Crime & Punishment: Putting my Mad Detective Skills to Work

It can be hard to determine, at times, which child is responsible for those undesirable behaviors that go unwitnessed. 

For instance, the simple question "Whose banana peel is this on the kitchen counter?" can elicit three very different responses.

Child #1: "Not mine."

Child #2: " I don't think I've been in the kitchen since last Thursday."

Child #3: "What are bananas?"

Or the blame is placed on someone else entirely, who isn't even present to defend themselves.

"I think it might be Daddy's."

To which I'll challenge, "Hmmm... well, I doubt Daddy would have flown all the way home from Colorado just to sneak in and eat a banana without at least saying 'hello'". 

Sometimes I'll go all King Solomon on them and threaten to do the unthinkable, like take away everyone's iPod for the week, in hopes the real perpetrator comes forward. 

Other times I guilt them into confessing by saying, "God knows whose banana peel it is..."

Or I'll just declare an outright banana ban henceforward, citing abused banana eating privileges as the cause. 

Really anything could be substituted for the banana in these scenarios. 

Who didn't hang their towel up?

Who knocked over the dogs' water bowl? 

Who used all the baking soda making this lovely volcano? 

It makes my job so much easier when the case is open and shut. As it was today, when I discovered someone drew (no pun intended, although clever nonetheless) on the bookshelf. 

And although I'm quite impressed with how well her cursive is coming along, she's still going to be handed a Mr. Clean magic eraser when she walks in the door and be instructed to "Start scrubbing."

 

Vroom Vroom

Of all his Ninja moves, this one is definitely my favorite. 

I'm elated by Tate's newly discovered love for vacuuming. However, it has peaked my curiosity as well. 

I was in desperate need of help getting the house together on Halloween. So I put the kids to work after school, mainly tackling their rooms. I figured their anticipation for the evening's festivities would keep their grumbling to a minimum. I was correct. Somewhat. 

The girls share a room, and tossing them in there together to clean usually begins an all out civil war. I've tried sending them in one at a time and assigning each girl certain areas to clean, but that just results in them accusing the other of tossing items out of their designated area instead of actually cleaning. 

Since we were short on time, and I was short on patience, I opted for the civil war route and let them battle it out that day. 

As I was trying to turn hot dogs into little mummies by furiously wrapping them in strips of biscuit dough, I realized the living room still needed to be vacuumed. 

Not wanting to go near the commotion ensuing upstairs to enlist their aid, I looked around for another suitable helper. David wasn't home from work yet, and that's when I spotted my little red dragon ninja. 

"Tate, can you please vacuum the living room for me?" I asked tentatively.

"Sure!" - was his surprising response. 

I'm betting the vacuum weighs about as much as he does, but he didn't complain at all and even offered to do the upstairs. Until he saw my next project was squeezing gelatin "worms" out of straws. At which point, he quickly delegated the upstairs vacuuming to the girls. 

Who can really blame him? What little boy isn't ecstatic to play with worms, real or jello filled?

When I surveyed his work in the living room, I was impressed. He'd done a great job.  And he was so proud of himself. 

He was fast, efficient, and his technique left an interesting circular pattern in the carpet. 

This morning I asked him if he'd like to do it again. He jumped at the chance. And I figured out why he enjoys it so much when he plugged it in, grabbed the handle, and right before pressing the button said 3 little words: "Start. Your. Engines."

The Other Man in my Life

The kids are really into making bracelets out of tiny rubber bands.  The latest fashion craze amongst the young folk.  Reminds me of the silly band craze of '10.  However, I think this craze is neat because the kids are actually making them themselves.  That is, when I'm not using the loom.  I realized I might be getting a little too into it when Reese said the other day, "Mom, let me know when you're finished with the loom so I can make a bracelet." Probably just reliving a bit of my childhood, and remembering fondly the excitement of getting more colored string to make friendship bracelets. 

Last I checked, Hobby Lobby didn't carry the loom or bands, so I have to make the longer trek to Michael's when I need to replenish our supply.  Which, it seems, is just about every other day.  While I was there one day looking for more bracelet connectors, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a display of paracords. I grabbed a couple packs, and a few online tutorials later, fashioned Tate a  necklace.  

I joked with a few of my friends it was a good thing David has been out of town recently, and not here to witness the laundry piling up due to my necklace/bracelet making.  Last week when he and the kids facetimed, they decided to show him all of their new jewelry.  By the time my turn to talk came around he said, "So, uh, is that all you did today?"  Busted. 

The girls are always asking, "Can you go to Michael's to get (insert color of the rainbow here) rubber bands?".

After I made Tate a gray/white necklace, he decided he wanted an orange and white one also.  So I told him, "I need to head to Michael's today anyway, so I'll pick up some orange paracord."

Tate finally asked one day, "Who is Michael?"

Uh oh.

I quickly explained that Michael wasn't a he, it was a store.  I could just envision that conversation between Tate and David.  "Mom sure has been spending a lot of time with this guy named Michael.  She goes to see him like everyday."

During some errands the other day, we all headed to Michael's so I could dash in and look for some more bands.  Tate picked out a camo colored parachord for a new necklace.  As we headed to the car, he looked back at the store, read the sign, and said, "Thanks, Mitchell's!"

"Mitchell's?" I asked, confused.  Then I realized he must have tried to sound out the name and the ch confused him. "It's Michael's", I corrected.  "This is the store I always come to to get this stuff."

Thinking we had once and for all cleared up the mystery, Tate replied, still perplexed, "Well, then, who's Mitchell?" 

Pinterest, PJs, & Pizza

I love all those "P" words. Yep. Sure do. So what's more fun than incorporating them all into one night? Not much, I'm here to say. 

I thoroughly enjoy scrolling through the endless boards o' Pinterest. I have a hang up, however, when it comes to actually "pinning" stuff. I don't no why. Actually, I may know why, but it's weird, so that's all I have to say about that. 

But I could honestly pin every single idea I see on my followers' boards. You people all have incredibly great taste! Instead if repinning, I take screenshots of the really cool ideas or recipes. However, I rarely actually do any of the projects I like. Oh sure, a recipe here and there, but nothing crafty.

I'm one of those people who has a love/hate relationship with craft fairs. I love going to them! I hate actually buying anything. I see the cutest stuff and think, "Pssshttt... I could absolutely make that." But, as David likes to continually point out...I probably never will. 

I procrastinate. 

I let mundane things like laundry, errand running,  & toilet scrubbing get in the way. And I promise myself I'll carve out some time in the next week to make a crafty item for our home. Lo and behold, there's more laundry to do the next week, more groceries to be bought, and for some reason, the kids keep using my clean toilets! 

So, my little crafty ideas stay on my camera roll and are never brought to fruition.

There have been so many cute Fall decorations posted lately, I was finally just bursting to make something. We have one free evening during the week where no one has any activities to go to...ahhhh, glorious Thursdays! I gathered a bunch of supplies for myself, and even sprung for a loom so the girls could make those nifty rubberband bracelets that are all the rage now. 

I wish I had the patience to stop and take pictures at each step, but these projects were so super easy, no tutorial is really needed. 

Yes, that's a redbox movie amongst the craft items.  When the kids came home from school a couple Thursdays ago, I said, "Woo hoo! Tonight is craft night!" The girls were thrilled. Tate looked disappointed and said, "What's so exciting about that?"

That's when I whipped out the Batman Lego movie he's been wanting to see. And for the next 30 minutes I was the coolest Mom on the planet. David's work travel schedule this month has had him gone for 3 consecutive weeks. (Home on weekends). So there's been no one here to break up the ol' estrogen level for poor Tatey. But Batman helped a little. 

It was a rainy, cozy night, so we donned our pjs and ordered pizza. Here are the the completed projects. 

My stylish & creative niece always has the cutest pictures of her seaonal mantel. On one of her pictures this Summer she said, "I'm ashamed to admit I just changed my Spring mantel." Well, Morgan, I'm ashamed to admit, I just changed my mantel decor from 2007." 

Bee Prepared

A few weekends ago, we decided to take advantage of the lovely Fall-like weather and head to Ernie Miller Nature Center. We know better than to take a family vote on our upcoming activities. It's never pretty. And it's rarely unanimous. But we went ahead and took a vote anyway.  You might be able to guess how Tate voted by his body language.

Tate needs a bit more convincing/nudging/dragging to go anywhere beyond the comfort of his own home. However, once we pry his fingers from building his magical castles in Minecraft, and reintroduce him to trees, dirt, and sticks, he thoroughly enjoys himself. 

First step, look at the map and figure out which trail we're going to try first. Many things make me laugh about this picture. Of course, the tiny backpack on David's broad shoulders. Also the fact that he still gets confused about 435 East/West, but get him out in the woods, and he really knows his way around. And finally, David has never stayed on a trail in his life. He believes the best adventures are to be had just off the beaten path.

As I was snapping all these pictures, I began thinking of what I could write about this trip. Just as I had decided it would be a pretty short story, and perhaps mostly just pictures, the excitement began to unfold. (We'd only been there about 10 minutes.)

David and the girls headed off the trail onto a side path. Tate decided to stick with me, found this super huge boulder, and had me snap a picture. 

As we continued down the trail, we heard Reese scream. Not an "Ewww, I walked into a spider web" type of scream, but a blood curdling scream that made me think she must have seen a snake. She kept screaming, so I figured I had better head back to check on things. She emerged from the path screaming and crying and holding her neck. 

A snake fell from the trees and bit her neck?! was, of course, my next thought. Between sobs and hiccups it was ascertained that she had, in fact, been stung by a bee.  Her first sting ever. 

I'm not allergic to anything so I started to at least feel relieved that she probably wouldn't be either. Remembering she also shares another person's DNA, I quickly turned to David and said, "Are you allergic to bee stings??" 

He didn't think he was. I then remembered hearing somewhere that you can't always tell from the first sting if you're allergic. It's the second one that does you in. Well, great. As if I needed anything else to worry about when the kids aren't with me. What if Reese is attacked by a swarm of killer bees when I'm not around? Guess who'll be wearing a bee keeper suit to school from here on out? 

It was turning red and swelling slightly. I felt helpless, but wanted to do something, so I started blowing on it. Hey, it was all I had. And it helped. Or, at least distracted her somewhat. I had zero first aide items on my person. David grabbed a cold water bottle from his Barbie-sized backpack and she held it against her neck. 

Drue's sympathy department can be a little, well, lacking at times, and as I hovered over Reese deciding what our next step should be, Drue acted as though she was being bothered by this whole ordeal and said, "Do we have to go home?!" 

I was about to make a fire to send up smoke signals letting others know we were in need of first aide attention STAT, when I remembered that even though it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, we were actually right off the highway. And there was a Wal-Mart just up the road. So I revised my plan, declaring that I would take Reese to get some medicine, while David and the other two continued their trek. 

It totally should have been the other way around, because David is just more sensible in these types of situations. Actually, in all situations.  We got to Walmart and I drew a complete blank. I couldn't think of anything that would help a bee sting. All I could think of was my Mom making a paste of baking soda and water for our wasp stings. 

So as we dashed into the store, I quickly Googled remedies, having to pause every few minutes to blow on Reese's sting per her request. I found a bench near the pharmacy and plopped her on it as I began looking down the aisles. But the insect bite medicine was a few aisles over, and I didn't want to leave her where I couldn't see her, so I pulled her up off the bench and brought her along. As you can imagine, the Internet is full of bee sting remedies. So i decided just to go with the first one I came across.  Toothpaste. Double score because we were almost out anyway. I grabbed a tube, as well as Tylenol (thank you, Google) all the while asking, "Do you feel strange? Are your lips swelling up or going numb?" 

We made it back and were reunited with the rest of the adventurers. (Thank you, cell phones). From there on out, it was a much calmer, more enjoyable experience. They performed a few skits in the outdoor amphitheater.

We found some other fun spots to stop at along the way. 

Tate predictably ended our time there saying, "I love this place! Can we come back?!" 

Absolutely, Buddy. But next time I'll be sure and bring the toothpaste. 

Shower Tales

As a mother, my heart swells with pride when I witness the kids behaving thoughtfully, with no prodding whatsoever.  Especially when it involves one of their siblings.  This morning was one such occurrence as they were getting ready for school. Well, sort of. 

Gone are the days I could just plop all 3 of them in the tub at one time and scrub them down.  Bath time at our house has never been a relaxing, nor bonding experience of any kind.  Oh, we bought the sweet lavender-smelling soap with calming capabilities after seeing the sweet toddler on the commercial peacefully getting bathed, nary a splash, then promptly falling right to sleep after his bath.  But I just slathered it on as quickly as possible and scrubbed down all their little cracks and crevices, grabbed the bottle from one child trying to pour it out to make more bubbles, then turned right around and pulled it away from Tate before he could drink more than a few teaspoonsful.  And watch out if it was David's turn to do the baths!  From my spot on the couch where I was thanking the Lord that I had a night off from giving baths, I could hear the kids squealing as as he dumped cupfuls of water directly onto their little heads, without shielding their faces and eyes from the monsoon. 

No sir, bath time was anything but calm.  It was simply a "how can we get this done as quickly and painlessly as possible so you'll smell good for church" activity.  One, because they are all three so close in age.  And, two, we were bathing them all the time!  Syrup in their hair, marker on their face, and other unbelievably messy undertakings.  Like eating.  Eating anything.  We used to buy these little baby biscuits for Reese that were supposed to help her grasping skills because her chubby little hand could hold them all by itself. They would easily entertain her for a few minutes while I tried to get some sort of supper thrown together.  Those were the absolute grossest things I have ever encountered.  They turned to mush instantly and she would be a mushy biscuit-covered mess 30 seconds into the ordeal.  Her grasping practice would have to wait.  We ceased buying those. 

I knew we had to bid farewell to collective bath times, when they began to outgrow the tub together.  Legs would be dangling over the side, the pushing and the shoving began, and I was wetter than they were by the end of it.  So we graduated to collective shower times.  We discovered the tiny shower in our room was the best bet.  They have a full tub with a shower curtain in their bathroom and the floor would be a wading pool when all was said and done. 

Our shower has a door we can pull shut.  Hallelujah!  Of course, our floor still becomes a semi-wading pool when they leave that door open to holler something out to us.  But our shower is so tiny, that only two kids could fit at a time.  Most of the time, we'd throw the girls in together, I'd soap up their hair, then leave them to their giggling, soaping up the walls, or whatever else they would do, until I would holler into the bathroom that they were going to need to get a job to pay for our water bill.  The faucet would promptly shut off. 

So now, obviously, they are way too old to shower together, so now we take the revolving door approach.  Or the automatic car wash approach if you will.  I just don't have time to keep track of who showered when, so they just do it back to back.  If one of them needs to shower, well, they're just all three going to.  And because of the girls oh-so-lovely curly locks, it's necessary that they shower in the morning. That is, if they want their hair to do anything but rat up and stick out in all directions for school.  And because Tate likes to wear remnants of his last meal on his face, his hands, etc. it's best to just always shower him right before we go, well, anywhere.   

He always goes last.  Because he's the boy.  And he just has to run his hand over his hair once, and he's ready for the day.  It's usually Reese, Drue, then Tate.  Age order.  Just another battle we don't have to fight with "who went first last time?".  They can't remember where they just took off their shoes.  But, by golly,  they'll remember who went first in the shower last, or who sat in the back of the van last Tuesday. 

And so begins the herding.  When Reese is finished, she gets out and covers up with her towel, then we send Drue in, while the water is still running.  Then Tate, after Drue gets out and toweled up.  It's just our routine.  And they have it down pat.  So much so, that if one of them does happen to need an extra shower at some point, and I'm not making the other two take one also, they'll still holler out, "Is someone else coming in?" before turning off the water. 

So, yes, that was a loooooong explanation of our showering practices, to get to this morning's event.  Reese was getting ready at my bathroom sink/mirror while Tate was in the shower.  We heard a loud crash come from the shower.  Without any prodding to check on her brother, Reese hollered out concerned, "Are you ok?!"

Thus the swelling of my heart began.  

Silence (other than the running water). 

"Hello?!" she hollered again, growing more concerned.

They really do love each other, I thought. 

My heart began to deflate at a rapid rate, when after she still didn't get an answer, she resumed brushing her hair, shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Oh well." 

Adventures in Fostering

We took our plethora o' puppies to get their booster shots this morning. I'm still recovering. If we continue fostering, it may be wise to trade in my minivan for an animal control truck. Just for convenience sake.

Large endeavors, such as piling 6 squirmy, squealing, furry beings into the car for a road trip cause me anxiety. I almost hyperventilated planning it all out last night. I calmed myself down a bit by breaking the enormous task into smaller ones, making it feel a little more manageable. 

Step 1: Make sure crates are clean.

Step 2: Bring crates around to the front of the house to await their passengers. 

Step 3: Open garage door and extract puppies from their pen one by one for the transfer, swiftly using a puppy wipe on each of them so they'll smell fresh for their appointment. 

I made it all the way to Step 3 before my carefully drawn out plan went to, well, the dogs.  As I punched in the code and the garage door began to rise, I saw a little nose peek its way out. The puppies weren't in their pen. They were loose in the garage. I believe this scene from Ben most accurately depicts what happened next when all the puppies flooded out.

I grabbed what puppies I could, then started screaming for Reese. I was pretty sure Tate was still in bed. Drue goes into automatic panic mode in stressful situations involving the puppies. Reese was my only choice of helpers left. Just one problem, she wasn't coming. Apparently she was so focused on making an outfit choice, she didn't hear her mother's blood curdling cries for help. Comforting. Neither did the neighbors, thankfully. 

Drue happened to amble out and stood there as her jaw dropped. "Grab a puppy!" I hollered. "Or three!" We managed to collect them all, and my adrenaline rush enabled me to hoist cratefuls of puppies up into the van with little difficulty. 

With the girls guarding the little prisoners, I dashed back in to pluck Tate from the top bunk. "But I'm sleepy," he groaned. (When I'm frazzled my sarcastic humor has a tendency to spin out of control.) "Awww...I'm so sorry to have disturbed your slumber at 9:30 in the morning. Perhaps these terminal disease fighting boosters can wait until a more reasonable hour, so you can continue your beauty rest." 

The puppies slept peacefully the entire way. The kids were kind enough to break the silence with their bickering. Tate has discovered his outbreak of poison ivy comes in handy as a biohazard threat against his sisters. Whenever he's bothered by them, I'll hear them scream out, "Mom! Tate's rubbing his arm on me!". 

We finally made it to the shelter where the puppies were vaccinated, weighed, and updated in the system. I felt like a proud Mother introducing them all by name and giving a mini background of their personalities and their likes and dislikes. 

As we waited for more paperwork to be completed, a shelter worker came out into the lobby and started gushing over my temporary babies. "Oh, they're adorable!" she squealed. "What are they mixed with?" 

"Their Mom is border collie, but I don't think they know what the dad is," I explained. Not even thinking about the little ears of my helpers taking in everything. 

"Oh, I see," she continued. "Dad was just a wanderer, paying a visit in the night." 

Tate was petting the puppies through the crate bars and I could see the little wheels in his mind start spinning as he started putting it all together. He stood up and said softly, "Mommy, how do dogs get married?"

Oh boy. 

I felt the color rush to my cheeks and stammered, "Well, they ... ummm...see...they probably..." 

The paperwork couldn't have come off the printer at a more perfect time.  The staff ushered us out to the car with our little bundles and we drove away as I sighed, "Whew, I need a drink!"

Lucky for me, Starbucks are everywhere.