CONGRATULATIONS, MOMMY!!!

We're so very proud of you and your new job!!

And you just know we can't wait to come and terrorize all your new staff and colleagues!

Big love from two of your three biggest fans,
Skinny & Boy

WWID??? (What Would Imelda Do?)

Imelda Marcos, that is.

"Mama," she says on the way into work one day last week, "What other shoes do you have besides high heels and flip-flops?"

[Well, seriously, what else does a girl need???]

"Well, honey," I begin with a puffed out chest a glow of pride, "I do have a couple of pairs of workout shoes, a few pairs of bejeweled sandals from the Cancun vacation, some mules, some slingbacks, at least one pair of mary-janes..."

"Mama..."

"A good number of tall-girl boots, some ankle boots, and some equestrian boots..."

"Mama..."

"I've got those gorgeous Pragues that Mommy got me for Christmas, and those goddy gold things I got on sale..."

"MAMA!!!"

"Huh?...Yes, baby, what is it?"

"Mama," she continues in a slightly more frustrated tone, "the reason I was asking was because I needed to know what shoes you want to be wearing when an elephant sits on you."

[??????]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AUNTIE MEGAN!!

WE LOVE AND MISS YOU

AND REALLY WISH YOU'D COME OUT

AND SEE US SOME DAY!

My Modest Mouse

"Go ahead, boy. I'll have your shirt ironed in just a second," I hear Mommy telling him through the monitor.

"Noooo, Mommy. I don't want to go," he protests.

"Why not, son? What's wrong. Mama has your leche ready," she coaxes.

"But Mommy, I'm just in my t-shirt," he explains.

"So?"

"I don't want Mama to see me until I'm dressed," he says.

"Ohhhh. It's alright, boy," she says through a cheek-to-cheek grin, "Just explain to Mama that I'm ironing your shirt."

So he comes into the living room and peeks around the corner into the kitchen with his hands crossed over his chest.

"Here's your leche, son," I say, holding out his sippy cup, but he won't budge.

"What's wrong, papa? Come on in and get your milk," I say, "so I can see your new t-shirt."

He shakes his head and just refuses to come in, so I have to promise him that I'll look away while he steps in to retrieve his milk, and won't look at him until he's fully dressed. Which I do.

And when Mommy's done with his shirt, he swaggers into the kitchen and does a couple of little GQ turns on the rug to show off his new (and freshly ironed) polo, and then marches his little peacock tail back into the living room.

FELICITOS, GRANDPA DONNIE!!!

HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY,
HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, BIRTHDAY, GRANDPA DONNIE!! WE LOVE AND MISS YOU TERRIBLY!!! COME SEE US ALREADY, WOULD YA???

ZIPPADEEDOO...WHOA, THERE!

On the way into school yesterday morning we all happen to be in a particularly unusual collective good mood and start a round of "Zip-a-dee Do-dah."

As with most things vocal, they begin to belt it out at the top of their lungs:

"Zipadee Do Dah!

Zipadee Ay!"

[and here's where it gets good...]

"My Ho, My Ho


Wonderful Day!!!"
[Hmmm...now how to correct this one without having to explain why...]

UNDERNEATH IT ALL...

One of the multitude of gifts they received for their birthday was this very cute little croquet set. [Seriously? you say.] Yeah, we thought the same thing. But the kids really seemed to take to the experience -- oh, for about 10 minutes. Which, really, when you translate that into toddler time is like 3 hours!!!!

But anyway...Saia, inherently cursed with her anal retentive attention to detail by both nature and nurture, just loved the whole bit. She helped me tear open the package, read the directions, and set up the course. We matched the little tunnel thing-a-ma-gigs to the color coordinated mallet and ball, and we even measured the distance to the winning pin from each lane. And then she proceeded to repeat my every instruction to both her brother and her Mommy AS SHE PLAYED (the little multitasker!), and much to their collective annoyance.

Chago, on the other side of the coin...immediately shot his ball across the lawn and into the street, stepped on 2 of the 4 tunnels, sent the head of his mallet flying across the driveway, and screamed that it wasn't fair that Saia always won when, of course, she did.

So, here I am, always mindful of being politically correct, always trying my best to be diplomatic, always determined to see the black, white and grey of every possible situation, in what I always thought to be my grandest social experiment -- that is, raising these two children in exactly the same way, with the exact same set of rules, with no gender biases, no social norms imposed, no pinks for her and blues for him, allowing them to ultimately be who they choose to be bywhatever means and in whatever manner they choose to express it -- and all I can really say is "OH MY GOD, HE'S SUCH A DAMN BOY!!!!!!"

WE'RE A TOP 100 MOM BLOG!!!

Yay! We've just received an award for being a Mother's Day Central Top 100 Mom Blog.

How cool is that?!?!

Now, if I can just get my rear back into gear and posting regularly again, maybe the threatening emails will stop, too. ;)

MOVE OVER, FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT

After a recent trip to the zoo a couple of weeks ago, Chago decides to transform their old train track table into an exact -- EXACT, I TELL YOU -- replica of our visit.

See all the individual lego cages? And the polar bears up on rocks? And the giant penguin chasing the duck? And even the "coy" fish in the tin "pond" right in the middle? He's even using his vulture as a seagull stand-in because, God, they were just everywhere.

All he's really missing are the two 4-year-olds yanking on their Mommies arms because they're too tired to take another step and don't want to be big kids anymore if it means they have to walk the "WHOLE ENTIRE PARK!!!!"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LITTLE LOVES

OH. MY. GOD. What a day! So, I'd managed to escape for 3 glorious years the headaches and stress that typically accompany children's party planning.

• Year 1: we flew to Texas and very thankfully let Tia Ruby and Tio Donny do most of the work.
• Year 2: we had a small intimate gathering at home -- and they were still too young to protest.
• Year 3: we actually did the Disneyland thang, but have not as yet fully recovered a year later.

But this year...this year Mama evidently lost her marbles completely and decided to throw a real-live party for 20 of their closest friends. [Cue the sympathy.]

LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
So, just finding a place to have the party was a Herculean task in and of itself. With Mommy swearing she'd divorce me if we had it at home, I spent 4 weeks calling, visiting, and googling places that "just might work," assuming they could accommodate us, of course, because it was severely "frowned upon" by more than one party planner that we had not made our reservations 6-12 months prior. Can you believe that???!!! What is this, private school? The Ritz-Carlton? Tavern-on-the-Green?


But I finally found it. And it was perfect. It's a calmer, quieter, healthier, and less germ-infested environment than, oh let's say something that rhymes with Smuck B. Knees. Anyway, someone had backed out at the last minute, and as luck would have it, my little St. Patty's Day babies were even going to be able to have the party on the 17th!!! So, we booked it, bought all the appropriate packages and accoutrements, and headed off to Michael's to buy our invitations.

MARTHA STEWART, WE'RE NOT
But we were pretty damn close! With Amy and Chago scowling the whole time, Saia and I trotted around the store picking out confetti, ribbon, glitter pens, and mini-gift boxes. I printed their invitations, we stuffed them into the boxes, and hand delivered them to school the next day.

ENTER THE STEPFORD WIVES
Amy would have to fill you in completely on this one 'cause truly I was oblivious to most of it. Well, except for the "Do you always dress so glamorously for 4-year-old parties?" and "So, did you invite the whole school?" and "Well, lunch is included AND we get goodie bags?"

Not sure exactly what I did wrong here, but Amy says it has more to do with the mom's overterritorial, hypersensitivity, way-too-self-conscious of their post-baby bodies attitudes than with anything I may have actually said, done, or apparently, worn.

Whatever. That party was off the shizzle, baby!!! [I know, I know, I'm just never gonna be able to pull that off.]

ANYHOO, HERE'S THE PROOF IN THE PUDDING:

AH, YES, THAT AGE-OLD CLASSIC...THE SWORD IN THE PLANTER

SPATIAL AWARENESS 101

"But Mom, if that's his house..." she says with furrrowed brow and deeply concerned glare, "where does he keep all his toys?"

NO SUCH THING AS TOO LITERAL

"So then the elephant was chasing the leopard and trying to eat him!" he retells of his dream last night.

"But why was the elephant going to eat him?" I ask -- expecting an obvious answer, of course [when will I ever learn?].

"Well, he wasn't really, Mom. He was just telling stories," he explains. "Silly leopard," he laughs.

"Oh, so he was crying wolf?" I ask -- forever trying to squeeze in those lessons.

"No, Mom," he answers a little disappointedly, "he was crying LEOPARD." [as in...didn't we already cover this?]

TO ALL YOU BURGLARS OUT THERE...

"Let's go, kiddos, we're running late!" I say as I'm physically ushering them out onto the porch.

Usually, this is where I go back into the house, close the door behind me, set the alarm, and then rejoin them on the porch as the alarm sets. But as this happened to be a Saturday, and we don't always tend to set the alarm on the weekend if we're just running into the village for a quick errand or trying to meet up with Mommy for lunch, I was just trying to get us out the door and into the vehicle as quickly as possible.

However...

As we start our descent down the stairs, down the sidewalk, and over to the truck, all of a sudden (and yes, at the top of his lungs), my little man -- ever the vigilant protector -- decides to yell, "BUT MAMA, YOU FORGOT TO SET THE ALARM!!!!!"

Yes, well. There you go.