Dave), AJ has been fine with the nickname.

So it came as a bit of a surprise last fall when suddenly anyone who knew him through school started calling him Alex. It was even more of a surpise to learn that while it was the teacher who'd started it, she did it at AJ's request.

When the school year ended, so did all references to Alex. Until Sunday when we invited his best friend from his kindergarten class to come over and play.

I suspect it was a similar story for Evan T, who probably is known as just Evan everywhere other than in a kindergarten class that includes another boy named Evan. And so, Alex and Evan T happily bounced around, calling out each other's names as they played pickle in the middle.

When AJ learned that we got to keep the rented bouncy house for an extra day after Sydney's party, you could see his mind at work as he figured out who he wanted to invite over to play. It took a bit of work to find the slip of paper with Evan T's phone number, and a bit more work to decipher it since most of the number's were backward. But we did it, and Evan T was available, and what a fun afternoon it turned out to be.

 

When it got too hot to bounce anymore, the boys cooled off inside, briefly playing pirates. And then then cooled off even more by running through the sprinkler, daring each other to see who could get the closest, who could tolerate the biggest blast of cold water and other tests of bravery.

Wait! Is that a bug?

Okay, back to the sprinkler.

As fun as it was to watch and listen to them play, it also reminded me why I couldn't handle a job in elementary education. There's just a certain disconnect between what strikes their funny bone, versus mine. For instance, lifting their shirt and playing bongo drums on their stomach produced hysterical laughter. And making up songs that include the word "poop"? Well, that's even funnier.

I don't get six-year-old humor.

Which is exactly why it's good for them to play with friends their own age. And then, just like that, Alex switched back to being my sweet AJ, always seeking my approval. At bedtime he asked, "Did you have fun when my friend Evan T was here?"

"It was fun watching you have so much fun," I affirmed.

"Yup," he agreed. "It was a fun, fun day."

Party for a princess

Sydney threw in an eleventh-hour curve ball, asking for Barbie paper plates instead of Disney princess ones. And Mother Nature wasn't much help either, drenching us with rain overnight and turning the bouncy house into a wading pool.

But by party time, Sydney was back in princess mode. And a combination of buckets, towels, turkey baster and finally the wet vac got the bouncy house dry and back to bouncing form. And Sydney had fun at her first ever birthday party for friends, which really is all that matters.

The rest of the kids had fun, too, running around the house and yard in search of clues in a treasure hunt. Jeff led the way, and ultimately the kids were rewarded with a quarter. Quite the loot!



Left to right: Ethan, Arianna, Addie, Carver, Lily, Erin (Addie and Lily's cousin), Sydney and AJ.

Ever the Princess, Sydney had numerous costume changes throughout the afternoon. Her yellow Belle dress is nice and all, but it simply cannot compete with the beautiful new gown from Carver and Ethan, not to mention the perfectly matching Barbie fairy shoes from Addie and Lily. Her first pair of high heels!

Amazingly, the dress stayed clean through cupcakes and ice cream. (Or not so amazing, considering that once she blew out her candles, Sydney announced she didn't want a cupcake or ice cream.)

And then it was back to the bouncy house. Mommy forced the costume change this time.

As it turns out, the rain and overcast skies were a blessing in disguise. We were supposed to return the bouncy house immediately after the party. However, the rental place told us that in the event of rain, they would prefer we keep it an extra day to give it time to dry, rather than bring it back wet. Since the rental place is closed Sundays, that meant we get to keep it until Monday.

The cloudy skies also kept it relatively cool inside the bouncy house - something we didn't appreciate until we went in there Sunday when it was sunny and the temperature reached the 80s. Wow! Sydney came out asking for socks because the vinyl surface was that hot.

As much work as it was to haul and set up the bouncy house (for which Jeff gets all the credit), I'm fairly certain we will never rent one again. At least we got our money's worth - three days for the price of one. And for this one weekend, the kids had a royally good time.

Weekly dose of cute puppies

Here they are at five weeks. Either we happened to catch them during a non-nap time, or else their personalities have exploded since we saw them last! It's probably a little of both.

When we got there, they all came running to greet us. An extra fence has been added as back up in case they manage to squeeze their curious little bodies under the first gate. Once we were inside, we were showered with puppy "affection". AJ's shoes, my skirt - they still go whenever and wherever the urge strikes. 

Good thing they're so cute! If I had my way, this is the little girl who would become our Molly Rose. In the midst of the chaos, she climbed up onto my lap and stayed there.

But then there's also this little darling that Jeff picked up.

Or these two little sweethearts...

Just how crazy is it to sit in the midst of 11 adorable puppies? Here's a look:

Less than three weeks until we bring one home for good. In the meantime, saying goodbye is so hard!

I'd had to go in to work for a few hours on Friday. Trying to wrap up a couple big projects, not to mention get ahead on a few things prior to going on vacation, has made this a pretty stressful week. I cannot put into words how much these puppies helped relax me. So what if I had to go back to work with puppy pea on my skirt? I had the smell of their soft fur on my hands, and there's just nothing better than that!

Barbie for the generations

What happens when the 2011 version of Barbie and Ken meets the fashions and furnishings of their 1970s counterparts?

Hours of fun for a certain four-year-old who now thinks "disco" is the perfect date destination, (despite having no clue what the word means), an overwhelming smell of bleach permeating my house, and a flood of memories of my own childhood adventures with Barbie.

Oh wait, that's right. I never had a Barbie of my own. I had PJ. My sister got to have Barbie. I think it had something to do with avoiding getting our toys mixed up. Nevermind that we had identical Ken dolls and two Skippers each, and never had trouble confusing those toys. I'm sure if another Barbie had been thrown in the mix, it would have been nothing but trouble.

No lingering bitterness here. No, that'd be so childish. I'm fine. Really. This is about Sydney's fun with Barbie.

Wait, even she gets a Barbie? I never had one!

It all started Saturday. Sydney was playing outside with a dish pan full of water. A more doting parent would interpret that as a sign their child needs a swimming pool. I, on the other hand, chose a cheaper route. The next day, I bought her a basic Barbie and Ken doll (Hey - at least I bought her Barbie!) and suggested Sydney take them for a dip in the "swimming pool".

That was great fun for Barbie and Ken... until they were interrupted by an unruly bunch of ghost pirates, sailors and soldiers who had to go and start a war in the middle of their pool party.

Despite the fun, something was missing for Sydney. Ken came with his own beach towel, but poor Barbie had only a swimsuit. Mommy the pack rat to the rescue!

With flashbacks of playing Barbies with my sister in the front yard of our old house in Brooklyn Center, I headed for the basement. (Lisa, if you're reading this, whatever happened to the orange and white Barbie pool? Remember filling it with the garden hose, washing our dolls' clothes in the water and then draping them all over the hood of Dad's truck to dry?)

Digging through a box of childhood mementos, I found my old PJ and Skipper dolls. They've aged quite well. The last 25 years in a box have definitely been easier on them than the first few years of loving from a young me.

But that's about all I found. And that's when I called my mom, who was coming to see us the next day. Grandma Elouise to the rescue! My mom graciously dug through their boat house, pulling out and delivering to me the Barbie PJ toys of my youth. Mold-covered and birdseed-infested - something other than Barbie seems to have been camping in the van - the majority of what she found is now deposited here:

Still, I managed to salvage enough to delight the next generation of Barbie lover in my family. 

My old Ken doll - who looked like he'd been doing battle in the trenches with GI Joe, his face was so blackened - got to take a swim of his own. In a sink filled with bleach. The rest of the dolls soon followed. Skipper still has sunglasses sewn to her head. That's some impressive thread! I know I used to try and pull the glasses off when I was little, and I caught Sydney trying to do the same. But still it's held strong.

The inflatable furniture got the bleach treatment next. Meanwhile, a bunch of clothes got thrown in a garment bag and sent through the washing machine.

Tah dah! PJ, meet Barbie and Ken and Mommy's Ken and Skipper and Skipper.

I have to ask, when did Ken get real hair? Seriously, check out the doll in the red shirt. Okay, I know it's not "real" hair, but when did he get anything other than the plastic 'do he'd sported for all those years?

A lot of the clothes had to be tossed due to rotten elastic or holes caused by wildlife. Maybe if the styles hadn't been so hideous (bell bottom fashions and wild fabric prints - lots of big flower patterns), I would have tried harder to salvage more. And I have to give my sister credit. She definitely did a better job taking care of her doll's clothes than I did with mine. 

Maybe that's why she got Barbie!

Of the clothes I saved, the gold pant suit, which I believe belonged to my sister's Barbie, has become Sydney's favorite. And so, Ken and Barbie now dress in some pretty groovy styles while hanging out on lime green, orange and yellow-striped furniture. They've spent a day at daycare for show-and-tell. And they've gone to a lot of discos, whatever those might be. (I'd casually mentioned, once we'd gotten them dressed, that they looked ready to disco. Sydney must have liked the word because she's latched on to it.)

I can only hope Sydney learns some valuable lessons from my old toys. For instance:

• Don't use a curling iron on a doll with plastic hair. It melts and doesn't grow back.
• Don't cut your doll's hair. It doesn't grow back. (It's a battle, but I'm fighting the urge to give the shaggy new Ken a trim.)
• Don't let your brother get a hold of your dolls. Heads tend to break off and need a dowel rod to be reattached.
• Do take care of your dolls. You just never know how many childhood memories they might revive 35 years later.