One of my mom’s friends made blankets when each of my little ones was born. As you can see, the blankies have been much loved.
Impromptu nap
Softer than a pillow.
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Am cowering in a closet, listening to loud banging noises coming from one of the children’s bedrooms, where they are busily constructing a weapon of mass destruction.
Really, though, I can’t imagine what’s left to destroy. The living room looks like a toy bomb went off in it. Our long hallway has been elaborately boobytrapped, with scores of plastic GIs waiting to puncture my feet.And Tootie’s room? We will not speak of its condition. It is simply too terrifying.
Now on our second snow day, the children are bored. They are stalking me.
One keeps yelling, “Let’s do the Bobblehead!” before vigorously shaking my head back and forth. The other wants me to help her find a teensy stuffed animal that she thinks was most recently under the tent she made in the living room. Am convinced she wants me to enter the tent, where further torture awaits. By an impressive array of armed and dangerous Pet Shops.
Awhile ago, I called a fellow mama and told her my children were out to get me. She told me that her son’s ADHD medicine ran out right before the snow fell.
My back is still killing me. The children sense my weakness. The only safe place in the house is the coat closet, which is where Hubs will find me upon his return, huddled among the jackets and his musty-smelling hunting gear. If he does not have Chocovine for me, I will tell him he is responsible for catching the children and wrangling them into the bathtub and bed. Must now send out a plea for help on Facebook.
This time, there was enough for a snowman!
My sweet (armed) girl
Yeah, yeah, he's about to turn 5, but he's still my baby.
Today we celebrated Tootie’s birthday a little early. She invited three girlfriends to go out for pizza. Then we returned to the house — which was adorably decorated by my friend Amy Upshaw — where we ate cake, opened presents, etc…
Hubs hasn’t toned the photos yet, so the colors are a little off, but you get the idea …
Cute party sign by Amy
Amy decorated while we were eating pizza. (Banner is her design.) Tootie was quite surprised upon our return.
Cake by Tracie Rich. Yum.
From left: E-man, Tootie, Jada, Rebecca, Olivia
Birthday girl.
BFF Olivia
Moody Mom's Bear, aka Rebecca
And here's Jada, who celebrated 7 in November
The E-man was perhaps a tad too muc into the present-opening.
Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey princess/diva style.
After three perfect tail-pinnings, we realized the girls were peeking!
We had such a good time. The girls played, the E-man made the most of being a pesky little brother and the mamas had some much-needed girls-afternoon-out time.
And many, many thanks to Amy for such darling decorations. Tootie wore her hat well into the evening and is already insisting that Amy “do” her party next year.
Next up: The E-man turns 5. Then I turn 40. (Not sure whether those pictures will be fit to publish. Heh.)
And now, back to my Chocovine.
The little people in this household have had a glorious few days.
Day One: Yay! Snow!!
Bulldozing a trail
Snowballs!
Deciding on their next victim.
Sledding, redneck-style.
Why, hello, Randy! Where's Chevy?
Of course, not everyone was so pleased to see the white stuff.
The Very Reluctant Snow Shepherd
I am not leaving my doggie bed for the not-so-great outdoors. You cannot budge me.
$*#%&*%$!!!!!
This year, Hubs and I are participating in the father/daughter and mother/daughter routines for Tootie’s dance recital. And so are Moody Mom and her hubby.
First, I have to say that Hubs is a marvelous dancer, so his routine has been moving along nicely. As for me? Well, I can dance by myself, but I’m finding it difficult to lead my daughter, especially when it comes to twirling her.
Here’s a sampling from last Saturday. The men’s dance is “My Girl” and the women’s is “Respect.”
Music begins. Hubs is in the black shirt.
Now the men walk out, snapping their fingers and veering left and right.
The girls scamper out to join their daddies.
The dip.
A twirl.
The kiss. Which prompted the E-man to yell, "BLECH!"
Fancy footwork.
Another dip.
Finishing with flair.
OK, moving on. You’ll note that Moody Mom and I had a bit more trouble mastering our dance. By the end, we were laughing so hard it’s a wonder we didn’t trip over our children.
Note my focus and Tootie's skepticism.
This isn't too bad.
The E-man finally quit yelling, "Blech!"
Oh, look, somebody's child isn't behaving.
I wonder who he belongs to?
Here's the part where we all show "attitude."
Oops.
Something clearly went awry here.
Moody Mom and I cannot stop laughing.
Meanwhile, our children beg for mercy.
For more entertainment (and photos) drop by Moody Mom’s. Note she did not include any pictures of herself!
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Summer is how many months away?!
I am sick of the rain. You?
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Today, our Little Rock Mamas bloggers are posting first-haircut photos. Some will reflect docile, accepting children. Others … well, not so much.
Tootie, my oldest, was among the docile. But the E-man …
The little guy didn’t get his first haircut until age 2. In fact, he was bald for so long that when he did start growing hair, I couldn’t imagine ever cutting it, especially when it started curling into ringlets.
My baby has hair!
At one point, however, I had to concede that my child had developed a mullet.
See? A little humidity and the curls went pppht.
So, reluctantly, I took the little man in for his first haircut. By the end, Hubs had to put down his camera and hold onto a thrashing E-man.
The prep
"I have serious doubts about this, Mommy."
The struggle begins.
"I will remember this and hold it against you."
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Today, Ty graduated from the Coast Guard Training Academy. And I’m so proud of him!
It’s hard to believe that the 9-year-old kid I met in 2000 is now an adult. It’s also hard to imagine my stepson without his hair!
Anyway, congratulations, Ty!
Now let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
Totally humoring dad's request to take a photo.
From left, Tootie, CeCe, E-man, Ty
Spring break 2005 in San Antonio
See why I can't imagine him without hair?
Brothers
This is one of my favorite photos.
Big Dam Bridge
And now he's headed for the mighty Mississip
So a few minutes before we departed my parents’ Texas home yesterday, the little people finished yet another viewing of my mom’s copy of Up.
“It’s almost time to leave!” I announced.
The E-man promptly fell into hysterics.
“We’ll come visit again,” I said, hugging him.
“I don’t WANT to get old!” the E-man replied. “I don’t WANT to die!”
Huh???
“Um. What are you talking about, E-man.”
“When you get old and die, you can’t move your arms and legs,” he wailed.
I looked questioningly at Tootie, who shrugged.
“He asked me to explain,” she said, gesturing toward the DVD cover.
Oh, great, I thought, all too aware of Tootie’s love for scaring the crap out of her little brother.
Thus began a discussion about aging, dying and the afterlife.
The E-man was somewhat mollified. But then his eyes narrowed.
“How old is Nana?” he asked.
“Er … ”
“How old is Granddaddy? How old is Papaw?”
“Uh …”
“How old are you?”
“Oh, I’m only 39!”
And the E-man exploded into tears yet again.
Thanks, kid.
Meet Cathy Frye — deer widow, mama to two small children and stepmom to two teenagers. By day, she writes for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. By night, she Googles things like “whooping cough symptoms” or “child ate toothpaste.” Cathy describes herself as barefoot, breeding and medicated. Her husband considers her a real catch! Read more about Cathy.
